Draco's mask
Draco (Age 12)
**Two years later**
Draco couldn't pinpoint the precise moment it occurred, the subtle shift in his perception. Yet, there was no denying it - the girl, Hermione, had gradually become his favorite person on Earth.
Their peculiar connection had started by chance, a serendipitous intrusion into her subconscious. But, from that night onward, he found himself drawn to her dreams, seeking her out nightly in her sleep. Initially, he'd merely observe but, over time, a tentative dialogue had blossomed between them. She'd become his confidante, his solace in the darkness.
The bittersweet reality of their connection tugged at his heart. Hermione remained blissfully unaware that her dream companion was, in fact, the genuine Draco Malfoy. To her, he was but a figment of her subconscious, a personalized projection sculpted by her own mind. This misconception, however, had fostered an unparalleled intimacy between them. She bared her soul to him, unburdened by the constraints of social expectations, and in turn, he felt safe to reciprocate. Never before had he experienced such profound vulnerability and acceptance. The yearning to reveal his true identity grew stronger with each passing night, a secret he longed to share, hoping it would deepen their bond even further if she knew it was really him, but the possibility that she would be angry or disappointed gnawed at him. Would she feel betrayed, her trust shattered? The fear of losing her paralyzed him. So he clung to his secret, postponing the inevitable, trapped in a limbo of his own making.
The memory of that night, the charged atmosphere in her bedroom, the first encounter with Arys - it all remained etched in his mind. It was the last time he had been physically close to her in reality, though he had been watching her from afar ever since. Thoughts her filled his every waking moment. Her unique scent, a blend of lavender and honey, haunted him. The image of her, the cascade of her curls, the intelligence and vulnerability in her expressive eyes, the sheer force of her captivating mind, played on an endless loop in his memory. The echo of her magic, its distinct hum against his own, resonated deep within him, a constant reminder of their connection. He yearned for her touch, the warmth and comfort of her arms wrapped around him once more.
They had their nightly dream routine, but he wanted more, he needed to see her in person as well. Which is why, night after night, he would succumb to the pull, soaring on his broom towards her secluded cottage. Sometimes, he'd simply hover outside, a silent guardian watching over her sleep. Other times, he'd venture into the hidden garden she believed was her secret sanctuary, secretly observing her in her element.
One evening, the lingering scent of lavender and freshly turned earth still clinging to him, he returned to Hogwarts. The day had been spent hidden within shadows, watching Hermione reading and practicing magic in her beloved garden. As he settled into the solitude of his chambers, a sense of resolve washed over him. It was time to address the rift between him and Arys, to extend an olive branch and seek reconciliation. He reached for parchment and his quill and began writing.
Dear Arys,
I've delayed this letter far too long, and for that, I sincerely apologize. I needed time to grapple with the shock of discovering I had a brother, as well as some other personal insecurities that I had to overcome.
That night, when you expressed your lifelong desire for a brother, I claimed not to share that sentiment. The truth is, I HAVE always yearned for a sibling, for any form of family connection. I carried a lot of anger within me, often lashing out at undeserving individuals. However, I’ve encountered someone who has profoundly altered my perspective on life and those around me. She has prompted a deep introspection into my own behavior.
What I'm trying to convey is that I genuinely desire a fresh start. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my hurtful words and my avoidance for the past two years. I have thought of you daily. I hope you are well and happy.
Your brother,
D.L.M.
A couple of hours later, a familiar flutter of wings announced the arrival of an owl, carrying a parchment that held Draco's heart in its grip. He eagerly tore it open, his eyes scanning the elegant script:
My dearest brother,
I cannot express how truly happy receiving this letter has made me. I forgive you wholeheartedly and would love a fresh start. I, too, have thought of you daily and have been following your Quidditch career with great enthusiasm. You are a magnificent Seeker, Draco. I wish I could witness your skills firsthand on the pitch.
I sincerely hope we can continue this correspondence. I yearn to get to know you better, my brother. Let's start with a simple question to break the ice...
Would you rather face off with a Basilisk or an Acromantula?
Yours truly,
Arys
A wave of relief washed over him. The warmth and sincerity in Arys's words melted away any lingering doubts. A smile tugged at his lips as he read the playful question, a spark of excitement igniting within him. He had a brother, a true connection, and a chance to build a relationship he had never dared to dream of.
****
Even though Draco and Arys had exchanged letters religiously for months, Draco still felt a flutter of anticipation each time a new one arrived. Their correspondence was more than just a casual exchange; they poured their hearts out to each other, sharing intimate details of their lives, their hopes, and their fears. With Hermione and Arys in his life, Draco felt a sense of completeness that had always eluded him. The idea of 'family', once a cold and distant concept, now filled him with a warmth that radiated through his entire being. He was finally getting what he had always dreamed of. Now he just needed to figure out how to come clean to Hermione. The idea of revealing his identity to her sent a flutter of both fear and excitement through him. He longed to see her in person whenever he wanted, to nurture a genuine relationship beyond the confines of the dream realm. He vowed he would come clean during the Christmas holiday, a few weeks away.
Arys, in one of his most recent letters, had suggested meeting in person. Draco's heart soared at the prospect. They settled on the garden as their rendezvous point, a neutral ground that held special significance for them both. A flicker of hope ignited in Draco's mind—perhaps Arys would bring Hermione along. The possibility of seeing her again, of being close to her in the real world, filled him with nervous anticipation.
When Draco stepped into the sunlit garden, Arys was already there, his gaze fixed upon him. A moment of stillness hung in the air as their eyes met, twin reflections staring back at one another. Blue eyes meeting silver. The uncanny similarity was almost unsettling - seeing your own face mirrored back at you was quite odd, but Draco felt a sense of wonderment he couldn't quite comprehend.
Then, as if on cue, a grin broke across both their faces, wide and unrestrained. In the next instant, they were in each other's arms, the embrace tight and full of unspoken emotion. Neither said a word for a long stretch, simply reveling in the closeness.
In that moment, Draco felt a wave of pure joy wash over him, a sense of belonging he had never known. He had a brother, a flesh-and-blood connection who loved him, a love he wholeheartedly returned. It was a simple realization, yet it filled him with such profound happiness he wanted to cry.
The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a whirl of shared magic and laughter. They took turns demonstrating spells and tricks, their identical faces lit up with a mix of concentration and delight. Draco even took Arys for a spin on his broom, soaring through the fading daylight as Arys's joyful screams echoed across the estate.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the garden, a pang of sadness struck Draco. The thought of returning to Hogwarts without Arys, of leaving this brother behind, felt unbearable. He wished desperately that time could stand still, that this moment could last forever.
"Arys," Draco began, his voice tinged with hesitation.
"Yes, Draco?" Arys responded, curiosity sparking in his eyes.
Draco took a deep breath, "I'm so sorry, Arys. I'm sorry that you have to live like this. If it were up to me, you'd be at Hogwarts with me."
A wistful sigh escaped Arys's lips, "That's kind of you, Draco. I wish that too." But then a small smile played on his face, "Still, I'm glad we have each other now. And I hope we can continue to see each other and write."
"Of course," Draco assured him.
Arys's smile widened, "Besides, if I had been at Hogwarts, who knows who Hermione would have ended up with."
Draco's heart clenched at the thought of Hermione belonging to another family, or worse, someone who might treat her unkindly. He realized with a pang of gratitude that Arys being there to watch over her was truly for the best.
"That's true," Draco conceded, a grim shadow passing over his features, "There are a lot of monsters out there."
"Indeed," Arys agreed solemnly.
A spark of mischief returned to Draco's eyes, "Have you ever been to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade? Maybe we can meet there next, and I can show you around."
Arys chuckled, "How could I do that? I'm not allowed to leave the manor, and we can't be seen together, for obvious reasons."
Draco's lips curled into a cunning smile, "You leave that to me."
****
Upon his return that night, Draco's thoughts immediately turned to Hermione, as they always did. Closing his eyes, he pictured their sanctuary, her mind, and with a familiar pull, he was transported into the dreamscape. Excitement bubbled within him, a delightful anticipation that never faded, no matter how often they met this way. Soon, she appeared, her form materializing in the dreamscape. The way her face lit up when she saw him, that mixture of surprise and pure joy, it was a sight he cherished more than anything.
They huddled together in the familiar darkness of her mind, their laughter echoing softly near the archway. Draco regaled her with the latest jokes he'd picked up at school, a collection he'd diligently scribbled down throughout the week just for her. The sound of her laughter, light and infectious, filled him with an unbridled joy that coursed through his veins like a warm current. It was a melody that danced in his ears, a symphony that resonated deep within his soul. He would move mountains, face any challenge, just to hear that sound again and again. It was a treasure he wished he could bottle, a precious elixir to carry with him, a reminder of her warmth and light during the long, lonely hours when they were apart.
Once her giggles subsided, Hermione turned to him, a warm smile gracing her lips. "You seem different lately," she observed, "happier."
Draco paused, his heart fluttering in his chest. "I am happy," he admitted, his voice a gentle murmur. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "You make me happy."
Hermione tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. "You make me happy too," she confessed, her voice a soft echo in the dimly lit room.
****
The month of December was filled with adventures for Draco and Arys. With Arys cleverly disguised using Polyjuice Potion, they explored Draco's favorite haunts in both Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, their contrasting personalities complementing each other like two sides of a coin. Draco, with his newfound warmth and Arys, with his playful mischievousness, were a perfect balance.
As Christmas drew near, Draco's resolve to reveal the truth to both Arys and Hermione solidified. He decided to confide in Arys first, maybe get some advice on how to approach the conversation with Hermione. They had just arrived back at the manor from Hogsmeade, and were about to part ways, when Draco finally gathered the courage to speak. But before he could utter a word, Arys beat him to it.
"Draco, there's something I've been wanting to speak to you about." Arys's voice was hushed, barely audible above the whistling wind.
They stood in a vast, open field, the setting sun painting the sky with streaks of orange and purple. A light dusting of snow crunched beneath their boots, and a chill hung in the air.
Draco's heart sank as he observed the melancholic shadow that had cast itself over Arys's face, a lingering sadness haunting his eyes. A wave of concern washed over him, a deep desire to understand and comfort his brother. More than ever, Draco yearned to access Arys's mind, to share his burden and offer support. But his attempts had always been met with an impenetrable barrier, obsidian shields that Arys seemed to possess innately. Draco had never encountered such powerful mental defenses, but he had long ago accepted the reality that his brother's mind remained a forbidden territory.
A shuddering breath escaped Arys's lips as he met Draco's gaze, a silent plea for understanding shimmering in his eyes. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.
"Draco, I am a seer..."
Draco's heart skipped a beat, though he had already suspected as much from his conversations with Hermione. He held his silence, allowing Arys to continue.
"I know that you have been visiting Hermione in her dreams for years, and that she is unaware."
Draco's jaw dropped, a wave of astonishment washing over him. But Arys pressed on, his voice heavy with a sense of foreboding.
"I can't say how strong your feelings for her are now, but I know that someday, she will mean the world to you. And she is in grave danger, Draco."
A cold dread settled in the pit of Draco's stomach, his face paling. "Arys, what do you mean?" he choked out, his voice thick with fear.
"Let me show you," Arys said, tentatively reaching out his hand towards Draco's.
As their fingers intertwined, a surge of energy pulsed between them. The world around them dissolved, replaced by a swirling vortex of colors and images. Draco felt himself being pulled into the vision, his heart pounding in his chest.
They found themselves abruptly transported to a chilling, unfamiliar prison cell. The air hung heavy with a damp, oppressive chill, the only light emanating from a flickering torch mounted on a distant, grime-streaked wall. The echoing whimpers, emanating from a shadowy corner, sent a shiver down his spine. There was a woman huddled in the corner completely naked, shaking profusely. She was covered in grime so thick it was hard to make out her features, tracks of remaining tears made rivulets through the mud caked on her cheeks. Her hands were bound tightly behind her back and she was covered in gashes and bruises. She looked at him pleadinging, her beautiful brown eyes were nearly swollen shut. She screamed and sobbed through the gag that was placed around mouth. Draco's blood ran cold as recognition took hold. It was Hermione, but not the young girl he knew. This was a grown-up version of her. He lunged towards her, his heart pounding in his chest, but as his fingers reached out to touch her, she vanished into a swirling vortex of black smoke.
The vision abruptly ended, and Draco found himself back in the snowy field, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with terror. He stared at the ground, his mind reeling. The weight of Arys's prophecy pressed down on him, a suffocating sense of dread settling in his heart.
Draco stood rooted to the spot, his body trembling, his mind unable to process the sheer horror of what he had just witnessed. Fear had gripped him, rendering him incapable of speech or movement.
Arys, sensing his brother's distress, gently moved in front of him, taking Draco's icy hands in his own.
"I am so sorry, Draco," Arys's voice was filled with remorse, "I know that was hard for you to witness. But that is Hermione's future if we don't do something. If we don't begin to take steps to change the course we're currently on."
His words pierced through Draco's numbness. The vision of Hermione, trapped and tormented, replayed in his mind, fueling a newfound determination. He couldn't let that future become reality.
"What do we need to do?" Draco's voice was chillingly cold, his fear replaced by resolve.
"Voldemort must be defeated," Arys stated with unwavering conviction, "and you must be the one to do it." He paused, locking eyes with his brother, "You must gain the Dark Lord's trust, become his second in command to learn his weaknesses.”
Draco nodded, his face a mask of grim determination.
Arys continued, "Everyone, including Hermione, must believe you to be cruel. She cannot know that you care for her, or anyone else for that matter. There will come a time when the Dark Lord will question your loyalty, he will search Hermione's mind, and he must believe you despise her. If he believes you hold his same views, if he believes he can truly trust you, he will reveal a secret to you, a secret we will need in order to defeat him.”
A wave of despair washed over Draco. His dreams of being close to Hermione shattered, his hopes extinguished like a candle in the wind. How could he possibly pull this off? How could he convince the person he cared for most in this world that he despised her? The weight of the task ahead threatened to crush him, but he knew he had no choice. Hermione's life, and perhaps the fate of the entire wizarding world, depended on him.
Draco's body trembled, his shoulders shaking as he fought back tears. The life he had dared to dream of, a life filled with Hermione's love and laughter, had been brutally snatched away. A hollow ache settled in his chest, a painful reminder of the sacrifices he would have to make.
Sensing his brother's anguish, Arys drew him into a comforting embrace. They stood there in the gathering twilight, two figures silhouetted against the darkening sky, as the snow silently swirled around them. In the quiet stillness, in the arms of his brother, Draco allowed his tears to fall.
******
A few days later, Draco found himself concealed in the familiar shadows of the garden, his hidden gaze fixed upon Hermione. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as she attempted a wandless Wingardium Leviosa charm on a bright red apple, her determination was endearing. His heart swelled with warmth as he watched her, his love for her an undeniable force within him.
Eager for a better view, he shifted his weight slightly, only to hear the sharp crack of a branch beneath his foot. The sound echoed through the quiet garden, shattering the peaceful atmosphere.
“Who’s there!?” Hermione's voice rang out, sharp and alert.
Panic flooded him. OH NO. OH NO. OH NO. There was no escape now; her eyes were locked on his hiding spot. He wasn't prepared for this confrontation, not ready to don the cruel mask he was being forced to wear. Could he truly be mean to her?
Yes, he must. The realization was a shard of ice piercing his heart. With a heavy sigh, he stepped into her view, his face hardening into a cold, impassive expression as he erected his occlumency shields. The mask was in place, but the pain behind it was immeasurable.
"Rather impressive," Draco drawled, his voice laced with a hint of mockery, "but you're doing it wrong."
A gasp escaped her lips. She spun around, her eyes wide with surprise.
He stood casually by the pond, propped against a moss-covered tree trunk. A forced smirk played on his lips, a glint in his eyes.
"Malfoy," she breathed, his name a breathless whisper. "What are you doing here?" Fear flickered in her eyes, and Draco's heart ached at the sight.
Silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken tension.
He raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Surely, it's obvious. This garden held a special place in my mother's heart."
"This was your mother's garden?" Her voice held a note of surprise.
He ignored her question, his mind racing as he calculated his next move. He knew what he had to do, no matter how much it pained him.
"Pray tell, where is my beloved brother?" His voice dripped with feigned disdain. "Has he left his little pet unattended?"
"I'm not anyone's pet," she snapped, her anger igniting. "Your 'beloved brother' you ignore. The one whose letters you never answer. The one you left alone." Her voice trembled with fury.
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he struggled to maintain his composure. He forced an air of indifference, examining his nails as if couldn’t care less about her outburst, when really he was dying inside.
After a tense pause, he pushed away from the tree, his steps measured as he closed the distance between them. His breath hitched in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn't been this close to her in so long. He could smell the faint scent of lavender and honey that clung to her, see the golden flecks in her eyes. All he wanted to do was reach out and hold her, but he knew he couldn't. That perhaps he never would.
A flush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks a delicate pink. He stood mere inches away now, the air crackling with unspoken emotions.
"And what makes you think you can speak to me so informally, mudblood?" The word tasted like poison on his tongue, each syllable a betrayal of his true feelings.
She flinched, her eyes widening in hurt and disbelief. His heart twisted painfully in his chest; he wanted nothing more than to erase the pain he had inflicted.
"I'm leaving," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion.
"You'll leave when I permit it," his voice was cold, his words cutting through the air like a knife. "Don't forget yourself, mudblood. You belong to me."
She whirled around, her gaze ablaze with defiance. "I belong to no one," she retorted, her voice firm, "Least of all you. If anything, I belong to Arys."
His facade faltered for a moment, his voice softening despite his efforts. "And what if I decided that I wanted you to be - mine?"
"If I had a choice," her response was swift and unwavering, "I would say no."
The words pierced him like a dagger, and the pain in his heart intensified. This was it, the moment that would irrevocably alter their relationship.
"Well," he forced a cruel smirk, "luckily for you, I have no interest in owning a Mudblood pet."
Their gazes locked. His heart was racing in his chest and he momentarily forgot how to breathe. Then, with a deliberate flourish, he extended his hand towards the fallen apple. It levitated obediently, settling into his palm. He took a bite, his eyes never leaving her.
With a final, defiant glare, she turned and fled, leaving him alone in the garden. The moment she was out of sight, he collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. He missed her already. A silencing charm muffled his anguished cries as he succumbed to the overwhelming despair that threatened to consume him.