Nobody’s Son
Everything is cold. Everything but the heat of his own rage and the feeling of the girl gathered against him. Draco is carrying Granger’s limp body through Malfoy Manor and every shake of her shoulders as she weeps makes his legs move faster. He’s barely aware of himself. His feet know the way, and his mind is caught in an endless loop of the moment the curse struck Granger. The way she collapsed, trying to hold herself up on her hands and knees. Clinging to the Gryffindor pride, and she almost certainly wasn’t even aware of it. She screamed; everyone screams.
She screamed his name. It was the only word she formed. Screaming for him to help her, and all he did was stand there with his fists at his side.
Draco bursts through the door to his study. Severus is already there, looking at him with eyes that are dark and cold. He’s conjured a Healer’s table and there are vials and ampoules full of mysterious liquids scattered across Draco’s desk. Draco lays Granger on the Healer’s table. Ice pulses through him as her hands tighten in his robes, resisting the space between them. He inhales slowly and untangles her fingers from the fabric.
“Help her,” he demands of Severus. His words feel like knives as they exit his throat. Granger curls inward on herself, rolling onto her side. “Severus, help her!”
“Settle down,” hisses Severus. He unstoppers a vial Draco recognizes—pain relief potion. “Hold her.”
Draco rolls Granger onto her back once more and his hands slide into her hair to hold her head still. He leans in to speak into her ear.
“It’s going to help,” he says quietly. He watches as Severus pours the potion into her mouth. Granger coughs and gags; for a moment, it didn’t look as though she was going to be able to keep it down. “It’s for the pain. Swallow it, Granger.”
Her movements abate and she relaxes almost immediately. Draco exhales.
Severus casts several diagnostic charms over Granger. He’s silent as he studies them. The charm glows brightly above her body; Draco has no idea what any of it means. But she’s no longer writhing and sobbing, which marks a dramatic improvement from ten minutes prior.
Severus pours several more vials into Granger’s mouth. She swallows them and each one seems to bring some color back to her face. She’s nearly asleep, Draco thinks. Her eyes are closed and flutter occasionally; the twitching has subsided. Her arm raises slowly and seems to find Draco’s without her input at all and the back of her hand rests against his forearm. Her sleeve has ridden up in the day’s commotion and peeking out from the hem is the red, jagged end of a scar. He doesn’t need to reveal it further to know what it’s from.
Draco tears himself away from her and paces across the room. He can feel beady black eyes on his back.
“It’s enough,” Draco snarls. He whips around to look at Severus. “She’s given enough. You need to get her out of here.”
Severus shakes his head and he returns his attention to the charm. “All she’s given is the Dark Lord a further reason to suspect my loyalty.”
“What?”
“The Legilimency. She theorizes that either myself or Shacklebolt helped Potter escape.”
“You’re a well-known double agent,” Draco says. He rubs his face. “The Dark Lord is aware of your association with the Order of the Phoenix.”
Severus is quiet for a moment. “There is much about which the Dark Lord is aware, yes. Of how much Miss Granger is aware… that’s where the trouble lies.”
Draco doesn’t know what to say to this. He doesn’t entirely know where Severus’ loyalties lie, either; he has connections that Draco needs to exploit. That’s good enough for now.
Severus walks towards Draco slowly. No matter how far from Hogwarts they travel within distance or time, Severus’ aura is the same. Always calculating, cunning, and Righteously Better-Than. Draco lifts his chin.
“You need to focus your mind,” Severus drawls. “I’m not sure whether you’ve grown attached to the girl or you’re simply approaching the cliff of insanity that your parents are so close to slipping off, but you are endangering the mission with your erratics.”
Draco glares at him. “Fuck the mission. Get her out.”
Severus offers a pious roll of his eyes. “Listen to me, Draco. I have been fighting this war since you were a twinkle in your father’s eye. I know the young blood always feels the heat of battle the strongest, but you would be wise to exercise some restraint. Lest something like this happens again.”
Draco’s eyes travel across the room to an unconscious Granger. His jaw clenches. “You’re saying I caused this.”
“The Dark Lord does not punish the servitor. The Dark Lord punishes inadequacy. It’s difficult to remember physical pain, but grief will never leave you.”
Severus approaches the door, but turns to address Draco again. “Miss Granger is one of the most gifted students I’ve ever had the dismay of teaching. She is quick witted, intelligent, resourceful, and undaunted. She is devout in her convictions and will die for her cause. If your plan is to confuse, intimidate, or trick her into revealing Potter’s location, you have taken the wrong hostage. Furthermore, she is characteristically humane and benevolent. Do with that what you will.”
Severus finally offers a dramatic flourish of his robes and exits Draco’s study. Draco leans against the wall. He feels as though all of the energy has left him. Severus is right; all of Draco’s attempts to intimidate or corner Granger have been unsuccessful, and she’s caught onto the game in a way Draco didn’t expect. He wonders if it makes her sick. He reconsiders the pathway of gaining her trust and loyalty. They’re tricky emotions; they tend to be reciprocal, and in this case, they can’t be. For Draco, true loyalty to anyone is as good as a signed death warrant.
Granger looks more at peace than he’s ever seen her. He has no idea what Severus gave her, but the serenity that’s come over her is comforting. Draco would not call it loyalty. He simply doesn’t want her harmed. It’s senseless and would, indeed, compromise his mission.
Relaxed as she is, she’s still pale. Draco draws a chair to the head of the Healer’s table and sits, just watching her. She looks so small. In his head, Granger was an over-large concept of his own inadequacy. She shouldn’t have been able to outperform him in school, shouldn’t have had more friends and been better liked than him. She’s a Mudblood and Draco comes from a long, regal line of purebloods.
As the word comes easily to his thoughts, his eyes travel to the scar on her arm. Her blood looked just the same as his. That was a conflict to everything he’d ever learned. He feels grim as he pulls her sleeve down to cover the scar. Perhaps putting a wand in the hand of this exceptionally talented and powerful witch and telling her to go find Potter would be more effective than anything Draco could conceptualize, but then he’s faced with the task of defeating her and any of Potter’s consorts in a duel. Granger, he could probably beat. Potter—definitely. But whomever Potter has holed himself up with plus Granger is not a prospect that he’s eager to explore.
He rests his elbows on his knees and his temples in his hands. His eyes are fixed on the rise and fall of Granger’s chest. “I’m supposed to make sure you’re safe and I failed,” he whispers. “I promised you that you wouldn’t be harmed here. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
Granger stirs just slightly, tilting her head towards him. She must not have been as asleep as Draco thought. When she speaks, she’s so quiet that Draco can barely hear her.
“It wasn’t a lie.”
His eyebrows draw together.
“What wasn’t a lie, Granger?”
She’s silent. She doesn’t speak again.