Abyss

Abyss

The surprise at finding Granger under the Imperius Curse was enough to send his body and mind reeling in shock, numbing him enough to temporarily dissuade the pain that engulfed him. He used that moment to summon his strength and stand, albeit on weak feet. His mother hissed beside him, her breaths ragged and fast. They focused their attention on the unlikely duo in front of them, neither one letting his or her guard down.

Nobody moved. Draco watched closely as Mrs. Parkinson's eyes danced from him to his mother, her face screwed into an unmistakable expression of triumph. He glanced at Granger, disgust filling him to the core. Her wand was pointed at them, not doing anything except warn them. Her eyes were latched on the floor beneath him, not showing any indication that she knew what was going on, that she knew what she was doing. A weapon, he thought, inwardly cursing. She's being used like she's nothing but a damned weapon. The idea was repulsive, but very intelligent, very sly. For the second time that night, guilt tormented him. If he hadn't left, if he hadn't pursued Parkinson on his own... Draco gave in the urge to smirk. How very Gryffindor of him to think that Granger's fate was his fault. But despite his reservations, his rationalizations, he knew it was.

"Leave my son out of this," his mother said. Draco had to applaud her; her composure was still regal despite everything that had happened that night.

Parkinson's gaze flickered at her. "I will not, Narcissa," she said, her voice a petulant child's. "Honestly, do you really think that I would let a murderer like him wander out of my sight? Especially now that I've caught him?" She gave a laugh, short, harsh, insane. "I may lose Hogwarts tonight, but I will sleep well knowing I've also slain the one who killed my precious daughter."

"And do you think," snapped his mother, "that I will stand idly by and watch you do it?"

"I do not care what you think, dear Mrs. Malfoy," Parkinson retorted. "But if you really want to meddle, then by all means. Don't let me stop you."

Draco breathed through his mouth, air moving between his teeth. Tension formed into coils that heavily wore his shoulders down, making them sag against his better judgment. He was anxious, because not only was he wary of the actions of Mrs. Parkinson and Granger, he was also guarding the actions of his mother. He knew that given the right moment she would eliminate Granger, because as of now she was a threat. But he'd be damned if he let her die. Not now. Not when--

Mrs. Parkinson stepped forward, causing both Draco and his mother to tense, their breathing to hitch. She sensed this as her ugly mouth widened, but she didn't do more than simply whisper something in Granger's ear. Draco swallowed as her haunted, vacant eyes lost their interest on the floor. They latched onto him, her mouth moving for a moment, the hand clutching her wand tightening.

His mother stood still beside him, waiting.

But Draco didn't waste one more moment, knowing that if his mother made a move first then Granger would most certainly die. Disarm her. Disarm. "Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

"Crucio!"

Other than the slight tremor that passed on her face, Granger didn't exhibit any pain brought by the curse that struck her.

He cursed inwardly, knowing what pain she must be experiencing right now. Only the terrible power of the Imperius Curse could prevent her from feeling it. He cast a glance at his mother, also cursing her for what she'd done.

"Perhaps you don't care for her after all, boy," sneered Parkinson, "if you'd allow your mother to curse her like that."

The words were a punch to his gut, knocking the wind out of him as their effect. But Draco was not a fool as to show any sign of weakness. "Have you ever thought," he retorted, "that perhaps I never cared for her after all?"

Surprise haunted Parkinson's face, but not a flicker or emotion showed on Granger's.

"I may have overestimated you abilities, boy." She shrugged. "But then again, if you hadn't loved my daughter then I doubt you could love anything at all." Parkinson looked at his mother. "Hear that, Narcissa? I reckon you won't have any problems with your son tainting your name with his marrying a Mudblood after all."

"He will not," she said empathically, "marry that Mudblood. Not when I'm still alive."

Mrs. Parkinson chuckled. "Then we'll just have to remedy that, won't we?"

The absurdity of the conversation was not lost on Draco. While the elders were engaged in verbal sparring he chanced a glance at Granger, but she wasn't listening. In fact, she looked like a thousand miles away. Her face held the serenity of a person asleep, but her eyes were that of a corpse's. Come out of there, you stupid girl, he thought. You're the most intelligent witch ever, damn it! Of all people, you're the last person I'd expect to fall under that spell!

"Avada--"

"Impedimenta!"

The curse blew his mother off her feet, sending her crashing into a large statue on the wall. The gnawing sound of cracking bones reached his ears, and Draco watched, aghast, as his mother clutched her fist against her chest, her wand lying uselessly on her side.

"You were saying something about you dying, I recall?" Mrs. Parkinson said, grinning.

Dark fury rose freely within him, nearly smothering him in its force. He glared at her. "Cruc--"

"Immobulus!"

Mrs. Parkinson patted Granger's head. "Thank you, dear." She turned her eyes at him. "Serves you right, boy. I wasn't quite finished with your mother just yet. Don't worry, you'll have your turn soon enough."

Draco watched in stunned, stoic silence as Mrs. Parkinson sashayed towards his mother, her steps imperial and her stance proud. She tapped her wand against her open palm. If he could only move, he could curse her, when she had her back turned on him. That was when she was at her most vulnerable. That was when she couldn't fight--

With her unbroken hand his mother grabbed her wand and unsteadily rose to her feet. She pointed it at the approaching woman.

Mrs. Parkinson shook her head, then laughed in amusement. "We both know, Narcissa, that you're helpless against me," she said. With a sudden move of her hand she took the wand aimed at her and snapped it in two.

His mother stifled a gasp of outrage.

"No," Mrs. Parkinson said, after a second's silence. "I don't think I'll use the Killing Curse on you. You're too precious." She turned her head, spotted the glass window just on her left. She chuckled. "Perfect," she purred.

Draco's stomach froze in fear as he realized what her plan was. Though immovable he tried to flex his fingers. Finite Incantatem. Finite Incantatem. Finite--

"Impedimenta!'

He broke the curse seconds too late. He watched as his mother flew through the air, her shrieks loud and shrill, until her back crashed with the glass window. Blood and glass splattered around them, and his mother's rounded eyes and screaming mouth was the last he saw of her before gravity pulled her down into the abyss.

_

Kill.

Hermione's mind was, for once, perfectly peaceful, perfectly calm. A part of her rebelled against the feeling, but for what reason she couldn't remember. It was a pleasant sensation, to be worrying about nothing, to be thinking about nothing, to be absolutely nothing.

Kill.

But despite the freedom of mind, her head was heeding a strangely familiar voice, a voice that whispered enchantments to her. But it was such a nice voice, a lullaby almost... lulling her to the point of sleep, suspending her in the midst of dream and reality...

Kill.

Her body was moving, her arms lifting, her feet walking like they had a mind of their own. Well, indeed they do, for she surely knew she wasn't controlling them. But for what purpose, she didn't know, or did she care. She was flying, soaring, without the burden of thoughts and knowledge encaging her, trapping her in its arms... she was free.

Kill. Him.

Him.

NO!

Like a bolt of lightning another voice pierced through the lullaby, louder, stronger, more persistent. Annoying. It drove away the pleasant voice, tried to overcome it. The second voice was familiar... but also repugnant, repulsive, revolting. Hermione felt herself shrink away from this voice, and sought for the lullaby that called to her, sang to her to...

Kill.

NO! NO! NO!

"Perhaps I never cared for her after all?"

The words stirred something in her, momentarily freeing her from her suspended state. And then she was shrouded in nothingness again. A few more minutes, and a reverberating scream echoed in her ears, and the sound of glass breaking shocked her. But only for a moment. She was back in the lullaby of the pleasant voice. And Hermione, for once, was content.

"Filth - degrade myself with such a woman? - no one is good enough for a Malfoy - no one - not that girl under your spell - that Mudblood - Mudblood - Mudblood -" Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood...

The pleasant voice vanished, replaced by the stinging realization of what was happening around her. The second voice in her head - her voice - cheered at her awakening. And his voice swirled around her, engulfed her completely.

It was ironic.

She responded to his foul insult. And now she was truly free.

-

The sudden movement came as a surprise to Snape, but not to Harry. Before Lucius could do anything more, Harry did what was only proper, what he could in order to save both their lives.

"Avada Kedavra."

And Lucius Malfoy's body thudded to the floor.

Harry lowered his wand and pursed his lips. Sweat trickled on his back, and despite what he did he felt relieved, that he was alive, that he made it. There was no need for hiding any longer, and this thought vanished all his weariness and exhaustion. Hogwarts was theirs again. Hogwarts was free.

The elation he felt was palpable, and only Snape's burning stare bore him down. Harry could feel it, the scorching, flaming stare he was receiving from the professor, but he refused to meet it. He stared at Malfoy's head, its color rapidly draining from the open-eyed face. And that was when it hit him.

He killed Lucius Malfoy.

He killed Draco Malfoy's father.

And he didn't feel guilty for having committed it.

Without a word Snape walked towards Malfoy's corpse. He knelt down, gathered the wand next to the body. He then broke it with his knee.

Harry was compelled to say something. "Sir..."

Snape looked at him, his face blank, passive.

The same could be said about Harry's voice when he spoke. "Don't tell Malfoy I killed his father."

-

Knives plunging into him almost brought Draco to his knees. Pain, garnered from the realization of his mother's death, was enough to make him cry out. But with every ounce of strength he owned, Draco pulled himself together, knowing that if he broke now there'd be no chance he and Granger could get out of this predicament alive. There was time for mourning later, and he assured himself of it.

He thought of his father, and then dismissed it as quickly as it came.

"Well," Parkinson said gaily, stepping on shards of glass tainted with blood, "I was meaning for that to happen for a long time. Something about eliminating threats, I'm sure you understand, don't you boy?" She turned to him, not the least bit perturbed at having him free. "After all, that was precisely what you did to my daughter, didn't you? You eliminated her, for this filth."

"Filth," Draco repeated, seeking Granger's eyes and retaining it. "What made you think, Mrs. Parkinson, that I would degrade myself with such a woman? No one is good enough for a Malfoy. No one. Not that girl under your spell, or even--" He paused for greater emphasis, "--your precious daughter."

His plan right now was to goad the woman into losing her composure. He would have a greater chance in fighting someone who'd act without thinking, someone driven by emotions and not thought. And the only way to do it was to degrade Pansy. No, not a difficult thing to do at all. Lose it. Fight me. Don't think.

It worked.

Mrs. Parkinson's eyes bulged out of their sockets, and the vein on her neck throbbed angrily at the insult. She was happy no more. "I would not," she seethed, "let someone like you offend the memory of my daughter, do you hear? Not a murderer like you." She raised her wand. "I think it's about time you pay, boy."

Draco laughed. "Pay for what?" he asked. "For telling the truth? That your daughter is worthless? Garbage? Filth?" He pointed at Granger. "She's even worse than that Mudblood."

Mrs. Parkinson snapped.

And ironically, so did Hermione.

-

She acted without thinking. "Expelliarmus!"

Mrs. Parkinson's wand shot out of her hand. The sudden intrusion from her part obviously surprised the woman, for she never had time to block the simple curse. The wand flew towards Malfoy's feet, and he stepped on it hard. It broke under the pressure.

"Well," he drawled lazily, "I bet it's about time you follow your precious daughter to the grave. Give her my regards, would you?"

Hermione had to tremble at the ice in his voice. She looked away from the scene, knowing what was going to happen next.

"But first... Crucio."

Mrs. Parkinson's body rippled in response, brought down by a pain so intense and rigid she shed tears. She bit on her bottom lip, drawing blood that smeared her teeth and mouth.

Her shouts were no less than painful for Hermione to bear. "Draco..."

"Crucio."

"Draco!"

He looked at her, his mouth thin, his face ashen.

She shook her head, and no words emerged from her mouth.

Malfoy regarded the woman on the floor with a glare. "Avada Kedavra."

And the screams, the ripples, the tears stopped.

It was over.

The moment he slumped to the floor, Hermione was there, supporting him with her weight. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him hard, glad that he was alive, glad that they made it. Tears sprouted from her eyes as she felt his arms winding around her, and his breath was warm against her neck as he buried his face on it.

"My mother..." he whispered, and it hurt her to hear him sound so broken, so pained.

"I know," she said, holding him tight. "I know."

How could she comfort him, when she knew that even if they won this battle, this night cost him his mother?

"I love you," she said, knowing that these words might be inappropriate at a time like this. But these were the words she knew weren't promises that could be broken, weren't lies that could wound. "I love you."

And when he nodded, somehow she knew these were the words he needed to hear the most.

-

They found the Great Hall quickly, relieved that they didn't have to defend themselves on the way. Draco and Hermione saw that the room was filled with wizards and witches who'd gone to the war tonight. On their faces, victory and triumph shone; faces smudged with sweat and grime also glistened with smiles and laughter.

"Hermione!"

She spotted Harry coming towards her, and Hermione felt Draco disengage himself from her. She looked at him and frowned, but he only gave her a half-smile. The next thing she knew, Harry was hugging her very tight.

"I'm glad you're alive," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm glad you're alive."

His words only reflected what she was feeling. "I am too, Harry," she said, smiling in spite of her tears. "I'm so thankful I saw you again. How are the others? Are they...?"

He drew away. "Almost everybody made it," he said with a huge smile. "Seamus, Neville, Dean... the Professors, they made it too. Oh, you should've seen how Sprout and McGonagall embraced each other when they met."

Hermione searched the crowd, finding his words to be the truth. She met Professor McGonagall's gaze, and they both smiled at each other. Seamus waved at her, and so did Neville, Dean, and some seventh years. Happiness so bountiful made her almost feel dizzy in its onslaught.

She looked at Draco, and knew that she was indeed, genuinely, truthfully content.

"All right there, Potter?" he asked, coming to stand by her side.

Hermione's brows drew together as Harry answered, "All right." without meeting the Slytherin's gaze.

"Hermione! Harry!"

Bill and Charlie came upon them. The older Weasley was wearing a grin that threatened to split his face into two. "I'm glad you both made it," he said, clapping Harry on the back. "Despite not following orders." He fixed Hermione an accusatory stare, then laughed when she squirmed in guilt.

Charlie shook his head. "Let it go, Bill," he advised. "The important thing here is that they're alive."

"Yeah," Harry said, as he and Hermione exchanged smiles. "I don't think Ron would want to have it any other way."

And the chaos around them shrank until they were all standing in silence. Dumbledore stood in their midst, a wide smile on his face. His voice boomed as he spoke, and everybody felt overwhelmed with pride and joy even though he uttered only four words:

"Hogwarts has been reclaimed."