Sunrise
Saturday, 5 June 2004
Draco felt hands wrap around his upper arms, pulling him up above the surface of the water. He gasps for air and opens his eyes at the same time, only to see Theo standing there, pissed off. “Are you fucking trying to kill yourself?” Theo yells at him, visibly shaking, face red in anger. Draco didn't know why he was here and frankly was too drunk to care. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Draco says, getting out of the bath, and wrapping a black towel around himself. Theo scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I came to be a friend! And I watched as you sat there for almost 10 minutes! Any longer and you could have passed out!”
“I was fine. I didn’t need your help.” Draco pushes past his friend, stepping into the bedroom he has been sleeping in for the past few years. "Draco, you need to talk to someone. You can't just refuse to leave the manor for the rest of your life."
Draco pours himself a large glass of fire whiskey, downing it in almost one go. “Get out,” he says, his back to Theo.
“What? No. I came to see if you wanted to-“
“I said get out!” He growls, spinning around, throwing the glass as hard as he can at the wall beside his friend. It shatters, and Theo flinches. He shakes his head, throwing up his hands. “You know what? Fine. You want to stay here, drinking yourself to death, with no friends, fine. I’m done. DONE. Don’t call me if you need anything.” One second he stands there fuming, the next he's gone with a pop.
~
Saturdays were for drinking, according to Pansy Parkinson. In an attempt of "house-unity," she had reached out to Hermione during their first month of 8th year. Pansy claimed that it looked like Hermione needed a friend who didn't require her to take care of them, even after Hermione protested that that wasn’t the case with Harry and Ron. The two quickly became close, and she found that she liked hanging with the Slytherins(and a wandering Ravenclaw). Years later, Hermione spends most Saturday nights with Pansy, Theo Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, and the occasional Luna Lovegood.
Today Hermione found herself sipping on a glass of wine with Pansy and Daphne when Theo burst through the doors to Pansy's dining room. She watched as Theo took the glass out of Pansy's hand, drinking it before handing it back to her. “Bad day?” Pansy asked from across from her, pouring him a glass of his own. He fell back into the chair next to Hermione, before laying his forehead on the table. “It’s June 5th.” He mumbled as if that answered everything.
Daphne scoffs, “Let me guess, you felt pity and visited him. He yelled at you and you left. I don't know why you even try, you both just end up hurt and drunk.”
“Oh shut up. You don’t know anything about anything., even when you pretend you do.” Pansy snapped at her. A thick silence filled the room. Hermione cleared her throat. “What’s June 5th?” She asked carefully. She knew that if Pansy was irritated enough by Daphne, the night was going to end early and in flames. She didn't particularly want that to happen, since this was her first time in months hanging out with her friends. All three Slytherins answered at the same time. “Draco’s birthday.”
~
Hours after Theo drowned his sorrows, Hermione had convinced him to crash on her couch instead of going home to his large and empty home. Hermione physically paused when the two of them stepped out of the floo into her apartment. Her mind, heart, and soul just stopped doing anything. While her living room normally consisted of a small cream-colored love seat, a dark wooden coffee table, and a wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all she could see was the blood that covered every inch of her living room. The walls were no longer a pastel blue, instead, they were a deep crimson. Her bookcase was covered so thickly she couldn’t make out what the titles were anymore.
It wasn’t until her hands and knees grew sticky that she realized she had fallen, wrenching up every drop of alcohol she had previously consumed. Glancing up slightly, she could see Theo doubled over, having a very similar reaction. Eventually, all she could do was dry heave and attempt to slow the steady stream of tears that refused to stop falling. There was a flash of blue light, and she could barely understand what Theo was saying. “Hermione's apartment - help - somebody - I don’t - so much blood - Merlin.”
Her ears were ringing, and the world wouldn’t stay upright. Hermione tried closing her eyes, squeezing them so tightly she saw dots, but then another scene of red tried to assault her, causing her to open them again. She must have had them closed for longer than she thought because she and Theo weren’t alone anymore.
Harry and a team of Aurors had just arrived, frozen from when taking their first steps into the room. Harry stumbled towards Hermione, pulling her up and into a hug. “Are you okay? What happened?” He held her too tightly for her comfort, checking her over. She didn't know where to begin, so she said the first thing she could think of. “What are you doing here?”
Harry blinked, a moment of silence passing before he replied, his eyes roaming over her face. “Ron and I went out for after-work drinks. Nott sent a Patronus. We could barely understand it, but he sounded distressed.” His voice cracks slightly. “I thought something had happened to you.” Harry nodded towards where Theo was being checked over by another Auror. She felt herself sway and held a hand to her forehead. "Let's get you sitting down," he says, steering her towards the kitchen as those around them get to work.
~
Hermione collapsed onto the bed in a spare room at number 12 Grimmauld Place. After being told she could leave, Harry brought her back to his home. She had taken an extra long shower, scrubbing her skin raw to erase any remnants of blood. She couldn't get the sight out of her mind, the vision popping up anytime she closed her eyes.
Harry had informed her that they had found a body in her bedroom, which appeared to have been mauled by a werewolf, which terrified her since it had only been two days since the full moon. He had also told her that something was written on her wall but refused to tell her what it said. Harry insisted that Hermione get some sleep and that he would tell her within the next few days, once she had gotten some rest.
Knowing that tonight the nightmares would be worse than normal, Hermione dug around her bag for an emergency Dreamless sleep, hoping that it would help even just a little bit.
Monday, 7 June 2004
Draco groaned as the sunlight filtered through the curtains. He sat up in bed, taking a long, sad look around. This was his favorite space in the entire Manor, though despite this the room had fallen into a dreary semi-existence. The room was small, the bed against the wall across from the door. On either side of the bed was a window, tattered pink curtains having almost no purpose. The left wall had two doors, one leading to a bathroom and the other to a walk-in wardrobe. The right wall housed a large fireplace, that took up the majority of the wall. It was the only place connected to the floo network in the entire Malfoy Manor, and the only way that Draco traveled.
Draco ran his hands over the embroidered bedspread. Roses decorated the fabric, and the simple act brought a faint smile to his face. Taking a deep breath, he resolves that today will be a good day.
~
Draco stepped out of the floo and fought an involuntarily shiver. The building was freezing, and dark. He never stayed long, so felt no need to make sure it appeared otherwise. The simple two-bedroom home sat in Muggle London, unfurnished. He had bought it shortly after his trial, to act as a halfway point between the bedroom, and the rest of the world. Despite Theo's claims that he never left the manor, he frequented certain places amongst muggles. His two favorite options were either a pub or a small cafe. Today, he chose the cafe.
Draco walked down the near-empty sidewalk, hands in his pockets, staring down at his feet, only occasionally glancing up to check his surroundings. He focused on the sounds of his steps. It wasn't long before he was pushing the door open, making his way into the busy place. He paused, glancing around. He felt more than heard whispers, convinced that they were about him. He gripped his left arm as it began to shake slightly, trying(and failing) to calm himself.
Unsure how long he stood there, Draco practically jumped when he felt a hand on his elbow. In front of him stood one of the workers, Olivia. She was a few years younger than him, and Draco was suspicious that she had a crush on him, though he never gave her any information to further her infatuation. He rarely spoke to her, except to order a drink and thank her. She tended to follow him around, babbling on about things that Draco had no interest in, much to his dismay. The first two years of this place had been quiet, but since she started, he came here less and less due to her talkative nature.
"Here's your coffee, on the house today," Olivia said, a wide smile on her face as she held the paper cup out to him. He mumbled a 'thank you,' grabbing the cup from her. Their hands brushed slightly and he had to prevent the eyeroll as the girl blushed. She stared at him briefly before excusing herself to return to work. Draco made his way to the corner table, far in the back. For the next few hours, he would become lost in his mind, reliving treasured memories in a place he found a little comfort.
~
Hermione paced outside Kingsley's office, wringing her fingers together. He had owled her that morning asking if they could meet a few minutes from now. She hadn't been able to sleep the last two nights and hoped that he had any information that could help her. The door opened, and Kingsley gave her a tight smile. "Hermione, come in, please."
He stepped to the side, allowing her to pass. As she took the seat across from him at the desk, he took his time sitting down, shuffling files about as if to delay what he had to tell her. Opening one, he cleared his throat before speaking. "As you are aware, two nights ago someone was killed in your apartment. I’m not sure if Mr. Potter has told you all the details of what occurred.”
“He hasn’t. Harry said that he would tell me everything once I’d had a few days to rest. I’ve been asking though, and I hope you can tell me.” Hermione told him, glancing nervously between his eyes and the folder in front of him.
He nods, turning a picture towards her, but she can’t bring herself to look at it yet. Hermione knew what it was of, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to see it again. “The man was a muggle named David Jones. He was attacked and killed by a werewolf a few days ago. We do not believe that the blood belonged to Mr. Jones, and are currently using the theory that someone else was injured there but at the moment we do not know who or how, or if they were magical.” He paused, allowing Hermione to process what he was saying.
“It has to be Greyback, right? He’s been obsessed with me since-“ She tried to get the words out quickly, but Kingsley cut her off with a raise of his hand. “Yes, we are aware that Greyback has a fascination with you, but at the moment there is no evidence to support that from this individual crime. The next thing I am going to show you is written on your bedroom wall. It was written in blood matching Mr. Jones.” He held a picture out towards her, and Hermione took it with shaking hands. Holding her breath, she takes her time looking at it. It’s a long time before she processes what is written on her wall. Despite Kingsley’s insistence that it might not be Greyback, this made her even more certain it was. She drops the picture, bringing her shaking left arm to her chest. She feels tears spring to her eyes, but fights them not to fall. “What are you able to do?”
“As you are aware, the Wizengamot is actively trying to remove me from my role as Minister. Because of this, my hands are being tied tighter than when the war ended. I can not set aside extra resources for you, other than the typical. Someone has been in to clean up your apartment, and we have started stationing an auror on your block at peak times of the day. You must know that I pushed for constant surveillance, but that was declined. Beyond that, I can only ask that you stay vigilant, only going between home and work. I am sorry that I cannot give you any good news. ” Kingsley holds a tissue out to her, which she takes, wiping her eyes.
“That’s it? I can’t go back there. I haven’t slept since Saturday. I keep seeing my home tainted by what happened.” Hermione’s voice wobbled, and she knew she needed to get out of there quickly before she had a complete breakdown. Kingsley gave his apologies and told her that he was there if she needed a shoulder to cry on, but as Minister, he couldn’t help her further. “Is there anything else, or am I free to go?” Kingsley bids her farewell, allowing her to use his personal office floo.
~
Hermione practically crashed into Pansy’s sitting room. While this wasn't the first place she thought of, she knew that Pansy was likely the only one home. She had held herself together just long enough to get there, but the second she landed, she was overcome with panic. Her chest hurt and her vision swam. Her left forearm felt like it was on fire, slowly spreading to the rest of her body. She stumbled before falling, her arms buckling slightly when they hit the ground.
Faintly she heard to clack of Pansy’s heels somewhere in the house, muffled words, and a gasp. Pansy was in front of her now, pulling her into a hug, and telling her to breathe. Hermione sobbed in her best friend's arms, unable to get out any words to explain what happened, her thoughts jumbled for what felt like hours, but in reality less than one. Luckily, or unluckily, Pansy had become accustomed to talking her through panic attacks.
Once Hermione relaxed slightly, she told Pansy about her meeting with Kingsley, lamenting the fact that Kingsley expected her to move back there. Pansy expressed sympathies, informing her that she was welcome in her home anytime. While Pansy popped into the other room, Hermione sunk into the loveseat, pulling the throw blanket around herself. The floo roared to life, and Neville Longbottom stepped out. It had been a while since she had seen Neville and was surprised to see him here of all places. His hair was shaggy, forming slight waves. He wore a red and turquoise paisley shirt that was unbuttoned at the top and light-colored jeans. He paused when he saw Hermione, cheeks growing red. Hermione called out for Pansy, giving Nevile a wary wave.
Pansy returned, carrying two glasses and a bottle of red wine. "I'm back, I have also started heating-" She stopped when she saw Neville. "Oh... I forgot." Neville grinned, chuckling to himself. "It's alright. Tomorrow is great too. Here, I brought you these." He kissed Pansy on the cheek, and it was only as he was handing them off, that Hermione realized he had brought her best friend five pink roses, and that Pansy was dressed for a lunch date. She wore a halter dress with a similar pattern to Neville’s shirt, a simple deep blue cardigan, and a pair of small heels. The couple says a quick goodbye, and soon Pansy is settled in beside Hermione, each with a glass of wine and leftovers.
"So, Neville, huh?" Hermione asks, taking a sip of her wine, hoping to have a distraction from her morning.
~
Draco doesn’t know how he ended up back home. One second he was sitting in the cafe, and the next he was stepping into the Malfoy Manor kitchen with bags of groceries. He found that this happened often, but wasn't overly concerned. Sometimes, days would pass in which he recalls doing nothing; a few hours is nothing compared. He moved through the motions of putting everything away, not paying attention to what he had bought. Once done, he was in front of his father's office. It was dark inside and made Draco sick, the dark magic reaching out for him. He stood in the doorway, staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on the desk.
1988
Lucius Malfoy stood in front of his eight-year-old son, fists clenched and his face growing red in anger. The young boy's face was tear-stained and his bottom lip quivered. The child's hands were bloody, a deep cut on one, and a shattered vase sat on the floor between them.
"What the fuck were you doing in here when I have told you time and time again that you are forbidden from entering my office?" Lucius growled, spit hitting the boy in the face. He took a step back from his father, a hiccup coming from him. When the boy didn't reply, Lucius grabbed his upper arms, pulling him closer. He seethed into the child's ear, his voice dropping into a low hiss. "I asked you a question. Answer me."
"I wanted to see if I could play with you, S-sir." He whispered, not meeting his father's eyes. Lucius tightened his grip, knowing that he was leaving bruises. "Play? You wanted to play?" He laughed, a hollow sound, before pushing away from him. Lucius motioned towards the glass. "Clean it up."
Lucius watched as his son took a step forward, then back again. He looked down at his hands before holding them up to his father. "My hand-" The boy's words were cut off when the back of Lucius' hand met his face. "I said, clean it up."
The boy nodded, tears flowing freely, squatting down in front of the mess. He grabbed a larger piece, a small cry coming out as it cut into his hand again, causing him to drop it back onto the ground. He didn't dare stop, instead trying again. Lucius watched the entire time his son cleaned up the mess, picking up the pieces and placing them in a small bin by his father’s desk. Once all the glass was cleaned up, Lucius sent him on his way, but not before forbidding him from asking his mother or any of the elves to heal his hands.
~
Draco blinked, shaking his head. He looked down at his hands, half expecting to see them covered in blood. Instead, they were clean, though marred by numerous scars. He ran his finger over the palm of his left hand, a deep scar preventing him from flexing it completely. Taking a breath, Draco turned around, making his way to a promised bottle of fire whiskey and bed.