Chapter 5
Hermione’s eyes roamed over Draco as he sauntered down the hall, hands in the pockets of his black trousers. Her stomach knotted at the familiar shade of flaxen blonde that was shorter than she remembered. His face was sunken in from the months he’d spent in Azkaban awaiting trial; his sharp features more defined by the obvious weight loss. Hermione knew of the hunger that had stolen Malfoy’s physique- she could count each individual rib and often had done just that to occupy her mind. She continued her mental assault of Malfoy, naming everything different from the last time she’d seen him. His face was clean shaven, his hair cropped short on the sides but longer on the top, the muscle he’d put on during the war hid silently beneath his white button up and dark trousers. She couldn’t say if his eyes still held the intense hatred she saw at the Battle of Godric’s Hallow because Malfoy’s gaze was still trained on the hideous green carpet underneath his feet. He was gifting Blaise Zabini his signature smirk- his lips pulling up on the left side with a hint of malice. Hermione briefly pondered what made maliciousness Malfoy’s default emotion and whether he would ever stop being at war with his surroundings. As if he could hear her meticulous mental breakdown of all that is Draco Malfoy, his molten eyes snapped up to hold her gaze. Hermione was instantly transported back to the day the Darkest Wizard in history fell.
December 28th 1999
The battle field fell silent, even the injured paused their cries to hear the news.
“Voldemort is dead”
“the dark wizard has fallen”
“the boy who lived has won”
The murmurs started soft and disbelieving. Those still standing wondered if it could possibly be true, if they could finally put down their wands. The last two years were filled with death and war- it was all some of them knew anymore.
Tattered robes sat in a haphazard pile where the Dark Lord once stood. Harry Potter crouched several feet away stained with blood of those he loved and those he hated; though no one could tell whose blood was whose. Hermione watched her childhood bestfriend struggling to catch his breath as he tried to come to terms with what he accomplished. Voldemort was dead, finally, and he could not ever return. Harry made sure of that; he destroyed every horcrux. Destroyed parts of himself to ensure it.
She wanted to rush to his side. To collect Harry in her arms and murmur comforting words in his ear. Harry never wanted to kill anyone but he needed too. Hermione understood that, she thinks, better than anyone else. She couldn’t pull Harry into her arms, couldn’t run her fingers through his hair and tell him she understood. That it is okay to mourn the loss of life no matter the necessity. But she stood on the opposite side of the battle field, amongst the death eaters attempting to flee. They lost this war and judgement was upon them.
Hermione searched the battle field for her friends. Ginny and Ron stood a few paces behind Harry, their gazes equal parts sadness and relief. George Weasley sat in the decaying grass with his mother wrapped in a tight embrace. Hermione’s eyes pricked with the onset of tears; Arthur Weasley laid next to them covered by garments given to the grieving family. At the height of the battle, Dolohov hit him with a splaying curse and Hermione watched as the skin peeled from his bone. She pointed her wand and whispered Stupefy hoping to knock him out until the splaying curse took his life.
People began to rejoice as the death of the darkest wizard in history spread. Chaos erupted around Hermione. Death Eaters began to openly flee, casting curses at anyone preparing to stop them. It reminded her of the Quittach World Cup when the dark mark materialized in the sky.
Hermione took one last look at her friends. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna- they were all alive. Her parents lived a quaint life in Australia none the wiser of their witch daughter seconds away from a life of imprisonment. She kept him alive. She kept everyone she loved and cared for safe to the best of her ability. Hermione closed her eyes against the chaos ensuing; she felt at peace for the first time in years. Voldemort was dead. Her friends were alive. Her parents were alive. Hermione slowly raised her wand, pressing the tip into the tender skin beneath her jaw. A sense of melancholy washed over her as her lips formed the words to her last unforgivable curse.
“Avada Ked-“
“Expelliiarmus!”
Hermione felt the charm hit her square in the chest. She flew back from the force, her wand yanked from her grasp. Her head bounced off the ground from the force of her impact as a whimper forced its way past her lips. Hermione quickly pushed herself up onto her knees, frantically patting the ground for her wand. She couldn’t be captured- not by the Order and not by rouge death eaters. She stayed. Even on the days she warred with herself, she stayed. She made sure the people closest to her heart remained alive. She endured months of torture and self loathing. She did everything she could to help those she loved. This was supposed to be the end. She gave every part of herself over to this war. There wasn’t anything left of her. nothing.
Hermione chanced a look up to see who hit her with the charm. Draco Malfoy stood in front of her, his chest heaving with every breath. He aimed his wand at Hermione’s chest. His mouth twisted in anger, his silver eyes flooded with hatred and something she couldn’t quite place.
Present day Malfoy wore a similar, displeased expression. Unrefined anger simmered beneath sun leeched skin. Malfoy’s complexion resembled marble, as if he were crafted from stone like the Gods and Goddesses that lined muggle museums. Reluctant as she was to admit it, Hermione always found herself admiring Draco Malfoy’s devastating beauty.
“What are you looking at, Granger?” Malfoy raised an irritatingly perfect eyebrow at her, his cruel smirk falling back into place- all traces of anger vanishing. He spoke to her as if they were back at Hogwarts- as if there wasn’t a war spanning between them and the Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fighting for the highest marks.
The old Hermione was long forgotten, rotting in the abandoned dungeon of Dolohov manor. Exactly where Hermione left her all those months ago because to survive what she did, she had to adapt. Old Hermione became a liability.
She started this game of wits with Malfoy years ago. Going head to head with the Malfoy heir use to make her blood rush but Hermione spent the last few years running on adrenaline. She was in no mood to give Malfoy anymore power over her. But old habits die hard.
Hermione cocked her head in a feline manner, “A blood traitor.”
Without looking back, she shoulders open the ajar door marked as her new residence. Slamming the door behind her, she let out a shaky breath.