Chapter 5
Flashback - 'The Grim'
November 11, 1997
“Please! I’ll do whatever you wa-” the woman’s plea was cut short by the casual jerk of Draco’s wrist, causing the bones in her neck to snap. His half-lidded eyes tracked her lifeless body as it collapsed onto the ground, landing beside her late husband and the dozen others that covered the floor.
“I’m starting to take offence to these mind-numbing tasks,” Greyback grumbled as he kicked a woman’s limp leg. “I don’t know why the Dark Lord doesn’t send someone like Dolohov to do this shit. That git loves grunt work.”
“How does that work?” Draco curiously asked as he buttoned his jacket with his right hand and turned to face Greyback.
“How does what work?”
“How can something numb your mind if you don’t have a functioning brain in the first place?”
Greyback’s nostrils flared and lip curled as he stepped into Draco. “How dare you speak to me that way,” he snarled.
“Aside from the constant shedding, do you lick the underside of your arse like dogs too? Because your breath is rancid.” Draco’s nose scrunched in disgust as he waved at the air between them.
“Why you little–”
“As much as I’d love to spend all day insulting you, and it would take all day to go through my lengthy list, I have more important things to tend to.” Harshly patting the side of his arm, Draco pushed past Greyback. “Clean this up will you?” He requested as he reached for the door handle. “It’d be a shame to stain such nice flooring.”
Feeling the crisp autumn breeze gently brush against his face as he stepped outside, Draco closed his eyes and slowly dragged in a deep breath. Things were easier now. It took a few weeks but Draco finally felt like he had figured out the whole balancing act thing.
At first, he fought the darkness in an attempt to hold onto the one thing he had left – his identity. He didn’t want to become some thoughtless Death Eater or a blind follower of the Order. He wasn’t a pawn in anyone’s game and he intended to keep it that way. If he were to die during the war, he wanted to still be himself. And if he were to make it out alive, he wanted to be able to look in the mirror and recognise the man staring back at him.
It was an exhausting task, though, resisting the dark magic. Each day that he continued to refuse it sanctuary in his mind, it ate away at him. He felt himself slowly deteriorating. His strength, mental and physical, weakened and his mind became a foggy mess. Eventually, his energy ran dry and he couldn’t fight it off any longer. So, he did as Snape suggested. He leaned into it.
Ironically, surrendering himself is what ended up restoring his control. He was able to solidify his occlumency, rid himself of the torturous screams and finally get some damn sleep. Food was enjoyable again, his snark had returned in all its glory and occasionally, he’d laugh. It wasn’t often but Draco was relieved when he discovered that he was still capable of such.
He was different, that he couldn’t deny, but he felt more like himself than he had in years. He was lighter, sharper, stronger. Unlike his comrades, Draco could restrain himself. He never acted on impulse and he was no longer a slave to his emotions. He had become even more strategic with the things that he did and the words that he spoke. He was manipulative when needed, merciless when necessary and rude when he felt like it.
Draco no longer found himself debating whether or not he was crossing any lines. There were no lines, he realised. Right and wrong were thrown out the window the second he stepped foot inside the burrow that night in July. If he needed to lie straight to Voldemort’s face for the sake of the Order, he would. And if he needed to kill someone to maintain his cover as a Death Eater, he did.
Today’s events were nothing new, not to him. It was merely another Tuesday. While he no longer felt guilt or shame for executing innocent people, he still didn’t find any pleasure in doing so.
Unlike Greyback, Dolohov and every other Death Eater, Draco wasn’t one for the dramatics. He didn’t care to make a show of it or to play with their emotions. Letting his victims believe that they had a fighting chance was of no benefit to him, so he didn’t allow it.
The moment he stepped into a room, whoever was unlucky enough to be there with him immediately knew that they wouldn’t be surviving.
‘The Grim’ is what people referred to him as. An omen of death. Wherever he went, death followed. Or at least that’s what Remus told him.
“What a stupid name,” Draco scoffed as he leaned back into the chair and crossed his leg.
“I don’t know, it seems pretty fitting to me,” Tonks shrugged as she poured a cup of tea and handed it to him.
“Word on the street is that there’s a young Death Eater that’s been rather… unforgiving as of late,” Remus stated as he lifted a brow, waiting for Draco to confirm or deny the accusations.
“Don’t tell me you’re upset that I’m doing what you asked of me,” Draco replied.
“I didn’t ask you to kill people.”
“But you did, Remus,” Draco countered. “The second you asked-no-told me that I would be playing both sides, you asked me to do this. So if you have an issue with it, then perhaps you should take a step back and reevaluate your own strategy. I’m just simply following orders.”
Silence.
Remus wanted to fight back. He wanted to argue that he would never ask anyone, especially a child, to commit such vile things but he couldn’t. Whether intentional or not, Remus had played a part in what Draco had become over the last month.
Draco didn’t need to use legilimency to know what was going through Remus’ head as he stared vacantly at the floor. His expression mirrored the one Narcissa often wore. It was filled with guilt and shame.
Nauseated by the depressing shift in the room, Draco turned his attention to Tonks and asked, “How’s the baby?”
“Good,” she smiled as she pressed her palms to her stomach. “I just entered my second trimester.”
“Do you have a name picked out yet?”
Tonks shook her head.
“Can I suggest one?”
“If you feel the need.”
“Draco.”
“You’re joking, right?” she asked.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he replied. “And why are you so opposed to the idea? What’s wrong with the name Draco?”
“Nothing, except for the fact that it’s connected to a notorious Death Eater.”
Remus’ eyes widened at Tonks’ statement and sweat began to trickle down his forehead as he anxiously waited for a fight to break out between the pair. To his surprise, they both laughed. Confused but not wanting to question anything, Remus let out an awkward chuckle.
“Your kid is going to be a little shit, you know that Dora?” Draco said.
“Well it’s going to have our DNA, so yeah, I’m fully prepared for such.”
The rest of the afternoon mostly consisted of Draco and Tonks talking while Remus sat back and listened like a fly on the wall. His wife always had an inviting but hard exterior to her but that always seemed to fall whenever she was with her cousin. Tonks had never spoken to him about anyone in her family aside from her parents but when Remus had come home and informed her of Draco’s new agreement with the Order, he saw in her eyes how much she cared for him.
Remus never asked her directly about their relationship, he knew better than that. But after quietly observing the two of them he learned everything that he needed to know. Draco and Tonks shared a mutual respect for one another. They both provided a safety that allowed the other to drop their guard and despite their constant banter, if something were to happen to one of them, the other would be lost. To Remus, they were more like siblings than cousins.
“As fun as this was,” Draco said as he placed his empty cup on the table and got up. “I believe three idiots are waiting for me to deliver their daily snacks to them.”
As Draco headed for the door, Tonks called out, “Hey Draco.”
“Yes?”
“Try not to die, okay?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll do my best.”
~~~
As Draco stepped through the ward, the usually quiet campsite was instead a verbal warzone.
“What’s upsetting the children this time?” Draco muttered as he made his way over to the tent.
Stepping inside, he was immediately met by a hex to the shoulder. For the first time since he’d arrived, the shouting ceased.
“Shit, sorry,” Hermione apologised as she lowered her wand.
“Work on your aim, Granger. My heart is over here,” Draco said as he pointed to the left side of his chest.
“Why are you here?” Ron shot over at him.
“The same reason as the hundred other times you moron,” he replied as he held up the sack. “Who shoved a wand up his arse?”
“I don’t have a wand up anywhere!” He spat back.
“Right,” Draco mocked.
“Fuck this!” Ron bellowed as he snatched his belongings from the table. “I’m leaving.”
“You can’t be serious Ron,” Hermione said. “It’s not safe to be out there alone right now. What if a snatcher catches you?”
“You’d probably like that,” he scoffed.
“Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I see the way you look at Harry and how you tend to his every need.”
“What? That’s nothing.”
“Even bloody Malfoy!” he cursed. “I mean what the fuck are you doing Hermione? Healing his hand, staying up all night chatting with him by the fire. Yeah, I have ears, I hear you two talking out there.”
Hermione reached for the locket hanging from his neck but he swatted her hands away.
“Ron, please,” Hermione begged.
“Have you forgotten that he’s a Death Eater?!” Ron continued. “Have you forgotten that he killed Dedalus and probably hundreds of others?”
“Twenty-seven,” Draco added.
“What?” Ron questioned as he snapped his eyes over to him.
“You said I’ve most likely killed hundreds of others,” he replied. “While I appreciate the overestimation, it’s only been twenty-seven. Twenty-eight if you count that one goblin, which personally, I don’t.”
“Did either of you hear a word that just came out of that git’s mouth?” Ron asked as he turned to face Hermione and Harry. “Do you hear any remorse for what he’s done? Because I don’t!”
“What would I be remorseful for, Weasley? Doing my job?”
“Oh piss off Malfoy,” he snarled.
“Why don’t you?” Draco suggested.
“Excuse me?”
“Clearly you’re unhappy being here, so why don’t you do us all a favour and leave. I’m tired of listening to your pathetic tantrum.”
“Pathetic?! The only pathetic thing here is you,” Ron said as he stepped into Draco. “I mean look at you. You walk around acting all tough when in reality you’re nothing more than a scared little boy who’s too weak to stand up to his daddy.”
“Say whatever you need to make yourself feel better,” Draco calmly replied. “Just remember, it won’t change the fact that you’re nothing more than dead weight. If it weren’t for you and your frail body, we would’ve made a lot more progress with the Horcruxes by now.”
“You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” Draco taunted. “I mean look at you. Throwing a fit over what, a girl? Your whole fantasy of shagging your childhood best friend is juvenile and a waste of time. So either get over yourself or leave. The choice is up to you.”
Ron looked around the room at his friends, waiting for someone to say something, to tell him not to go, but they didn’t. Ripping the locket from his neck and throwing it to the ground, he adjusted the bag on his shoulder and looked at Hermione.
“Well? Are you coming or are you staying?”
“Ron… I…” Hermione stuttered as she looked over at Harry then Draco and then back at Ron.
“Right, I see how it is,” he sneered. “Have fun with your little Death Eater.”
Harry and Hermione remained frozen in place as they watched him storm out of the tent.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Draco announced as he bent down and picked up the locket.
~~~
Anger, worry and regret. Those were the three emotions Draco had to sit with for the past four hours while he stared out at the trees that surrounded him. They weren’t his feelings though, they were Harry’s.
Around the time he accepted the dark magic into his life and regained control over his own emotions, Draco discovered that he had gained the ability to sense those of another. He hated it but he hadn’t figured out how to stop it yet.
He figured it had something to do with his legilimency. Both his occlumency and legilimency had improved significantly. Entering the minds of others was as easy as breathing, it had become second nature to him. Of course, Voldemort utilised this skill the second he got word of it.
When the Death Eaters would gather a group of individuals, Draco’s job was to sift through each of their minds. He’d search for any information on the Order, where their loyalties lie and most of all if they knew anything about Harry’s whereabouts. In the end, if the person wasn’t a supporter of Voldemort then they were executed. Draco could feel their fear up until they took their last breath. His occlumency was the only thing that kept him from going insane.
Still, it was aggravating. It was like a sixth sense and Draco wanted nothing more than to be rid of it.
“For the love of Merlin, get a grip Potter,” Draco groaned as he picked up a nearby stone and threw it. Harry’s emotions had been all over the place ever since Ron left. At first he was angry, fuming. Then he was ashamed, for whatever reason. It was a constant up and down of rage, annoyance and regret.
Hermione, however, was less intense. He barely felt her. Draco assumed it had something to do with her occlumency but there was one emotion from her that kept poking at him.
Sadness.
She had been sad since Draco arrived and she continued to be hours later. Draco had half a mind to go in and attempt to cheer her up just to save himself from having to feel it for a minute longer but he didn’t. That wasn’t his job. His job was to keep watch on both the campsite and the locket.
~~~
Six hours. Six bloody hours and the witch was still sad. Draco couldn’t take it any longer. Getting up to his feet, he marched into the tent and straight over to where she was sitting.
“Are you done?” he asked.
Hermione lifted her head and looked up at him. “Am I done with what?”
“With being sad,” he stated. “Because I need you to be done, it’s driving me mad.”
“Oh, I’m sorry Malfoy. I didn’t realise how much my sadness affected you,” she mocked.
“Now you do. So stop.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Ron left.”
“And?” Draco drawled. “I thought you’d be thankful that you no longer have to listen to him whine all day.”
Now standing, Hermione’s hands balled into fists and her eyes narrowed. “He’s gone!” she shouted. “He’s out there all alone, who knows what’s going to happen to him. So forgive me for being fucking sad that my friend could possibly get hurt!”
And there it was, a shift. After continuous hours of the same thing, Draco finally felt it change.
“Thank you,” he exhaled as his shoulders relaxed.
Hermione’s brow quirked. “Thank you?”
“Yes, thank you,” he repeated. “You’re finally something other than sad and it’s relieving.”
“You’re unbelievable,” she said as she rolled her eyes and returned to her seat on the wooden stairs.
Satisfied that he got what he wanted, Draco began walking away when he heard a faint sniffle from behind that stopped him in his tracks. Everything in him was telling him to continue walking, to pretend that he didn’t hear anything, but against his better judgement Draco glanced over his shoulder.
She was crying.
Hermione Granger was crying.
I hate it here, he thought to himself.
Turning around and rejoining her, Draco uncomfortably took the seat beside her.
“Tell me about them,” he requested.
Wiping her face with the back of her sleeve, Hermione looked over at him. “About what?” she asked.
“Your findings,” he explained as he pointed at the several books sprawled out on the table to their left.
With each new piece of information, Hermione’s body relaxed. She was a brilliant woman, even Draco couldn’t deny that. The way she approached problems and worked through them fascinated him. Intellect was a highly respected trait in his books and Hermione had more of it than anyone he had ever met.
By the time she began talking about the sword of Gryffindor, tears had stopped rolling down her cheeks and the spark in her eyes had returned.
Present Day
“Darling, you need to calm down,” Narcisssa begged as she watched her son continue to throw things. Glass shards covered the carpet and books and pieces of parchment were scattered throughout the room.
“Why? It’s not like father will be coming home to see the mess,” Draco argued as he knocked everything off the desk. “None of it matters mother, don’t you see? None of this fucking matters!”
“Draco, please.”
“We weren’t even supposed to be here!” he shouted. “Granger and I were supposed to go somewhere new and start over, start our life together. We were supposed to be happy! But we didn’t and we aren’t. Instead we’re trapped here in this house full of shitty memories and she’s miserable, she’s fucking miserable!”
Blinded by rage, Draco punched through the glass casing on the bookshelf and retrieved his father’s dagger.
“What are you doing Draco?” Narcissa asked as he ran his finger along the sharp edge.
“Maybe it would’ve been better if I had died during the war,” he suggested.
“Don’t,” she said sternly. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?!”
“Because there were too many sacrifices made by people who care about you to get you to this point. You don’t get to insult them or her by thinking for even a second that you should’ve died.”
Tears stung his eyes as he turned his head and looked out the window at Hermione who was sitting in the grass and observing the peacocks as they moved through the garden.
“I used to be able to help her,” Draco said, his voice frail. “I used to know how to calm her down and take her mind off of things. She used to let me help her.”
“Why do you feel like it’s your job to do so?” Narcissa prompted.
“Because I love her,” he replied as he turned his attention back to his mother.
“Are you sure that’s the only reason? Are you sure it’s not due to you feeling responsible in some way for what happened to her? For her being this way?”
Draco dropped his head into his hands. Of course he felt responsible. He could’ve done more. He should’ve done more. He should’ve taken a note from Ron’s playbook and left the Horcrux hunt, he should’ve forced her to leave with him. If he had, maybe things would be different.
Flashback - 'Until Then'
November 29, 1997
Ever since Ron’s departure, Draco had been spending more time with Harry and Hermione. There was one less person to keep watch at night and one less in the rotation when it came to wearing the locket. Draco’s days had become even longer with the extended amount of time he was spending at the campsite but he didn’t mind. At least he was able to use something there that he wasn’t permitted to when with the Death Eaters - his brain.
After Hermione’s recent discovery about the sword of Gryffindor being the key to destroying the locket, the three of them began working on how to get their hands on it. It seemed like a rather simple task at first, Draco remembered seeing it in Snape’s office. He had curated a plan to convince Voldemort that another visit to the school grounds was necessary but before he got around to following through with it, he received word from Snape himself that the sword was no longer in his possession.
After that, the adrenaline of it all died rather quickly. Harry was defeated and his patience was running thin. Most days Hermione wore the locket until Draco arrived, to help alleviate Harry’s frustration. Besides Ron, the Horcrux had affected him the most. Hermione wasn’t immune to the effects but she could stabilise it and decipher between how she truly felt and what it was trying to convince her she was feeling. Draco, on the other hand, appeared to be unaffected entirely.
While Draco read through her copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art, Hermione couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked different to her. Physically he had put on more muscle, his shoulders were broader and his hair was getting longer but that’s not what she was focused on. It was something about him that she couldn’t describe.
Hermione always knew that he was smart, he was her only real competition in school. But seeing him over the past couple of weeks, hearing his thought process, his ideas and watching him now as he sat across from her and scratched his jaw while reading, it was like she was seeing him with new eyes.
“Are you going to say something or are you just going to continue gawking at me, Granger?” Draco asked as he flipped to the next page, his gaze still trained on the text.
“Oh-er-sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red as she shifted in her seat.
Hermione was good at hiding a lot of things, especially when it came to how she was feeling. Except there was one thing Draco noticed she couldn’t shield from him - being flustered. He felt the full intensity of it every time and as of late, Hermione seemed to experience it quite often.
So it was no surprise when he felt it again when he called her out for her staring. It pleased him to know that he could throw her off balance so easily, it seemed only fair. Over the last two weeks, Hermione had mastered the art of getting on his nerves with even the simplest of things.
Last week they were looking over runes to pass the time. All he said was that she was getting the symbol for content and travel mixed up, which was a common occurrence due to their similarities. Draco had asked for the quill to show her but she refused.
“You wouldn’t be saying this if I were a man,” she had said.
“Yes, I would. Because even if you were a man, you’d still be wrong Granger.”
He never did get the damn quill from her and gave up on the argument entirely.
And just three days ago they were gathering wood for the fire and she managed to make even that difficult, saying the logs that he had picked out were too damp and would never light. Then, when he returned with a new stack she had the audacity to complain that those were too dry and not thick enough.
She was a maddening witch.
But he enjoyed her company, as much as one could enjoy the company of an insufferable know-it-all that is. Hermione valued his input and she listened to his ideas. And not the fake sort of listening that his peers would do when they didn’t actually care but actually listened. He could tell by the way she looked at him and leaned in while he spoke.
She would hang on his every word and when he’d say something that piqued her interest her eyebrows subtly lifted and did a sort of dance. He could also tell when she hated an idea because the left side of her mouth would twitch and she’d shiver. It was childish, he thought, but he appreciated the transparency.
She was a breath of fresh air for him. There was no bull shit, no secret agenda or manipulation. That was a rare thing for Draco to come by. So even if it were Hermione Granger that was offering it, he gladly accepted.
“I just have a question,” Hermione said.
“You and your bloody questions,” he groaned as he snapped the book shut.
“It’s your fault for answering them each time.”
“I’m realising. Alright, what is it this time?”
“How come the locket doesn’t work when you have it?”
“It works,” he replied.
“But you don’t show any side effects from it? Even I get rather irritable whereas you seem to stay the same.”
“I said it works, I didn’t say I let it work on me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The brightest witch of our age not understanding something? What a day to be alive,” he smirked.
“Shut up,” she smiled as she rolled her eyes.
“The locket works, I don’t magically disable whatever curse was placed on it. I just don’t grant it control over me,” he explained.
“You say that like it’s such a simple thing.”
“It is, for me at least. I’ve never been in a position where I could let my emotions control me, so why would I let a stupid locket do so?”
There it was, her eyebrows were doing their weird dance. Something he said interested her and he knew a stream of new questions were about to pour out.
“Would you look at the time, I better get going,” Draco said as he got up from the table and slipped on his jacket.
“You’re not even wearing a watch, how do you know what time it is?” Hermione questioned as she also got up and crossed her arms.
“When you’re as smart as I am you don’t need a watch. Do you see that bright round thing in the sky? That’s called the sun and based on its position I’d say it’s nearing noon which means I’m already running late. But don’t worry Granger, I’ll be back tomorrow. My face will be the first thing you see in the morning,” he grinned.
“I’d rather be Avada’d.”
“That can be arranged,” he winked. “Until tomorrow.”
“Until then. Try not to die, Malfoy.”
“I’ll do my best.”
~~~
Diagon Alley was never necessarily a bright and joyful place, besides the one day a year when first years flooded the streets as they gathered their items for school. But now after the Death Eaters had taken control of it and destroyed every other building, the lane was as unrecognisable as Hogwarts.
A few stores remained along with Gringotts so pedestrians still visited the area. A stupid choice on their behalf. Once every three days, Voldemort had Draco, Rowle, Greyback and Nott Sr. visit the area. Once there they would grab every individual who passed by and pull them into what used to be Ollivanders. From there, Draco would do his job - he would search their minds. It was a rare occasion that someone walked away afterwards. Those who were in support of Voldemort knew better than to be there that day.
“One more,” Nott Sr. said as he dragged a middle-aged woman in and pushed her forward, causing her to fall to the ground. “Such a pretty thing, wouldn’t you say?”
Draco took a moment to scan over the woman’s face. She was most likely in her mid to late forties, her blonde hair was thrown up into a messy ball on her head held together by her wand and her eyes were a deep shade of green. She wasn’t ugly but Draco had no interest in her.
“Sure,” he replied before crossing the room and beginning his assessment of the individuals sitting along the wall. As he made his way down the line, Rowle and Greyback would wait for his signal before ushering them into the back room. It didn’t take long for the screams to begin. Draco didn’t care that the two felt the need to drag out what was meant to be a quick execution but he did care that it caused the remaining people to panic, making his job far more difficult than it needed to be.
Finally reaching the front of the room, Draco bent down and stared into the eyes of the woman that Nott Sr. had brought in. She was different. Unlike the others, she didn’t squirm in place or try to bargain with him. Instead, she held his stare and sat up straight with her shoulders rolled back.
“Name?” Draco asked.
“Helena Frimley.”
“Hello Helena, are you not afraid?”
“Why would I be afraid? You don’t scare me,” she stated confidently.
“I should,” he replied.
She was a fighter, if it were any other circumstance he’d admire that trait but in this case, it was pointless. Pushing into her mind, Draco’s breath caught in the back of his throat. Just before him was an old wooden door and a single glass window in the centre, bordered with flowers.
He had seen this before.
It was Hermione.
Looking over his shoulder, Draco checked the room for Nott Sr, Greyback and Rowle. Once he noted that they were alone, he gripped her arm, pulled her up to her feet and dragged her out of the store. Now in a dark alley between two buildings, Draco ripped off his mask and backed her into the brick wall.
“What the fuck are you doing here Granger?” he hissed.
“How did you-”
“You may have changed your physical appearance but I’d recognise your mind anywhere, now answer the damn question.”
“I wanted to see if Flourish and Blotts had this one book that could help us,” she stated, as if that were a valid excuse.
“Well you wasted your time and polyjuice.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Flourish and Blotts is gone.”
“Gone?”
“Gone,” he repeated sternly. “Burned down, destroyed, nothing more than a pile of ash.”
“I… I didn’t know.” Her head lowered.
“Why would you? You’ve been off hiding in the woods this whole time.”
The sound of his name being called out by Greyback caused his breathing to once again come to a halt and his hand to fly up to cover Hermione’s mouth. Slowly, he guided her further back into the shadows of the alley and watched as Greyback walked out and searched for him. With his free hand, Draco raised his pointer finger to his lips to signal for Hermione to remain quiet.
“Useless little shit,” Greyback muttered before returning to the store.
Removing his hand from her face, Draco took a step back and said, “You need to leave.”
“But what if I just-”
“Dammit Granger!” he cursed as he punched the space beside her head. “No questions, not now. Leave,” he commanded, his eyes drowning in rage.
“Okay, okay,” she said as she raised her hands in surrender. “But how are you going to explain my absence to them?”
“That’s for me to worry about. Wait until you’re near Gringotts to apparate, it won’t draw as much attention over there.”
“Okay.”
“What’s the name?”
Hermione’s head tilted.
“Of the book,” Draco sighed. “What’s the name?”
“An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe,” she answered.
“Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Now go.”
~~~
“She just snuck out?” Voldemort questioned as he circled Draco.
“Yes my Lord,” Draco responded. “The door wasn’t locked, it was an oversight on my behalf.”
“An oversight indeed,” he agreed. “You’ve been performing well lately, Draco.”
“Thank you, my Lord.”
“Which is why I find this error to be very uncharacteristic of you,” Voldemort continued. “Is there something that you wish to tell me?”
Draco stared into his eyes, knowing that Voldemort was currently trying to penetrate his mind. Placing an extra wall of security around his memories and bringing forth a handful of meaningless ones to misdirect him, Draco confidently answered, “No, my Lord.”
“I see,” Voldemort replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he continued to study Draco. “It’s unwise to lie to me. The truth always has a way of coming to the surface. But for now, I’ll take your word.”
“Thank you my-” Draco began but Voldemort cut him off.
“Split open your chest.”
“My Lord?”
“Yes, I am your Lord, so do as I say. Take out your knife and cut into your chest,” he commanded. “One for each minute of my time that was wasted with this conversation.”
Draco swallowed back his anger and shucked off his coat. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, he removed the dagger from the holster resting on his hip, pressed it into his chest and dragged it across his skin. Blood poured down his abdomen and covered his hand as he repeated the movement.
After the twelfth slash, the knife fell from Draco’s hand. The clinking sound of the blade hitting the ground synced with the cracking noise of Draco’s ribs breaking. Hunching over and falling to his knees, Draco clutched onto his side as he looked up at Voldemort who had his wand pointed at him.
“You’ll quickly learn that I don’t take kindly to failure,” Voldemort declared as he twisted his wrist, causing every muscle in Draco’s body to tense. “Fail me again and it’ll be you whose name is listed in the necrology.”
With another twist of Voldemort’s wrist, Draco collapsed onto the floor. It felt like his skin was on fire and every bone in his body was simultaneously breaking as he writhed on the floor in agony.
Draco had delivered his fair share of the cruciatus curse but he had never been on the receiving end before. It was unbearable. Each breath he took resulted in a surge of pain. The millions of nerve endings scattered across his body were on fire and his already mutilated chest felt like it was being torn apart.
The pain was crushing him and had claimed his body for its own.
~~~
Apparating caused an immeasurable amount of misery. His body felt like it had been cut open all over again and thrown into a pool of acid. Draco’s legs shook as he struggled to hold up his weight. He wanted to fall onto the ground right then and there but he knew better. He was out in the open, it wasn’t safe. But most importantly, he needed to reach the campsite so that he could yell at Hermione.
His vision was still blurry as he staggered his way through the forest but he knew the area well enough that he could navigate it with his eyes closed. Finally passing through the ward, Draco stumbled into the tent.
“Malfoy why are you- oh my god!” Hermione’s voice was barely audible as he focused on regaining his balance.
Slowly, she came into view and he could see her. Every curl, every wrinkle on her forehead as she continued to frantically ask him what had happened. Reaching out, Draco firmly grasped her by the wrist and yanked her into him.
“You’re the dumbest fucking person I’ve ever met Granger!” he seethed, the vein in his neck bulging as he clenched his teeth. “There was only one rule, don’t leave the campsite! It’s not a difficult one to follow!”
“I understand but-”
“You were reckless and put the both of us in a shit situation!”
“Malfoy I-”
“Do you know what happened to the others you were grouped with? They died. They were fucking tortured and then killed Granger! That could’ve been you, do you understand that?!”
“I’m sorry!” she cried out. “It was stupid of me and I’m sorry but please, Malfoy, you’re hurt. Let me help you, let me try to heal you, please.”
Throwing down her arm, Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as rage continued to pulse through his veins. He hated her. He hated that she was so careless over some stupid book. He hated that because of her, he had new scars added to his already heavily decorated body.
“Malfoy…”
“For one minute can you please not talk?!” he snapped. “My head is throbbing and my ears are ringing and I feel like I’m about to…” he trailed off as his body began to sway.
Rushing forward, Hermione grabbed his arm and draped it over her shoulders to help stabilise him. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s sit you down and then I’ll work on these cuts, okay?”
Too weak to verbally reply, Draco nodded and allowed her to guide him across the room. Once she managed to get him into the chair, Hermione inspected his injuries.
“Erm-can you uh-would you mind,” she stuttered.
“Just say it,” he demanded.
“I need you to take your shirt off,” she blurted. “So I can get a better look.”
A weak grin crept its way across his lips. “If you wanted to get me naked, you could’ve just asked Granger.”
“Please shut up and take off your shirt.”
“I’ve always liked a commanding woman,” he taunted as he struggled up to his feet, slid off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt.
The colour quickly drained from Hermione’s face as he threw his clothes onto the floor and turned back around to face her. Her eyes scanned over every inch of his bare upper body, mapping every new and old laceration.
“Malfoy…”
“Spare me the pity, Granger.”
His tone was laced with disgust but Hermione could see it in his eyes, he was pleading with her. He was already in a vulnerable state and the last thing he wanted was to be on the receiving end of her sympathetic look.
“Sit backwards on the chair,” she instructed as she forced back her tears.
~~~
“Fucking hell Granger!” Draco exclaimed, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on the back of the chair. “You have the delicate touch of a damn grindylow.”
“If you’d stop moving it wouldn’t hurt as much,” she proclaimed. “Besides, I thought you were immune to pain.”
“And what gave you that bright idea?”
“Aren’t you occluding?”
“Occluding only protects me from-god dammit Granger!” he hissed as she pressed her wand into his shoulder blade. “Occluding only protects me from mental and emotional pain,” he continued. “It doesn’t save me from physical-for fucks sake! Are you purposefully trying to make this as painful as possible?!” Draco ridiculed as he shot up from the chair.
“Would you look at that,” she grinned. “You got up all on your own. How does your back feel now?”
Draco blinked a few times as he carefully rolled his shoulders back, his body relaxed when he wasn’t met by shooting pain. There was still discomfort but he could live with that. At least now he could breathe without his ribs puncturing his lungs.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much,” he replied. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she smiled. “Let’s work on your chest next.”
Picking up the vial of dittany, Hermoine removed the dropper and steadily applied the potion to each of the gashes. Noticing the frustration on her face as she waited for the wounds to heal, Draco said, “It’s not going to work the same with these.”
“Why not? I had to heat it in a pot instead of a cauldron this time but it should still work the same.”
“It has nothing to do with your potion,” he stated. “The blade I used is cursed. It cuts skin the same as any other knife but it also infects the bloodstream to delay the healing process.”
“I’ve never heard of a curse that does that,” Hermione replied.
“That’s because my father invented it. It’ll be fine, they’ll heal in a week or so. Last time it took two but the dittany should help a bit.”
“The last time?”
“You’re not blind Granger, you saw the other scars that deface my body.”
Hermione had come face to face with a lot of startling things through the years but nothing compared to the shock of how casually Draco admitted to his father abusing him. He was right, she did see the other scars and knowing where they came from caused bile to rise in the back of her throat.
“Is that where this one came from?” she hesitantly asked as she ran her finger along the thick faded line that stretched across his abdomen.
“No, that one was a gift from your lovely friend Potter.”
“Oh… what about this one?” Her hand barely grazed the skin of his left side before he snatched her wrist.
“Don’t,” he whispered as he tightly shut his eyes and winced slightly.
There were a lot of reasons for Hermione to hate Draco Malfoy. For starters, he made her and her friends lives a living hell at school, especially Harry’s. Then there was the fact that he was a blood supremacist who called her crude names solely because of the family she came from and of course the one that should’ve solidified her revulsion - he was a death eater.
But she couldn’t hate him, no matter how much she wanted to. Because while he was all of the aforementioned, there was a good person somewhere inside of him. She knew this because if there wasn’t, he wouldn’t have saved her today. Draco had to have known what was going to happen to him when helping her escape earlier and yet, he still did it. Draco willingly sacrificed his well-being for the sake of hers.
Even though he’d deny it, Hermione knew that he was working himself to the bone by spending extra hours to help them with their research. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes. He had a million things being asked of him but he still continued to gather everything Harry or herself requested, no matter how ridiculous some of the things may be.
“I almost forgot,” Draco said as he let go of her arm, picked up his coat and reached into the pocket. “I believe this is what you asked for.”
Taking the book in her hands, Hermione read over the title. “An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe. Thank you, Malfoy,” she smiled. “I really think this might help us.”
“It better,” he replied. “By the way, where’s scarhead? I managed to find him that book on quidditch, though I don’t see how it’ll be of any use.”
“He’s down by the water. He left about an hour before you arrived. He just needed some space to clear his head, I think our recent plateau has taken a toll on him.”
“I see,” Draco nodded. “I’ll just leave it with you then.”
“Wait-you’re leaving?”
“That I am, even a Death Eater that is spying for the Order has to attend a family dinner every once in a while,” he joked as he slipped his arm through the sleeve of his shirt. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh, okay. Until then?”
Draco paused for a moment. “Until then.”