Chapter 4
Flashback - 'Darkness'
October 12, 1997
Draco didn’t know what to expect the summer before sixth year when he stood in the drawing room of his childhood home and watched as the black ink crawled across the skin of his forearm. He didn’t know that once the snake and skull solidified into its final form, he would then be ordered to murder his headmaster. And he didn’t know that his meeting with Snape would result in a partnership with the Order. But most of all, what Draco didn’t know was just how exhausting all of it would be.
During the day he was expected to stand tall, remain silent and do as he was told. He had to file away his humanity and stare into the eyes of men, women and children as they begged for mercy.
The act of hurting others was neither something he enjoyed nor feared-it was more like a tedious task that took up far too much of his time. He had quickly become immune to the ecstasy-like feeling that had flooded his body the first time he used dark magic, leaving the use of Unforgivables to level with something as simple as an illuminating charm.
But the sounds - those were what he struggled with. No matter how much he compartmentalised, no matter how big of a wall he built or how much he reinforced it, they always managed to slip through the cracks and haunt him at night.
He couldn’t remember their names as he didn’t care enough to learn them in the first place and their faces were only something he could recall if he focused really hard. But the sound of their voices as they begged for mercy were burned into his memory.
Draco tried various methods in an attempt to alleviate himself of them. The first week he turned to occlumency, which worked… for an hour. The fourth week he consumed enough firewhiskey to knock a troll on its arse but even that only offered him momentary relief. From there, Draco tried anything he could get his hands on.
Calming draught - didn’t do very much calming.
Even more firewhiskey - only provided one hell of a hangover.
Muggle herbs - smelled terrible.
By the time August came and went, Draco had concluded that he would forever be tormented by the distressed sounds of his victims. Which was fine, he decided, it was the least of his problems.
Whenever he wasn’t being ordered to torture someone, he would meet with Remus to provide him with any new information and then he’d track down the infamous trio to deliver whatever supplies they had asked for that day.
Draco couldn’t recall the last time he was allowed to relax, take time to himself and just fucking breathe. If he wasn’t running around fulfilling his duties as a Death Eater, then he was busy doing his part as a spy for the Order.
He was constantly at battle with himself. Each step and decision he made and every mission he completed was contradicting one of the two sides he vowed his allegiance to. Every time he raised his wand and cast a crucio, he was opposing the Order. And each time he managed to misdirect the other Death Eaters and keep the trio’s location safe, he was betraying Voldemort.
Draco knew that he shouldn’t feel so conflicted. Voldemort was the bad guy and the Order members were the good ones. But where did that leave him? What classification did he fall under if he was providing services to both?
Was he good?
Was he evil?
Was he the worst of them all for playing both sides?
There were too many questions. Too many things being asked of him. And for what? What was he getting out of it other than insomnia and a raging headache? Draco was used to being spread thin, of being given more than any individual would be capable of handling on their own but it was becoming too much, even for him.
He didn’t know how much longer he could keep it together. But until the day came when he’d break and succumb to the weight of playing double agent, he’d continue. He’d continue to wake each day and put on whatever mask necessary because he gave his word. He would continue to drain himself mentally, physically and emotionally day after day because it’s what he agreed to when accepting Snape’s help – even if he hadn’t known it at the time.
He’d continue because it’s what he needed to do to survive.
Survival had always been his top priority. Surviving his father’s constant scrutiny, his classmates' allegations and even his own bloody mind.
Now, as he sat at the table that had previously hosted his childhood family dinners and stared down at the head to see not his father but his master, Draco added one more item to his list of things to survive.
A war.
“It brings me great joy to announce the successful capture of Dedalus Diggle,” Voldemort announced. “A known member of the Order. A group whose sole purpose is to dismantle our regime.”
Boos echoed throughout the mansion for a brief moment before Voldemort raised his hand, signalling for silence to return. As he stood and slowly walked the length of the table, the door creaked open and Peter Pettigrew entered, a man levitating in the air behind him.
“It’s imperative that we show this proclaimed resistance group that it is not wise to defy us,” Voldemort continued. “We must show them the consequences of their foolish beliefs. Malfoy, join me.”
Immediately, Lucius slid his chair back but before he could stand, Voldemort stopped him.
“The young Malfoy,” he corrected.
Draco could feel his mother’s eyes stalking his every move as he got up from his chair and cautiously approached Voldemort. He didn’t need to look at her to know that worry currently filled the creases of her forehead.
“You’ve been doing very well lately, Draco,” Voldemort praised as his slender fingers tightly gripped onto Draco’s shoulder. “Consider this my gift to you for all of your hard work.”
As Dedalus’ body slammed onto the hardwood floor, Voldemort stepped back and patiently waited for Draco to demonstrate just how obedient of a soldier he was. Removing his wand, he stared into the eyes of yet another innocent man. He filed and sorted away his emotions as he swallowed the acidic fluid that rose in the back of his throat as Dedalus called him a “Heartless scumbag Death Eater.”
“Crucio,” Draco muttered, causing Dedalus’ muscles to stiffen as his body thrashed about on the floor. He watched as the man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as drool seeped from the corner of his mouth. The vein in his neck looked like it was ready to burst at any moment.
“Put him out of his misery,” Voldemort commanded.
“My Lord?” Draco lowered his wand and glanced over at the snake-like eyes that were already locked onto him.
“The best way to send a message is to attach a dead body to it. Now kill him or take his place.”
It was moments like these where Draco found himself wondering how far was too far. There were no textbooks on being a mole. There were no guidelines for him to follow, no rules for him to consider breaking. He was on his own. He had to make the decision. And in this moment, it was a rather simple one; his life or another’s.
Raising his wand once more, Draco’s grip tightened on the handle as he drew in a deep breath.
“Avada kedavra.”
~~~
Arrogant, entitled, hard-headed - those were all words one might use when describing Draco Malfoy. Even his own friends would attest to such, but the one word that never came to mind was killer. At least not often.
Ron wasn’t the first to accuse him of being such, Draco had heard it a handful of times while at Hogwarts. He was never one to care about what people thought of him. After everything he had been through, especially at the hands of his father, name-calling wasn’t something that would pierce the steel wall he had built.
Still, there was something about there being validity behind such an accusation now. Draco had been capable of killing a man with nothing more than his bare hands since his early teen years. He could point out the exact spots to puncture to leave an individual alive but severely injured. And if someone asked him to provide them with a lethal potion that left no trace, Draco would be able to list off more than twenty.
With self-preservation came the knowledge of how to decimate another, that he was aware of. What he wasn’t aware of was the fact that when taking someone’s life, it also chipped away at his.
He felt it. The moment his magic left the tip of his wand and made contact with Dedalus’ chest, Draco felt a piece of himself die too. The few light moments, the crumbs of happiness that he had tightly held onto the past few months to help him maintain some sort of sanity became stained with darkness. He waited for the feeling to subside, for the ache to soothe, but it never did. It felt like someone had dug their nails into his heart, leaving him permanently scarred.
~~~
“It’s been rather effective, just like I said it would be.” As Alecto continued to boast about his success with keeping students in line with the use of the cruciatus curse, Draco scanned over every inch of his former Divination classroom.
It looked the same, interior wise, but everything about it was off. That seemed to be a common theme throughout the entire castle. When Draco, Greyback and Dolohov first stepped foot inside Hogwarts, Draco barely recognised the building where he spent the majority of his formative years at. The once packed corridors he previously roamed as a student were now dim and bare. The Great Hall which was usually filled with excited chatter was silent. Even the grass had lost its colour.
Hogwarts had been stripped of its entire essence. There was no magic, no joy, no excitement, no hope.
Draco wondered what it would be like to revisit the school grounds he had previously fled after the falling of his former headmaster. He assumed it would feel odd, uncomfortable even, which it was but he never took into consideration the devastation.
Hogwarts had always felt more like a home to him than the manor ever did. It provided him with an escape from the watchful eye and extreme expectations of his father. It was somewhere he felt safe to be himself and just be a kid. But none of that mattered anymore. He was no longer granted the luxury of acting his age. He wasn’t a student, he was a soldier, a spy, and he had orders to follow.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Draco said, interrupting Alecto. “I have a message that I need to deliver to the headmaster.”
Greyback studied his face. Whether it was meant to be a form of intimidation or because he simply didn’t trust him, Draco couldn’t care less. He stared directly back, never once breaking eye contact.
“Fine,” Greyback waved him off and turned his attention back to Alecto.
Ever since the new school year began, communication with Snape had been scarce. Convenient, was what Draco had thought. While he’s busy being a lackey for both Voldemort and the Order, Snape got to sit back, kick his feet up and relax in his new office. An office that Draco entered to discover not the six foot two dark-haired man but instead, a five foot four redhead who was currently reaching for the sword hanging above the desk.
“Do they not teach a simple summoning spell in charms class anymore?” Draco questioned.
Spinning on her heels, Ginny stared at Draco wide-eyed as she stuttered through a poor lie as to why she was there.
“...delivering something and then I noticed the sword was-er-crooked and so I-”
Draco raised his hand. “I’m going to stop you there, for my sanity.” Reaching into his pocket, Draco removed a small envelope and held it up before tossing it onto the desk. “That’s from wolf boy.”
“Wolf boy?” As soon as the realisation of who he was referring to struck, Ginny lunged forward and carelessly ripped open the letter.
In the short amount of time it took her to read the note twice over, Draco had scanned every book that lined the shelves of Snape’s walls and he had sifted through every drawer that wasn’t locked. Which resulted in him discovering what appeared to be a diary. Of course, it was charmed to keep anyone but the owner from opening it. But still, it caused Draco to let out a soft chuckle. Something about picturing Snape writing down his thoughts and feelings humanised him in a way Draco never deemed possible.
“This says we’re going to be put into contact with an external support aid,” Ginny said. “When? And who is it?”
“Look, I’m essentially the human version of an owl,” he replied, irritation consuming his words. “Do you really think I have a single answer for you?”
Ginny rolled her eyes and stuffed the parchment into her pocket before crossing her arms. “So, what’s your deal?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific, Weasley.”
“Whose side are you on? I mean, you’re here with the Death Eaters, you’re dressed like a Death Eater and yet you’re delivering me a message from Remus. So again I ask, whose side are you on?”
Draco’s jaw clenched. He hated that question. He hated that he didn’t have a definitive answer. He hated that even if he did have one, it would mean that his allegiance belonged to someone, that he belonged to someone.
“The only side that I’m on is my own,” he said as he took a step forward, his eyes darkening. “Every decision that I make, every curse that I cast, letter that I distribute and life that I take is for my own benefit. I couldn’t care less who wins this war, so long as I get what I want.”
“You always were a real selfish piece of shit,” Ginny bit out.
“And I always will be.”
The sound of the door opening was shortly accompanied by Snape’s monotone voice. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” Draco replied, his gaze still locked onto Ginny. “Weasley here was just leaving, isn’t that right?”
Without a word, Ginny pushed past Draco and exited the office.
“What was-”
“Does she know?” Draco asked, cutting him off.
“Does she know what, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape drawled.
“About you,” he replied quietly. “Does she know that you bleed red and gold just like the rest of them?”
“I don’t see how that information is relevant.”
“Just answer the damn question!” Draco sneered as he turned around.
Unaffected by his outburst, Snape casually replied, “No.”
“Figured,” Draco scoffed. “Can’t let people know that a Gryffindor managed to melt that ice-cold heart of yours, huh?” As if his legs could no longer support his weight, he collapsed into one of the chairs and ran his hand through his hair as his leg rapidly bounced.
“What are you thinking about?” Snape asked as he sauntered over to the desk and lowered himself into his seat.
“If this is even worth it.”
“Do you mind elaborating on what this is?”
“This double agent shit. I mean, what’s the point?”
“The point is that your work for the Order will grant you immunity when the war is over,” Snape replied. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“What I wanted was a way out.”
“And that’s what this is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Mr. Malfoy-”
“I wanted a way out entirely,” Draco clarified. “I didn’t want to be playing bad guy during the day and good guy at night. Maybe I didn’t even want to play a good guy at all. Have you ever thought about that?” he questioned as he narrowed his eyes. “Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want to do this? That I never wanted to be some spy for the Order? Has that thought ever crossed your brilliant fucking mind?”
A flicker of pain flashed in Snape’s eyes. “I know how you’re feeling.”
“No you don’t!” Draco snapped as he shot up to his feet and slammed his hands down onto the wooden desk. “You don’t know because how could you?! You’re not the one experiencing it. You’re not the one having to bounce back and forth and torture people daily.”
As he began pacing back and forth, Draco continued with his rant. He didn’t know why everything that he’d been holding in for the last few months was now spewing out of him but he couldn’t stop. It felt good. It was nice to finally say how he felt.
“You’re not the one who has been kept up all night by their screams,” Draco winced at the mere thought. “And you’ll never understand because you’re not the one who has to look their goddamn mother in her eyes and know that she’s memorising every detail of your face just in case it’s the last time she sees you alive! So don’t tell me that you understand!” He screamed as he balled his fingers into a fist and drove it into the wall.
Small ragged breaths escaped the back of his throat as he rested his forehead against the cold bricks. “You don’t know..” he said quietly, his voice cracking.
Draco didn’t notice Snape cross the room but he figured it must’ve been around the time he split his knuckles open and stained the wall with his blood. Regardless, he was now standing behind him and getting a close look at the pathetic breakdown.
“Just tell me how I’m supposed to handle this, please.”
“You’re not,” Snape replied.
“Great, that’s just perfect,” Draco jeered as he turned around, pushed past Snape and slumped back into his seat. “You know, you should really look into motivational speaking. You have a real fucking knack for it.”
“No man or woman is meant to endure the amount of pressure you’re under,” Snape said as he returned to his desk. “Especially not at your age. But I’m afraid you have to, you have no other choice.”
“I could just kill myself,” he shrugged.
Snape folded his hands and leaned forward. “You’re going to be alright, Draco.”
There was something odd about hearing him use his first name, Draco noted. He hoped that Snape wasn’t all of a sudden caring about him. He had already been imprinted on by Remus, he wasn’t sure he could handle another.
“It’s a balancing act,” Snape continued. “It’s hard but not impossible. You just need to keep your head clear, your emotions in line and sometimes, you have to lean into the darkness.”
Perhaps he saw how Draco uncomfortably shifted in his seat at the use of the word darkness or maybe he simply recognised the look on his face from personal experience. Whatever the reasoning was, Snape knew what needed to be asked.
“You’ve used the killing curse, haven’t you?”
Draco’s nails dug into the leather armrest. “Astute observation.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Who was it?”
“Does it fucking matter?”
“Who was it, Draco?” Snape urged.
“Dedalus Diggle,” he sighed. “They captured him last night in Diagon Alley.”
“I see,” Snape replied. “You should rejoin Fenrir and Antonin. We don’t need them to become even more suspicious, those two never did hold much trust in me.”
As much as Draco would’ve preferred to not leave the only four walls that allowed him to drop the mask, he knew he had to. Getting up from the chair, he made his way to the front of the room and paused in the doorway.
“He didn’t know about me working with the Order, did he?” he asked, his back still turned.
“Very few do. I’m afraid that your alliance is, and will remain, a secret.”
Draco nodded, he assumed that would be the case.
“This will all be worth it,” Snape continued. “One day you’ll find the reason as to why it was. I promise.”
Present Day
As much as he hated to admit it, Snape was right. Draco had found his reason. He found what made the gruelling hours, constant stress and sleepless nights worth it.
He found Hermione.
It was moments like these where he wished his former professor was still alive. Maybe he would have a solution, a way to help her, but Snape was gone. Draco was once again on his own. And just like back then, there were no textbooks he could turn to. There were no guidelines to follow and no rules when it came to helping your girlfriend heal after a war. It was simply trial and error and lately, Draco felt like all he was doing was the latter.
“Maybe it’s time,” Hermione said, breaking the silence.
“Time for what?”
“For you to move on,” she replied as she got up. “Everyone else has.”
“Don’t ever say that to me again.” Draco chastised as he stood and brushed the dirt from his pants.
“But Draco-”
“No Granger!” His jaw tensed and brows furrowed. “Just because Weasley is a piece of shit doesn’t mean that I am too! I’m sorry that your friends are too self involved to be here for you but don’t insult me by lumping me in with them.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Instinctively, Hermione stepped forward and reached out for him but the moment her palm hovered just above his arm, she retracted her hand and lowered her head. “I’m sorry,” she said once more, her voice quiet and frail.
As he let out a deep breath, he felt the full weight of exhaustion finally hit him. He was tired. He was tired of always doing the wrong thing, of continuing to fail her in one way or another. He was tired of not being enough and he was tired of the distance between them.
“I just need some time alone,” he said, knowing that if he didn’t walk away he would say something he didn’t mean.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to upset you.”
“Stop apologising, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m fine. I just need to go for a walk.”
“Okay,” she sheepishly replied as her eyes brimmed with tears.
Everything in him wanted to comfort her but he knew that she didn’t want that, that she wouldn’t accept it. Physical touch became as forbidden as speaking Voldemort’s name after the war. Every time he would reach for her she’d move away. And whenever she’d reach for him, she’d stop and pull back. It hurt but he would never tell her that. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel worse, so he kept it to himself. But everyone has a breaking point and Draco had finally reached his.
This wasn’t how he pictured their life together post-war. They had so many plans, none of which included living in the manor. It wasn’t something they had discussed but Draco presumed it would be the last place Hermione would want to be after everything. Surprisingly, the manor seemed to be the only thing she didn’t have a problem with.
No matter what Draco had Bippy put together, she’d refuse to eat. Speaking appeared to be another thing she highly disliked and on the rare occasion she would, it always ended with her in tears or yelling. Leaving their bedroom was a feat in itself but touch – the lack of touch was what killed him.
Draco craved the simple acts like placing his hand on the curve of her lower back and feeling her shoulder brush up against his as they walked together. He craved the warmth of her skin pressed against his as they lay in bed and the tickle of her curls under his chin. He craved the feeling of her small frame in his arms and the rhythm of her heart syncing with his.
He craved the feeling of importance.
He used to be her safe place, her home, and he desperately wanted to be that again. He wanted to be the one she vented to when her friends were acting daft, the person she’d talk to for hours on end about her recent discoveries and most of all, he wanted to be the person she came to when things were hard.
Hermione always made it clear that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and Draco admired that about her but Gods, he wished for once she’d put aside her damn pride and accept his help.
He felt useless. The woman he loved was hurting and he couldn’t do anything about it. Draco hoped the greenhouse would lift her spirits, not crush them. And fuck! How did he not know about her parents? How did he go months on end during the Horcrux hunt and never once ask about them?
Most days he felt like this was all his fault. If he had just kept his distance, if he hadn’t fallen in love with her, then she would be with her friends right now. Hermione would spend her mornings with Ginny and her afternoons with boy wonder and his ginger sidekick.
Maybe she would’ve been happier, Draco considered. Maybe he was the problem. Maybe the reason Hermione wouldn’t let him help her was because he wasn’t who she needed. Maybe she needed them.
Now finding himself in Lucius’ study, Draco poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and fell back onto the black leather couch.
“This one's for you, father,” he said as he raised the glass in the air. “Seems you were right after all. I am a failure.” Tilting his head back, Draco closed his eyes as he felt the liquid burn its way down his throat.
“I thought I might find you here,” Narcissa smiled as she stood in the doorway and watched as Draco poured himself another glass. “What’s the occasion?”
“Must there be one for me to enjoy a nice drink?”
“Of course not,” she replied as she entered the room. “But I’m your mother, which means I know that you aren’t one for casual drinks alone in the middle of the day.” Her delicate fingers reached for the crystal glass. “Tell me what’s going on darling,” she requested as she took the seat beside him.
Draco stared at his mother as he contemplated whether or not he wanted to open up to her. Despite her best efforts, he noticed how much she was hurting. The spark in her eye was nowhere to be seen and her smile that once stretched from ear to ear had been reduced to a tight line.
His parents fought a lot, mostly about his father’s lack of affection and presence in their son’s life. Several times Draco tried to convince Narcissa to leave Lucius but she’d always tell him that he was just a boy, and that one day when he was older he’d understand.
He thought that was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. No matter how old he became he would never be able to justify staying in a miserable marriage. But when Draco was fifteen and crept his way down the stairs to sneak out and join Theo for a night in town, he finally understood.
His parents were sitting together by the fire. His mother was wrapped in a blanket and resting her head on his father’s shoulder. Draco watched from the shadows as Lucius kissed her forehead and whispered, “I’ve cleared Andromeda and Ted’s files at the Ministry this morning. They’ll move into their new place on Wednesday.”
Narcissa’s head shot up. Even from a distance, Draco could see the water that filled her eyes.
“You did it?” she asked, her voice full of disbelief.
“You asked it of me,” he simply stated. “While I may not approve of you sneaking out to see them, I know what they mean to you. So yes, my love, I did it. Should he return, there will be no record of their location.”
“And what of their daughter? Did you clear hers too?”
“It will be as if Nymphadora never existed. They’ll be safe,” he assured her. “My loyalties lie with you and our family. I wish you’d see that more often.”
“I do, you just have an extraordinary way of making it seem otherwise.”
“Everything that I do is for the good of our family, Narcissa.”
Draco would never understand his father or see how anything he had ever done was for them but he did understand his mother’s perspective. He understood why she stayed with him and why she mourned him today. His father wasn’t a great man but he was to her. Underneath all of his pride and ego was a heart and Narcissa owned every inch of it.
He couldn’t condemn his mother for loving a heavily faulted man because then he’d be condemning Hermione as well. Draco had made more mistakes than he wished to admit but one of them wasn’t going to be burdening his own mother with his frustration regarding his relationship.
As if she could read his mind, Narcissa said, “Your feelings are worthy of being heard, Draco. Do not feel the need to bottle them up.”
And there it was. A crack in his defensive wall. It was small but enough to cause everything to pour out.
“It didn’t work,” Draco’s voice cracked as he fought back the tears. “I really thought it would work. I thought that…” he trailed off as he stared down at his shaking hands. “I thought that it would help her but it only hurt her. I hurt her.”
“My sweet boy,” she sighed. “You need to rid yourself of this narrative that you are the reason for her affliction. There was nothing that you could’ve done.”
“I’m supposed to take care of her!” he countered, his red eyes snapping up to meet Narcissa’s. “That’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it? That’s what a Malfoy man does. He takes care of the woman that he loves, even if she is a stubborn witch who wants to do everything on her own.”
“Draco…”
“I just don’t know what else to do,” he confessed. “I’m trying here mother, I’m really trying but I’m running out of ideas and I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I know that she needs time, I get that. But fucking hell, it’s killing me! I look at her and I see this brilliant, outstanding and strong woman. I just wish she could see herself the same way but she doesn’t. She’s stuck in this constant loop of misery and every time I think we’re making progress I do something to mess it up and we take two steps backwards!”
He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t keep the words from falling from his mouth or the tears from escaping as he released all of his frustration, anger and heartache.
The emotions that Draco usually had such control over were now controlling him and it terrified him. He hadn’t felt like this since the earlier days of the war.
Flashback - 'Chosen One'
October 13, 1997
Even after Snape’s wonderful pep talk, Draco still struggled to see the value in what he was doing. The cons of his entire situation still heavily outweighed the pros but nevertheless, he carried on.
Approaching the perimeter of the ward, Draco stepped through the invisible protective field and stared blankly at the campsite.
It was quiet. No voices, no screams, just the light rustling sound of the trees blowing in the wind. It was peaceful and Draco was thankful.
His moment of solitude and tranquillity was abruptly cut short when a voice asked, “Is that for us?” Turning, Draco stared at the source of the sound. Holding up the bag, he quirked his brow as he pretended to read off a label.
“It says here that this bag of fluxweed, lacewing flies and knotgrass is for a Sir Dimwit,” Draco announced. “So yes, it’s for you,” he smirked before tossing him the bag.
Harry let out a small grunt as he caught the sack. “Bloody hell Malfoy, since when did a few vials weigh so much?”
“I also threw in some potatoes.”
“Potatoes? Why in Godric’s name did you include those?”
“Granger asked for them,” Draco shrugged nonchalantly before making his way over to the campfire and taking a seat on the log.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Harry asked.
“Yes and unfortunately it’s here. Remus asked that I keep watch tonight due to the recent increase of snatchers looking for your scarred forehead.”
“So you’ll be here all night?”
“That does seem to be the case.”
Harry nodded a few times as he processed the information. “Does this mean that I can…”
“Go sleep Potter,” Draco instructed. “I’ll take it from here.”
There were worse assignments Draco had been given. Granted, he would’ve preferred to not spend his night sitting on a piece of wood but it was better than laying in bed and staring at the ceiling for hours.
He had never been camping before and he wasn’t even sure if this qualified as such but it was the closest he had come to it. As Draco looked up at the clear night sky, he decided that he didn’t mind the act. It was serene and the voices that usually assaulted his mind were silent.
Considering there was nothing else to do, Draco took the time to reflect on what Snape said to him yesterday.
“It’s a balancing act. It’s hard but not impossible. You just need to keep your head clear, your emotions in line and sometimes, you have to lean into the darkness.”
Clear head, emotions in line - both were things that normally came easily to him. It was uncommon for him to not have control over his reactions. Theo had a running joke that Draco was the most unbothered teenager in all of Great Britain.
“If only Nott could see me now,” he muttered to himself as he snapped a stick in his hands. “He’d take the piss out of me.”
“Who would take the piss out of you?” Hermione asked as she stepped out of the tent.
“No one,” Draco replied as he threw the broken twig into the dying flames.
“Aren’t you cold? I’ll rebuild the fire.”
Before he could argue that he was fine, Hermione had already run off. Only a few minutes passed before she returned with a stack of wood in her arms. Draco observed the witch as she bent down and attempted to place the logs in a pyramid-like formation.
“Merlin’s tit!” she cursed as the structure collapsed for the third time. Draco’s tongue poked into the side of his cheek as he held back a laugh. “Think this is funny Malfoy?!”
“Very much so,” he smirked.
“Prat,” she snarled as she rolled her eyes and continued with her failed attempt at making a fire.
As entertaining as it was to watch Hermione be bad at something, Draco wished to return to his alone time. Something he wouldn’t get back until the bullheaded witch managed to get the bloody fire going again.
Joining her on the ground, Draco reached for the wood - his hand lightly brushing against hers.
“Can I?” he asked.
“Y-yeah,” she gulped. “Be my guest.”
Hermione sat back and closely watched as Draco strategically arranged each piece. It didn’t surprise her when he let go and the configuration remained solid. She would never say it to his face but she sometimes envied his intellect.
He had a way of approaching things that she could never. He flawlessly walked the line of both reckless and calculated. Every move he made, every word he said, was done with intent. He would never do anything just for the sake of it, even if he made it appear that way. When it came to Draco Malfoy, there was always a bigger picture and it drove Hermione mad when she couldn’t figure out what it was.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to regardless of my answer,” he stated as he pointed his wand at the pit. “Incendio.” Placing his hands on the ground behind him and leaning back, he tilted his head to look at Hermione. “That was me telling you to ask your question, Granger.”
“Oh.” She instantly felt heat rise to her cheeks. Most likely due to the fire, she concluded. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“You were taking too long,” he replied.
“No, not the fire. I meant helping the Order. Correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t think you particularly care as to which side wins this war. So why do this? What are you getting out of it?”
Draco shifted his gaze back to the flickering flames.
Sensing she wasn’t going to get an answer, she continued down the lengthy list of questions that currently flooded her mind. “Do you have a plan?” she asked.
“A plan?”
“For when this is all over,” she elaborated. “I mean, what do you see for yourself? When you envision your future, what do you see?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“You can drop the mysterious and cold act Malfoy. It’s not like I have anyone I can gossip to.”
“It’s not an act. Not all of us were given the luxury of fantasising about our dream jobs.”
“There has to be something that you-”
Rage flooded his veins as he frustratingly rubbed his eyes and ran his hand down the length of his face.“You really don’t get it, do you?!” He glowered. “My life has been planned out for me since the day I was born, maybe even before then. I didn’t sit around as a kid and daydream about the person I’d one day become because I wasn’t allowed to. I hate to break it to you Granger, but for once in your life, you’re not going to get an answer.”
The air around them grew heavy as it filled with a deafening silence. Draco had no guilt for snapping at Hermione but he knew that the full extent of his anger wasn’t due to her incessant need to know everything. Hermione, however, did feel guilt. She was aware that she tended to overstep, to stick her nose where it didn’t belong, but she couldn’t help herself.
There was so much she didn’t understand. No matter how many different ways she tried to approach the situation and put herself in his shoes, she couldn’t find any logical reason for him to betray Voldemort. If she were in his position and came from the family that he did, she wouldn’t do the same. It terrified her to think that way but it was the truth. Which only confused her more. If even she, the courageous and altruistic Gryffindor, would surrender then why wasn’t he?
Hermione discovered weeks ago that Draco Malfoy wasn’t who he painted himself out to be. As she looked at him, the flames of the bonfire reflecting in his hollow eyes, she could no longer locate the pretentious bully from school. Instead, she saw a conflicted, broken and worn down boy. He was a lot like Harry in the sense that they were both the chosen ones and had no say in the matter. The only difference was, while Harry was applauded for surviving, Draco was damned for it.
She might not fully trust him yet and saying his name still left a bad taste in her mouth but Hermione knew that she didn’t need to like the guy to extend the slightest bit of compassion.
“Just one more question,” Hermione requested.
Draco let out an exasperated sigh as he lazily flailed his hand in the air, signalling for her to continue.
“How are you?”
Draco’s brows raised and his lips parted slightly as his breathing hitched. Out of all the questions she could’ve asked, that was the only one that he wasn’t prepared for. No one had ever asked him that before. No one ever cared enough to ask. The truth was, he was shit. He was going on hour twenty of no sleep, every muscle in his body ached, his eyes were dry and irritated from the smoke of the campfire and despite occluding, he was struggling to control his emotions.
“I’m fine,” he lied.
He knew that Hermione could see straight through him, but he also knew that she was smart enough to accept his answer as is and not push any farther, at least for tonight. For once, Draco found himself thankful for Hermione Granger.