Sixth Year
Sixth Year:
The summer before sixth year was worse than Draco ever could have imagined. Lucius was in prison, but the Dark Lord had taken over Malfoy Manor. He was correct when he had assumed that his father’s arrest was a failure in the eyes of the Dark Lord, and he and his mother paid dearly for it. The week after Draco returned from Hogwarts, they were subjected to the cruciatus curse every day. His mother was frail, and her hands shook as she served Death Eaters coffee and tea in her parlor.
Draco took the Dark Mark. He had no choice. He hadn’t even had warning to try to think of a way out of it. Not that he could have found a one. With his father in jail, it was expected that he would take over the Malfoy position in the Death Eater ranks. He was called into the parlor to meet with the Dark Lord one morning, and they had performed the ritual right then and there.
It had burned for days, stung for weeks. The night he received it, he had cried for the first time in years. He dreamt of Granger’s blood on his hands that night, soaking his arms with his new Dark Mark visible through the crimson coating.
Aunt Bellatrix was there too, and she wanted to test his occlumency skills. Unlike Severus, she had no qualms of crucio’ing him in the process. When she asked why he had been practicing with Severus, he told her it was to protect his mind from Dumbledore. She believed him, and Draco was once again inexpressibly relieved for his work with Severus. She never reached his memories of Granger.
Draco barely slept. He went to bed each night with tremors left from that day’s torture, be it the cruciatus curse, watching Nagini eat a muggle on his dining room table, or whatever fresh hell the Dark Lord came up with that day. When he was finally able to sleep, he often woke with nightmares. He still dreamt of Granger frequently, but they were always nightmares now. In his weakest moments, trembling in his bed in the darkest hours of the night, he would admit to himself that he missed her. He would trample the thought back down as soon as it came up. He would not put her at risk any longer.
Just before school began, he was given two impossible tasks: to kill one of the most powerful wizards to ever live, and to get Death Eaters into the castle. He accepted his assignment like the good little Death Eater he was, but he knew the truth. This was the real punishment for his father’s failure. The Dark Lord had tasked the only Malfoy heir with a suicide mission.
Draco knew the cost if he failed, and it would be not only his life but his mother’s as well. He did not want to succeed, but he could not fail. It was as he had told Granger – his path was set.
Draco was occluding almost constantly now. When he went to Borgin and Burkes to investigate the vanishing cabinets, he sneered and showed him his Dark Mark, instilling fear in the elderly man. He felt nothing. When he caught Potter eavesdropping on his conversation on the train, he hexed him and tried to ship him back to King’s Cross. He knew Granger would be disappointed in him, but he would not let himself care. He let Pansy drape herself all over him, and when she snuck into his room late one night the first week back, he did what was expected of him as the Death Eater Malfoy heir. He fucked her, keeping his occlumency walls in place the whole time. When she snuck back to her room afterward, he crept silently to the bathroom and retched, disgusted with himself.
He barely ate, he barely slept. He did not let his eyes seek Granger’s even once, afraid of giving anything away, and afraid to see her look at him with disgust. When he walked into potions to find amortentia brewing, he did not react when he smelled coconut shampoo and old parchment. He kept his features in a careful mask when Granger described what she smelled: parchment, cologne, and apples.
Potter wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone. He caught the nosy Gryffindor too many times watching him in classes or across the Great Hall. As if Draco’s task wasn’t already impossible, he now had Savior Boy breathing down his neck and watching his every move. He overheard him arguing with Granger once. He didn’t catch much, but enough to know what they were arguing over: him. Potter was trying to convince Granger that Draco was a Death Eater, but Granger was telling Potter he was wrong, he had no proof. He didn’t know how Potter knew, but it didn’t matter. He wished Granger wouldn’t defend him.
He spent all his free time in the Room of Hidden Things. He stayed long past curfew, sneaking back to the dungeons late and knowing he could rely on Severus to get him out of any trouble. He had panic attacks most days. At times he could do nothing but curl up in a ball on the floor of the Room of Hidden Things and struggle to bring in air. Eventually he would slam his occlumency walls into place and carry on. He struggled to get out of bed. His clothes hung loosely on his body.
He had to quit quidditch. He was failing his classes, barely managing to show up. He didn’t care. How could he care about quidditch and grades when he would surely die and get his mother killed in the process.
Apparently, Severus had sworn an unbreakable vow to help Draco. Draco was furious with his mother. Now he had another innocent life in his hands. He would not let his godfather help him. He wouldn’t let him risk everything too.
By October, he hadn’t made much progress with the vanishing cabinet. His mother sent him a letter – coded, of course – informing him that the Dark Lord was wondering why his progress had been so slow. He was informed that the Dark Lord had been patient thus far, but his patience would not last much longer. He had to make a move.
He had had the cursed necklace in his trunk since he came to school, having purchased it at Borgin and Burkes over the summer. Katie Bell was unfortunate enough to be the first person he was able to catch alone. He imperius’ed her, instructing her to bring the necklace straight to Dumbledore.
It was not his best plan; he had hoped he would have more time to plan something better. But with the Dark Lord’s not-so-subtle threat against his mother, Draco was short on time to plan.
He hadn’t meant for anything to happen to Katie. In hindsight, he should have known there was a chance of this happening. He should have been more careful. He should have wrapped the necklace better. He shouldn’t have done it at all.
When he found out what happened to her, he spent the night in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, emptying the minimal contents of his stomach and crying when he could retch no longer. He hadn’t known Katie well, but he had played quidditch against her. She was his classmate. He could have killed her.
He spent the next week in the Room of Hidden Things, barely coming out to eat, bathe and attend enough classes that his professor’s wouldn’t come investigating.
It was nearing Christmas and he was no closer to either of his missions. He was terrified to find out what would happen if he went home and still had no success. He’d lie awake each night, trying to think of something he could do. He had heard that Slughorn was having one of his parties for the holiday. He was a strong enough potions student to know what ingredients could work as poison. A party would be a good cover for him to sneak in and grab what he’d need. He would only need one vial, no one would notice.
He was caught, and Severus was dragging him out. Severus berated him for his obvious behavior, begged Draco to let him help. Draco refused. This was his punishment to bear.
He went to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom after that. He curled up on the floor in the furthest stall and cried. He couldn’t breathe. He would fail, his mother would be killed. He would be killed, or worse. He didn’t want to do this anymore, he couldn’t do this anymore.
He heard footsteps, high heels tapping along the tiled floor. He tried to quiet his breaths, hoping whoever it was would just leave.
“Draco?”
Of course it was Granger. Because why should anything go his way.
He forced himself to sit up, hugging his knees to his chest. “Get out, Granger.” His voice was hoarse, and it didn’t come out with nearly the bite he had meant.
She rounded the corner then. She froze when she saw him, then slowly sank to the floor beside him.
“I said get out.”
She reached one hand up, slowly, and brushed a strand of hair from his face. Her hand was shaking. “Draco . . .” she whispered.
He closed his eyes. “Get the fuck out, Granger,” he snapped.
Her hand drifted to his hair, stroking gently.
He could feel the tears returning. “Granger, don’t do this to me. Please, get out. Leave me be.” When she still didn’t move, he shouted, “GET THE FUCK OUT!”
Her hand froze, dropped to her lap. But she didn’t leave.
And then he was sobbing again, and she was holding him, his tall frame hunched over into her smaller one. She rubbed small circles into his back and let him cry. She didn’t complain that she was sitting on the bathroom floor in a nice dress. She held him close and let him cry.
When he had run out of tears, he sat up, wiping his hands across his face. “You really should leave, Granger.” The words felt thick in his throat and came out hoarse.
“Please let me help you, Draco.”
He shook his head. “There’s no helping me.”
They sat in silence for a minute before she said, “Stay here.”
He wasn’t sure he could leave if he wanted to just then.
She came back ten minutes later, a small bundle in her hands. She handed it to him, and he carefully unwrapped it.
“A sandwich?” he asked.
She nodded. “And an apple,” she added, handing him a green apple he hadn’t realized she had been holding.
He just looked at her.
“You need to eat, Draco. You think I don’t notice you barely come to meals? And when you do, you hardly eat. You’re skin and bones.” When he still made no move to eat, she added, “I’m not leaving you alone until you eat the whole sandwich and the apple.”
He rolled his eyes, but obliged nonetheless. Stubborn Gryffindor. She sat patiently while he ate. After a few bites, he had to admit he was quite hungry, and he finished the small meal faster than he expected.
Granger looked him over, then gave a nod of approval. “When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”
Draco scoffed. “Last year maybe?”
Granger frowned. “Tomorrow we will go to Madam Pomfrey and talk about getting you some draught of peace then.”
“No,” Draco said sharply. “There is no ‘we’ here, Granger. You agreed to stay away, to stay out of this.”
Granger narrowed her eyes. “No, I agreed to stay out of this if you took care of yourself,” she corrected. “And clearly, you are not keeping up your end of the deal.”
Draco stood – he had heard enough. “You’re being ridiculous, Granger. Run back to your little Slug Club and stay out of this.”
She stood as well, stepping in front of him. She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. He hadn’t realized the height difference his growth spurt had created until now. “No, you are being ridiculous, Draco Malfoy. You are going to kill yourself if you keep this up, and I am not just going to sit by and watch.”
Draco clenched his jaw. “Get out of my way, Granger.” He moved to brush past her, but she reached out to grab him as he passed. Her hand wrapped around his left forearm, right over his Dark Mark. It stung under her touch. He ripped his arm from her grasp. “Do not touch me!” he snarled.
Granger paled. “Show me your arm, Draco.”
He clutched it to his chest like a child. “No.”
She stepped toward him. “Draco, show me your arm.”
He took a step back. “Please, Granger.”
She stopped. She shook her head, eyes wide, pleading. “You didn’t, Draco. Tell me you didn’t.”
He glared at her. “It isn’t like I had a fucking choice, alright? You think I wanted this?”
She stepped toward him again, more slowly this time. He let her take his left hand in hers. His was trembling. She flipped his palm toward the ceiling. But when she began to undo the buttons at his cuff, he placed his right hand over hers. “Please don’t,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to see it.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide, but she nodded and let her hands drop.
He looked at her now, for the first time that night. She wore a silver dress, clinging loosely to her body and falling just below her knees. Her hair was pulled back into a low bun, a few wild curls tamed to artfully frame her face. Her makeup was soft, accenting her already beautiful features. She looked stunning, even after sitting on the floor with him for who knows how long. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her and talk about a charms essay and muggle books and a million things that didn’t matter. And that was why he needed to make her leave.
“You should go,” he told her for the hundredth time that night.
She shook her head. “I told you. You broke our deal.”
He sighed. “Granger . . .”
She stepped forward again and clasped his left hand between hers. “Draco, there has to be something I can do. Some way I can help you. Maybe if you tell me what’s going on –”
“No,” he interrupted sharply. “No, you cannot have anything to do with this. And believe me, Granger, if you knew what was going on you wouldn’t want to help me. You would want me dead.”
She paled. He knew the look in her eyes, the flash of understanding. The look she had when she made a realization. “You cursed, Katie, didn’t you?”
He should’ve denied it. He should’ve left. He should’ve told her to leave him alone. He did none of those things. He looked at the floor, unable to meet her gaze.
“Oh, Draco,” she sighed.
She would leave now, he was certain. She would walk out and never speak to him again. His heart would break but she would be fine. She would be safe from him.
“Look at me,” she said.
He did.
She placed her palm against his cheek. “You are not doing these things because you want to. These actions are not yours. I understand you have no choice. But I cannot continue watching you slowly fade away.”
He closed his eyes. “I told you, you can’t help me.”
“Fine. But if you want me to leave you alone, you keep up your end of the bargain too. You have to eat. You get some sleep, even if you have to go to Madam Pomfrey for draught of peace to do it. You need to take care of yourself.”
“Fine,” he agreed, though he had no intentions of complying.
Of course Granger knew better than that. “I mean it. If I don’t start seeing you eating at meals, I will bust down the Slytherin common room door with sandwiches until you do, and I won’t care who sees. If you don’t start getting some sleep, I will drug you myself. If you do not take care of yourself, I will force you to. Do you understand me?”
He didn’t understand what he could have done to have someone care for him like this. He nodded. He didn’t doubt Granger one bit, and she knew he would never let her risk herself by exposing her concern for him.
“Good.” She took a step closer. She really had to crane her neck to look at him now. “And don’t forget the other part of our deal,” she whispered. “The moment you can safely get out, you do it.”
He shook his head. “The Order would never take me now,” he whispered back. “After what I’ve done, they would never help me.”
“I will make them help you,” she replied fiercely.
He sighed. “I don’t deserve you fighting for me, Granger. I don’t deserve your help or theirs.”
Her eyes bore into his. “Listen to me very carefully, Draco Malfoy. You have done terrible things, and I don’t doubt you will do more. But these actions are not yours. You are trying to save yourself and your mother. No one can fault you for that.”
He felt tears prick his eyes again. “I’m a coward,” he whispered.
She shook her head. “You are a survivor. Sometimes surviving is the bravest thing we can do.”
She left him after that, with further reminders to eat and sleep.
He did sleep that night, more soundly than he had in a long time. He dreamt of Granger, standing beside him, and facing down a sea of Death Eaters, their wands raised, and hands clasped.
The holiday was terrible. The Dark Lord’s torture resumed, and Aunt Bella screamed at him for his failure. Mother dragged him to visit his father in Azkaban on Christmas day. The dementors made him feel ill, despite their guide’s patronus swirling around them. His father spent their entire hour lecturing Draco on his failure as an heir. He did not mention specifics, not with so many aurors around, but Draco knew exactly what he meant.
Despite this, he forced himself to eat as much as he could stomach at meals. It was still less than he had eaten in the past, but by the time he returned to school, he noticed he had at least stopped losing weight, even if he had not gained any back. He brewed himself draught of peace, enough to last him a couple months and stored it carefully in his trunk. He would not go to Madam Pomfrey, in fear of her asking too many questions. But he did not doubt Granger would find some way to slip him sleeping potions if he didn’t begin to rest on his own.
Begrudgingly, he could admit that the extra food and sleep were helping clear his mind. If nothing else, he was able to keep his occlumency walls more firmly in place, which in turn helped keep the panic attacks at bay. He still had tremors from his exposure to the cruciatus curse, but that wasn’t to be helped.
The first month back at school he made great improvements with the vanishing cabinet. He was now able to transport objects with intermittent success. Soon he would be able to try a live subject.
Granger left him alone, which must have meant she believed he was taking better care of himself. He made it a point to show up to, almost, every meal, and the draught-of-peace-induced sleep helped to bring some color back to his nearly translucent skin. He felt her eyes on him in nearly every meal, and often in classes, but he would never meet her gaze. Occasionally, when he was certain she was staring at him during a meal, he forced himself to take an oversized bite, as if to say, “Yes, yes, I’m keeping up my end of the bargain. Now get off my back.”
Near the end of February, Draco received another letter from his mother, again describing the Dark Lord’s impatience. He knew this meant it was time to try again. This time, he forced himself to remain more clear-headed. He decided his early idea of poison wasn’t terrible. The question was how to deliver it. He could hardly slip something in the man’s pumpkin juice in the middle of the Great Hall. A gift maybe? But he couldn’t just walk up to him and hand him a poisoned bottle of wine. An anonymous gift would be too suspicious. A gift from an old friend, however . . .
Slughorn was meant to give the poisoned wine to Dumbledore. He should have known the selfish man would serve it for himself. But he never would have expected him to serve it to bloody Potter and Weasley.
Weasley was in the hospital wing and Draco was once again on the floor of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, retching and sobbing. He hated Weasley but he would never want him dead. He pictured Granger’s face, the disappointment, the disgust he would likely see. She would know it was him. Maybe she would turn him in – Merlin only knew why she hadn’t before. Maybe she would hex him herself. He would deserve it.
And to make things worse, he still hadn’t succeeded. His mother was still in danger. Granger told him he was only doing terrible things to protect himself and his mother, but could that be true? Could that be the case if he was creating such destruction and getting no closer to protecting his mother? Every time he failed, he kept his mother in danger and put others in danger as well. His path of destruction was growing larger every day.
After that he started missing meals again, and he began to ration his supply of draught of peace. He was certain Granger would want him dead now, certain even her kindness had reached its limit. He expected their deal was null and void, and he could skip his meals without worrying about her showing up in the Slytherin common room. To his shock, however, when he snuck back to the dungeons late one evening, he found a small package outside the common room door. Attached to it was a note. Remember our deal, it said in neat script. In the package was a simple sandwich. It seemed Granger had even more kindness left in her than he had known. Or perhaps it was pity. Either way, he didn’t deserve it, but he was selfish enough to take it.
He let his fingers trace the neat script once more before tossing it into the blazing fire in the empty common room. He ate the sandwich quickly, surprised to find he was actually hungry, and crept silently to his room to fall into a dreamless sleep. He awoke later than usual the next morning, and he quickly realized the stubborn witch had drugged the sandwich. He thought once again that the devious Gryffindor would have done quite well in Slytherin.
Draco redoubled his efforts in the Room of Hidden Things, and by mid-April he could consistently transfer inanimate objects with success. When he tried to transfer a bird, however, it died in transit. Just another stone in his path of death and destruction.
It was that day, as Draco drowned in his failure with the vanishing cabinet, in his hopelessness of success, and his ever-present mountain of guilt, that Potter followed him into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Katie Bell had returned from St. Mungo’s, and it was too much to look at her. His guilt chocked him, pulled him down beneath the waves until he couldn’t breathe. He fled the Great Hall, nearly ran to the usually deserted bathroom, ripping his tie off in a desperate attempt to allow more air into his lungs. He was lost in his panic, struggling to find air as his tears fell, and he didn’t notice Potter had followed him until he was standing behind him, wand trained on his back.
“Get out, Potter,” he snarled, gasping for air, and drawing his own wand.
“You cursed Katie Bell,” Potter accused. It wasn’t a question. He didn’t even give Draco a chance to deny it. “You tried to poison Dumbledore,” he continued, stalking toward Draco, and keeping his wand pointed at him. “You’re a Death Eater, just like your father!”
Draco didn’t know if these were blind accusations, or if Potter had proof. Maybe Granger had finally told him. It didn’t matter now. “Get out, Potter!” he repeated. When Potter made no move to leave, instead continuing stalking toward him, Draco attempted to hex him. He meant to hit him with a leg-binding jinx and walk past him. He didn’t have the energy to duel Potter, he just wanted him out of his way.
Then Potter hit Draco with a spell he had never heard before. “Sectumsempra!” he cried.
The pain was different from the cruciatus curse, but nearly as blinding. Draco flew to the floor, pushed down by the force of the curse. His abdomen was screaming in pain, and he felt hot liquid spilling out. He was bleeding, badly. His shallow breaths now had nothing to do with his earlier panic attack. His eyes closed and he groaned in pain, though it came out more as a gasp. He was going to die here, bleeding out on Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom floor, at the hands of Harry fucking Potter. It was a fitting death really.
“Harry!” a feminine voice cried.
Granger. She shouldn’t be here. He couldn’t tell her to leave, he couldn’t find the breath. He didn’t want her to leave. If he was going to die, he was selfish enough to want her by his side.
“Draco!” She was closer now, he could tell. A hand rested on his cheek. She felt so warm. Or was he cold?
He opened his eyes. She was looking at him, hovering over him, eyes scanning his wounds. He knew it was bad, but the look on her face confirmed as much. He meant to say her name, but it came out as a choking sound.
She took out her wand, murmuring spells over his body through her tears. “It’s not working!” she cried. “Harry! What did you do? What have you done?!”
She was sobbing now. He wanted to tell her it was alright, that this was what he deserved. He wanted to tell her that part of him was relieved even, to be done with this, free from the terror his life had become. He couldn’t get the words out. He gathered his strength to reach a shaking hand up to hers. He clasped her hand in his, both soaked in his blood.
She met his eyes. “Stay with me, Draco,” she choked out. “Don’t you dare leave, stay with me.” She turned to look over her shoulder. “Do something, Harry!” she screamed.
If Potter responded, Draco didn’t hear it. He felt his consciousness slipping away from him. His grip on Granger’s hand was weak, but she clutched his tightly. She looked beautiful, then. Her eyes were overflowing with tears, her hair was a mess, and her robes were covered in his blood, but Draco thought she may have been the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. This was a better death than he deserved, he decided, but he would not question it. He would hold her image in his heart until he slipped from this world. He would play the sound of her laughter in his mind until his last breath.
“Step aside, Miss Granger,” a new voice said.
Granger’s hand slipped from his just as he lost consciousness.
He awoke sometime later, in a dark room which he quickly identified as the hospital wing. He wasn’t sure how long he was out, but his head felt much clearer, and he no longer felt achingly cold. His abdomen was sore, and he lifted the sheet to see it was covered in bandages.
“You’re awake,” a voice whispered beside him.
He jumped, not realizing someone was there, and immediately hissed in pain at the sudden movement.
Granger sat beside him on the bed, gently pushing his shoulders back. “Shh,” she cooed. “It’s alright. Take it easy, your wounds are still healing. Too much movement and you risk opening them back up.” She reached forward, brushing his hair from his forehead.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Draco whispered.
“It’s alright,” she responded. “No one knows I’m here except Snape.”
“Snape?”
She nodded. “He administered the counter curse and then brought you here for your blood loss. Here.” She poured a glass of water from his bedside table and helped him sit up enough to drink it. When he laid back down, she sighed. “I am furious with Harry. I cannot believe he did that to you.”
Draco scoffed. “Why? It’s nothing I didn’t deserve.”
“Don’t say that,” she snapped. “He had no right to do that to you, and to use a curse that he didn’t even know what it did was beyond careless.”
“Go easy on him, Granger.” Draco never expected the day to come where he was defending Potter. “I’ve done far worse, and you’ve given me far less hell for that.”
“This is different,” she insisted. “You aren’t doing those things because you have a choice. He decided to cast that spell all on his own.”
Draco dragged himself into a sitting position. He wanted to look her in the eyes when he said this. “When will you get this through your head, Granger? I am not the good guy. I have done terrible things, and I will keep doing terrible things as long as I need to. I would kill to protect the people I love, without hesitation.”
“You do what you have to.”
“Do I? Because I assure you, if you or Potter were in my situation you wouldn’t do the things I do. You would find a way around it, some way to protect people without getting your hands dirty.”
“That’s different,” she bit out, but she didn’t contradict him.
“It isn’t. You are good, Granger, and I am not. It’s as simple as that. I am not some bloody house elf for you to rescue. I am not some innocent woodland creature that deserves your protection. I am a bad man, Granger, and it’s about time you finally fucking realized that.” He kept his voice low, but his words dripped with the poison of his own self-hatred.
She stared him down for a heavy moment, her glare matching his. Finally, she said, “Fine. You’re right. You are not innocent, and you have done terrible things. You face impossible choices, and, in your position, I may have chosen differently. Maybe you are even a bad man. But you are not evil. You are not past the point of redemption. You are not undeserving of people caring for you, and it’s about time you finally realized that.” She stood then, without another word, and left him alone in the dark, silent room.
He spent two more nights in the hospital wing after that, but Granger did not visit him again. He told himself that was for the best, but he felt her absence like another wound on his chest.
When he was released, he took another day off before he could stand long enough to be able to work on the vanishing cabinet. His progress had plateaued. He could consistently send objects through and back, but the birds never made the journey. He was out of ideas.
Eventually he gave up and decided to do some research in the library. He would have to keep the books there, in case anyone monitored the books he checked out. He would not let himself sit at the table he used to frequent with Granger, lest she walk by and get the wrong idea.
She had not spoken to him since the night in the hospital wing. He hoped that despite her words, he had finally gotten through to her. He ignored the way his heart seemed to fall at the thought. He never felt her gaze on him in the Great Hall anymore, but he forced himself to eat regularly and get as much sleep as he could, just in case. His clothes fit marginally better, though he was a long way off from where he had once been.
When he dared a glance at the Gryffindor table, he noticed Granger keeping her distance from Potter and Weasley, spending more time with the female Weasley and Longbottom. He found himself pitying the two Gryffindors; he knew what it was like to be on the wrong end of Granger’s wrath. He immediately chastised himself for feeling anything remotely favorable for his least favorite pair.
After a month in the library, Draco felt confident enough to try his hand at the vanishing cabinet again, after a few adjustments. It took another week before he received the first live bird back. Another week for his results to be consistent.
Finally, in the middle of June, Draco sent a note to his mother. It said simply, I hope for a visit soon.
She replied back later the same day. The last day of the month would be lovely.
That was it then. The Death Eaters would storm the castle at the end of the month. With them as backup, he would kill Dumbledore. Before this, an outright duel had been out of the question. The older man outmatched Draco immeasurably, without even considering the professors acting as his reinforcements. With the Death Eaters distracting the professors, he would at least stand a chance of killing the powerful wizard, as slim as it may be. He knew, even with these reinforcements, he would more than likely die trying to complete his mission.
He barely slept after that, unable to close his eyes without picturing his Aunt Bella skipping around the halls and murdering his classmates. The night he woke from a dream of Fenrir Greyback attacking Granger, he spent hours in the bathroom, emptying his stomach. Draught of peace no longer helped, and he suspected he had built up too high of a tolerance.
He allowed himself to watch Granger once more, albeit subtly. He figured, if he was to die, he would at least allow himself this one pleasure. She had returned to Potter and Weasley’s sides, although it appeared to Draco that she was snapping at them much more frequently now. Draco was not studying for exams – he knew he would not be completing them – but he went to the library anyway. He found her, sitting at the table they had used to meet throughout fifth year. He didn’t join her, but he hid at a table around the corner, positioning himself where he could see her, but out of her sight. He watched her brow furrow as she scribbled notes. He watched her angrily flick stray locks from her eyes. He watched as her shoulders rolled back and her chin lifted, and he knew this meant she had figured out something particularly difficult. He drank her in like a man dying of thirst.
One week before the Death Eaters were meant to attack, he gave in to his weakness. He sent her a note. Meet me in the Room of Requirement after dinner. He left it unsigned, but he was sure she would be able to tell who it was from.
He did not go to dinner, too nervous to eat. He went straight to the Room of Requirement and thought of what he needed. I need a place we can talk. The door appeared, and Draco stepped through. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but the Room fit his needs nicely. It had shrunk, giving the space an intimate feel. Along one wall was a fireplace, roaring to keep away the perpetual chill in the castle, even in June. In front of it sat a leather loveseat. He would have preferred separate chairs, but who was he to question the Room? He settled into one end, looked into the fire, and waited.
Dinner was not yet over when he heard the door open. He stood, heart beating rapidly although he knew it wouldn’t be anyone but her. He had asked the Room not to open the door to anyone else.
She was walking slowly, surveying the space with her arms folded over her chest. “This is nice,” she said.
“Would you like to sit?” Draco asked.
She nodded and came to sit beside him on the small couch. Draco didn’t know where to begin, but Granger saved him by speaking first. “I thought you wanted me to stay away?” she asked.
“This is an exception,” he explained.
“Oh? And what makes this so special?”
Draco turned, so as to face her more squarely, and she followed suit. “I wanted to apologize.”
The look of surprise on her face was genuine. “For what?”
For what? Where did he even begin? “For how terribly I treated you when we were younger, for starters.”
Granger rolled her eyes. “We were, like, twelve, Draco. I’ve moved on.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t, and neither should you. I was terrible to you. Cruel. The things I believed then . . . well, I was the product of my father, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry, Hermione. Truly. I can never take back the things I said, but I can tell you that I haven’t believed those lies in a long time, and I hope that brings you some comfort, if nothing else. And I hope you know that that change in beliefs was largely thanks to you.”
She reached across the small gap separating them on the loveseat, clasping his hand. “I know you don’t believe those things anymore, Draco. I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago.”
He nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I wasn’t saying this for you to forgive me, but I appreciate it.” The next words snuck out before he could think better of it. “That day in second year, when I called you – when I called you that word. The look on your face stuck with me for a long time. I couldn’t understand how it could hurt you so much. I do now.”
She was silent for a moment. Then, quietly, “Draco?”
“Yes?”
“Second year, did you – well, did you visit me? When I was in the hospital wing, petrified?”
His eyes widened. “How – you remembered that?”
She nodded, her eyes wide as well. “I thought it was a dream. When I was petrified, I wasn’t awake, exactly. For the most part, I didn’t know what was going on around me. But I had a few memories when I woke up. I thought they were dreams, but I guess not. I remembered you coming to visit me and apologizing.” She chuckled softly. “I was certain that was a dream, but it seems I was wrong.”
Draco laughed, though it held little humor. He raked a hand through his hair. “I had no choice; you were haunting me. I thought if I came to you and apologized, maybe you’d leave me alone. I didn’t know you could hear me.”
She nodded. She chewed her lip, appearing thoughtful. “And fourth year?”
He looked away. “What about it?” he asked, though he knew what she meant.
“You knew what would happen at the Quidditch World Cup.” It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t deny it. “You tried to warn me.” Again, not a question.
Draco clenched his jaw. “I was a coward. I should have done more. I barely even warned you. I insulted you and hoped foolishly you would see the message that was barely there.”
“I didn’t realize until after,” she admitted quietly. “I knew something was wrong, the look in your eyes . . .” she trailed off.
“I should have done more,” Draco repeated. “I’m sorry for that as well.”
To his surprise, she reached for his hand again. “You did what you could.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then, slowly, Draco withdrew his hand. “I also wanted to apologize for putting you in danger these last two years.”
She furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”
“My –” The words seemed to stick in his throat. All this time, they had danced around the subject. He had never told her, never admitted out loud what his heart seemed to scream with each beat in his chest. “My feelings for you,” he forced out. “They’ve put you at risk. Surely you knew that was why I taught you occlumency. I should have never become entangled with you, but I am selfish and greedy. I’m sorry, Hermione. I wish I could say I regret it, but I don’t. I hate to put you in danger, but I know, given the choice, I would do it again.”
He had been unable to look in her eyes, knowing he would never get the words out while staring into her brown orbs, always filled with kindness he didn’t deserve. She placed a finger under his chin now, forcing him to face her. “You can’t truly believe that, Draco.”
He nodded. “Of course I do.”
Her lips quirked, but it was a sad sort of smile. “Draco, I am a muggle-born and best friend to Harry Potter. If you think you’ve put me in any greater danger than that, then you are delusional.”
“You don’t understand,” he whispered. “They would kill you for your relationship with Potter. But with me? They would torture you, slowly, to punish me. They would do unspeakable things to you because they would know what it would do to me. You may not believe I am evil, Granger, but believe me when I tell you these men are.”
She had paled at his words, but he recognized the flame of ridiculous Gryffindor courage that lit her eyes. “Well, then we won’t let them find out about the extent of our – our friendship.” She stumbled just slightly over the word, clearly as uncomfortable putting any voice to their situation as he was.
Draco looked away again. “I’m not sure it will come to that,” he said.
He saw her head tilt out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”
He watched the fire, unable to respond.
“Draco, look at me. What are you talking about?”
He stood. “Thank you for coming, Granger. I wasn’t expecting your forgiveness, but I appreciate you allowing me to take the time to apologize. It was more than I deserve.”
He moved toward the door, but she stood and stepped directly into his path. “Draco Malfoy, what are you talking about?”
He couldn’t help it. He reached out and brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.
There were tears in her eyes. “Why do I feel like you are saying goodbye?”
He cupped her cheek in his palm, tracing her skin lightly with the pad of his thumb. He drank in her image, once again intending to hold it close in his final moments. It was just as he had told her; he was a greedy man.
One tear spilled over and he caught it with his thumb. “No,” she said, her lower lip jutting out slightly. “No! Whatever you have planned, I won’t let you.”
His lip quirked. “You can hardly stop me.”
“I’ll tell Dumbledore, I’ll have you arrested!” she cried.
He froze. “You would have me arrested?”
“At least you’d be alive!”
She was sobbing now and he pulled her into his arms. “It’s alright, Hermione. I’ve come to terms with it, and you will too. Mourn me if you must, but you will be safe, and you will move on.”
“Don’t say that,” she cried, her voice muffled slightly by his shirt. She pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes. “You promised the moment you could get out, you would!”
“I did, but I can’t. There’s no way out.”
Her eyes sparkled with tears and what he recognized as an idea. “You can be a double agent, like Snape! Then the Order would have to protect you!”
He shook his head. “The Order would never accept me or trust me, Hermione. This is the way it must go.”
She shoved him away from her, her tear-streaked face contorting with rage. “You are a coward, Draco! Not because of what you haven’t done for me, but because of what you won’t do for yourself! I will not let you do this! I will not let you die!”
She cried once more. He pulled her to him, and she let him. She cried into his chest as he rubbed soothing circles into her back.
Eventually she ran out of tears, and her uneven breathing slowed back to a steady rhythm. “How long?” she whispered into his shirt.
“A week,” he said simply. He probably shouldn’t have told her, lest she try to intervene, but he couldn’t deny her a thing when she was in his arms, tears drying on her cheeks.
She pulled away and gave a firm nod. “There’s still time, then.”
He sighed. “Granger . . .”
She held up a hand to silence him. “No. We have a week for you to find a way out. Give me a week to think of something. Just please, don’t give up yet.”
“Alright,” he agreed. What was one more empty promise to add to the list.
He knew he should have left then, should have said goodbye, and let her go. Instead, they drifted back to the small couch, lingering until it was past curfew. They sat for hours, talking about everything and nothing. Granger told him about her parents, told him what a dentist is, laughed when he was frightened at the idea of someone drilling into his teeth. She told him about her life before Hogwarts, how excited she was to get her letter. She had known she had been different her whole life, but to have confirmation, to be told that she was different because she was special, it was a feeling she would never forget.
She told him it was the memory she thought of when she cast her patronus. Then she demonstrated, and her silvery otter bounced around the dim room.
“What’s your patronus?” she asked.
He swiped away non-existent lint on his trousers. “I don’t know, I’ve never cast one.”
She jumped up. “Then I’ll teach you!” The joy in her voice at the idea of teaching him something made his heart swell in his chest.
“Hermione,” he said gently. “I’m fairly certain I can’t.”
“Nonsense,” she replied. “Even you must have a happy memory.” Her tone was teasing, light.
“Granger,” he said, more firmly this time. “I can’t. It’s – it’s harder for those of us, those of us with the Mark. Too much dark magic in our system.” He had trouble meeting her eyes. “Maybe before I could have scrounged up a memory happy enough, but now . . .”
She sat back on the couch. “Well, maybe one day.”
He should have reminded her he had very few days left to make it happen. He should have told her she was being ridiculously optimistic. He said, “Maybe one day.”
He told her about all his favorite treats from Honeyduke’s, though it had been over a year since he’d had any. He told her about his first broom, when he was barely old enough to walk. He told her about his mother, the way she used to be, so full of life and love.
They debated theories from ancient runes, their favorite Shakespearean characters, whether Potter and Ginny Weasley would last (she said they would; he said Potter’s savior complex would get him killed before it could go very far).
Eventually, when Hermione’s eyes began to drift closed every few minutes, Draco forced them both to leave. She left with little fuss, surprisingly. Draco watched her walk away, wishing not for the first time that he lived a different life.