Chapter Text
June 17, 2002 - Monday 9:10 pm
In a swirl of cool air, Hermione was plunged into darkness. The feeling was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She felt weightless, yet her body fell. Defying all laws of gravity, she was pulled in multiple different ways until she landed, her feet planted in the memory, her fingers still intertwined with Draco’s, who now stood beside her.
Hermione turned around, pulling Draco along with her, their robes swaying around them. She gasped as her eyes landed on Dumbledore and Snape atop a hill, overlooking the lake as Hogwarts stood stoic in the distance. They were in the middle of a heated conversation. Dumbledore's beard had a bit less grey and Snape’s face was smooth, less wrinkled.
“The prophecy, ‘Neither can live while the other survives,’ did not refer to a woman,” Dumbledore declared. “It spoke of a boy born at the end of July.”
Hermione’s mouth parted, watching the strange dreamlike exchange between two professors long departed.
“Yes, but he thinks it’s her son,” Snape said, his face anguished. “He intends to hunt them down now to kill them. Hide her, hide them all, I beg you,” Snape pleaded with Dumbledore.
“What will you give me in exchange, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.
“Anything,” Snape assured without hesitation.
The memory dissolved and Hermione and Draco now found themselves in the Astronomy tower at Hogwarts. Dumbledore gazed out of the window.
“You said you would keep her safe,” Snape’s agonized voice cracked as it resounded from behind them.
Draco and Hermione spun around, gazing into the pained eyes of their Potions professor. They slowly took several steps back, almost as if they were removing themselves from the conversation, the conversation that took place over twenty years ago.
“Lily and James put their faith in the wrong person, Severus, rather like you,” Dumbledore replied, turning around, closing the distance between them. Snape opened his mouth, but with a look of torment, pursed his lips and looked away,
“The boy survives,” Dumbledore implored, his gaze expectant, waiting for Snape to respond.
“He doesn't need protection, the Dark Lord is gone,” Snape said, averting his eyes, as his words flowed quickly, his unwillingness to carry on with the conversation plainly written across his face.
“The Dark Lord will return. When he does, the boy will be in terrible danger,” Dumbledore continued. “He has her eyes,” The Headmaster said, almost as if he was provoking a reaction. Snape slowly looked up to Dumbledore, his eyes softening as the words lingered in the air. “If you truly loved her…” Dumbledore’s voice drifted, letting the words settle between them.
With a hardened stare, Snape pointed an index finger at Dumbledore. “No one can know.” He said through gritted teeth.
The memory shifted again through a cloud of black mist. Draco and Hermione were thrown into Dumbledore's office. The professors were familiar to her, resembling those that roamed the halls alongside her. Dumbledore sat at his desk, wearing grey robes, fingers of his right hand spread over Snape’s palm. Snape was inspecting them with a furrowed brow.
Hermione gasped at the sight of Dumbledore’s fingers. They were charred, as if they’d been burned.
“Drink the rest, it will contain the curse to your hand for the time being, but it will spread, Albus.” Snape’s somber voice sank like a heavy stone, as the Headmaster drank a potion from his goblet.
“How long?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes on Snape.
“Maybe a year?” Snape guessed and stood, moving away from the Headmaster, stepping into the middle of the room.
“Don’t ignore me, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “We both know Lord Voldemort has ordered the Malfoy boy to murder me, but should he fail, I should presume the Dark Lord will turn to you.” Snape stared at Dumbledore, his eyes steadfast.
“You must be the one to kill me, Severus. It is the only way. Only then, will the Dark Lord trust you completely,” Dumbledore said.
Pain. Searing pain shot up her arm, making her wince. Startled, she looked up. Draco’s nostrils flared, taking sharp shallow breaths. His jaw clenched like a vice as he ground his teeth together.
But his eyes. It was an image that would stay forever burned into her memory and etched into her soul.
Red veins mapped the whites of his eyes, holding back tears he refused to let fall. But it was the fractured stare. The crushed expression that faded into a blank unseeing glower that devastated her and shattered her heart into dust.
Snaking her arm around him, she held him up, tethering him to her as they continued to watch the memories play.
Dumbledore continued.
“There will come a time when Harry Potter must be told something. But you must wait until Voldemort is most vulnerable.”
“Must be told what?” Snape asked.
“On the night Lord Voldemort went to Godric’s Hollow to kill Harry, and Lily Potter cast herself between them; the curse rebounded. When that happened, a part of Voldemort’s soul latched itself onto the only living thing it could find… Harry himself. There’s a reason Harry can speak with snakes, there’s a reason he sees into Lord Voldemort’s mind. A part of Voldemort lives inside him.” Dumbledore explained.
Snape stood, staring with a crinkled brow, taking in the information. He tilted his head, his eyes widening as he slowly pieced it together and asked, “So, when the time comes—the boy must die?”
“Yes, yes. He must die.” Dumbledore confirmed, his head bowed, shoulders hunched.
“You’ve kept him alive so that he can die at the proper moment. You’ve been raising him like a pig for slaughter?” Snape asked, the question hung in the air for a moment, his lips curling in disbelief as he waited for the answer.
“Don’t tell me now that you’ve grown to care for the boy?” Dumbledore asked, leaning forward, locking eyes with Snape.
Snape’s lips parted as he hesitated, trying to find the words to explain. Instead, he raised his wand and with a wave of his hand, murmured “Expecto Patronum.”
In a haze of blue mist, a doe materialized, bounding here and there in the room,
Hermione and Draco tilted their heads up, tracking its path. Even through a memory, she felt lightness in her heart watching the patronus happily hop about the room.
Snape gazed at the doe with pained eyes full of longing as the patronus dissolved. Dumbledore gasped, turning to glance at Snape, his mouth open wide. “Lily,” he breathed. “After all this time?” he asked.
Snape returned Dumbledore’s gaze, his lips set in a thin line. “Always,” he answered, his voice laced with pain and agony. “So when the time comes, the boy must die?” Snape asked again, his voice heavy with the gravity of what he’d just discovered.
“Yes, the boy must die,” Dumbledore bowed his head as he answered.
In a swirl of black mist, Hermione and Draco were thrown out of the pensieve. Her head spun, but it wasn’t because of the weightless feeling of the pensieve.
The boy must die.
Tearing her hand away from Draco, Hermione staggered past the stone basin, her feet dragging, her hands grasping at anything in her path to hold her up.
The boy must die.
Her mouth flooded with saliva, she knew what was next. Gasping for air, she reached the end of the bookcases. Bent over with her hands on her knees, she vomited onto the floor.
The boy must die.
The boy with the toothy grin that always made her smile; like the first time he caught the snitch. The boy that used to sneak her candy under the table in the library, to keep her stomach from growling; sugar quills, her favourite. The boy who held her when Ron asked Lavender to the ball; his friendship never wavered. The boy who always gave her a birthday gift, even when they were on the run searching for Horcruxes; a freshly picked bouquet of yarrow, cyclamen and honeysuckle on her pillow in the tent. The boy who…
A voice called her in the distance; a familiar baritone. Warm hands cupped her face and the voice asked her to focus. Hermione wanted to. She was trying, but it was hard. She wanted to go to sleep. She was sinking, her knees were now on the floor, the hardwood digging into her skin. She closed her eyes. It was only for a moment, she wanted to say.
Just for a moment.
⋆ .✦ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ✦. ⋆
“Granger— Granger!” a panicked voice.“We have to go!”
Everything was wet. Hair was matted to her face and her collar was damp. A shiver ran across her skin, forcing her to open her eyes. Draco knelt in front of her, his wand holster strapped to his chest.
Where are your robes?
“Thank Salazar,” he muttered. “We have to go, I heard a crack of apparition. I don’t know where it came from, and I don’t want to be caught in anti-apparition wards,” he explained, his eyes frantic. He picked her up by her arms, steadying her on her feet.
Her eyes darted around the room, landing on his robes, haphazardly bunched up, on the floor.
“Earlier, you scared me half to death. I had to lay you down on my robes. Sorry for the aguamenti, but I needed to wake you up. Then I heard the apparition and that never turns into anything good…” he rambled as he busied himself, gathering his robes, the vials of memories and the cloak of invisibility.
“Shit, do you feel that? We need to leave, now!” Enclosing her hand in his, he tugged her to him, hugging her tight; and with a flick of his wand, he apparated them away. Hermione could have sworn she felt a shimmering disturbance in the air graze her skin as she was transported away.
They landed in the living room they’d left hours ago. He held her by her waist, holding her steady against his side. She was grateful. If he hadn't, she would have landed on her knees, of that she was certain. Taking a moment to steady herself, she pushed his hand aside.
“Granger?”
“Give me a few minutes, I—I need to clean myself up,” she mumbled, already taking steps towards the hallway and to the stairwell. Entering her bathroom, she disrobed and stepped into the shower, running the water until steam filled the room. As the scalding water ran down her body, she allowed herself to give in; reflect on all that had transpired. Falling to her knees, she quietly wept, her tears blending with the water, as they swirled and washed down the drain.
Draco was sprawled on the sofa, watching the telly when she returned downstairs. Dressed in a t-shirt and joggers, his hair was damp from the shower, slicked back, except for a few stubborn strands that had broken loose, hanging over his forehead. Hermione made two cups of tea and headed to the living room. Placing them next to the vials of memories, and the cloak of invisibility on the coffee table. Letting the tea cool, she sat down, placing his feet on her lap.
“What an odd bloke,” he said, his eyes riveted to the screen.
“You’re watching Mr. Bean reruns,” she answered.
“That means nothing to me, Granger,” he replied, continuing to watch the screen. Shifting to sit up, he reached for the cup of tea. “Thanks for the tea, but it’s past midnight. Would you rather get some rest?” he asked, his eyes following Mr. Bean.
“I couldn’t, even if I tried. My mind—I can’t seem to shut it off.”
He nodded absentmindedly while blowing on his cup of tea, cooling the liquid before taking a sip. Silence descended the room, as it often did between them. Neither were the ones to fill it with incessant chatter…unlike Dean, Hermione smiled inwardly. She liked the silence, just as she knew Draco did. But today, it was different. Her mind wouldn’t shut off, but it was the reason why that made her want to crawl into bed, sink into the sheets and never get out. Maybe she should have taken the offer and gotten some rest, considering she’d been up for eighteen hours. Reaching for the cup on the table, she busied herself, taking a sip of tea. Holding on to the cup and saucer, she gave her hands, that normally would have picked at her cuticles, something to grasp.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice smooth and steady, though he kept his gaze, and the force of persuasion that normally came with it, on the telly. She greedily took that moment to breathe, to collect herself.
Do I want to talk about it? No, not really.
She sat with her thoughts.
The boy must die.
Memories ricocheted in her mind, like a pinball machine. Harry, with his arm around Ron, laughing at something funny Neville had said in their common room. Harry patting Fang, trying not to get dog slobber all over his robes. Harry… his thumbs digging into her shoulder, squeezing her neck, pinning her to the wall next to the elevator. His warm hugs on cold nights spent on the run looking for Horcruxes, except now, he was—Hermione sucked in a deep breath and shook her head.
She shifted her gaze to the telly instead. Mr. Bean was in the middle of prepping his flat to be painted. She’d seen this episode before. He had covered the entire flat with newspaper, except the walls of course and rigged an explosive firework in the tin of paint in an attempt to flawlessly paint all of the walls. She remembered this because she’d watched it with Mum and Dad. They had laughed heartily at his lunacy and her dad had called him a ‘proper idiot’.
One didn’t need to know Mr. Bean to find him funny—he was bonkers. He was able to get a chuckle out of anyone who watched, even if it was for a handful of minutes. Draco, however, sat in silence. Staring at the screen. His legs spread wide, holding his cup of tea. There was no mirth, no chuckle as the paint tin exploded, leaving a perfectly painted wall, except for the silhouette of Mr. Bean’s neighbour, who had chosen that moment to pop into his flat to retrieve his hat.
She reached for the remote and turned off the telly, with it muting the sound that pervaded the room. Tea cup in hand, Draco sat, his hollowed gaze fixed on the wall. Hermione gently took the cup from his hand.
“I’m sorry, Draco,” she murmured, taking his hand in hers. His eyes snapped to hers; the first he’d looked at her since she’d come down from her shower.
“Whatever for?” he asked, releasing her hand, folding his hands on his lap instead.
She folded in on herself, her chin dropping to her chest as she bowed her head and hid her face amidst the cascade of curls that framed her face.
“We failed you, Draco. We all saw it and we failed you.” Hermione spoke in a hushed voice, desperately trying to steady it before the dam broke.
He busied his hands, wringing his fingers, offering no signs that he heard her. Giving him a moment, she pulled her legs into a tight lotus, providing him with her undivided attention. She shifted, tilting her head, desperately seeking his gaze, but he continued to stare ahead, eyes glazed, hands clasped loosely on his lap.
“Draco? Please say something, anything,” she pleaded.
Tossing his head back, he exhaled a long-held breath and fixed his eyes on the ceiling.
“What do you expect me to say? The fact that Dumbledore knew what I was tasked to do and didn’t intervene, didn’t help? Snape, the person who I trusted the most, knew and did nothing. Yeah, that made me feel like shit, is that what you want to hear?” he asked, his voice wasn’t angry, nor was it irritated, or incensed; but his shoulders hovered around his ears as he avoided her gaze. He spoke of it so plainly, as if he wasn’t surprised, as if he’d expected it all along, and the sheer resignation in his voice crushed her.
She reached for his hand, but he folded his arms across his chest.
“Gods Draco, I’m so sorry,” her voice soft, almost a whisper.
“You keep saying sorry, Granger, though I’m not sure why”
Her heart squeezed trying to get the words out that were stuck in her throat. Opening her mouth, she inhaled sharply, briefly looking away.
“Dumbledore failed you, yes, but I did too. Harry followed you around all sixth year and in a way, so did I… I saw you—I saw that you didn’t look yourself. I could tell something was off and we did nothing. I did nothing. I’m so sorry,” Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn’t stop the tears from burning a path down her cheeks.
Silence, again. Draco bored his gaze into the wall ahead, his socked foot now tapping a rhythm on the floor while he continued to hold his arms against his chest.
“Draco?”
“Are you looking for me to absolve you of your guilt? Is that why you keep apologizing?”
She inhaled sharply, trapping the air in her chest like a heavy weight, while a dull ache formed between her ribs. His words landed with the impact of a physical strike, bruising her heart, leaving her reeling. A fresh wave of tears tracked down her face and she wiped her cheeks and nose with the back of her sleeve.
“No…of course not,” Hermione stammered.
“Then what, Granger? I certainly didn’t expect anything from you. The girl who I tormented all her lif—”
“I know, but,” Hermione started.
“This isn’t about you, Granger!” he finally broke. “For once, this isn’t about you,” he repeated. “I just learned, the fucking headmaster knew, he knew, and he did nothing. Snape, the person that I trusted the most, knew. They both knew, and did nothing. They let me go on thinking that I had to commit murder!”
She stilled, casting away the hurt, and bit her tongue.
“You want me to say something? Fine.” His voice was quiet, the muscles in his jaw clenched and his words came out sharp, and clipped between teeth that barely parted. “I had a great childhood, I really did. Until, everything went tits up with my father ending up in prison. You know firsthand how that happened.”
Hermione flinched.
“With him gone, I had to be the man of the house. I had to be the one to protect my mother,” he said as his chest heaved.
“Bella and Dolohov held me down while Riddle gave me the Dark Mark. Bella taught—more so forced me to use unforgiveables, and Riddle…Riddle held his wand to my mother’s throat so many times,” his voice cracked, “until I captured my first Order member, until I cast crucio after crucio, until I finally cast an avada.”
“Once father was killed, the noose, it just kept getting tighter and tighter. Did they fail me?” He gave a bitter laugh.
“Most of them are Death Eaters, but the man that was supposedly good. The man that was supposed to protect? Well, learning that he made the choice to not help…” he sighed, his voice fading away for a moment, his brow crinkled as the tapping of his foot continued. “But, I get it, I’m not worth protecting, I’m not worth saving—a little shit who took the Dark Mark, what's there to save?” He cleared his throat, stopping mid-sentence, his jaw tightening again as he looked away.
“Draco, no.” Hermione reached over and pried his hand from under his arm. Lacing his fingers with her own, she held his trembling hand steady in hers,
He turned his head, his stormy grey eyes locking on to hers.
“You are worth it Draco, you are,” she said, wishing, for the first time in her life, that she knew the art of Legilimency. To delve into his mind, and to affirm that he heard. That he understood and registered the words.
To her relief, or maybe it was to her comfort, his thumb gently caressed her knuckles. It wasn’t absentminded; it felt intentional, thoughtful. A small gesture, but nonetheless, it made her heart swell. Maybe he heard her after all.
“Mother… I did what I had to do, for her. They threatened her life constantly, sometimes even her fucking sister got off on pointing her wand at her. Unless I did their bidding, they would torture her after they tortured me, so I had to learn quickly,” the words spilled past his lips, as if the truth now unleashed would vanish if he stopped to breathe.
“Every room in that wretched Manor—” he glanced away, swallowing the lump in his throat with a far away look.
“Every room holds a fucking nightmare,” he said with finality. His voice laced with grief, his eyes darkening into black orbs.
The pressure behind her ribs tightened once more, forcing her to suck in a sharp, cold breath. What was it like to have what was once your home, your safe space, seized? Debased, and bastardized so much so, that he preferred the likes of a dilapidated church?
Fresh tears forged a path down her cheeks as she had the overwhelming need to scream, but her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.
“Draco,” she started, but he shook his head.
His eyes were trained back on the wall. “It is what it is. I’ve made peace with it. I need this fucking war to end, and if it takes me with it, so be it. I’d welcome it with open arms,” he said with such decisiveness and gravity that it felt like an icy plunge, springing her senses awake to the dark truth of his words. Yet, deep down, she felt the same. But hearing him actually say the words aloud made the reality unbearable, because she couldn’t bear to live in a world, a future, that didn’t have him in it. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but the weight of her argument died on her tongue. Letting out a quiet, defeated breath, she leaned into the cushions, holding on to his hand, gripping his fingers tightly in a vice-like grasp. Tracing her finger over his hand, she gently mapped a small scar on his thumb. Neither of them looking at one another, they were lost in their thoughts as a somber quiet rained over them.
The house settled around them as the hum of the refrigerator bounced off the walls in the kitchen and the rhythmic, sharp metal ticks from the clock disturbed the stillness. The ticks carried on while they sat, her mind a chaotic mess as it raced. Fleeting visions, and dizzying thoughts arriving and leaving like wild synapses.
“Granger, what’re you going to do about Potter?” Draco’s voice was hushed, but to her, it boomed in the quiet room, making her wince.
She kept her shoulder against the cushions, eyes cast down on their intertwined hands, and sighed.
“I—I mean how…I just don’t—” she stammered as her chin quivered. Fresh tears welled in her eyes and broke free, tracing sticky paths down her face.
Draco was thoughtful for a moment. “If Dumbledore’s correct, Potter’s a…he’s a Horcrux. It all makes sense, doesn’t it? What happened at Laois. Riddle is still alive because—” He stopped speaking, making her look up to find his eyes, intense and unblinking, trained on her. He swallowed hard, his gaze tracking a tear as it slipped from her eye, forging a path down her cheek.
“Shit,” he muttered, resting his head back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
Hermione wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. She didn’t move. She sat still, softly crying with all the words she wanted to say lodged in the back of her throat. Draco shifted, bringing an arm over her shoulder, hugging her to his side. Placing her hand on his chest, she snuggled into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
“Are you going to tell him?” he asked, placing a kiss on her forehead.
She shrugged. With a gentle touch, he ran his thumb across her shoulder.
After a few beats, he let out a low whistle of disbelief. “Fucking hell, this is —” he slowly shook his head, unable to find the words.
“I know,” she sniffled, her eyes red and raw as another torrent of tears gathered and spilled over.
“I think it's time we met with Kingsley. Together.” He turned his head, looking at her through his lashes.
Hermione nodded. She was hollow. Exhausted. Nestled against his side, blanketed by his warmth, her body relaxed. Melting into his side even more, she wrapped her arm around him.
The words that were lodged in her throat earlier, loosened and along with it, she unraveled.
“I can’t do it, Draco. I can’t be the one to…” she fisted his t-shirt, burying her head in his chest. Her shoulders shook as her eyes welled up again, releasing a relentless cascade of tears. Sobs tore violently from her chest, leaving her gasping for air as she brought her knees up, resting them on his thighs. “I c-can’t avada H-Harry, I just can’t… Draco,” Hermione stammered, gasping for air. “P…Please d-don’t m..make me do it,” she pleaded.
Strong arms lifted her and placed her on his lap. Draco rubbed her back while he crooned soothing words in her ear. “You’re alright, I’ve got you,” he whispered.
Hiccups wracked through her chest as she tried to catch her breath. She wanted to stop the barrage of tears, stop the shaking in her shoulders, but her heart beat wildly in her chest and her hands shook uncontrollably. “Draco, p…please,” she whispered, her voice fracturing, “d…don’t make me d..do it.”
He tightened his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. “Hermione, love, I’ve got you, yeah? I won’t let you do it. In the end, however it needs to happen, I’ll take care of it. I promise,” he whispered, gently rocking her as he placed a soft kiss on her head. Hermione slowly quieted, her breath evening out as she relaxed into his embrace, falling asleep against his chest. Exhaustion claimed her entirely, leaving her oblivious to the solitary tear that broke free and slipped down his cheek.