We Both Go Down Together

We Both Go Down Together

Based on the song: "We Both Go Down Together" by The Decemberists

Disclaimer: I only own the plot, which I should really credit my muse for.

Here on these cliffs of Dover

So high, you can't see over

And while your head is spinning

Hold tight, it's just beginning

He had never seen anything like it in his entire life. Sure, Draco Malfoy had known from the get-go that if Lord Voldemort won the Darkest Battle in all of history, everything would be much different. Although, he didn't expect to find Death Eaters from all over rounding up muggles and mudbloods and shipping them to these small labor camps, to do the Dark Lord's bidding. This was crazy. Draco, being a prestigious Death Eater, a close acquaintance of Lord Voldemort merely stood on the top of the barren cliff, looking down into the valley, peering amazedly at the rows and rows of tin shanties below.

Carts bearing metal cages full of scraggly dirty humans were chugging slowly into the camp, bringing with them the foul smell of death and disease. The year had ended seven months ago and this procession had been the same every single day. It never failed to shock Draco though. Of course he had seen more inhumane things in the last few months than ever before, but this? This was insane. How could someone do this? Draco supposed that he was to be hardened so that these kinds of things were normal to him. But he still couldn't get the pictures of the loads of people being loaded into this place out of his mind. Granted, he had the better end of the deal, not having to live in the tin shacks like the others, but still. This was wild.

A chilly breeze blew in from the pond situated not too far away, the one that sat next to the manor that the Malfoy's had taken to living in since the Dark Lord had made Lucius Malfoy overseer of the camp. Draco shivered and unconsciously pulled his cloak tighter around him. The Scottish Highland autumns could be hell, and Draco didn't want to be sicker than he already was, even if it was only mentally. Draco turned on his heel, the heel of his very expensive hand-made shoes that is, and headed back towards the manor. He hated his walk to his home; it only gave him the time to reflect on the last battle, the one that had changed it all.

Flashback

"Harry! Don't do it," Hermione Granger, filthy mudblood and best friend to the boy who lived, screamed as loudly as possible, trying to warn Harry about the impending dangers that lay ahead.

"Don't do it? Why not, Hermione? This is my last chance; I've got to show him, once and for all, that he cannot do these things without punishment."

The last few months had been nothing but hell for the Golden Trio. They definitely weren't the shiny trio that they used to be. Ever since Harry and Ron had set out five months to the date, to destroy all of the horcruxes that Voldemort had scattered all along, Hermione had been slowly, and quietly, slipping into insanity. It was like death for her, the fact that her two best friends had left her when she was only seventeen, and gone on a journey that could just lead to their deaths. So while Hermione sat around and moped at Grimmauld Place, her two friends were out in the world, getting themselves killed. Well, that's what she thought anyway.

So anyone can imagine the joy Hermione had felt when her two best friends had shown up on the doorstep of the Order's secret hideaway. And anyone can also imagine the disappointment and fear she felt when she heard that the final battle was to be that night.

"What the hell do you mean," she had hissed, wondering why in the world tonight had to be the battle. Hermione hadn't seen her boys in months and all she wanted was a night to reminisce and bask in the presence of one another. Harry had simply brushed off Hermione's questions and simply murmuring, "it has to be done tonight."

After much persuasion from Harry and Ron, Hermione had gone with them into battle. Any other night she would have leapt at the chance to avenge Harry's parents, but not so soon. She needed notice so she could have some sort of mental preparation. But now, her they were, Harry stalking up to a dark and foreboding willow, ready to brush apart the limply hanging leaves and greet Voldemort on the other side. Harry was ready to plunge into the darkness, if need be, and kill Voldemort with a simple Avada Kedavra. All around him in the field laid the bloody cadavers of Death Eaters and fighters for the Light Side alike. Those were the bodies of those who had given every last bit of themselves for their causes, and perished alongside their friends and families. Harry was ready to kill, really kill and get the revenge he deserved.

Ignoring his friends yells of warning, and the moans and screams coming from the tortured, Harry raised a hand and deftly brushed aside the damp leaves of the willow. At this point Hermione had closed her eyes tightly shut and listened as screams were brought forth from Harry as he was tortured so skillfully until he died.

End Flashback

Draco Malfoy wished with all his might the Ronald Weasley, who had been beside Hermione throughout the entire battle, hadn't related this story to him. It made the things he did each day seem even more ruthless. Draco remembered the night clearly, the night that he had Weasley at wand-point for an interrogation. All Weasley would say, which he said over and over again, was the story of Hermione's troubles throughout the year. Did the sick little Weasel really love Mudblood Granger that much, Draco had often wondered to himself. The eighteen-year-old hadn't exactly chosen his life, but he lived up to his father's standards. At least, he did now that his father had come out of his incarceration.

Draco opened the dark cherry wood door to the manor and was immediately greeted by the echo of a hand slapping flesh and the pained scream of a young woman. This wasn't new to the young Mr. Malfoy, as his father was repeatedly bringing up pretty muggle and half-blood witches to add to his list of those he had raped. Draco understood that this was a sick, disgusting, revolting business that his father partook in, but it wasn't as if he could simply ask his father to stop his crimes.

Draco stalked across the marble entry hall, his shoes clicking importantly on the solid stone floor. He saw a dim light creeping out from the open door of the library, and slowly made his way down the hall, not wanting to let his father know that he had gotten home yet. Slowly, and as quiet as a snake, Draco glimpsed into the room and met the eyes of someone he had known since his first year at Hogwarts.

Hermione Granger was sprawled out on the floor, a torn, mud-stained pair of dark denim jeans and a ripped black shirt decorating her body, alongside with small splotches of blood. Her hair was still as bushy as ever, and the past two months in her small shanty with a group of three other girls hadn't helped its condition. Dark amber eyes burned into Draco's own silver-grey orbs, and pricked with tears when she realized that he wouldn't save her. Her head swam with multi-colored stars from Lucius' last blow, and Draco started to go fuzzy. No, he wouldn't suddenly demand for his father to stop, pick her up, and return her to the tatters that they now called the Muggle world. No, he wouldn't... and this was only the beginning...