Sustenence and Poison Of The Dragon

Chapter 2: Lost Hero

Draco ran out of the Malfoy Manor with fire in his eyes and determination in his heart. He had to get to Potter’s house, and quick. He knew he shared a house in Hogsmeade with his little lackey, Ron Weasley. Ron was Hermione’s other best friend. It was rumored around Hogwarts, Draco’s old wizarding school, that he fancied her. Thankfully for Draco, the two remained completely platonic friends. As far as Draco knew, Hermione had had only one boyfriend, Victor Krum, in the fourth year. Ron was a purebred wizard, but he was dirt poor. He came from a huge family; all with flaming red hair and freckles just like Ron’s.

Now, all he had to do was to find out exactly where Wonderboy’s flat was so he could warn him about the attack that would soon be made on him. Without another thought, he apparated into Hogsmeade.

“OK, where is this grungy thing Pothead and Weasel must call a home?” Draco said softly to himself while checking his watch to see how much time he was wasting. He had 15 minutes before Voldemort would find and kill the unsuspecting Potter once and for all. He knew Potter wouldn’t see it coming because for the last year, Voldemort had been laying low, waiting for the most random and unexpected time to strike. Sure, there were still attacks made on Muggle born Witches and Wizards and Muggles alike, but not that much. The Death Eaters tried to stay as neutral as possible until the big strike. Many in the Wizarding world thought Voldemort had just given up. Because of this, security on Potter had been brought down a bit and he no longer had any bodyguards with him at all times. They had fallen right into the trap.

For the next ten minutes, Draco wandered up and down the streets. Getting more aggravated with each second that ticked past, he went up to a young woman with dark shoulder length hair and brown eyes. She was pushing a Muggle shopping cart with all sorts of junk in it and her cloths where very old looking and dirty.

“Excuse me ma’am, but would you by any random chance happen to know where Harry Potter lives?” Draco asked politely.

“Just up that there hill on the left. Big place, can’t miss it,” informed the woman.

“Thank you, Miss...?” Draco said, unsure of how to address this strange woman.

“Crowley, Mrs. Margie Krug Crowley,” answered the woman, “you see, I was married twice, that's why I have two names. I reckon that the fire in my heart just didn‘t burn out after my first husb...

“Thank you for your help Mrs. Crowley, I must be going now.” Draco interrupted as he rushed up the hill, with 3 minutes left. As he ran, he felt the first rain drop of what was sure to be a huge storm.

The house wasn’t at all what he thought it would be. It was, there was no other word for it, beautiful. It was made of fine stone with tall pillars holding up the front half. There was ivy growing up the tall walls and he could just see a small balcony in the back of the house. The house was old, but well kept. Though it was dark, he could see a well weeded garden in the front of the house, something he knew his mother would have loved to lighten up that dark crypt of a house he lived in. He could see that Potter had a lot of land. The driveway went around to the back of the house, like a wrap-around. It was also very obvious that Potter had quite a big role in the financial part of sharing a house with the Weasel.

“Shake it off, Draco. You have to find Potter and get yourself out of here,” he silently told himself before opening the door to the house. As he reached for the handle of the huge home, he heard the most horrible scream he ever heard. Hermione’s scream. Immediately following was a flash of green light, another scream from Hermione, and a snap of wood. But why was she here? And more importantly, where was she?

Another scream told him she was outside, but not far. The rain was really starting to come down now. He ran back outside, straining his ears for the faintest sound of life around the house. Then he heard it, the most evil laugh he had ever heard, a laugh that could have only come from one person, no, thing, Lord Voldemort. He ran around to the back of the house, only to find he was far too late. Harry James Potter lay cold and dead on the stone driveway. There stood Voldemort, his back to Draco, but he wasn‘t alone, Hermione was in a headlock kind of position under his left arm, a knife only inches from her face. Draco didn’t understand why he didn’t just use his wand, but then he saw it, the broken wand of the dark lord on the ground near Harry’s body, no doubt something Hermione had done. Hermione had a deep cut on her forehead already, blood carelessly pouring out. Her eyes filled with tears and her hair in an untidy bun in the back of her head. She looked so scared, so helpless. He had to help her. But how? Thinking fast, he picked up a smooth stick from the ground and kept it in his hand, putting his wand inside his cloak, well hidden from the naked eye.

“Let her go! You don’t want her, you want me. I already know that you have been asked to kill me after this. Why not do it now? You don‘t need to kill her, I‘m the one you want now!” Draco said loudly and clearly to Voldemort as he inched closer to her beautiful face with the blade.

Voldemort whipped around, looking for who had spoken the words. He soon found out who it was.

“Ahh, young Mr. Malfoy! I was expecting you to show up. Welcome,” he said in a hissing drawl that was rather reminiscent of his own.

“Let her go right now. Take me!” Draco shouted at him, but Voldemort wasn’t listening, he was getting the blade ready to slit Hermione’s delicate throat. Draco was virtually powerless seeing as how he was about six yards away from the two of them. Draco quickly lunged at Voldemort with all his might, pushing aside a shocked Hermione all too late, she had blood seeping through her sopping wet, light blue T-shirt, but the cut didn‘t look deep. Both of Draco’s hands were now on the bass of the long knife Voldemort was holding, struggling to get it out of his grasp. That’s when he felt it, the long knife sliced through his right arm, his wand arm. Blood was soon spilling onto his own robes. He dropped the foot long, smooth stick to the ground just then, moving away from it as if he didn’t notice he had lost it.

“Nobody tries to stop me. I am immortal you fool!” Voldemort said, moving closer to the stick Draco dropped and picking it up. “And now, not even you can stop me Mr. Malfoy.” At that moment, he snapped the stick in half, falling right into Draco’s plan. “Was that your wand?” Voldemort hissed with an evil stare and a shrill laugh, while advancing slowly on Draco with the knife.

“That's where you’re wrong.” Draco said confidently, with his own mocking smile playing on his lips as he reached inside his robe to retrieve his wand with a shaking hand. Without a second thought, he pointed his wand at an unsuspecting Voldemort and said the two words that would change his life forever. Two words that had already changed so many lives in the wizarding, and muggle world since the rise of the dark lord.

"Avada Kedavra.”

Voldemort soundlessly fell to the ground. He was dead. After twenty years of needless killing, the dark lord was finally stopped by none other then Draco Malfoy, son of one of the most powerful Death Eaters there was, other than Voldemort. But he knew that wasn't so anymore, his father would be dead now, as would all Voldemort’s followers. Crabbe, Blustrode, Flint, all the most respected Death Eaters.

Draco walked over to the lifeless flesh that once held a bitter, insane soul. He bent down, taking the knife out of the Dark Lord’s stiff grasp. He slowly knelt next to the body and picked up Voldemort's right hand, his wand hand. The hand that had been the key tool in so many deaths and so much pain. He could fell Hermione’s eyes on him as he did all this.

“You might want to turn around, I don't think...” he started to say to her.

“No, i want to see this, to make sure he’s...that he’s really dead,” Hermione stated bravely through tears, her eyes swollen.

At that, Draco lifted the hand, holding it with his left hand by the fingertips. He raised his right hand, and with all his might, dug the blade into the this, feeble flesh. He hit the bone a few times, but it didn’t bother him, he kept slicing threw the hand until it was off. Never again could it do any harm to anybody.

For the second time that night, a tear flowed from his eye. A single solitary tear. It ran down his cheek until it slid silently from his chin right onto the left side of the Dark Lords chest. Onto his heart. Is seamed like all the rage Draco had been holding in all his life, all the pain and depression, and suddenly slipped from his grasp and escaped onto the world. He put both his hands on the base of the knife and raised it over, behind his head. With one, swift movement, he pelted the blade into the very spot his tear had hit. He did this over and over, each time, striking harder and harder. He could see the blood all over himself, but he didn’t care. He heard himself panting, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was destroying the monster, for everything he had ever done. He didn’t just do it for himself, he did it for his mother, for Hermione, for Potter, for everybody he had ruined. For every child without a father or mother because of him. For every lost, innocent soul suffering and bleeding because of who they are. For every life that bastard had tuned upside-down, for every tear shed by those in pain because of his predigest. A predigest he himself once possessed, and hated himself for it.

After a whole minute of doing this, he stabbed the real killer once more, leaving the weapon in his heart. He looked down at himself, he was covered in blood, it was all over his cloak and hands, a little on his face. He was still panting. Then he remembered where he was and he stood and walked over to a shocked Hermione. She stood totally still, the rain mixed with the deep red blood penetrating from her forehead and gliding down the rest of her face, all the while looking at the dead form of Voldemort on the ground. She looked so scared, so lost. A few tears slid down her face to join the blood and rain, a sob emitted from her throat. After what seemed like forever, she spoke.

“He’s gone. After all this, he is gone, as simple as that.” she said this through new sobs, half of joy for the death of the dark lord, half of grief for her lost friend. She looked up at Draco, a mix of confusion and thankfulness in her usually happy, joy filled, deep, brow eyes.

“Hermione, I‘m sorry you had to see all that,” he began, but Hermione interrupted him.

“Why aren’t you dead, I thought you were a Death Eater, what’s going on?” she asked him slowly, her eyes now focused on Harry in a sort on disbelieving daze.

“That's what I need to tell you. I’m not, I...I came here to try and save Po...sorry, Harry from this fate, but Voldemort got here first. I hate the Death Eaters. I always thought they were all powerful and that they were all correct on their views of muggle born witches and wizards, and their views on power, but my opinion has changed,” he said with true sincerity in his voice.

“But why?” she croaked out through a new stream of ragged sobs, a faraway look in her eyes when she spoke to him.

This was exactly what he didn’t want her to say, he didn’t want her to know how he had felt about her for the last nine months.

“I...I just had a change of heart, I guess?” he answered hastily, “Now, why don’t we clean up those cuts?” He added, changing the subject. Hermione was still crying, and her focus was back on Harry. She soundlessly crawled next to her friend’s body.

“Harry, come back to me. Come back.” she muttered to the lifeless form in front of her. She held her friend in her arms, as if he were a new born baby. She looked insane, yet strangely beautiful at the same time. Draco watched her, watched her passion for her friend. He had never had that. All of the friendships he had ever had where like plastic, they where fake and formulated. He slowly started to cry as well. He cried because Hermione was in pain, pain because of his tardiness. He didn’t get there in time to save Potter, and in some ways, save Hermione. After what seemed like forever, Draco found strength to go to her.

He slowly walked over to where she knelt and put a hand on her shoulder.

She turned around to see his tear stained face. She didn’t think somebody so awful and dark and hateful could cry, none the less, cry for her.

“I’m sorry this had to happen Hermione...it‘s all my fault. I never meant for this to happen.” Draco said between quite tears. She just looked up at him, and to his surprise, stood and through her arms around his neck. After a moment of the initial shock of the hug, Draco wrapped one arm around her waist, the other he brought up to her head, gently stroking her hair. This is what he had wanted, what he had dreamt about.

“I’m so sorry this had to happen Hermione, I'm so, so, so sorry. This is all my fault. Harry shouldn't have died, you shouldn't have been hurt. It’s all my fault,” Draco said to her, his face in her hair, now openly crying with her.

“Shhh, it’s not your fault, it isn’t. Please, Draco, just hold me, please. “I loved him Draco, but only as a friend. He had told me he loved me, he asked me to marry him, that I was his world, Draco, and I broke his heart. That’s why I was here tonight, he had me over to tell me. He can’t be gone, tell me he isn‘t gone, tell me I'll wake up and everything will be fine. Harry will be alive. Please, this can't be happening, this is all my fault! He told me to meet him in his because he had to tell me something. If I would have said I loved him, told him I did, this wouldn‘t have happened, he wouldn‘t have gotten upset and come out here, into this trap! I should have died, not him, he’s the hero, he can't die. That’s not that way it is supposed to be. I‘m supposed to die, I‘m nothing, he‘s everything. I did love him, I was just too scared, I was too scared! I just didn't know it until now, now that I can't have him! I broke his heart, Draco, he died unhappy, thinking he was unloved. How could I have done this to him, he was perfect, he was kind and gentle and he loved me! He died for me! I was going to be first, he dies in my place! Despite how much i pleaded, he took my place. It wasn't his time, it was my time to die! I want to die! Please, kill me, Draco, the hate is already there, it won‘t be a problem for you! I want to die, please!” She shouted at him, pleading to him with all her heart, crying harder than ever before. But he knew it was grief speaking, not the Hermione he knew, or at least observed.

“Don’t say that, Hermione! Do not say that! If anybody, it should have been me, I was supposed to die anyway! It shouldn’t have been Potter and it sure as hell shouldn’t have been you! Don’t you see? You’re all innocent, you did nothing, don’t make guilt for your dead friend weigh you down, you did all you could, but it ended this way and there is nothing anybody can do about it! You’re alive! Don’t wish you weren’t because then, then you really have nothing to live for. You will waste away, and that's just what he wanted,” Draco said to her, motioning to Voldemort, “We all die, and it’s not your time. Believe me, I know how you feel, I went through the same thing when my mother was mur...when I lost my mother. The greatest thing in the world is to love, and to be loved in return. When all of that love, from both ends of the spectrum, when it slips away, then there is nothing left living for, but I don’t see that ever happening to you, you are incredibly loved, Hermione, you just don’t realize it yet. Your whole world is made up of love, it’s all around you. Take a look around yourself, you’ll see it.” Draco said, pouring out his soul to her. He was just glad he saved himself from letting all his true feelings for her slip away. She looked up at him, tears beginning to slow down a bit at her realization.

“Draco,” she began.

“Yes?”

“Who...who keeps you going. I mean, I’ve seen the way your father treats you and I know your mother....well, I know she passed away. So, who do you have?” she asked, afraid her words would be taken the wrong way.

“I...I live off of hope, I guess. I’m a Malfoy, I’m immune to not experiencing love. I grew up with very little, and I’ll die with very little. That's the way life dealt it to me. Don’t worry about me, I’m used to a cold existence, I can handle it.” he lied. He wanted more than anything in the world to just stand there and tell her how much he loved her and how lost and depressed he was and that he just wanted to die. Hermione had just expressed her feelings for Potter to him, she said she would die for him. He couldn’t think of anybody in the world that would die for him, so all he had left where is hopes and dreams and an empty world. He had nothing. It would take a million life times for her to fall for him, the evil sinister Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, that name would always haunt him, there was no escaping it, it owned him.

Hermione looked at him, studied his eyes. They where so sad, so empty. She knew all he wanted was to be loved, no matter how much he hid it. She tried to imagine how it was for him. No wonder he was always so cruel, that was one of the only emotions he had ever felt. Hate, depression, and sadness. He was right, all he did have was hope. She felt extremely sorry for him, after all he had gone through. She never realized what it was like for him. He was a slave to his own name, having to live up to it.

“I’m sorry, Draco. It must be so hard for you to go on.” She said, through even more tears as she pulled him into another hug. She felt oddly right here in his arms. She didn’t know what had hit her, but out of nowhere, he had come and saved her. He was so sincere, his words so caring. She didn’t care what was in their past. Right now, she just wanted to be held by him, she needed somebody to take this terrible moment away. It was then that she realized how bad she really was bleeding. She could see it glistening on Draco’s black robe. Had she been calling him Draco? She didn't care, it didn't matter, everything in her world had changed and would never be the same, what would it matter what they called each other, she knew things would be different between them from now on. He saved her, she was now in his debt. This was no time to be thinking about what would happen tomorrow, though. She had to focus on the moment, on getting herself help. Malfoy, no, Draco, seemed to be thinking the same thing as her.

“Hermione, we have to clean those cuts on your head and side up, you’re losing a lot of blood, this isn’t good. Come, sit over here,” Draco told her, motioning to a bench. He took off his cloak, now standing in only in black slacks and a white oxford with an undershirt beneath it. He took off the oxford and began to rip it. He was very cold and wet now, but he didn’t care. He had blood on his undershirt that had soaked through the cloak when he was holding Hermione, some that had seeped through from his brutal attack on Voldemort, and a lot of his own. With the ripped piece of cloth, he began to wipe the blood off her face, all the while looking in to her eyes, and hers looked back into his. He knew now might be his only chance, so he began to lean down closer to her face, their lips just inches apart, never once breaking eye contact. Their lips gently grazed each other, barley touching. He leaned in to deepen the kiss when she spoke.

“Draco, I...I...” she began, but then started to waver, her eyes looking wary. Then, suddenly, she fainted, without any warning.

“Hermione...Hermione, wake up. You have to wake up Hermione, come on.” He was now kneeling down next to her limp, unconscious body. He wanted to help the cut on her forehead, but his wand was still abandoned on the other side of the huge driveway. He thought about setting her down to get in, but he didn't want to move. He would be happy to hold her in his arms forever. He carefully cleaned the new blood off her beautiful face and ripped a new piece off the cloth to wrap around her head to stop the bleeding. He soon formed a plan in his mind. He would have to find a fireplace in this small mansion Potter had. After he finished that, he would use the small amount of floo powder he had with him to get them to a shop or something where he could find help for her, and tell the Ministry Of Magic about what had happened. He had no idea what would happen to him after that. That's when it dawned on him, he was now an orphan. His father was dead now, and he was sure that the Malfoy Manor would not be for him in his father’s will. He was sure that his father would take his name off the will all together, he wouldn’t get so much as an old drape. Where would he stay? All his family were Death Eaters, so they too would be gone. He had nothing, nobody. He would think about that later, however, because now he had to think of the matter at hand. Helping the angel that lay in his arms was first on his list, before something worse happened to them both. As if on cue, that worse thing had come:

Ron Weasley stood at the end of the walk, wand outstretched, pointing at a blood covered Draco Malfoy, ready to kill.

“Get the hell away from her you sick murderer.”