Inevitable Lovers

Chapter 20:

The aftermath had seemed like eternity for Draco. He was unable to muster the spirit to resist, to cause a struggle, or even voice the dread that had left an acid taste in his mouth, lingering like some close nightmare. Submissively, he was led away from the harsh darkness of the woods to be returned to lonely, high windowed-rooms. There was an undertone of panic throughout the Malfoy Manor, as if monstrous creatures waited for him in the shadows, which did little to soothe his nerves. Thoughts, feelings, and memories crowded his mind until he could hardly stand it. How he wanted to leave the place! Every footstep echoed across the wooden floor, as he paced like a caged animal. In the corner there was a black grate, and a pitiful fire flickered there, barely throwing illumination onto the opposite wall. The moon cast its own silvery light through the window, ethereal and coldly beautiful. Draco paused at the sill, eyes held by the moon's radiance; silver orb reflected twice in each pupil. For the thousandth time that night, he wished he could fly away unaided by magic or brooms, to have wings of his own that could carry him to the heavens, far away from the Malfoy Manor behind. He was sure he would never look back.

The Manor was always at its most forbidding at night. Heavy doors were closed off, windows barred. Some passages were lit by weak and feeble torchlight, yet others lay in total darkness. Long before he had begun at Hogwarts, Draco had feared the house at night, never able to shake off the feeling that there was something lurking in this room or that, or in the next corridor, watching him. The oddest things seemed to glint mysteriously in the passages at night...silver candlesticks became daggers on tables, and the hanging crystals on chandeliers became strangely elongated hands, reaching down for him from the ceiling. There was no chandelier in this room. In those childhood years, even his lavish, brightly lit bedroom had often seemed chilly and sinister, causing him to light more candles than necessary and sleep with the bedcovers pulled up to his chin. He daren't leave the room until daylight crept in like an angel's sigh, at morning. There were too many unexplored rooms, that were kept for no apparent purpose, like the one in which he stood.

The bars across the window and the light from the moon made slanting shadows across the floor. Draco stepped into the centre of the pattern created by the silvery light and sat, drawing his knees to his chest and laying his head upon them, something he had not had the inclination to do since he was a small boy. He felt as though something raw and savage had been revealed to him, stripping him of what naivety he may have possessed, of ignorance and innocence. His father had been as even Draco had not known him that night, a true follower of the Dark Lord, intent on his every will. Which explained the inflammation that still hurt and throbbed on his forearm, and the fanatic look in Lucius' eyes as Draco had grit his teeth against the pain.

Afterwards...Draco had come to understand everything. Rookwood's death had been no accident. It was murder in cold blood. His father had explained it all, why disobedient followers deserved no mercy, and that he, Lucius, had been only too compliant to stun Rookwood, watch the killing...decapitation. As he had revealed this to Draco, in the company of the other Death Eaters, and Voldemort watching in the shadows, Draco had felt an icy chill run through him. Standing in the dark, cold woods, he was bound only by his father's will; hence something had taken hold of his insides and he had tried to run. Like a trapped hare he registered every direction which offered escape, took the likeliest one and tried to flee. Someone's spell caught him almost immediately. From that point things had become dangerous, and for a moment, he feared they might turn on him. But no...they had taken his wand, and his father had taken him back to the Manor. Theodore Nott, he had said, had not been nearly as uncooperative. So Draco had been shut in this empty room, alone with his thoughts, until his father decided what to do with him. Lucius knew the dark unsettled Draco, especially at the Malfoy Manor. When he was much younger, he had had nightmares and fits of sobbing if ever left alone in the dark, and Lucius resented this weakness of character, exploiting it cruelly many times.

At least he had the moon, Draco thought now, and the fire, feeble thought it was. He shifted closer to it, putting his hands out to the flames.

***

Hermione lay constricted in layers of coverlets, velvet curtains drawn tightly around her bed. On the edge of wakefulness, yet dreaming, she writhed in her sleep, hands fighting against the mattress at some fictitious monster. The sense of impending dread was mounting, and her head tossed against the pillow. A small sound escaped her lips. Something crashed against the window. Hermione sat bolt upright, feeling as though she had been chased for miles by something she could barely recall, but which held the face of terror. She took a breath, eyes wide and trying to see in the dark. Something was at the window...tentatively, she reached out to move the curtain aside, and look out. The room was pitch black. Her wand lay on the table, and she groped for it blindly.

'Lumos.'

The light cast a long beam towards the window, and as she got closer, she could see her own pale reflection in its inky blackness, and the full moon, high up in the sky and partly covered by clouds. Still haunted by the dream, Hermione was almost afraid to look too closely, as if something would come at her from the night. The pane rattled slightly. Was it the wind? Had something really collided with the glass? Her eyes darted around the room, fearful. Perhaps it had been part of the nightmare, or maybe it was thunder...had it rained earlier? It hadn't. Unsettled, she turned and dashed back to bed, extinguishing the wand in a whisper and pulling the curtains shut tight. Even in this small space, the bed seemed large and chilly. She pulled the bedcovers up to her chin, wishing Draco was there. Hermione wrapped her arms around a pillow, imagining Draco was holding her, soothing her until she fell back to sleep...

***

After silently watching the clouds pass over the moon in an endless dance, Draco had decided to act. His father could have forgotten all about him, for all he knew. He must leave the room, try and escape. But with no wand, and no broom, he could not see a way out. Until he had wandered over to the window...wishing to throw himself through the glass to freedom. Even in his mind's eye, he could see the jagged panes smeared with his own blood, body motionless, shrouded in shadow as it lay on the ground. However, there was a tiny instrument on the dusty sill, long and spindly. He took the metal rod into the palm of his hand, wondering if this could unlock the door. The lock on the door to the room was large, made for a heavy key, and he could poke the tiny stick right though it. Wishing more than anything he had his wand, Draco fiddled the piece of metal around, trying to catch the mechanism of the lock. It would not be turned, as he stood patiently for several minutes, and he thumped the door in frustration. Refusing to turn back to the empty room, he seized the door handle and twisted it, and to his great surprise, the catch undid itself. Draco almost laughed with relief, but caught himself. The door opened quite soundlessly, as he carefully drew it towards him, and, in an instant, he slipped out into the dark passageway, leaving the guttering fire and empty room behind him.

Draco crept along the passage, feeling the back of his neck erupt into gooseflesh. It seemed so silent, although at the very top of the house, it was to be expected. He wondered where his father was, and how on earth he was going to get hold of his own wand. There were two flights of stairs leading off the passage, and he thought he had better take the one leading towards the kitchen, as it went through the back of the manor. The stairs were carpeted, but still creaked a little at his weight. There was a high window set into the wall by them, and a little moonlight was let in. One more passage, and he could expect torchlight to be illuminating his way. Descending the stairs, he did not turn back to see the empty black space left behind him, although he felt as though something was about to grab him. His foot reached the last stair, and he stepped down. There was a gleam of blue. Next instant, Draco started as if doused in icy water. Something caught his wrist. He yelped in shock. Then there was a candle, the flickering light moving over his face...which stared into that of a House Elf.

'What?' Draco hissed violently, seizing it around the neck.

'I has been sent to check on you, sir,' began the House Elf timidly, 'Mister Malfoy wanted me-'

'You're not to tell him I'm here!' said Draco menacingly. 'I want to escape, understand? How would I do that?'

'P'raps you could use a broom sir,' said the House Elf, 'but Mister Malfoy won't like it sir.'

'I don't care!' said Draco through gritted teeth, 'and does it look like I have a broom, you little rat?'

'No sir,' said the House Elf fearfully. 'Unless, well there might be one other way...p'raps...'

'What?'

'There's is some Floo Powder in the kitchens, but you'll need a fire. I could fetch it for you?'

Draco's mind cast to the guttering fire back upstairs. 'Yes,' he said, 'go and get it now. And hurry up!'

The House Elf nodded nervously, not daring to disobey, and scampered away, the candle light fading with him.

Draco glanced agitatedly around, deciding to wait rather than risk creeping about the house again. He did not have long. When the House Elf reappeared, he was carrying a small stone pot, of which Draco snatched up.

'You're not to tell anyone about this,' was his warning before he darted up and away into the dark.

Back in the room, Draco shut the door with a clap, feeling decidedly less worried about making noise. This was his chance...he would return to Hogwarts, and work out what to do from there. Trembling with anticipation, he pulled up the lid of the Floo Powder, clenching a handful of the gritty grey substance.

'I wouldn't, if I were you.'

He spun around. Lucius stood in the doorway, eyes cold as chips of ice, wand in his hand. Draco's heart leapt. There was no way...he would have to do it now, leaving his wand behind. He flailed an arm at the weak flames, which immediately burned green and true. Lucius flicked his wand. Draco was instantly within his arm's length, and his father's hand closed, vicelike, over his forearm.

'I thought you had resolved to be obedient, Draco,' he murmured. Draco struggled and Lucius' grip tightened.

Draco would not speak. There was nothing to say, unarmed and faced with this. He stared obstinately.

'Draco, you have tested my patience by far tonight,' said Lucius, ever dangerously. 'Which is why I was suspicious, even now. I am not a cruel man, but I do believe in fair punishment, and you, my boy, need punishment indeed.' With that, the long-fingered hand not gripping Draco slid into a fold in his robes and withdrew a glass phial, full of some thick, scarlet coloured liquid. Draco swallowed, twisting his arm. Lucius held even tighter.

With one hand, he flicked the stopper from the neck of the phial, and it dropped to the floor.

'You will take this,' said Lucius. 'It'll be good for you, and later, maybe you will realise what a Malfoy's son should be like.'

He lifted the glass bottle, and the moonlight illuminated the crimson contents. Draco moved his head away, trying to pull back. Gripped by some sadistic compulsion, his father prised his lips apart, exposing his jaw and neck. A few drops, then half the bottle spilt itself down Draco's throat. Lucius smiled, and in that instant, Draco wrenched his arm away. He was at the flaming green blaze across the room in a second, and within it in a second more.

'Hogwarts!' was all he had time to say before his eyes fluttered shut and the spinning flames consumed him.

***

At night's darkest hour, the Astronomy Tower was lit only by the moon. Blaise Zabini could not sleep. Pansy Parkinson had lain awake in the dormitory for hours, after almost boring Blaise to tears with her laments about Draco all evening. Apparently, Pansy had decided her own problems were more important than being cold with Blaise, and had therefore talked at her for lengths of time about why life was meaningless without Draco there. Blaise, unable to concentrate on her Astronomy written homework, had finally decided she may as well do a little stargazing on a clear night, and get away from Pansy. She wandered to the door to the parapet, twisting the heavy handle. There was a sudden blaze of colour. Blaise started and turned. The grate, which had never hosted a fire in all her memory, flared. Green flames erupted, and monstrous shadows flashed on the stone walls, bringing with them a solid object. A figure was expelled from the grate, standing, but then crouching, and falling, slowly, it seemed, to the floor.

Blaise stepped back, staring, heart in her mouth. Her eyes darted in confusion, and not wanting to go nearer, she drew her wand.

'Lumos.'

The light threw the figure's profile into sharp relief. Blond hair, deathly white pallor, and a trickle of dark liquid seeping from the corner of his mouth. Her eyes widened, and then she was by his side.

'Draco...' Blaise crouched, hands carefully smoothing back the hair, eyes searching. Panicking, she wanted to shake him, but did not. Her mind raced, wondering what to do.

'Ennervate.' He remained motionless.

A tear trickled down Blaise's cheek, and her eyes lowered. She brought her face to his, long hair caressing his pale cheek. She must bring someone here. She knew who it must be, although she did not want to leave. Taking a shaky breath, she lovingly tucked his cloak in around him, and strode quickly from the tower, which was left in shadowy darkness now the fire had gutted and died.

***

Hermione's slumber had not lasted. Within the hour she was sitting awake, thinking deep dark thoughts that only dared to exist in the dead hours of night. She huddled in the covers, hating such dead hours that seemed to drag forever during wakefulness, yet slip fluidly by during sleep. There was a lone candle alight on the bedside, but she still had the curtains drawn, to avoid wondering what lurked in the dark. Then she heard the sounds, and she had sat rigidly in terror. Even having lived in castle full of ghosts for almost six years, the sounds of the living rendered her frozen in fear. The stairs outside the room creaked, and she knew someone was coming. She made not a sound. Then the door opened, and her heart raced.

'Hermione?'

'Who is it?' she called, shivering, panicking.

'Hermione.'

The curtain was drawn back, and Hermione gasped in spite of herself. Blaise Zabini. Her face was stricken, tear stained.

'It's Draco,' she whispered.

Hermione's heart leapt at the name. 'What - Draco?' she faltered, completely wrong-footed.

'I don't have time to explain,' said Blaise.

And that was how she had ended up in the chill Astronomy Tower in the dead of night, with Blaise Zabini at her side. Hermione was over Draco instantly. She did not care about Blaise's presence. She laid Draco's head in her lap, staring at his face. It looked to be carved from marble, ghostly white and seemingly without presence. Dark scarlet liquid trickled from his mouth, yet his face looked breath-takingly beautiful. Features delicate, angelic, youthful, yet without character, unseeing. With his eyes covered by heavy lids, she had no access to his soul. Hermione touched his hair, smoothed it, stroked his face, heart breaking. She closed her eyes, lowering her face to his just as Blaise had done. Blaise was silent. Perhaps it was the spell of the night, but Hermione did not stop, pressed her lips to his, feeling the tears well up beneath heavy eyelids. He was yet warm. Hermione froze, silently willing. Yes... the soft whisper of Draco's breathing breached her skin. She raised her head, looked at Blaise.

'He's alive.' Suddenly her mind was working, she had her wand, but no, it was still of no use...

'Blaise, you need to go and find Professor Tuppy. Will you?' Blaise looked perplexed, but Hermione persisted. 'You'll see why, but please, because I don't know what's wrong with him.'

'I'll go now.'

'Do you have your wand?'

'Yes.'

Blaise's footsteps trailed away, and Hermione was left alone with Draco's prone form. She wanted to hold him properly, couldn't help the tears from falling, but simply sat and stroked his hair. His left hand had fallen from Blaise's careful covering with his cloak, so she took that in both of hers, rubbing it, warming it. His hands always had been a small part of him often overlooked, but as delicate and well-formed as any other feature. She had delighted in such aspects of him, such as the tiny freckle on his shoulder blade she had seen only once, but remembered...you could know him a lifetime and never know it was there. His hands were long-fingered, elegant, talented. Hermione studied the hand she held, and then...she was pushing up his sleeve, gripped by understanding, up to the elbow. She lit her wand, and flinched at what she saw.

The pale, almost translucent skin had been crudely branded with a damning black image, the skin around it looked raw. The Dark Mark did not suit Draco. The sinister leer of the skull gave way to a vicious, sinuous snake. An ill-omen...its fangs were bared as if poised to sink into Draco's flesh. Hermione blanched, felt cold, re-covered the arm with the cloak. She did not want this to change everything, did not wish to say goodbye, not when she had him here, soft, safe, in her arms. She closed her eyes in misery and another tear seeped free.

Then the door was opening, and Blaise had returned, the Dark Arts Professor in her wake.

'Hermione?' Nymphadora Tonks approached, wand aloft, taking in the scene with an expression of confusion. 'Is this Draco?'

Hermione nodded, eyes ranging from Tonks to Blaise. 'He's breathing, but there's something wrong.' She made a small apologetic gesture.

Tonks hesitated, glanced at Blaise, then suddenly assumed her true form. Blaise gasped. 'I'm sorry, but it's easier for me this way.'

Crouching by him, Tonks's keen eyes scanned Draco's face, her small hands feeling for his pulse.

'Hermione...Blaise,' she said in a degree of relief, 'he's asleep. That's all. And I know what this looks like,' she gestured to the liquid running from Draco's mouth, 'but I think it's potion. And if it's the potion I think it is...I don't have the antidote for it, its an old sleeping remedy that knocks you cold. He might only need a good shock, though, especially if he hasn't swallowed much.' She flourished her wand, muttered, "Agumenti" and let a gush of icy water splatter directly onto Draco's face, and Hermione's knees. She yelped in surprise, jerking Draco's head.

'Shh!' said Tonks. 'Look.'

Draco jolted reflexively. He opened his eyes and took in Hermione's face dazedly, noticing neither Blaise nor Tonks.

'Draco!'

'Hermione?' Draco whispered uncertainly. So I did make it...A myriad of emotions coursed through him. Hermione held him close.

'Shh...it's all right, I've got you...you're safe, Draco.'

Yet he tried to sit, tugged on his sleeve, protested. 'No, no...' He wanted to check, to know he hadn't been dreaming. He had not. The Mark was burnt blacker than ever on his arm. He looked away.

'Hermione,' said Draco weakly, 'I'm so sorry.'

Hermione held him closer, cradling his face to her neck, whispered, 'No Draco...I told you...I love you. This is only the beginning.'

***

29.6.1998

The last day of term. Such a lot has happened this year, and sometimes it seems an end that should not have been. Summer will be strange...I wonder whether the post owl will find me at all with my exam results. I have come to realise that there are some things more important than OWLs or NEWTs, and I never thought I'd say that. I have always been told I'm a gifted witch, and I just hope my talents will prove valuable in the future. Perhaps one day I will have the pleasure of telling mine and Draco's children about our adventures. For I can only hope Voldemort will let Draco go. It was too late for Theodore. He is not likely to be saved from the Death Eaters, and I pity Blaise for that...she never did say goodbye. Blaise is truly a special witch, for all her intuition. I will never forget how she knew, and did not reveal it, that it was me Draco was with all those months.

There are two goodbyes I shall make today, regretting one. The first is Pansy Parkinson. For all I loathed her, I believe she truly loved Draco, in the most passionate one can when love is unrequited. Perhaps she will find someone else to inherit a wizarding fortune by. The second is Ron. Of course, I will see Ginny and Harry and Ron and everyone as often as I can, but it is a type of goodbye. I wish I hadn't had to tell him there was someone else, and maybe one day he'll find out it's Draco; Harry and Ginny know already, of course. The thought of him hurting even more makes me feel like crying. I like to see him happy, and I think he really was when Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup in our last year, a day I'm sure we'll never forget. Tonks has left Hogwarts, no doubt to help in the fight against Voldemort, and I think I know I can confide in her more than ever now, even though we have never discussed that night when she came to the Astronomy Tower.

Dear Diary,

We can't predict the future. But whatever happens, Draco, my angel, I will always remember you.

Hermione

There was a poem etched onto the next page, and after that, the diary was blank.

Angels possess the snow

Pure, frozen, white in all its beauty

Marred by scarlet blood

Then there is the fallen angel

Tainted, broken, beaten down to the ground

Wishing the snow to know tears

Sadness

Grief

All alone

Wandering, misery,

World shattered, collapsing

No one hears

No one cares

No one cries

I plead for the snow

For the angel

His shattered pieces on the floor

Unable to pick them up again

Wings torn, shrouded in darkness

Fallen angel, I weep,

Please stay pure.

Finis