Abyss

Abyss

Draco never thought in his entire life that he could be nervous and anxious about a thing as simple as going home.

He gripped his wand tighter, knowing that it was his only defense to whatever force he might be pitted against. Granger's words rang true in his ears, her cautions not baseless but had some semblance of sense and truth in them. Now that the entire Death Eaters knew of what he'd done, there was no stopping them, most especially Mrs. Parkinson, in doing what they had to do to catch him. It was plausible that there were several guards inside his home right now, just in case Draco was brave enough, or foolish enough, to come back.

And since he was coming back, he wasn't sure which of the two he was.

The wind whistled beneath him, engulfing him in its arms, devouring him from head to toe. The scenery changed one slow, agonizing moment at a time, until the exterior of the safe house became the interior of his home. His room.

Moving without sound but with haste, he grabbed everything he thought he needed: an entire armful of robes, the small sack of Galleons and Sickles he kept inside his drawer, and true to his word even Granger's nightgown; and shoved it inside a huge bag he took from his cabinet. When all these were filling the bag to the brim, he zipped it and was ready to go.

But before he said the words that were needed to perform the spell, footsteps outside his bedroom door caught his attention, footsteps that were heading straight towards his direction.

Draco cursed, and looked for some place to hide. Apparating would be a foolish thing to do right now for the damned spell always left a popping sound behind and the last thing he needed was evidence that someone came from the room, or was even inside the room, when no one should be. He spotted the space underneath his bed, the mahogany quilts on top of it long enough to cover him. Wasting not any more second, he dashed towards it, rolled inside, and held his breath.

The door to his room opened, just as the covers completely disguised him.

"I told you," a feminine voice said. "There's no one here."

Draco looked at his left, and saw two pairs of feet just standing on the doorway. He thought he recognized the hem of the red gown; the exquisite flower renditions mirroring exactly his mother's taste. The other pair, though, he had no idea to whom it belonged to, but whoever it was, was definitely male.

"I heard something," the other insisted. Draco thought that voice sounded familiar to him somehow. "I'm sure of it."

"Would you like to have a look at everything?" his mother asked, using the bored tone masked as politeness that she always opted for whenever she was displeased about something. "Perhaps if you peeked inside every little crevice this room has, you'll find that 'something' you heard." She clucked her tongue. "Poor Victor. Emilia must be working you so hard you're starting to hear voices inside your head."

Draco froze on the spot, realizing two things at once: first, the other person in the room was Victor Crabbe, father of his very own minion Vincent Crabbe. Second: this man would do what his mother suggested when he moved towards the center of the room. Draco followed the movement of his feet with wary eyes, knowing that if Mr. Crabbe were to decide to have a look around, then he would discover a certain fugitive hiding underneath the bed...

Damn it.

Fortunately, Crabbe Senior's feet began making their way back to the door. "No need, there's nothing anyway," he spoke, using very much the same tone that his son exhibited whenever Crabbe dedicated what seemed like too little time to speaking. "I'll just be at the living room."

"Oh, please, do what you have to do inside a house you are not invited in, in the first place."

The movement of the feet stopped. "Narcissa, I respect you and Lucius, you know that. But I can't disobey orders, and the orders said I'm to accompany you anywhere you go."

"Especially since those orders are from Emilia, right, Victor? What could've she possibly fed you to have you wrapped around her little finger, I wonder?"

Crabbe Senior snickered. "Something she's been feeding to Lucius too, I'll say." Apparently, to him his words were funny because when he left he was howling in laughter. Weird sense of humor, those Crabbes always had.

Draco could hear nothing from his mother, not a sound of her breathing or any movement. This meant she was thinking, or fuming; and whichever reason was not very good at the moment. Finally, the hem of her dress moved, and the door closed behind her as she left his room.

He waited a full minute before he rolled out from under the bed. Draco grimaced as he dusted off dirt from himself - stupid house elf, not doing her job again - he thought, when he remembered that no one was really tasked on cleaning his room anymore, much less under his bed, because his own house elf was dead. A twinge of sympathy - perhaps, Miss Granger's influence? - ran through him, and his eyes searched the room until he found the spot where Becky had died protecting him and Granger from the Death Eaters that time.

And, just as he wasted a moment on his thoughts, the door opened again.

Draco instinctively lifted his wand and had it aimed straight at the intruder, when he heard her speak.

"You shouldn't have returned. Not for anything, Draco."

*

Hermione felt groggy, tired and unsteady. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids were so heavy it was easier to keep them shut. All parts of her body refused to move, so she lied in there, prisoner to their will. However, a certain pungent smell was coaxing her to leave the realm of unconsciousness she was floating in, and join the land of the living. It was tempting to run away from it, to bury herself deep within the layers of dreams and fantasies she'd been having. Such nice dreams; those kinds where she got to spend her days roaming inside Hogwarts like she used to, with her Head Girl badge neatly pinned on and her chin arrogantly up; where she could spend her lunch hour devouring different types of delicious food and laughing with her friends, all still gloriously alive; where she could spend prefect meetings standing beside a certain blond haired git who she was beginning to see and regard in a different way...

"Hermione," a distant voice called her, the sound twisted and obscured. It was the last push she needed to force herself out of sleeping.

"What," she retorted, her tongue thick and distorted from many hours of disuse. "Not Granger?" She wasn't sure what she was saying for the words seemed to have rolled out that way on its own. Finally, she opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was a pair of green things hidden beneath glasses peering down at her. "Harry," she said, realizing that she was inside the safe house once again.

"Hello," Harry said, smiling. He looked tired and weary - exactly what she was feeling - but he also looked relieved of a heavy burden at the same time. "How are you?"

"I feel like there are elephants sitting on my arms because they feel dead to me," Hermione answered. She considered her answer, and laughed. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"You're not," he replied, also chuckling. "But that's a good thing. I guess that proves you're human, just like the rest of us."

"You realize that only now? What was I to you, some type of god?" Hermione lifted a hand - a dead heavy hand - to her temple, and felt some sticky substance stuck on it. "What's this?"

"Ointment, though don't ask me what's in it. I think only Snape knows the answer to that. But what I do know is that it cures fevers instantly."

All feelings of grogginess evaporated when her brain digested the information he gave her. "Snape? Snape's here?"

"Snape was. He left about two hours ago."

"Why was he here?"

"Death Eater business," Harry replied, grim and serious. "Something about the need to tell Voldemort about Minas Deep."

"What?" Hermione demanded, sitting up. For a moment, her vision swirled into bright lights and hazy figures, and she was thankful he was there to support her. She blinked, and the swirling passed. "He's going to tell Voldemort about... about us?"

"It was necessary, and Dumbledore seems to think it was okay."

"Okay? How could it be--"

"You don't have to worry, Hermione. We're leaving this place at the soonest possible time, anyway. By the time they attack, we'd be long gone."

She looked around her, and frowned. Hermione wanted to ask Harry a question, but somehow the question remained unasked, and she was a bit hesitant to say it outright. "How did Malfoy react when he saw Snape?" she queried instead, remembering bleakly how he had acted when he thought it was their professor who revealed their secret to Mrs. Parkinson.

"He shoved Snape at the nearest wall, tried to kill him. You know, his usual way of bullying people." Harry shrugged. "I stepped in time to prevent Malfoy from taking another life."

She drew her brows together, instantly coming to Malfoy's defense. "I don't think he's really meaning to kill Snape--"

"I was kidding, Hermione," he interrupted, though the seriousness in his expression had yet to belie his words. "Now Malfoy knows that Snape's a spy."

"Oh," she muttered, twisting her hands. Hermione brought her hand to her temple again, the soothing scent calming her nerves and driving her queasiness away. "So, this ointment... Snape just handed it to you?"

"No." Harry looked uncomfortable at the answer. "Snape gave this to Malfoy, and in turn he gave it to me. Hey," he said earnestly. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione frowned, trying to diagnose what she was feeling exactly. "My arms don't feel like dead weight anymore, and I don't feel that much nauseated. Wait, so you're saying that Malfoy gave this ointment to you to give to me?"

"Yes."

"So where's--"

"Hey!" Harry said suddenly, his whole face lighting up. "Dumbledore was here, too, and he gave the children a spectacular feast. There's everything - turkey, salads, potatoes, pies... are you hungry? I could fetch us some--"

"I'm not hungry," she said, dismissing the idea of food. There was something amiss, she just knew it. Hermione looked around her, half-expecting and anticipating his blond head to pop up out of nowhere. "Where's Malfoy?" she asked, finally spouting the question she'd been wanting to ask. "Upstairs? In the kitchen?"

"Um..." Harry began to fidget. "He's... around. But hey! How about you just rest, and we'll talk about this later--"

"Harry!" she exclaimed, annoyed all of a sudden. He was being evasive on purpose, she realized. "Don't you keep on saying 'hey!' to me! You're covering something, I know you are. Tell me."

He was quiet, his eyes looking at her straight and strangely unblinking.

"What?" she demanded, after a few moments.

"I can't."

"What is it? What can't you tell me?" Hermione returned his gaze, reading on his face what he didn't want to reveal. "This is about Malfoy, isn't it?"

Now Harry glanced away, and refused to look at her. "He told me not to tell you..." he said low.

"And when, exactly, did Harry Potter become a crony of Draco Malfoy? Was I unconscious the time it happened?" She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Harry! Just tell me. Where's Malfoy?"

Harry sighed. "He just... left. Walked out the door."

Hermione froze in her spot, not wanting to believe the many implications his answer held. Something in her wished she never even asked in the first place. "Where... where did he go?"

Harry shook his head. "He didn't say."

"But... did he go out for a walk? Maybe he just... thought... " She felt out of breath, the muscles in her stomach cramping when she saw the dubious expression on Harry's face. Hermione remembered too well the last time she saw Malfoy; it was after they... after she... did he leave because of her, of what she'd done? "When will... Did he tell you if he's coming back? Is he coming back?" she asked, her voice very small.

And his answer frightened her more than before. "I don't know."

*

"Lower you wand, Draco," his mother said, shutting the door behind her as silently as possible. "It's just us. No one's going to hurt you."

"But Crabbe's father--"

"--is not here, and won't be coming back. At least, not now." Narcissa hesitated, then stepped forward. "Lower your wand."

Draco did.

In a second, his mother had engulfed him in her arms. "I was so worried," she said, hugging him tight. "I kept thinking that you'd get caught, that she got to you first and we couldn't do a thing about it..." She drew away, her face wrinkled into an expression of concern. She held his face in her hands. "I saw that you were safe, but I can't be appeased until I really see you safe."

"The mirror," he muttered, realizing what she meant. "You tried to find me through the mirror, didn't you?"

Narcissa nodded, rubbing his cheeks with her thumbs. "I saw you... walking in Diagon Alley. With... with...that thing." She shook her head. "It's not important. But you are. And as long as you're safe, then all is well." She smiled, and then stepped away, dropping all forms of contact between them. "Now leave."

The abrupt change in her tone was surprising. "Not without you answering some questions."

"It's too dangerous for you to stay--"

"I'm not leaving, and if I'm to risk my life then I better get some things I need," Draco insisted, his stubborn streak manifesting itself. "Where's father?"

"He's out," she answered with a sense of urgency. "Doing business with Emilia; trying to find out if she's also looking for you. She is."

"Had Snape already told you about what he... discovered?"

Narcissa crossed her arms in front of her chest, her soft features becoming steely. "Of course he had. Minas Deep, he said. Clever Dumbledore, always hiding something from the other wizards," she said in resentment and distaste. "But how did you know about--"

"Mother," Draco interrupted. "I need to know. Are there already plans to attack?"

"Draco, why--"

"Just answer me, mother."

"Yes," she replied. "George is orchestrating everything, along with your father and..." Narcissa's lips curled. "Mrs. Parkinson."

Draco breathed uneasily, knowing that his fear had just been just realized. "I have to leave," he said. "But one last thing, when are they... are you... going to attack?"

"An attack would be made tonight, and by tomorrow all the people there would be dead," she answered, and it chilled him how casual she sounded. "But Draco, why these questions about Minas Deep? Surely you're not--"

"I've been staying there," he said. "And now I have to warn them." Draco paused, and looked at his mother gravely. "Don't tell anyone you saw me."

*

Draco dropped the bag he held on the floor once he was back inside the safe house again. The first thing he did was to check up on Granger. Finding the sofa empty, he was about to holler her name when he saw her standing on the kitchen doorway, hands crossed over her chest and not looking entirely happy to be well.

The relief he felt, at seeing her awake, was unbelievable. The tense feeling he had been sporting inside his chest loosened, and his fears abated a bit. "How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer, her face tight and passive. Using slow steps she made her way towards him, and just as she was close enough Granger raised her hand and slapped him. Hard.

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded, rubbing his cheek.

"That," she said, pointing at his bag. "I know that bag. I've seen it before. In your room. You went back there, didn't you? My God, you did." Her voice shook as she spoke.

"I had to go back," he said, conviction filling every word. "It was necessary, and--"

"Necessary?" she repeated, mocking. "That what? That you have new robes? Money? That's what's inside that bag, isn't it?"

"Granger--"

"After telling me, no, after promising me that you won't go back, here you are, doing it. Breaking your promise."

"I didn't promise you I won't go back," he defended.

Her eyes flashed. "But you told me you won't leave my side, didn't you?"

"Granger," he said through clenched teeth. This was not the appropriate time for this! "Look, there's no need to be all emotional over--"

"Emotional?" she asked. "No, you don't know what that word is, Malfoy. You can't possibly know how it feels to be sick one minute and then worried sick the next. You're just a lucky idiot you're safe back here or else you'll know how emotional I could be."

Draco found out that he could afford to smile even under the extreme circumstances. "Come here," he said, grabbing her and holding her tight. "I'm here. Stop worrying." She wound her arms around him, holding him as much as he was holding her, and in this he found... relief. "I'm glad you're well and kicking," he muttered, knowing that inside he meant every word.

"I'm glad you're back and safe," she said against his chest.

He dropped a kiss on her head, and then drew back. "As of now, I really doubt the 'safe' part," he said, once again faced with the severity of the matter. It was easier to pretend everything was different when he was with her.

Granger frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, Malfoy, what do you mean?"

Draco and Granger turned to see Potter standing at the base of the stairs.

He didn't waste time on shouting at the Gyffindor for his perverted way of watching them. "I found a Death Eater contact," Draco said, looking at Potter and then at her. "That's why I left. And from what I learned, the Death Eaters are going to attack tonight."

Both Potter and Granger registered signs of shock. "Tonight?" he repeated.

"The children!" she exclaimed, worry clouding her face.

"Get them," Draco ordered. "We have to leave for Languid Valley now."