text stringlengths 1 330k |
|---|
Under the glass case lay a Daily Prophet with an article about a Muggle family that had been murdered. Surely it would’ve been Hermione’s worst fear. It would be the reason why she would take drastic measures to protect them. |
He set the newspaper to the side and noticed there were two small boxes. He opened the first, seeing her documentation of her genealogy, her birth certificate, and research done on her blood status. |
That familiar guilty feeling came over him. “I told you didn’t matter,” he uttered under his breath, pushing the material aside. |
He then went to the other box and found a few clues; copies of passport applications for people by the name of Wilkins alongside copies of several old memory charms and spells. |
And with those two things, coupled by her image erased from the photos downstairs, Draco knew what she had done. |
“No,” he breathed. |
It was getting dark. The sun had set and he went ahead and sealed the seat back into place, keeping the secret of her parent’s new names safely inside. |
Standing to full height, he turned to take in her room once more. It eerily felt like times when he would see her light. She would be so close, but still so very far away. And now, being in her childhood bedroom, it felt the same. He could feel her presence there, but yet, she was gone. |
A commotion on the first floor brought him back to the task at hand. He was quite relieved to know that it wouldn’t be Hermione’s parents. Instead, it would be two impatient, irritated Death Eaters. |
Draco met them at the bottom of the stairs. |
“It’s cold out there and I’m starving!” growled one of them. |
“Well, feel free to search the kitchen for food, but there won’t be anything there. These people are long gone,” Draco replied as if irritated. |
Following several explicative words and empty pantry cabinets slamming shut, the two reappeared in the living room. |
“So it seems.” |
“There’s no sign of them or their whereabouts upstairs either,” Draco added. “The closets are empty. Only God knows where they are or if they’ll ever return.” |
One of the Death Eaters began rummaging through a desk, emptying the contents onto the floor, while the other began turning over sofa cushions. |
“I swear. You’re like two children hoping to find a galleon!” he scolded their unprofessionalism and common thievery. “Let’s finish this and get out of here! Muggle homes give me the creeps.” |
Draco would eventually tell Voldemort only part of what he found. He would say that the Granger’s wouldn’t be worth finding, considering their altered memories. But he would keep their new names to himself just so they wouldn’t be hunted and killed for revenge. |
As he left her former home, Draco looked back, thinking of all that Hermione had sacrificed in protecting her parents. |
She had succeeded, but the heavy price she paid had not been lost on him. She loved them with her whole heart and when he thought back on their conversation about how she lied to them by putting on her best smile and telling them everything was well, he understood that she’d been protecting them for a long time. Protecting them from the truth, from danger, from her world… and from Death Eaters who would come knocking one day. Death Eaters who would’ve tortured them to find out where she was. |
She was bloody brilliant, but he knew her well. This would be unbelievably tough on her, even if she never showed it. Hermione was incredibly strong, but this would weigh on her tremendously. He also knew that this was something her friends would never have allowed her do. She would’ve done this on her own first, then told them about it later. |
In many ways, it was a tragedy. It was as if she was choosing to be an orphan to protect them from harm. There was a strong possibility that there would be no more holidays with them. No family to attend her wedding. And her children might never know them. It was her sacrifice to bear in order to protect them; a tremendous loss. |
Somehow, he felt both proud and sad for her. For she set out to protect her parents from Death Eaters… from him. And she had succeeded. Oh, the strength it would’ve taken… he could only imagine it. |
Forgive me for not writing sooner, my Delilah. For my punishment in being discovered with you prevented me from being able to pen a letter until this moment. It is with heavy heart that I tell you yet another story. I tell it with the hope that you will understand why this will be my last letter to you. |
For there once lived a spoiled child who received one hundred gifts. He could open ninety-nine of them, but not the one-hundredth. For he was told that he was forbidden to open it. |
Naturally, even after opening all the others, he became curious about the one he couldn’t have. He began to wonder why. Was it dangerous? Was is fragile or rare? When he asked of it, he was only told that the gift was deemed unworthy and ‘not good enough’ for him. |
He did not appreciate that answer. He wanted to see and judge for himself. |
So, that very evening, the curious boy secretly possessed the box intending to open it. He peeled back the layers of pretty paper and opened the lid. What he found was something most definitely different than all of the other ninety-nine gifts. |
What he saw was the very desire of his heart… what he longed for all his life. It gave him an indescribable joy just getting close enough to look at it, let alone hold it and feel it in his hands. |
All the other gifts became meaningless and forgotten in the brightness and light of the one. |
But danger came upon him as he attempted to hide the gift. And it came to pass, his secret discovered, the boy took ninety-nine lashings for his disobedience. |
Nearly driven mad at coming so close to having what he truly desired, the boy found his heart exceedingly low and wanting. |
For in time, the boy was caught yet again with the beloved gift that was never supposed to be his. When found, the gift was destroyed, leaving the child shattered and heartbroken. |
You are my forbidden gift, my precious Delilah. I have suffered my lashings concerning you, but my soul cries out not from pain, but in remorse and regret. For I must leave you now because I cannot bear to live if you were to be destroyed because of my doing. |
From the dim light of an old oil lamp in the rare quietness of the Weasley home, Hermione closed her eyes briefly… then closed the book. While there was no description of its author, in Hermione’s mind, he was a tall man, dressed in black, with silvery eyes and striking blond hair… one who looked eerily similar to the one who had referred to her as being a gift to him while in the waters of the Prefect’s Bathroom. |
When she opened her eyes, she knew there was a danger in thinking such a thing. The words she read were written by someone else, not Draco. Yet, their situation seemed so eerily similar. Could this young author’s feelings for Delilah mirror Draco’s feelings for her? Whether or not it was true, it sure seemed real. And this letter to Delilah that she had just read seemed as though it could’ve been written by Draco and sent to her. It was a tenderly crafted let down for a fragile heart; one that Hermione was sure had left Delilah in tears. |
Staring into the still, constant flame of the oil lamp, she wondered if Draco had been one of the masked Death Eaters who’d ambushed them in the air in their attempt to get Harry to safety. Had he been so close? Had he been the one to cause George to lose his ear? Had he been the one to cause Moody’s death? |
Riding a Thestral with Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hermione had never felt such a mix and rush of emotions… dread, worry, and fear mixed with pure adrenaline as they all blasted through the night sky in a fury, dodging curses and spells in the blackness of the night. |
Any of the Death Eaters could’ve been Draco. And if he had looked at her, he would’ve seen Harry’s likeness staring back at him, not hers. For they had both worn masks to conceal themselves that night; fighting on opposite sides. |
Hermione’s heart squeezed in her chest. Had the one she loved really become her enemy after all… after everything? |
Her face was aglow as the flame became watery before her eyes; the image of it becoming a little fiery blur from her tears. |
“Hermione? Hey,” Ginny called to her from the darkness. |
She quickly dabbed at her eyes. |
“Come in,” she greeted with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. |
“Pretty crazy night, huh?” |
Hermione answered with a slow nod. |
“How’s George doing?” |
“Mum says he’ll be much better in the morning when his body recovers from the blood loss. And she’s distraught over his ear. She can’t fix it. He’ll just have to remain ‘saint-like.’” |
George’s comment from earlier made both girls smile even though the air between them still remained quite serious. |
“Look, I… um…” Ginny started. “I know the three of you will be leaving soon and not returning to Hogwarts this year. And I wanted to give you something to take along with you.” |
“Oh, okay,” Hermione replied, unprepared for what she was about to receive. |
Ginny held out a blanket, but not just any blanket. It was black and luxurious and had the World Cup Quidditch logo on it. She had seen that blanket before… at Christmas! |
“I don’t have any money to actually purchase something, you understand? But I thought you might need this more than I do. You know, wrap up and keep warm and remind you of a wonderful Christmas,” Ginny explained, holding up her gift given by an unknown person that had shocked them all with generosity and gifts that were perfect for each of them. |
But Hermione knew precisely who sent them. That blanket had belonged to Draco Malfoy. |
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped in disbelief. |
“Oh, no. You love that blanket. You need to keep it and…” |
“I do love it,” Ginny interrupted. “But I want you to have it. Besides, it’s just the World Cup emblem. If it were my favorite team, well… then I’d never let go of it, you understand,” she teased to lighten the mood. |
Hermione could not refuse. Once the blanket was in her hands, she was mesmerized by its softness, but more so of its history. She brought it to her cheek… so amazingly soft. |
A quiet, “thank you,” was nearly all that she could muster thinking about how it had been Draco’s… perhaps from his very bed. “You have no idea what this means to me.” |
Ginny smiled at the sentiment, but after a friendly hug and a moment’s pause, she changed the subject. |
“There’s something else I want to talk to you about,” Ginny confessed, finally taking a comfy seat next to her. “My brother… he still cares for you very much.” |
“And I care for him.” |
“Yes, but what I mean is that he wants you to care for him like you used to.” |
“He made his choice, Ginny, and was quite clear in wanting to be like it was… as friends.” |
“But sometimes people make the wrong choices,” she pleaded. “Sometimes people make mistakes that they would give anything to take back.” |
Suddenly Hermione wasn’t thinking of Ron’s choice, but Draco’s choice and her own concerning him. |
“Please forgive him,” Ginny begged for her brother. |
“Forgive?” Hermione repeated rather distantly, remembering the feel of the Dark Mark on Draco’s forearm against her fingertips. |
“He wants you back.” |
Hermione thought of Ginny’s words, wishing it was Draco who wanted her back. Or did she? |
Being with him had been a dream… a dream on fire. And as much as she felt there was no future for them, something told her differently. Like the book she’d been reading, it seemed the relationship was over, but there was plenty more to read of them. More was coming. And she didn’t want to give up her feelings for Draco just yet. |
Sometimes she would catch Ron glancing at her. Most times, he would look away. But there were times when he continued to stare at her with a look that said he was sorry and that he definitely wanted her back. Those were the times when she would look away. |
And on occasion, Harry looked at her too… with a seriousness that bore into her. It made her feel as though he would be willing to cross the lines of friendship into something deeper, should she ever feel the same. Like a silent, but sincere invitation; unspoken and withheld for the rift it would cause between them all. |
On the day she had altered her parent’s memories, she could admit to craving a lover’s touch from any of the three men in her life… Draco, Ron, or Harry. But she would feel no such comfort on a day when she needed it the most. |
For she knew that in a single moment of weakness, a single touch from Ron or Harry would’ve had her crumbling. And her will to stop… scattered to the four winds. |
For Hermione had discovered something about herself that day. In the very hour of her strength, she was also at her weakest. |
As Harry’s serious stare flashed into mind, Hermione felt that she was betraying the other girl in the room who had been patiently waiting for an answer. If Ginny knew her thoughts on Draco and Harry, Hermione had a hunch they wouldn’t be friends much longer. She had to say something. |
“I suspected so. I can tell by the way that he looks at me sometimes.” Hermione let out a soft sigh. “There was a time when I would’ve given anything for Ron to look at me like that. But when I was ready, he wasn’t. And now that he is, I’m not,” she shrugged. “I have forgiven him. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. But really, Ginny, I have fifty things on my mind right now and a relationship with your brother is not one of them. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but I just don’t want to deal with him right now. There’s the R.A.B. clue that I’ve made no progress on. And I’ve been trying to prepare for a trip where I don’t even know where I’m going or how long I’ll be there. And then there’s the unbelievably difficult task of saying goodbye to the people I love, worrying about what’s to become of them.” |
Hermione stopped, putting her hands to her face briefly. She didn’t want pity from Ginny. She didn’t want her to know that she was on the brink of falling apart. |
“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” Ginny began apologizing. “You’re right. There are more important things at hand. But really, your parents should be safe, right? In Australia?” |
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at the mention of them. She didn’t want to think about them and what she did or weigh for the millionth time if it was right or wrong. And frankly she was glad to have a book that she could dive into so that she didn’t have to think about her own sad reality; even if it meant reading of someone else’s. |
“Ron told you what I did?” Hermione asked, swallowing hard and feeling ashamed somehow for altering their memoires so they wouldn’t know their real names or even know who she was. |
“No. Harry did. He’s concerned for you too, you know?” Ginny gave a sympathetic look while Harry’s serious expression flashed into Hermione’s mind once again. |
Ginny continued, saying something about tea being downstairs should she need help getting to sleep. And then she was gone, leaving Hermione with thoughts of guilt, but more importantly, a beautiful charcoal-black blanket. |
She stared at it on her lap, running her fingers over it again and again. And when she could no longer stand to be apart from it, she grabbed the ends, flipped it open, and wrapped herself in it. |
Soon she was lying on a thin mattress, closing her eyes against a cold throw pillow, remembering vividly Draco’s arms wrapped around her; remembering an embrace that was love without words. |
“Oh, Draco, where are you tonight? Tell me I did the right thing. Tell me they truly were in imminent danger. Tell me it was not done in vain. I don’t know if I can bare this.” |
It was nearly November. The autumn brought color to an otherwise dark world. |
Normally, it was Draco’s favorite time of year, but it was now tainted. |
Like fresh drops of blood over the Malfoy grounds, the bright red leaves lie splattered here and there and scattered about. It was as though fear had seeped into every crack and corner of the manor, tainting the very air Draco breathed. |
And well, some believe that when a person has lived in fear and oppression for so long, eventually they grow weary of it, longing for a change in the status quo. And whatever the consequences, be it for better or worse, something in them pushes them to do something… anything so long as their everyday lives were somehow different. |
And Draco, very tired and weary of living in fear of death from Voldemort’s doing, decided that he wanted a change. For better or worse, something had to change. |
And when he felt ready, he grabbed hold of the bottle of Firewhiskey that had been his birthday present months earlier and began drinking. When he finally felt bold enough, he trudged through the manor, bottle in hand, bent on greeting Voldemort with it. For he was utterly sick of living in fear and either he was going to improve the situation or die trying. |
Walking into the fire-lit room, Draco ignored the shadows on the wall that made it look like the black fires of hell were about to consume the place. |
“Draco,” Voldemort greeted, seemingly happy to see him. “What brings you here on this fine eve of All Hallows Eve?” |
Draco went to a nearby alcohol cabinet and grabbed two drinking glasses; thick crystal, appropriate for the drink at hand. |
“Blaise Zabini once reminded me that it wasn’t healthy for a man to drink alone,” Draco replied, recalling the fight underneath the courtyard when Blaise destroyed a picture that belonged to him. “Care to have a glass of the magical world’s finest Firewhiskey? Father paid a small fortune for it,” he offered, pouring himself a glass. |
Voldemort was amused by this surprising pouring of hospitality, figuring Draco surely wanted something in return. |
“I’ll oblige you. But a drink amongst gentlemen must come with a toast. What do you propose?” |
Draco poured the liquid into the second glass and let out a sigh. And then it came to him… |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.