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“You have my wand, Potter.” Draco said evenly, his attention focused on the wand in question and not the prat currently holding it.
Draco was – most unfortunately, in his only recently humbled opinion – back in the Room of Hidden Things. He had spent most of 6th year inside of it, trying to repair that blasted Vanishing Cabinet and he had truthfully never wanted to see the inside of it again. Draco loathed this room, which full of old junk and his own bad memories. At least this time, he probably wouldn’t have to dispose of any dead birds.
His hands twitched with the overwhelming desire to hold his wand again – never mind that he had been almost happy to see Potter run off with it in the first place. Draco’s wand was like an extension of himself – and it practically hurt to see it in another wizard’s hands. He had no regrets about seeing his wand used to save Hermione Granger – anything was better than just watching as she was tortured by his deranged Aunt Bellatrix, but the necessity of that sacrifice did not make him feel happy about seeing his wand in the hands of his long-time rival.
On the surface, it would appear that Draco was engaged in what was effectively small talk with Potter about his wand. And he was, he supposed. But Draco was also stalling for time, while he frantically tried to reach out with his senses – hoping to locate wherever it was that Granger and Weasley had gone off to in the cavernous, overstuffed room. He had witnessed the three Gryffindors enter together, so he knew the other two were in here somewhere. Consequently, Draco made no effort to lower his voice. He wasn’t shouting – that might seem off, even to Crabbe and Goyle, thick as they were – but he wasn’t trying to hide either. Come on, Granger, he thought desperately to himself, Come find me and stop me.
After all, what if they didn’t come rescue Potter and Draco was actually successful in aiding the Dark Lord to victory?
Draco wasn’t sure how long he could plausibly stall for time, before someone would notice that he wasn’t exactly giving this endeavour his best effort. It was his most immediate concern, at least up until the point that Crabbe – the absolute, reckless fool – decided that this was the moment for him to mount his own rebellion against Draco. Apparently, Crabbe didn’t think he needed to listen to him anymore, because the Malfoys were through, huh? Fucking perfect. Salazar’s Sack! It was hard enough to navigate not being killed by the Dark Lord, while also in no circumstances trying to help the Dark Lord actually win, without the bloody help deciding to go on strike in the middle of a crucial encounter.
Merlin save him from a sub-par lackey, with delusions of grandeur.
Draco was surprised to find it actually hurt his pride to be brought low before the likes of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Although, to be fair to Goyle, he wasn’t being a twat about anything at the moment – that was reserved for Crabbe, who apparently thought he was ready to take over the reins when it came to planning schemes; despite not knowing the correct pronunciation, or meaning, of half the words he had spoken in the past couple of sentences. “Die-dum”, for crying out loud. Perfect. Being in charge should go great for him. The Dark Lord would be unstoppable with such brilliance at his disposal
Draco’s pride – in himself, in his family, in their centuries of traditions – had taken quite a beating over the past few years, so he almost found it funny to discover that the likes of Vincent Crabbe could still wound it. He’d reflect more on it later, in the event he had a later Perhaps it was so galling to whatever sense of self Draco retained, because of how inept Crabbe was at, well, everything. Useless git.
Draco began trying to corral Crabbe – so as to not allow him to irrevocably botch this situation. That way, Draco could hopefully salvage whatever half measures he could muster to assist the bloody Boy Who Lived, preferably without actually drawing any attention to himself from the nearby assembled Death Eaters. Well, technically, he supposed it would be more correct to say the other Death Eaters, but he never really felt like his membership in that select group ought to count, really. It was just a creative punishment for his father’s failings. An ever-present threat, literally branded on his own body, disguised as an honour.
Draco groaned inwardly as he heard the Weasel shout to Potter from another part of the room, just baldly asking who he was speaking with, like they were hanging out at meal times in the Great Hall. Bloody useless git! Did he need an engraved invitation to take them out with stealth? Crabbe, of course, started firing off curses in the direction where Weasley’s voice had originated. If Granger went down due to a combination of idiocy from Crabbe and Weasley, Draco would personally avada them both.
Draco tried to move Crabbe out of the way, so he could get a better handle on the situation. Granger showed up from the end of the aisle – Merlin he had missed seeing her face – aiming a stunning spell at Crabbe at the same time, which missed only because Draco had moved the lummox out range. Fuck! That could have gone better. He hadn’t meant to interfere with her actions, especially now that someone competent was attempting to stop them.
“It’s the Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!” Crabbe’s harsh voice screamed the killing curse, aiming it at Granger. Draco’s seeker reflexes kicked in, as he moved Crabbe’s wand arm up and to the side, deflecting the curse away from any of the room’s current inhabitants. He just missed Granger ducking behind a pile of assorted lost items. He didn’t think she had seen his intervention, which was probably for the best. As far as she knew, they hated each other. The animosity was actually quite one-sided, not that she had any idea. Crabbe, however, noticed what he had done and the larger boy – well, Draco supposed they were all men now – looked back at him in outrage.
Draco’s eyes narrowed in return. “Don’t kill him!” he shouted very loudly, hoping to distract Crabbe from his intentions and to give the Gryffindor bloody dream team time to bloody well disarm them. More curses were flying around, but nothing was landing. Not until Granger successfully hit Goyle with a stunning spell that left him unconscious. Draco was disarmed, losing his wand to Potter, again, although this time it was his mother’s. Crabbe and Weasley had left his field of vision, but almost as soon he realized they were out of sight – Draco gasped as he saw horrifying, menacing flames, coming from the direction the pair of witless fools had bumbled off toward. He watched, terrified, as Potter tried to use Draco’s own wand to put out the flames, with no discernible effect.
“RUN!” Draco screamed, loudly, hoping Granger and Potter heeded his advice. Weasel too, he supposed, but only so that the red-haired tosser was available to help the other two later, with the still on-going battle in the rest of the castle. Draco grabbed Goyle and hoisted him up over his shoulders, trying to move the larger man out of the range of that cursed fire.
Fiendfyre! Complete and total madness to even attempt that curse! No one should ever use it – full fucking stop – but to use it in a confined, trapped indoor space? They might all be doomed at this point because of Crabbe’s idiocy. The flames were growing at a much faster rate than a normal fire would, and there were alarming creatures made of flame emerging from it. He thought he saw a dragon made entirely of flame, emerge from the blaze across the room – causing more piles of ancient detritus to ignite.
Dragging an unconscious Goyle, and ignoring his recently burned forearm, Draco choked on the smoke and the suffocating heat of the flames, as he tried to climb on top of a shaky discarded cabinet. Fuck, I hope Granger got out of here. Merlin, keep her safe. He repeated this last thought in his head, to himself, thinking only of her and his mother. He was going to die, and Granger was going to remain oblivious about his feelings for her, but if she was safe – well, he’d feel better when he died if he knew Granger had at least made it out. Hopefully she and his mother would both survive the day.
Through the smoke and superheated air, Draco could just make out what he thought was three figures flying on broomsticks. He didn’t know whether to be grateful for the enduring Gryffindor lack of self-preservation, or furious that Granger was even now endangering herself for him and Goyle, of all people. As they got closer to his position, they became more visible in the charging, malevolent blaze that surrounded him and Goyle. Draco could just make out that it was Harry Potter was coming right at him, arm outstretched.
Draco didn’t hesitate – he held out his arm to sworn enemy. He briefly recalled the disastrous first – and before now, last– time he’d held his hand out to Potter, before banishing the thought from his mind. Draco needed to concentrate if he was going to survive – no time for ancient regrets now. Potter flew straight for the pair of Slytherins, grabbed for Draco’s hand, clasped it and then immediately lost his grip. Both of their hands were sweaty in this truly unbearable heat, and Goyle was not a small man. Each of them outweighed the slight Gryffindor seeker, and the two of them together were just too much for the smaller man to pick up.
Harry swung back towards the other two Gryffindors, evidently to regroup and try again. Draco could hear Granger’s authoritative tone over the roar of the fire and his own racing heartbeat. “Ron, you and I will get Goyle on your broom, then I’ll get Malfoy out on mine and Harry – while we are doing that – you get the diadem. Now go!”
The Weasel had looked like he was going to argue, but Hermione did not wait for his agreement, before she headed towards them – not looking as steady on her broom as either of Gryffindor Quidditch players she was with. Weasley followed after Granger, with a disgusted look on his face. Draco had begun trying to lift Goyle up, as soon as she started her approach to his position. From a few feet away, she took out her wand – hang on, actually she took out Bellatrix’s wand, fuck she was the bravest person he’d ever met – and shot a featherlight charm at Goyle’s unconscious form. Clever witch! She reached him first and put her hand down to grab one of Goyle’s shoulders.
The Weasel was close behind and the three of them managed to get Goyle onto Weasley’s broom without too much difficulty, thanks to Granger’s spell work. Weasley only left after Hermione shouted “Go!” at him, waving him away with her free hand. Granger had just reached out towards Draco, seeking to help him get up on the back of her broom, when a flaming serpent roared towards them, causing him to dive off his perch of a three legged, very unstable, cabinet – and onto a nearby pile of assorted junk.
Granger swore as she also dodged the flames, before looping back around to grab him. Draco had never seen her successfully fly a broom before, but honestly, all things considered she wasn’t doing that bad. But it wasn’t one of her preternaturally amazing skills, either. She bit her lip in concentration, her face white and her expression one of grim resolve. Draco slipped, the pile underneath him disintegrating, as the flames licked through it. This was not promising. As he fell, she cast an accio in his direction and he found himself thrust through the air towards her waiting hand – their hands connecting with a horrible snapping sound as she screamed, but did not let go – her grip firm, her face pained.
Draco grabbed the broom with his other hand and climbed on behind her. She gasped in pain, “Draco, take control of the broom. I think you pulled my shoulder out of its socket.” He barely registered the use of his first name, as he put both of his arms around her, reaching over her to hold the broom handle. She began cradling her injured arm, and shuddered in her position in front of him on the broom, as he flew up and over the flames, aiming for the door.
Draco found himself huddling around her more than was strictly necessary to keep control of the broom, his face buried in her hair over her uninjured shoulder, breathing rapidly and inhaling her scent. Granger was still shaking, obviously in pain. Merlin, it hurt to listen to her be in pain, again. And worse, to be the cause of it, again. He started making soothing, shushing noises, without any conscious decision to do so. “I’ve got you, Granger. It’ll be alright.”
Hermione made a small gasp – of pain? He wasn’t sure. “Malfoy” she said, her tone was inscrutable, but her voice sounded slightly strangled. “Did you talk to Theo recently?” She moaned in pain again, as the movement of the broom jostled her, while Draco sought to avoid the flaming monstrosities that were still trying to reach them.
Draco winced on her behalf. Theo, what? “Nott is in Europe. He scarpered off last summer, before everything really started.” Why on earth was Granger asking about Theo Nott of all people?
“Oh, I see.” She said, pain from her shoulder still evident in her voice. “Never mind.”
They flew out of the Room of Hidden Things, into a castle in chaos. The battle had evolved greatly since they went in the room. There were explosions in the distance – and then some other explosions that were much closer. People were engaged in battle in the corridors now. Draco flew the broom up a stairwell to a different corridor, which was not presently inhabited by combatants and landed in an alcove a small distance away. Granger was still hurt and he needed to see how seriously she was injured.
She got off of the broomstick carefully, but still let out a small pained noise as she did. As soon as she was standing, she cradled her injured arm to her body. “Are you alright?” she asked Draco, her eyes moving up and down over his form, assessing.
Draco shook his head in disbelief, marveling at her priorities at this moment. “I am fine. You are not. How is your shoulder?”
“Dislocated.” She winced, and swayed slightly.
“Let me fix it,” he said moving towards her. She took a hesitant step backwards and he froze. Right. His earlier feeling of closeness had not actually changed their situation. He had no right to just assume he’d be permitted to help her – and certainly no right to think he could touch her, even if it was just for the purposes of healing.
She regarded him suspiciously, but without any evident hostility. “How do you know how to reset a dislocated shoulder, without magic?” Her manner suggested that she was not opposed to his help, but she was concerned about his skill in doing so. It was so very Granger of her to interrogate him about his qualifications in the middle of a battle, rather than just accept help, that he felt his heart squeeze with a surge of affection.
Trying to keep any hint as to his real thoughts from appearing on his face, Draco looked back at Granger and shrugged. “Quidditch.”
She nodded and moved closer to him, saying, “Well, alright then” in a completely matter-of-fact tone. Draco was caught off guard for a moment, distracted by her evident trust in him.
Draco moved forward, taking her injured arm out to the side and bracing her other hand on his opposite shoulder. She whimpered at his movement. “It’s okay, Granger. This will be quick and then it will feel much better. I’m going to move on three, yeah?” She nodded at him, her brown eyes wide and staring. She was so close and her panting breath was starting to become independently distracting.
“One. Two – ” he moved quickly and snapped her shoulder back into its socket. She let out a small scream, that she immediately tried to stifle, by burying her face in his chest. He put both of his arms around her, trying to soothe her distress. He rested his chin on her hair, afraid to say anything that might break this improbable spell and disrupt this moment. He never expected he’d be able to hold her.
“What happened to three?” she asked, sounding miserable. Draco repressed some inappropriate laughter, that he expected would not be well received. She moved back to look up at him, her hand still holding onto his shirt. Draco looked down at her and saw her perfect eyes looking up at him – a beautiful warm brown with flecks of gold, luminous orbs he could to get lost in – if he ever let himself. Or, perhaps more accurately, if she ever allowed him to do so. He lost track of her question, as he moved his hand up from her shoulder to gently cup the side of her face. “Granger – I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, I suppose it was going to hurt just as much if you did it on two or three,” she conceded, tone somewhat begrudging.
“No, Granger. That’s not. Well, yes that, but not only that.” He was flustered. His tone was contrite, but exasperated. “That’s not what I meant. Hermione, I am sorry. I am so fucking sorry. For everything. For everything I said to you at school. Everything I did to you at school. For not – for not helping you at the Manor.” His voice cracked, remembering it all.
Draco had actually tried to help her – when she was underneath Bellatrix’s wand and blade – doing what he could wandlessly, and wordlessly, to take her pain away. He would never tell her about that, though. What was the point when it hadn’t been enough? She had still been tortured in front of him. She had still screamed.
“Draco…” Granger spoke slowly, like she also didn’t want to disrupt the inexplicable closeness of the moment. “Are you certain you haven’t heard from Theo?”
Draco leaned forward and put his forehead against her own, and breathed. He didn’t want to talk about Theo. He just wanted to hold her for a moment and forget that his world was probably going to end that day, one way or another. Another explosion sounded in the distance, followed by screams and shouts. She looked away – eyes travelling in the direction of the sound – and then back at him. The moment their eyes met, he moved and kissed her – the inescapable gravity of Hermione Granger suddenly becoming something he was unable to resist.
Her lips were soft, her mouth was warm and his hands found their way into her hair, wild and untamed. It felt softer than he’d imagined it would. She let out a small moan, opening her lips slightly to do so, and he slipped his tongue in her mouth at the opportunity. Granger returned the favour, eagerly. She pressed her body against his, also seeming to need whatever closeness they could manage in this impossible moment. Draco reached his hands down to pull her body even closer into his own.
Another explosion rocked the castle, jolting them out of their trance. A shout of “’MIONE!” came from the stairwell they had just flew up. They broke apart somewhat, still touching, with both of them gasping for breath. Hermione looked up at him. “Are you sure you don’t remember?” There was a note of desperation in her voice, and she looked up at him with so much unspoken longing, it stole his breath.
“Remember what?” Draco moved a curl away from her face, confused.
“Right. Sorry, it just seems like you remember.” She wiped away a tear. Why was she crying? What was he supposed to remember?
“Granger, I –” Draco began, confused by all that was happening.
“There’s no time, okay. I have to leave.” She pulled back so she could look him dead in the eye, composing herself, her voice firm. “Stay alive. And come find me when this is done. Alternatively, find Theo. He has your memories – he promised to take them with him for safekeeping, when he left.”
Draco took a step back, apprehension spiking through him. “What are you talking about? What memories? Why would Theo have my memories?”
She ran her hand through her uncooperative mane, in evident frustration. Draco could hear the shouts for her from her worried friends become louder, more insistent. “I really don’t have time to explain – well, any of this, actually. Your memories from 6th year. You and me. That, um, actually was not our first kiss.”
Draco felt like the floor had dropped out from underneath him. The feeling was heightened by the pulse of magic that came from another, closer explosion almost at the same instant.
“HERMIONE!” shouted Potter, closer now.
“I have to go!” Hermione's voice sounded desperate, and scared. She inhaled a shaky breath, visibly trying to regain control of her emotions, before looking at him with deadly seriousness -- her tone authoritative. “You are not allowed to die. I mean it.”
“Neither are you.” He wasn’t sure what had happened between them in the past, but he gathered that was intentional. But Merlin if he didn’t want them both to be alive at the end of the day, so he could find out.
She rolled her eyes at him. “I know that! You are the one that needs the reminder!” And then she took off running, in the direction where her friends were frantically calling her name, probably worried sick about whether she had survived the flames.
Draco watched her go, feeling more stunned by what had just occurred than any spell he’d ever been on the receiving end of in the past. Never in his wildest imagination had Draco thought he’d have a chance with Granger, ever. The gap was just too wide. She was so perfect and good. He was neither of those things, no matter what he had been raised to believe. And then there were all of the things he had personally done to her – or allowed to happen to her.
But, apparently, sometime in his past, Draco had seen his chance, went for it and – Merlin be damned – it had actually happened. Draco knew that she was far too good for him, and he would have never had the audacity to approach her – or at least that was what he had thought, up until a few moments ago. But he was too selfish to deny her, not if she wanted him too. It’s not like he was as good a person as Hermione Granger.
A strange sensation – if he wasn’t so beaten down by the past two years, he might have called it hope – was warring inside him with the dawning realization that he actually had more to lose than he himself had been aware of, until just now. That was sobering. The giddiness he felt at being able to actually kiss Granger became somewhat tempered. He supposed that was just as well – he needed to focus.
Draco bent forward and picked up the broom. He needed to find Goyle. He needed to do whatever he could to make sure that his mother survived. His father too, but that was not as much of a priority for Draco, not after what Lucius Malfoy’s decisions had cost him and his mother. And he needed to make sure that Potter won. He had no idea how he would accomplish those things, but Granger would think of something. She always did.
“You’d better win this one, Potter.” He spoke to himself, under his breath. “Or I will never forgive you.” With his own heart trying to beat itself out his chest and the taste of the witch he’d fancied since the Yule ball on his lips, Draco Malfoy set out to rejoin the fight – not properly on anyone’s side except for his own, and that of the only other two – possibly three – people who mattered to him. He wasn’t built to save the world. But Granger was. So he would do whatever he could to save her.