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The black lake cast shadows along the empty common room, the greens and blues mixed with the darkness that danced across the cold floor. The beauty, unnoticed by the rest of the world, tucked soundly into their four-poster beds. The sound of nothing but his own breathing filled the space, but his mind was a constant battleground, flitting through memories that he could not unsee. His hands shook at the recollection of the torture they endured, the pain they caused. He gripped his hand at the thought of all of those who would never live because of him, either from his own wand or his cowardice. Draco didn’t know how the others endured the never ending demons that lurked over the entire castle. How did they walk in the corridors without hearing the screams of the fallen, seeing the lifeless eyes staring up at them, never too close of their own will again? The war had killed more than just those that were buried, because he was a shell of who he once was and who he could have been. His dreams had once been an escape he relished, but not even those were safe now.
The frost of the cold pavement bit into Draco’s feet as he paced along the glass wall, trailing his fingers against the smooth surface. He didn’t shy away from the chill it set in his bones, because just for a moment, he wanted to feel something other than the nothingness left behind in their wake. Her wake.
He clutched his eyes shut at the thought, trying and failing to throw his mental walls in place, and as they crumbled, so did he. Sinking down the glass wall, golden brown curls filled his head. Bringing his hands up, he firmly pressed his palms against the burning in his eyes, willing his tears to stop, screaming in his mind for any other thoughts but her. Pushing harder as the image of her floated through, flashes of warm honey eyes and ink covered skin.
“Stop.” His voice cracked, his throat raw and dry. The words echoing in his head repeatedly like a prayer to anyone who would listen. But there was no one to hear him, no gods, no one. If there were, he would be gone and she wouldn’t be. She shouldn’t be.
But she was.
Even as he hoped they would have found her, he knew. Even as they cleared the rubble, pulling the mangled bodies from the debris, he knew.
He knew as he watched Weasley and Potter cling to each other, screaming to gods who would not listen.
Draco dropped his hands from his face, slumping over on his side, letting the cold floor cool his wet cheeks, as the heaviness in his soul overtook him. He knew it was only a matter of time until sleep took him, rocking him slowly into the living hell that played behind his eyes, and as the water sloshed against the wall, it calmed his mind into nothing. He welcomed the nightmares. It was what he deserved, after all. But as he lingered at the edge of where the dream would take him, a humming melody reverberated in his ears.
Soft. Haunting. Beautiful. All the things she would never be. All the things he would never get to say and as the song grew closer, the weight of his body slacked, relaxing into the sound. The hair on his neck standing at the way it filled every part of him. He fought the darkness just to stay here with the voice, but the dark won, like it always does, and he drifted into oblivion.
Where he did not dream.
So every night after, he returned to the cold stone floor, letting the melody give him a reprieve, where he did not have to see all the things he was and never would be.
Until the music vanished.
The midnight air was crisp for the time of year as he walked down the path to the lake. It had been a week since he had slept. and the shadows of the common room took the shape of monsters he could not hide from. The silence overtook him as the water against the glass formed into whispered words, shaping themselves into the screams and thuds of bodies hitting the ground. He no longer found comfort in the bite of the cold floor as every nerve ending in his body felt like phantom hands trying to grab at him. Draco hadn’t been able to sleep without jumping awake at the visions that waited for him. But they lingered even as his eyes opened, the walls closing in on him, taunting and whispering. He did the only thing he was good at, the only thing cowards were good at.
He ran.
The mud beneath his bare feet felt like quicksand as he turned the bend. He didn’t know why he chose the black lake instead of staying close to the castle. They did not permit him to leave the grounds during his probation period during eighth year, so he stayed indoors. It seemed safer at first to not be away from the portrait gazes. But it was as if his body was not his own as it drew him in closer, a soft humming in nothing but his memory propelling him forward, his heart rate picking up quicker as he saw a dark silhouette at the edge of the water, toes barely brushing the surface. Long hair cascading over its body, blocking most of it from view causing him to halt his advance. As the figure turned at the sound and as their eyes met, it smiled, like it knew he would come, as if this is where he was supposed to be. He didn’t care that it was just a trick of his mind as he continued moving in its direction, removing his robes as he sat down next to it. He dipped his feet into the water.
“Hello, Granger.”
The wind was howling as she stayed silent, her eyes roaming over his face like she wasn’t sure he was real. Did she know she wasn’t? That she was nothing but his regrets, fears, and wants wrapped in a body to taunt him? That she was just his sleep deprived mind conjuring up the ghost of her? But as her small frame shook, he draped his robes around her shoulder, his fingers brushing against the dampness of her curls as he pulled it close to cover her body. A promise he once made to himself as the Dark Lord tortured him after Dobby helped the trio to escape echoed in his mind. A vow he never got to keep. To protect her. To never have to experience the fear in her eyes as she sought his gaze in that drawing room. A silent tear that rolled down her cheek, one that matched his own. His body had screamed to look away, but the pleading in her stare made him stay. She realized she was going to die here in his home. He knew it too. She wasn’t asking to be saved as she laid limp on the floor. He could understand the desperation dancing in her eyes, to not die alone, unseen, and broken. As her breathing leveled out, he held the stare, trying to convey that he saw her. That he always saw her. He let his walls drop, letting them crumble under the weight of her silver lined eyes. Draco recognized it was unwise to be so open and bare in front of Bellatrix, that one glimpse into his head and she would know how Hermione had been imprinted on his very soul. But as her eyes became heavier, he wished for his aunt to see, because if Hermione Granger was no longer on this earth, there was no reason for him to be.
Her blue lips lifted higher as he averted his gaze from any parts of her he had no rights to see. Nothing but a green substance that looked like it belonged to the water covered her. Her hands fidgeted as he settled himself beside her, and they both turned their gazes towards the calmness of the lake. The water rippled under the moonlight. The trees swaying as the breeze danced between the branches, the frosty air filling his lungs as he relaxed his body.
“Do you think things could have been different?” Draco said, breaking the silence, turning back in her direction. She didn’t speak as she shifted her palms out of their grasp, reaching for his own. He didn’t flinch as her icy hand wrapped around his and squeezed in answer.
“Do you think I could have been different, that maybe you could have forgiven me?” His voice cracked as he finished, averting his gaze back to the lake. Her head slowly leaning onto his shoulder, gripping his hand tighter as he continued to speak.
“I never believed it, you know, that I was better than you, better than everyone else. I never thought it was true. It’s just...” He paused, taking a deep breath of the cold air, collecting himself.
“I was lost. Lost in everything I was supposed to be, and everything I wasn’t and..” He clutched his eyes closed tight. “There you were, so sure of yourself, even when you didn’t know it. Even when you couldn’t see it. Even when you thought no one else saw it. I did, and I wanted to hate you for it. I wanted to hate you so that maybe I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t…” Her grasp was bruising as he gripped her tighter, grounding himself.
“Maybe I wouldn’t hate myself so much if I could hate you, but it never worked, Hermione.” Her restraint loosened as he turned towards her, speaking into her hair.
“I was going to tell you when I saw you next. I was going to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness if I had to because every day after they swept you away from the manor, that’s all I could think of. It’s the only thing that kept me going.” He whispered, shaking at the anxiety curling in his gut as he realized he would never get the chance. That this was just a hallucination, to punish him or to grant him the chance he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t care.
“I wanted to tell you everything that I couldn’t. I wanted to tell you that if you would have died on the floor of the manor that you would have taken me with you. That I, even if I was still breathing, that I would count every one as one closer to being with you.” Hermione brushed her thumb on the back of his hand as he continued.
“I wanted to tell you all that I had done.” His voice was nothing but a broken whisper as tears streaked his face. “The dreams that I had late at night as that monster stalked the hall of my family home, of the future we could have had, if only you’d find me worthy enough to share one with you.” She lifted her head, he could have sworn he felt her breath caress his neck as she faced him and just like the drawing room floor, he saw the plea in them, so he continued.
The confessions floating away in the wind as the night passed. As he told her all of his fears, all that he had done, his wishes, and dreams and the future they would have created. The names of their children, names not of the stars but Shakespeare’s plays. Of how that no matter what came their way, he would never stop fighting for the only thing he believed in. Her.
He spoke until his voice grew strained, throat dry and aching, and as his eyes became heavy, his head in her lap, she tangled her fingers in his hair. He never took them off her face as he continued to speak, his body being lulled to sleep. His lashes fluttered against his cheek. She brought her palm to his cheek. Brushing the trails that his tears had left on his pale skin.
“Do you know any songs?” His eyes were closed, the blackness biting at him, trying to pull him down, back into the nightmares that beckoned. He doesn’t know why he asked. Hermione hadn’t spoken a word since he had sat beside her. But as he drifted deeper and deeper, he heard the humming, the sound vibrating from her chest, the one that had pulled him to peaceful sleep night after night. Where he did not dream and as it rocked him into oblivion, he could have sworn he felt the cold press of her lips on his head as the darkness took him.
She watched as the sun broke, casting light against the murky water of the lake, her eyes hovering above the surface, stinging as she observed the golden rays illuminate his beautiful face. He looked younger like this, his expression relaxed and at peace. It was so different from how it was from the glass wall of the common room. Hermione didn’t know why she had always drifted towards it at night. The other creatures of the water didn’t bother her as long as she stayed far enough away. But it was like a tiny thread drew her to him, just as he seemed to be drawn to her, and as she saw him sink in despair, she hummed a tune that her mother would sing when she would wake up screaming.
Even before the war, nightmares plagued her nights. Constant worlds unraveling behind her eyes. All the horrors that eventually would unravel in real life. It wasn’t till divination, when Professor Trelawney's eyes connected with hers as she spoke to the class, that the truth of it all hit her.
“Some dreamers do not simply dream.” She had said. “Dreams are like windows, to the past, to the present,” she paused before holding Hermiones’ gaze again, “and the future.”
It was the only time she had ever voluntarily spoken in the class, not even waiting to be called on.
“And can these futures you speak of change?” She asked. The flash of pity in her professor’s eyes spoke before words answered her question.
“No. They can not. The future was written in the leaves long before you were ever born.” She could see the tears forming, like she knew of what she saw on the nights that they consumed her. “Fate has a way of correcting itself, every little change always leading you right where it said you would be.” Hermione dipped her chin before standing and heading towards the library, never stepping back into that room.
It was then that she stopped fearing the nightmares, but embraced them, looking at every scene from multiple sides. Seeing the search for the horcruxes. Ron leaving. The floor of the manor, and dark gray eyes. Harry walking into the forest and living. She took in every detail, cataloging it. It felt unfair. The advantage her dreams had given her, the way she would move through each moment by memory. Each location, they would find the horcruxes embedded in her mind, and she diverted Harry each time he became too close before the right time. Afraid that even the slightest change would throw her, of course, because she knew how this would end and she no longer feared the darkness that would come.
That was why the day of the battle she wandered toward the lake as Harry walked into the forest. She followed the pathway she had in her dream, almost feeling her dream-self walking the path with her just like she had done. And as she heard the crack of a branch under someone’s foot, she did not turn around. She did not lift her wand and as the words left the person’s mouth, she did not fear what was to come, as the curse rebounded off the rocks at her feet. The young, pureblood mispronouncing the spell. She couldn’t blame them for wanting to prove themselves. She couldn’t hate them for how they craved to belong. How a death like hers would bring them glory in the eyes of a master they would never get to serve. As the battle sounds continued, she knew Harry had leapt from Hagrid’s arms. She had etched the memory into her long ago. It’s the only reason she let him go alone. The small child didn’t even stick around to see her fall, because in her dreams it always ended with her choking on the water, fighting for breath, and as she fell into the lake, she allowed it to pull her under. She did not thrash as the shooting pains wrecked her body.
Hermione let it anchor her, pushing into it. Letting it consume her as she thought of silver eyes, of murky visions, of humming, cold blue lips pressing against his peaceful face and Draco Malfoy telling her all that he was, all that he did and as he bared his soul to her. She listened as he let his hopes, dreams, and fears leave his lips until they were just whispers on the wind.
She already knew.
Hermione could see them too because she had taken his nightmares as her own and held on to the dreams that have yet to pass. Of golden curls running through a rose garden, of a strong steady hand in hers and as she brought her gaze up, gray eyes, finally at peace from all the nights without nightmares, only dreams.