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Chapter Text

For Her
Week 1 Prompt: Wrath
Rating: T
Word Count Limit: 300
Warnings: Major Character Death
Weekly Placement: 30/35
Note: No eliminations occurred during this round.

“Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?”

The Granger girl.

Draco seethes inwardly though his face remains blank. 

“I… Maybe… Yeah?”

Bellatrix walks in, looking at Draco, and noticing his lifeless eyes. She attempts to enter his mind, but his carefully-constructed walls refuse to let her in, refuse to let her hear his thoughts.

You swore to be safe, love. Why are you here?

While he occludes, he misses the argument between the adults, fails to notice Potter and Weasley being taken away.

And then he hears her scream.

Rivulets of her blood stain her skin, ruin the floor. Red seeps into his vision, the color a visual manifestation of the ire running through his veins.

“Draco.” Hermione turns to him, tears tracking down her face. He inhales sharply. Only his mother’s nails sinking into his arm stop him from moving.

Bellatrix stops carving letters into skin, forces her way into Hermione’s mind. His aunt cackles at Draco. “You’ve been keeping secrets.”

Magic shimmers beneath his skin, howling to be released.

Hermione looks at him, an apology in her gaze. “I love you.”

His heart stops when Bellatrix lifts her dagger. She stares at her nephew. “Say goodbye.”

Silence. No cries from Hermione’s mouth. No light in her eyes.

The black hilt of a dagger protrudes from her chest.

Draco screams, a guttural sound filled with fury and anguish, anger and hatred. His eyes blaze as his emotions take over, as his magic unfurls like a whip through the air. He wrenches himself from his mother, strides to his aunt with his wand out.

“Control yourself,” Bellatrix warns.

But there’s no turning back. He growls, “You did this.”

A slash through the air and the chandelier bursts above them. Shards of glass embed themselves into Bellatrix Lestrange.

“That’s for her.”

Chapter Text

After the War
Week 2 Prompt: Humility
Rating: T
Word Count Limit: 300
Warnings: N/A
Weekly Placement: 22/35

He’s different.

She notices little things first — how he cocks his head while conversing with the Headmistress, a thoughtful look on his face, the way he speaks up in class to further discussion. He doesn’t return to Quidditch, and the rumour is he wanted to give others the chance he once did. 

She watches as he quietly comforts other Slytherins at breakfast, when their faces are tired and haunted, no doubt kept awake from nightmares. Her eyes follow him in the library as he gathers books, leads study groups. 

He’s changed and she shouldn’t be surprised when he approaches her by the Black Lake one evening, but she is. Surprised, that is. 

“Miss Granger.”

Miss.

“Malfoy,” she acknowledges him warily.

“Might I have a word?” He’s formal, and it unnerves her, so she tells him. He gives a small smile. “I thought it would ease the tension between us.”

She doesn’t have a response to that. 

So he clears his throat, gaze on the far horizon, as he speaks. He talks of the war, of making difficult choices. There is a quiet strength in his voice as he admits to being wrong about so many things, the least of which is her status as a Muggleborn.

“You defy the Pureblood teachings. I didn’t know any better as a child, but I do now. You are a testament to the power of the magical world. And we are lucky to have you with us.”

When he faces her, it’s with a mixture of awe and bashfulness.

“I apologise for the years of grief.” He gives her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Granger.”

She blinks.

He turns.

“Hermione,” she calls after him. He looks over his shoulder. “You can call me Hermione.”

A soft smile. “Very well. Thank you. Hermione.”

Chapter Text

When the Time Comes
Week 3 Prompt: Sloth
Rating: T
Word Count Limit: 350
Warnings: Infidelity
Weekly Placement: I did not get the rankings, but I was kicked off this week.

They should have been the perfect family - a reformed Death Eater, the beautiful ing é nue who saved him, and the son who would carry on the Malfoy name. And they were perfect for a while, until Astoria realized there was no hope for her malediction despite Draco’s research.

The changes started small, a gradual loss of interest in everything around her.

She held Scorpius, but never looked down at him, only in front of her. When her parents took him to allow her a night out with her husband, he whispered sweet nothings in her ear while they perused art, but she no longer found joy in the colors and faces. She went through the motions of her charity work without any passion until she stopped altogether, citing lingering fatigue and new motherhood.

Draco tried desperately to engage her, but she stopped caring. Then she stopped speaking unless spoken to first. And finally, she refused to move unless absolutely necessary.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confided in Hermione late one night at the DMLE offices. They were working on a case, Harry finding a house elf to bring them dinner. “It’s like she’s already gone.”

“Has she gotten better with Scorpius?” Hermione knew of the issues already; this wasn’t the first time Draco had lamented his marriage to her.

Draco shut his eyes and shook his head. “No. She’s shut both of us out.”

She reached up to cup his cheek, a comforting touch that Draco leaned into. When her thumb pressed against his bottom lip, he let out a shuddering breath. It was wrong, these stolen moments between them, but he found solace in her.

“What do you need?” she asked him.

His eyes sprang open to meet her gaze. “To feel whole again. Astoria’s supposed to be my other half, but she…”

“I get it,” she said. Her own marriage was already in shambles, so she knew. Her hand moved to the back of his neck and she tugged his face toward her own.

Draco exhaled.

“Let me make you feel whole again.”

And they kissed.