Chapter Text
That horrible shrill voice reverberated off the windows and the chandelier rattled. Her screams pierced his soul and he was helpless. He waited for it to end, for one of them to tire and break. She was always headstrong and determined. But his aunt was far more callous, cruel, and cold. She enjoyed the anguish, but feared the answer. What if the trio found her vault, stole the sword from her? If she got the answer she wanted would the screams cease in a flash of green?
He failed to claim who she was. His father may have guessed, but said nothing. He was scared of being wrong so he pretended not to know her either. The snatchers who dragged her in said she was running with two boys. But they got away. The girl was smart, they told them. The moment the one boy fell and the other helped him up she took a chance and cast a spell on the redhead's jacket, an unlawful portkey charm. It made sense to him. She was the smartest in their year.
“Tell me the truth!” Bellatrix’s spittle flew into her matted hair.
Sprawled on the floor she continued to sob and to scream. She kept saying she didn’t know, she didn’t enter the vault.
He was scared. Her arm was sliced again. Blood poured out in a steady stream, over the bend of her arm and onto the floor.
Bellatrix howled in fury and his mother flinched. He flinched. They’ve seen her lose her senses many times, but this was one of the worst. Something dangerous for all of them had happened, but he struggled to understand how exactly. He eyed the sword left resting against the wall, he’d heard of the sword. The one Potter found and killed the snake with, Bellatrix bragged to his mother that Snape sent it to her vault.
“You’re getting nowhere!” The gray ghost-like image of his father approached Bellatrix, he implored her, “You’re only creating a mess of things!”
Bellatrix’s dagger swung out at him as she stood, feet on either side of the girl’s chest. Her hair sweat soaked in fear, maybe pleasure, or both. “A mess! You’ll all be a mess if the Dark Lord finds out.”
Bellatrix twisted horribly around to face her sister, “Is that what you want Cissy? To be lumps of meat on your drawing room floor?”
“Bellatrix, please,” his mother begged in a soft voice. It was paced and measured, but he knew well enough she was bottling her unease, “We need to know. Perhaps you should go to your vault and find out the truth. It must be faster than this. You’ll be certain! He will be certain. If it’s still there then you needn’t be concerned!”
His aunt swayed over the girl whose sobs weakened, her blood pooled into her hair and stained her coat. Bellatrix stared wide-eyed at her sister for a long moment then hissed low and slow, “Yes. Yes, we need to know.”
Draco’s heart was racing, he couldn’t believe she took the advice. His mother was the last person besides the Dark Lord himself she’d heed anymore. Her own husband and his father were lessers in her eyes and she made sure they felt it.
Bellatrix swung back around to look down her nose at the girl on the floor. Using the now crimsoned toes of her boot she nudged the girl's head from the side until she was looking up at her. In a theatrical arc Bellatrix held the knife over the girl’s head. He couldn't even keep breathing as he waited. There was no way. His mother clutched his sleeve. It was too much for her, his father had even gone silent as they watched with bated breath.
“What do you think about that, dearie? Maybe you are telling the truth. Maybe you don’t know. Hmm? In that case, we won’t need you. Just another filthy mudblood. Simply expendable,” Bellatrix drawled out. She dangled the knife, the end of the hilt pinched between her forefinger and thumb. She let it fall. The girl didn’t even flinch. It struck between two stones, upright into the floor and fine brown hairs were severed from the rest. “Ahh. Pity.”
The room was silent. They watched Bellatrix saunter out the wooden doors into the entrance hall.
He took a tentative step forward. His mother spun to watch him, her eyes wide and cautious, and still latched onto his arm.
“Draco-o,” Bellatrix’s voice called out from the other room. “Take care of the trash for your Auntie.”
There was a slam of the door. His father darted into the hall and feebly confirmed she had gone.
He felt his feet pick up again. His mother trailed behind him. “No, you don’t have to. Draco, my son-”
“I won’t,” his voice was stronger than he expected. He knelt down next to her. Her eyes were open, brown eyes he noticed. But blank eyes gazing up at the ceiling. Her dirty cheeks tracked with dried tears. It was like she was already gone. In his exhale, he whispered to her, “Granger?”
No response.
His mother knelt beside him. She pulled out her wand and turned it to the girl. Her other hand pulled his shoulder. “Look away, Draco.”
He froze. He didn’t want this. It was bad enough to watch the mad woman torture her on the drawing room floor, but to watch his mother finish the job? Her eyes had drifted to his. He reached out to her hand. Hers was red with blood and grime, his own smooth and pale and shaky. “Granger.”He didn’t know why he kept saying her name.
A gasp sounded off from behind. His mother heard him that time. She hesitated. “Hermione Granger? Potter’s friend?”
“Yeah.”
Her wand wavered, “Draco. If we don’t and they find out, if Bella or the Lord discover this, it’ll be even worse for her.”
Granger’s hand was still warm. She wasn’t fighting it. Why wasn’t she fighting it?
“I can’t, mom,” his voice cracked. He squeezed the limp hand. His chest hurt. He shook his head violently. “Please. I don’t want this. I don’t want to be part of this.”
Granger blinked and her eyes drifted to his, her lids struggled to stay open. Against his palm he felt her finger rise in a single tap. His breath caught in his throat. He thought he hated her. Every moment until this one, he thought he hated her and her friends. How she made him so angry, how she got away with everything, how they all were so sure of themselves, confident, happy.
His mother sighed sharply and lowered her wand. He felt her eyes on him, watching them. “Dra-”
“If you can’t! Then I must! Avada-”
“No!”
A pulse of energy knocked his father off his feet and into the doorway. Twisted around from where he kneeled he had raised his wand to his father. The older man laid on the floor gasping, but found the strength to rise, his face red in anger or humiliation. Draco wasn’t sure. It scared him. He’d raised his wand against his father over her. Life had turned on its head.
“Enough,” his mother cried, standing between her son and husband, her arms stretched out to block any spell that might be cast. Her voice wavered, “Lucius, enough.”
“No! It is her! I kept my mouth shut, because I wasn’t certain!” His father yelled from across the room he was on all fours, mad like a cornered animal his hair tangled and askew about his face. “You knew who she was. And you hid it, Draco! Bellatrix won’t protect us once she finds out. We’ve got to get rid of her!”
“I won’t let you kill her!”
“And slaughter your family instead? For a mudblood! For one of them, Potter’s friend who bested you in every class, every year? You’ve done worse, led to the death of Dumbledore, but draw the line here?”
“Malfoy,” she groaned.
His hand was gripping hers tight.
“We say we killed her. We say we don’t know who she is,” said his mother. She looked back at him and Granger.
“We can’t just let her go!”
“We can,” retorted his mother, drawing herself up to her full size. She had put herself before Draco now. “Leave Lucius. Have no part of it and you’ll have nothing to divulge.”
“Narcissa,” his father’s voice broke. It was the three of them, together they were the only ones they cared about to see to the end. Father, mother and son. The anguish in his father’s voice was real.
Draco couldn’t see him past his mother’s robes. So instead he turned back to Granger. She had rolled over. Struggling, she tried to rise. Her maimed arm shook under the effort. He heard the faint echo of his father leave the room. “Granger, what do I do?
“I don’t know,” her voice was weak. She might not last even if she got away. His stomach turned. “I can apparate.”
“Not on these premises you can’t. Not in that condition either. You’ll splinch and finish the job for us,” stated his mother standing over them, her head turned to watch her husband exit the room. “But we must hurry.”
He ran his free hand through his hair. Shit. Granger tugged back her own and she managed to sit upright, small tremors shook her body. What could they do? Bloody snatchers came and went at all hours. The Dark Lord could show up anytime and Bellatrix could return in a heartbeat. They couldn’t throw her in the dungeon with the others.
“I go back to school in two days. Can we hide her, until then? Somewhere in the house?” His doubt flooded in as the words left his lips.
The idea hung in the air. His mother stared at him long and hard. Granger, paler than the Bloody Baron, did the same.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Granger spoke first. She shook her head and gave a weak laugh. "Its insane."
“It’s not,” his mother interrupted. She shook her long hair back from her face and examined the room. “It’s possible. The ward will be temporarily released when I leave with Draco.”
Outside, the iron gates clanged open. Vicious laughter and screaming wore through the high windows.
“Greyback!” In a whirlwind his mother hoisted him upright with force he never imagined her possessing and sprinted to the end of the drawing room. Granger cringed into herself. She’d only just been released from the clutches of Greyback. She made a feeble attempt to stand, wobbling precariously like a newborn lamb. He couldn't take his eyes away. She was so pathetic his heart lurched.
“Come on, Granger,” he said and without waiting to offer, took her by the good arm. Supporting her, he rushed to the end of the room where his mother held the door open into the small servant passageway leading to a narrow staircase.
“Be quick! Go now. Anything with blood or scent must be destroyed.”
“Wait! What are you going to do?” His palm lingered on Granger’s back directing her up the steps. His mother waved him off, she had taken out her wand and was expanding the blood on the floor from a small pool into copious puddles. She waved her wand again and it expanded rapidly in a red mist splattering her, the walls and ceiling, and him in the moment before the door shut.