Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

**"Only the dead have seen the end of the war." - Plato**

* * *

Closing your eyes doesn't get rid of the memories. But opening them doesn't help either.

Holding your breath doesn't stop you thinking. But breathing seems so much harder.

Faking a smile doesn't make everything feel fine. But the muscles in your jaw ache and you suppose it's better than the alternative.

Every night you ask yourself why you do this, and the answer is always given before you even try to think about it.

_It's because you've killed. It's because you died the day so many of your friends, people you would once count as family died._

_It's because he's dead._

_And you couldn't save him._

* * *

The battle had been a blur. People say they can only remember snippets of it - the screaming, the bodies, and the blood. But you remember it all.

It takes a lot for you to admit it, to take a peg down on your pride, to just admit that _you were damn well terrified._

_(- It's a bit ironic, you think, because there's nothing else these days that you actually feel anymore but terrified.)_

And you're so focused on helping Harry, on getting those _Horcruxes_, to put an end to this all. But there's so many things going on at once and it's all you can do to keep raising your wand.

You do not know who the first death you saw in the battle was. There's too many bodies, too many falling unconscious and getting hit by spells, that it is just too hard to see whom. Maybe it was a Death Eater. Maybe it was someone you once knew, a friend.

_Protego_ charms are cast over and over again from your wand, but it's the first _Avada_ _Kedavra _spell that rolls off your tongue as easily as a Stunning charm that baffles you. The mask has slipped off your attacker's face, and yet, you rather wish it didn't. Because you are not prepared to see the cruel eyes rolls into emptiness, not ready to see the wand clatter as his hand drops, not ready to see his body topple to the floor.

You do not like Yaxley. You positively hate him, for what he is (_was_) and what he has (_had_) done. But you did not want to kill him in the cold blood that you did.

In that split-second, you turn to Harry and Ron to your side desperately. And you want to cry; you want to stop fighting just to cry, because _you weren't meant to be like them._ You weren't meant to kill. But your two best friends are still dueling and you realise this is a war. You have to do what you have to do to survive.

So your wand comes down again and again, the Killing curse slipping off your tongue like raindrops off flower petals. You cannot remember when it became easier to do it. All you remember feeling is a heavy stone where your heart should have been.

Somewhere along the way, the three of you get separated. There are gashes on your face, strands from your hair singed, soot marking up your arms- and still, you fight and you fight. Every time you turn around, you see more people falling, and more taking their place. And it's gruesome, far too gruesome, the deaths you see. Because, _dear Merlin,_ those were your friends, those were people you used to talk to, and those are parts of their bodies that you stumble over. Those are the blood they spilled that you slip over.

_(You are just children, you should not be witnessing these things. But you were children that were forced to grow up too early.)_

And there's a flash of blonde that catches your eye. Instantly, you know it's him - grown so accustomed to seeing it such a regular basis when you shared the same Order hideout. He was not _good_, you know that, but he wasn't bad either, and that was enough to keep you going. He's breathing heavily, and there's blood staining his robes, and you're pretty sure that his shoulder is dislocated by the look of it, but he's still raising his wand, and he's still fighting. Just like you. It takes a moment to send a spell to throw off your attackers (_Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra_), and your mouth has only half opened to shout the word "Malfoy!" before you see his luck ran out.

The Disarming spell thrown his way is too much, and he tries to duck, but he's on the floor by then. You see the green jet of light hit him and you send your own towards his masked Death Eater, but you know it's too late already. But then - _but then _\- he rolls out of the way with a grunt of pain, and the spell slides past him just as yours hits its target, and you are rushing to his side in no time.

"What - are - you - _doing _\- Granger?" he spits out when you've reached his side. His left hand (the dislocated arm lay uselessly to his side) is clutched over his chest, attempting to staunch the bleeding out of a gaping wound that looks far too deep.

"Saving your life," you snarl back and you both half-drag yourselves behind a fallen gargoyle, not big enough to conceal you both but enough to give you both time. Your wand is already ready, muttering spells urgently under your breath, and you try to stop the bleeding, and you're trying to save him.

But the _blood _\- there is just too much blood, and he's already getting dizzy. His eyes try so hard to stay alert, but his limbs are growing weaker. He's losing too much blood, and your mind is screaming that _there is nothing you can do to stop it._

"Stay with me," you keep telling him desperately when his eyelids continuing falling forwards, and the spells you keep using just don't seem to be working. You are not a healer, you only know the basics, and the fact keeps hitting you:

_You cannot save him. You cannot save him. You cannot save him._

So all you can do is kneel by his side as you uselessly keep trying to heal him, as he gets weaker and weaker.

He looks at you one last time before his eyes fall shut completely, and you see his grey eyes fall on your face tiredly as he says, "Stay alive, Granger."

And then he's gone.

_He's gone._

* * *

You didn't love him. You don't love him. But you feel a large part of you die when he did, you feel your heart simultaneously cracking every so often and hardening to stone.

_(This isn't the end of the war, you think to yourself. You don't suppose you will ever get to the end of the war.)_


	2. Chapter 2

**"Victory is always bittersweet." - Nadia Scrieva**

* * *

"_Stupefy!_" Hermione sent at a Death Eater.

The Death Eater dodged it and grinned. His mask flew off as another red light was shot towards him and he cast a quick shielding charm. It was Dolohov, she's sure, and he didn't seem to forgive easily from their last encounter. With a triumphant smirk, he muttered a spell - a dark one since not even Hermione could name it- and she was hit before she could react.

She immediately crumpled into a pile on the floor, limply. She was, at least, satisfied to see Dolohov get shot in the back with a stray Killing Curse. From her position, she couldn't see who had cast it in the ruins of Hogwarts castle. With all the strength she could muster, she dragged herself into a corner for safety. She flinched when several other Death Eaters chased a group of her classmates as they ran by. She tried to raise her wand to help them but she could barely lift her finger, yet alone her whole arm. Every muscle in her body ached and, starting from her toes, she could feel herself wasting away, like fire melting her bones. She had no idea where Ron and Harry were, after being accidently separated from them and individually ambushed by different Death Eaters. Panting, she tried to fight the blackness that was threatening to cave in but she had a hopeless feeling she could not fight it forever. Just then, a flash of platinum blonde hair caught her eye just feet away and, at once, she knew who it was.

"Malfoy..." she murmured weakly. Now she was on her deathbed, she made a split-second choice to admit her cleverly, and carefully, concealed feelings for her childhood tormentor.

His eyes snapped towards her limp form. "What do you want, Granger?" he hissed.

"Come here," she whispered, certain he would not attack her.

He hesitated for the briefest of seconds before glancing around to make sure no one was around and drew nearer cautiously. He attempted to hide the note of fear in his next words, as she looked so weak, so pale. He forced some contempt in his voice. "What?"

"I'm dying," she said, closing her eyes. The reality of it all seemed too abrupt. It hit her with a jolt as the words began to sink in. She would never see the end of the War and she wouldn't see Harry or Ron or her parents again. She wouldn't see Ginny or the rest of the Weasleys, or Luna, or Neville. She wouldn't be able to have children and watch them grow up. She wouldn't be able to be a grandmother. She would be... _gone_.

"Stay awake, Granger! Awake!" In her half-conscious state, she was sure that there was a hint of panic. Willing for her actions to take control, she forced her eyes open.

"I can't. I'm dying." She tilted her chin slightly and Draco leant down involuntarily so she could whisper in his ear. "I love you." She kissed him gently. Leaning back, she sighed sweetly, bitterly, and let her eyes slide shut.

'"Granger!" He muttered frantically and could feel a bit of rage kicking in. "Damnit, Granger, you can't just die! Wake up! I -" but whatever he was going to say was drowned by the sound of people coming closer. Wrenching himself painfully away from the unconscious girl, he hid behind a nearby statue, refusing to believe his eyes were damp.

"Ron, this way!" Definitely Potter. "Wait - _duck!_"

"I'm coming!" And Weasley.

"God, if Hermione's hurt..." He heard Harry say wretchedly.

"She can handle herself," Ron said confidently as they ran in, sidestepping jinxes and curses. "I'm sure she's fi-" He stopped short at the sight of Hermione's lifeless form.

"Hermione!" Harry yelled, lunging forward in his haste and Draco shifted; making sure the statue covered him. "Hermione!"

Ron grabbed her wrist, feeling for her pulse. He looked up, pale but mildly relieved. "She's got a pulse! Very weak but she's got it!" He picked her up carefully in a cradle lift and proceeded out of the room, Harry silently trailing after him, with his wand held aloft. There was no doubt their faces mirrored each other's - dread, guilt, panic.

Draco stayed behind the statue, even after they went. He choked back what could only be a sob.

He hoped for the sake of himself, the sake of Hermione, and the sake of everyone, it'd be over soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**"To be able to forget means sanity." - The Star Rover, Jack London**

* * *

"You're back again," he said to the animal.

All the otter did was tilt its head at him and stare.

"Why?" he asked. He started to laugh a humourless laugh. "Why am I even talking to a fucking animal?"

The otter just stared.

"Ridiculous." He muttered. He glanced back at the Manor; once always a dark place, it looked ten times creepier these days. He looked back at the otter. "Fucking ridiculous."

The otter just stared.

"Whatever." He turned away. With a slight shake of his head, he walked back to the Manor. Fantastic. Living with the Dark Lord was slowly making him go out of his mind.

The otter just stared.

* * *

"Since when did otters even come to these types of places?" he said, folding his arms. "Aren't you meant to be near rivers or something?"

The otter just stared.

He glanced behind him again and bent down so he was level with it. "You don't know how much trouble I would be in if they saw me here. They'd think I've gone soft."

Still staring, the otter tilted its head again, clearly asking for a reason.

"The house is full of Death Eaters. Like me," he added as an afterthought. "The Dark Lord's not in there right now but a meeting just finished so it's still crawling with the people."

The otter's small eyes darted to his arm as if it knew what he meant.

"You want to see?" he asked bitterly. He flicked his left sleeve of his robes so the stupid animal could get a glance. He covered it up again. "There."

The otter looked back at his face again and he swore he saw the eyes widen and water.

"You don't have to feel sorry for me," he said aloud. "I'm fine. I don't care about the Mark. I'm one of them."

The otter just stared.

"I'm going," he said firmly. He stood up again, brushing dirt of his immaculate black robes. He turned and walked back to the Manor.

The otter just stared.

* * *

"You remind me of someone, you know."

The otter turned to stare at him.

"Yeah. I knew this girl with really bushy hair. Like, really bushy. It was so annoying if you sat behind her in class." He didn't smile and his face remained emotionless, but there was a flicker in his eyes as he remembered. "And, Merlin, she was so obnoxious. And stubborn. And just fucking annoying, in general."

The otter just stared.

"Anyway," he continued. "I remember one time we did a raid. Father brought me along since the Dark Lord was adamant I was to go. We brought some Dementors, too -" he shuddered, "- And we found a group of them. So we let the Dementors loose and they were about to attack but then one of the girls - the same one - casted a Patronus charm. And it was an otter."

The otter just stared.

"I've got to go again. Maybe tomorrow." He stood up and walked away.

Watching him go, the otter all but smiled.

* * *

He didn't return the next day because he couldn't. The otter didn't return either. The Final Battle happened. His side lost. The Dark Lord fell.

He didn't return the next day because he was being held in Azkaban whilst waiting for his trial.

He didn't return the day after because he was being trialed.

He didn't return the day after because the Wizengamot was still arguing on whether they should clear him of charges.

He didn't return the day after because he was too busy fighting for his mother not to be locked up in Azkaban too. He didn't bother with his father.

On the sixth day, he returned back to the Manor to make sure his mother was comfortable.

He walked back into the back garden again. His eyes drifted to where the otter usually was to find it absent. With a sigh, he turned away again.

There was a rustle of leaves and he spun around again to see the otter. He gave a small smile involuntarily and he could feel the muscles in his jaw aching from the lack of movement.

"You're back," he said and he was sure his voice sounded semi-relieved.

He was sure the otter would just stare as it had done for the last few months but it surprised him by given the smallest, most hesitant nods. His eyes narrowed and he watched it for a while in confusion. He came to conclude he had only imagined it.

That was until the otter began to change.

"What the bloody fuck?" He stumbled backwards, his wand whipping out of his robe pocket. He raised his wand but paused it halfway through the air. Because there, right in front of him, exactly where the otter had been only ten seconds earlier, was a girl.

Not any girl, but Hermione sodding Granger.

"What the fuck?" he repeated. Though he didn't raise the wand any higher, he didn't seem ready to put it away already.

"Hear me out," she said quickly. She had the courtesy to look guilty and sheepish.

He scowled. "How about you start explaining how the fuck you just turned from an otter?"

She shifted, chewing on her lip. "Damnit, I knew you'd act something like this but-"

"Answer me, Granger."

She took a deep breath. "I'm an Animagus."

He snorted. "How informative. Tell me why you've been stalking me in disguise for the last few months."

"I have not been -" she stopped at the look on his face.

"Spying a better word?" he sneered.

"I wasn't spying either! If I was spying, your side would've been taken down the first chance we got!" she replied indignantly. "I just saw you a couple of months ago and you looked, I don't know, sad so I transformed and followed you."

"That's classified as stalking," he pointed out. His face suddenly changed from anger to horror. "I wasn't sad."

"Yes, you were." She tilted her chin, gaining her confidence back. "But that was okay. You told me - the otter, that is - over the last few months now, how you feel."

"Listen here, Granger," he took a step forward, his teeth gritted. "Just because I told mindless crap to what I thought was an animal, doesn't mean you know me. Got that?"

To her credit, she stood her ground. "No, you listen to me, Malfoy-"

He laughed, one that sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Listen to you? Are you serious? You're the one who's been creepily following me around for the last couple of months, ignore the fact that the Dark Lord was less than a mile from you most of the time -"

"He couldn't have found me because I was in my Animagus form!" she shrilled.

"When did you even become one, anyway?" he said impatiently. "It seems highly unlikely for you to have been one in Hogwarts, even you."

"For your information, I managed to start the process right at the end of our sixth year and throughout my time on the run," she said huffily. "Ron and Harry helped me out when we were camping."

"Great, I needed to know your life story," he replied in a bored voice. A voice from inside called his name. "Whatever, Granger, just stay away from me. Don't come near me again."

She opened her mouth to come back with a retort, but he had already turned away and walking back inside. However, as he got to the door, he paused and shifted on his feet to look at her once more.

"Don't tell anyone." His voice was low.

She sighed. "Don't worry, I won't."

He watched her turn back into an otter and entered the Manor again.


	4. Chapter 4

**"The only thing worse than a boy who hates you: a boy who loves you." - The Book Thief, Mark Zusak**

* * *

_Mudblood._

The word flips in your head again and again. It weaves around in your mind, pulsing through your body, flowing in your - (how ironic) - your veins.

And you don't know why you're so affected, or why you can't stop thinking about it. You're twelve (thirteen), for God's sake, these words should harmlessly bounce off you because they're exactly that - harmless. You didn't even know what the stupid word even _meant_ until Hagrid and Ron told you today.

_Mudblood._

Dirty blood. How was that still a thing?

You wonder briefly if you'd be so offended if it wasn't him saying it. If it had come out of Crabbe or Goyle or somebody else. You cannot answer yourself because all yourself because all you can picture is his face when he said it. How his pale brow folded, his eyes narrowing, his lip curling as he said it. And it was the way he said it - you can hear it now, the hatred in his voice.

_(- And it hurts more than it should and you don't know why.)_

You cry yourself to sleep that night, listening to Pavarti's sleep-humming and Lavender's soft snores.

* * *

And it's only five years later, you're lying on the floor with his crazed aunt torturing you and his family is just standing there - he's just _standing there._

"Answer me, you filthy Mudblood!" Bellatrix Lestrange screeches in your face and she's so close that you can see every single one of her yellow teeth, can feel her hot breath on your cheek. You can't help but _whimper._ "Answer me!" She hits you with Cruciatus Curse and your eyes roll back as you scream ("_Hermione!"_ you can hear Ron shouting faintly and more tears roll down your face because, _this is it_, this is where you're going to die).

_Mudblood._

It's that stupid word again, and you think of when you first heard it, and you wonder where all the years went. Because it's not a harmless word anymore, you're not twelve, you can't cry in your pillow, and this is _real_; your body is aching, you're lying in your own blood, your throat is burning from the screams. You are defenseless and you are going to _die_, all because of a man (but not a man so much, anymore) detested Muggles and you are a Mudblood.

"I don't know," you sob. "I don't know, I don't know." And, between your tears and your pain, you look over at the three Malfoys - all worn out, weary and broken. Lucius is wearing a mask, completely emotionless as you used to see on his son, but you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. He is looking directly at Bellatrix and his hand is clenched with Narcissa's beside him. The latter is staring five metres away from the scene with a glassy look on her face. And Draco - the same boy who introduced you to the word - ; his eyes are locking with yours.

You don't know if it's the pain getting to you, but something in your mind clicks and you don't know why because, suddenly, memories flicker on and off in your mind like a light switch. You remember sunlight, snow, you hear your own laughter, and his lips on yours, his grey eyes, your skin against his, the feel of his hand in your hair, your bodies interlocked, a glint of his teeth as he smirked at you, and again and again in his voice:

_I love you. _

And, right before Bellatrix sends another curse at your failing body, you hear his voice distantly in your head whispering "Obliviate".

_(You're not sure what spell you screaming for next, not sure where the pain is located; in your body or your heart.)_

There's a flinch in his face as his aunt snarls in your face and he diverts his eyes. His fists are clenched at his sides until his mother's free hand covers one of his. He doesn't meet your eyes again. He doesn't do anything. He just stands there as Bellatrix hits you again.

There's a moment of doubt left in you, because _what is it's only your brain messing with you, it hurts, everything hurts, _but you see his lips move so slightly as if he was muttering almost silently to himself. Your eyes are moments from falling shut indefinitely, but you swear you see "I'm sorry".

_(But that could be you hallucinating through the pain.)_

You're unable to form coherent thoughts anymore, and only three words run around your head in a loop:

_He loves you. He loves you. He loves you._

_(At that moment, you wish he didn't.)_


	5. Chapter 5

**"Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been." - Kurt Vonnegut**

* * *

Draco all but strutted around Diagon Alley. His mother and father were getting his schoolbooks in Flourish and Blotts so had decided to have a look around. He didn't get very far, however, as he bumped into a figure hurrying in the opposite direction.

"Watch where you're going," he snarled, straightening his robes.

"Oh, sorry," a female voice replied breathlessly. She wasn't exactly pretty, but she wasn't ugly either. Her hair was a mane of very bushy brown hair and her eyes were a chocolate brown. When she opened her mouth to talk, she displayed very large front teeth. In one hand was a roll of written parchment and the other was dragging along a cauldron. She looked around his age.

"Off to Hogwarts too, then?" he drawled, catching a glimpse of the logo on the parchment.

"Oh, yes!" She nodded enthusiastically. "I'm here to buy my supplies."

"So am I," he said in the same bored voice. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Hermione Granger. And you?" she said bossily.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," he smirked.

She shifted the cauldron slightly. "Pleasure."

He stared at her lack of being impressed. "You are one of our lot, aren't you?"

"Our lot?" she questioned, confused.

"Wizarding type," he said in a superior tone.

"Well, I'm a witch, if that's what you mean," she said proudly.

"And your parents?"

She never got to answer as their conversation was cut off.

"Draco!" A blonde woman called from the other side of the street.

"Coming, Mother," he said, his voice just above normal speaking level. "See you around, Granger."

"You too, Draco," she said and, dragging her cauldron, she headed to Ollivander's.

He watched her leave.

* * *

Lugging her trunk with her, Hermione wandered up and down Hogwarts Express, looking for a suitable compartment. The compartments were filled with older students. She had found one with a group of girls her age but they were constantly giggling and, frankly, it only annoyed her. She was starting to get desperate when she saw a remotely familiar blonde in one. Hesitantly, she slid open the glass door.

"Er, excuse me," she said, sticking her head in. "I was wondering if I could sit here?"

As the others in the compartment exchanged looks, Draco was surprised for a moment. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Relieved, she saw in a corner of the seat with her trunk at her feet. She looked at the others. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

A girl wrinkled her pug-like nose in distaste. "Pansy Parkinson."

"Daphne Greengrass," the girl sitting next to Pansy said, her nose turned up snobbishly.

"I'm Blaise Zabini," a dark-skinned boy introduced. He jerked his thumb at the two remaining boys left. "They're Crabbe and Goyle."

"Nice to meet you all," she said politely.

Pansy sneered and they all lapsed in an uncomfortable silence.

"So," Pansy folded her arms. "I've never heard of a Granger."

"Well, I don't think I've heard of a Parkinson," Hermione pointed out.

Pansy scowled. "I don't like you at all."

"Nice to know the feeling's mutual," Hermione said coolly.

Draco didn't know whether to laugh or frown at her nerve, so he settled for smirking.

Sensing the tension between the two girls, Blaise spoke. "What house do you think you'll be in, then?"

"Well," Hermione turned to him. "What do you think you'd all be in?"

They all exchanged looks again and Daphne spoke for them. "Greengrass, Parkinson, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy. Do our surnames not speak for themselves?"

"Sorry?" Hermione said, confused.

"Slytherins, of course." Pansy rolled her eyes. "Not getting into Ravenclaw with that brain, are you?"

"Play nice, Pansy," Draco said and she just rolled her eyes again.

"Ravenclaw wouldn't be so bad," Hermione said, choosing to ignore the insult thrown at her. "But I'd much rather be in Gryffindor."

There was a shocked pause.

"Very funny," Daphne said, though no one was laughing.

"Yeah, I'd rather leave than be in Gryffindor," Blaise added.

"I read that Professor Dumbledore himself was in Gryffindor," she said defensively. "And you all want to be in Slytherin but that was the house You-Know-Who was in."

"Yes, that's why we want to get in Slytherin," Pansy said slowly, as if talking to a dumb child.

Hermione flushed at her tone. "Why on Earth would you want that?"

"We're purebloods," Daphne said, as if that settled the matter. "What do your parents do?"

"They're dentists," Hermione replied.

"What?" Everyone turned to look at her blankly.

"They examine people's teeth," she explained. "I did some research and it turns out that Muggles take care of their teeth very differently, actually. Why, what do all your parents do?"

"Wait a minute," Draco said slowly, but not in the same way Pansy did only moments before. It had lost its mocking tone. "Are you telling us your parents are Muggles?"

"Well, yes, I suppose."

Everyone's eyes widened and Blaise stood up quickly. "Erm, Crabbe, Goyle and I are going to find the trolley." The three left hurriedly, wincing slightly as they passed her.

"Bathroom," Pansy and Daphne said, giving her a dirty look.

"I knew there was something wrong about her..." She heard Pansy say before the compartment door managed to shut.

Hermione flushed again and felt tears stinging her eyes. She turned to Draco, but he had edged away from her and was also avoiding eye contact.

"You said you were one of us," he said, quietly.

"I am," she said, hurt. "I am a witch."

He felt some anger kick in. This girl intrigued him - he might even like her - but it turned out she was out of bounds, anyway. And the ironic and most stupid thing of all was, he didn't even notice until she told him. "No, you're not. You're a Muggle."

"I'm not!" A tear rolled down her cheek. "I got my Hogwarts letter too, like all of you!"

"You shouldn't have," he spat harshly. "People like you don't belong here in the Wizarding world."

She wiped her eyes. "I'm not listening to rubbish." She heaved her trunk out and, only a moment later, Pansy and Daphne walked in.

"Mudblood gone?" Pansy said, sitting own again. "Good."

But Draco couldn't help feeling what a shame it all was.


End file.

Harry Potter