A Million Petty Souls
Disclaimer: Not mine. Only the Plot
Summary: "You don't regret anything?" She asked; her voice strained.
"Things could not have turned out any differently for me, Hermione," he responded (Draco and Hermione)
I wrote this because, well, I haven't written anything in a while so I decided to push myself and see what I came up with. I really rather love angst it seems. The title for this piece comes from the song 'Slept so Long' from the movie Queen of the Damned. Anyways, there's two stories happening here. One is in the present and the other is in the past. Hope it's not all too confusing or anything. Let me know what you think.
A Million Petty Souls
get this far
Playing games with this old heart
I've killed a million petty souls
But I couldn't kill you
She found him in the last cell, in the darkest part of the dungeon. He lay on the cold stones, his face turned from her. He expressed no movement when she slide the key into the rusted iron lock and pushed open the heavy, wooden door.
She paused in the entryway, waiting for acknowledgement, but he showed none. A few tentative steps were taken, and she found herself standing over him, straining to see his face. It was then that his eyes opened, and she saw the light reflecting from their grey depths.
"What is it you want," he spoke hoarsely; his head turning fully towards her.
"To ask a few questions," she responded.
He laughed quietly to himself. She pretended not to notice.
"We have gathered that you have been an active deatheater for the past 3 years. Is this accurate?"
His mouth contorted into a sneering grin. "You already have all you need to condemn me," he said; his voice low. "There is no need for this interview."
"Couldn't you make this easier for us both, Draco?" Hermione sighed her resignation.
She watched as he pushed himself up onto his forearms.
"If that's what you want," he said, looking her in the face.
She smiled as she peered out through her veil. Their warm expressions turned towards her as she entered.
The bouquet felt heavy in her hands, and tears misted her eyes. But this was hardly a grievous occasion. Her gaze rested upon him, standing at the alter. He smiled at her. She returned the gesture.
The melody sounded and she took a step forward; her eyes never leaving his. She followed his warm down the aisle, feeling the path stretch before her.
She couldn't see the others anymore. Their whispers faded into the background; nothing but white noise.
She took her place by his side. His reached out and grasped her hand, entwining their fingers. They both turned forward, looking to the priest expectantly.
"Dearly beloved…" it began.
She felt him give her hand a squeeze.
"What were you asked to do for the Dark Lord?"
"Protect him," came the simple answer.
"How so?" She persisted, leaning forward.
"By destroying his enemies," he replied with his eyes shut.
"Was that the extent of your orders?"
"Yes," Draco paused. "Almost too simple isn't it?"
"Did he ever give explanations for his orders?" Hermione asked curiously.
"No, he wouldn't, would he?" She watched him blink a few times. "It would have been foolish to ask."
She was surprised how calm he appeared. But what else should she have expected from the condemned?
"Did you have a part in the murder of Neville Longbottom?" Hermione took a long shuddering breath. She didn't want to hear the answer.
He paused, and the cell was silent. A lump formed in her throat. She couldn't take it.
"Yes," he said finally.
"I see." Hermione blinked back tears. She readied herself for the question she feared most. "How many people have you killed under orders from Voldemort?"
"Millions," came the cold answer.
She arrived home to find him in the kitchen; head resting on the counter, eyes shut. She laid a hand on his shoulder and gently nudged him.
"Wake up, darling," she whispered.
He lifted his head; his eyes coming into focus on her.
"I hate when you work late," he mumbled, rising to claim her in his arms.
"I'm sorry," she replied, falling into his warm.
"Any new developments at the Ministry this week?" He asked, speaking into her hair.
"I think we're getting some headway in finding the identities of a few deatheaters. Capturing them would be the least we could do to console the victims' families."
"That's good," he said, before swooping down for a kiss. "Come to bed now. It's late."
She allowed him to lead her up the stairs.
She jotted his answers down on a piece of parchment. The other Ministry officials would want to look at it later.
"How did you come be a part of the Deatheaters?"
He laughed, dim amusement filling his eyes. "I would have thought the answer to that to be obvious."
"Please state your answer officially," Hermione replied, her voice calm.
Draco sighed, but obliged her. "My father was a Deatheater, as were various other extended family members. It seemed natural that I should follow their path." He paused briefly, as if contemplating his words. "After all, what other choice did I have?"
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "You had many choices. You could have…"
Draco laughed. The sound echoed against the walls. "I made my choice long ago. There's no use persuading me now."
Silenced, Hermione cast her eyes on the stone floor. Her features were stony as the words invaded.
"I don't regret my decision," he added.
She flinched; the trance broken. She looked to him then, anger flooding her eyes. "You don't regret anything?" She asked; her voice strained.
"Things could not have turned out any differently for me, Hermione," he responded.
His heavy footsteps on the stairs woke her. She opened her eyes in the dim bedroom and saw his shadowed figure.
"Where have you been," she murmured; her face pressing into the pillow.
She felt the bed sag beneath her as he seated himself on its edge.
"I needed to finish some things for work," he said, removing his shoes.
"You've been working such long hours. Couldn't you talk to your boss and ask…"
"No!" He snapped. "No," he repeated more quietly.
Her eyes widened in the dark. "I'm sorry," she offered.
He didn't respond.
She was running out of things to ask him. The silences between words lengthened.
"Did you never question what you were doing?" It was not a question she was required to ask. It was for her own sanity.
He looked to her, not at all perturbed. He bit his lip as he considered his answer. "I wanted to stay alive," he finally stated.
She didn't bother writing it down.
The silence that followed was deafening. She shuffled her papers, looking for the words to say.
She could feel Draco considering her closely as he waited. "Why did you go into the Ministry?" He asked softly.
"I wanted to keep the wizarding world safe," she responded.
Draco laughed out loud. The sound hurt her ears. "You wanted to keep it safe, and I wanted to destroy it." He glanced at her, amused. "It's ironic almost."
Hermione looked away, suddenly wanting to leave. She gathered her papers, and took a step towards the door.
Pausing before the entryway, she turned to look back at him. He was still resting on his forearms, his eyes raised to her's. His ragged body looked beaten, even though his expression was neutral.
"Is there something else you wanted to ask me?" Draco inquired of her.
"Yes," she responded quietly. "Why did you marry me?"
She heard the door slam and realized he was home. Slipping from the sofa, she ran to meet him.
"Where have you been!?" She demanded as she neared his hunched form.
He turned to her sharply. He looked out of breath. Hermione took a step back, alarmed.
"Something has happened," he said finally; his words coming out in gasps.
"What? What's happened? Are you alri-" She was cut off by a pounding at the door. "Whose there?" Hermione called out.
She never received an answer. The door was blasted open in a blinding flash of white light.
She found herself on the floor suddenly, littered with broken splinters of wood. She looked to the entryway and saw her colleagues; aurors and Ministry Officials swarming into her home.
Harry came into view, and she pushed herself to her feet. She rushed to him, panic and confusion contorting her features..
"What is going on!? I demand to know what you think you are doing!" She pleaded, grasping his arm.
He only looked at her, his eyes solemn. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry."
She turned to see her husband pinned to the ground, a dozen wands pointed at his chest. Their eyes met. She saw no sorrow in their grey depths.
"He's a deatheater, Hermione. We just received the evidence." Harry confirmed what she already knew.
Draco stared at her, his eyes unblinking. It satisfied her that there was at last a question he couldn't answer.
She peered down at him, seeing a stranger. When no sound came from his lips, Hermione pulled open the door, and walked out into the torch-lit corridor.
"Hermione!" He called out, making her hesitate.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. His eyes were wide; desperate.
It wasn't good enough.
She looked down at his frail frame. He sat slumped, his arms and ankles chained by the chair.
"Draco Malfoy, you are being trialed for countless crimes committed under the Dark Lord…" the Minister began.
Hermione sat to his right, hearing the words, but not understanding the sentences. Her attention was solely on her husband; her love. Her eyes took in the details of his features; the way he sat, as if defeated, the way his hair fell over his eyes, hiding them from her.
She willed him to look up. She wanted to see regret in him, sorrow perhaps; anything but the deadness of a condemned man.
His words kept echoing back into her thoughts. I'm sorry, he had said. I'm sorry too, she thought.
"Do you have anything to say to the court?" The Minister demanded.
"No," came the single answer.
"In that case, the court will make a decision." He looked to each of them in turn, the Ministry's top officials, all seated in a semicircle around him. There would be no jury for a case such as this.
Each judge gave a slight nod of the head, condemning him.
The Minister's gaze arrived at Hermione, and he paused, waiting for her approval, waiting for her to end him.
Hermione felt tears burn her vision. "No," she choked out. "No," she repeated louder. "I do not agree to this."
Draco's head jerked up at her words, his body no longer limp. His grey eyes met her's. She saw something in them.
Why did I write this in this fashion? Because Nothing is more tragic than Happiness lost. Hope you agree. Please review for me, I would love to hear your thoughts.