Disclaimer: I don't own this.
Author's Note: I had this posted as a songfic, but the no lyrics rule made me take it back down. I honestly don't know whether or not it makes any sense without the lyrics, but maybe you could listen to "My Bloody Valentine" by Good Charlotte while you're reading it. Enjoy!
"My Bloody Valentine, My Lovely Witch"
"Draco, what have you done?" Hermione's voice, once strong and commanding, shook with unease. She stepped into the dark room. She must have felt the chill still in the air from the open window because she crossed her arms tightly. Her face contorted in fear as she stared at the pale, black clad figure before her.
She lifted her wand. "Lumos!"
Draco's face was drained and smudged with crimson. His famed white hair hung over his eyes-- but Hermione could see the passion behind those silver orbs, a passion she'd once went so far as to love him for. But this wasn't 'her' Draco, her old lover. This was a man she'd never seen before. How had Draco changed so much in four years? Why did he still look at her that way, with that hidden feral smile on his lips?
"Pretend you never left me, Hermione," Draco said. His voice was barely a whisper but it rang throughout the flat like thunder. "We can start over, love."
Love? Hermione shook her head. "I'm with Ron now, Draco. We've been together a while now." Ron. He was the reason why she was here after all. Isn't that what Draco had said on the phone. There'd been an accident, right?
"Weasel's not in our way anymore!" Draco growled. He grabbed her arms and pulled her further into the room. He quickly let go, shocked by what he'd done. Then Hermione saw the blood on his hands, on her, on the bed. Then the screaming began.
Only an hour earlier the deed had been done.
He crouched over Ron's sleeping figure. The red headed man was snoring lightly, deep in sleep, possibly dreaming. He watched Ron's eyes dart back and forth beneath their lids.
Draco felt the rage building, threatening to collapse. He knew that Ron was dreaming of Hermione-- the wedding that would soon take place, her lovely face framed in a wreath of white flowers. Draco knew because he too had had the same dream, years earlier when he'd planned to ask for Hermione's hand in marriage. She hadn't been ready then . . . And they'd drifted. Now Ron was making plans. Draco had seen him purchase a ring of red dragonstone. An engagement ring.
Deep inside Draco knew that Hermione would not turn down this loving man.
That's why he had to die.
Draco drew a dagger from his robes, preferring the blade to his wand. He needed to see this poor sob's blood spill. He needed it almost as much as he needed Her. No, the killing curse would not be used on this night.
Draco pulled off his mask-- the mask his late father had used as a death eater-- with his free hand. Then he pounced with the reflexes of a professional quidditch player on top of the sleeping man. His knees locked down Ron's arms before the young man was fully awake,.
Ron's eyes opened, a panicked look on his face. Draco knew that Weasley would not understand the reasons behind his own death, so he did not bother to explain his actions. An innocent man would die. But it was for a good reason. . . Wasn't it? It was for love.
"Draco, what are you doing? Don't do this. . ."
Draco drew the blade across Ron's bare throat. Blood ran down the man's neck. Draco was sure that he could hear Ron's gurgling voice asking why. The young man would probably believe that Draco had turned back to the side of dark. Though it was not true, Draco couldn't bring himself to speak to his victim. Ron lingered on a few minutes, surprising Draco, but eventually his body quit moving, eyes glazing.
Draco stood, laying the blade on Ron's chest. He took up a blanket and threw it over the body. He watched as the worn material soaked up the blood in great wet blotches.
He walked to the telephone, a muggle device Ron had installed in his apartment to keep in touch with Hermione. Draco saw her number on a scrap of parchment. He dialed it, holding up the receiver.
"Hello, Hermione speaking," came a cheerful voice.
Draco took a deep breath. "Come to Ron's place. There's been an accident."
A silence followed. "Draco. . . Draco Malfoy?" Hermione asked. Draco dropped the phone, awaiting his love's arrival.
Hermione was too strong to faint, but she could not hold back her sobs. With a hand to her mouth, she walked to Ron's bed. She knew what she'd find beneath the covers, but she had to see him with her own eyes. She drew back the blanket and collapsed against her lover's cold body, crying desperately for him to awaken.
Draco took a seat at Ron's desk, waiting for Hermione's grief to fade. But it didn't.
Over the phone, Hermione had known something was wrong. There was something in his voice that frightened her. Still, she had not been prepared for this. This was too much. Her only comfort was that she'd alerted the aurors she knew best to accompany her, just in case there was any trouble. She only had to give the signal. She lifted her wand and red streaks shot toward the window.
In seconds, her friends were flooding in: Harry, Neville, Tonks and old Moody. Even those professionals, who spent their lives hunting down dark wizards, found the scene before them too hard to take in. Three friends were before them. One dead. One in tears. One red handed. Ron was Harry's best friend, but the reformed Draco Malfoy had became a close friend to the Golden Trio after their school years had ended. Harry refused to believe what he was seeing.
Moody was first to approach the calm killer. Draco didn't say a word as the auror binded him to the chair. Before they could even remove the body, reporters began to flood inside. Somehow the Daily Prophet had received news of the gathering aurors. They'd smelled a big story. Draco and Ron's faces, both strangely peaceful, would be plastered across the front page by the next morning.
"Do you think he was under the Imperius curse?" Tonks asked, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"It's a possibility, Tonks," Harry began.
Hermione's head darted up. Her eyes were red from tears and her face seemed drained of color. "I don't think so. . .I don't think he understands." She turned to Draco. He was staring up fondly at her, as if in a daze.
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" Harry snapped.
"I think he's insane, Harry," Hermione whispered in a strangled voice.
It had been so easy, Draco thought. He'd watched them. He'd studied them. But the couple was always together. Someone had to stop them. . . Someone had to make Hermione see that no Weasley could replace a Malfoy.
Why was she still crying then?
Didn't she understand?
Draco's eyes began to burn as Hermione looked at him with a mixture of anger, fear, and pity. She didn't understand! Why didn't she understand? He wouldn't have killed Ron for anyone but her. The Weasel, after all, had been a friend.
Draco wished she could hear his thoughts. He would not live without her. In fact, he'd die first. Just like he was so sure that Ron had been willing to do. Draco had only helped him. . .