Chapter 2

For the Weight of Us - By Sanders Bohlk

i. There's a Cold heart, buried beneath

-Or-

The time in the Library

Draco sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He'd been pouring over tome after ancient tome in the Black Family library, searching and praying for an answer. His only goal was to remove the stain of the Dark Lord's hold over him.

The mark had been burning since he defected. Draco knew the Dark Lord was furious, and this was the only way he could punish him for the treachery.

Draco didn't know exactly when he had stopped believing in the cause, or if he ever had. He'd been raised spouting his father's ideology, and hadn't thought much on it, until he got to Hogwarts and had been bested consistently by a muggleborn witch. Effortlessly, on her part.

Granger.

He could still remember her screaming and writhing in agony on the drawing room floor in Malfoy Manor. It might have been that moment, though he'd already been giving information to the Order, that Draco truly believed he'd made the right decision.

The next two weeks had been brutal, his family tortured incessantly for allowing Potter and his friends to escape, but Draco had taken it with the only comforting thought that if Harry Potter lived, there was still a chance to escape this hell.

When word had gotten around that the Order had a spy in the Death Eaters' ranks, he knew it was time to leave. His mother had hastily tried to follow as he and Pansy made their escape, but Bellatrix had found them, and his mother had pushed them onward whilst she turned to duel her sister. The last thing Draco had seen before his emergency portkey activated was his mother's grim smile as a burst of green light hit her square in the chest.

His eyes burned thinking about it.

I'm not ready.

He wondered if he'd ever be whole again.

Doubtful, he thought bitterly.

Returning to the latest book he'd been reviewing, Draco tried to focus on translating the text in his head.

It was a book written by Morgana Le Fey, a dark witch from Arthurian times, and she proposed that charms and hexes could be picked apart if one knew the theory behind the charm's makeup.

Damn.

Maybe he was onto something. Draco had never actually tried to examine the spellwork behind the Dark Mark, and he would need to be extremely careful lest he burn his arm off or something equally horrendous.

"Malfoy?" the voice was surprised, laced with ire, and Draco turned to face the bane of his existence.

"Granger," he said, inclining his head and allowing a slight smirk to grace his lips.

Her mouth was thin. "I'd heard you'd defected, you and Parkinson. Didn't think I'd have to see your mug this soon, though."

Draco shrugged, "The wards on Grimmauld are nearly impenetrable. Considering the Dark Lord wants me dead nearly as bad as Potter, I'd say this is the safest place I could be."

She scoffed, "Pity."

She shrugged out of her coat, and plopped down on the couch adjacent to him with a small bag in her lap. Reaching her arm in all the way to her shoulder, she rummaged around and pulled out a book that was easily half her weight.

Draco merely returned to his own text.

Silence was interrupted only by the slipping of pages and the occasional shifting of positions from the Libraries occupants. Draco found her silence to be a relief, despite her hostility. It was not often Draco was able to enjoy a quiet environment anymore.

He peered over his text at Granger, who was engrossed in whatever book she was reading. Her eyes were a dark amber, devouring the text she read as they rapidly flew over the pages. She had her feet tucked under her legs, the dark blue skirt she was wearing blanketing around her.

She wore a simple button-up blouse, the top three buttons undone, but tastefully so. It barely hinted at the swell of her breasts. Her dark curls cascaded wildly over her shoulders, and Draco would occasionally see her blow waywards curls out of her face. On the whole, he found the whole scene rather enticing.

And suddenly, he couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"Granger," he said , pausing to wait for her to acknowledge him. Granger looked up and cocked her head to the side, a slight crease between her brows as though she was wondering why he'd speak to her, let alone in a cordial tone.

"Yes?"

"How good would you say you are at magical theory?"

She smirked, "I'm adequate."

He almost laughed, but didn't. "I'm trying to find a way to remove the Dark Mark."

She closed her book, resting her forearms on it as she leant forward, pondering his statement. The blouse she was wearing parting slightly. Draco kept his eyes on her face, waiting. Not looking.

At. All.

"The Dark Mark is a warped variation of the Protean Charm. It seems to be a perversion created by Voldemort himself. Undoing the charms will be dangerous, as it's highly likely he has boobytraps in the charm itself."

Draco sighed, "I know that, Granger, but the problem is that the Mark hurts whereas the Protean Charm doesn't, it only heats up to communicate. Did he do that on purpose? Or was it just a side effect of all the enchantments?"

Hermione placed a hand on her chin thoughtfully, "I doubt he would care, either way."

She moved from her spot on the opposite end of the room and grabbed his arm, pulling the sleeve up and bearing the Mark for them both to see.

"Granger! What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Oh, honestly," she scoffed, "You want the damned thing off, and sitting here theorizing about it isn't going to help because I can tell you I've already tried looking in these books for information on it, and I can tell you there isn't any."

He slammed the book shut with a sense of finality. The opportunity she presented was not lost on him, and he finally had the chance to have a stimulating intellectual conversation with her.

"As you well know," he steepled his fingers, leaning towards her, "any spell is about intent. The Protean Charm was designed to link objects together for a specific purpose. For messaging, such as the one you used in fifth year. Yes," he insisted, cutting off the interruption she'd been about to make, "I was aware of the coins you used. Impressive magic, by the way."

He smirked as her surprised expression settled into a glare.

"What if Voldemort anticipated deflection, doubt, or any other regretful feeling towards his cause? What if he reworked the spell to demand obedience? Because I can tell you, Granger, any time I had an inkling of doubt, the Dark Lord knew, and the Mark became painful, demanding I comply."

He could see her expressive brown eyes widen with recognition, and her mouth dropped open slightly as she licked her lips. Draco knew, infuriatingly so, that she had no idea how enticing the movement was.

"So a layered charm? One that requires obedience, loyalty, and summoning? Maybe a rework of the Imperius Curse? Or a Confundus? Malfoy, this will take work to unravel." Her shoulders broadened, and she wore the expression Draco knew she had when presented with a challenge.

"So is that it, Granger?" He drawled, "Will you help me rid myself of this blasted curse?"

An almost-sneer formed on her face. "Only so I can save others like you, Malfoy. Don't worry, though, I'm still just a Mudblood."

She bared her arm to him and he just barely controlled himself from flinching. Mudblood, angrily carved into her forearm, branding her forever.

Anger filled him. How dare she think he'd ever do that to her?

He stood abruptly, swishing his robes to right themselves as he stared her down.

"Don't call yourself that," he ground out.

Hermione watched him leave, a pensive look on her face.

ii.

And warm blood, running deep

-or-

Change was inevitable

Why did I say that to him?

Hermione, flustered by her own actions, quickly retreated to the quiet comfort her bedroom provided. She hadn't meant to snap at Malfoy, but honestly? It was the first time since that night that she'd had to see him. Logically, she knew that his hand had not held the wand that tortured her so mercilessly, but he'd been there. Though Hermione knew his hands had been tied, she couldn't help but think him cowardly, as unsurprising as that was. She herself would have rather died than become enslaved by inaction.

If she were being honest with herself, Hermione wasn't sure how to come to terms with his presence in the one place she felt safe. It felt wrong, like a violation. No matter that she could see the very real regret in his eyes as he'd regarded her, the timidness with which he spoke to her, not his usual standard.

War changes people.

Hermione herself had changed. She was harder, more cynical. Her once virtuous honor and righteousness were gone. She was no longer willing to allow Voldemort and his followers to slaughter innocent people without reciprocating in kind.

Many had begged for life while staring down the end of her wand, and she hadn't shown mercy.

There is blood on my hands.

They had all changed, little pieces of themselves chipping away every time someone else was lost, every time they had to grieve again.

Maybe Hermione was judging Malfoy too harshly, she mused. Life had undoubtedly been no easier for him, because for all that Draco Malfoy had been in school - an arrogant, prejudiced bully - Hermione knew that he wasn't a cold blooded murderer.

Maybe she felt some compassion for him. That didn't mean she couldn't hate him. He'd certainly earned it.

But Hermione would help him with his godforsaken Dark Mark, because she had no doubt that plenty of others had also been coerced into joining, by either fear for themselves or for their families.

The tell-tale rumbling of an engine drew Hermione into the kitchen, knowing Sirius would be coming in shortly. She'd missed him greatly, having not seen any of her friends in nearly three weeks.

She immediately went to put the kettle on, already preparing for a long night of catching up.

Imagine her surprise when Sirius stumbled into the kitchen clinging to a woman. Well, the clinging to the woman part wasn't surprising, but said woman being Pansy bloody Parkinson was.

Hermione felt her lip curl in distaste.

"My, my, Sirius," she drawled, "what do we have here?"

The two entwined bodies, previously oblivious to anyone other than themselves, whirled around abruptly, two pairs of eyes growing wide, though one was with mirth and the other apprehension.

"'Mione, my love," Sirius cajoled, striding up and sweeping her into a hug.

"Sirius," Hermione replied joyfully, hugging her friend enthusiastically, his cheerfulness contagious. "It is so good to see you," she whispered into his ear, and he squeezed her tighter, kissing her cheek.

"I've missed you too, kitten," Sirius said, before grabbing the hand of the witch behind him, "may I introduce you to Pansy-"

"Parkinson," Hermione finished with a sneer, "I should've known wherever Malfoy was, you'd follow."

Pansy looked unfazed as she levelled Hermione's glare with one of her own.

"We're on the same side, Granger," Parkinson retorted.

Hermione scoffed, "Yes, well," she paused, "we will see about that. Do try and keep from fornicating in the kitchen, I'd like to be able to keep my lunch."

Pansy smirked. "I didn't know you were such a prude, Granger."

"I'm not, but I am considerate of communal spaces. Just make sure you respect my house, eh, slag?"

"Hermione," Sirius warned.

She held up a hand to stop him, and he sighed before slumping down into a bar stool petulantly, watching the two women eye each other.

Pansy seemed to be struggling with what she wanted to say. "I'm sorry for how… horrid I was to you in school," she finally said, and Hermiones glare lessened, albeit only slightly.

"I accept your apology," she replied, "but don't think for a second I've forgotten, or that I trust you."

Pansy rolled her eyes, "Duly noted. Sirius, can we go now?"

Sirius stood up and once again kissed Hermione's cheek before taking Pansy's hand to make leave.

"Oh, and Parkinson?" Hermione's voice called behind them.

Pansy turned and cocked her head.

"You hurt him," Hermione stated purposefully, "One hair on his head out of place, you will be looking down the business end of my wand. Make no mistake, I will end you."

Her amber gaze was hard, no sign of deception or untruth in them, and Pansy felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine even as she nodded her head.

Hermione Granger was not one to be trifled with.

iii.

Shake off all your sins

-or-

The Protean Charm

The soft knocking on his door turned his attention away from the scroll he was reading. Pansy let herself in, as usual, and flopped onto his bed gracefully.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Researching the Protean Charm. It's very old," Draco said, not looking up from his research. "It was the method of communication before that Egyptian bloke discovered how to make parchment from papyrus. Owls were unable to carry huge blocks of wood on their own, as the Featherweight Charm wasn't invented until the late ninth century."

"Interesting," she said, "I take it you're still on this kick to remove our little parasites?"

"Indeed," he said, then added, "Granger is going to help."

"Is she now? That witch is something else," Pansy smirked, "just got done threatening me, she did."

Draco finally looked up at her. "Seriously?"

Pansy nodded, "I swear, and she bloody meant it, too. I have no intention of ever dueling that witch, rest assured. I doubt I'd last very long, in any respect."

"No," Draco agreed, "I don't expect you would. Granger knows more spells than even Snape and she's a wicked quick draw. Why was she threatening you?"

Pansy blushed, "She might have seen Sirius and I holding hands."

"Merlin, Pans, you're hopeless. I hope he's treating you well."

"Oh, he is," she leered, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"You're incorrigible."

She laughed.

"So," she began, customary smirk in place, "you and Granger working together, huh? Are you going to tell her the truth?"

Draco sighed, "No, I don't see the point. She hates me, not that I blame her."

"I do not understand, you're the only reason they got out of the manor that night. Can she not see that?"

"I watched her be put under the Cruciatus, Pans, I doubt she can see past that."

"Yea? Well, welcome to the club. We've all been tortured at one point or another. I doubt Potter and his bleeding Gryffindor friends will care, they're too caught up in their own self-righteousness."

Draco eyed her, "What about Black? He's just as Gryffindor as the rest of them."

Pansy snorted, "He was raised by the most devout pureblood family that ever existed. Sirius Black may shine red and gold, but I doubt his upbringing ever left. You've seen him duel, that night at the Battle of Hogwarts. He's merciless, cold and calculating. He doesn't possess the same recklessness Potter and Weasley do. Neither does Granger, actually."

"No," Draco agreed with a dip of his head, "I suppose you're right. Black is powerful in his own right. But Granger, she is the crown jewel in the collection on their side of the war. She's vicious," he stated factually, bringing a hand to the cheek she'd slapped all of those years ago.

"Our side," he corrected. "We're supposed to be on the same side now."

She nodded.

"Do not underestimate Potter, either," Pansy continued, "anyone that can foil the Dark Lord so many times can not just being doing so out of sheer luck, though the Dark Lord himself would say otherwise."

Draco agreed, then he sighed in defeat.

"There's no way in hell I'm going to be able to-" he started

A silver wolf bounded into the room, and stopped just before them.

"Death Eaters," it said in a voice Draco recognized as Lupin's. "Diagon Alley. We're outnumbered. Send reinforcements immediately."

Pansy and Draco were immediately on their feet, wands already brandished as they bounded downstairs, running into Sirius and Hermione.

"Draco," Sirius said urgently, "You and Pansy apparate outside of Knockturn, Hermione and I will take the main entrance. Disillusion yourself now."

"Take one of these," Hermione thrusted two coins into either of their hands, and Draco recognized them as the same coins she'd used during their fifth year for the illegal defense club she and Potter created.

"Any one of our side doesn't believe you, show them these," Granger continued hastily. "Most of the Order knows you've defected, but some may have been away on mission. Be safe, apparate back here, bring any survivors you can."

She quickly grabbed Black's hand, and with a swish of her robes, they were gone.

"Are you ready?" Pansy's face was white, though her eyes were determined.

Draco nodded. "Watch my back." And with that, he disapperated them into the madness.

iv.

And kings, who kill us fine

-or-

She dealt death before me

Hermione and Sirius ran into a kaleidoscope of color as they barged through the entrance at the Leaky Cauldron. Sirius immediately ran to the aid of Remus, who was dueling Crabbe Sr., Macnair and Augustus Rookwood simultaneously.

Hermione glanced at her surroundings, taking note of her side's well being before jumping in to assist Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was dueling none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, and by the looks of it, he was losing.

"Sectumsempra!" she shouted wildly, jumping in between Kingsley and his foe, immediately conjuring a shield charm in front of him.

Bellatrix paused, taking note of Hermione before smiling with manic glee.

"Oh, pretty little mudblood," she cackled, "ready for me to finish you off for good this time?"

"You talk too much," Hermione snarled before throwing an entrail expelling curse at Bellatrix, who dodged it easily.

"Oh? You want to play?" She cooed, "Let's play, poppet."

And the duel began.

Hermione would never let her fear show as she dodged curse after curse, reciprocating when she could. Bellatrix was a fearsome dueler, without morals or conscience. The fact that she was more than slightly unhinged made her dangerous, albeit predictable.

"Bombarda!" The dark witch shouted, and Hermione felt her footing slip as the ground beneath her feet erupted, shooting rubble in either direction. She quickly shielded herself and Kingsley, who seemed to have recovered from his fatigue, and the two Order members quickly began throwing spell after spell, but none of them seemed to touch Bellatrix, who was laughing maniacally at them.

"You won't best me!" she snarled, "I will quite enjoy killing you. The Minister of Magic and the Brightest Witch of Her Age. Oh, how the Dark Lord will reward me for killing you!"

"Bella, what did we say about playing with our food?" A new voice entered the fray, and Hermione paled as Antonin Dolohov came to his partner's aid, his eyes gleaming with mirth.

"To only play if I'm willing to share," Bellatrix pouted playfully, before stepping aside and allowing him to take his place next to her.

The duel was more fearsome than before, and Hermione could feel herself tiring. Dolohov was unpredictable at best. A spell creator, he was casting hexes and curses in her direction that Hermione had no idea how to counteract, so she and Kingsley had to go on the defensive, dodging and producing shield after shield.

Dolohov was moving closer towards Hermione, and before she could react, a sickening purple charm flew from his wand and hit her shoulder, sending her flying backwards into the brick wall of Diagon Alley.

"Hermione!"

"Granger!"

She felt as though her veins were liquified fire, and her limbs felt tingly. But somehow, she knew she would be okay, because Hermione would know that voice anywhere.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!" "Incarcerous!"

The fire continued to burn, and Hermione felt her eyes grow heavy.

"Hermione!" a panicked voice was just above her, and her bleary eyes met those of Harry Potter.

"Oh, hey, Harry," she said, sleepily, "it burns."

"I know, love." His voiced soothed her, like a balm on her burning flesh. "The Death Eaters are retreating, Moody and Lupin are making a sweep. It's time to go home now, love."

Her eyes closed.

"-Give her to me, you git!"

"I can't believe he's dead."

"-Draco are you sure?-"

"I've got her, Potter! I've got her."

Darkness.

v.

Invade us, in innocent song

-or-

Vigil

She was sleeping, finally. This was a good thing, considering she'd been very nearly dead only a few hours ago.

Draco sat vigil by her bedside, his face gaunt and his eyes tired, but he would not sleep. Would not leave the room she'd been sequestered to whilst he healed her.

Dolohov.

A formidable spell creator, and completely without mercy or conscience. Draco felt that he'd been extremely lucky to have been under the Death Eater's tutelage.

It had saved her life tonight.

The curse was one of Dolohov's own creation. One that rapidly drew all of the oxygen out of the bloodstream, but not before making them suffocate first. Draco was one of the few who knew the countercurse.

So there he sat, not quite understanding his draw to the witch. Or, maybe he did. But she'd always confounded him, ever since they were eleven years old.

"How is she?" Harry Potter stood by the door, calmer than a few hours prior when Draco had thrown him out and warded the doors shut.

"She'll live," he said despondently. "She'll need to rest over the next few days. The curse was depleting her oxygen levels, and her magical core was drained trying to protect her. She will be weak for a few days. But she'll recover."

Potter came and sat gracelessly in the chair next to him, and Draco tried not to recoil. They were on the same side, after all. But neither could ignore the history between them.

They sat in silence for awhile, watching the steady rise and fall of Granger's chest. Her dark mane of curls stuck to her cheek from sweat, though Draco still found her undeniably beautiful.

He chanced a glance at Potter, and was not wholly surprised to see the other wizards gaze glistening with tears.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "for saving her."

Draco shrugged. "Someone has to keep you alive."

Potter laughed mirthlessly, then his face hardened, "Thank you," he said seriously. "This doesn't change anything, though."

Draco sneered half-heartedly, "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Harry?"

Hermione's sleepy voice spurred both wizards into action, stepping on either side of her bed as she rubbed her eyes and attempted to sit up, wincing as she did so.

"Take it easy, Mione," Potter said soothingly, brushing his hand across her cheek, "you need to rest. That was one nasty curse you took."

Granger eyed her shoulder, where an angry purple scar was peeking out of her shirt.

"Damn. Well, at least I have a matching set," she said dryly.

Draco started, "I beg your pardon?"

"That's the second time that bastard has gotten me with that blasted curse," she snarled weakly, "I had so hoped to repay him in kind."

She lifted the bottom of her shirt, and Draco swallowed as the pale expanse of her abdomen gave way to, sure enough, another deep purple curse, although it had faded slightly.

His fists clenched angrily.

"Did you get him, Harry?" Hermione asked, oblivious to Dracos inner turmoil.

Potter shook his head, "No, Malfoy did. Got him in the back with an Avada."

Hermione's gaze turned on him, and Draco remained impassive.

"A curse to the back?" She asked, intrigued.

"Well, I wasn't going to give away my advantage," he drawled. "I suppose you think it was cowardly, and I should have challenged him to a proper duel while you were busy dying?"

Hermione smirked slightly. "No, actually," she began, "I was going to say nice work. I would have done the same thing."

The wizard and witch looked at each other, years of bad blood between them, and Draco felt it. It was barely there, almost not noticeable, but it was. Some of the tension had faded.

"Well," he said, straightening his robes, "I'll leave you to it."

He began to exit the room, but as his hand went to close the door, she called to him.

"Malfoy?"

He paused, not turning to face her.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for saving me."

He didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge that she'd even said anything, and closed the door behind him.