What Kind of Life Have You Known

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! You guys raise my self esteem a considerable amount. lol

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The Headmaster appeared in a brilliant uproar of flames and quickly stepped from the fireplace. Four quick strides brought Dumbledore halfway across the common room, where he glanced into Draco’s bedchambers.

“Oh, dear,” he mumbled to himself. He could see the pale boy, stiffly lying on the floor beside his bed. His hair was disheveled, and a look of horror was stamped on his face.

“Professor, I—”

She was silenced by the large flames that suddenly spit from the fireplace, caused by the Floo Powder Dumbledore had just tossed in. He called for Madam Pomfrey’s immediate assistance and quickly threw another handful of powder into the flames. Pulling Hermione by the wrist, he brought them both straight to his office.

Stepping from the hearth, the anxious Headmaster headed straight for his Pensieve. Hermione followed, stopping beside him and glancing down into the swirling, silver liquid before her. Dumbledore took a deep breath and looked up at Hermione. She held her breath, waiting for Dumbledore to tell her that she had made a mistake.

“Miss Granger, I understand that your intentions were good, but you need to understand that Draco Malfoy is not a threat to the Order.”

“But, Professor, I recognized the necklace in his hands! He might not have been talking with anyone just now, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he is keeping a Death Eater communicator!”

Dumbledore sighed deeply. “My dear, that necklace was not a communicator. I believe it’s time you see what it was exactly that Draco went through this summer. Please believe me, Miss Granger, when I say that this is not the same boy that left this school last June.

“I would also appreciate it if you would pass along to Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley that while the rest of the Order may not be aware of the real function of the mirror in the drawing room… I am.” One corner of his mouth twitched up in a small, knowing smile.

He slowly strode across to the fireplace. Hermione stayed where she was and turned to watch Dumbledore rest one hand on the mantelpiece and gaze down into the flames. He sighed and slowly turned towards her.

“Miss Granger, you have had quite a good life so far, am I correct?” She nodded and he continued, “I would like you to try to imagine, one day, discovering that everything that your parents ever told or taught you was a lie…”

He allowed her to ponder this for a moment. A frown creased her forehead, and she pursed her lips slightly.

“Quite shocking, yes? Exactly how would you feel?”

She took a few steps forward, trying to choose her words carefully. “I would feel… betrayed. Gullible and stupid. I would feel as if everything I had ever done or believed in was a waste of time and energy.” She waited a moment and then looked up at the wizard smiling sadly back at her. She knew what he was going to say next.

“That, my dear, is exactly how Draco has felt since June.” He moved towards her and the Pensieve, stopping in front of it and again looked down into its liquid contents. “In an attempt to save her only son from the death or the lifetime in Azkaban that she new she and her husband faced at the end of the war, Narcissa Malfoy tried to persuade Lucius into waiting a few years before marking Draco.”

Dumbledore gestured to her to step closer. “Young Mr. Malfoy was kind enough to allow me to withdraw this memory from his mind. Please,” he said while gesturing towards the swirling liquid, “take a look.”

Hermione shyly took a few steps towards him. She cautiously bent forward, dipping the tip of her nose into the cool, swirling liquid. Then she broke the rest of the surface by plunging the rest of her face and head in. Suddenly, she was soaring through blackness, and then moments later, she was on her feet again, but no longer in Dumbledore’s office.

She found herself in what appeared to be Draco Malfoy’s bedroom. It was fairly large, and all the furniture was a rich mahogany. The fireplace mantel and hearth was a dark green marble, and a four-poster bed, much like those at school except much larger, was placed at the center of one wall. The curtains hanging around the window, the drapes around the bed, and the bed sheets were all the same shades of dark green and black. On a nightstand beside the bed was a picture of the three Malfoys. Lucius and Draco both sneered, as usual, back at Hermione. Draco’s school trunk was on the floor, clothes strewn across the place like he had been unpacking. Hermione was surprised to see a very large bookcase in his bedroom. Before she was able to see what books were on the shelves, she was surprised by a small movement she could see out of the corner of her eye. Turning to see Draco Malfoy, with his back to her, leaning in the doorway, she suddenly remembered why she was there.

Hermione walked towards him. She was a little uneasy at first, but then was slightly surprised to find that Draco looked much more human when he was alone. It seemed he didn’t have to uphold the Malfoy-family sneer for the moment. He could relax and be himself.

Finally realizing that she was staring, Hermione glanced around, looking for what it was that held Draco’s attention. Then she heard it. Lucius Malfoy was yelling at his wife, who was screaming right back. But Narcissa’s voice was not filled with anger like her husband's. Her voice was anxious, pleading.

Draco stepped closer to the loft railing across from his bedroom doorway. Hermione followed and could now see the pair arguing next to the staircase below them. Narcissa was down on her knees, tears streaming down her pale face, and Lucius stood over her, yelling, face flushed with anger.

“I should take you straight to Lord Voldemort right now, traitor,” his voice was suddenly softer, but no less vicious.

His wife shook her head, looking up at him, and continued to beg her husband, “Please, he doesn’t need to die for this useless cause—”

“Useless!?” He roared down at her, “What would our Dark Lord say if he heard you now? What do you think he would do to you? You’re disgusting!”

“We are losing this war! You know we are! Don’t let our son go down with the rest of us!”

Hermione heard a large crack and Narcissa’s scream as her husband smacked her with the back of his hand. Draco shuddered beside her. She could see Narcissa’s cheekbone was now sunken in slightly, and Lucius glared down at her as he toyed with the large ring on his finger. The ring was large and silver; it most likely shattered his wife’s cheekbone.

Glancing down, Hermione noticed Draco’s knuckles were white from gripping the mahogany railing. His eyes were filled with rage and sadness. She knew that he felt like a coward for not intervening, but Hermione also knew that there was nothing he could do.

“Narcissa, you have betrayed Lord Voldemort. You have betrayed me, and you have betrayed my son.” Lucius spoke in almost a whisper, but the venom was still clear with every word, “You are my wife, and I will not allow anyone to torture you, but you must still know the repercussions that come from being a traitor.”

Lucius withdrew his wand and pointed it menacingly down at his wife. Narcissa was trembling below him, hands covering her face. Hermione heard Draco’s breath catch in his throat and watched him turn away from the scene. She turned back to watch.

“AVADA KED—” Lucius’ voiced roared through the whole house, but he couldn’t finish. Narcissa raised her head from her hands and looked into her husband’s eyes. His body stiffened and his nostrils were flaring. Draco turned in surprise.

Lucius Malfoy hesitated to perform the curse on his wife. Although he believed her to be a traitor, he still loved her.

Rage filling him while looking into her pleading eyes, Lucius raised his wand again. “DIFFINDO!”

Hermione shuddered as the flash of light from Lucius’ wand struck Narcissa’s throat, creating a large gash. Blood instantly began gushing from the wound. Lucius looked down at his dying wife with disgust as she cried out in agony. Finally, her lifeless body slumped all the way to the floor.

Draco clutched at his stomach with one hand and held on to the railing with the other as he slowly slid down to the floor. He let out loud, raspy gasps of breath, and his eyes began welling up with tears.

Lucius began moving towards the stairs, and Draco quickly stood up and darted toward his bedroom. He hurriedly moved towards where his trunk was, wiping tears away from his eyes and pretended to be unpacking his things. His father sauntered in, a look of indifference and boredom plastered on his pale face.

“Draco, I would like to show you what happens to traitors when they are lucky.” Lucius stepped out of the room, and Draco set down the school cloak he was pretending to put away and followed him.

With his son in tow, Lucius walked down the stairs and crossed towards his wife’s lifeless body. Draco looked down at his mother. His jaw was clenched, and he resisted the urge to attack his father.

“Normally, I would take a traitor straight to our Dark Lord where they would be tortured to the brink of insanity.” He said this nonchalantly and placed his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “I’m sure you understand why I decided to kill her instead of turning her in.” Lucius said this like he was almost proud of himself for showing such mercy.

Lucius suddenly hissed with pain and groped at his left forearm. His back became stiff, and he drew out his wand again.

“Accio robes and mask!” His Death Eater robes and mask flew down the stairs, and Draco had to move to avoid being hit by them. Lucius caught them in one hand and reduced them to fit in his pocket.

“He knows. He can sense it through her Dark Mark.” Lucius moved towards the door, grabbing his traveling cloak and cane. “I want this,” he waved his hand at his dead wife dispassionately, “mess cleaned up and gone by the time I am back. Do you understand?” Suddenly he was talking to Draco like it was his own fault his mother “betrayed” his father.

Draco nodded sullenly. He heard the door slam down the hall and finally sank to his knees. Eyes brimming with tears, he looked at the blurred vision of the only person that had ever shown any compassion towards him in his whole life. He stayed that way for a long while, stroking her hand and then her blonde hair.

Over Christmas break, his mother had lost an extremely valuable bracelet that her mother had given her as a present when she turned seventeen. Lucius dismissed it and immediately bought a new one for her. Unfortunately, the piece of jewelry held too much sentimental value for Narcissa to just replace it. She put an ad in the Daily Prophet, offering a reward to anyone who returned it. A week later, an elderly woman came to their door with the bracelet. She had been their neighbor for years, but they had rarely spoken because the woman was a Muggle-born witch. Lucius was not home, so when the woman refused to accept any kind of reward, Narcissa insisted that she at least join her for tea.

At the time, Draco had assumed that his mother was simply trying to maintain her social status, as he knew that it would be taking a heavy blow with the upcoming war. However, he was shocked when his mother later referred to the woman as “considerate” and “generous.”

Draco was suddenly confused, he respected his mother’s opinion much more than his father’s, and was even more so when Narcissa happened to mention that his godfather, Severus Snape, whom he looked up to and idolized, was half-blood. He didn’t resent this new information, but wasn’t sure what to make of it either.

Looking down at his mother’s bloody figure, he thought about the things she had told him recently and realized that maybe the war wasn’t about blood, pure or dirty. It had never been about that. It was about power and any excuse Voldemort could create to get his hands on it. It wasn’t pure versus dirty. It was good versus evil. Powerful versus weak.

Dipping his fingers into the slowly expanding red puddle, he lifted them to his face and was struck with the thought that if any Mudblood had been there too, their blood would look no different. The thickness and color would be nearly identical, and both puddles would have that same bitter, metallic smell.

Hermione slowly stepped down the stairs, stopping and sitting at one of the bottom steps. She watched his reactions and emotions play out on his face and knew exactly what was going through his mind. Suddenly Draco’s heart was twisted every way, and he broke open and felt each shard of hatred that his father had ever set brewing in him come together. It was no longer directed at every Muggle, Muggle-born, or half-blood to have ever lived. It was now directed at the man who had created and encouraged this endless and pointless hate inside of him. Now the only hate he held was for his father and for the monster that encouraged the hate in his father the way that his father had encouraged the hate in him. Voldemort.

Hermione watched as he delicately followed the silver chain from his mother’s open wound around to the back of her neck with his fingers. Draco unclasped it, and then held it up in front of his face. Hermione shook with realization when she recognized the necklace. It was a fairly large emerald held inside an intricately designed, silver frame. If it weren’t on a chain, it would have looked more like a brooch than a necklace.

Given to Narcissa for their first wedding anniversary, the amulet hanging from the chain was the exact one that Lucius had copied the other communication amulets from. This had been a prized possession of the now dead wife and mother. Knowing that this one had never been turned into a communicator amulet, there was no risk of being tracked by having it in his possession. Draco slid it into his pocket, knowing that soon his father would remove all of the other items his mother had owned from the manor. Draco was attempting to hold on to a piece of the only person who ever really loved him.

No longer ignorant to the truth, Draco was scared and uncertain. He was still unaware that Snape was only a Death Eater again to spy for the Order, and not knowing who else to turn to, he decided to owl Dumbledore. Hermione followed him as he bustled out of the hallway and entered a rather impressive library. He ran to the desk that sat at one end of the room and scribbled something on a piece of parchment. He tied it to an owl who sat quietly in a cage in the library.

“Take this straight to Albus Dumbledore,” Draco commanded the bird and opened the window to let him out.

Attempting to calm himself, Draco followed his father’s orders and began casting cleaning charms. He fought to feel indifferent to whose blood it was he was cleaning up, and he anxiously awaited Dumbledore’s reply.

The scene before Hermione began to fade, and she found herself, once again, in the Headmaster’s office. She slowly stepped away from the Pensieve and towards the chair across from Dumbledore where he was now seated at the fire. She sat stiffly, somber from the realization of what had happened to this person whom she had despised for so long.

“I assume I don’t need to explain to you what young Mr. Malfoy realized that day?”

She shook her head, sympathy for one of her best friend’s enemies washing over her. “Poor Malf—,” she could no longer think of him as Malfoy the git, “Draco. Brainwashed since birth by his father’s beliefs; he never even had a chance to form his own opinions.”

“Indeed, but he is maturing, much sooner than I had expected, and beginning to see the light. Unfortunately, this is still quite a struggle for him, as I am sure you can imagine. Continuing to mourn the loss of his mother, the only person to show him any kind of human compassion or love, he is now faced with the brutal reality that his father, a man he had trusted, spoon-fed him lies since the moment he was born. Plus, we need Lucius to believe that Draco is still faithful to him and Voldemort, so Draco has to hold up a constant masquerade and still be treated by his peers like he is still the same old Draco Malfoy.

“I’m quite sure you understand that being hexed in the middle of grieving his mother is one of the last things he needs right now.” He chuckled slightly at this, but it sounded sad.

She looked up slightly at Dumbledore and cast a gloomy smile at him. She felt terrible. She had noticed the changes before, but even his newfound manners and softening of attitude towards her was all so painfully obvious to her now.

“But, sir, why can’t people know? Wouldn’t it be much easier on him not to have to carry on this charade?”

“Ah, my dear, if only it was that easy. Surely you understand that a man such as Lucius Malfoy will not give up his only son to our side without a fight.”

Hermione silently chastised herself for not thinking of that before.

“No, Miss Granger, for now it is much easier this way. Plus, young Mr. Malfoy has been sending each letter that he receives from his father straight to me. Lucius Malfoy is a very paranoid man and doesn’t reveal much in his letters, but every bit helps.”

“Headmaster, what about this summer? At the end of term? Won’t Lucius want Draco marked as soon as possible?”

“Yes, Professor Snape and I are still trying to find a way out of that little problem, but fortunately that is an issue we still have months to deal with, my dear.”

Suddenly, the fire grew up into a giant blaze and as it died down again, the face of Madam Pomfrey appeared within the flames.

“Sorry to interrupt, Albus, but a certain Mr. Malfoy is awake and very eager to speak with you.”

“I will be there in just a moment, Poppy. Thank you.”

With that, the fire roared up again and then died back down to its usual flicker. The wizard slowly stood up from his chair. Gesturing to the Pensieve, “While you were still watching, Madam Pomfrey let me know that Draco received a slight concussion, but is doing just fine.”

Hermione stood up quickly, suddenly feeling worse than she had before. “What!? But, Professor, I only Stupefied him! Surely, that wouldn’t cause—”

Dumbledore held up his hand to stop her sudden, worried outburst. His eyes were twinkling slightly in the firelight. “Yes, but I believe someone didn’t think to pillow his head during the fall.”

*****

Finishing her rounds of the corridors, Hermione made her way back to her room. She knew Draco would be back from the hospital wing by now, but hopefully he would be in his bedroom. She was embarrassed and felt terrible. She couldn’t face him yet. What would she say?

Hermione stepped through the portrait hole. Even in the dim light of the fireplace, she could see the bruise that formed on his pale forehead. He was sitting on the couch in front of the fire. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he was toying with his mother’s necklace in his hands. Hermione could see the silver and emerald glittering in the firelight.

She stepped forward and slowly lowered herself on to a chair beside the couch. Her back was stiff, and she was unsure of what to say. He sighed and leaned over, handing her the necklace.

Hermione was confused. She took it from him, but had no idea what to do with it.

“Go ahead,” he tapped it lightly with his wand.

She suddenly knew what he wanted her to do with it. Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at the amulet. She cleared her throat and said the charm, “Specialis Revelio.”

“Nothing happened,” she stated flatly. There were no charms on the amulet. She lowered her wand and leaned over to hand the necklace back to Draco.

He looked up quickly. His jaws were clenched, and he snatched the necklace from her hands. “Of course nothing happened! What the bloody hell did you expect to happen!?”

He stormed off to his bedroom and slammed the door shut. She wanted to apologize, but had no idea what to say. There was nothing she could say that would make him feel better. What she had done was unintentionally cruel.

TBC