hauntingmehauntingyou

[hauntingmehauntingyou]

Haunting Me, Haunting You: Prologue

Draco knew earlier than he should have. The confirmation hadn’t come, and no one would have expected him to know when he had been holed up in his house with his mother and father, waiting for the Aurors to come. He knew, though, when there were no visitors after the war had ended. When he had gone to sleep, wondering, waiting, for three nights in a row. It was the post that confirmed it, the news managing to set back up immediately after the main fighting had finished. It had been dropped off by a barn owl, not his beloved bird, having been killed by a Death Eater who had gone around the grounds, killing many of their animals. (Draco had occluded deeply when one of the peacocks he had raised from a chick had been killed, kicked and bloodied with a slicing hex until it bled to death. His father had quietly taken him to where the elves had kindly buried the peacocks, along with his eagle owl. He didn’t get long to grieve, his father telling them they had only moments). 

The Daily Prophet was dropped onto their dining table, and Lucius barely looked at it, trying to spend as much of his remaining time free to hold his wife. They all knew that at least he would end up in Azkaban, and he would take it. It was his ‘duty’, he always claimed, ‘as a husband and father’. 

Narcissa lifted her head from her husband’s shoulder for a brief moment, but when Draco stood on wobbly legs, she settled back down. There was no reason for her to grab it. It was likely just the news about the end of the war. 

Draco picked up the pile of paper, and was surprised to find multiple prints. There was three days worth of news, so he started with the topmost paper, pulling the twine from the bundle. 

“You-Know-Who Has Been Defeated! Chosen One, Harry Potter, To Thank!”

Draco read the title, a small smile flitting across his face. He should have expected such a headline. Hopefully they would recognize Hermione’s contributions in a later issue. Everyone knew she was the brains in the trio. He skimmed the article, wincing at mentions of the dead, and work that would be going into fixing the castle, and finding anyone trapped in the rubble. He set the paper to the side, and grabbed the next one.

“Many Still Missing – Search and Recovery Efforts Underway!”

Draco frowned as he skimmed the article. Still no names, so he sighed, and tried to swallow his fears. She was fine. Everything was fine. She hadn’t shown up because she was busy, that’s all. He took in a deep breath, dropping the paper to reach for the final one in the stack, and his breath left him all at once. 

“No,” the young man quietly said. His breath started to stutter, and his hands shook as he reached for the paper, her face staring back at him. There she was, her picture on the front page, a bright smile that looped to her looking towards her left, smiling at someone only she could see. Right above her beautiful face, were the words he never wanted to read again. 

“Golden Trio Broken! Golden Girl is Missing in Action, Presumed Dead!”

“No, no-” His words cut out, and the paper rattled in his grip. His thumb brushed over the image of her, and he gasped for air. “Please, no.”

His pleading caught the attention of his parents, who stood near simultaneously from their chairs. His mother pulled him into a hug, her eyes connecting with Lucius’ while he read the paper. The man shook his head at his wife, grief drawing his brows together. Narcissa’s grip on Draco tightened, and the three drew into one hug. Draco could do nothing but sob in their hold. She was gone. She had been everything. That wonderful girl – that genius girl, his girl – was gone. He would never get to tell her ‘thank you’ for keeping him going through those years. He would never get to hold her again. Draco would never get to say goodbye, because she was just gone. 

Hermione Granger was dead. 

Harry Potter was supposed to be someone he hated. He supposed that at one point he had hated the boy, perhaps when he had foolishly hated Hermione. His hatred had diminished to a mere dislike. Harry Potter was brash, and foolish, and loud, but Hermione had loved him. Draco figured that if she loved him, there had to be something to like. So at school, Draco had watched Harry, and listed the few things he supposed were good qualities about him. Firstly, Harry Potter was ridiculously loyal, just like Hermione was. Unfortunately, his loyalties weren’t perfectly settled, (the Weasel was an idiot, and it was annoying how often Harry chose him over Hermione). Secondly, he was nice to anyone who was nice to him. Harry did not immediately sneer at Slytherins as long as they smiled first. He had been nice to Theo the few times they had interacted, apparently. Thirdly, he was ridiculously foolhardy. Draco could admit, that without his brashness and Hermione’s genius, the wizarding world would surely have ended, years ago. So, no, Draco did not hate Harry Potter, as much as he sometimes wished he did.

However, Harry Potter still pissed him off. He had enraged the pure-blooded wizard to no end when they were young, for he couldn’t understand why fame, fortune, and bad luck followed the younger wizard around. Now, though, they were young adults, war-worn, and more mature than they had been. And Draco still couldn’t understand Potter. Potter who was self-sacrificing, and noble, and kind for no reason. Draco didn’t deserve it, not at all. He couldn’t help but be angry that Harry Potter was back to save the day, again, even when it made no sense.

Potter had shown up just before Narcissa’s trial was to begin. His father’s had just ended, and the three had hugged before Lucius was dragged off to Azkaban for the next three years. (A miraculously short sentence, and Draco hadn’t been able to ask how it had happened). Draco was sitting outside the court chambers, unable to hear anything, and being closely watched by three Aurors – and there was Potter, walking down the hall.

The dark-haired wizard merely nodded at him, and then entered the courtroom like it was nothing. Draco sat in shock for the entire wait, his mind buzzing. He waited, and he waited some more. His hands thumped against his knees, trying to rid himself of some of the anxiety welling in his gut. And then it was done, and Potter walked back out of the hall, followed by Aurors and his mother. 

Narcissa looked a little younger, the deep worry lines around her eyes smoothened, just a touch. A soft smile flitted across her face. Draco stood, and enveloped his mother in a tight hug. Her lithe arms wrapped around his middle, and she sniffed. “I’m free, Dragon,” she said as quietly as she could. Draco only squeezed his mother tighter. 

Narcissa pulled back, and nodded at Harry Potter. She pressed against Draco’s shoulder, silently telling him to go talk to the other wizard. Draco took in a deep breath, and made his way over.

 Potter saved him the worry of whether he should stay standing or not, gently patting the empty bench next to where he’d sat down. The blond wizard gracefully sat beside him, and settled his arms onto his knees, not sure where to start the conversation.

“She would have wanted me to do something,” Potter started, taking off his round glasses and wiping them off with the sleeve of his robes. “She always said how you were so different from what I thought of you.” The dark-haired wizard smiled to himself. There was something wistful in his expression, and it made Draco’s chest ache. “When we were in that tent, and talking about what we’d do after, she always said she’d make the world a better place. She once said that you would, too. That she knew you would do great things, and she couldn’t wait to see it.”

Harry put his glasses back on, and made eye-contact with Draco. “I could barely believe her, when she said she trusted you. I should have, back in sixth year, when she had begged us to listen, but I was just, so angry.” Harry shook his head, as if in disbelief with himself. “I should have believed her. That you were friends–” Harry’s voice went thick with emotion, and he took a moment to breathe. “She talked about you when we were on the run, so, so often.  And she was so good, Malfoy. So damn good, so I couldn’t help but believe her. How could I not? She was my best friend.” Thick tears ran down Potter’s cheeks, and Draco shifted. His chest ached again. 

Harry let out a rough laugh, a bittersweet smile making its way across his face. “I knew, the moment the trials had been announced, that she would be yelling at me to do something. So here I am.” Harry smiled at Draco again, and Draco felt that in some other world, one where they weren’t separated by so much, that they could have been friends. “I’m not going to let you suffer for the things that you were raised to believe, or the things you were forced to do. Just do the world some good? Keep yourself out of Azkaban after this.” 

When Harry Potter stood as a witness on behalf during the trial, Draco managed to keep his emotions, mostly, in check. He nearly cried when Potter presented a memory of Hermione declaring Draco’s goodness, as evidence. Oh, she was taking care of him, even beyond the grave. However, when Draco was declared innocent, and he got to go home with his mum, he started to cry. It turned to full on sobbing when he got home, barely making it through the floo before thick tears dripped down his face, and his skin reddened. 

Hermione had saved him, and she wasn’t even there. Potter had extended a hand to him, and all because she had talked about him. 

Draco couldn’t stand to think that his girl had talked about after the war, and he would never get to see her there. 

The letter came in the clutches of a young barn owl with dark wings. The familiar seal had made his throat tight. He had clutched the letter tight while giving the owl a treat that his owl, the one he’d had as a child, had loved. The young owl had left with a soft ‘hoot’. It had taken him several moments before he’d calmed enough to open the letter, the seal giving way with a gentle tug. The small print of familiar handwriting had that tight feeling in his chest returning. He had forgotten what such simple things had meant. Was everything just returning to normal? How could it possibly be normal? So many dead, so many traumatized. Would it be normal without Snape there? Or Hermione?

Draco felt like nothing was the same, and yet here was a Hogwarts letter, sending him back to the past. He could recall getting his first letter, and although it had been expected, he’d been so excited. He thought of how Hermione felt getting hers. How her doe eyes must have lit up, and how she suddenly felt right, as if she was no longer the oddball – she had a place in the world. He tried not to think of how quickly it was ruined for her, her friends having to explain to her the slurs that existed for her kind. Although she had forgiven him years ago, guilt still weighed down his chest. 

Draco shook his head, and focused on the letter in his hands. 

“Mr. Draco Malfoy,

It is my pleasure to invite you to complete your education at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We are inviting back all our students who were unable to finish their final year with us.

Among our staff, this year, will be a mind-healer, made available to any student that might need it. We encourage you to make use of his services, as he is here to assist our students in returning to a state of normalcy in our school. 

We hope to welcome you home. 

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall”

Draco’s hands shook as he pulled the second page forward, expecting to see a supply list. Instead, it was another letter.

“Mr. Draco Malfoy,

You are invited to come August the first, the Floo in my office will be open for you. There is someone who would like to speak to you before the term starts.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall”

Draco pondered on who might be reaching out to him, but figured it was a worry for the following week. There were many other things he needed to worry about, like how not to cry at the sight of the school or the many hiding spots the pair had had. He closed his eyes, and took deep breaths, trying to focus on how it might be good to settle into the familiar. 

Draco’s chest ached harder, and he grasped at it, his eyes scrunching closed. He had to force himself to breathe through the pain. He forgot how much it could hurt. It had only been a few months, but grieving had only got harder. He thought it was supposed to get easier.

After a few moments of sharp breaths, tears finally escaped and slipped down his pale cheeks. He could only think of how she would never get another letter, how she wouldn’t get to return. She had always said that Hogwarts was a home to her that she had never had. She had loved her parents, but she had just belonged at Hogwarts. He had agreed. She looked effervescent in the candlelight of the Great Hall, and perfectly at home in the library.

Hermione Granger would never get to graduate, never cross the Black Lake in the boats again. She wouldn’t get the medals that the other two had got, and she’d never get to change all the laws she absolutely hated. 

Draco Malfoy sobbed, because she couldn’t. Someone needed to grieve all the things Hermione Granger would never get to do, and so he did. He hunched over himself, breathing roughly, while harsh sobs wracked his body. He hadn’t cried like that in quite some months, but there was something telling him it was time, time to properly cry for Hermione Granger; The Golden Girl, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, his secret love, hidden in all their glances, and the letters he couldn’t send her, because it would have got them both killed. 

Draco could feel the soft pressure of his mother’s arms around his shoulders. His mother's embrace gently lulled him to a false state of calm, and his sobbing stopped. Eventually, he leaned back, and her face was visible in his peripheral. 

“Do you plan to go,” she asked, softy. He knew that she would support him no matter what he chose to do. He knew, deep down, that he had to. It wasn’t just for him, any more, was it?

“Yes,” he quietly answered. Draco Malfoy would go back, and he’d put effort in all of his classes, and he would take the best notes he had ever taken. Because when he was taking them for her, she wanted them to be detailed, and she had liked them sorted. He’d make that revising timetable she always made for everyone she cared about, and he’d follow it as closely as he could. 

Draco Malfoy was going back to Hogwarts.

Draco stepped through the Floo, his palms itching. He barely avoided rubbing them roughly on his robes, as he caught sight of the Headmistress. He could hardly sit still any more, and it felt like weakness. The pure-blood wizard had been raised to be poised and graceful, and yet there he was, stumbling from the Floo. 

“Professor,” he said, coughing after. He winced. He hadn’t talked to anyone but his mother and the elves for a while, and even then, it was a few words at a time. His throat felt rough. He couldn’t tell if it was from disuse, or how desperately awkward he felt. 

“Mister Malfoy,” McGonagall replied, a soft smile on her face. Her eyes were calculating, something odd in her gaze. “I know it might seem strange for me to invite you here ahead of the term, but someone wanted to speak with you, in order to not cause confusion when the term starts.”

Draco’s brows furrowed the slightest bit, but he said nothing. He shifted, his eyes desperately wanting to take in the changes to the office, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She merely gave a knowing smile, and gestured to the chair across from her desk.

“Do sit, Mr. Malfoy, I believe you will need the support.” Draco outwardly frowned at her words, but he settled into the chair. It felt like she was almost making a joke, but he couldn’t be sure what about.

The old witch gestured with her hand, and said, “You can come in, now.” Draco turned his head, and his heart almost stopped. 

There, reaching through the stone wall, was the witch. Her form was gray, translucent, and glowing, just slightly. Her expression was determined, set in the way it had always been when she had decided to do something. Her face was marred with a hint of dirt, and her cardigan, the one she had always worn on the weekend because she said it was the softest one she had, was dark with blood that no longer ran through her veins. It was her, though, and Draco felt like he could start sobbing again.

“Granger?” He started, his body swaying to a stand from the chair. How he wished he could hug her, but if this was her, he knew he couldn’t. “But you’re–”

“Dead?” Hermione said, one brow lifting archly. “I’m aware, and I am quite displeased.”

This is also posted on AO3, which you can find on my blog. The first chapter, a flashback, will also be posted on here soon. If you would like to be added to the taglist to be notified when the next chapters release, or if you just want to be updated on the timeline, let me know.

[hauntingmehauntingyou]

Actively updating playlist for Haunting Me, Haunting You.

[hauntingmehauntingyou]

Chapter One

Chapter One has been uploaded.

[hauntingmehauntingyou]

Simple cover art, for the moment. New art might be made for it, soon. I'm not sure what style I'd like for it.

[hauntingmehauntingyou]

Haunting Me, Haunting You

Prologue was posted some time ago. Chapter One will be uploaded today. The rest of the fic will follow when it is finished. For updates on its progress, artwork, and music for the fic, all of it can be found on this blog.