bigger than us [dramione]

nine

THE LATE NIGHT air outside was sharp and cold, and Draco immensely regretted not having run away with a bloody coat — or gloves, or spare underwear, or any ruddy clothes apart from the all-black suit he stupidly donned on their raid.

He had spent the day casting refreshing and warming spells over himself to ensure his suit remained clean and to attempt to shield his thin frame from the harsh winter air, but only so many effective warming spells could be cast (especially with such an unreliable wand) and even he was beginning to smell the sourness wafting off his stained clothes. To say the least, he simply couldn't wait to get to Godric's Hollow and spend some galleons on a set of new clothes.

Beside him, Granger trotted along happily, humming a quiet tune to herself and kicking a few stray leaves as she walked past. She had been in such a horrible mood the previous day, Draco was unsure what had caused such a turn in her emotions — perhaps the weight of not knowing whether to trust him had finally been lifted from her shoulders, though he suspected that she had not fully surrendered to the idea yet. And he did not blame her for this. Of course she would have doubts about his loyalties, particularly when he had so avidly expressed that he had not, in fact, defected from the Death Eaters.

Draco wanted to kick himself for saying this to her. He knew it was not true, however he had been so worried about the ramifications for his family upon the Dark Lord's hearing of his defection that he had simply denied it without stopping to realise that Granger probably didn't care to tell anybody, and that even if she did, she wouldn't likely have done so if he asked her not to. She was a perfectly logical witch and would certainly understand his reasoning — Draco knew all this, yet somehow he was still terribly reluctant to share the revelation with her.

Admitting to defection would change everything for him. It would see the entire world he knew, what he had been raised to learn, abandon him completely. He would be ridiculed and shamed; his family would likely be cast out, too. If they had any hope of surviving the Dark Lord's wrath, they would have to publicly disown him — Draco figured that his father would likely do this unprovoked nonetheless. Hundreds of awful conclusions streamed through Draco's mind at lightning speed, sending his heart racing almost into oblivion. He was beginning to panic; he knew this. The familiar feeling of doom was creeping upon him, itching up his torso and clawing its way into his chest, trying as it always did to destroy him from the inside out — force him to tear himself apart, make it seem like a self-inflicted wound. And perhaps it was. After all, Draco could have turned away if he wanted to. If it was this easy to run now, why hadn't he done so years ago, when he had first felt the demon of fear lurch inside him? Yes, this was a self-inflicted wound.

"There."

Her voice, angelic in all its might, coaxed Draco down and forced the demon inside him to lay dormant for now. A weight lifted from his chest, allowing him to suck in a much needed breath of fresh air, and he allowed himself only a short moment of peace before he whirled around to face her.

Granger met his gaze for a brief moment before turning and nodding toward something over the hill. There, less than a kilometre from where they stood, was Godric's Hollow. It was far different than what Draco remembered — almost two years ago he had visited a small village with nearly-packed houses and friendly streets. Now, it resembled somewhat of a fortress. The entire town was bordered by a brick wall that was undoubtedly shielded by wards, with two large steel gates centre one side — the only way in or out. Draco could see few street lamps lit inside the village, illuminating several guards — undoubtedly followers of the Dark Lord hoping to receive the Mark — wandering the streets, monitoring and surveying.

"This is..." Granger trailed off, shaking her head as she stared at the sight before them in absolute awe.

"I know," was all Draco responded with, his voice unintentionally harsh. The level of security, the dark clothing, the eerie expressions, the tension thickening the air so severely he could barely breathe — it all reminded him of the Manor. He was about to enter exactly what he had been running away from.