Fallen Dynasty (Dramione)

Twenty-Eight - The Betrayal (Flashback Four)

Fides est periculosa ludum.

Trust is a dangerous game.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Trigger Warning: Gore and Death

Draco Malfoy wasn't sure when his entire world started to revolve around a stubborn, swotty witch with eyes of honey and curls surprisingly like silk to the touch. Probably when she knocked him on his ass the first time — in more ways than one.

The stars above burned, the heavens parted, and rays of refracted light shone across her face, a divine goddess that deserved to be worshiped and revered emerged to the forefronts of his mind.

There, she stayed, humbly.

Now, he stood married to her, blindly devoted and faithful to a fault, and his ever worshipping mind held the keys to all of her whims, muses, and desires. That's why he could make her coffee and tea just the way she liked, perfection every time, because the little hums and moans of pleasure that escaped her exquisite mouth sent shots of tingles down his spine and his heart sped up enough that he was lightheaded and absolutely, positivity sure she was the most wicked and desirable drug his money could buy.

He was addicted in every definition of the word.

So, when she yawned in the middle of their early morning training, he sprinted down the hall to get started on their coffee. Maybe that would cheer him up — the sounds of her approval. He was never a morning person. They had left the manor at four in the morning, apparating to the wards of the Order's secret headquarters before they began their morning run. It was far too sweltering by mid afternoon this time of year. They had been there for a few hours yet it was still early that they had not seen any of their fellow members as of yet.

So, what he didn't expect was to hear some loud whisperings of outrage and commotion coming from the war plans room without he or Hermione involved.

"No— No, there's absolutely no way."

"Of course it's true! Did you see how he let Barty Crouch Jr. go just weeks ago?"

He recognized the voices of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and the mutterings of a few others he couldn't place yet.  His blood ran cold as he realized they were having a meeting about him of all people. His face fell, his jaw clenched, and he stepped closer to the locked door to hear their angered whisperings they were stupid enough not to have placed a Muffliato spell on.

"He is Hermione's husband! He's our— Our— Fucking hell. You think it was on purpose?"

His heart sunk deeper in his chest.  After all he'd done for them, for their mutual cause, the time they spent together, he couldn't even be classified as a friend.

"Of course it was on purpose!" Draco heard Harry spit. "Luna, explain it again. What you told me this morning."

Draco's eyebrows shot up in disbelief as the quiet, whimsical voice of Luna Lovegood, the Order's seer, his dear friend, and Neville's wife, began to speak. It was far off as if in a different world, her voice trembling as she recanted a vision that even herself seemed like she couldn't believe.

"He comes in with black robes of Voldemort, words of dark magic on his lips. Unknown incantations and hexes leave his tongue as he allows Death Eaters to invade our camp. He is one of them now. He finds the one he's after and stands over her broken body. Blood pours from— from everywhere. A hemorrhaging spell it seems. We can't stop it. No one can stop it, not even Hermione."