Would You Like A Hand?

4 | waiting for

"Where were you?" Hermione turned the question on Draco.

She had slightly relaxed now and sat facing him, although he noticed that she still held her wand carefully, ready to attack him.

Draco was sitting up against the cupboard again, knees up and arms resting on them. He thought about what to say and couldn't come up with anything until Hermione asked, confused, "What happened to the mark on your arm?"

Mildly startled, he glanced at his forearm and rubbed the area self-consciously. He didn't really want to talk about it -

He caught her looking at her own arm, and then felt guilt burn through his body.

Mudblood.

He could never forget. And now she was stuck with that scar - and how unfair was it that his scar had been removed even though he deserved it, unlike her?

"I..." he choked out, and shut his eyes. It didn't help; all he could see and hear was his aunt Bellatrix threatening the Golden Trio, wanting answers, torturing for answers, torturing her.

"My family ran as soon as it started - as soon as the dead started getting up. We didn't think we were welcome in the school since we were on the dark lord's side for so long," he started, finding his words.

Hermione's eyes snapped back to him, clear and attentive.

"We ran off and hid as soon as we noticed that everyone else was running into the school."

Draco explained bluntly, harshly, and without emotion. He didn't know if the brightest witch of his year wanted to hear everything he had to say, but once he started, he found that his brain had shut off and he couldn't stop, as if maybe the only way he could deal with retelling the story was to tune himself out and just get it all over with in one breath.

Draco and his family had Apparated at one point to some other location - not Malfoy Manor, of course. They didn't know what had happened to the dark lord or the other death eaters, and the manor might've still housed some of them.

Strangely enough, Draco hadn't cared enough to remember. It must have been a cottage or something similar. He only remembered feeling sick because the fucking dead started walking.

For a little while, as news reached the people outside of Hogwarts that there were dead wizards and witches attacking, the Malfoys stayed in their - cottage? - and gathered together supplies and tools that they could use - anything that could save them later.

But they hadn't known how bad the attacks had gotten. A horde of dead wizards and witches soon overran their area.

Lucius Malfoy had stayed behind to fend them off, buying time for his wife and son to run away.

"Your father was always a coward," Draco remembered his mother saying, "That was the bravest thing I've ever seen him done."

She had said that as she sacrificed herself to get rid of the Dark Mark from his arm.

Narcissa Malfoy, so afraid for her son, gave her life to a dangerous spell to remove the Mark, thinking that it might have something to do with luring the undead to them.

How she had known of the spell, Draco would never know. Maybe it had been something she'd figured out herself in case something like this ever happened; he wouldn't have been surprised. The woman always had her way.

"At least she won't be walking around attacking people. The undead didn't kill her after all," Draco said, "She pretty much killed herself."

He didn't mention that maybe his father would have a worse fate.

When his brain started working properly again, he looked at the girl in front of him. She had listened carefully, not interrupting him once.

Hermione observed as he stared blankly at her - as blankly as he'd looked while he had told his story. She couldn't help but think how similar his situation was to Harry's - his father tried to protect him and his mother, and in the end, his mother gave her life for him.

How funny.

She didn't say anything to acknowledge his story - only nodded to indicate she understood, and then she stood up and prepared to leave the area. She grabbed her knapsack, looked over her supplies, and said to him, "I'm going to -"

"Wait," he stood as well, "are you leaving alone?"

"I'm sure you don't want to travel with a mudblood, so yes, I am."

"How would you know that?" he retorted harshly. Bellatrix's cackle rang through his head when Hermione called herself a mudblood.

"I'd be more willing to believe you'd kill me in my sleep than travel with me," Hermione lied. When she thought back to what she could remember of him, she didn't honestly believe he would kill her, but she didn't want to chance it. This was a new world, after all. Everyone changed, for better or worse. She had killed her fair share of zombies, and she was sure he had, too.

"I wouldn't," he said, his expression turning hurt for a second before going blank again. He moved to grab her arm, but Hermione whirled around and pointed her wand at his chest.

He listed the benefits of travelling together calmly: "We would be better off watching each other's backs, wouldn't we? Having a second pair of eyes would be bloody useful in this bloody world. Alone, we'll probably last another day, maybe. Maybe two."

They stared at each other. In another world, at a different time, Hermione might have thought he was pleading with her to stay together. For companionship, at the very least. In this world, she wasn't sure if that was it or if he just wanted to use her because this world was so bloody broken.

And besides, the Malfoys had hated muggle-borns.

Draco waited for an answer. He half expected her to turn him away - he'd never gotten along with her best friends and, by extension, her. He didn't really know what he was doing in this world, but hoped it'd be easier with someone else by him. He wondered, randomly, if she even recalled that just a few hours ago, when he had found her, she'd been scared that he would leave her alone.

Finally, she shrugged. Turning away, she slung her knapsack over a shoulder and said, "You can follow me, but don't expect me to watch your back. I've got something to do, so don't get in the way."