Spoils of War

Note: This is a fic I wrote after a challenge from the one and only Raffy. Just a quickie. She asked for something a little odd. So if you are in any way squeamish, turn back now!!!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or locations in this story, only the scenario came from my head. Draco/Hermione/Harry Potter and all other copyrighted material are the property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury and Scholastic Books and Warner Brothers amongst others.

Draco opened his eyes and instantly wished he hadn’t. His head was spinning and his stomach churning. He felt a deep throbbing sensation in his chest. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, but then it came back to him. Potter! He had been standing in front of him, grinning like a mad Cheshire cat at having caught and disarmed Draco. While the battle raged on, while Hogwarts itself came crashing down around him, the famous, ever so virtuous Harry Potter had taken the time for personal revenge.

Draco snarled fiercely and sat upright, wincing as his body complained. His head got very heavy and it was all he could do to stop himself from collapsing on the spot once more. What the hell had Potter hit him with? Draco tried, but he couldn’t remember the incantation. The spell had been yellow, but that didn’t help matters. Draco looked around, searching for his wand, though doubtless Potter had taken it with him. To his surprise, it was sitting perched on a boulder not two feet away. Draco frowned at it.

“Ah, Draco, awake at last,” Lucius voice came from somewhere to his right. Draco looked around. He was lying by the lake at the bottom of a small, steep incline. On the crest of the small hill he was lying on, framed by a violent, stormy sky, stood his father, resplendent in Death Eater black. Lucius was gazing down at him and smiling. The smile looked genuine, Draco had never seen his father genuinely happy before. It looked…odd to him somehow…surreal. “Come,” Lucius beckoned, “Join me.”

Draco stood up, swearing under his breath as his legs wobbled beneath him. He retrieved his wand and bundled his own dark robes around him before making the climb to stand beside his father. He knew before he reached the top what sight would await him, but even at that, the sheer spectacle of it took his breath away.

Hogwarts was burning. The entire west side, centred on Gryffindor tower, was ablaze. Thick, magically coloured smoke was rising in a deathly column above the once proud castle. Draco watched as blue tendrils mixed with red, mixed with white and yellow, only to be dominated and washed away as they rose by heavy, all consuming black. All around the castle lay the broken flotsam of the fight that Draco knew would go down in history as ‘The Battle of Hogwarts,’ if there was a history that was. If the scene before him was any indication, Draco didn’t like to speculate on the state of the future. The sloping field that led up to the castle was littered with the debris of war, burning craters, shattered trees and a myriad of dismembered limbs and broken bodies. Draco half wondered how many of the dead were from their side, and how many from Dumbledore’s. Did it matter? The air was thick with the smell of burning death. Lucius took a deep breath and seemed to swell.

“A red day…a glorious day,” he breathed.

“Yes, Father,” Draco answered on automatic.

The battle was over…they had won. This wasn’t a surprise to Draco. Even before he had been rendered unconscious by St. Potter, the conclusion was all but certain. Draco wondered how it had ended. What was the final move that tore Hogwarts open?

“Dumbledore?” he asked, looking up at his father’s face.

A satisfied smile spread across his lips, “Dead,” he spoke as though to savour the word.

“How?”

Lucius sighed, “I must admit, not in the way I had hoped. I had wanted to end his existence myself, but, I think however,” his smile returned, “that in the end, his death was all too fitting … the dark lord will have his prize.” He pointed to a small wicker basket on the ground beside him that Draco hadn’t noticed.

Draco looked away from the box and straightened up. A dart of pain in his chest reminded him of the next question, “Harry Potter?”

Now his father’s mood seemed to darken, “Escaped. It seems that Wormtail wasn’t quite as capable of dealing with him as he had claimed. The dark Lord will not be pleased.”

“No,” Draco sighed, “I don’t suppose he will.”

“But,” Lucius’ tone was bright once more, “It hardly matters, there is nowhere for him to go. Hogwarts will be ashes by morning and reports from London tell that we achieved complete surprise. Bella and the others took the Ministry complex without difficulty. Things are in motion now that cannot be undone. The word has gone out across the land …we have won!”

Draco took a deep breath of the rancid air. They had won. This was a victory, but was it a success? He waited for a feeling, joy or despair to take root in his heart, but none came.

Frowning, his eyes took in more of the scene below him. He could see dark figures amongst the dead. Some were hags and ghouls, ready to feast on the corpses of the fallen, but it was the others he was focussed on. He recognised some, they were Death Eaters, and, Draco blinked, they were stealing things. He could see them, tearing robes off fallen students or ripping off jewellery. Here and there they were huddled together, laughing at their acquisitions.

“What are they doing?” Draco asked, his voice was a sneer.

His father laughed, “Come now Draco, don’t tell me you don’t know. They are taking trophies of their victory.”

“But why?”

“Have you never heard the ancient adage: To the victor go the spoils of war?” Lucius chuckled.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He picked out the hulking shape of Goyle amid the battle. He was bent over and was tugging hard, trying to free Professor Snape’s right boot from his foot. “Snape’s boots are a spoil of war?”

Lucius scanned the scene and then laughed quietly, “Perhaps not the best choice, but it is the point that counts. In years to come, Goyle will have those boots, he will be able to look at them and say: I was there…that is all that matters, Draco.”

Lucius trailed off and looked down at his arm. He seemed momentarily distracted by it. “The Dark Lord summons,” he said with a slight waver, “I must go to him,” he looked at Draco, “I leave you in command here. See to it that they tear the place apart, we want no prisoners.”

“Understood father,” Draco bowed. He hadn’t looked up again before Lucius was gone, taking the Dark Lord’s trophy with him. For a moment Draco wondered if he would ever see his father again. Reporting that Harry Potter had survived would certainly not please the Dark Lord. But, there was a chance, Dumbledore at least, was gone, that might be enough to keep Lucius’ skin intact.

Draco found himself staring at Hogwarts, still trying to elicit an emotion. He didn’t really expect to succeed, he had given up on feelings, but it still surprised him that he really felt nothing. He moved forward, deciding to take a last look at what remained of his home for the last six years. He paid no heed to the joyous shouts of his fellow Death Eaters as he passed them. Let them have their fun, let them take their vulgar prizes, Draco wanted no part of them.

He crossed the threshold, pausing momentarily to examine a familiar looking corpse. He kicked it over with his toe and gazed down. It was all too clearly Neville Longbottom, though when Draco had last seen him, he had more of a head. Draco looked impassively at him for a moment before passing on. He walked in silent thought through the Entrance Hall and entered the Great Hall. The house tables had been swept aside and smashed. Broken plates and scattered cutlery littered the tiled floor. Over head he could see the dark column of smoke rise unhindered into the evening sky. A few tattered Gryffindor banners still clung to their rails along the walls, the last remnants of the last ever End of Year feast. It was over…again Draco waited, again he felt nothing.

He turned smartly and marched out of the hall. He chose a corridor at random and started walking. He wasn’t alone in the castle. He could hear the shouts and clamours of dozens of people moving through the various rooms, searching for their own piece of Hogwarts to steal. It disgusted him, disgust seemed to be all he was able to feel at the moment…he sighed, it was better than nothing.

Movement in the shadows caught his eye. He looked up to see that he was outside the Transfiguration classroom.

“Lumos,” he said, lifting his wand to cast light on the scene. His stomach churned. Cowering on the floor, wrapped in festering, fetid rags, two Hags were squirming and cooing. They paid no heed to Draco, they were too busy feasting. Draco took a step closer and shone the light of his wand down to illuminate Professor McGonagall’s face. The two foul beasts hadn’t yet stripped the skin from her skull. They’d leave that until last, Draco knew, it was their form of desert.

“Hello Professor,” he said in a voice that sounded cheeky to his ears, “I’m afraid I won’t be receiving any more detentions from you, will I?” he smiled. McGonagall’s face looked strangely pained, though Draco knew she was long dead before the Hags had found her. They were carrion eaters, not predators.

Draco was about to turn his back and leave them to their meal when a glint in the debris of corridor caught his eye. Part of the wall had collapsed and now lay, piled in large chunks against the wall. Draco’s attention was riveted however on the small hand he could just see poking out from beneath the rubble. He moved closer and extinguished his wand. “Levioset!” he whispered.

The pile of rubble moved, lifting as though weightless into the air. Draco waited until the noise of the moving stones stopped. He couldn’t see what lay beneath; the corridor was too dark without the light from his wand. Draco paused and then muttered, “Lumos.”

There she lay!

Hermione Granger lay at his feet, silent and unmoving. Her eyes were fixed open, staring at the ceiling above her. Draco’s eyes moved over her, noting every scratch, every mark of injury. He didn’t know if it had been a spell that ended her life or the falling wall, but what did that matter? The Mudblood was dead. His eyes settled on her hand, and on the glint of metal that had alerted him to her presence in the first place.

The ring! She had worn the ring.

***

“Here,” Draco said, holding out the tiny box before her closed eyes, “Open.”

Hermione opened her amber eyes. They flashed wide when she saw the ring in the box, “Draco,” she breathed, “It’s…it’s beautiful.”

Draco smiled and tugged the silver band from the box. He took her hand and slid it onto her finger gently. It was a perfect fit, naturally. He stood up and watched her admire they way the tiny dragon coiled itself around her finger and wriggled against her skin. Its two ruby eyes looking out at her with a smouldering fire. It had cost him a fortune, but Draco knew that the look on her face had been worth it. Draco moved around behind her and took hold of her shoulders. Hermione leaned her head to the side and pressed her cheek into his fingers, “Thank you,” she said. Draco frowned, she sounded upset.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning down to breath in her ear and gently stroking the soft skin beneath her jaw.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed at his touch, but her face had a sorrowful expression, “I can’t wear it,” she whispered.

“Why?”

She opened her eyes and turned round, “Because you gave it to me,” she said, starting to pull it free of her digit, “If anyone saw it, they’d know you gave it to me.”

Draco moved his hand and caught hers, “Wear it…it won’t matter,” he dropped to his knees before her, “Nothing can change what’s going to happen, you know it and I know it. So wear this for me and,” he swallowed, “and when the time comes…know that…” he paused, he knew what he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat, “know that I’m with you, forever.”

A tear rolled down Hermione’s cheek. She reached up to cradle his face, “I love you, Draco.”

Draco’s eyes closed.

***

He looked down on her, “And I…” his voice failed him.

There was a noise behind him. Draco turned and cast the light of his wand around to identify the source. One of the hags that had been feasting on McGonagall had stopped. It had raised its filthy head and was sniffing in Hermione’s direction. The call of the fresh meal was singing to it. With a tiny cackle, it moved, shuffling toward the fallen Gryffindor with no heed for Draco. He felt a surge of bile in his throat, “Vile thing,” he roared, “Reducto!”

The spell shot out and hit the Hag square between the eyes. The beast’s head exploded, sending blood and shards of bone flying. The creature fell dead, its companion looked up as Draco levelled his wand at it. It didn’t move as he dispatched it without hesitation. Draco stood and stared at the blood oozing across the floor from his kills. He was shaking. He turned back to Hermione. She lay, unchanged by the cruelty he had just unleashed onto the word. She was always above such things. He stared at her. He knew he couldn’t just leave her there. More hags would come, or worse. The image of Hermione’s pretty head decorating some Death Eater’s study wall chilled him to the bone. He felt like throwing up on the spot.

Draco tucked his wand away and knelt beside her. He bundled her school robes around her small frame and scooped her up in his arms. He adjusted her position so that her head rested against his shoulder. He allowed himself to think that she was only sleeping as he carried her off. The question occurred to him, where would he take her? He couldn’t bring her outside to those animals, and there were few places here that were in one piece. There was only one place he was all but sure of. With hardly a glance to guide him, he carried his charge in silence. He had his prize now, just like the others. Spoils of war? He sneered, death was the only real spoil of war. Only those that died were spared the pain of loss. Only the dead were free.

The doorway to the Slytherin Dormitory was open. Draco paused to listen, but could hear no-one inside. Draco pushed the door open and entered. He crossed the common room and descended the stairs to the bedrooms. Draco entered his room and surveyed it. Thus far, this room had been spared the carnage that had befallen the rest of the castle. It was as though none of it had even happened. Candles burned peacefully in their recesses, bathing the room in a soft, flickering light. Draco crossed to his bed and laid Hermione down as gently as he could.

A cheer wafted down the stairs to him. The Slytherin dorm wasn’t as empty as he had imagined. Draco felt suddenly vulnerable. He was determined that this place be a sanctum, a place for her to rest. He crossed to the door and slammed it shut. Draco stepped back and place as many locking charms on the door as he could think of, then for good measure, he levitated Goyle’s vanity chest…itself a contradiction in terms…and set it down against the door.

Draco caught sight of himself in the mirror. There was blood splattered on his face, from the Hag, he assumed. The sight made him want to throw up. Draco scowled and wiped at it, only succeeding in smearing it across his cheek. He swallowed a curse and aimed his wand at the table before him, conjuring a bowl of water. Draco set his wand down and started to wash his face. The water was so cold it stung him, but he didn’t care. Free of blood, he looked up once more at his own reflection. Draco Malfoy stared back at him: Malfoy the joker…Malfoy the prankster…Malfoy the Death Eater…Malfoy the traitor. His eyes caught sight of a stray lock of auburn hair reflected in the mirror…Malfoy the murderer!

Draco’s stomach heaved. He bent double and wretched, coating his robes and shoes with vomit. He stood up and wiped his mouth hard. He surveyed his image once more. Black clad as was the norm for a Death Eater, he looked to his own eyes like a spectre, a pale imitation of life. His robes were dirty. A surge of adrenaline ran through him. He screamed and tore at his robes, not stopping until he was completely free of them. He tossed them aside and kicked off his shoes. He was still dirty. He tore off his undershirt and boxers and discarded them, but it was no use…he was dirty, not his clothes. He had made promises he couldn’t keep, he had betrayed those that depended on him, he was the one that deserved to be dead.

He stepped back to the bowl, lifting handfuls of icy water to try and clean himself. He washed and scrubbed but it made no difference. His fingers dug into his skin, drawing blood as he scraped the filth that was Draco Malfoy away. Finally, he scooped up the water bowl and tipped it wholesale over his filthy head. Icy water poured over him, freezing every nerve ending he possessed. The cascade opened his senses and let him see the truth in his own reflection.

The bowl dropped free of his grip. He stood and shivered, staring at his naked reflection. Blood trickled across his chest from the dozens of deep scratches he had inflicted on himself. Strangely they didn’t hurt. That was odd. Shouldn’t he feel pain? He looked up to his eyes. Draco Malfoy looked back at him, still dirty. Did he hate him? Did he even know him?

The reflection of Hermione’s hair attracted his attention again. Draco turned and walked back to the bed. Her eyes were still open; gazing now, it appeared, at him as he stood beside her. Did she hate him? Did she even know him? He looked at her. There was a matt of blood in her hair from some wound that he couldn’t see. Her face was scratched and her lip was split. His eyes moved down, her neck had been spared any mark of injury, but her robes hadn’t. They were filthy. Hermione had always kept her robes so pristine and neat, it would torment her to see the state of them now. That wouldn’t do.

Draco returned to the nightstand to get his wand. Slowly and with deliberate care, he used it to cut her robes free of her. Her shirt was soaked with her sweat, the sign of the strife that had been her end. Draco swallowed as he cut the buttons free and pulled the silken fabric clear. Deep creases ran through the fabric of her school skirt from the way she had landed. Draco’s fingers felt numb as he undid the clasp and slid it down her legs. He moved up to her head and lifted her from behind her neck so he could tug her shirt off her shoulders. It joined the growing pile at his feet. Now she lay there in nothing but her underwear, the picture of beauty, ruined by the signs of death. A chain of purple bruises started on her left thigh and wandered their way up across her torso to end with a frightful blemish over her heart. That answered the question, it had been a curse that killed her. That mark would stay with her forever now. Draco clenched a fist, no, that wasn’t right. She would be perfect, she would be clean for all eternity.

Draco used his wand to sever the thin fabric of her bra. He peeled it back, exposing her breasts. Her nipples were hard in death, he noticed before he forced himself not to look. He cut the straps and slid the garment from beneath her delicately before moving down once more. He sliced off her panties, hesitating only slightly before he removed them. Draco gasped, he hadn’t ever seen her naked before. He stood back and clutched his hand over his mouth. A sight so beautiful should surely have been reserved for the gods alone. He looked her up and down in awe before coming to rest on her feet. Her socks and shoes somehow seemed out of place on her now. With a reverence he never knew he possessed, Draco removed them and stepped back. The wound from the spell still marred her though. Draco couldn’t leave that there.

He sat on the bed and lowered the tip of his wand to the first bruise. It faded to nothing as he muttered a healing charm. Draco smiled and moved onto the next one, and on again until he reached the final bruise. His smile faded as it vanished, “There, that’s better.”

Draco shuffled closer to her face, still waiting for a feeling to emerge in his heart. He shouldn’t have left her, he should have stood beside her right to the end. What did it matter if the Dark Lord was unstoppable? He should have defied him, death was only a consequence after all. Draco looked at that consequence now and it emptied him. The marks on her face bothered him. He raised his wand and banished them to oblivion. She was still dirty. Now he had to clean her. Dirt and grit had been caked onto her skin by her sweat. That same sweat had trickled dirty little trails down over her body. Her hands and face bore the marks of her final fight in that broken corridor. He shook his head. She would be clean.

Draco conjured another bowl of water, warmer this time, for her, and set to work. With slow care he bathed her with his bare fingers, starting with her head and neck, and then continuing down across her breasts and stomach. He couldn’t stop himself tugging gently on her nipples as he passed. Memories of feeling them protrude from beneath her clothes as he groped her hungrily in dark passageways flooded back. Draco shut his eyes as his fingers brushed the edges of her pubic hair. A feeling he’d never known with her, a touch they’d never shared haunted him. He shook himself and carried on at his task, “Not long now honey, soon you’ll be clean.”

Draco carefully washed her all the way down to the soles of her feet. He stood up and looked at her. She was perfect. Her hair was still frizzy, but Draco couldn’t bring himself to do anything about that…it was her hair.

She was clean now, but she was still naked. Draco knew he couldn’t leave her like that. He’d have to dress her…but in what? He closed his eyes as he raised his wand and pictured a nightdress. He chose something sensible, one she would wear. The cloth materialised and landed on the bare skin of his lap. Draco dropped his wand onto the bed and took it up. The soft cotton fabric brushed over his fingers and made him smile. This was precisely the kind of thing she’d like. Plain and unadorned except for the hint of a blue trim around the collar and sleeves.

Draco felt his smile waver…this was it. He’d dress her in this thing and then it would be over…she would be gone…forever. The feeling he had been waiting for arrived, a great swell of agony exploded in his chest. Tears poured out of him as he set out a strangled cry and fell forward, burying his face in the nightdress he’d conjured for her.

Draco balled his fists in it and ground his knuckles into his eyes. He rocked back and forth over and over as he sobbed and groaned in pain. He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t, his lungs filled with air only for the merest moments before a strangled cry emptied them.

“Shh,” he heard her voice, like an angel from heaven soothing him.

“I…I…I’m sorry,” he croaked.

“I know,” Hermione’s voice whispered in his ear. Clean and clear and free of pain, it sang in his heart.

He turned to look at her, “I didn’t want this…”

She stared back at him, “I know you didn’t…” she soothed him with words in his head while not moving a muscle.

“It was inevitable…”

“I know,” she repeated.

Draco hung his head, “It’s over you know…we won,” the words sounded hollow to him.

“Congratulations,” she sounded genuine, but Draco knew she couldn’t mean it.

“Can you forgive me?”

“For what?”

He took hold of her hand, “For leaving you to…”

“You didn’t,” his fingers brushed the ring, “You were with me…”

“Forever,” he said automatically. He stared into her twinkling eyes, they stared back without moving. The nightdress slipped to the ground unheeded. Draco leaned over her and brought his lips to hers. He jumped at the touch, “You’re freezing!”

Hermione didn’t answer. Draco looked her up and down. Of course she was freezing, she was soaking wet. He was too now that he thought about it, and it was chilly in here. We can fix that. Draco lifted his wand and took aim at Goyle’s bed, “Incendio!”

The bed exploded in flames. Draco felt their warmth wash over him and smiled. But it wasn’t going to be enough. He took aim and ignited Crabbe’s bed too, and then Theo’s and Blaise’s, and he didn’t stop there. The lockers were next, and the trunks, the wardrobe and the dressing tables. Soon the entire room was ablaze with Draco’s bed a solitary island of calm in the inferno. Heat poured in on them with such force as to put Draco in mind of standing on the threshold of hell itself. Draco set his wand down and took Hermione’s hand again. Her skin didn’t feel cold now, the blaze had infused it with delicious warmth. Hell has it’s price, and Draco would pay it, “Is that better?” he asked as he kissed her knuckle gently. He saw the firelight reflect off the eyes of the tiny dragon on her finger. The twinkle was mirrored by the light in Hermione’s own eyes as she gazed eternally at him. No words passed between them, they weren’t necessary. Here, at the end of all things, amid the flames of Hogwarts’ final hour, Draco understood.

He turned and climbed onto the bed, crawling slowly up to her. The firelight made her skin look fresh and terribly inviting, her eyes held a promise of love. His lips hovered an inch from hers and he looked deeply into her eyes, “I love you, Hermione,” he said quietly. Draco hadn’t been able to say it to her before, but now he found he could say nothing else.

Draco didn’t give her the chance to respond. He knew her answer and he didn’t need to hear it. He leaned down and trapped her lips with his, pushing his tongue out into her mouth. Just as it always did, Hermione’s mouth yielded to him, opening at his pressure to allow him explore the depths of her. Her tongue didn’t return his attention, it never did. Draco parted from her, “Forever coy my love,” he whispered and then buried his face in her neck. Her skin was moist from his washing. His fingers wound their way down her. He caught and caressed her breast for a blissful moment before he headed down. He returned his gaze to her eyes as his fingers rested on her thigh. This was the moment for her to stop him if she was going to. Her gaze never wavered. Draco smiled and then gently parted her legs.

He settled into position between them and kissed her again as he took hold of his manhood and gently stroked himself to erection. His fingers came up to his mouth and he wetted them before lowering them to spread the moisture over his crown. He smiled at her. Hermione deserved a gentle entry on her first time, she deserved love without pain.

Draco pressed his nose to hers and stared into the depths of her amber eyes as he brought himself to her opening and gently pushed himself inside her. He closed his eyes and grunted slightly as he had to push his way in. The entry was a little harder than he had intended, but Hermione didn’t seem to mind. She lay there and allowed him into her without so much as a twitch. Draco smiled. She was trusting him to lead her wherever he would. He nuzzled and then kissed her lower lip, remaining fully inserted and still for a moment to allow her adjust to accommodating him, then, with a tiny sigh, he drew back and then slowly thrust into her, watching all the while to make sure she was ok. Hermione’s gaze remained clear and steady as he continued; slowly letting the rhythm of love build up between them.

The fire intensified. Draco felt it start to burn his skin as it spread closer. He paid it no heed. Gradually he increased the pace and pressure of his thrusts, feeling the beginnings of release start to grow in his groin. The scent of her hair filled his nose and sent electric pulses down his spine while the taste of her lips overwhelmed his mouth and intoxicated him. Harder and harder he pushed, Hermione accepting his most powerful thrust just as she had his first. Draco felt his testicles start to tingle. The heat of the flames licking his skin was nothing to the fire in his loins. All of his consciousness was drifting down to a single point. The pressure was building rapidly. Draco looked into Hermione’s eyes. He was searching for some sign that she was as close as he was. His hand flailed and landed on the mattress to steady him. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“It’s ok, Draco,” he heard Hermione whisper over the roar in his skull, “I’m coming.”

Draco’s fingers closed into a fist around his wand, he drew himself back so that he could see all of her face beneath him. He realised that he was crying. Tears dropped from his eyes and splashed onto her cheeks. He watched them trickle down as the last of the pressure accumulated and he passed the point of no return. They were both crying now. This was the end. Draco’s eyes screwed shut as the first wave of his orgasm detonated. He buried himself as far into her as he could. “I…I’m coming, Hermione,” he screamed. He opened his eyes and looked down at her, “I’m coming with you.”

The tip of Draco’s wand rested against his temple. Somewhere far away, his cock gave its final spurt deep within the heart of the girl he loved. He took a breath, her voice joined his in his head and they spoke together, “Avada Kadavara!”


FIN