Out of Time

Chapter 45

Just to keep it out of the dirt.

It might be five minutes or fifteen before Draco finally lifts the sword again. Sweat is dripping from his brow, enough to show obvious dampening around the collar of his shirt. Tight tendons pop up the back of his hand and trail under the sleeve of his forearm.

He's holding the sword in his right hand, rather than his left. Hermione only just noticed. She wonders why but doesn't think now is the right time to ask. Her heart begins to beat faster, a strumming thump that grows to a deafening roar as Draco takes aim. It makes her feel lightheaded, somehow outside her own body.

As the sword turns in Draco's hand, the rubies shine a happy Gryffindor red in the bright sun. The blade reflects a sharp glare that makes Hermione wince and squint to see, even though part of her doesn't even want to watch. She doesn't want to see it happen. He raises his arm high, evidently not wanting to do it by halves, if it has to be done at all.

* * *

Draco's not quite sure how he got here. Somebody or other could have made a load of galleons off him, because never in a million years would he have bet on this happening - any of it. Any part of the whole.

Here he is, sword of Godric Gryffindor raised above his head, about to destroy the one thing he's been obsessively doting on for the better part of a year. Well, no, that's not quite right; he's doted obsessively over many things, but none like this one.

How badly he'd wanted to give it to Hermione! Potter's insinuation that he wanted it for himself was laughable. That it's a witch's crown has nothing to do with it. The only thing he'd ever do with something like that would be to give it to Hermione. What she chose to do with it then was up to her, but Draco had seen the possibilities only a moment ago.

And if that's what she wants out of life, he'll give it to her. Power, control, influence. Anything.

But the crown is just... so pretty. Such a simple adornment. 'Pretty.' Simple and innocuous and sitting in the dirt.

His arms tremble slightly with the weight of the sword raised high. No wonder Hermione had swung it from down low when they were in Godric's Hollow. Of course, he's been standing here for a while, holding it over his head like a complete prat, so here goes.

Enough already. Draco tells himself to get on with it, but somehow the sword has returned to his side. He's not sure how that happened. He does prefer holding it with only one hand rather than both. The Dark Mark on his forearm writhes when he touches it with his left, which is new. It hadn't done that when Draco had handled it before this, but his intent with it now is wholly different. So here it is again, now, in only his right hand and hanging loosely by his leg.

Potter is urging something else but Draco tunes him out.

Nothing will change the facts. He believes Hermione that it's a Horcrux. He felt its power, even though it was so different from the locket that he keeps second-guessing himself. It's powerful, yes; is it a dangerous kind of power?

Hermione thinks it is. He trusts her judgement.

She's right that he could give her all sorts of other pretty things. And he will, as soon as they're out of this neverending camping trip and he can get back to his own belongings again. But to do that, this hunt needs to end. The war with the Dark Lord needs to end.

The next step of that is right in front of him and he holds the sword. It's in his hands - literally.

Not from over his head, though. That's begun to feel unnecessarily dramatic. He can stab it forward like a lance and that should do just fine, so long as he breaks the protective coating of the goblin-made silver. Potter had said that's all he should need to do and he'd rather not cause more damage than it requires. He readies himself, centering his mind on his aim.