This Is War

Survival of the Fittest

The last sentence wasn't much, but Veda could hear the fear, nervousness and panic in those single three words. And as she blinked her purple eyes at the ones of her Master, she knew behind those silver eyes waited a girl who'd been through a lot.

"Veda will, Miss," she told the intruder, bowing slightly before encouraging her to get inside.

Nodding once, Hermione twisted the cold handle and pushed the door open slowly. It was dark, just like it was expected. Before Veda vanished, the house-elf snapped her fingers and a dim candlelight, alike the one outside in the hall, illuminated the room slightly.

She walked in, swallowing an uneasy knot that formed in Malfoy's throat before closing the door behind her.

There was a grand bed pressed against the middle marble wall of the room. It was dressed in black, silk sheets — no doubt expensive and luscious. The pillows over the bed were also covered in black, but there were other pillows behind those that were covered in deep emerald.

This, Hermione could tell as she scanned the room from where she stood, was the primary color-scheme of Malfoy's bedroom. Black bed, black furniture, black marbled walls, black lamps, some that gave a green tint, and an emerald carpet that served as ground. The only thing that was a little different from the all-black was a banner with silver and emerald over his bed that represented his Slytherin pride.

Feeling a little more at ease that she wasn't attacked by anything, Hermione stepped further into the room to inspect it. As she did so, with every deliberate and steady step, she knew what was instantly wrong with Malfoy's bedroom. The room was elegant in a Gothic way with exquisite dressers and leather armchairs, but it was empty. There was no warmth, no color, and no noise that could fill it.

Her mother had always told her—when they were buying lilac paint for her room the summer she was fifteen—that a bedroom was one of the only spaces where one could express themselves fully. It was one's own little sanctuary. It was a place one could do and say anything one wanted. It was like a mirror of who one was and what was inside one's head.

And as a minute past and then two, Hermione knew this room was half wrong. Yes, she believed Malfoy was empty and cold and dark like his bedroom and silk sheets, but at the same time he wasn't. He wasn't all black—he also had to have specs of colors in his soul, right?

Knock. Knock.

As she'd been contemplating that, Hermione shot Malfoy's spine straight as a knocking on his door echoed in his hallow room. The borrowed-heart that was sustaining her started beating incredibly fast as she turned to the door. She knew she had to open it; she couldn't escape this place because she wasn't a hostage for once. She was Draco Malfoy, and he had family here.

Knock. Knock.

She pulled out his wand from the pocket of his trousers, and with a deep inhale she moved his wrist and allowed a spell to open the door for her. And right as it did, right as it was opening, she held that wand tightly between Malfoy's long fingers and pointed it forward with determination and hate.

"Oi!" Entering the room, eyes wide as he was greeted with a pointed wand, Theodore Nott raised his palms to demonstrate his lack of threat. "For Salazar's sake, Malfoy, lower your wand. It's just me, you maniac."

Lessening the stiffness she was feeling, Hermione pointed the wand away from Nott's face and waved it to the door, making it close. "I wasn't really expecting you," she told the boy with Malfoy's indifferent tone as relief washed over her.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't really expecting to be here now, was I?" Theo scoffed as he tossed himself on one of the armchairs in the corner of the room. "I assume that's my own fault, though. Guess I was too naive to believe we'd be having a proper dinner as a family now that I'm home for the holidays."