Marked

The Bodies

"It was a crucio?" Hermione whispered, aghast. "He did that through the Mark?"

"I hope it doesn't go both ways," Ron said ominously. "Or can he know Draco's still alive if he tries to reach him through his Mark?"

Hermione didn't know the answer. She didn't know the answer, and it killed her. The room was silent.

"It was fading," Malfoy commented stiffly, his voice hoarse. "The Mark. It was fading."

Harry grimaced. "And now?"

Malfoy held up his wrist weakly, allowing them to see from a distance the scarred and blackened mess that was left behind, as though the skin had been partially burned away. Ron turned away immediately, averting his gaze in discomfort.

Hermione leapt up. "I'm sure I have something for that," she said frantically, reaching for her purse until Malfoy put a placid hand on her forearm to stop her.

"Don't bother," he said quietly. "It's - it's over now."

But it wasn't, was it? She bit her lip, pained at the thought. She was growing a bit tired of uncovering new fears every day.

Harry had not taken his eyes off Malfoy. "Theo was there," he said quietly. "He and Snape got there later - Theo had taken a curse and they'd fallen behind."

Malfoy closed his eyes, swallowing painfully. "Was he - "

"Fine," Harry said quickly. "As fine as you are, anyway." He looked down, eyeing his hands where they sat clasped regretfully in his lap. "He and Snape were both still alive."

Ron looked startled. "Were other people - "

"Yes," Harry said curtly, squeezing his eyes shut. "There were bodies."

Hermione bowed her head sadly, her long curls falling forward over her shoulder. Death Eaters or not, they were still people. They were still people murdered in cold blood. And Malfoy could have been one of them. He was almost one of them.

Part of her wanted to shut her eyes, to curl into a ball in his arms and never leave, to build a wall around them of steel and magic and iron and diamonds and any and every material she could find and create and invent to barricade them inside, protected from the darkness around them, him for her and her only for him and the rest of forever in his arms for always, the rest of the world be damned.

But the other part of her - the part she hesitantly sided with - wanted to let her eyes wander over his pale, trembling form, to sweep his hair out of his eyes and run her hands over the scar on his chest and down the sharp curves of his abs and take his face between her palms and tell him that they had to fight, they had to pick a side in this wretched war, because of everything that was wrong with the world, and because it was bigger than them. It was bigger than them. It was bigger than them.

She rested a hand on his cheek and he turned to shakily brush his lips against it, closing his eyes. If only he could actually manage to convince her not to be so foolish as to think she could change this world. If only he could just say "Stop being such a fucking Gryffindor and come with me to Italy or Morocco or some island in the middle of the fucking ocean but let's just go, Granger, now, because what has the world really done for you lately?" and maybe she would agree and they would be safe. And together. And safe. And together.

But no. He was different now.

She loved him for it.

"I'll get you some tea," she said suddenly, standing. "Both of you."