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THE PAST PART ONE
"Draco ... it's just s-so unfair ... to find where t-the key is, you n-need to kill me first, so you c-can protect the family by hiding t-th-the key ..." Hermoine whispered as they were carted off, Apparating to an unknown destination. Her tears fell like liquid crystals as they entered none other than number 12, Grimmauld Place. When Hermione had given it away as a teenager, she had let the Death Eaters inside.
After Ron died in an Order battle (of course, Voldemort was dead, but the Death Eaters were powerful) she had married Draco and moved into Malfoy Manor. He had Scorpius because his dead wife, Lyra, had divorced him and died after falling off a broom, so they could relate to each other's situations. Number 12 was now spruced up with some green paint and new siding, the Dark Mark painted on the front door. Kreacher had run away, and now the place looked almost unrecognizable as they were led into the basement. Hermione was pushed inside, her scream echoing in the expansive darkness.
"Now, punk, we're goin' to keep ya here as long as we have to. When ya kill the Mudblood, you'll know the whereabouts of this Key, righ'?" Travers hissed, pinning Draco against the wall. His ragged breathing smelled of cigarette smoke and beer, and Draco was pretty sure he was drunk.
"Yeah." Draco choked out, his breathing limited due to the wand poking in his throat.
Travers dropped him and Draco got up, brushing himself off. "Good. Too ba' old Lyra died. Purebloo', too ... shame, shame. Now, punk, lemme show ya your room for now. Can't upse' our new Death E'er, now, can we?"
"New D-Death Eater?" Draco asked. "Did I just hear you right?"
Travers turned around. "Hear meh righ'? Of course ya heard me righ', punk. Ya aren't gonna jus' le' us open the damned lock, are yeh? No, no. You're gonna open the Lock o' Life, punk, and when this whole peace crap reigns, we're gonna make sure it's our kinda peace." He opened a polished wooden door and shoved Draco inside, and with one last whiff of alcohol, he trumpled down the hall, half-drunk.
The room was decorated in black and green, with the odd silver patch here and there. The Dark Mark was painted on the dark celing, and when Draco lifted up his left sleeve he realized that it was also on his arm, as black as when he reluctantly first got it. It used to be faded and worn, like when he joined the Order, but now it was shimmering in the pale light of the chandelier. He flopped down on his four-poster bed, which wasn't wood, but modern black and silver poles, and instantly fell asleep, his mind in turmoil over what was to happen the following day.
"Weasley? Get off my doorstep at once!" Draco snapped. He had just answered the door to find a ragged-looking Hermione Weasley.
"Draco, Ron died in the Order mission last weekend, and Rose and Hugo are now left to Harry and Ginny. The Ministry thought I was incapable of caring for them, as I'm injured, and now my whole family hates me! Can you please help, you're the only Order member I trusted other than Harry, Ginny and Ron!" Hermione pleaded, and Draco's eyes looked over the ragged woman, and noticed the baby bump on her stomach.
"Okay, if you are ..." Draco mumbled, letting her inside. The two had found out later that the baby was Ron's, and soon Nina was off to Harry's for good. Hermione cried for months after that, but one day, Draco suprised her ...
"Hermione, will you marry me? I know my wife has only just died, but my undying love for you is ever so present right now." Draco asked, and Hermione gasped.
"Draco, yes, I will marry you. But on one condition: Scorpius stays an only child." Hermione responded, and Draco slipped the ring on her finger, nodding.
Draco awoke in a cold sweat, remembering that night only three years ago. Silently, he slipped on his robes and tried the lock, only to find that he couldn't get out. Wand gone, he sighed and sat down in a black wicker chair, staring out onto the road through his barred and sealed window.
Fading off into sleep again, he let more of his past consume him ...
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