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Part 1 of From Wiltshire, With Love
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From Wiltshire, With Love

Summary:

Hermione convinces Draco to spy for the Order and she becomes his handler. But what are his true motivations? Hard to say when he's still figuring that out himself.

WINNER: 2022 Top Dramione Fics on Reddit
4th Place Wartime
2nd Place BAMF!Hermione

..............................................................

Draco cut her off. “You may have my wand, but you're not in control of the flow of information here. It’s not your life on the line.”

Granger bristled at his assertion. “My life is on the line every day.”

“So. Is. Mine.” He growled back. “Give me my fucking wand and don’t be so bloody obvious when you contact me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I already told you I'd be more careful next time.”

She better be.

“One more thing.”

“What, Malfoy?” she snapped, still angry she hadn’t gotten the information she wanted.

He pointed his finger at her so she would understand how important this was. “You need to learn Occlumency. If you’re captured, I’m dead.”

She stared back in defiance. “We both are.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

She tossed his wand to the floor and Disapparated with a crack.

Notes:

Russian translation on ficbook

 

Spanish translation

 

Chinese translation

 

Portugese translation

 

Ukranian translation

 

This was a pandemic project. I wrote it during a very rough period of my life when I was essentially not functioning. Thankfully, that period is behind me and I'm extremely proud of what I created. However, this story never would have been written without the encouragement of several wonderful people:
MisDemeanor1331 and GeriatricPeepShow, who made my writing so much better.
MykEspirit, who helped me and so many others get their WIPs finished by creating a fun, supportive corner in the internet.
janblues, who is making a Russian translation of Blackmailed - having your fic translated is a labor of love. A true gift!
Pir_piromanka, Kayrinait and Shampoo for translating A Dish Best Served Cold and have translated this work in addition to making so much art to accompany it!

Translation policy: if you would like to make a translation, please contact me before proceeding. Thank you!

Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

 

 

 

July 1997

"He could have died." Ron's voice was broken. 

Hermione considered her best friend, sitting on the bed across from her, head hung and resting his elbows on his knees. Another tear plopped to the ground, barely making a sound as it hit the wooden slabs, and the small puddle on the floor grew between his feet. She reached out and squeezed the side of his thigh. It was warm. Ron usually was.

Harry had a hand on Ron’s upper back, and his face was contorted in pain. She knew what Harry was thinking. It was only an ear, but George had almost died in order to move him from the Dursley’s. Mad-Eye Moody did die. Just a few months ago, Dumbledore died. Prior to that, Sirius. Long ago, his parents. All to protect him and defeat Voldemort… which the Order wasn’t any closer to doing.

“Harry?” she asked softly. He glanced up. “Do you have that picture of your parents? You know, the one with the Order?”

She knew he always kept it with him. Like his guilt. Harry nodded and reached around to pull it out of his pocket. She sat back in her chair and gently unfolded the old photograph, scrutinizing the smiling faces of the twenty-somethings who fought in the First Wizarding War. Only two were still alive.

One of them was a Death Eater. The other was downstairs.

“I’ll be right back. Ron, can I get you something to eat?”

He shook his head and Hermione exited the guest room, quietly closing the door. As her feet met the stairs, the reality of their situation started to terrify her. Yes, the Order had moved Harry, but they barely made it back alive and another leader was dead.

Her trembling fingers clutched the bannister for support as she thought about those who were left at the helm of the Order. McGonagall was still Headmistress. In the Auror Office, Kingsley was more involved in administration than field work, and although Tonks was also an Auror, she was still over a decade younger than her husband. Lupin wasn’t currently employed. 

No one had Mad-Eye’s or Dumbledore’s experience. 

Everything felt hopeless. Her parents were in Australia and she had a sinking feeling that the remaining adults in her life, the ones who were fighting this war, who were supposed to provide security and guidance, had no idea what to do. She pushed open the door to the Tonks’ kitchen and was confronted with the agitated mutterings of the remnants of Order leadership, who immediately ceased talking. 

After a pregnant pause, she asked, “Who’s in charge now?”

Remus shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “That would be me, Hermione.”

Nervously squaring her shoulders, she sat down at the kitchen table.

“What’s wrong?” Remus eyed her cautiously. “Is everything alright?”

Hermione took a deep breath, wondering where to start. “We were outnumbered tonight.”

“Yes,” he agreed. 

“Even though we knew they were coming.” Her voice rose and Kingsley leaned back in his chair. “Had the Aurors been at the Dursley’s in full capacity, they could have arrested and thrown quite a few Death Eaters in Azkaban. But they weren’t because you don’t even trust the Auror Office.” 

Tonks’ eyebrows shot up. 

Breathing heavily from her outburst, she wasn’t necessarily angry at them but at the desperation of their situation. “So there’s no hope for the Ministry, is there? And Hogwarts won’t be safe either.”

McGonagall blinked, and fidgeted with something in her lap.

Remus contemplated her words in silence and leaned forward. “I hear your concerns Hermione, but there’s no reason to worry. We were simply being cautious.”

Kingsley silently observed the two of them, but no one contradicted Remus’ statement. Hermione balled her hands into fists. They were patronizing her.

He continued, “The Ministry is still functioning and there’s no reason to think Hogwarts won’t be safe. Minerva replaced Albus as Headmistress and several professors are aligned with us.”

“No reason to worry?” Hermione’s voice became shrill. “It's inevitable! The Ministry will fall and Hogwarts soon after. The Order is no better than Fudge if you all refuse to think ahead. What’s your plan? Hope for the best? We’ll all be dead.” Her throat constricted and she tried to swallow. “Like Dumbledore and Mad-Eye.”

McGonagall flinched and Tonks’ bloodshot eyes now shone with unshed tears. Hermione recalled that Moody had mentored Tonks. The two must have been very close.

“We’ve been working on that, Hermione,” Tonks explained in a shaky voice, rising to the defense of her husband. “Losing Alastor and Albus doesn’t change that.”

Hermione turned to her, exasperated. “So what’s the plan then? We’re at war. How are you going to win? We’re essentially an underground resistance now. Aren’t we?”

The four adults shared an apprehensive glance before McGonagall replied crisply, “Miss Granger, we have just been betrayed by someone that Albus told us to trust. While we do share information when necessary, the fewer that know our next move, the better. Even you, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley.”

Hermione understood. She, Harry, and Ron didn’t discuss Horcruxes with anyone for precisely that reason. But there had to be some link between the Horcrux mission and the Order’s overall strategy. Impossible if she had no idea what the their strategy was, and her stomach churned with worry in that they didn’t even have one.

She pressed on, undeterred. “The Death Eaters will grow their army and pick us off one by one like they did last time. Do we even have enough safehouses for those that need to go into hiding? Or are we going to be so outnumbered that it won’t matter? The odds were” she motioned with her hand at Remus “what? Twenty to one last time?”

Remus furrowed his brows. “How did you know that?”

Honestly, why did people always think that knowledge was hidden? Hermione held his gaze defiantly, but didn’t answer his question. “So what’s your next move?”

Remus steepled his fingers in front of his chin and spoke in a reassuring voice. “We’re working on that, Hermione. Please trust us.”

She didn’t know if their cageyness was due to her younger age or their desire for secrecy, but it seemed that no one was taking her seriously at all.

“Trust isn’t the issue!” Hermione snapped, smacking Harry’s photo down onto the table. They all leaned towards the picture. Remus’ face fell.

With a small sigh, he reached out, lifted the picture, and stared. His eyes traveled back and forth across the photo, perhaps momentarily lost in memories of those who were no longer here, and his lips lifted in a wistful smile. Tonks laced her fingers in his and he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

Tonks glanced over at Hermione and said gently, “We’re all upset, Hermione. I heard what you did for your parents. And we’ve all lost people we love.”

Hermione ignored her and turned back to Remus. It wasn’t sympathy that she wanted. Sympathy wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“Don’t you see?” she cried out, pointing to the picture. “You’re the only one left!”

His dark eyes slowly shifted to hers, and he scratched his stubble. “So this is why you came down here, Hermione? You don’t think we’re planning ahead?”

Hermione skipped over his question. “How did you win last time?” 

His face hardened, unhappy with the answer. “We didn’t.”

“Exactly,” she replied.

They all remained silent, reluctantly acknowledging the truth of Remus’ answer. The wizarding world got lucky when Voldemort disappeared.

Hermione continued, her voice rising. “The Order is always on the defensive, always reacting. Just like last time! We have to think ahead! None of you told me to hide my parents! But I did! How many Muggle-borns and their families have to die before we start hiding them? And look at what happened tonight!”

“Hermione,” Kingsley called her name thoughtfully, crossing his arms. He tapped his index finger on his upper arm. 

She paused in her rant, panting, and turned to face him. 

“What would you have done differently?”

Her eyes opened in surprise.

Kingsley had been silent throughout the entire exchange. She didn’t know him at all before this evening; riding on the back of his Thestral and scared out of her wits while shouting curses at their pursuers.

“Differently?” she repeated dumbly. 

He nodded. 

“About tonight?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

She already knew what she would have done differently. The whole operation had been pointless, but she didn’t want to say so in those terms. That would imply Moody’s death was pointless.

“I wouldn’t have sent Harry back to the Dursley’s at all.”

Kingsley’s eyebrows rose.

“But he had his family’s protection until he came of age,” McGonagall explained. “Albus always said it was the safest place for him outside of Hogwarts.”

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Life and death situations occurred at Hogwarts at least biannually.

“For a month! What’s the point of sending him to a place where no wizards lived and he couldn’t even do magic until he came of age? Staying there didn’t stop the Dementors from attacking him in fifth year.”

“That was outside the house,” McGonagall corrected her. “He promised to confine himself this summer.”

Hermione didn’t bother replying and turned to Tonks. “Why didn’t we bring him to your mum’s directly after Hogwarts? We’re here now anyway. Or to the Burrow? We’ll be there for the wedding.” A muscle moved in Tonks’ jaw, and Hermione shifted her gaze back to Remus. “We knew he’d be attacked when you moved him because he’d be vulnerable. Why plan to thwart an attack that you know is coming instead of removing the reason for it entirely?”

Remus peered back at her thoughtfully. “You’re not wrong Hermione, but it’s always easier to find fault in retrospect.”

“But that’s exactly my point!” She smacked her hand on the table again.

“Calm down, Miss Granger!” McGonagall admonished as Hermione wrung her stinging palm. “We’re all on the same side.”

Not realizing how loud she had been, Hermione’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Sorry, Professor.”

Her expression softened. “It’s been a terrible night, hasn’t it?”

Goosebumps spread up her arms as she recalled wind whipping through her hair, flashes of light streaking past, missing her by mere inches, and clutching to Kingsley’s back in terror. She watched Tonks wipe away a tear and nodded silently at her professor.

“Alright, Hermione,” Kingsley said, rubbing a thumb against his smoothly shaven jaw. “You’ve established that the Ministry and Hogwarts will fall. What should the Order be doing?”

Hermione blinked at him, mouth partly agape. He was testing her; she was sure of it.

She had spent many nights staring at her ceiling, contemplating the future with worry. However, her focus had been on her parents - that’s why she Obliviated them. 

She didn’t know enough about their current situation, though. But Kingsley had asked. He expected an answer. Her mind raced through the implications of their current state of affairs while they watched her think. There was one glaring deficiency that all else hinged on.

Twisting the cuff of her jumper, she forced herself to hold his gaze. “We should be finding a source of funds.”

No one replied and Kingsley’s face remained impassive. Hermione continued, unsure whether to be encouraged by his silence.

“Known Order members like the Weasleys won’t have an income once they’re forced into hiding – and they will be. And then there’s the Muggle-borns and their families.” 

McGonagall and Tonks shared a glance. 

“They’ll be targeted and need to be hidden. Yesterday. And I bet many of them would fight.” 

Remus tapped his fingers on the table, but he was listening. 

“They have the most to lose if You-Know-Who wins.” She picked up steam, speaking faster. “And on that note, we need to actively recruit, and that requires money to support them. We need full-time Order members and those who are still working at their old jobs - undercover Order members who can supply us information in the areas of society that they still interact with.” She glanced at Kingsley. “Like you, in the Auror Office. And Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts.”

Hermione shifted her gaze to Tonks. “But not you. You should go into hiding now. They know you’re married to a previous Order member and your father is Muggle-born. Why wait for the arrest warrant to come out? Use your clearance to raid the Auror files before it’s revoked. Because it will be.”

Tonks’ lips lifted in a small smile, the first one Hermione saw this evening. Did she have an ally?

Hermione sat up straighter, encouraged by Tonks’ reaction. “We won’t be able to use St. Mungo’s, so we need Healers and hospital beds. We’ll need to buy medical supplies, potions ingredients, and other items to aid in skirmishes. Like Portkeys and spare wands.” She paused, wishing she had a quill and parchment to write everything. “In the First Wizarding War people disappeared all the time. We need Portkeys above all else so people can get safely out of Anti-Apparition wards. And we need space. Space to live, space to train fighters, space to heal, space for prisoners. Again, all this requires Galleons.”

“That’s quite the list, Hermione.” Remus leaned back in his chair, a small smile gracing his features, but he was taking her seriously. “Anything else?”

“Well…” She took a deep breath and leaned forward. “We should be proactive and go on offense. We don’t know anything about what You-Know-Who is planning. Domination of Wizarding Britain is somewhat vague.” Kingsley laughed softly. “We can’t rely on the Aurors to punish Death Eaters for targeting Muggle-borns and their families. Instead, we could kidnap and interrogate them.” Remus’s mouth spread in a wide boyish grin. She couldn’t tell how outlandish her suggestions were, and stared down at her fingers in embarrassment. “Well, once the Ministry falls, Death Eaters won’t be in hiding anymore. We can go nab them off the street. Or in their homes. Maybe we could recruit spies and hone our offensive. Oh!” She glanced up again, feeling more confident. “We could use Muggle weapons!”

Everyone raised their eyebrows. Tonks’ lips lifted again. She definitely had an ally.

“Yes,” she repeated, feeling emboldened by Tonks’ reaction. “Muggle weapons. The Death Eaters won’t know what hit them.”

“If you’re thinking of guns,” Tonks replied, leaning forward on her elbows, “it only takes one Summoning Spell to disarm everyone. Then the other side has guns and will start using them, too. You may knock out a few from the element of surprise but they’re not worth the money to procure or the time to train in the usage of. Muggle communications devices are easily disabled with an Anti-Electronics Charm. And as you may already know, all their high-tech weapons are operated electronically.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, lips parted in surprise.

“So RPGs are off the table. Shame.” Tonks pouted, and Remus smiled fondly at his wife. She turned back to Hermione. “You’ve essentially got one shot to catch them off-guard with electronics-based weaponry before they’re forever neutralized. They’re not worth the effort and as you’ve noted, we have limited funds.”

“What about–”

“Chemical weapons are made obsolete by Bubblehead Charms.”

Hermione blinked, floored by the entire conversation.

“Explosives,” she countered, finally finding her words. “The Blast Containment Charm is ineffective unless you know where the explosive is. The damage is done before you realize you have to cast.”

“Dangerous and requires specialized training,” Tonks answered without missing a beat. “Especially if you’re going to operate them without electronics. We’d be more likely to kill ourselves than the enemy.”

“We could acquire that specialized training.”

Tonks sat back and stared at her in thought. “It’s a long game. We wouldn’t see an immediate pay off.”

Kingsley, Remus and McGonagall watched their discussion in silent attention.

“We are playing a long game,” Hermione replied. “The last war was eleven years. I’m sure with a bit of research we can find an ex-military explosives specialist to train a few people in homemade bomb manufacture.”

Tonks rubbed her finger tips together in reply.

“Which we’d also need money for,” Hermione continued. “Of course. Like everything else. That’s not a reason to forego explosives use.”

McGonagall gazed down her nose at her former student. “None of this is easy, Miss Granger.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Hermione protested. “Look,” she explained, digging her thumb into the wood grains on the kitchen table. “I have no idea what the Order is planning and you put me on the spot.” She snuck a glance at Kingsley thinking she may have overstepped some bounds, but he still appeared interested in what she had to say. “Maybe I don’t know enough about what happened twenty years ago or what’s happening now. But it seemed like there was no strategy in the First Wizarding War. A few brave people tried to stay ahead of the kidnapping and murder of those trying to take down You-Know-Who and ultimately…” She gazed up at Remus apologetically. “They failed.”

She watched them eyeing each other for a few tense moments. Tonks shared a knowing look with Remus, motioned in Hermione’s direction, and he nodded.

The Metamorphmagus changed her hair from blonde to pink and leaned forward on the table. “I’ve been copying classified documents for the past half-year regarding known Death Eaters. I’ve also been spying on my colleagues who we suspect are sympathetic to You-Know-Who, and I’m not the only one of us in the Auror Office. I’m just the only one you know, aside from Kingsley. We won’t lose a presence when I go into hiding. And don’t worry,” she gave Hermione a genuine smile. “I’m going into hiding.”

“Oh,” she replied softly, feeling her cheeks flame. Of course they have other people in the Ministry. Of course they’d been preparing. They weren’t stupid. 

She wondered what else had been happening behind the scenes while she essentially did nothing over the summer, worrying about her parents. She wanted to ask, but felt it wasn’t her place given the distrust and borderline disrespect she had just displayed.

Kingsley cleared his throat. “We haven’t yet worked out a financial source. As you may have guessed already, many of the rich, pure-blood families are funding You-Know-Who, willingly or not. We have a few leads, both domestic and international; it’s our top priority.” 

Hermione was shocked at the information he was sharing. 

His lips spread in a thin smile. “I’ll be receiving a promotion soon to leave the Aurors for the Office of the Deputy to the Minister.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Why would you do that? Tonks just said–”

“When the Ministry falls, which office do you think they’ll target first? There’s no point in being stationed in a doomed department. And I’ll have wider access from the Office of the Deputy.”

She saw the briefest hint of a smug smile on his face, and furrowed her brows. “But you’re a known sympathizer of Dumbledore. You tried repeatedly to warn of You-Know-Who’s return. Won’t they come for you like Tonks?”

A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. “Not after I help them dissolve the Auror Office.”

Hermione’s lips parted in amazement. She couldn’t believe how devious they all were. 

“My loyalties to the new regime based on blood purity won’t be questioned,” Kingsley continued with a widening smile. “I was sorted into Slytherin, I’m a pure-blood and Sacred Twenty-Eight. I’ll have a wider berth to act without suspicion if they believe I’m on their side. My promotion to the Office of the Deputy has a dual purpose.”

Covering her face with her hands, her voice was muffled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accused you of not planning ahead. Of course you’re trying to win the war. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” She stood up from her chair and turned to go.

“Where do you think you’re going, Miss Granger?” McGonagall sounded as if she’d caught Hermione wandering the halls past curfew.

She turned back to see the Headmistress’ sharp glare.

“Sit down.”

Nervously, Hermione slid back into her seat and cast her eyes downward. They were right to chastise her. She should never have said anything.

“Well, we shouldn’t be surprised,” Remus spoke in a warm voice. Hermione flicked her eyes up and he turned to face her. “She figured out I was a werewolf at the age of thirteen.”

McGonagall released an uncharacteristic snort. “I’ve taught Miss Granger for six years. I’m not surprised in the least.”

“It’ll be a long night of planning,” Kingsley warned her. “Coffee?”

 

~

 

August 1997

Heart hammering furiously, Hermione crouched in the bathroom, holding Mary Cattermole’s trembling hand while Ron Silenced and Disillusioned the three of them. Dean Thomas and Cho Chang had run out the back door with Mary’s husband, Reginald, the moment they realized Anti-Apparition wards were installed. Three Death Eaters chased after them blasting hexes; she couldn’t tell if anyone had been hit.

Despite the Silencing Charm, she held her breath. Three faint cracks of Apparition echoed in the distance, and her shoulders sagged with relief.

Ron knelt down next to Hermione and whispered, “Do you think they’re gone?”

A door slammed as Voldemort’s soldiers burst back into the house. She startled, and terror made the blood pound in her ears.

“Fuck! He’ll have my head for this!”

Hermione recognized Dolohov’s accent immediately. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, and she absently fingered her side where he’d cursed her. 

Mary tensed and squeezed her hand with a clammy palm. Hermione leaned over and said with more confidence than she felt, “They don’t know we’re here. Just wait.”

“Let’s get out of here,” an annoyed voice called from the dining room.

“Who’s that?” Hermione whispered to Ron.

“Buckley? Berkley?” he replied. “He’s usually with Dolohov, but not in the Inner Circle.”

“This was supposed to be easy!” Dolohov shouted. 

They heard a loud thump followed by a crash as pieces of something shattered on the ground, making all three of them jump. Hermione glanced at Mary, who was squeezing her eyes shut. 

“How did they know? Crucio!

Immediately, they heard a body drop to the floor and a blood-curdling scream. Hermione ground her teeth at the sound of pure, unadulterated agony. Mary whimpered beside her and breathed, “It’s not right.”

“Antonin! What the hell are you doing?” Buckley/Berkley yelled. 

Chills ran up and down her limbs. She couldn’t listen to the wails of pain. Hermione crawled forward towards the crack of the door, angling herself until she had a line of sight. A shorter Death Eater was pulling on Dolohov’s arm but was shaken off; Dolohov held the curse while the third screamed on the floor. Ron pulled on her shoulder so she would stay out of sight despite her Disillusionment Charm.

“You stun Dolohov; I’ll get the short one on the right. The third can’t fight. On the count of three.”

The screams intensified, echoing off the ceiling, and Hermione raised her wand, trying to steady her hand. Ron’s breath came in short pants as he leaned over her to see out the crack of the door. Adrenaline sped through her body as she carefully aimed her wand.

Ron counted down. “One, two, three!”

Stupefy!”

Hermione vaulted out of the bathroom to the sight of two unmoving, black-robed figures on the floor and a third cradling himself in a fetal position. Hermione collected their wands as Ron cast ropes to snake and tighten around their wrists and ankles. Without wasting any time, she started patting down one of the bodies, searching for objects of interest.

The residual fear of their mission gone awry quickly morphed into excitement. They hadn’t yet captured anyone in Voldemort’s army. Now they had three, and Dolohov was Inner Circle.

Dean and Cho burst through the front door, wands out, eyes widening at the sight of the three bound men on the floor.

“Cho,” Ron waved her over. “Get Mary out of here.”

Mary exited the bathroom, a frightened look on her face. “I can’t thank you all enough.”

Pawing black fabric, Hermione admonished the older witch, “We don’t want to stay too long. Is there anything you need besides your wand?”

Mary nodded and ran up the steps and down the upstairs hallway as they heard her feet thudding heavily above them.

Hermione finished patting down the body and removed his mask. Not Dolohov. She glanced at Ron, who peered down at the unknown face.

His lip curled in disgust. “Bixley,” Ron recalled as Hermione waved her wand for one last check for magical objects. “That’s his name.”

Dean motioned towards the three bodies, still panting from running back inside. “What do we do with them?”

Hermione started patting down Dolohov. “Bring them in for questioning. Pinner safehouse. Can you Apparate him out of here?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, pointing his wand at Bixley and carefully levitating him up. “After so many hours working with Remus I could Side-Along anyone in my sleep.”

Dean kept his eyes on the floating body, tongue partially sticking out of his mouth in concentration. Walking backwards out the door, he was careful not to bump Bixley on the door frame.

Mary ran back down the stairs, clutching a few books and what looked to be a medical bag. Her greying hair was slightly frazzled with the last-minute scrambling. Hermione smiled inwardly. Their future prospects for Healer recruitment looked promising. Mary’s profession was the reason the Order had prioritized hiding the Cattermoles.

Cho reached out for Mary’s hand. “Come on, Mary. We’ll meet up with Reginald.”

Mary stared down at the Death Eater who’d been tortured, still trembling and clenching himself in his bindings. “Wait.” She crouched, extended her wand to the small of his back, and muttered a charm. They all watched as a golden glow emerged from her wand tip, shone brightly at his lower back, and diffused throughout his body. He released a soft moan in relief. His shaking stopped and they watched his limbs sag.

Hermione watched the gold tendrils slowly disappear. “What was that?”

“Muscle relaxant,” Mary explained. “Without any potions, it’s the only thing you can do after the Cruciatus Curse.” She paused, then added, “No one deserves that.”

Hermione winced, remembering his bellows reverberating off the walls. “I agree.”

“I don’t,” Ron retorted. Mary glared at him in disapproval.

“Go on,” Hermione told Cho, urgency in her voice. “Get Mary out of here.” Cho and Mary ran out the back, the door slamming shut.

“Nothing on Dolohov either.” Hermione lifted his mask off and remembered his gleeful dark eyes watching her while her abdomen slowly burned from the inside out. “Can you get him back, Ron?”

“And leave you here alone with that one?” He motioned to their captive on the floor.

“It’s Dolohov.” She turned to him. “He’s Inner Circle. We need to get him back for questioning now so we know who their other targets are. Quickly.”

“But–”

Ron. You need to move. He might know if others were attacked today.”

Ron hovered next to her, seemingly hesitant at the thought of breaking procedure and leaving Hermione alone during what had essentially turned into a raid.

“Even if he wasn’t bound, he’s not in any shape to attack. And I’ve got his wand.” She motioned to the three confiscated wands lying on the floor. “I won’t be long; I just need to make sure he’s not carrying anything dangerous.”

“Hermione…” Ron rolled his wand apprehensively between his fingers.

“Look, if I’m not back in ten minutes, come get me. Send a Patronus to…” She eyed her quarry as he lay on the floor, shifting his tightly bound arms in front of him. Even as a prisoner, he shouldn’t know the Order hierarchy. “Send it to Moony immediately. They need to question Dolohov as soon as possible.”

Hermione tapped her fingers on her thigh impatiently while Ron mulled over her directives.

“Ten minutes, Hermione,” Ron warned her. “No more.”

“Ten minutes,” she agreed with a smile. She couldn’t wait to tell Tonks.

Ron squeezed Hermione’s shoulder and left out the back, balancing Dolohov in the air with his wand. She heard a thunk as Dolohov’s head hit the door frame on the way out.

“Oops,” said Ron, with no hint of apology in his voice.

Hermione turned back to the remaining Death Eater. He’d been silent. Anxious to complete the body search and Disapparate, she removed his mask, pulling off his hood in the process, and nearly fell over in shock.

“Malfoy?”

 

 

 

Notes:

A big thank you to my beta, bek_48, who is CRIMINALLY underrated as an author. If you're looking for something different and extremely well written, check her out!

And many thanks to my alpha, slytherdor99, to Geriatricpeepshow who forcefully removed my foot from the gas pedal, ensuring this fic is a slow burn, and to Rachel Checksfield and TanzaniteWrites for some more edits and Brit-picking!

They all had great ideas and made this fic so much better!

Cover art by @little-miss-sunshines or littlemisssunshine2310 on AO3

The gorgeous cover art by Irina Kulish was gifted to me by the wonderful translators: Pir_Piromanka, Shampoo_ish and Kayrainit! You are all amazing, thank you.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Notes:

This story is really a trilogy, not a novel, but some people might want to binge. As such, the wonderful Pia_Bartolini has advised me on where the narrative lends itself to a pause, and readers may want to take chapter breaks so they don't end up falling asleep at 3 am with their phones on their faces. (which I am totally guilty of)

The first recommended break is after chapter 8. I'll put in a reminder. :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Granger,” he grunted.

Blond hair fell over gray eyes, and a sneer familiar to her since first year morphed his pale face. Even bound and hog-tied on the floor, Draco Malfoy managed to look down at her with superior disdain. 

Hermione pulled herself back up to a crouch, staring at his wary and resentful expression. He was really a full-blown Death Eater. Sent to arrest the Cattermoles and throw them in jail so Mary could face whatever sham of a trial Umbridge’s Muggle-born Registration Committee had in store.

Tensing her jaw, she returned to the task at hand. Ten minutes and Ron would come. There wasn't much time. 

Cringing in distaste, she began to awkwardly pat down the sodding Hitler youth. Checking someone for weapons and dangerous items was infinitely easier when they were unconscious.

“The Weasel isn’t doing his job?” he bit out defiantly. “You’re that hard up for a shag?”

The main reason? They couldn’t talk.

With a withering look she retorted, “I’d sooner rut against a Hippogriff.”

He snorted in derision but didn’t say anything else while she ran her hands over his robes. Trying her utmost to maintain a detached, clinical disposition, and pointedly avoiding his gaze, she patted the area of his crotch and rear just like she had for the other two prisoners. The mortification of feeling his penis somewhere in all that fabric had her yanking her hand away as if burned. 

“What the fuck?” Malfoy choked and bucked at her touch. “Do you get off on this?”

Hermione ignored him, face flushed with embarrassment. Eager to finish, she told herself she was just doing her job. In a few moments he’d be Tonks’ problem, and she wouldn’t have to deal with the stupid prat ever again.

While checking his chest and abdomen he whimpered; she must have hit a particularly painful area. Hermione felt a surge of pity. The fact that Dolohov’s mission had failed certainly wasn’t Malfoy’s fault. And even if it was, he didn’t deserve to be Crucio’d.

“Does it still hurt?” She shuddered internally, remembering his screams of agony. 

“Does it matter?” he spat.

Despite his tone, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the prick. “I saw the charm Mary did. I could try it if needed.”

“No.” He rested his head on the ground and closed his eyes. “It shouldn’t be overused.”

Hermione sat back on her knees in thought. He seemed awfully familiar in the use of Muscle Relaxant Charms post-Cruciatus and disturbingly nonplussed about being tortured by a fellow soldier. Shouldn’t Voldemort’s army be looking out for one other?

“This has been done to you before?”

“Fuck off,” he replied without opening his eyes.

It had.

Why Voldemort had so many followers – when they were treated so poorly – was beyond her. And what of the Malfoys? They were Sacred Twenty-Eight. Generations upon generations of pure-blooded heirs with seemingly limitless wealth accumulated through the centuries. Weren’t they like royalty?

She waved her wand over his body, scanning for magical items, and sighed in relief when nothing was detected. From Harry’s description of that infamous night on the Astronomy Tower, it seemed Malfoy let Death Eaters into Hogwarts because he was afraid for himself and his parents. 

And now here he was, getting Crucio’d for no apparent reason that Hermione could determine aside from Dolohov being pissed off. Their inner group dynamics hardly inspired loyalty.

She wondered what Malfoy thought of the fallout of that night. For all intents and purposes, Dumbledore’s death began the war. 

“The last time I saw you was when you released a bunch of murderers and rapists into our school.”

Malfoy’s face contorted in an angry glare. “Fuck. Off.”

Hermione stared down at him as he let his head fall back to the floor, closing his eyes again. He certainly didn’t seem proud of what he’d done. Indeed, he was irked at the mere mention of it. Maybe Harry was right. Was Malfoy only scared for himself and his parents?

After a few seconds of her contemplative silence, he sighed.

“Aren’t you going to bring me in so your boyfriend can torture me some more?”

“Malfoy.”

He glowered up at her.

“If you could leave them, would you?”

His eyes traveled over her face in surprise. During the moments he stalled to answer, she knew that he would.

“And what?” he jeered, a bit too late to be convincing. “Betray the Dark Lord for a bunch of filthy blood traitors and Mudbloods like yourself?”

Physically exhausted from the aftereffects of torture and still in a degree of pain, Malfoy sounded like a broken record player. But there wasn’t any malice behind his words, so why not leave? He hadn’t responded to Dumbledore’s offer either. Karkaroff’s mutilated body must be Voldemort’s warning to deserters; fear kept them from running away.

Hermione studied Malfoy. Would he spy? It was one thing to reluctantly play the Death Eater, but quite another to actively work against them. She had no idea why Dumbledore had trusted Snape; and she didn’t trust Malfoy.

But Hermione didn’t have to do anything drastic right now. Perhaps asking Malfoy to spy would amount to nothing. It was a gamble, but she wasn’t endangering herself or the Order by letting him go.

Not knowing how to broach the subject, especially with Malfoy so irate, Hermione decided to give him time to mull over her question. Who knew if he’d even talk with her?

Hermione extracted the D.A. Galleon that she usually carried for quick communications and tapped it with her wand, adjusting the Protean Charm to only signal her master Galleon. Malfoy eyed the coin suspiciously. She lifted his robes, and slid it into his back pocket.

“Copping another feel?”

She scoffed. “You have as much appeal as a Blast-Ended Skrewt.” She flipped his robes back over his trousers and shot him the most contemptuous glance she could muster. “Possibly less.” Hermione held out the three wands. “Which one is yours?”

He looked like he would rather eat the aforementioned Blast-Ended Skrewt than tell her.

She raised her eyebrows. “I can leave you wandless if you prefer.”

He rolled onto his back with a wince. “Hawthorne.”

She tossed the wand to the side and it clattered to the floor, rolling ten feet away.

“Why are you letting me go?”

“Two days, Malfoy. I’ll contact you.”

He scowled, but otherwise made no indication he’d even heard what she said.

Backing away towards the door, she turned and sprinted to the edge of the Anti-Apparition ward, wondering why the Order didn’t man themselves with Portkeys. Reaching a safe distance, she removed Malfoy’s bindings and Disapparated with a crack.

Hermione lit a match. In two days, she’d see if it caught fire.

~

“You did what?”

Ron was livid. Hermione knew he would be. The vein pulsing along his temple indicated an explosion was imminent.

“I gave Malfoy a D.A. Galleon and let him go. What harm could it do?”

Harry ambled into the sitting room of Paddington safehouse after having just escorted his Muggle-born targets out for relocation. Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, he sat down on the couch, watching their fight unfurl in tired resignation.

“Have you learned nothing from Snape?” Ron paced back and forth, ticking points off on his fingers. “He could give you false information. He could lead you into a trap. He could lead someone else into a trap. He could waste our time and resources on a bloody goose chase.” Stopping in his tracks, Ron pointed at her. “You think the Order is short on insufferable gits, is that it?”

Harry snorted.

“Because Fred has really been–”

“Yes, yes you’re right, Malfoy could do all those things,” she agreed. Despite her irritation, Hermione could appreciate Ron’s coherent, well thought-out rationale. He’d grown up this summer. They all had. “Obviously we’d have to take those possibilities into account when communicating with him.”

“But it’s too late! You let him go!”

“Too late for what?” she shot back. “What harm’s been done? Malfoy doesn’t know anything he didn’t know before.”

Ron crossed his arms. “We could be interrogating him like Dolohov and that other twat. Harry, tell her.”

Harry’s eyes had been following the verbal volley from across the sitting room. He scratched the back of his neck, hesitant in his reply. “Malfoy’s young. I doubt he’s close enough to Voldemort–”

“Harry!” Ron interrupted.

“Vol-de-mort,” Harry repeated, despite Ron’s anger, “or his Inner Circle to know much. Anything he’s privy to would be from snooping on his dad. And that’s assuming Lucius Malfoy knows much of anything. Dolohov’s the real win from today.” His eyes brightened as he shifted his gaze to her. “But if Malfoy pans out as a spy, that’s potentially game-changing.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to hold him here? Look how much we know!” Ron insisted, motioning between the three of them. “And Hermione’s practically one of the leaders right now.”

“Is one of the leaders,” she corrected, unable to suppress the pride in her smile.

Ron turned to her, mouth agape. He still hadn’t internalized that she’d been a regular at Order meetings for over a month now.

Harry shook his head. “It’s not the same. Those who would have been veteran Order members are dead. There’s more opportunity for someone younger to take on responsibility. When Volde–”

“For fuck’s sake, Harry!” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “When You-Know-Who broke those Death Eaters out of Azkaban, he brought back more experienced wizards and witches. And don’t forget those who escaped conviction twenty years ago. Honestly, I’d feel much better if we had more senior members around here. Sometimes I feel like we’re all a bunch of kids playing at war.” He turned to her apologetically. “No offense, Hermione.”

“None taken. Honestly, I feel the same.” Exciting as being at the top was, the weight of responsibility was terrifying some days.

“Anyway,” Harry concluded, “that was a bloody brilliant move today with Malfoy.” He grinned cheekily. “Hopefully he’ll be able to… ferret out some information for us.” 

Hermione sniggered.

Before Ron could retort, Tonks burst through the front door and attacked Ron and Hermione with a bear hug. Hermione lurched forward as Tonks’ arm pulled on her neck. 

“I can’t believe it!” she gasped. “ Three of those tossers! Glad we swiped the Veritaserum stores from the Auror Office before I left.”

“Two,” Ron grumbled, trying to extricate himself from Tonks’ vice-like hold.

“What’s that?” Tonks released her grip and backed up a step. “Cho and Dean said you were attacked by three.”

“The third was Malfoy,” Hermione explained. “I let him go with a D.A. Galleon to communicate with us.”

Tonks furrowed her brow in confusion. “Lucius?”

“Draco.” 

Tonks stared at her for a minute and then a sly smile slowly appeared. “You think he might spy?” Hermione beamed, feeling more confident with Tonks’ support. “Bloody brilliant move!”

Ron muttered angrily and sat down on the couch, crossing his arms in reluctant defeat. “You should have at least taken his wand. It’s always good to have spares.”

Harry shot him a smart-alecky grin. “Look on the bright side, Ron. You could be his handler.”

Ron curled his lip. “Not bloody likely. If I never have to see his pointy face again it will be too soon.”

Harry chuckled and the two started discussing the future of Quidditch under the new Ministry rule.

Hermione pulled Tonks aside and lowered her voice.

“Speaking of which,” Hermione said with growing anxiety. “Who would be his handler? Me? I’ve no clue what I’m doing. Ron made some excellent points about Malfoy feeding me false information or betraying us.”

“He’s right,” Tonks nodded. “But it should definitely be you. He’ll trust you more than someone else because you let him go with his wand. And you’re female. That usually works to the handler’s advantage.” 

What?

“No, no! That’s not what I meant!” Tonks laughed at her horrified expression. “Women are almost always underestimated and seen as less of a threat. We’re more… agreeable .” Tonks gave her an exaggerated wink and Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’ll be less guarded and volunteer more information. Women are also viewed as more sympathetic and easier to confide in. Don’t worry, Hermione. No one is expecting you to be the next Mata Hari.”

Hermione scrunched her face in disgust. “Revolting.”

She eyed Harry and Ron. Given the lack of loud, exaggerated puking noises, they hadn’t heard the joke.

“I’m sure,” Tonks said with a suppressed laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out. Our first priority is to keep you safe. When do you expect to talk with him next?”

Hermione fingered the master Galleon in her denim pocket. She’d have to keep it on her at all times now. “Two days, if he even answers.”

“So we have some time to discuss strategy.” Tonks crooked her finger and Hermione leaned in closer. “Hermione,” she whispered, “you’re going to have to Obliviate those two.”

Her stomach lurched. “But–”

“If Malfoy becomes a spy, you don’t want people knowing. Not even them. You keep the rest of us in the dark about that mission you’re doing for Albus, yeah?”

Hermione nodded.

“Right. The more people that know, the greater the danger of your mission being compromised. Same with a spy. Best do it now before they talk about it with others, or the memory becomes more complicated.”

She glanced apprehensively at Harry and Ron on the couch, waving their hands, deep in argument about something Quidditch-related. She never kept anything from them before joining leadership. The three had shared everything since first year, and Hermione felt increasingly distant from her two best friends with each bit of information she withheld. Somehow, keeping Malfoy a secret felt worse.

“I’m a halfway decent Occlumens,” Tonks continued, drawing back Hermione’s gaze, “but you may have to Obliviate me as well. No one knows whether they’ll withstand torture, and then you compromise your spy. I can advise you without knowing who he is.”

Disturbed, Hermione swallowed at the implication of Tonks’ words. If captured, any of them could be tortured.

The terror of war came crashing down around her when Death Eaters appeared at the Cattermole’s and she couldn’t Apparate away. The resulting victory made her momentarily forget her panic but Tonks’ words returned her to their new reality.

“Cheer up, Hermione.” Hermione couldn’t help but smile as Tonks’ nose and mouth melded together and protruded from her face, morphing into a duck bill and back again. “Today is full of great news. We will have to keep someone in the know about your spy. I’ll discuss it with Remus in a bit. We’re going to start interrogating soon at Pinner.”

Hermione’s face brightened. “I hope you get useful information out of those arseholes.”

“Oh, don’t you worry.” Tonks smiled deviously. “I will.”

~

 

Draco lay on the floor of the Manor ballroom.  

Fucking Dolohov.

He clutched his body, trying to still the tremors passing through him for the second time today. His ears were ringing with the sounds of his screams and that of seven others when he rolled over on the floor with a groan. He wasn’t the only one to fail in rounding up Mudbloods, but his team had members captured, and Draco was paying for it dearly. 

He peered up at his father, who shifted his gaze away. His father was struggling to remain impassive, and - thank Merlin - his mother wasn’t here. Draco didn’t know which was worse: being tortured, or seeing his mother’s expression after it was done. The summer of the failed raids, as many in the Dark Lord’s army called it, had been unbearable. 

He dragged his eyes to his aunt. She looked like she wanted to fellate her own wand. Aunt Bella always got off when people were being Crucio’d. Alecto Carrow stood next to her, gazing down at him. Her lecherous stare always made his skin crawl, and he closed his eyes to block her out, listening to the Dark Lord’s angry voice echoing down the corridors. 

At least his parents weren’t being tortured for something he did. This time around.

With a grimace, Draco pushed himself up, rested his arm on bended knee and bowed his head in supplication, silently thankful that he was one of the few still able to get up off the floor. Limbs still quaking with pain, he begged forgiveness from the Dark Lord when it was his turn, and bowed his head.

The tirade was over. Draco repressed a groan, struggled to stand, and limped away. With difficulty, he dragged his battered body up the stairwell and down the hall to his bedroom, finally collapsing face first onto his bed. His mother was already there waiting for him, trying to hide her crying.

Her fingers stroked his hair. He whimpered into his pillow in relief as the warmth of her Muscle Relaxant Charm spread from his lower back throughout his body. Twice in one day was too much, but he couldn’t very well tell her someone in the Order had healed him. Tomorrow, his limbs would feel like jelly and his head would be mush.

His mother left, promising to return with Dreamless Sleep. Draco grunted in thanks, and thought back to Granger’s question: If you could leave them, would you?

With some effort, he strained and extracted her Galleon from his back pocket. He flipped it in front of his face a few times. It didn’t appear different from any other coin. He ran his thumb along the ridge and the metal glowed in response. Flipping it over again, he scrutinized the coin further when he heard approaching footsteps. Quickly, he shoved the Galleon under his pillow as she re-entered his room, setting a tray with two cups on his nightstand.

“I’ve brought you Dreamless Sleep and water.” She was trying to keep the trembling out of her voice, pretending as if he were only suffering from a fever. “Let me help you into bed properly.” 

“No need, Mother.” His words were muffled as he spoke into his pillow. But she was already unlacing his boots. Draco didn’t move as her fingers prodded him gently, removing his Death Eater garb. After helping him sit up, she pulled on the hem of his jumper.

“Arms up.”

He cracked a smile, despite the muscle and joint pain.

“I’m not three anymore.” 

But he complied. She returned a sad smile, eyes shining with tears, and tugged the jumper up and over his head. 

He studied her clear blue eyes and the lines on her face before she removed his undershirt. Stroking his forehead, she gazed down at him and her face softened. “I used to be able to hold you with one arm.”

His mother appeared to have aged by at least a decade since his father’s failure in the Department of Mysteries, but she would always be beautiful to him.

“You still can.” 

She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pressed his cheek to her stomach, tenderly stroking his hair with her other hand.

Granger’s words echoed again in his thoughts: If you could leave them, would you?

Draco didn’t know how without abandoning his parents. His mother might come but his father probably wouldn’t, and he was afraid to discuss it. Neither one was an Occlumens. 

Leaning over, his mother placed a warm kiss on the top of his head and gently released him. Reaching across his torso, she grabbed the vial of Dreamless Sleep, which he knocked back quickly, making a face at the sour taste. A glass of water followed and he gulped down half, returning it to her.

His mother flipped over his quilt and he fell back with a grunt, his aching body pressing into the cool slipcover of his mattress. He felt his mother tugging on the ankles of his trousers.

“Draco, lift your legs. You’ll sleep better if you’re more comfortable.”

He didn’t argue. Draco knew that treating him like a child made his mother feel as if she were helping. He undid his belt buckle, opened the fly and allowed her to pull his trousers off, turning over once she removed them. She flipped the comforter back over and tucked him in, her fingers brushing against his neck. He was already feeling sluggish and eager to get to sleep.

“Thank you, Mother.” His words were slurred.

“Love you,” she whispered before closing his door and turning out the light.

He reached under his pillow, brushing his thumb against the ridge of the coin and noticing a warmth that hadn’t been there prior. He raised an eyebrow at the glowing letters that appeared along the circumference. 

Huh. That was a nifty bit of magic.

Malfoy are you alright?

Fuck no. What did she think this was? A lost Quidditch match?

Draco rubbed the ridge and the message changed.

Thumb in center and concentrate on words for message.

He rubbed the ridge again and the letters disappeared. It hadn’t been two hours, let alone two days.

The Dark Lord was terrorizing Draco’s family, and that prick Dolohov would get off too easily with a quick and painless death. 

Pressing his thumb in the center, he focused.

If he weren’t so tired, he probably would have thought through his actions more carefully. Right now, he just wanted to screw Dolohov over.

He smirked as the glowing letters sunk into the coin. No Veritaserum

Draco slipped the Galleon back under his pillow, hoping he wouldn’t regret his actions. 

Dolohov would. 

 

 

 

Notes:

I saw D.A. Galleons used for texting in Cheryl Dyson's fic called Draco: Phoenix Rising. It's an OG, probably the first fic where Draco turns spy and then joins the Order. Full credit to her on the creativity.

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

No Veritaserum.

Hermione furrowed her brows. Who was he kidding? Had being Crucio’d addled Malfoy’s brain? She shook her head and shoved the Galleon back into her pocket, returning her attention to Harry and Ron. 

Per Tonks’ instructions, she’d Obliviated them after they’d begrudgingly given her permission. Ron had managed to see a bright side, in typical Ronald Bilius Weasley fashion.

“If I kill the ponce in battle, then I won’t feel bad about it, now will I? It's not as if we'll all be dueling Bellatrix together. Obliviate away.”

She skimmed her Horcrux notes. With the help of Dumbledore’s memories and Minerva smuggling books from Madam Pince, they were much better informed than a few months ago. They’d identified the Hufflepuff cup and Ravenclaw diadem, which was encouraging. Where they were located remained to be determined. Ron and Harry always looked to her to provide solutions and usually she had one. But this time she was coming up short.

The trio still didn’t know who R.A.B. was or what the actual Horcrux was supposed to be. Hermione twisted a curl around her finger in thought. 

“We should raid the Ministry census files,” Harry said, breaking the silence. “R.A.B. is our only lead on that locket.” 

“Any ideas, Hermione?” Ron asked. 

“Dumbledore suggested the Horcruxes would be hidden in places meaningful to You-Know-Who,” Hermione recalled. “Hogwarts is an obvious location, but where? And I doubt he’d hide all of his bloody trinkets there.”

“We need to go to Hogwarts anyway for the basilisk teeth,” Ron reminded her.

“Yes, but not until we know where to look. We can’t just go wandering around, even if Minerva’s still there,” she countered. “It’s too risky.”

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick out on end. “He trusted Lucius Malfoy with one of them. Who else would he trust?”

“Peter Pettigrew? He brought You-Know-Who back.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I didn’t get the impression that Volde–”

HARRY! ” Ron shouted.

“–that You-Know-Who ,” Harry continued with a glare, “thought very highly of him from the way he was treated at the graveyard.”

“Snape?” Hermione pressed. “Yaxley? Bellatrix?”

Ron groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Too many Death Eaters to choose from. They’re like fungus. Leave them alone in the dark and they spread.”

Harry snorted. “And stink.”

Hermione released an impatient sigh and gazed at the ceiling. Perhaps Malfoy had some insight on whom Voldemort trusted the most. At least he’d communicated with her, nonsensical as his communication may have been.

“I’m going down to the kitchen to make tea. You want some?”

Harry looked up. “Yeah, that’d be nice. It’ll wash the taste of beans away.”

Funds were tight. Due to the influx of new recruits and the recently acquired Paddington safehouse to ease increasingly cramped residential quarters, food quality and variety had tanked. Beans were a frequent appearance at breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Nothing will wash away the taste of beans,” Ron grumbled. “I don’t know what’s worse. Endless beans, or Fred and George singing variations of ‘Beans, beans they’re good for your heart’ every night at supper.”

“Definitely the song,” Hermione replied, opening the door to their bedroom. “I could eat beans all day, every day, and happily ask for more. Are you sure you’re British?”

“There are limits ,” Ron retorted.

“Bring the sugar bowl,” Harry told her. “You can’t be trusted to add enough.”

She shot him a cheeky smile. “You’ll thank me when you reach the ripe old age of 160 without a single cavity.”

“Sugar bowl!” he called as she descended the stairs.

Hermione’s thoughts returned to the Galleon. No Veritaserum. What did that even mean?

Malfoy was completely barmy. Had he recovered from being Crucio’d this morning? Recalling his screams, she winced. How could the Malfoys could allow their son to get caught up in such a terrible situation? He obviously didn’t want to be there.

With a swish of her wand, water boiled in the kettle while she arranged a tray of biscuits.

Malfoy knew they were going to interrogate Dolohov and Bixley and use truth serum, so why tell her not to? It’s not as if Veritaserum was harmful. Or deadly. If so, they’d have lost their prisoners before asking a single question. The most reliable interrogation tactic on the planet would have been rendered obsolete.

The box of biscuits fell from her hands, scattering crumbs and broken pieces on the floor.

Heart racing, she extracted her Galleon, sent a quick missive, and shoved it back in her pocket.

“Harry! Ron!” she yelled up the stairs in alarm.

“Yes, Hermione. I still want the sugar!” was Harry’s answer.

“I’m leaving for Pinner now!” she called back frantically.

They came thundering down the stairs. “What’s happened?” Ron asked, panting.

“Something with the interrogation. Maybe it’s nothing. I’ll be back in five and fill you in.” She set the mugs back on the counter. “If you’re patient, I’ll still make you tea.”

“With sugar?” Harry quipped.

She Disapparated but not before giving him the two-fingered salute.

 

~

 

“No wonder Dolohov’s so calm,” Remus commented. He, Tonks, and Hermione stared down at the Death Eater, whose dark eyes glared right back beneath thick black eyebrows. “But the other one isn’t.”

They shifted their focus to Bixley’s cell. His hands were shaking, and he alternated between biting his fingernails, pacing back and forth, and eyeing the three Order members nervously.

“Have you ever heard of a potion with that effect?” A potion seemed the most logical explanation. It would stay in the body the longest before excretion; a charm wouldn’t interact physiologically for such an extended period of time. 

Tonks shook her head and continued studying Dolohov in thought. His hostile black eyes gave away nothing while daring them to try. He couldn’t hear through the charmed cell bars but with the way he was so intently focused on them, Hermione wondered if he could read lips.

“Snape might have invented something new,” Tonks surmised.

“We could take blood samples,” Hermione suggested. “That would identify any ingredients in his system. I don’t understand what would make Veritaserum lethal. Especially with the small amount used for interrogation.”

Remus turned to face them. “Perhaps it’s the other way around. Veritaserum activates a deadly potion.” He approached Tonks and softened his voice in concern. “You know what this might mean, Dora. If you can’t use Veritaserum.”

Tonks curled her lip as she gazed at the prisoners.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure she understood. “Are you…” Tonks and Remus startled as if she were intruding on a private conversation. “Are you going to torture them?” Hermione tried to repress the shock in her voice. She often felt naïve and inexperienced when speaking with  Remus and Tonks.

“Do you have any other ideas?” Tonks raised an eyebrow. 

Hermione was stunned. They’d already decided; Tonks’ question was rhetorical. But they couldn’t! 

“Legilimency?”

With a wry grin she replied, “Have you got a Legilimens on hand? We’d either need to find a Legilimens or make one. I’m not sure which is more difficult – and that’s assuming Dolohov isn’t an Occlumens.”

“I’ll add a Legilimens to our list,” Remus replied dryly. 

Anxiety loomed over Hermione, closing around her shoulders. Their ‘list’ was a three-foot roll of parchment filled with items they couldn’t afford. Everyone knew another residential safehouse was needed, and Hermione wanted Portkeys. One well-executed raid with Anti-Apparition wards and they’d be finished. But if they captured anyone else, the Order would need to expand Pinner. Tonks would press for their scant funds to be diverted for more holding cells after today’s success. 

Funding was quickly becoming a sore topic. 

“Anything else?” Tonks asked.

“Tongue-Loosening Serum?”

Tonks shook her head. “Extremely unreliable. If they catch on quickly enough, they’ll lie through all the babbling.”

Hermione couldn’t believe this war-torn world where two people that she held in such high regard had already accepted the use of torture. Remus had been professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts of all things, and now he was sanctioning the use of Unforgivable Curses? Hermione admired Tonks to no end. She’d been mentored by Mad-Eye Moody and was one of the youngest Aurors in a profession mostly dominated by older men.

And they were both okay with torture?

“But,” Hermione protested, still horrified, “confessions under torture aren’t always reliable. People will say anything to make the pain stop. We shouldn’t base military decisions on questionable information.”

“They’re much more reliable than what we’d get with Tongue-Loosening Serum and we always – always – verify with reconnaissance and intelligence.”

Hermione blinked Tonks and Remus. It was as if she’d never seen them before. They’d just rationalized the use of torture.

“It doesn’t matter!” she insisted. “Using torture makes us as bad as them!”

The couple gazed at her patiently. Neither appeared surprised at her reaction, but a tired smile crossed Tonks’ face. “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that he doesn’t become one?”

Remus shared a knowing glance with Tonks. She had a feeling they’d already gone through these arguments together.  

“But Nietzsche knew what he was talking about.”

“Did he?” Remus countered. “It’s all theoretical. He’s never had to make those kinds of decisions.” He must have convinced Tonks that using Unforgivable Curses was a necessary evil.

“That doesn’t make his point less relevant,” she protested.

“Well then, let’s apply the theory.” His tone reminded her of third-year D.A.D.A. lectures. “If you get captured and tortured by You-Know-Who for information, is Dora the same as your interrogator?” 

“Of course not.”

“Why not?” Remus leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

Hermione pondered his question and shifted her gaze to Tonks. She pictured Tonks laughing at supper while morphing her nose into a pig snout. Then she tried to picture Tonks pointing her wand at Dolohov while he writhed, screaming on the ground. 

Hermione couldn’t do it. She couldn’t imagine Tonks using the Cruciatus Curse at all. But she remembered Dolohov’s smile as she shrieked for help in the Department of Mysteries.

“She doesn’t want to do it,” Hermione replied. “She’s not cruel like Dolohov or Bellatrix. She wouldn’t enjoy it.” 

He shrugged. “What else?”

Still gazing at Tonks, Hermione licked her lips nervously. “She’s exhausted all other options.”

“Well, not entirely.” Tonks clarified. “The Aurors have other methods that aren’t so brutal.” She flexed her fingers and stretched. “I’ll start with the Confundus Charm, Imperius Curse, and use sleep deprivation on Bixley here. I might have to smack him around a bit. That should be enough.” The corner of Tonks’ mouth lifted slightly. “He’s already scared.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Was Tonks being entirely honest with herself in not wanting to torture them? She was still mourning Mad-Eye Moody. Maybe feeling a bit vengeful couldn’t be helped.

“So you don’t have to use the Cruciatus,” she said, feeling somewhat mollified.

“Bixley hasn’t spent nearly two decades in Azkaban, he’ll be easier to break. Dolohov is different.” Tonks pursed her lips in thought. “If it’s a potion barring us from using Veritaserum, it’ll break down and leave his system eventually.”

She sounded doubtful. Hermione was too. If Voldemort had gone to all that trouble of rendering Veritaserum useless, he would’ve made the effect permanent.

“And if it doesn’t?” she prodded.

“Then I Crucio him,” Tonks replied with a shrug.

“But you have to hate him. Doesn’t that imply that on some level you want to do it? Just like them?”

“Do you hate anyone, Hermione?” Remus asked curiously.

With a start, she recalled third year. Had Harry not stopped him, Remus would have killed Peter Pettigrew. Even her D.A.D.A. professor was capable of hatred. And Sirius had escaped Azkaban to do the same. They hated Pettigrew because they’d loved Lily and James. 

But Hermione didn’t hate anyone. Well… maybe Umbridge. She seethed as she remembered Harry’s bloody hand after writing lines in detention. Definitely Umbridge. And Rita Skeeter. But she could never cast the Cruciatus. Would never cast it. Even Harry couldn’t do it properly when Bellatrix murdered Sirius right in front of him.

“I do,” she replied. “But I don’t want to Crucio them.”

“Of course not.” Remus shot her a taunting grin. “Only hold them hostage in a jar.” Hermione blushed furiously as he and Tonks chuckled. 

“That’s not the same.”

“True. And hating isn’t the same as wanting to physically hurt someone. Agreed?”

Hermione furrowed her brow, not liking the direction of the conversation. He was right, but the entire purpose of this discussion was to rationalize torture. She wouldn’t do that.

“But it’s evil, ” she nearly pleaded. “It’s not justifiable!”

“What are good and evil?” Remus postulated, spreading his palms out towards her. “What place do they have when discussing imminent death and danger to your family? Your friends? Yourself? We cannot wait for your parents to die for torture to be justifiable.”

Hermione’s heart caved in as she pictured her parents as lifeless as Mad-Eye. Remus made it personal, muddying her sense of right and wrong. This was the slippery slope. This was how good leaders became corrupt. 

“But their inherent evil is why they’re called Unforgivable Curses,” she insisted. “That’s why we put the casters in Azkaban. The Order has to find another solution. Maybe it won’t be necessary on Dolohov. There must be another way, we just haven’t found it yet.”

“And what if there isn’t one?” Tonks turned to her this time. “You’re just avoiding the decision, not making one. If Dolohov has information that helps us win the war, and torture is the only way to get it out of him, what would you do?”

What would she do? She bit her lip. What would her friends do? Much as Ron had been dismissive about Dolohov torturing Malfoy, she was certain he would never condone the use of torture by Tonks. Harry wouldn’t either. Not by the side that represented good. 

But Harry and Ron didn’t have to decide and she did. Making tough decisions was what being part of Order leadership meant, wasn’t it? And she had to live with those decisions. She stood up straighter.

“I just wouldn’t do it. We’re defined by how we act in moments like these.” Hermione raised her voice, feeling more confident now. “We should choose the high road. It’s what Dumbledore would have done.” 

She was nearly certain that was true.

“Even if there’s no other way?” Tonks prodded.

“Even if there’s no other way.”

Tonks tilted her head. “Did you know that Aurors were allowed to use Unforgivables back in the First Wizarding War?” Hermione shook her head, suddenly feeling unprepared for an ethics discussion that morphed into a fact-filled debate. “And we started again a few years ago. Sometimes they were necessary, the Imperius Curse in particular.”

Perhaps Ministry policy was why Tonks was prepared to use Unforgivables. She already had. With a start, Hermione realized it was Tonks who had convinced Remus that the Order should be using the curses. Not the other way around.

Who was this woman who had just cheered Hermione up by transforming her mouth and nose into a duckbill?

Did she really know Tonks at all?

“It’s still wrong,” Hermione retorted. “Just because the Ministry authorized Aurors to use them doesn’t mean that we should. The Ministry is hardly a paragon of ethics, even before You-Know-Who took over.”

Hermione felt the tension momentarily diffuse when Tonks and Remus each huffed a laugh. 

“Fair point,” Tonks conceded with a smile. “But what if we lose the war because we decide never to torture? What if your ‘high road’ condemns countless people to death, and the remaining to oppression? Remember, this is your choice and those are the consequences. You condemned everyone.”

Hermione shuddered involuntarily at the weight of responsibility, picturing Wizarding Britain in some dark dystopian future with mass graves and Muggle-borns hunted down and killed. That could really happen if they lost. As Remus had stated, this wasn’t a theoretical argument. The war was real. He’d then made it personal, but Tonks just walloped her over the head with her culpability.

“So you’re asking me to choose between the lesser of two evils?” Hermione asked, her mouth running dry. With the consequences laid out so plainly, she couldn’t argue with Tonks’ brutal logic anymore. “I... I agree with you. I can see it now,” Hermione stuttered, somewhat in shock. “But it still feels wrong.”

Tonks laid a hand on her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes. “I’ll tell you what the difference is between us and them, Hermione.”

"Please do," she replied softly.

“Because it is wrong, and we know that.” Tonks squeezed her shoulder. “When I’ve used the Cruciatus in the past, it feels like a small part of me dies inside. Even if I don’t use it in lieu of other methods, it still feels terrible. Sometimes I do wonder if I’ve turned into one of the monsters I’m supposed to protect people from.”

“I’ve never considered the effects on the caster,” Hermione said with a pang of sympathy. 

“Did you know they’re addictive?” Tonks asked, her eyebrows raised.

“The Unforgivable Curses?” 

“Yes,” Tonks continued. “Using the Imperius Curse makes you want to control and manipulate others. The Aurors have to meditate regularly to protect our mental health. Some with more severe symptoms have taken potions, and all of us saw Mind Healers regularly.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “It’s that bad?”

Tonks nodded sagely. “The Imperius Curse is particularly insidious because it doesn’t feel as terrible from an moral standpoint. The Cruciatus and Killing Curses damage you differently. They blend your hatred with your magic, making you feel powerful. As they become easier to cast with time, you become prone to descending into bouts of hatred. Like them.” She motioned to Dolohov with her chin and stared down at him. Hermione followed her gaze and he sneered. “Be thankful you’re not the one doing it,” she murmured.

“I am,” Hermione agreed in earnest. Her initial shocked revulsion was replaced by a disgusted admiration in that Tonks shouldered that responsibility for her. 

For all of them.

Tonks glanced appreciatively at Remus. “It’s good to have someone that understands and can help when you need it.”

Remus laced his fingers through Tonks’ before appraising Hermione. “If you continue with us, you’ll be forced to make difficult decisions.” Goosebumps spread up her arms as she listened. “You’re extremely bright and think strategically. The focus on getting Muggle-borns into hiding and actively increasing our numbers wasn’t something we thought of prior. And now”—he turned his back on Dolohov, perhaps also suspecting he could read lips—“We may have a spy to replace Snape. But if you’d prefer not to participate at this level any more, none of us would think any less of you.”

Hermione straightened her spine. She didn’t want them to think she was abdicating responsibility. Her best contribution to the war was from a strategic standpoint. What would fill her days when they didn’t have combat training? Horcrux hunting was at a standstill until new information could be gathered, especially with the lack of leads.

But being one of the leaders meant she’d bear the consequences for difficult decisions. That was the price she had to pay.

“No, I’m staying. I just wanted to understand.”

Remus’ lips spread in a small smile of approval and Tonks rubbed her arm affectionately.

“About your spy,” he scratched his stubble in thought, changing the subject. “Dora mentioned that Dolohov Crucio’d him this morning?”

“Yes, what of it?”

“This could be revenge, not help.”

“What if it’s both?” she countered, slightly horrified at the prospect that she’d brought two men to be tortured by Tonks. And at Malfoy’s bidding.

“It's possible. You need to be careful.”

 

~

 

A loud crack from one of the house-elves woke Draco up. He rubbed his eyes and immediately regretted it. It felt like he'd taken a Bludger to the head. 

“You is wanted in the dining room in an hour, Master.”

Draco’s stomach rumbled. How long had he slept? When was his last meal?

“Father called me?”

“Yes, Master.”

Groggily, he stretched his limbs and pushed himself to a sitting position. The blankets fell down, pooling around his waist. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly dinnertime.

“How long did I sleep?” he asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Sixteen hours.”

Draco waved his hand dismissively and the elf Disapparated.

Curious, he reached under his pillow to find the Galleon warm. He pulled it out and squinted at the message.

Explain. How long in body?

He rolled his eyes. Bossy.

Granger must think it was a potion that wore off with time. Wrong. But he had no intention of helping. She could do her own bloody homework. The longer they took to figure it out, the longer Dolohov would get tortured. He swiped the edge and the message was replaced by another.

Thank you.

Whatever.

He swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood up, wobbling slightly. At least there wasn’t any more pain. He walked over to the bathroom to wash up, flipping the Galleon between his fingers, watching the gold flash over his knuckles. 

He smiled cruelly.

Let the Order have fun with Dolohov.

 

 

 

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Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

September 1997

“They have a network of officials and others with high standing in society that are being threatened, blackmailed, or outright Imperiused if they aren’t loyal already. Each person in the Inner Circle, like Dolohov, is responsible for a piece of the network. Lower ranked Death Eaters like Bixley perform the actual Imperius Curse if necessary. This is how You-Know-Who implements his regime and quashes dissent.” Tonks was reporting on the results of her interrogation. “The more strings they can pull, the more intricate their web and the more they control. The grip is getting tighter every day.”

Seeing as the same tactic worked for Voldemort and his followers in the previous war, they were repeating the same strategy. The Order hadn’t succeeded in stopping them back then, so why not? It certainly made sense.

“So just like last time,” Hermione replied in aggravation, quill in hand. “How do we shut the web down?”

Remus eyed her and replied softly, “You kill the spider at the center.”

She had the sneaking suspicion that he knew more than he was letting on. Kingsley shifted his curious gaze between her and Remus.

“Yes,” she agreed slowly. “But seeing as we have no idea where You-Know-Who is, what else should we be doing?”

“For now we continue without change.” Remus sat back in his chair and clasped Tonks’ hand. “Ramp up efforts to bring in Death Eaters, Snatchers and the like, similar to how they’ve tried to bring in Muggle-borns. The larger holding facility at Pinner safe house is nearly ready.” He rubbed his thumb along Tonks’ knuckles. “Inner Circle would be preferable of course, but they are harder targets.”

Hermione grumbled to herself. She had been arguing for their limited funds to be used for Portkeys and was overruled. The capture of Dolohov and Bixley, and the information they retrieved from them thus far, incentivized everyone except her to prioritize the expansion of Pinner.

Minerva took off her glasses, pointed her wand at the lenses and cleaned them with a nonverbal spell. After pushing her spectacles back up her nose she added, “Capturing Inner Circle Death Eaters like Dolohov would cripple their operations. Or, to continue the analogy, tear holes in the web. Ultimately, if we remove enough of them, we will eventually get to You-Know-Who. He’ll be vulnerable and exposed. Even if we can’t kill him, we can certainly contain him.”

“Which brings us back to our interrogation problem,” Tonks reminded them. “I’ll do what needs to be done, but torture induced confessions are not always reliable.” She leaned forward. “We need a Legilimens because Dolohov still won’t talk. And even with one, assuming that some Death Eaters are halfway decent at Occlumency as I’m sure Dolohov is, we need to understand the problem with Veritaserum. Bixley didn’t know how it worked, just that it would kill him.”

Hermione looked up from the notes she was taking. “What about Mary Cattermole?”

“The Muggle-born Healer you rescued?” Tonks asked curiously.

Hermione nodded. “She might be able to figure out what the problem is with Veritaserum.”

“Didn’t you say she didn’t want to be involved?” Remus recalled.

“She didn’t,” Hermione affirmed. “But I know she would sleep soundly knowing she removed our need to torture for information. Maybe it would incentivize her to stay on and help.” She scratched a few notes to herself on the parchment she used for action items and ideas.

“An excellent idea, Miss Granger,” Minerva nodded while Hermione removed some excess ink from her quill. “You know I don’t want Poppy involved if we can help it, but I will make an exception if Mary requires anything from the Hogwarts’ infirmary.”

Hermione understood. Minerva was trying to keep the Hogwarts staff as removed as possible from Order efforts to prevent suspicion. Furthermore, the faculty needed to focus their efforts on protecting the children still at school.

“There’s one more thing,” Tonks added, looking down at her own notes for reference. “Bixley had two administrative assistants in the Department of Mysteries under the Imperius Curse. He’s released them, seeing You-Know-Who would assume Bixley was dead anyway from Veritaserum exposure, but he didn’t know why he was instructed to curse them.”

“Is You-Know-Who still interested in prophecies?” Hermione asked. “I thought we had broken most of them back in my fifth year.” She tried to think what else would be of value there. The room with The Veil? The brain tank? She didn’t even know what those brains were for.

Tonks shrugged. “He didn’t know. Dolohov might.”

Minerva adjusted her glasses in thought. “Time turners. At the very least.”

“They run the Ministry,” Remus argued. “They could take them whenever they want. What’s stopping them from doing so now?”

Kingsley gave a smug smile. “The Unspeakables aren’t cooperating, and they can’t be Imperiused. They’ll need our support soon though. You-Know-Who will undoubtedly apply more pressure.”

“Agreed,” Remus replied, scratching a few notes on the parchment in front of him.

“We need Portkeys,” Hermione reminded them.

Remus sighed and turned to her. “Bring me several pounds of rare potions ingredients, an Arithmancy genius or two-”

Or the money to buy those things,” Hermione interrupted.

Or the money to buy those things,” Remus amended. “And then all we have to do is wait a couple months for the potion to brew. Simple.”

Hermione pushed her quill point into the parchment angrily, making a hole and staining the Tonks’ kitchen table with ink. They were fish in a barrel without Portkeys. Maybe she should make them and find the ingredients. And wasn’t there a black market? There must be. Maybe they could be reused in some way? She was tired of waiting.

The leadership discussed a few more issues pertaining to the lack of funding. Hermione continued taking notes, hoping that inspiration would come at a later time. She observed her old Transfiguration professor. Minerva was like her. Extremely particular in her note taking. Tiny, neat hand writing, straight lines filling her parchment. Tonks usually brought notes but never took any. She supposed Remus wrote for the both of them. Kingsley was normally silent during discussions unless he had something from the Ministry to share, and wrote nothing.

The meeting wound down and everyone stood to leave from Andromeda and Ted Tonks’ house, which had served as the location for senior leadership meetings since the night the Order relocated Harry.

Remus looked directly at her. “Hermione, I’d like to speak with you privately.”

She flushed as everyone else exited.

“Of course, Remus.”

Tonks gave him a quick peck on the cheek before she left, and his face reddened when he noticed Hermione saw. She didn’t want them to be embarrassed. Their affection instilled a sense of warmth and comfort within her. They deserved love. They deserved to be happy. She enjoyed seeing families, couples, people in love during this war. It brought a sense of normalcy and reminded her that life would return to what it once was when this was over.

Remus scratched his stubble and looked at her.

“You-Know-Who.”

She swallowed nervously and he continued.

“After combat training at Paddington safe house, I saw something that I shouldn’t have.”

Hermione held her breath, not knowing what would come next. Based on his comment earlier, she wondered if he had figured out what they were up to.

“You, Ron and Harry all need to be more careful with this mission Albus gave you.” Her heart beat rapidly. Remus knew. “I understand your need to write things down, but for this mission you should stop, lest your notes get into the wrong hands. It’s not like the note taking during leadership meetings. The minute You-Know-Who finds out what the three of you are up to, we’re through. Everything and everyone. We’re done.”

She released her breath. He was right.

She hadn’t realized she had left her notebook out. Usually she was careful to keep everything Horcrux mission related in her beaded bag, which was stored under her bed. Perhaps she should Glamour or Disillusion her bag as well.

“I’ll destroy everything tonight.”

“Good.” He removed a coffee ring from the table with his wand. “You also need a better cover story. Your absences have been noticed by some of the newer recruits. Hanging out in your bedrooms with Silencing Charms is one thing and there’s plenty of excuses for that.” She blushed furiously at what Remus implied, even though she hadn’t done anything of the sort with either Ron or Harry. “But it’s another matter entirely to disappear for two to three days with a vague explanation. We need a clear, defined task for you three to work on that will give you the freedom to move about without suspicion.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Hermione felt chastened at how obvious they were being, but relieved to have Remus’ advice nonetheless. She, Ron and Harry often felt helpless with regards to the Horcrux mission. It was critical to the success of the Order, and no one knew about it. Dumbledore had left it up to the three of them without much to go on.

Three seventeen-year-olds.

They had barely just come of age and the weight of the Wizarding world’s future, in England at least, fell squarely on their shoulders. So far, they hadn’t questioned the fact that no one else knew but them. It appeared that Remus agreed with Dumbledore’s decision to keep it quiet.

“I suggest Durmstrang for your next trip.”

She raised her eyebrows curiously. “Durmstrang? What for?”

“They have the largest dark arts library collection in the Wizarding world.” Remus gave her a knowing smile. “At least, that we know of.”

Hermione hadn’t thought of that. The trio didn’t have any information on Horcruxes except for Dumbledore's talks with Harry and only one book, Secrets of the Darkest Art, that she'd managed to swipe from his office last year. She already combed the Hogwarts library before going into hiding and found nothing. The aversion Hogwarts had to the Dark Arts was crippling in their fight to destroy something they didn’t understand. Pulling bits of information from conversations and memories was not enough. They needed more.

She wondered if Malfoy would could help with their Horcrux search.

“That’s a brilliant idea, thank you Remus.”

She felt somewhat abandoned in that they couldn’t consult a wiser and more experienced person regularly. It was fortunate that Remus had discovered her notes and had some advice to give, but she couldn’t repeat her mistake.

He cleared his throat. “You asked about long-term strategy, Hermione. You asked how we are going to win. That’s how we’ll win. The job of everyone else here simply amounts to enabling you, Harry and Ron to do yours. Now,” He glanced at her wand and then back up at her, somewhat nervously. “Obliviate me.”

 

~

 

 

Can you meet?

Draco glanced at the warm Galleon in disdain. Granger needed to be subtler than this. She lucked out in that she caught him alone outside after flying. Ironically, while up on his broom, he had been thinking precisely about the recent turn of events. She asked him if he would leave. Even though he refused, she obviously didn’t believe him. But that wasn’t really what she was asking him. Dumbledore had offered to hide him and his family, and that chance had come and gone.

He blew it.

It wasn't as if his father would go into hiding anyway, and Draco couldn’t abandon him. Leaving wasn’t an option.

This was something else entirely. She wanted him to spy for the Order.

And then like an idiot with his pain addled body and head disoriented by potions, he’d gone and given her information about the Veritaserum before thinking through the consequences. If there was any uncertainty as to what her intent was before, and how he would reply, he had pretty much sealed it.

There was no doubt about it now, spying was on the table.

Draco wanted out. Him and his parents. But he didn’t know how. Would spying improve his chances or worsen them? Talking with the Order would certainly change his situation. And one thing was certain, things couldn’t stay the same. He’d be going back to Hogwarts in less than a week where Alecto Carrow was teaching and then his father would be the only one to protect his mother from Macnair.

Draco thumbed the Galleon.

Where?

The reply came immediately.

Fortescue’s.

He did a double take. She would be arrested. She was Undesirable Number Two. He had seen her picture and Potter’s plastered around Diagon Alley along with other known members of the Order of the Phoenix listed among the undesirables.

How would they even meet there?

She’d probably come Polyjuiced.

He considered what might happen if he met a Polyjuiced Granger in the middle of Diagon Alley. What if someone was following her? What if someone saw through her disguise? Draco exhaled. If he waited too long or thought about the consequences of his actions too much he’d back out. He had better go now before he lost his nerve.

He wrote back:

Half hour.

Things had to change. But he needed to be cautious, he should get there now, much earlier than her.

Walking back up the steps of the East entrance of the Manor two at a time, he quickly pointed his wand to his gloves and muttered an accelerated abrasion charm, ruining them instantly. He heard his parents arguing in hushed voices in the tea room and stepped back, pausing to listen.

“- won’t send him back there. I don’t like how that vile Carrow woman looks at him.”

He held his breath and strained to listen.

“Cissy, I hardly think he’ll be safer here.”

“At least we’re here to watch over him.”

“I don’t think watching over our son’s torture is what you had in mind.”

“That woman is sick and has been salivating over him since Dumbledore’s death.”

It had been earlier than that, but at least his mother had noticed.

“If I were him, I would choose an unwanted affair with a reasonably attractive older woman over the occasional Cruciatus Curse. He might even learn something.”

Draco’s gag reflex kicked in at his father’s words and he inhaled slowly to suppress it.

“It doesn’t matter how attractive she is!” she hissed angrily. “It’s more than that and you know it! You’ve seen what she does with the prisoners, Lucius. To the children! She’s almost as bad as my sister! Do you think Draco being a Pure-blood will protect him?”

There was a pause. He waited for his father to answer.

“Severus will be there.”

“And he helped so much last year! This year will be worse.”

There was another pause. He heard his father pacing across the rug.

“I could teach him to replace me. He wouldn’t be expected to demonstrate… results for quite some time. If he were groomed for the more political tasks, his participation in raids would be considerably less. Perhaps only in the major ones.”

He heard his mother sigh in relief.

“Thank you, Lucius.”

There was another pause.

“He’ll have to use the Imperius Curse. Not a one-off like that girl at Hogwarts. You know what that means.”

He leaned against the wall, trying to hear better. He didn’t understand what they meant. Cursing Madame Rosmerta and Bell hadn’t been difficult at all after he practiced on Muggles. It wasn’t anything like his failures with the Cruciatus Curse.

He heard his mother click her tongue. “I don’t want him using Unforgivable Curses at all, Lucius. You remember what they did to you in the First War. It took you months-”

“He’s a man now, Cissy,” his father cut her off. “You can’t shelter him any longer. He’ll be expected to.”

He heard his mother exhale in anger. “It’s still preferable to going back. She’d have him doing Unforgivable Curses there anyway.”

A pause.

“You’re sure about Alecto?” his father asked.

His mother’s voice lowered menacingly. “I want to claw her eyes out.” He had never heard her speak with such hatred before. “See for yourself next time she’s here.”

The surge of affection for his mother was immediate, and he agreed that staying home at the Manor would be the lesser of two evils, Dark Lord or no. There was something wrong with Alecto. At least Draco wasn’t the focus of the Dark Lord’s attentions, like he was hers. He was simply one of many Death Eaters that were currently failing him.

The way Alecto stared at him made Draco want to vomit, and she always tried to feel him up. At Hogwarts, they’d be alone together. Something he had managed to avoid so far.

“I believe you, Cissy.”

There was silence for a few moments and then his parents began discussing meal plans for the rest of the week. After determining enough time had passed that they wouldn’t suspect he’d been eavesdropping, he strode past, stopping in front of the entryway of the tea room. His parents turned to face him. Neither appeared as if they had just been discussing whether it was preferable for him to be merely tortured by the Dark Lord, or raped and… whatever else Alecto wanted to do with him, or make him do to others.

His determination to see Granger only intensified.

Something had to change.

“I’m heading to Diagon to pick up new Quidditch gloves. Can I get either of you anything?”

“No thank you, Draco,” his mother replied and walked over to him.

“We have some things to discuss after dinner,” his father announced, giving him a disapproving once-over. “You’re going to Diagon dressed like that?

Draco looked down at his sweaty Quidditch uniform. He wouldn’t have time to shower if he wanted to get there before Granger. “I need to see what will fit properly. There’s some new equipment that’s arrived as well.”

Even though he was a good six inches taller than his mother she still managed to look her nose down at him.

She sniffed. “At the very least, Scourgify yourself.”

He did, aiming the blast away from her and out the open door. After Draco was passably clean, she leaned up to press a cool kiss to his cheek. She cupped his jaw fondly and he gazed over her head at his father who had a small, rare smile on his face.

The Dark Lord hadn’t been at Malfoy Manor for a few days. Despite his parents’ previous topic of discussion, everyone in his family was perceptibly more relaxed than when he was physically present at the Manor. Even if Nagini was still on the Manor grounds somewhere slithering around, they could still enjoy a dinner together. At least with the nice weather, the giant snake preferred to be outside.

Draco kissed his mother back and nodded good-bye to his father. Pulling his gloves off with his teeth, he strode quickly towards the Floo, summoned a few Galleons and shoved the ruined gloves in his pockets.

“Leaky Cauldron,” he called out while throwing the Floo powder.

Draco stepped out into the pub in a whoosh of green flames. Surveying his surroundings, he noticed the atmosphere was considerably more subdued since the Ministry had been overthrown. Everyone appeared fearful and worried.

Shaking the ash out of his hair and turning on heel, he strode out into Diagon Alley, making his way to the ice cream shop while surreptitiously checking for a large brown mess of hair. He’d come back for new gloves after his meeting with Granger.

He entered Fortescue’s to see a young mother and child in the corner, sharing a sundae, but no one else. The mother was dotingly wiping the mouth and rosy cheeks of the child as vanilla ice cream dribbled everywhere. He smiled at her affection. Definitely not Granger. Draco approached the counter, ordered a scoop of strawberry and a scoop of chocolate and paid with a Galleon, telling the vendor to keep the change.

Taking a seat in the corner so he could face the shop, he spooned the ice cream into his mouth slowly, peering out the windows while keeping an eye the entrance. He savored the taste of the chocolate on his tongue, and then took another spoonful, mixing it this time with the strawberry. After a few minutes, a small blond girl shyly walked in, probably not even old enough for Hogwarts. Staring up at the menu and fidgeting with the hem of her robe, she didn’t even send a side glance his way. She looked like she was too timid to even order for herself.

He smirked. Definitely not Granger.

Draco watched the occasional customer come in, place an order and then leave. No one else stayed, but he was still early. The girl sat at a table next to him, swinging her legs and digging her spoon into a gigantic bowl filled with ten colorful scoops of ice cream. He smiled wistfully, acutely missing the carefree days of childhood.

She smiled up at him with a toothy grin, already missing a few pearly whites. “Cherry’s my favorite!”

“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m torn between chocolate and strawberry myself.”

She scrunched her nose at his ice cream with disgust. “Only wankers like chocolate.”

He snorted a laugh. This one had a mouth. “What does chocolate have to do with being a wanker?”

She licked her spoon. “My brother’s a wanker and chocolate’s his favorite.” She peered up at his face and scrunched her nose again. “You look like him.”

“Does your mum approve of you using language like that?”

“My brother always says ‘wanker.’ Why can’t I?”

Draco snorted again.

His mother wouldn’t hesitate to give him a light stinging hex to the rear in those days for cursing. Even now he would get the occasional smack upside the head. Speaking of which, he wondered how safe it was for such a young girl to be wandering around on her own in times like this.

“Where is your mum?” He craned his neck, searching through the windows of the shop. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

“In Madame Malkin’s.” She looked up at him with innocent, big blue eyes and blinked. “I’m a nuisance and have to wait here for her.”

He laughed, remembering the days when his mother would do the same with him. “I bet you are.”

She sniffed in his direction. “You stink.”

He sent her a scolding glance. This one really did have a mouth. “Didn’t have time to shower.”

She returned to licking the cherry ice cream off of her spoon and started swinging her legs again.

The mother and daughter in the corner left, leaving the shop empty for the time being, and the cashier went into the back to take a break. Draco shifted his posture to keep an eye on the entrance when the girl stood up, accidentally knocking her ice cream onto the floor with a splat.

She turned to him, blinking those big blue eyes of hers. Did she seriously expect him to clean up her mess? Her mum could do it when she got back. Or she could get the lazy cashier back from his break.

Her lower lip trembled and she stared at him pleadingly.

He was not going to clean that mess up.

She made a small whimpering noise, almost ready to cry.

Aw hell.

“Hold on, kiddo. I’ll help you with that.”

Grumbling loudly, he summoned some napkins and crouched down on the ground to start wiping the ice cream off the floor. He couldn’t believe this. After trying to pick up her bowl while getting as little ice cream on his hands as possible, he heard a muttered ‘Expelliarmus.’

Draco’s wand slipped out of his grasp while siphoning up her ice cream. He snapped his head up to see a devious toothy grin.

He narrowed his eyes.

Granger.

“You really do stink, Malfoy.”

She dug her fingers into his bicep and Disapparated them.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

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Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Having been caught unawares from the sudden Side-Along, Draco collapsed onto the floor in a mess of napkins and ice cream and cursed loudly. Before he had a chance to get his bearings, he found himself bound to a chair on the other side of a room he didn’t recognize.

“You fucking twat,” he spat, glaring at the smiling girl who was looking supremely satisfied with herself. “Let me out. Now.”

He struggled ineffectively with the ropes and scowled at the ice cream on his Quidditch jersey.

“Sod it all. Did you have to get ten scoops?”

Granger waved her wand, removing the ice cream from his shirt and hands.

“I like cherry.” She sat on a bed across from him, crossing her legs in front of her, and blinking her eyes at him. He could tell she enjoyed playacting at being a kid.

“Stop it. That’s weird.”

He struggled against his ropes again. Bugger, they were tight. Granger didn’t skimp on her binding hexes. She smiled with that toothy grin again and he scanned the room, trying to get a sense of his surroundings. It was a girl’s bedroom with mild earth tones for coloring. Non-moving pictures adorned the wall.

Draco curled his lip in distaste.

Muggle.

Some stuffies were piled on the bed next to her. Books were everywhere.

Lots of books.

Too many books.

He snorted. “Where the hell are we? Is this your room?”

Fucking swot.

“Yes,” she said in the little girl’s voice. “And I’m not alone in this house. I’ll hex you if I feel threatened in any way.”

He shot her a look of disgust. “Even if I would, I certainly couldn’t to a…” He eyed her. “How old are you supposed to be anyway?”

Granger chewed on her lip. Now he could see the intelligence and maturity in her expression. It was extremely unsettling in a child. “Seven. I think.” She flicked her gaze down at the rug. “That’s going to stain.”

Draco glared at her as she cleaned it up with her wand. “Find someone who cares.”

His eyes travelled to the desk to his left, surveying a litany of Muggle objects that he couldn’t identify. He sneered again.

“In case you’re having trouble recalling,” he spat at her. “You asked me to meet you. Out with it, Granger. And release me. You’ve already got my wand.”

She waved her wand and the ropes disappeared. He stretched his arms and rolled his wrists around, grateful for the release in pressure. The little girl eyed him. “Veritaserum. Why can’t we use it? It’s not a potion.”

Draco smiled meanly at her. One thing about… whatever this was… was that he was in control of the flow of information. When it came down to it, she needed him.

“Who else knows about this?” he countered without answering. “You said you’re not alone.”

She glared at him, obviously angry that he didn’t answer her question right away. “I’m not alone, but only one other person knows who is giving me information. The Order doesn’t want you compromised. We’re not stupid, Malfoy.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrows. “Then what the fuck are you doing, asking me if I want to meet out of nowhere like that? What if I was with my father? Or Aunt Bella? Or the Dark Lord?”

Granger was clever, he had to admit. She had certainly taken steps to ensure her own protection, and that they wouldn’t be discovered during their meeting, but she had been careless in contacting him. To her credit, she had the sense of humility to look ashamed.

Her expression suddenly morphed to one of hope.

“You keep the Galleon on you all the time?”

Shit.

He’d have to be more careful with what he said to her. He spread his legs, stretching them against the leather of his Quidditch pants and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Give me my wand back.” He glared at her. “Now.”

She shook her head. “Only when I trust you.”

He blew air out of his lips in derision. Like that would ever happen. “Not good enough, Granger. I’ll let it go this time, but take my wand again and this ends.”

He watched her mull his answer over. “In the future, I’ll contact you in a way that doesn’t rouse suspicion.”

He scoffed in response. “You better.”

“I’m sorry.”

Granger sounded genuine but he regarded her in scorn. Apologies meant nothing if he was caught.

Suddenly, her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh bugger-”

Draco watched, fascinated, as her skin and bones deformed. She frantically kicked off her shoes while growing back to her own height which was, hilariously, still quite short. The straight blond hair of the girl transformed into a brown uncontrollable mess and the morphing figure stood up, revealing the Granger he was familiar with.

She was more or less the same as he remembered from sixth year, but more womanly, more mature, and he had always seen her completely clothed. To his incredulity, he watched as her robes split up the side during her transition, giving him an eyeful of the skin of her torso and a breast. The hem only reached her upper thigh, barely covering her bum. Granger had nice legs, he had to admit.

Shame she was a Mudblood.

She flushed and yanked the robes closed at the side, still holding both wands. He leaned back in his chair with a smile. Maybe this meeting wasn’t going to be so bad after all. He could almost forgive her for the spilled ice cream, tying him up and taking his wand.

Almost.

“Can you turn around?” Granger hissed in annoyance, walking over to her closet.

Draco’s smile widened, glad she was the one who was uncomfortable for a change.

“Nope.”

“Pervert,” she shot back at him.

You.” He pointed at her.Kidnapped me.” He pointed his thumb at himself. “Brought me to your bedroom and tied me up.”

He flashed her a smug smile.

She growled and pointed her wand at him. Immediately, a piece of fabric covered his eyes.

“If you take it off, I’ll bind you again.”

“I’m quite familiar with your kinks now, Granger.” He rested his hands on his stomach and slouched in the chair while she rummaged around in her closet, muttering to herself about kids’ knickers. “You get off on tying people up so you can grope them. Nothing to be ashamed about, I won’t yuck on your yum.”

She turned around to glare at him. “Don’t push me, Malfoy. I will hex you.”

“It’s that hard to keep your hands off me, is it?”

She cursed under her breath and he laughed.

Draco tilted his head up to peek underneath the blindfold. She removed the kids robe, took off the knickers with a severing charm and sighed in relief. She had a nice arse too. Granger looked back at him over her shoulder, holding a jumper over her breasts. Her hair hung down loosely between her shoulder blades. He tilted his head slightly after eyeing the curve of her backside so it wouldn’t look like he was peeking.

“Can you see?” her voice was half threatening, half panicked.

“No,” he lied.

“You’re smirking,” she accused him.

He shrugged. “I’m a Malfoy. I smirk.”

Granger grumbled audibly and turned her back to him, putting on a normal set of knickers and bra. White. Cotton. Of course. Uninspired like the prissy know-it-all she was. Draco watched her dress with a lecherous smile. She shimmied on a pair of jeans, wiggling her arse deliciously, and pulled a red T-shirt over her head. After adjusting the shirt, she turned back around and removed his blindfold with her wand.

He knew he still had a shit-eating grin on his face. It couldn’t be helped.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You saw.”

“I did.”

She growled in frustration. “Wanker.”

“Obviously,” he said, grin still in place. “I like chocolate.”

She snarled and stalked over to her dresser, pulling out a pair of socks and angrily tugging them over her feet, hopping back to her bed on one foot. Glaring daggers at him, she summoned her trainers from the closet. He flashed a set of teeth while she tied the shoelaces.

Flustered from the whole ordeal of having to undress and dress herself while he watched, she exhaled harshly. “Veritaserum. How are they doing it?”

Draco laughed. She was so angry, and trying so hard to get back to the purpose of this visit. It was difficult not to blatantly enjoy her frustration. Impossible even.

“Malfoy!” She smacked the bed with her hand. “I’m assuming you don’t want to be here all day?”

That sobered him up. Granger was right. He could excuse some amount of time with perusing stores, but he wasn’t exactly a shopper. He sat up again and leaned forward on his knees.

“Ok,” he replied, still chuckling.

She clenched her jaw, jutting her chin forward. “Well?”

He wouldn’t tell her it was an implant. It wasn’t as if he knew where it was anyway. They’d have to torture Dolohov for information until they figured it out.

Shame.

“Fuck if I know. One day they put me to sleep and when I woke up, I was told Veritaserum will kill me.”

Granger eyed his arm. His Dark Mark was peeking out from under the sleeve of his Quidditch jersey. Her hazel eyes met his. She looked slightly repulsed, but not from him.

“He likes to mess with your bodies.”

Draco’s smile fell.

She was right. It was unsettling, the feeling that his body didn’t entirely belong to him. That his body could betray him at any time by a foreign object placed there by someone else. He already felt like he had no control over his life or his future. His parents’ lives were hanging by a thread, as was his. It was terrifying knowing he had something inside his body that could kill him. Between that and the Dark Mark, he felt completely violated.

“Who was there?” she asked.

“Rowle and Aunt Bella were there when it happened. I don’t know which one of them did it.”

“Where is Vold-”

A rush of panic propelled him out of her desk chair to run towards her. “Fuck! Shut your mouth!” he yelled.

Draco only made it halfway before Granger petrified him. He felt his body start to careen forward and he braced himself for impact with the floor, much as he was able to without moving. She caught him before he fell and broke his nose, or worse, and staggered under his weight. She was fairly strong for her size, and grunted with the effort of supporting his larger frame. As she struggled to keep him upright, he got a whiff of the shampoo in her hair. She smelled nice and feminine. Not dirty and disgusting like he thought she would.

But he should have known that already. He held her in Umbridge’s office after catching her and Potter trying to use the toad woman’s Floo. He had been surprised then, too.

Finally remembering she was a witch, Granger levitated him over to her bed and laid him down while she took the chair by the desk. He could still feel where her hands had gripped his arms, dirtying him. He needed a shower later anyway.

Granger stood in the middle of her room and pointed her wand at him.

“I’m unfreezing you and binding you again, Malfoy. Why did you attack me?”

As soon as she unfroze him, she bound his arms in front of him and tied his legs around the ankles. He grunted in discomfort. Damn, the ropes were tight. She looked at him expectantly.

“Don’t say his name,” he said, angry at being bound again and struggling with the ropes.

“Why?” She asked, making the question sound more like a command.

Draco growled in irritation and tried to shift the ropes binding his hands to get more comfortable. “There will be a taboo on the Dark Lord’s name if there isn’t already.”

“A what?”

“A taboo,” he repeated, raising his voice in anger. “He knows the only people that dare say his name are the ones that actively defy him.” He flexed his muscles, trying to loosen the bonds and get some relief. “It’s quite brilliant actually.”

Granger furrowed her brow curiously and released his bindings, backing up to her chair at the desk. “I’ve never heard of a taboo. How does that work?”

Draco pushed himself up to a sitting position and bent over to rub his ankles where the ropes had cut into his skin. Her binding spells were strong. “It identifies the location of the person that says his name.”

She mulled his answer over. “And then what?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged in annoyance. “They’ll probably send someone to round up whoever’s said it. They know people are on the run.” He sat up and rubbed his wrists, rolling his hands around in circles to increase circulation. “Try it sometime when I’m not with you,” he taunted her. “See what happens.”

She glared at him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and his eyes travelled to her nightstand, next to his knee. There was a colorful Muggle Astronomy book there. The cover picture of the book showed a nebula that he didn’t recognize, but the level of detail and intensity of color were greater than anything he could imagine. The only pictures of nebulas he had ever seen were tiny and blurry. Enhancing the size of the pictures didn’t increase the level of detail. Not like that anyway.

Granger got up. “I’ll be back in a moment, Malfoy.” She left her bedroom, presumably to speak with whoever else was here with her in the house now.

Bint. She still had his wand, else he’d leave.

Draco heard her footsteps going downstairs and he eyed the Muggle Astronomy book. She wouldn’t know if he looked. Curious, he picked up the book and paged through it. He recognized the diagrams of their solar system and orbits of the planets and comets, but again, the pictures of the planets were far more detailed than he had ever seen.

How did Muggles manage that?

He could actually see the swirls and individual lines within Jupiter’s red spot. He looked at the caption. Muggles thought the planet was made of gas?

He snorted. Right.

Draco flipped through the book again. There were some pictures that he didn’t understand. Swirls of bright dots. He read the caption.

Galaxies.

He flipped back and saw that their solar system was inside something called the Milky Way galaxy. The tail of the spiral. Odd. And nothing on constellations. He scoffed. Clearly Muggles had no understanding of star patterns and their effect on natural phenomena. He flipped through some more and saw a picture of some Muggle in a weird bubble suit next to the American flag. With a jolt, he recognized the cratered surface and saw Earth in the horizon.

The Muggle was standing on the surface of the moon.

He was stunned, and his lips parted.

Muggles could go to the moon?

Draco flipped through some more and stopped at a picture of a large moon rock on display in a museum in Washington, D.C. A young boy was touching it with his hand and looking back at someone not included in the photo, with a smile on his face.

Pieces of the moon. Here on Earth. That little boy was touching a piece of the moon.

None of this could be true.

But… Why would Granger have a Muggle book filled with lies in her room?

He flipped through the book some more to see a drawing of some metallic contraptions on a red surface which he did not recognize. He looked at the caption which described an unmanned mission to Mars slated to happen in the next 15 or 20 years.

Mars. Muggles were going to Mars.

His thoughts were interrupted when she came back into the room muttering something into her wand. A silvery otter burst forth, circled the room and flew out the window. Was she communicating with someone? And after they had just discussed her being careful!

“Granger! You can’t fucking do that.”

She turned to him in annoyance. “I had to let someone know about the taboo.”

“You stupid bitch!” he sneered at her. “You don’t think it would be a tad coincidental if that person was told at the exact same time that I’m gone?”

“There’s only one person who needed to be told right now,” she retorted, angry at his name calling. “And they’re not anywhere where that message would be overheard. I’m careful, Malfoy.”

Granger was probably referring to Potter. That prick would be arrogant enough to strut around saying the Dark Lord’s name.

Don’t do it again.”

“Alright.” She conceded, still irritated. Her gaze fell to the book in his lap and she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

Draco snapped it shut, perturbed that he had shown any interest in the things in her room to begin with. Angry that she had noticed, he tossed it to the floor like a piece of garbage. It was a piece of garbage.

She rolled her eyes dramatically and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like it contained the word ‘brainwashing.’ Draco felt his blood boil.

“The fuck did you say to me, Granger?”

She clenched her jaw and studied him, probably deciding whether or not it was worth pissing him off.

Too late for that.

“Come on then, Mudblood,” he goaded her. “Clearly you’ve got something to say.”

She held his gaze for a few seconds. “I said,” she bit at him, flaring her nostrils, “Far be it from me to muck up your delicate brainwashing.”

Furious, he narrowed his eyes at her. His family held hundreds of years of wizarding knowledge in their personal library alone. The wards protecting Malfoy Manor were borne of twenty-three generations of blood magic. Twenty-three.

Someone like Granger could never even hope to understand the wizarding world.

She didn’t belong. She was an aberration.

And she thought he was brainwashed? What the hell did she even know besides what was taught at Hogwarts?

You’re the one who’s been lied to,” he countered. “I almost feel sorry for you. Being used by power hungry blood traitors to ruin a world you know nothing about. You’re better off here with the Muggles.”

Despite his harsh words, she didn’t look perturbed at all. Not even defiant. It was almost as if Granger expected his reaction and didn’t care one way or another. Her apathy unsettled him.

Why was he even here?

“Give me my wand, we’re done here.”

“Last question, Malfoy.”

He glared at her.

“Where’s You-Know-Who?”

He gritted his teeth. Just how far was he willing to go? If he gave her information, how much of it could be traced back to him? Everyone knew about the Veritaserum and the taboo. The Dark Lord’s location was different. He didn’t trust her and didn’t know how careless she would be with this arrangement. Whatever this arrangement was. And so far, he wasn’t getting anything out it.

That had to change. He needed to think some more about what to demand in exchange.

“We’re done. Now give me my fucking wand.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Where’s-”

He cut her off before she repeated the question. “Granger, you may have my wand, but you are not in control of the flow of information here. It’s not your life on the line.”

Granger bristled at his assertion. “My life is on the line every day.”

“So. Is. Mine.” He growled at her. “Give me my fucking wand and don’t be so bloody obvious when you contact me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I already told you I would be more careful next time.”

She better be.

“One more thing.”

“What, Malfoy?” she said impatiently, still angry that she hadn’t gotten the information she wanted.

He pointed his finger at her so she would understand how important this was. “You need to learn Occlumency. If you’re captured, I’m dead.”

She stared back at him defiantly.

“We both are.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

She tossed his wand to the floor and Disapparated with a crack.

 

~

 

“Why do I have to be the bloody kid this time?” Ron muttered, struggling to keep up with his small legs. “Slow down!”

“You lost the game of Exploding Snap,” Harry replied with a snarky grin that, despite his Polyjuiced middle-aged features, looked entirely like him. “Ronnikins.”

“Bugger it all,” Ron grumbled with a high-pitched child-like voice that came out more like a whine than he intended. “Next time we’re playing chess. You’re both bollocks at chess.”

“At least neither of you turned into a cat this time around,” Hermione reminded them.

They chuckled and abruptly stopped as Headmaster Schwartzkopf rounded the corner of the long, stone corridor.

“I vill speak Herm-o-ninny.”

She turned to Victor Krum’s large, frame. He had bulked up quite a bit since the Tri-Wizard tournament. It was strange, being the same height as him, able to gaze directly into his dark eyes. And it was odd being the same height as Harry, maybe even taller and… much, much taller than Ron.

“Thank you for this,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Harry added softly, reaching around Hermione to give Victor’s shoulder a light punch. “Let us know if we can ever return the favor, Krum.”

“Bad times,” Victor replied, sadness in his warm, dark eyes.

“Victor! How wonderful to see you again!”

The voice of Headmaster Schwartzkopf boomed down the corridor. His black boots clicked against the stone floor as he approached. Victor reached out, and the Headmaster pulled him into an awkward man hug, patting each other’s back. The Headmaster turned to face Hermione, Ron and Harry.

“And these must be your cousins…” his voice trailed off.

“Isabella Salisbury,” Hermione introduced herself holding out her hand. “Second cousin, twice removed,” she corrected.

She had no idea what kind of relation that would be, but it sounded distant enough that no one would care, or check its validity. Instead of shaking her hand, the Headmaster raised it to his lips, kissing her fingers and tickling her knuckles with his black mustache. She had taken the hair of an extremely tall, extremely attractive and extremely well-endowed dark-haired Muggle woman. She thought disguising herself as such a beautiful, voluptuous woman would help them get what they needed without too much resistance. But she hadn’t anticipated how uncomfortable she would feel with breasts this large, the unpredictable back pain caused from movements that normally had no effect on her, or the way Harry and Ron blatantly leered at them.

For the first time, Hermione felt sympathetic towards Lavender, who had been dealing with big breasts for a couple of years now.

“Salisbury,” the Headmaster put a finger to his lips. “Are you by any chance related to Marie Salisbury, inventor of the Patronus?”

“Myself, no. Salisbury is my married name. But my husband Gerald,” She motioned to Harry who shook the Headmaster’s hand, “can trace his lineage back to her.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Harry leaned forward with a smile.

“Likewise.” The Headmaster shifted his gaze to Ron and squatted down to look him directly in the eyes. “And this little man must be the reason you are here.” He dug in his breast pocket and extracted a lolly. “Would you like something sweet from Durmstrang?”

Ron looked like he was going to say something they’d all regret so Hermione took the lolly. “Thank you, Headmaster, I prefer to save the sweets for after meals.”

Victor thankfully intervened before Ron could make an arse of himself. The less Ron spoke, the better. At least scowling annoyance was an acceptable disposition for a bored eight-year-old forced to listen to his parents drone on with strangers.

Victor explained that they heard the educational standards were higher at Durmstrang, and preferred to send their child here instead of Hogwarts. The Headmaster nodded, plainly enjoying the praise of his own school and the dismissal of a rival. He nodded when Victor told him they were hoping to walk around the castle and see the library in particular. The five wandered around the grounds while the Headmaster brownnosed Victor, and each of the Trio managed to each sneak another dose of Polyjuice without notice.

Built in the Carpathian mountains, Durmstrang was a beautiful castle with a breathtaking view. Smaller, darker and more gothic in style than Hogwarts, it had less paintings and portraits and more tapestries. Probably because the climate was colder and the tapestries held the heat in more effectively. The group passed the library and Victor, knowing where they needed to be albeit not the reason, pulled the Headmaster away.

“Ve can leaf them here for now. Ven are you comhing to my games, Sasha? I haven’t seen you.”

“But Victor! You didn’t send the box seat I had last season. It had a much better view!”

Their voices receded as the two ambled down the corridor. Ron glanced towards Harry. “It’ll take some time for Krum to pry those lips from his arse.”

Hermione noticed the librarian staring at them curiously and bent down to whisper. “Ron, you have to act like a child, people are watching.” She paused. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Hey!”

Harry sniggered.

Hermione surveyed the library in thought. It was beautiful. Large, dark wooden shelves. Stained glass windows spreading columns of colored light across the surfaces of tables, chairs and the floor. She inhaled deeply and the familiar scent of parchment, bindings and books new and old filled her nostrils. A contented smile spread across her face.

“Would you like to find a private corner for some alone time?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Sod off.”

“Just you and the library. I’m sure we could make do while you enjoyed a romantic interlude.”

“Git.”

Ron snorted a very high-pitched snort.

“Alright,” Harry said, shifting into mission mode. “I think one of us should sit with Ron and ask that librarian about the first year books. That will distract her while the other searches the restricted section.”

She scanned the library again. This was Durmstrang. Largest known collection of books pertaining to the Dark Arts. “Unless there is no restricted section.”

Ron gazed up at her. “Let’s go over now so the librarian doesn’t get suspicious. Then we can split up.” He ogled her breasts. “Mum.”

This was so awkward. She almost preferred having Malfoy leer at her.

She shuddered, remembering how much of a prick he had been.

No, Malfoy was infinitely worse than this.

Exasperated with the whole situation, Hermione gave Ron the lolly.

“Here.” She tore off the wrapper for him. “This will keep your mouth occupied.”

He glared at her, but took the lolly anyway and popped it in his mouth. She grabbed his hand and they walked over to the front desk. The librarian was an old woman, hunched over slightly. Her gnarled hands were wrapped around a wand while she sent books and scrolls whizzing back to their places at lightning speed. As they approached, she peered at them critically, sizing them up. Her dark, black eyes were keen and intelligent, and she aimed them right at Harry, burning him with her stare.

Hermione could tell he was not unaffected by her gaze because he cleared his throat twice before speaking. “Good morning. We’d like to see the first year textbooks please.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Harry Potter.”

 

 

 

Notes:

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Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Hermione’s stomach lurched. It was a trap. Victor betrayed them.

All three reached for their wands and stopped when the old woman spoke again.

“I’ve been waiting for you. Perhaps you knew my niece?” She pointed a gnarled index finger to the name plate at her desk.

Maybus Trelawny.

Oh.

Hermione had never known a real seer. Divination at Hogwarts was a load of shit, and Professor Trelawny was a fraud, but the Department of Mysteries was filled with prophecies collected throughout the ages. Obviously, it was possible to see the future to some extent. Voldemort had certainly put stock in divination, as had Dumbledore.

“And I know what you seek.” The librarian’s voice creaked like old cupboard hinges in need of a good oiling. “Come with me.”

Maybus hobbled around her desk and headed off towards the stacks. Completely oblivious to the open-mouthed, slack-jawed Golden Trio.

Not a trap.

Hermione breathed out slowly, heart was still racing. Her shoulders sagged in relief and she relaxed her grip on her wand.

Not a trap.

Sybil Trelawny was on Dumbledore’s side. Was there any reason to think her aunt wouldn’t be? Hermione snuck a glance at Harry, and he shrugged, still visibly shaken. What choice did they have?

Hermione tugged on Ron’s hand and the trio cautiously followed Madam Trelawney through the maze of books. The librarian hummed to herself, tapping and waving her wand occasionally. With each flick and swish, books straightened on the shelves, misplaced scrolls and tomes whisked back to their rightful place, and books left carelessly on the floor returned to where they belonged as she tsk’d in disappointment.

They turned down another aisle and the woman pointed to four books on the shelf of varying size and state of repair. One was entitled Treatise on the Horcrux. Hermione’s eyes widened and she reached out for it immediately. Considering the magic was so taboo Dumbledore didn't even share the sole book he owned and Slughorn’s reluctance to share that he had ever discussed the topic with Voldemort, she was shocked to see a tome with the name of the very object they needed in the title.

Hermione turned to Maybus.

“Can we take these?”

The old librarian nodded. “You won’t have time enough to read them here.”

Harry took the other three and they stuffed all four books in Hermione’s beaded bag.

“Madam Trelawny,” Ron called in a high pitched voice, peering up at the old woman. This whole arrangement as a family was so odd.

The old woman gazed down at him over her hooked nose.

“Can you tell us what will happen? Will we win?”

Harry and Hermione tensed. It was an excellent question. She obviously wasn’t a fraud and could see the future. She knew they were coming, and knew exactly what they needed.

“The future has not yet happened.” The librarian stared down at him disapprovingly. “If I tell you what I know, you will not make the same choices and it will change.”

Ron pouted at her answer, but she and Harry had certainly seen enough science fiction movies to accept her reply as the truth. Honestly, she had no desire to know the future.

“Thank you,” Harry told Maybus, giving the shelves one last scan. She grunted at them and hobbled back to her desk.

Harry turned back to Hermione, his eyes travelling up and down her body, finally landing on her breasts again. “You’re going to give Ron one hell of an Oedipus Complex.”

She crossed her arms across her chest defensively. “Believe me, I’m not exactly enjoying being ogled by every male I walk past. Least of all you two. Now I know how Fleur feels.”

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Krum,” Ron said, “But your breasts are fantastic.”

She shot him a withering glare. “Is there any reason you felt you could say that in front of me?”

“Well it’s not really you now, is it? I’m just making a comment on a smoking hot woman.”

She raised her eyebrow at him. “Careful now, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you.”

“I… uh… I think I’d like that.”

Harry sniggered.

Hermione released her twenty-seventh exasperated sigh of the morning and they walked out of the library to see if Victor had returned.

Never again.

 

~

 

 

Draco walked with the entirety of Voldemort’s army through the cold stone hallways of Azkaban. He had been here twice before to visit his father and the familiar feeling of soul-sucking despair returned quickly. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live here for days, let alone months. Years.

No wonder his aunt was crazy. He could hear her cackles echoing down the corridor. No one else was speaking, let alone laughing. He watched Alecto and Amycus Carrow in step with Yaxley up ahead and slowed his pace to put more distance between himself and her. Although, with the atmosphere created by the Dementors, perhaps even she wouldn’t be sick enough to try anything.

Draco backed into someone and turned around to see Pansy’s dark brown eyes, wide and terrified. She was doing her best to project an unaffected visage, but the sheer number of Dementors was getting to her. She had never been to Azkaban before. He understood. It was a lot for someone to take in for the first time even under normal operations, and now there were no guards and the Dementors were flying around unrestrained.

Draco had never been so close to one before, let alone this many, even when visiting his father. Glancing surreptitiously around to make sure no one was paying attention, he reached out and took Pansy’s hand. She peered up at him, blinked, and swallowed. They turned forward and continued walking down the cold white corridors of the prison.

Draco watched as the Dementors flocked to the Dark Lord and they both shivered each time one passed by. Pansy’s small fingers gave his hand a gentle squeeze in thanks, and she walked slightly closer to him.

The Dark Lord wasn’t affected by their shadowy presence in the slightest. Draco knew that he planned to use them, but he wasn’t sure how. What he did know was that their visit here to Azkaban was a display of the Dark Lord’s power and control. A reminder to everyone in his army that he could do what Death Eaters could not. That even Dementors were at his beck and call, making every single person in his army vulnerable.

It was a veiled threat.

Draco remembered hearing stories about Potter learning to cast a full corporeal Patronus a few years ago, and recalled when Granger had cast one in her bedroom.

She had used it to communicate with Potter without an owl. It had been fast and she hadn’t used anything except her wand. Draco wondered if anyone in Voldemort’s army could cast a corporeal Patronus like that. Not only were they at a considerable disadvantage in the face of Dementors if they couldn’t, but Patronuses seemed like an extremely efficient method of communication for short missives. He had never seen anyone communicate via Patronus before and after thinking about it, was slightly appalled.

If one method of communication was superior to another, why not use it? Why rely on owls? He supposed the Dark Mark was a substitute of sorts, but that didn’t allow Death Eaters to communicate among themselves instantaneously, and certainly not verbally.

Dementors were far more terrifying if you had no means of defense against them. If the Dark Lord was employing the Dementors to instill fear and prevent mutiny, being able to cast a Patronus would thwart those plans. And he was sacrificing efficient communication in the process.

The thought made Draco angry. He didn’t like it when knowledge was kept from him, especially if the purpose was to keep him in line. He thought back to Granger calling him brainwashed. Certainly, there was a level of blind devotion to the Dark Lord amongst his followers. But Draco had seen through it. It may have taken some time, but he had figured out that serving the Dark Lord was folly. He wasn’t the sort to simply go along without questioning why.

He wasn’t brainwashed.

Clenching his jaw, he squeezed Pansy’s hand tighter and continued on down the corridor.

 

~

 

“It’s an implant,” Mary repeated to Hermione in irritation.

After returning from Durmstrang, Hermione had finally been able to follow up with Mary Cattermole regarding the problem with Veritaserum. Seeing as Cho was the one who had gotten her safely into hiding, and was a Ravenclaw like Mary, Hermione sent her to recruit the Healer to join the Order. Despite Hermione’s hope, she had adamantly refused.

Mary was afraid, and didn’t want to get involved in the fighting. However, when Cho explained that they were resorting to torture to get information and needed her help to understand the problem with Veritaserum, she relented with reluctance.  Hermione recalled Mary’s reaction to Malfoy being Crucio’d at her house. She was against torture for any reason. Prior to Hermione’s discussion with Tonks and Remus, Hermione had been as well.

The war had changed her conception of right and wrong.

The two women stared down at Dolohov in his cell at Pinner safe house. He looked absolutely terrible; lying on the floor, not even his cot. His eyes were closed but he had dark bags from sleep deprivation, large bruises on his body and some dried blood on his neck. She didn’t know how far Tonks had gone to get information out of him and she didn’t want to know.

Hermione couldn’t even picture Tonks torturing Dolohov, and she felt bile rise to her throat. Once again, she was grateful that interrogations were not her responsibility.

Mary had been hostile the moment she laid eyes on him.

“But I scanned him and Bixley before I brought them in,” Hermione countered.

“It wouldn’t be detected,” she replied dismissively and removed her cloak, setting it atop a chair. “I’ll need anti-bleeding paste, blood replenishing potions and a diagnostic serum to start.” Mary pursed her lips and gave Hermione an irate look, dark eyes angry, greying hair coming out of her bun. “I don’t approve of what you’re doing.”

“I know. None of us likes it,” Hermione hoped that her shared feelings would reduce her hostility.

“And yet you’re torturing them anyway,” Mary pressed, glaring at her.

“If we can use Veritaserum, we won’t have to.”

She hoped that this project would keep Mary working for them as a Healer. They still didn’t have one, couldn’t afford an infirmary, and their medical supplies were sparse, consisting of what they managed to scavenge. Anything Mary would do with Dolohov and Bixley would have to be in their own containment cells at Pinner safe house. She didn’t even know if they had the items Mary requested to start working now.

Relying on Madam Pomfrey was too risky to the staff at Hogwarts that were already working undercover. But Minerva had offered to bring supplies from Pomfrey just this once so Mary could get started. Too much pilfering of the Hogwarts infirmary would surely lead to questions and rouse suspicion.

Seeing how reluctant Mary had been to help them, Hermione had asked her if she knew someone else that would join them instead, but Mary flat out refused to give them any names, not wanting to endanger her colleagues. Despite the fact that the Order rescued her and her husband, she didn’t trust them. Seeing the handiwork of Tonks’ interrogation sessions wasn’t helping.

If they had a Legilimens, none of this would be necessary. Hermione thought back to Malfoy’s comment about having to learn Occlumency. Hermione discovered very quickly that learning Occlumency couldn’t be done from books alone. She would need a mentor. What if…

She turned to Mary in a burst of inspiration.

“Mary,” Hermione asked tentatively. She tore her eyes away from Dolohov as he groaned on the floor. “I know you don’t want to work for us, but would you be willing to train someone?”

Mary released an exasperated sigh. “Being trained as a Healer requires four years of study and two years of rotation.”

“We’ll take what we can get,” Hermione answered, hopeful since she hadn’t flat out refused. “We’re desperate.”

“Clearly,” was Mary’s annoyed answer. “I told you. I don’t want to be involved.”

Hermione was beyond aggravated. Mary and her husband would be in prison if it weren’t for the Order. Possibly dead. Any of them could have been injured or worse when they took Mary and Reginald into hiding. Time to play on her sympathies.

“If Cho had broken a bone getting you and Reginald out, she’d likely be crippled for life. We only know basic first aid, and don’t have a Healer on staff, let alone someone familiar with dark curses. Cho was a Seeker for Ravenclaw, you know. If we couldn’t heal her properly, she’d never play Quidditch again. And that’s assuming she’d even live through this war.”

Mary flared her nostrils at Hermione, even more angry that she was so obviously playing to her guilt and fondness of Cho.

“Fine,” she spat back. Mary turned to Dolohov in thought and crossed her arms. “Get me two Portkeys that I can activate at any time to a location of my choice and I’ll do it.”

Portkeys.

Or lack thereof.

The bane of Hermione’s existence. Being suddenly caught in an anti-Apparition ward was terrifying. Mary must have been shaken from the experience of not being able to leave her own home when it was invaded by Death Eaters. Hermione couldn’t blame her. She was terrified of it happening at their safe houses.

“Alright, but that will take some time,” Hermione promised, not knowing how she would get one, let alone two Portkeys.

It was time to take matters into her own hands.

 

~

 

Minerva entered the Tonks’ kitchen levitating two stacks of books of varying colors and thicknesses. Kingsley, Remus and Tonks eyed the stacks in curiosity and Hermione stood up, giddy with excitement.

Finally!

They all watched, amused, as Hermione practically skipped to the kitchen door and eagerly grabbed a few books off the stacks as Minerva carefully lowered them to the table. It was almost like being in school again. Her ex-Professor gazed down at her as she flipped through one of the books.

“These are the references Madame Pince recommended for you. I suggest you make copies as soon as possible so I can return them. We don’t want the wrong person to notice that all books regarding Portkeys are missing.” Hermione gave a non-committal sound, indicating that she heard, and continued paging through the book.

“Hasn’t changed a bit, has she?” Remus quipped.

Hermione shot him a glare and Tonks sniggered.

“Thankfully, she hasn’t,” Minerva replied fondly, generating a smile from Hermione. “I applaud your initiative Miss Granger and I don’t doubt you’ll master the needed Arithmancy. But you’ll still have a difficult time acquiring the potions ingredients necessary for Portkey creation. They’re rare and expensive. We simply don’t have the funds.”

“Well…” Hermione shifted on her feet nervously. “I wasn’t planning on purchasing them.”

Minerva’s eyebrows rose to her forehead.

After the conversation about torture, Hermione didn’t think Remus and Tonks would disapprove of her plans for larceny. And she had a feeling Kingsley wouldn’t care either. She eyed him. He looked impressed, actually.

But Hermione wondered what her strict, rule abiding professor would think. The Order was essentially an underground guerilla operation. Known members would be arrested on site. They couldn’t hold jobs and were subsisting on everyone’s savings until Kingsley could come through with a reliable funding source.

How else could they get expensive, necessary supplies if not through illegal means? Hermione looked at her teacher anxiously. After a moment of surprised silence, Minerva spoke.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” She said with a small smile. “Perhaps Horace will know where to begin your search.”

Hermione sighed in relief. They were one safe house raid away from complete destruction. And Portkeys took time to make. She didn’t want to wait for a funding source to fall into place before they started buying them on the black market or working with sympathetic Ministry officials in the Portkey Division. It wasn’t something that could be put off, but the Order didn’t have the resources to devote to them.

So… Desperate times, desperate measures.

No one else had the bandwidth to prioritize Portkeys, so Hermione would have to make time. And she’d have to break the law in order to do so. To be honest, it wasn’t the first time she engaged in illegal activities.

It was for a good cause. Totally justifiable.

“Thanks for your help,” she smiled at Minerva gratefully. “I may need the Arithmancy looked over. Do you think Professor Vector-”

Minerva shook her head. “No, Septima has no love for the Carrows but she can’t be trusted with anything having to do with the Order. I’ve heard one to many suspicious comments from her in the faculty lounge to risk it. If you need help, I’ll take a look. She’s not the only one capable in Arithmancy you know.” She pushed her spectacles higher up on her nose. “Where are you going to brew?”

That was a good question. But Hermione didn’t even have the ingredients yet. Potion brewing was a problem for another day.

“One thing at a time.”

Remus nodded approvingly at her and glanced down at his notes. “The first topic for tonight: Hogwarts students?”

Minerva turned to him, she had been receiving worried Floo calls from parents over the past few weeks since Hogwarts opened.

“Yes,” she replied. “The Carrows and Snape grow more and more powerful and are beginning to use Unforgivable Curses on students in detention. They are also teaching older students to cast them and there is only so much the faculty can do. I’d send the students home, but their parents think Hogwarts is safer. I am at a loss.”

“Are there any students in particular that are targeted more than others?” Remus asked.

“Of course,” Minerva confirmed. “Ginevra Weasley for one. It’s known her family is part of the Order.”

Hermione’s stomach lurched. Unforgiveable Curses were being used on Ginny? Who else was suffering at Hogwarts?

“Luna Lovegood,” Minerva continued. “Her father has been printing anti-Ministry articles in the Quibbler. And some of the older students who refuse to curse younger students and are targeted in turn.”

“So, they have three options,” Remus said, shuffling his notes. “Stay at Hogwarts, go home, or if they are of age, come fight for the Order. Of the sixth and seventh years, you’ll need to figure out who wants to fight without giving yourself away.”

Minerva nodded and Hermione grimaced at the thought of their already cramped living space becoming even more crowded. Much as she would love to see more of her former classmates join them, waiting over two hours to shower after combat training had gotten old quickly.

They needed more safe houses.

They needed more Galleons.

They needed Portkeys.

Hermione sighed.

“There will be a new set of names added to the Undesirable List in two weeks,” Kingsley commented. “Students with parents on that list will undoubtedly be targeted and should go into hiding with their families.”

“When can you find out the names?” Minerva asked.

“In a week,” Kingsley replied. “But if the students trickle out one by one, the Ministry will get suspicious. You’ll put yourself and other faculty at risk and have trouble getting the rest of the children out under the increased scrutiny. I suggest evacuating those that want to leave all at once with the Order’s help. Then we can help families that choose to go into hiding do so.”

Tonks flipped through a barrage of bright colors in her hair while she stared at the ceiling in thought. After settling on green she brought her gaze down and spoke. “So we need to evacuate everyone within two weeks.” She turned to Minerva. “Can you buy us time?”

Her teacher nodded. “During a Quidditch game would be best. The entire faculty attends. Some missing students may not be noticed while everyone is distracted. I’d assume two hours.”

Hermione, remembering Tonks’ discussion on Muggle military communications devices, had made everyone in the Order their own D.A. Galleon for communication during raids and other operations. She brought them to the meeting intending to make a demonstration but quickly saw her timing was fortuitous. The Galleons would be perfect for communicating at Hogwarts. She had about twenty-five of them now and took the five she brought out of her pocket, placing them on the table.

“Collecting funds for Portkeys?” Tonks teased her. “You’ve got some ways to go.”

Hermione scowled but Minerva had a knowing smile. She knew all about D.A. Galleons.

“We used these in fifth year to communicate without anyone knowing. I made one for every member of the Order, we can use them during missions for instant communication. I think they’ll be especially helpful at Hogwarts. That place is a maze.”

Everyone took a Galleon and flipped it over in interest.

Hermione thumbed hers.

Tonks is an arse.

They all laughed at the appearance of the message on their Galleons.

“Clever, Hermione,” Tonks said with a smile. “Very clever.”

 

~

 

“Can you see?” Hermione looked at him over her shoulder, covering her breasts with a jumper, but the curve of her arse and back was on full display for him. Her hair hung down loosely between her shoulder blades.

“No,” he lied.

“You’re smirking.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, bit his fist and rolled over onto his side. He couldn’t stop thinking about Granger. Night after night the fucking bitch wouldn’t go away. Not even the visit to Azkaban got her out of his head. He was so hard it hurt and he couldn’t stop seeing naked images of her. She was forbidden, which made her that much more tantalizing. Inasmuch as she was Potter’s sidekick, Undesirable Number Two, a known member of the Order, but also a Mudblood. Everything he shouldn't want. He wasn’t supposed to react to her this way.

It was one thing to make her feel uncomfortable and taunt her, to appreciate a breast, arse and pair of legs, it was quite another to obsess over what he would do with that breast, arse and pair of legs. The more he tried to repress the way she had swiveled her upper body towards him, entire backside visible, the more he desired her.

He was weak.

Nighttime was the worst. Draco already had a cold shower tonight and it only worked temporarily. He took a pillow and pressed it between his legs, gritting his teeth. He tried to remember what being with Pansy felt like. Heavy, desperate snogging sessions in hidden alcoves, awkwardly losing his virginity while terrified they’d get caught after curfew, her mouth on his cock, dark eyes gazing knowingly up at him. It wasn’t working. He tried to think of Blaise’s mother: voluptuous and sensual, whispering into his ear while remaining just out of reach.

But Granger’s breast and backside kept returning.

“I’m a Malfoy. I smirk.”

He was a Malfoy. And Malfoys didn’t roll in the mud. Draco was better than this. He could trace his ancestry back twenty-three generations. All of them Pure-bloods. His father would never approve of this shit.

He pressed the pillow against himself harder. It wasn’t providing any relief. He rubbed the pillow against himself and grunted a whine.

Finally giving in, Draco reached down under the waistline of his boxers and cupped himself with an agonized groan. He shuddered and whimpered while tentatively touching himself. It didn’t matter. It was just a wank and he’d get her out of his system. Denying himself was only making the fantasies worse. Just a wank, no one would know except him. He wasn’t really dirtying himself. He wasn’t really touching her. Or kissing her. Or grabbing that arse as she wrapped her legs around him.

He fisted himself and moaned loudly.

Or palming her breast. Or thrusting into her.

He licked his palm and reached down, stroking in earnest, rubbing the tip, smearing the pre-come down and over his shaft. His breathing became more labored while his hand worked himself towards a swift and powerful climax.

“Can you see, Draco?”

His hand slid up and down, squeezing himself. Draco's body trembled and he bit his lip, pushing his chin towards the ceiling as he came over his torso.

Fuck.

 

 

Notes:

Another OG - in Gravidy's Gods of the Lost, the chink in Draco's bigotry begins when he first sees Hermione naked. He realizes she's attractive, hates himself for wanking to her, and does it anyway.

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Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

October 1997

Draco surveyed the guests around his family’s dining room table. Everyone from the Inner Circle was there, in addition to himself and his mother, and they were anxiously awaiting the Dark Lord’s return from wherever he had been. He shifted his eyes to his mother, sitting across from him, who had the same expression on her face that she wore when they attended high-society functions.

Calm, reserved, superior. It was her game face.

He knew she was terrified and admired her ability to hide it so well. Draco had always striven for bored and disaffected, but didn’t think it was appropriate anymore since he was no longer a teenager. He studied Severus’ expression and observed a mixture of snobbery and vague interest bordering on anticipation.

Severus’ dark gaze met his and Draco allowed the corner of his mouth to lift slightly. He was supposed to be grateful to be here. Happy to serve the Dark Lord. Lucky to have the chance to sit in with the Inner Circle.

Best not overdo it though.

He glanced at his father who was whispering to Mulciber. Draco eyed Macnair, leering at his mother. Again.

Alecto’s hand brushed his thigh and he stiffened. Her fingers paused on his leg. Draco should have waited for her to sit down first and then chosen a seat far away from her. Instead, he stupidly sat across from his mother and Severus, and Alecto promptly seated herself next to him. The woman made him feel like he had a thousand maggots burrowing within his body. But moving would insult her and he didn’t want to incur her wrath. His family’s position was too tenuous within the Dark Lord’s army.

Alecto leaned into him. Her floral perfume was strong, irritating his nose, and her hot breath grazed his ear. “I hear the Dark Lord has a treat for us today.”

At the word ‘treat,’ her red painted nails clutched his thigh briefly.

“Excellent,” Draco replied, quelling the mounting revulsion at her proximity.

He met his mother’s gaze, hoping she couldn’t see his disgust. His father was still conferring with Mulciber, but his icy eyes were focused on Alecto.

“I must say,” Alecto purred in his ear, making him shiver. “I was disappointed you didn’t return for seventh year.”

Her hand slithered up his thigh and he swallowed, unsure how he could remove her fingers without consequence. Despite being repulsed, his cock twitched, and he hoped she didn’t notice. Female attention was still female attention, especially that close to his prick.

“We’ve made some changes in detention I’m sure you would approve of.” She laughed lightly, breasts pressing into his upper arm.

Draco chuckled as well and then replied, “It was decided my talents would be useful helping the Dark Lord secure a tighter allegiance within the Wizengamot and the Ministry.”

“Alecto,” his mother asked with a demure smile. “How are things at Hogwarts?”

The vile woman leaned back in her chair, flicked her long red hair over her shoulder, and recounted a story, removing her hand while she spoke. He bit back a sigh of relief, grateful for his mother’s presence.

After a few moments the Dark Lord entered with Yaxley, who was levitating the body of a beaten woman behind him. Draco leaned forward, raising his eyebrow as if interested in who would receive the impending torture.

He dragged his gaze upward towards her body, hovering in the air above the table the Malfoy family usually ate from. Blood dripped down onto the black, polished wood. She was screaming, but silenced.

“Do you recognize her Draco?” His spine went cold in fear. The Dark Lord was addressing him directly. Draco could count on one hand the number of times the Dark Lord spoke to him. None of them resulted in anything good.

“Yes, my lord,” he answered with a perfectly cultivated sneer. “She teaches Muggle studies at Hogwarts.” He made the words ‘Muggle studies’ sound as if he had just scraped it off the sole of his shoe.

At his comment, faint derisive laughter sounded around the table as the Inner Circle members scoffed at the idea with him.

“Taught,” Snape corrected him. More laughter.

The professor was still silently screaming. The drops of her blood made little plopping noises as they hit the table in front of him. He and his parents ate a rack of lamb here together, just last night.

“And have you, Draco,” the Dark Lord’s voice was soft, and terrifying. Draco forced himself to look straight into his red slatted eyes. “Ever taken Muggle studies?

An image of a smiling boy touching a piece of the moon flashed in his mind, but he pushed the memory aside and drawled with disdain, “What use would I have for studying the habits of vermin?”

A cruel smile slowly spread on the Dark Lord’s face at Draco’s answer. Alecto laughed next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“And what do you propose we do with her, Draco?” his voice was a caress.

He looked right into the Dark Lord’s eyes and answered without the slightest waver, “Kill her.”

The Dark Lord stared down at Draco, pausing for effect. “And so we shall.”

Charity Burbage’s body slammed down onto the table and she cried to Severus for help when the Silencing Charm was removed. Draco watched his ex-Head of House sneer down at his former colleague in disgust while she pleaded with him.

Nagini slithered onto the table and Draco jumped back in his chair, relieved that he wasn’t the only one to have done so. Some reactions couldn’t be controlled.

The giant snake reared its head and bit into Burbage’s abdomen while she released an inhuman scream. A large piece of flesh was torn off and Draco could see exposed ribs. He momentarily panicked. If this was what the Dark Lord did to enemies, what would he do to traitors?

Draco met his father’s eyes, and he lifted his chin in encouragement. No hint of terror or revulsion could be found on Lucius Malfoy’s face. Draco siphoned off blood which splattered onto his robes as if it were merely pumpkin juice, forced a small, satisfied smile onto his face, and watched the unfurling carnage.

 

~

 

Draco lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was well past midnight. He had trouble sleeping since the incident with Charity Burbage. His muscles twitched, recalling the feel her blood splattering onto him. He could still hear her agonized pleas to Severus, and saw Nagini’s throat bobbing as pieces of human being travelled down her gullet.

Upon unspoken agreement, his family had been taking their meals in the tea room for the past week. No one brought up the incident with Nagini.

At least his room was warded. The snake couldn’t get in.

His family couldn’t live like this anymore. The Malfoys had to leave. But how could Draco convince his father? Could he get something from the Order that would help?

As if on cue, a sudden warmth emerged from the pocket of his pajamas and he extracted the Galleon.

Do you want to have sex?

He huffed a laugh. At his age, it wouldn’t be suspicious to be sneaking out of the Manor for a tryst. Especially at night. Hell, at any time or any age it wouldn’t be suspicious. He had to admit, Granger was a clever Mudblood.

He thumbed the Galleon.

Same place?

The glowing letters disappeared.

Yes. Now?

Remembering how angry the swot was when  forced to change clothes in front of him, he grinned and thumbed his reply.

Will you tie me up this time?

Granger didn’t respond right away. He could imagine her now. All offended, red faced and sputtering at the audacity of the terrible Death Eater. There was a pause while he waited, and then glowing letters appeared again.

Beg me and I will.

His eyebrows slowly rose in surprise.

He thumbed the Galleon again.

Kinky bitch.

He smiled. Now he’d piss her off, insulting her prim and prissy self.

There was a pause.

You love it.

Huh.

He had no reply to that.

No one would know if he came and left directly from his room if the door was silenced. His parents should be sleeping - if they weren’t plagued by nightmares of Nagini eating people on the table where the Malfoys were supposed to eat. Draco had no idea what the Dark Lord was doing. Or if he even slept in the bedroom they had given him.

Did the Dark Lord sleep at all? Maybe he just went into stasis for a few hours. Draco had never seen him with his eyes closed. He couldn’t even remember him blinking.

The Dark Lord could be at Aunt Bella’s right now for all Draco knew.

There was no reason to enter Draco’s bedroom in the middle of the night, and no one ever had, so far as he knew, but it didn’t hurt to take precautions. He set a detection spell for entry and charmed his blankets to appear as if his body was curled underneath.

He messaged Granger.

Quarter hour.

Draco had been thinking a lot over the past month about what he could share and what he couldn’t share. Not only that, but it was about time he started getting something out of this arrangement. He pulled a Quidditch T-shirt over his bare chest and summoned socks and loafers from his closet. Draco knew exactly how to use the Order to convince his father to leave.

 

~

 

Hermione Apparated with a crack into her bedroom. She was surprised to see Malfoy already there. He was lying down on her bed in the dark, blond hair and facial features illuminated from his wand. This was the second time he arrived earlier than she did to a meeting. He turned his head to face her and his grey eyes glittered in the wandlight.

“Expelliarmus!”

Immediately, he sat up and snarled, “I told you not to take my wand!”

“I know,” she explained, holding it up for him to see. “I won’t hold it. I’ll put it here, on my bookshelf. Alright?” She walked over to her books, cautiously, and his angry gaze followed her. She placed his Hawthorne wand on top of her Terry Pratchett novels. It was closer to him on that side of the room, but she could hex him if she had to.

“And I suppose you’re still going to hold yours?” he asked in derision.

“I don’t trust you.”

“The feeling is decidedly mutual,” Malfoy countered resentfully. “So why are you keeping yours?”

“I already let you go twice,” she explained, trying not to talk down to him as if he were a complete idiot. It was hard. “You already know I won’t attack you unless you attack me.”

She watched his jaw clench and unclench several times as he considered the situation.

“Fine,” he ground out.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. At least he could appreciate her predicament.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?”

She blackened out her window with a wave of her wand so the neighbors wouldn’t see her turn on the lights.

“Because Muggles-”

Malfoy stopped talking as she flicked the light switch and her room instantly became illuminated. She watched him blink as his eyes adjusted to the brightness and he looked from her to the source of light above him, raising his hand to shield his eyes. Remembering his anger when she noticed his interest in her book from the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, she did her utmost best to keep the smug grin off her face.

He was completely out of his element in her house. The Muggle world was her turf. That’s why Tonks suggested it as a meeting place.

“Light switch.” Hermione flipped it on and off a few times to demonstrate. Perhaps a bit of a smug grin slipped through.

“Stop it,” he spat at her. “That’s fucking annoying.”

She walked over to sit in her desk chair and noticed that the space exploration book was not on the floor where he tossed it last time, but back on her nightstand. He must have stayed to read it after she left.

That was… curious.

All the wizarding world knew about Astronomy was constellations and planet patterns. Space exploration was an entire field that simply did not exist. Hermione wondered what Malfoy thought of it, but pressing the issue would almost certainly antagonize him. It was like dealing with a large, hostile animal, and she had to tread carefully lest he strike.

“Thank you for the warning about the taboo.”

“Whatever,” he said dismissively.

A large, hostile and incredibly irritating animal.

She curled her toes in annoyance. So being polite wasn’t allowed either? He was such a prick. This was excruciating.

Okay, direct and to the point so she could get this over with.

“Where is You-Know-Who staying?”

Malfoy’s eyes locked on hers. She would never get used to looking him directly in the eyes like this, and couldn’t remember the last time she had occasion to.

Yes, she did.

Third year before she decked him.

She cackled inwardly at the memory.

“I don’t know,” he replied tonelessly.

She had a feeling he was lying. He refused to answer the question last time, but didn’t deny that he knew. She didn’t understand, but could ask again at a later meeting.

Hermione was about to try another question when he added, “But I can find out.”

She raised her eyebrows. That was more promising than denial. “When?”

Malfoy shifted on the bed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. She tried not to notice how the muscles of his arms flexed with his movement.

“If the Order wins, I want a full pardon for myself, my mother and my father. And I want an Unbreakable Vow with someone that will have the power to enforce it.”

Kingsley.

She couldn’t reveal to Malfoy that Kingsley was working with the Order. He was too critical to overseeing what was happening in the Ministry while garnering domestic and international support. His fingers were everywhere. Next to Harry, he was the most important person the Order had.

“That’s a lot to ask for, Malfoy.”

He sat back. “Don’t then.”

The implication was clear. He wouldn’t give them the location of Voldemort without this. Or anything perhaps. She had discussed with Tonks earlier the possibility that he would ask for something, and was prepared. It probably wasn’t enough though.

“I’ll work on it,” Hermione promised. “But it’s not my decision to make. I’ll tell you right now you need to show you’re more useful before the Order does something like that.” She swiveled back and forth on her chair, eyeing him. “There’s no reason to trust you or anything you say. You can’t just come in with a list of demands without proving your worth.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her. She watched him process her dismissal of how valuable he would be as a spy. Tonks taught her that if Malfoy felt like he was in control or that Hermione needed him more than vice versa, then he’d get more out of her then she would of him. She had to make him feel that he wasn’t very important to the Order.

It was a precarious balance of power they had and Hermione had to retain the upper hand. If she wasn’t careful, she had no doubt Malfoy would take it.

After a few moments of silent mutual staring, she tried something else. It was a shot in the dark, but she, Ron and Harry were flummoxed.

“Do you know anyone with the initials R.A.B.?”

Malfoy cracked his knuckles and she eyed his forearms. His Dark Mark rippled with the movement of his hands as each individual crack sounded in the air. She winced. She couldn’t stand the sound of cracking joints. He smiled at her annoyance and immediately set to cracking his neck, back and shoulders.

“Why?” He asked with a smile and another crack after rolling his neck.

She gritted her teeth and waited for the joint popping to stop. “It’s better you don’t know.”

Malfoy studied her for a few seconds. Something in her face must have conveyed the level of severity. He didn’t argue, but gave her an exasperated stare. “That’s it, Granger? Initials? Nothing else? Why not just pilfer Ministry records? Do you even know if they’re from England?”

Hermione chewed on her lip. That’s exactly what she, Harry and Ron had been considering. What else did they know about that person?

“A Death Eater. From the First Wizarding War.”

She watched him ponder the question and then his eyes lit up.

“You know?” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. That wouldn’t do. She had to be more apathetic.

He smiled, like the Cheshire cat. He wanted something first.

“Did you find anything out about the Veritaserum?” he asked.

This was what she was authorized to share. If Malfoy chose to get it out of himself that was his own prerogative. She supposed they could offer to do it for him if another incentive was needed. The extraction had been successful with Dolohov. She’d have to talk with Mary about that if it became relevant.

Ugh. Mary.

“It’s an implant in your stomach lining,” she explained. He reflexively touched his abdomen and her eyes followed the movement. “When the Veritaserum absorbs into your stomach wall it activates a concentrated poison. Rowle and Bellatrix didn’t insert the implant. Only a qualified Healer could have done so without any visible scars so you’d have no idea what was done to you. The Healer was probably executed to maintain secrecy.”

His hand clutched the fabric of his T-shirt. It must be incredibly unsettling to have his body modified like that without his consent. To have a foreign object inside, waiting to kill him. She watched as he pulled up the hem of the fabric exposing his skin, looking at the muscles of his abdomen, searching for a scar that wouldn’t be there. Any sign of a procedure he had no recollection of.

“We can…” She didn’t know if she should offer this yet but the rush of pity she felt towards him in that moment compelled her. Malfoy glanced up at her and she swallowed. He looked disturbed, his lips turned down. “We can take it out.” She paused, and then continued. “If you want.”

“Regulus Black,” he said softly.

He rubbed his stomach with the palm of his hand and brought the hem of his T-shirt back down, covering his stomach muscles.

“What?” she asked.

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” he repeated. “My mother’s cousin. He died young.”

“Oh.”

His cousin. Sirius Black’s… brother perhaps? Another cousin? She wasn’t sure of the relation. All the Pure-bloods seemed to be related in some way. She didn’t know how this new information would help them right now, but it was an answer. And they needed answers.

She shrugged, as if it made no difference to her. That was better. She was getting good at this.

“Who is in the Inner Circle?”

Aside from Voldemort, these would be their main targets. Also, the most likely to be entrusted with a Horcrux like his father had been.

Malfoy eyed her, possibly considering whether or not he wanted to reveal the information. She tapped her fingers on her desk and gazed at him patiently, waiting for him to decide. Are you useful or not Malfoy? How much are you willing to give in the hopes of getting a pardon?

“Aunt Bella.”

She rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”

“Rodolphus.”

“Hmm,” she replied unimpressed. Again, obviously.

“Nott.”

She gasped. “Theo?” She couldn’t picture the tall, quiet, lanky kid she remembered from Hogwarts being a Death Eater. Let alone in the Inner Circle. She abruptly closed her mouth. She forgot, she needed to act like she didn’t care about the information he was giving her.

“No, his father.” He shook his head in disgust. “Theo isn’t that stupid.”

Hermione felt a surge of pity again. It was obvious Malfoy regretted becoming a Death Eater. “Who else?”

“Macnair.”

She waited, but he didn’t continue. He wasn’t rattling off a list, instead considering each one individually. Why?

“Anyone else?”

“Rowle.”

“And?”

Malfoy ran his hand through his hair. It was longer from when they were in Hogwarts together, and fell right back down to cover his face when his head hung to stare at the ground, concealing his expression.

“The Carrows.”

She knew they were Death Eaters; she wasn’t sure of their place in the hierarchy. They were at Hogwarts with Snape. Three Inner Circle members at her school. She hoped Minerva was right and the faculty would be distracted while the Order evacuated the students.

“Any more?”

“That’s all I know.”

Malfoy was lying, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She wondered what the commonality was between the names. He didn’t mention Snape, or his father, who were obviously Inner Circle members. He of course wouldn’t want to incriminate his father, and she supposed he felt the same towards his ex-Potions professor. He did mention Bellatrix, but that was something the Order was already aware of. And he would know that they were informed about her as well.

Hermione tried for another shot in the dark. So far, Malfoy had been incredibly helpful over the past two meetings. They couldn’t trust him, but the scant information he had supplied was invaluable. She just couldn’t let on as to how critical his information truly was.

“Is there anyone else we should reach out to?”

“For?”

“That might spy?”

He barked a laugh. “Fuck you, Granger. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. Do you know how dangerous this is?”

She wondered if the Order should make contact with Theo Nott. She didn’t understand why Malfoy became a Death Eater and Nott didn’t. Both their fathers were Death Eaters. And both fathers were in Voldemort’s Inner Circle even if Malfoy hadn’t named his own father specifically. She wondered about Crabbe and Goyle, whose fathers were also Death Eaters. Would her generation blindly follow in their parents’ footsteps? Malfoy clearly wasn’t happy with his predicament, and from what he had just revealed, Nott managed to avoid it.

Then again, if they reached out to Nott, he might circle back to Malfoy and this whole arrangement would blow up in her face. Hermione would have to consider whether or not it was worthwhile to approach his friend, and if so, how it could be done delicately, so that he wouldn’t mention it to anyone.

“Speaking of which, how is your Occlumency?”

Hermione froze. It was barely existent. The Order was working on getting a Legilimens. All her practice was theoretical at this point.

“I’m learning,” she replied. It wasn’t a lie, but she could see a lack of progress would quickly become an obstacle. “Anything else you feel like sharing today?”

He smirked. “When are you going to strip for me again?”

She knew he was being purposely crass to unsettle her. Especially since he had already seen her naked and gone out of his way to make her feel as uncomfortable about it as possible.

But something in his voice and the way he looked at her gave her a thrill.

Ew.

She scowled in reply. “I’ll let you know.”

Hermione Disapparated, leaving Malfoy alone in her room.

 

 

 

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Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Notes:

If you'd like to take a break - it's recommended to do so after this chapter. If not, the next suggested break in the reading is after Chapter 13.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Out of the question.” Kingsley hadn’t even given her question any thought.

“But he’s been invaluable, and he knows where You-Know-Who is staying,” Hermione protested. “I’m sure of it.”

He looked skeptical.

“If it weren’t for Malfoy,” Hermione pressed, “we would have killed Dolohov right away and any one of us could have been captured from using You-Know-Who’s name. We’d likely compromise our safe houses in the process. It could have been the end of us.”

“I know he’s been helpful,” Kingsley conceded.

Helpful?” Hermione repeated in disbelief. “Because we used Veritaserum on Dolohov, we have a list of informants, coerced and willing, and people that have been outright Imperiused. And we were able to prevent You-Know-Who from getting the Time Turners. That would have been disastrous.”

Malfoy’s intelligence turned out to be critical, so Hermione was advocating for the annoying git as much as she could.

Not that she would tell him that.

“I’m not opposed to a pardon for him and his mother after some time, but the trust isn’t there yet. We don’t even know what we would do with the knowledge of You-Know-Who’s location right now, so it’s a moot point.” Kingsley shifted his posture in the chair, gazing at her from across the Tonks’ kitchen table.

That was true. She, Ron and Harry had a long way to go with the Horcruxes. Perhaps Voldemort could be contained, as Minerva suggested. But how would they do that? And what would prevent someone from taking his place? Taking out Voldemort was key, but the Order needed to gut the infrastructure of Death Eater control as well. At this point, Voldemort’s army was too entrenched to be defeated by merely getting rid of their leader.

“What about his father?” Hermione asked with a sense of foreboding.

Kingsley shook his head. “I’ll never be able to get a pardon for Lucius; he’s done too much.” Hermione sighed. She had a feeling that’s what Kingsley would say. Lucius Malfoy had murdered, blackmailed, tortured, kidnapped, bribed and Imperiused. And that was only what they had on record. His crimes would only get worse as the war went on.

Kingsley twisted the Shacklebolt signet ring around his pinky back and forth in thought. “It’s true Draco has been helpful, but we don’t completely understand his motivations. You said so yourself, he didn’t give you all the names of the Inner Circle despite clearly knowing them. Why?”

“But-”

“And he hasn’t reached out to you yet, correct?” Kingsley’s dark eyes held her gaze. “He’s not actively collecting information to share. You’re prying him for what he already knows. Prying, Hermione.”

“Of course,” she said, feeling a need to defend Malfoy. “He doesn’t want patterns of leaked information to be traced back to him. He’s scared.” He was her spy after all. And using him was her idea. She wanted this effort to amount to something.

“I don’t doubt he’s a highly skilled Occlumens, as you’ve said. But if we can’t trust him, then he can’t know of my involvement. Or Minerva’s. Or the Aurors’. Or any of the others that are aiding us right now that aren’t in hiding.”

Hermione rubbed her forehead. “We’re going to lose him, Kingsley.”

“Over this?”

“Probably. He was adamant about the pardon.”

“Then string him along,” Kingsley replied smoothly. “Lie.”

Hermione dropped her hand to the table and gaped at him, surprised that Kingsley would suggest a dishonest approach so easily. But then she thought about what he did at the Ministry. His entire work day was spent in lies and subterfuge.

He raised an eyebrow at her judgmental gaze. “Do you think lying to a Death Eater to ensure he works for us is unethical? As you said, his information has been invaluable; preventing any one of you from being captured, enabling us to interrogate our prisoners and just recently getting the Time Turners safely hidden. He might have saved the Order from collapse right at the beginning of the war.”

Hermione stared back at him in shock.

Kingsley was smooth. Within the span of thirty seconds: he denied her request and then convinced her to do something else entirely that she didn’t want to do. Using her own words as justification.

No wonder he worked so well at the Ministry. She was glad they were on the same side.

Kingsley traced a pattern in the wood on the table with his thumb. “I know it’s important to build trust between a spy and handler but if we’ll lose him anyway over this, we may as well squeeze him for what he knows, while we still can.”

Hermione bit her cheek and looked down at her hands. She didn’t like this. Pretending Malfoy wasn’t important was different from lying to him directly, especially when she had to gain his trust. But Kingsley was right.

“Use him, Hermione,” he continued, his dark eyes boring into hers. “You better believe he’s using you.”

She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Okay,” she agreed, holding his gaze. “But we have another problem with him. Possibly more urgent.”

Kingsley waited silently for her to explain.

“I can’t learn Occlumency from a book, Kingsley. If I’m captured, they’ll see Malfoy in my memories and kill him. He’s asked twice already about it. If I were him and decided I’d had enough, I’d Obliviate all traces of our interactions. Between my parents and our ‘need-to know’ policy in the Order, I’ve certainly done enough Obliviation to know it’s not that complicated for an intelligent, capable wizard if they’re willing to put in the effort to learn. And Malfoy is. It’s a quick fix to his worry of being discovered. And then we’re done. No spy.”

Kingsley stared at her in thought. “I know a Legilimens that can teach you,” he answered.

Once again, Hermione was stunned.

Tonks had been agonizing over the need for a Legilimens for weeks. Until Mary extracted the implant, she had been torturing Dolohov, hating herself for it and suffering the effects of repeated usage of Imperius and Cruciatus Curses. As she had explained to Hermione, every time she did it, she felt a tiny piece of her dying. And they were addictive.

Tonks had also explained that Legilimency was more effective than torture.

She couldn’t believe Kingsley hadn’t shared this with them.

“You do? Then why didn’t you mention anything when Tonks needed help with interrogation?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Because we had other options on the table. They may not have been the best, but Tonks is an excellent interrogator. She could handle it.”

Hermione didn’t know what to think of his casual dismissal of the use of torture when other options were available, or the fact that he didn’t even let Tonks know he had a solution to her problem. Perhaps he knew he’d get outvoted and forced to reveal his Legilimens, and so he never presented it as an option to begin with.

In the case of learning Occlumency, he knew there was no other option.

Kingsley was quite possibly the sneakiest man she knew.

“I don’t want this person associated with us any more than she has to be.” He ran his thumb along his jaw, and then continued, confirming her thoughts. “In terms of you learning Occlumency, we don’t have a choice.” Kingsley stood up to leave. “I’ll arrange it after the students are evacuated from Hogwarts. When did Tonks plan the rescue operation for? This Saturday?”

“Yes, around noon,” Hermione replied, curious as to who her teacher would be. “There’s a Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quidditch match that will keep everyone distracted. We expect to recruit at least another ten from the students that want to leave.”

Legilimency and Occlumency.

Hermione only knew Snape to be capable of Legilimency after he had tried (and failed) to teach Harry to Occlude.

Who did Kingsley have in mind?

 

~

 

Luna blinked at Hermione. “I changed my mind, Hermione. I want to stay here at Hogwarts.”

Neville looked horrified. “Luna, you can’t! The Carrows are terrible.”

“It’s not so bad, Neville,” Luna consoled him in a patient voice. “The younger children remaining need me here. I don’t want to abandon them.”

Hermione studied her friend. Maybe it wasn’t so bad here at Hogwarts? Luna didn’t look too worse for the wear, but the rest of the students were eager to get out.

“They have the professors,” Neville argued.

“They do, but they need older students as well,” Luna replied in that soft voice of hers.

“We were told you get Crucio’d more often than the others,” Hermione countered. “You don’t have to stay and take it.”

“That’s why I need to stay.” Luna gazed at Hermione, utterly content with her decision. “The younger ones need to see someone that can persevere. If I run, they’ll feel abandoned.”

Neville looked down at his feet, ashamed. “Maybe I should stay, too.”

Luna took his hand. “Don’t feel bad, Neville. The Order needs you. We’re fighting on the same side, but from different places.” She smiled wistfully at Hermione. “Thank you for coming for me. I miss you all.” They heard a loud cheer echo from the outside grounds. Someone must have scored. “I have to go root for my house.” She paused and tilted her head. “They’ll probably lose.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She felt somewhat humbled by Luna’s decision. “Let us know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Luna replied. And without another word, she walked out the Great Hall to join the rest of the school at the Quidditch match.

Hermione turned to Neville, lips parted in amazement. “I can’t believe it.”

“I can. She’s tougher than she looks,” he replied. “And she’s right. The kids look up to her and she knows it.”

She hoped Luna would be alright. Hermione surveyed her former classmates, congregated in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and the other kids to be evacuated today. She missed them all so much. There had been many excited hugs and everyone started talking at once before Harry reminded them all that their time was limited and they had to leave now. Minerva informed the Order they would have at most a two-hour window to evacuate the children while the Slytherin-Ravenclaw Quidditch match was going on.

Harry and Ginny, after sharing a secret smile, were already leading the younger kids out a hidden passageway past the anti-Apparition wards. The Weasleys and other Order members were waiting to Side-Along the kids to the safe houses where their families were waiting.

While they waited for Harry to return for the last run Hermione scanned the few that remained in the Great Hall. She furrowed her brow.

That couldn’t be right.

She tallied everyone again, thinking she had miscounted. She hadn’t. They were missing one.

HP how many kids with you?

His answer appeared after a few moments.

7.

Her stomach lurched. That’s what she thought. Earlier she saw a young boy run out the entrance to the Great Hall but thought he went to the loo. He hadn’t come back, must have gotten scared, and run off to hide somewhere.

First year boy missing.

Hogwarts was a maze full of alcoves, rooms, and passageways. How would they find someone that didn’t want to be found? There wasn’t much time to search the castle and they’d have to split up. She surveyed the students around her. Of the older students left, most were ex-members of the D.A.

“Who’s still got their D.A. Galleons?” She called out to them.

“We all do!” Seamus called back with a smile, holding his up. “We still use them!” Neville took his out of his pocket to show her. Everyone else held their Galleons up with a smile as well.

“Alright then,” she continued. “We’ve got a missing boy to find and an hour and a half to do it. Who wants to help?”

Eager to defy Snape and the Carrows, they cheered and crowded around Hermione so she could adjust their Galleons to communicate with the Order.

“We’ll split up in pairs and search the castle. If you see or hear anyone, Silence and Disillusion yourselves to be on the safe side. Don’t waste time searching corners, a quick Homenum Revelio will do.”

Seamus, Lavender, Neville, Hannah, the Patil twins and a few others began speaking excitedly to each other, happy to be able to help out. Hermione had no doubt they’d all be joining the Order once they got out of the castle.

Quickly adjusting each Galleon as it was held out to her, she spoke again. “We need two people to stay with the younger kids until Harry and Ron come back to fetch them. The rest of you, after the search, scratch the side of the painting with the one-eyed witch. You’ll be able to leave Hogwarts grounds through a corridor to Honeydukes.”

“It’s safe to go to Hogsmeade?” Seamus asked.

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “Don’t go into Hogsmeade just Apparate home or somewhere else from the passageway. Message the coin with your location and someone from the Order will come and get you to safety.”

Hermione grabbed Neville and she informed the Order of the change in plans. As Dumbledore’s Army split up, the Galleons proved invaluable in the search for the missing child. The D.A. combed the castle quickly and silently while the messages poured in.

Kitchens clear

Fourth floor clear

Library clear

“Neville, wait.” Hermione reached out to tug on his arm and he stopped in his jog down the corridor. The two went into an empty classroom to talk so they wouldn’t be seen by any stragglers. “If you were a scared first year, where would you go?”

He thought for a minute. “Gryffindor common room. It’s got the Fat Lady guarding the entry.”

“What was the house of the boy?”

Neville shrugged and sent a message to the Galleon.

House of missing kid?

They waited, each bent over their Galleons and glowing letters soon appeared.

Slytherin.

She and Neville looked up at each other.

“Dungeons?” he asked.

“I guess so.”

They wouldn’t be able to get in though. They’d need the password for the portrait.

NL and HG to dungeons. Password?

They exited the classroom and jogged down towards the dungeons while waiting for someone to answer. Hermione was grateful for the combat training Remus put them through daily. Her stamina had increased quite a bit from her sedentary school days.

Hermione felt a bitter nostalgia coming back to Hogwarts. It was a home away from home for all of them growing up. And she was saddened that Snape, the Carrows and other Death Eaters had taken over the administration and teaching positions.

As they ran, she felt her Galleon warm. Neville took his out of his pocket at the same time she did and they ducked into a classroom.

“These are brilliant, Hermione.”

“Thank my fifth year self,” she said with smile.

The two looked at their Galleons and then at each other in panic.

Death Eaters. Abort.

Hermione’s brain raced to remember the hidden exits and passageways in the castle from the Marauder’s Map.

“There’s a passage near the Dungeons that we can take to the kitchens and out towards the Whomping Willow to reach the Shrieking Shack. We can check the common room on the way.”

Neville nodded eagerly, he didn’t want to leave the boy behind either.

They Disillusioned themselves, ran out the of the classroom and broke off into a sprint down the corridor. Neville was faster than her and rounded a corner when a Death Eater appeared across the hall. He saw her running movements despite the charm but she cast a Shield and his hex bounced off it, blasted into the wall and separated her from Neville in a crash of falling rocks.

“Hermione!” Neville’s voice rang through from the other side.

She threw herself to the ground, reducing herself as target area, and aimed a few rapid fire hexes at the Death Eater’s torso. One of them hit and felled him, and she Petrified him immediately afterwards. She had no doubt he would have hit her if she hadn’t been Disillusioned.

Thank Merlin for combat training.

“I’m okay!”

She ran back to the blasted wall and tried to climb over the rocks to reach Neville when she heard voices and footsteps from the hallway the Death Eater appeared from. She wouldn’t be able to climb over without being caught and ran down the hallway to get to the dungeons from another direction. Combat training or not, she didn’t think she could hold off so many at once.

NL meet you there HG

After another narrow miss, Hermione finally made it down to the dungeons but Neville was nowhere to be found. She hoped he was okay.

She still didn’t know the password and the Snake Charmer portrait was being incredibly unhelpful. After arguing with him for several minutes she was seething in anger over his obstinacy. But at least she knew the boy was inside. The portrait had teased her arrogantly and let that slip by mistake.

“We don’t let other houses into these dormitories, and certainly not filth.” The Snake Charmer glared down at her in disdain, and she felt her temperature rise. She didn’t have time for this, and didn’t want to draw attention to her location by blasting the bloody bigoted portrait to smithereens.

“Surely you know the danger he’s in,” she ground out. “Let me in, and I’ll get him out.”

“I can provide him more protection than you can, Mudblood,” the portrait sneered at her.

Hermione flared her nostrils in frustration. “They’ll come and they’ll take him. You’re only a portrait. You can’t protect him so hand him over to someone who can and will.”

She watched the Snake Charmer mull her words over. “They won’t harm him. He’s a pure-blood.”

“Oh no?” She scoffed at the painting. “You-Know-Who threatens pure-blood children to coerce their parents all the time. You and I both witnessed that last year. And I bet it’s still happening under your watch right now.” The Snake Charmer curled his lip in disgust but didn’t answer. “Did being pure-blood protect Draco Malfoy? He was used to punish his father then, and he’s trapped into serving You-Know-Who now. Where were you when that happened?”

The Snake Charmer studied her in silence.

Bugger it all.

If only Neville were here. He’s a pure-blood. Sacred Twenty-Eight even. Maybe the Snake Charmer would have let him in. She couldn’t tell if she was getting through to the portrait, so she continued.

“Do you want this child’s blood on your conscience? Who cares what my blood status is if I’m helping him?”

The portrait glanced at something over her shoulder. Hermione whipped around, wand ready to strike. She saw a Death Eater casually leaning against the wall, watching them silently from the end of the hallway. Immediately, he raised his hands to show that his wand was holstered.

Had the Death Eater been listening to her talk with the portrait the entire time? If so, then why hadn’t he attacked her? Was he… surrendering? Defecting? She thought back to the raid on the Cattermole’s. Certainly Malfoy wasn’t the only Death Eater getting tortured like that, wanting to leave. How could they stand it?

Maybe the Order could get another spy.

Or was this a trick? But he could have attacked her already.

Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on her wand.

Slowly, he walked down the corridor, hands empty. She watched him with distrust as he approached, boots echoing on the stone floor. Her heart thumped wildly while she wondered what he was going to do. He was extremely tall and foreboding in those black robes, and the mask made him terrifying. The eerie shadow his figure cast in the dim torchlight extended far down in her direction, nearly touching her toes.

Maybe she should bind him as a precaution.

He closed in and she motioned with her wand when he was ten feet away. “Don’t come any closer or I’ll hex you.” She tried to make her voice sound authoritative, without the fear creeping up her spine. He stopped, and looked down at her through his mask.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “What do you want?”

Instead of answering her, he turned to the portrait and said, “Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.”

The Snake Charmer eyed the Death Eater in scorn. “That’s not the password.”

“And yet it functions as one,” he replied, his voice muffled by the mask. “Always.”

Hermione eyed the interaction warily. The Latin phrase meant ‘Purity will always conquer.’ She had no idea of the phrase’s significance other than being associated with typical pure-blood bigotry.

The Snake Charmer simmered with rage, but the door creaked open. The Death Eater turned his masked face back to her, gave a mock bow, and extended his arm towards the open portrait hole. Hermione didn’t move, still unsure of his motives, and ready to hex him. He rose up, and looked down at her.

What was going on?

“What are you doing?” she asked, wand at the ready. “What do you want?”

He stared down at her through his mask in silence. Those masks were terrifying and she felt goosebumps spread up and down her arms. He didn’t answer, and turned around to walk quickly back down the hall from whence he came. She held out her wand until he turned the corner, disappearing from view.

After a few moments she exhaled in relief. What in the world was that?

“Hermione?” Neville’s voice sounded from the other end of the corridor and she turned around, relief at seeing he was okay. “Thank Merlin, you’re alright.” His eyes widened. “Oh you got it open! Excellent!”

The Galleon warmed in her pocket. She extracted it, noting with surprise that it was the Galleon she used to communicate with Malfoy.

You’re right.

 

 

 

Notes:

For those of you who read my vampire Dramione fic, They All Taste the Same, you’ll recognize that I tweaked that Hogwarts scene for this story.

Another note: in canon, Kingsley went into hiding when the Ministry fell. The first time I saw Kingsley being used as a mole in the Ministry, being all Slytherin-y with his politics, was in Better Off Forgotten by delancy654. I really liked her version of Kingsley and decided to use it.

Also! I thought the snake charmer portrait was canon but it is not! It’s an excellent addition to the Harry Potter universe made by Thebemoon in The Gloriana Set! I loved the idea and used it. Full credit to her on world building!

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Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco surveyed Granger’s dark room in the quiet of the night.

He was floored from her conversation with the Snake Charmer portrait. She knew much more about him than he did of her. And she understood.

How?

Thinking back to when they first met at the Mudblood raid, she had asked him if he wanted to leave. And there at Hogwarts, just a few days ago, she was trying to save some kid that for all intents and purposes could have been him at a younger age. Used to punish his parents or force them into compliance.

Briefly he wondered if she would have tried to get him out last year had she known what was going on. Dumbledore had certainly tried, but it was too late for him by then. Draco had been too naive to understand that he was being used to punish his parents. But he had learned that lesson the hard way, and now saw they were all being used.

Squeezed for everything they were worth.

Granger had certainly put some thought into who he was as a person and the situation he found himself in. He hadn’t put any thought into who she was and the situation she was in. He hadn’t cared. Draco wasn’t supposed to care or be curious, or have any desire to know. Those ideas were traitorous. He’d be punished just for wanting to know the inner workings of filth or to consider the feelings of a person inferior to him.

But what really made him angry, was that all this was forbidden.

And what of Muggles?

Ever since Charity Burbage was eaten alive, he had been wondering why it was accepted that teaching Muggle Studies would merit such a horrific death. If Muggles were indeed filthy, depraved creatures, then what harm would come from learning exactly why they were? He could understand not finding a course useful, but why torture a teacher to death for doing her job?

Draco still had trouble going to sleep, often recalling exposed bones and pieces of torn flesh, and he shuddered at the memory.

It was so extreme, and yet no one wanted to know what it was that generated so severe a punishment. What could possibly be the harm in learning about an inferior people?

He had a sinking feeling that he didn’t know at all what Muggles did or how they lived. He didn’t know if he had been lied to intentionally, or if it simply wasn’t known. Furthermore, he was very curious about the other books that Granger had in her room. Her Muggle astronomy book wasn’t like any text he’d ever seen. He couldn’t explain its contents.

And that was only one.

Brainwashed.

He recalled Granger’s derisive assessment of him. He wasn’t brainwashed. But he didn’t like the thought that information had been kept from him either, whether it was intentional or not. And a lot of information had indeed been withheld.

The thought that Draco would be punished for asking questions made him resentful.

Defiant.

The Dark Lord was gone again and he thought it a good opportunity to find answers to what he didn’t dare ask.

Granger’s house was dark, empty, and eerily quiet. He knew no one was living here. Her parents disappeared and were never found. He had witnessed Greyback and Jugson being tortured upon returning from the attempted kidnapping with nothing to show for it.

Draco didn’t know much about her. Hadn’t ever wanted to. She was Pothead’s swotty Mudblood sidekick that spent her days working extra hard to make up for her innate inferiority. She was smart. Obviously. And he was forced to grudgingly admit she wasn’t just book smart either. Others hadn’t acted with as much foresight as she had, and they were sitting in dungeons dispersed throughout England because of it.

He darkened Granger’s bedroom window and flicked the switch, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the overhead light. It was surprising. If he wanted as much light as this room had, there would be more torches and candles placed along the wall and hung from the ceiling. He strained his eyes at the light. There was a faint circular outline behind a gauze material. He could only find one light source and had to admit he was impressed. It was far more efficient than what he was familiar with in the wizarding world. And it was lit and extinguished so cleanly and quickly.

He flicked the switch on and off a few times, as Granger had.

Instantaneous.

Resting his hand on the doorknob, Draco paused, wondering again what the hell he was doing here. His heart thudded in his chest. Nobody was here, but he was nervous. If he opened that door, he had a feeling he wouldn’t like what he saw.

Feeling rebellious in that he had been lied to, he pushed the door open anyway. The hallway was dark and he saw more light switches on the wall. He flicked his wand and grinned as they all moved up at once, lighting up the hallway, revealing a few more doorways and stairs leading downwards. He exhaled the breath he was holding.

An utterly unassuming hallway with doors and rooms. And it was forbidden.

Why?

Curiously, he walked down the hallway and opened the first door to his left. It was a bedroom, but with no personal affects. A guest room perhaps. He wondered if Granger was an only child like he was. Another door led to a bathroom. The toilet and shower looked the same as in the Wizarding world. He didn’t understand why Muggles were always described as dirty. Granger’s bedroom didn’t seem dirty. She didn’t seem dirty. When he had lay down on her bed, it had smelled nice, and was certainly clean.

Indeed, some of his Slytherin dorm mates were positively disgusting and no one called them filthy. At least, not in the way they called Mudbloods and Muggles filthy. Greg’s socks would get so bad Draco had actually burned a few of them to remove the stench from the dorms.

The Muggle bathrooms were similar enough to wizard bathrooms. There were some objects Draco didn’t recognize on the sink and he picked them up individually, turning them over in his hands. After reading the labels, he understood they were designed to clean teeth. He picked up the toothpaste, squeezed it curiously and put it back down.

All he had to do was a quick Scourgify. Half a second. Muggles didn’t have magic. Apparently, keeping teeth clean required a much more complicated process without it. He exited the bathroom and opened a door to find a linen closet. Nothing interesting there. Another door showed what was obviously Granger’s parents’ bedroom. He turned back to the hallway, taking in several pictures hanging on the wall, filled with people he didn’t recognize.

Still, unmoving pictures. All of them.

Aside from the fact that the pictures didn’t move, the people looked… regular. Normal. Again, they didn’t appear dirty. They didn’t seem any less intelligent. With the exception of the obviously Muggle clothing that many witches and wizards were starting to wear nowadays anyway, especially the half-bloods and Mudbloods, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

But they didn’t have magic, which made them inferior. Less evolved.

Draco leaned in and scrutinized the teeth in the smiling mouth of a woman who was obviously Hermione’s mother. Muggles didn’t have the benefit of a Scourgify, but the toothpaste, dental floss and miniature brushes he saw on the bathroom sink seemed to work just fine.

He scanned the wall for pictures of the little brown-nosing bitch growing up and with a start, realized she wasn’t in any of them. That was odd. He inspected the photos more closely. There were several pictures framed such that it looked as if another person should have been there. No, it wasn’t that Granger wasn’t in the pictures, she had been removed from the pictures.

He stood back, perturbed. Why would she do such a thing? It looked as if she were removing all memory of-

Draco sucked in a breath, completely stunned.

She Obliviated her parents in order to hide them. She removed all memory of herself from their minds, and the evidence of her existence in the pictures. He stood there blinking dumbly at the wall. It was clear now as he backed away to look at the lopsided composition of all of the photographs. Her missing self from all of these moments in her life.

Draco thought of his own parents. He thought of what he would do to protect them. Of what he had done his sixth year at Hogwarts, of his service to the Dark Lord and now of his betrayal. It was all for him and his parents. If he could Obliviate them to keep them safe, he would. His eyes grew hot with tears at the thought of staring into his mother’s eyes, her peering back at him as she would a stranger.

He wished they could all run away.

Why didn’t Granger run away? She hid her parents; she hid many of the Muggle-borns and their families and the Dark Lord hadn’t found any of them. She could obviously hide herself. Why did she stay and fight?

He scoffed.

Of course she would stay and fight. Who in their right mind would want to live amongst Muggles? She knew what the Wizarding world was. The Muggle world was exile. It was an inferior existence, not worthy of anyone with magical blood. Even for Mudbloods like her. That’s why she stayed and fought.

He considered Granger’s motivations. Was that really all it was? Draco was doing everything he could to protect his family and friends. Isn’t that what she was doing as well? Was she so dissimilar from him in that regard?

Obviously she was very brave. Gryffindor and all that shit. She cared deeply for her friends and refused to abandon them. And she cared deeply for her family, willing to go to great lengths to defend them too. She was protecting her loved ones across two completely different worlds.

But then… She came to sodding Hogwarts while it was run by Death Eaters to remove a child she didn’t even know.

Protecting those she loved was also why she stayed and fought.

He couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for her. Especially when he could identify so readily with her motivations.

Not only that, but he was forced to admit that if he was in her place, he would have disappeared with his family and returned after the war was done. Draco would have let someone else do the fighting for him.

He mulled over his revelations. Granger was doing something that he never would have the bollocks to do. She wasn’t standing off to the side, letting someone else fight her battles while she hid. She was planting herself firmly in the middle of the warzone.

But she was a Mudblood.

She was supposed to be inferior and a corrupting influence on pure-blood society.

None of what he knew about Mudbloods felt right anymore.

Maybe she was an exception?

Feeling morose and conflicted, he wandered back to her room, flicking off all the lights in the hallway with his wand.

He wondered what else Granger had to read.

 

~

 

Hermione sat in the kitchen of a location Kingsley had secured, and stared into the light brown sultry eyes of an older woman with long black hair, dark skin and painted red lips. She looked vaguely familiar, but Hermione was certain she would have remembered someone so striking.

Hermione extended her hand to introduce herself but the woman held up an index finger with a long red nail.

“No names.”

She slowly pulled her hand back, even more curious as to the identity of this woman. She had a faint accent that was not readily identified.

“So,” she purred with a curve of her red lips. “Kingsley tells me you need to learn Occlumency.”

Hermione was grateful to be starting her lessons so soon. Running into Death Eaters at the Hogwarts evacuation made the threat of capture more imminent. The Order was lucky everyone escaped without harm. No doubt Malfoy would be thinking the same thing, having seen her at the castle. He would press her again about Occlumency, for sure. Thankfully, she could say she was making progress.

“I do,” Hermione replied, already fascinated with her. “And thank you for teaching me. I hadn’t realized that Legilimency was such a rare skill.”

Competent Legilimency is a rare skill,” the woman clarified, her gold earrings jingled as she spoke. “Most Aurors can enter your mind and see your memories. A skilled Legilimens can not only trick you into revealing precisely what you want to hide, but break down the barriers of an Occlumens.” Her voice had a velvety quality to it. Hermione could listen to her speak all day. “The more highly skilled the Occlumens, the more difficult it is for a Legilimens to succeed, if they can at all. And from what I understand, that’s the level you need to achieve, correct?”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “Is that possible?”

The woman spread her red lips in a small smile. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. But it’s hard work and requires more discipline than other fields of practical knowledge. Even then, not many can develop the skill.”

Hermione straightened her shoulders. She was never one to shy from hard work. And she was certainly disciplined. However, she knew she was making a gamble and her resolve faltered somewhat. If this woman was going into her mind, she might see information about the Horcruxes. She would also learn that Malfoy was spying for them. Hermione would not be able to keep her out if the woman pressed and she highly doubted this woman would allow Hermione to Obliviate her.

The woman noticed her concern right away and raised an eyebrow.

“There’s one thing I’m worried about,” Hermione said.

“Yes?” The woman crossed her legs under her black pencil skirt and laid back in her chair, waiting for Hermione to elaborate.

“There are things that I know that…” Hermione didn’t know how to explain. The woman would likely find out about them anyway. “It would be better if you didn’t know them. Not even Kingsley knows them.” She didn’t want the woman to think that she was keeping her in the dark for negative reasons. “For your own safety, as well as the outcome of this war.”

“I believe that is why you need to learn in the first place.” Hermione nodded and she continued with a small smile. “I’m good with secrets.” The ‘s’ in secrets was nearly a hiss when it left her mouth.

Right. A skilled Legilimens would know everyone’s secrets. Wouldn’t they? And Hermione had to chance it. They needed a spy.

Like Remus, Tonks and Minerva, Kingsley knew that the trio was up to something extremely important that they couldn’t share, and Kingsley certainly had his own web of intrigue and informants that the Order wasn’t always privy to. If he trusted this woman with Malfoy’s betrayal of Voldemort and the trio’s mission, then Hermione could too. Kingsley saw the larger picture, and acted upon it.

The woman turned a diamond ring on her finger and leaned forward. “There are two techniques we will practice today. The first is to clear your mind and calm your emotions. It is your thoughts and emotions which will point a skilled Legilimens precisely to where you don’t want them to go, or reveal that you have something worth discovering in the first place. I expect you to do this twice daily: once in the morning and once in the evening.” She straightened her blouse and leaned forward. “Some people like to picture a lake. Some a quiet field. Or rain pattering on a window pane. Eventually, you will learn to do this on demand. Like that.” The woman snapped her fingers.

Hermione groaned inwardly. Occlumency sounded an awful lot like meditation. She was terrible at meditation. Her mind was always racing from one thought to the next. Clearing her mind would be where she struggled. The woman was right. Learning Occlumency would require discipline. A lot of discipline.

She must have revealed too much. The woman gave her a look of such supreme dissatisfaction because… well… Hermione’s emotions were written all over her face. She would be awful at this.

“If you don’t learn to hide your emotions and one day, cover them up with others, you will never succeed. It is extremely important.”

“I’ll do my best,” Hermione insisted.

“Your best is not good enough,” the woman retorted harshly. “I may as well not teach you anything with what you’re up against. Don’t waste my time.”

Hermione swallowed. “You’re right. I’ll learn. I’ll do what it takes and work hard.”

She must have sensed Hermione’s resolve because the woman nodded and her expression softened. “The second technique is to compartmentalize the thoughts you want to protect, and this is what will require your magic.” She rested her hands on her thighs and continued. “Sometimes it helps to picture some physical method of storage such as a series of doors, drawers and cabinets, filing folders, boxes, books…”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “I could create a library of memories?”

She nodded. “If that idea appeals to you then by all means.” The woman held out an old brown, somewhat beaten textbook entitled Magic of the Mind and Hermione took it from her. “This is my copy, and how I began to learn when I was…” she gazed briefly over Hermione’s shoulder as if recollecting a fond memory and then smiled down at her. “Perhaps a few years younger than you are now.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, and paged through the well-worn tome. “So you’re a skilled Occlumens and Legilimens?”

“Not at all.” The woman brushed a long lock of black hair away from her face. “It’s impossible to be a good Legilimens without knowing some Occlumency, but I’m hardly an expert. And I don’t need to be. The best defense is a good offense.”

Hermione looked up from the book, intrigued. “How would that work?”

The woman’s red lips formed a sinister smile. “Try getting past the mental barriers of someone who has already penetrated yours, dangling your secrets in front of you to see. Perhaps even creating false memories of your worst fears and torturing you with them.” Her voice lowered to a near whisper. “In such situations, it is hard to hold onto your sanity.”

The smile on her face was wicked, as if she relished the ability to do precisely what she described. Hermione again felt stirrings of unease at the fact that this woman would be delving into the recesses of her mind.

Hermione had never met anyone like her.

Who was this woman that Kingsley trusted so implicitly?

 

 

 

Notes:

The idea of being emotionless for Occlumency and storing memories in boxes or books comes from LovesBitca8 in Rights/Wrongs Series and Sex and Occlumency from Graendoll. There may be authors that used these ideas earlier but those are the stories that are the most forefront in my mind.

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Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Notes:

I've had a few people tell me that despite the tags in the fic description, I should be using Trigger Warnings's before chapters with difficult content. The problem with putting TW's at the beginning of the chapter is that the author gives the events of the chapter away, and they are often defining events. I'd rather take the readers by surprise. So here's what I'm going to do. I'll mention that a chapter needs a TW in the beginning chapter notes, and I'll elaborate on the TW in the chapter end notes. Those that want to read the TW and make an informed decision can skip to the end. Those that don't want to, don't have to.

Hopefully that works for everyone.
And there's a TW at the end of the chapter

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

November 1997

“So, Draco,” Lucius said, eyeing his son over the heavy mahogany desk in his study. “Tell me what we’ve been doing over the past couple months.”

His father sat back in his armchair, hands clasped over his lap in expectation.

Draco crossed his legs, leaned on the armrest of the chair and stared back at his father. His mother was promised that Draco would be trained to replace him so that he wouldn’t have to go back to Hogwarts. And now he was being tested on his progress.

“With what?” Draco replied. “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement or the Ministry Finance Bureau?”

He had gathered long ago that they had two focuses. One with regards to law enforcement and the second in finance. Many frightfully boring hours had been spent wining and dining, attending functions, plays and concerts, Quidditch matches and hosting hunting parties on the Malfoy grounds. They treated the department head of the DMLE and of the Finance Bureau, their deputies and major officers, and the occasional low ranking official.

“Both.”

His father never explained the purpose of any of their outings. He simply told Draco who they would be meeting, what their position and responsibilities were, and what activity they would be doing. Lucius preferred that his son figure things out on his own.

Draco followed his lead and made small talk, observing and taking mental notes, not knowing in the beginning where all of this seemingly wasted time would benefit them, but knowing it had a purpose. He started to piece things together over the past few weeks, watching his father expertly direct the conversations without a whiff of ulterior motive. Over time, Draco developed a grudging appreciation for his father’s nuanced approach.

Lucius Malfoy was a snake. It was impossible to know he was going to strike until the fangs were in your throat and the venom coursing through your veins. And by then it was too late.

Draco sat up straighter and described what he’d been able to suss out thus far. “We know the Order is looking for financial backing. Whatever funds they may have pooled together are going to run out after putting the Mudbloods and Order members in hiding – if they haven’t already.” He cleared his throat. “There are more banks than Gringotts in England, and they all report quarterly to the oversight committee at the Ministry Finance Bureau.”

His father tapped his finger on his knuckle, patiently waiting for Draco to elaborate.

Draco shifted in his chair. “By now, it’s glaringly obvious the Order won’t be able to secure any domestic donors; at least, not any major ones. So the majority of their funding will be from abroad. We should be able to identify the bank they are using from those quarterly reports, and which account depending on timing, quantity and the nature of the bank transactions. We’d have to follow up with the bank to get more detail, of course, once we’ve identified the account.”

“Or banks,” his father corrected.

Draco raised his eyebrows.

“There may be more than one,” his father continued.

“Right.”

His father’s icy eyes stared back at him. He looked somewhat pleased so far. “What next?”

Encouraged, Draco continued. “So we’d need the quarterly reports. Worthington has some debts that-”

His father shook his head. “No, no, no, Draco,” he tsked. “Worthington is a pressure point to exploit but not over something as simple as quarterly reports. Save his financial difficulties for something larger. All we need are a few files tucked away in offices. Who has access to files?”

Draco thought for a moment. “Staffers. Interns. Even janitors.”

His father waved his hand for Draco to continue. He remembered his father’s conversation with his mother about using the Imperius Curse before he met Granger at Fortescue’s.

“I could Imperius one of them-”

His father tsked again. “The Imperius Curse is unnecessary in this case. Always use it as a last resort. You’ve met Worthington’s interns.”

Draco thought back to the interns. All of them young, at the beginning of their careers, perhaps only a year or two older than he was, having already graduated Hogwarts or the other Wizarding schools. There was a tall, voluptuous blond. She was shy and turned away blushing furiously every time he entered the Financial Bureau with his father. Draco groaned inwardly. Was she who his father was referring to?

“Elizabeth?” he guessed, failing to prevent his trepidation from seeping out.

His father gave him an amused glance. “Oh come now, Draco. Surely some frottage in a closet and a few meaningless promises are preferable to Alecto?”

Anything was preferable to Alecto.

But Draco felt angry that once again, he was just a tool to be used in service of the Dark Lord. He didn’t have any control over what he did with his body, whether it was getting Crucio’d after raids, having deadly items inserted inside of him, and now for sex. He had no control over his future either. His life under the Dark Lord’s rule would forever be weighing the pros and cons of extortion, bribery, blackmail, threats, Imperius Curses, seduction and whatever other power plays he could come up with to pull strings at the Ministry.

“Do I Obliviate her afterwards or keep up the affair?” He couldn’t keep the dread out of his voice.

“I think you already know the answer,” his father replied.

“Those reports come up quarterly,” he muttered.

He felt like a whore. Seducing some random intern for financial documents of all things. He’d never before felt that his looks were a disadvantage, but between Alecto and how he was being used now, he wondered if Vince was lucky. The more talents, skills and attributes at your disposal, the more you were exploited, the more you were expected to perform. Draco felt like he was being squeezed of everything that belonged of himself.

His father gave an imperceptible nod. “An affair with an intern provides excellent pretext for office visits. And we’ll need the Financial Bureau for other purposes in the future. And of course, keep your dalliances discreet. We have the Malfoy name to preserve.”

Draco glared at his father. Feeling defiant, he said dryly, “Heaven forbid someone think the Malfoys are anything but ethical upstanding citizens.”

His father narrowed his eyes at him. “Would you prefer Hogwarts?

No.

No, he absolutely would not.

Draco sighed in resignation. “Why not the Imperius Curse?”

His father’s jaw clicked, and he studied him, seemingly not wanting to answer. After a few more moments of silence he replied, “Only as a last resort, when all other options are exhausted.”

He remembered his mother telling his father she didn’t want him using it and wondered what the issues were. But his father wasn’t keen to elaborate. After holding Draco with an unwavering gaze to emphasize the importance of his guidance, his father continued, “What else?”

Draco tilted his head in question. “With the DMLE?”

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and wondered how many affairs he would be expected to balance. At least the DMLE seemed to be populated primarily of men. Horrified, he wondered if his father would expect him to seduce the younger men. Or… The older men? He didn’t know if he’d be capable of that. Maybe Alecto would be preferable.

“You can’t play the affair card everywhere, Draco,” his father said, seemingly knowing where his thoughts were going. “Even if you’re discreet, you never know who is talking with whom during coffee breaks and lunch hours.”

He sighed in relief. His father leaned back and prompted him again. “The DMLE?”

Draco cleared his throat. “They have some kind of rivalry with the Aurors and feel threatened by their existence. I suppose we are going to encourage them to absorb the Auror Office? No more specialization in taking down Dark Wizards? The DMLE will be easier for the Dark Lord to manipulate without the Auror Office functioning independently. Or the Aurors.”

His father’s teeth gleamed in a rare, wide smile. Having spent enough time in Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy did not like Aurors. This task of theirs was personal.

“And how do we do that, Draco?”

They’d certainly heard enough complaints from all that time spent with DMLE officials. The Auror Office was a sore topic with them.

“They’ve just about gone and done all our homework for us.” His father nodded appreciatively and Draco continued. “A few can be forced into early retirement, Jacobson can be put on medical leave instead of the desk job he’s been given, suspension for Young and Gerber for allowing the classified files to be copied and the Veritaserum stores raided, suspension or even Azkaban for Bailey, Lang and Smith for the illegal use of force complaint that was covered up two years ago.” Draco took a breath and raked a hand through his hair. “Of those that are left, they can be folded into the DMLE and given desk jobs with low responsibility. Especially the younger ones. Maybe they’ll leave for other careers out of frustration. There are a few Aurors which we suspect are aligned with the Order.” He paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued. “There are several in the DMLE who will spy on them purely out of spite.”

“That is the end goal,” his father commented, clearly impressed. “How will it happen?”

“Pius and his office will step in if we approach them properly. Kingsley will be a surprising ally in this. The Auror Office passed him up for promotion and he’s bitter, eager to change sides. Johnson will help. Wexler…” He looked up at his father in question. “We need Alexandra Wexler and she has no pressure points. Imperius?”

His father nodded wordlessly. “She has too much integrity to be swayed otherwise.”

“At least someone does,” Draco muttered resentfully.

He really should keep his mouth shut but this feeling of being used, shut in the dark, and lied to, inspired more back talk than he had ever given his father when he was younger. Their current situation could have been avoided if his father would have made better decisions to begin with. Maybe they could have gone into hiding.

Lucius held him with his icy stare. Perhaps wondering if it was worth getting into a fight with Draco for running his mouth. Ultimately, Draco was falling in line despite openly expressing his displeasure with what he was doing. His father seemed to allow him a small degree of verbal rebellion and continued as if Draco said nothing.

“This will be very different from that one off with the school girl and barmaid. You’ll be holding the Imperius Curse for months and then Obliviating her when we no longer need her. You’ll need to practice first.” He waved his hand. “At least those in the dungeons will finally have some use.”

Draco held back his revulsion at the thought of the prisoners and squalid conditions in the Malfoy dungeons.

Ultimately, his father was doing his best for him. Draco knew that. There was only so much one could do, Death Eater to Death Eater, within the Dark Lord’s Army. Twisted as it was, he should be thankful for the opportunity his father presented. He had no idea how his father had finagled this opportunity from the Dark Lord, and hadn’t asked.

Draco was being ungrateful. He had never willingly confronted the Dark Lord, never asked him for a favor and couldn’t imagine doing so. His father had done both for him. At least by spying for the Order, he could secure a pardon to convince his father to go into hiding. He could get his parents out.

“I’m sorry, father.”

The Malfoy patriarch gave Draco a look he couldn’t decipher, but nodded in acceptance.

Draco returned to the topic at hand. “And then we go back to the Ministry?”

His father chuckled and shook his head. “Of course not, you can’t just go Imperius someone like Wexler at the Ministry. We’ll get her schedule and catch her unawares either at home or somewhere else.”

“Alexandra goes flying three times a week,” Draco remembered she had been a Quidditch player back in her youth.

His father’s lips lifted slightly and he pointed at Draco. “And so will you.”

 

~

 

Draco entered a cell in the Manor dungeons. He had placed one of the older male prisoners under the Imperius Curse a few days ago and checked daily to see how the curse held. Trying not to make eye contact with the other prisoners who were fearful and cowering in the corner, he forced the older male to walk back and forth. There was no resistance. His curse was still active. He tried to make the prisoner do something more embarrassing, something he would likely resist, and compelled him to do a somersault.

Two of the children laughed, despite their fear at Draco’s presence in the cell. Draco’s lips twitched and he made the man do the somersault again. The kids laughed louder, but Draco felt disgusted with himself. Instinctively, he wanted to make them laugh, but had taken away someone else’s free will to do it.

He turned away from the children, remembering when he was their age.

Draco used to play here when he was younger with his friends. They had enjoyed many afternoons pretending to capture, torture and kill Mudbloods. The dungeons were dark, spooky and maze-like, perfect fodder for imaginative children. Once Daphne had accidentally locked him inside the adjacent cell and his mother spent over an hour trying to get him out. Draco cried, pretending to be scared. His faux terror had earned them all ice cream instead of the swift punishment that was originally promised.

All that play acting with Mudblood prisoners seemed like harmless fun back then.

“Any fresh ones, Malfoy?” Stan Shunpike’s voice brought Draco out of his reverie as he walked down the corridor.

Draco had wanted to leave, but now he’d have to stay until Shunpike finished. He led Shunpike to the other cell and opened it. The women inside heard them approach, buried their heads and curled into themselves, trying to be as small and as inconspicuous as possible.

“A few,” Draco replied with a sneer. “Depending on your definition of ‘fresh.’”

Shunpike chuckled.

At least the children wouldn’t have to watch. The Snatchers had more success after the initiation of the taboo, the results of which lay before him at Malfoy Manor, and other places he wasn’t currently aware of.

“I prefer blondes, if you don’t mind,” Shunpike continued. He unbuckled his belt and motioned to the Mudblood women trembling in the corner. “You’re not going to take one?”

Draco shook his head. “I’d rather not dirty myself.” He studied his nails with disinterest as Shunpike advanced on the younger of the two women. “Don’t take too long, I have things to do.”

He stood at the entrance of the cell door and turned away. He always turned away, unable to watch. The revulsion on Draco’s face, misinterpreted by others as an aversion to getting filthy, was real. But his loathing was towards himself. He was complicit, but didn’t know what to do without endangering himself and his family. One time he forced himself to watch so that he would know exactly what he was enabling.

Once was enough, and he never watched again.

Draco heard a smack and he grimaced. The woman made an agonized whine while Shunpike called her a whore and other derogatory terms.

Witnessing the rape of a stranger was bad enough. Knowing it was happening to one of his friends while he was powerless to do anything about it was much worse.

In the Dark Lord’s army if you lacked power, you might become a victim to someone who had more. It could be anyone in the Mudblood woman’s position, dungeon or no. Maybe his mother or himself if they weren’t careful. Blood status didn’t matter, only power.

With jolt, Draco imagined Granger sobbing while Shunpike rutted against her. Bruised, battered and helpless.

He shut his eyes, trying to block out the woman’s crying and Shunpike’s grunts.

This fucking war.

 

 

 

Notes:

One of my favorite characterizations of Draco is as a master manipulator from another OG. A ficlet by Gravidy called the Lions of December. It’s short, but she writes volumes of intrigue around one barely eaten dinner. Draco’s got to learn it from somewhere.

Also – the ‘female love interest gets raped to motivate the hero’ trope will not be happening in this fic. So if anyone was worried - don't be. :)

TW: Implied/referenced rape. Draco is there when its happening, but he's not watching. He hears it, but doesn't see it. So it's not described explicitly.

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“This can’t be right,” Harry said, flipping through one of the Horcrux books.

Hermione looked up from hers, Fractured Souls. “What can’t be right?”

Ron was dozing off to the side, leaning against the headboard of the bed he sat on, one of the other Horcrux books open on his lap. She rolled her eyes.

“It says here the only way to destroy a Horcrux is with Fiendfyre,” Harry peered at her and scratched the stubble that had grown over his jaw in the past week. “But the Basilisk tooth did the job with the diary. And how do you suppose Dumbledore destroyed the ring? Or Regulus the locket?”

“We don’t actually know if Regulus destroyed the locket. And remember, these books may not necessarily be complete. They’re just describing what was known about Horcruxes at the time. In here,” she pointed to the pages of her book, “it says that if a living being is made into a Horcrux, then when it dies the Horcrux is destroyed.”

Hermione wondered if Malfoy would have any insight into the locket. Regulus was related to him, but Malfoy was born after Regulus died. And a traitor to Voldemort wouldn’t exactly be advertising the existence of a stolen or destroyed Horcrux. Frustrated, she blew air out between her lips.

Harry furrowed his brow. “Why would anyone make a living being a Horcrux? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“You’d think so,” Hermione agreed. “But apparently it creates a connection between the two beings. It gives the Horcrux maker some amount of control and the ability to possess the other.”

Harry’s eyes widened as an idea suddenly came to him.

“Nagini!”

“You-Know-Who’s snake?” Hermione asked, confused as to why Harry was bringing it up.

“Yes!” he said excitedly. “He can control her!”

Ron released a loud snore. Harry and Hermione shared an amused glance and then lowered their voices so as not to wake him.

“But he’s a Parseltongue, isn’t he?” She was unsure where Harry was heading with the focus on Nagini. “You can control snakes by speaking Parseltongue to them.”

“No I can’t, I can only talk to them. They may or may not do what I tell them.” His voice took on a superior tone. “They’ve got feelings too, you know. Maybe you need to start a Society for the Protection of Evil Horcruxes.” He grinned at her. “SPEH. It’s the sound one makes after they SPEW. A natural progression.”

“I’ll be sure to make buttons. Two Knuts each for a membership,” Hermione’s lips twitched in a smile. “So that’s it then? Nagini, the locket, the diadem and the cup.” The books Madam Pince sent them earlier on Founders’ artifacts coupled with pilfered historical records from one of Kingsley’s informants had been invaluable to their search. Her grin widened. She felt relieved now that their task wasn’t so open ended. Four objects and then they could finish off Voldemort.

Well, three objects and a reptile.

“Yeah,” Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up awkwardly. He looked at her, not quite believing their discovery himself. “That’s it. We solved it. Those are our targets.”

She flipped through her book some more. “Fiendfyre is extremely dangerous. We’ll have to think carefully about where to go to cast it. I’d almost prefer trying to sneak back into Hogwarts to get a Basilisk tooth from the Chamber of Secrets.”

He snapped his book shut with a smile. “We could make a Horcrux bonfire in the cave where Dumbledore found Regulus’s locket. Throw Nagini on there and it’s a barbecue by the sea. I’ll bring the Butterbeer.”

“We’re having a barbecue?” Ron stretched and rubbed his eyes as he woke up.

“Finish your beauty rest?” Harry teased him.

“Sod off.”

The Horcrux book slid off Ron’s lap and fell to the floor.

Hermione tsked at Ron and summoned the book with her wand. “These are really old references, Ron. You have to be careful.” She turned the tome over in her hands and repaired the spine, which had torn off of the pages when it dropped on the floor. “If you’re not going to bother reading then at least don’t ruin them.”

“I’m tired from combat training last night,” Ron said, annoyed at her scolding. “Remus can be brutal sometimes. And Dawlish practically hexed my arse off. Look, I’ll do whatever you want me to do, but I can’t sit here and read textbooks. Six years I struggled through school. Why do you expect this to be any different?”

Hermione looked up sharply at him, equally annoyed. “Because this will help us win the war. We don’t have anyone else that we can ask about this. We all need to try our best.”

“I am trying my best, Hermione,” Ron protested angrily. “I’m just not as good at this part,” he motioned to the books on her lap, “as you two are.”

Harry intervened before a fight could break out. “Ron.” He leaned forwards to face Harry, a scowl still on his face. “We learned that Fiendfyre can destroy the Horcruxes and that the last Horcrux is Nagini.”

“Well, good,” Ron said, slouching in his chair and cracking his knuckles. Hermione winced at the sound. He was as bad as Malfoy with the joint cracking. “I wouldn’t mind taking a whack at that snake.”

Understandable. Hermione remembered how Ron’s father had nearly died after being attacked by Nagini. Harry and Ron discussed whether it would be worthwhile to break into Hogwarts for the basilisk fangs while she continued to read more about possession. In three of the cases described, the Horcrux was made to gain control of a more powerful creature, like a Manticore. Being immortal was not the primary reason.

Hermione stopped and reread the passages about animal possession.

She felt goosebumps spread up her arms and down the back of her neck. Slowly, she raised her eyes to Harry in growing horror.

Could it… Could he…

Her heart thudded in her chest and the blood rushed to her head as she worked through the implications of what she just read.

Could Harry be a Horcrux? Was that even possible? Voldemort only wanted to split his soul into seven pieces!

No, it couldn’t be true. Harry couldn’t be a Horcrux.

Hermione watched him talking with Ron about the terror of seeing Moaning Myrtle again, seemingly without a care in the world.

Could Harry really be one?

Did Dumbledore know?

Even if Dumbledore did know, would he have said anything?

But… How else could Voldemort have possessed Harry in fifth year? Why else would Harry see those visions?

The Hufflepuff cup, the ring, the locket, the diary, Nagini, the diadem, and Voldemort himself. Those were the seven pieces to make a whole. He only wanted seven.

Was it possible that he made Harry a Horcrux by accident when he tried to kill him?

Harry was chatting with Ron, oblivious to her stare.

Voldemort had believed that seven was the most magically significant number. Maybe he was right. If Harry was a Horcrux, fracturing his soul into eight pieces destroyed Voldemort’s body. It would explain why Harry survived the killing curse and Voldemort lost his body while casting it. It would explain how Harry was privy to some of Voldemort’s thoughts and could feel his emotions. And it would explain how Voldemort had been able to possess him in fifth year, albeit briefly. It would explain why Harry was a Parseltongue.

He had a piece of Voldemort inside him.

But what did that mean? Did that mean Harry had to die? Was any of this even true? None of this could be true.

Could it?

“Hermione? Hermione?” Ron called her, snapping his fingers.

She jumped and pulled her gaze away from Harry to Ron.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ron commented.

“I-” Hermione had no idea how to explain what she just figured out. No. What she may have figured out. It was too horrible to think about.

They heard a knock on the door and with a quick rush of adrenaline, Hermione summoned the Horcrux books and placed them in her beaded bag, zipping it up tightly. She nodded to Ron and he unlocked the door with his wand. “Come on in!” he called.

Ginny poked her head through with a smile, long red hair swinging with her forward momentum.

“Gin!” Ron leapt out of his chair, opened the door wider and crushed his baby sister with a hug. The Weasley family was much relieved she was safely hidden with the rest of them instead of at the Carrows’ mercy at Hogwarts. Ginny squeezed Ron back and glanced shyly over at Harry.

“Mum let you come here? To Paddington?” he joked in disbelief. “Bugger it all. You might actually get sucked into fighting the war that literally every single member of our family is participating in except you.”

Trying her hand at Occlumency, Hermione calmed herself, forced a smile to her face, and gave Ginny a warm hug and kiss on the cheek.

Ginny scowled at Ron’s reminder. “I convinced her that even if I’m not old enough to fight – yet – I should still be learning how. It certainly can’t hurt.

Harry nodded in approval. “Sounds about right.” He stood up and was about to give her a hug as well, but after glancing at Ron he stepped back awkwardly.

Ginny blushed at Harry. “She won’t let me stay here, but I’ll be joining you three in combat training tonight. I’ve bargained for twice a week.” She smiled. “I’m pushing for more.”

“Well, we’ve got about an hour until it starts.” Harry stretched his arms with a groan, easing his limbs after so many sedentary hours deep in thought over Horcruxes. “I need to clear my head after all that reading. Want to go outside for a walk?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, oblivious to the fact that Harry directed his question towards Ginny. “Good idea.”

Ginny looked slightly panicked at the thought that Ron would join them.

“Um, Ron,” Hermione spoke tentatively. “Would you mind staying here for a few minutes? I need to talk to you about a few things.”

Hermione wanted to give Harry and Ginny a chance to be alone. If Harry had to die in order for them to win this war, he certainly deserved as much time as he could get with Ginny. But she also wanted to know what Ron thought about what she just read. She couldn’t confide in anyone else and wasn’t ready to talk with Harry about it.

Ron looked down at her, confused. “Sure,” he answered, eyeing Ginny and Harry suspiciously.

Harry flashed Hermione a grateful smile and carefully sidestepped around Ron to exit the door. Ginny grinned up at Harry and they left. Hermione closed the door behind him.

Ron turned to her, looking uneasy. “Are you going to yell at me again?”

“What?” Hermione asked, taken aback. “No, of course not!”

Did he always think she yelled at him? Well, he certainly deserved it enough.

His expression morphed into one of relief, and then a lazy grin spread on his face. He walked closer to her and placed his hands on her upper arms.

Oh!

That’s what he thought she meant. Not that snogging wasn’t something she wasn’t interested in. She was. It was that he was such a prat last year with Lavender. But that was over with and they’d had more time together with the Horcrux hunt. Things felt right for them now.

Ron was going to kiss her. She knew it. After all her wondering and the dancing around each other it was going to happen. Her mind raced to what she had learned about Harry and she couldn’t decide what she wanted to do.

Tell Ron?

Kiss Ron?

Cry?

The heat from his palms spread through her sleeves and he walked her backwards to the bed Harry had been sitting on previously.

“You just wanted me alone?” he asked, teasing her.

Hermione swallowed, suddenly very nervous. Her heart thudded rapidly against her ribcage. Ron’s eyes were clear and blue, but hooded now. He closed the space between them and lowered his face to hers. She tilted her head up. She didn’t know how to tell Ron what she’d just discovered. She couldn’t now. Not when he was about to…

His lips were on hers.

They were soft and warm. His fingers tightened on her arms and one of his hands circled around to her back and upwards, resting on the nape of her neck underneath her hair. He opened his mouth and eased hers open with his tongue and lips so she could receive him. The back of her legs hit the mattress and he pressed her backwards as his tongue pushed against hers and a slow ache of desire spread throughout her body. She reached an arm behind her, awkwardly easing her fall onto the mattress and he laid atop her, pressing himself into her. She felt warm with his body on top of hers, and each time his tongue swiped her tongue, her core twisted. It was as if something was missing within her, wanting to be touched and filled.

He kissed better than Victor did, but Hermione was much younger then, and didn’t really know what she was doing. She cupped Ron’s face, feeling his stubble and ran her fingers through his hair. He moved the hand that was on her upper arm down to her waist, his fingers grazing the skin of her mid-riff and she felt a thrill of excitement at his touch.

Her mind wandered to Harry and tears pricked her eyes, unbidden. Ron must have sensed something was wrong because he pushed himself up and looked down at her.

“Are you alright?” His voice was low and gravelly.

Hermione shook her head and felt a tear run down her cheek. Were Harry’s days numbered? She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“What did I do?” His eyes widened, slightly apprehensive. “I thought you wanted this?”

She chuckled as a few more tears came out.

“I do, Ron. This was nice.”

“What’s wrong then?”

She peered into his eyes. If she told Ron her theory, what would happen? He wouldn’t be able to treat Harry normally. Their friendship would be strained, maybe they wouldn’t be able to work well together anymore. If anything, Harry needed their love and support as much as possible. Now more than ever. If she was right and his days were numbered, he deserved the best of everything until that day came. Hermione was at least learning to Occlude her thoughts and emotions. Ron would be a disaster.

She took a deep breath and gazed up at him. His eyes were concerned, caring, and she felt a surge of warmth and affection towards him. Harry didn’t want to be pitied by his friends. He wanted to be able to joke around. He hated it when everyone tiptoed around him fifth year, treating him as if he were a fragile piece of glass that could be broken at any moment.

No. She’d have to keep this bit of information to herself. It wasn’t fair to Harry. She’d tear out the pages from the book Fractured Souls discussing theories relating to Horcruxes and animal possession so they wouldn’t deduce what she had. She was lucky they hadn’t so far.

“It’s my parents,” she lied. “I don’t know why, I just thought of them now. Maybe because Ginny spoke of your mum. I just miss them,” she said, turning her head to the side. More tears leaked out onto the bedspread. Now she really was crying over her parents, and felt slightly mollified in that she wasn’t completely lying to Ron. But Hermione spoke a fear that she hadn’t voiced to anyone yet, afraid if she did that it would come true. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to restore their memories when this is over.”

Ron brushed the hair over her face and kissed her forehead. “You will. If anyone can, it’s you.”

She smiled up at him through her tears. Ron’s confidence in her abilities warmed her heart but ultimately, she didn’t think that was true at all. He had no knowledge of memory charms and how complex they were to reverse.

“Thanks Ron.”

He pushed himself off the bed and extended his hand. She grabbed it and he pulled her up, affectionately tucking a curl behind her ear.

“Want to take a walk outside before combat training?” he suggested. “Would that make you feel better?”

“Sure,” she said, relieved for the change in subject. “I could use the fresh air, but let’s give Ginny and Harry some alone time.”

Harry deserved to be happy for as long as he could.

Ron rubbed the side of his nose. “I’ll never get used to it. My little sister dating. At least it’s Harry this time.”

She laughed lightly, wiping the remaining tears off her face with her sleeve as he opened the door to the bedroom and waited for her to walk out.

“Ginny’s already dated several of the guys in our year and hers, Ron. How much time do you need?”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled, walking down the stairs and to the front door of Paddington safe house. “Once I heard Dean and Seamus talking about her last year and nearly decked them.” He held the front door open for her to walk out outside. “I should have.”

She stepped onto the porch and turned around while he shut the front door. Lavender was sitting outside on a bench, reading a copy of Witches Weekly and sending out little bursts of fire from of the tip of her wand. Hermione couldn’t tell if the fire was for reading or to amuse herself.

Maybe both. She did seem to play with fire a lot lately.

“Well,” Hermione said, raised an eyebrow at him conspiratorially. “We’ve got dueling practice pretty soon. You could pair off with one. I’ll take the other.”

His white teeth flashed as he grinned down at her in the moonlight.

She reached out to take his hand.

 

~

 

“Will you tie me up this time?” Draco asked.

Hermione looked back at him over her shoulder, covering her breasts with a jumper, but the curve of her arse and back was on full display for him. Her hair hung down loosely between her shoulder blades.

“Beg me and I will,” she smiled seductively at him.

Draco fisted himself with a groan. He no longer felt dirty for wanking to thoughts of Granger and didn’t think he was degrading himself. But there was still something inherently wrong about it, and he continued to feel guilty every time he reached down his trousers, giving in to desires he shouldn’t have. He supposed that’s part of why it felt so good, and why he kept doing it.

The forbidden nature of finding Granger sexually compelling kept her image returning to him nearly every night.

Part of him desired her precisely because she was forbidden to him. He shouldn’t want her.

Then again, he shouldn’t want a lot of things and he was going after them anyway.

Knowledge. Screwing Dolohov and the others over. Getting himself and his family out.

Granger.

He squeezed himself, and bit his lip, shuddering as his hand slid over the skin of his shaft. His guilt made him conjure thoughts of Elizabeth instead, a pure-blood witch who wasn’t entirely bad looking, and halfway decent at snogging, but found himself repulsed. Not so much of Elizabeth, but of the forced circumstances regarding their intimacy.

“Kinky bitch.”

“You love it,” she smiled seductively at him.

His thumb swiped the pre-come and he spread it down his length, providing more lubrication. He turned his head to the side, pressing his cheek into the pillow with a grunt, legs shaking with each stroke.

Draco remembered Granger in their shared classes. Brown nosing swot that she was, always with her hand in the air, trying to be the first to answer. The dirty talk was incredibly arousing coming from her. He imagined her lowering her hand, slowly turning around to face him, removing her robes, that swottiness directed towards him and taking on a sexual nature.

“Beg me and I will.”

She was his secret. Not just the spying, but the desire. Part of the guilt he felt towards his parents and their expectations was replaced by a defiance that brought his orgasm on quickly. Each stroke of his shaft became a ‘fuck you’ to the Dark Lord and his army. 

He sucked in a breath while his climax approached and clenched his body, muscles taut. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his chin up towards the ceiling. Toes curling in anticipation, his thumb stroked the tip of his member as come spilled out onto his torso. Each burst forcing a jerk from his body.

He exhaled slowly and then panted, chest heaving, and rested his arm on his forehead.

Spent.

Fucking hell.

Draco knew his parents and friends would be horrified if they knew he was masturbating so often to thoughts of a Mudblood. And to Granger in particular.

In an interesting turn of thought, he wondered what Granger would think if she knew what he was doing.

Prissy, red faced, stammering, horrified…

Draco huffed a laugh, still breathing hard. Thoughts of her sputtering and full of embarrassment eased his own sense of guilt and mortification.

She probably never masturbated. She’d be too prim and proper to touch herself.

He froze.

Granger touching herself.

The smile slowly fell from his face as his cock rose to life again.

“You love it,” she smiled seductively at him.

 

 

 

Notes:

For those of you getting anxious, Chap 13 is the next spy meeting.

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Fancy seeing you here, Draco.”

Alexandra Wexler, executive assistant in the office of the Deputy of the Minister, landed at the far end of the Quidditch pitch where he sat wrapping his ankle with tape. She looked very different in her Quidditch gear from the professional business robes he was used to seeing her in. Her shoulder length brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. For an older woman of roughly fifty years old, she wasn’t unattractive and kept herself fit.

“Don’t you have a pitch at the Manor?”

Draco sat on a bench to the side of the pitch, wrapping his ankle and glanced up at the flyers in the air. They were occupied with Bludgers and Quaffles. None were paying them any attention at all.

“Yeah, but the grounds are being reseeded and prepped for the winter. You had mentioned Berkley was a good Quidditch club.” He glanced up at her from his ankle wrap. “Plenty of pop-up games, always looking for spare players.”

She leaned on her broom, slightly out of breath and red in the face from flying. “A good Seeker is hard to find. You could probably replace Bill up there,” she motioned upwards with her head. “He’d happily act as Chaser.”

Draco bent over more, wincing, pretending to have difficulty with the ankle wrap. “Would you mind giving me a hand with this?”

“Sure thing.” Alexandra leaned over, inspecting the bandage on his foot. “You can go to the first aid closet, get some salve for that.” She crouched down next to his leg. “Here let me-”

Imperio!

Immediately she stilled.

He finished wrapping his ankle and turned his attention to direct her under the curse. She slowly stood up and faced him. The sharp, intelligent features he was used to were gone, she was now slack jawed and glassy eyed, gazing back at him. The heady sense of power and control that he remembered from cursing Madame Rosmerta and Katie Bell in sixth year surged through him. He would be holding Wexler for months, as long as was needed.

Draco stared directly into her brown eyes. It was unsettling how Alexandra was seeing but unseeing.

“You’re going to support Thicknesse, Shacklebolt and Johnson in their efforts towards dissolving the Auror Office.”

Her throat constricted, and she made a croaking noise. For a brief moment Draco panicked when he saw the fire return to her eyes. She was fighting it. Draco knew she was adamantly opposed to getting rid of the Aurors. He gritted his teeth as he strengthened the curse. She tensed and trembled slightly under his onslaught before finally relaxing.

Draco sighed in relief.

He had her.

“We’ll meet every week to discuss your progress.”

She nodded, mouth partly open.

“You won’t remember this conversation.”

She nodded again and a bit of drool leaked down her chin. It was disconcerting, watching Alexandra’s transformation from a passionate, intelligent witch to a mindless puppet. He lessened his control and Confounded her for good measure before sitting down on the bench again. Alexandra shook her head slightly, confused, and blinked down at him, wiping her mouth.

“Thanks for helping, Alexandra, I’ll get that salve after the game.” He finished tying his Quidditch boot and stood up. “Let’s see if Bill will let a real Seeker take his place ‘eh?” He winked at her and she mounted her broom with a smile.

“See you up there, Draco.” She kicked off to join the other flyers, completely unsuspecting that anything untoward had happened.

Draco didn’t understand why his parents were so adamant against using the Imperius Curse. It wasn’t as if he was hurting anyone like with the Cruciatus or the Killing Curse. These were just political games and neither one seemed to care about the fact that he was taking away Alexandra’s free will.

Draco suddenly felt ill with the realization of what the Imperius Curse really meant for those he controlled. It was exactly what he hated about his current situation. Because of him, she had no choice in what she was doing. 

And what of the effect of the Imperius Curse on him? What did it do the caster?

His father was holding something back. Draco’s features hardened in resentment that knowledge was being kept from him.

Again.

He kicked off, feeling the wind whip through his hair, and followed Alexandra into the sky.

 

~

 

 

Hermione entered the kitchen in a rush, pulling off her scarf. “Sorry I’m late, I had to-”

She looked around the table. Kingsley, Minerva, Lupin and Tonks all had tumblers filled with Firewhisky and an open bottle sat in the center of them. She wasn’t familiar with Firewhisky brands but even with her limited knowledge she could tell. This was a very expensive bottle of Firewhisky. She pursed her lips disapprovingly. That bottle alone could probably buy a black market Portkey. They eyed her expectantly, trying and failing to keep the smiles off their faces.

“What-” she began to ask when Minerva slowly pushed a half-filled tumbler across the wooden table towards her usual place in the Tonks’ kitchen.

“Drink up, Miss Granger,” the older woman admonished, as if she were telling her to finish a particularly nasty brand of cough syrup.

Slowly, Hermione slid down into her chair and brought the glass up to her nose, sniffing it. She glanced around the table, everyone was in a good mood, watching her inspect the hard alcohol. Even Kingsley, who was mostly silent and expressionless, was smiling.

“Am I missing something?” she asked, confused.

Remus’ eyes crinkled with a large smile. “Two bits of good news. Which would you like to hear first? Order related or non-Order related?”

“Order related,” she said without thinking. After her discovery about Harry, she wanted to hear good news about the war effort.

Remus turned to Kingsley. “It’s your victory, you tell her.”

Kingsley tipped his tumbler of Firewhisky towards her. “We have funding.”

Hermione stood up in surprise, and then sat down again.

Tonks laughed at her reaction.

“That’s incredibly good news!” she said, elated.

Portkeys! An infirmary! Explosives! They’d have more space! Spare wands! Portkeys! Training supplies! No more beans! Portkeys! Maybe they could even… bribe people?

“How? Who?”

She couldn’t manage much more than that. So many of their meetings centered around discussions and oftentimes fights on how best to use their limited funds. Remus was always the arbiter, preventing the arguments from getting out of hand.

“You already know that Britain is a dead end, the European ministries are hesitant to provide direct support and MACUSA flat out refused to get involved in yet another European war,” Kingsley explained, clearly pleased with himself.

Hermione nodded. Other countries’ dismissal of Wizarding Britain’s plight had been the subject of many meetings and cause of Kingsley’s frustration. He had been working his international contacts since Voldemort returned at the end of fourth year. No one paid him any attention and didn’t take the threat seriously. England hadn’t taken the threat seriously, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when other countries hadn’t either.

“Pure-blood aristocracy is not nearly as entrenched in the United States. While MACUSA will not provide us help, financial or otherwise, many private American donors have agreed to. There is enough fear that Voldemort’s ideology will spread and upend their social order. We’ve got thirteen sources right now.” He was about to drink and then lowered his glass. “And counting.”

“That’s wonderful Kingsley!” Hermione was grinning ear to ear.

“It is wonderful,” Remus agreed. “But we still have a long way to go. The new funding should jumpstart perhaps a third of ‘the list’?”

“And what’s the non-Order good ne-?”

“I’m pregnant!” Tonks shouted, interrupting her.

“Ohmygod!” Hermione blurted out. Tonks laughed and Hermione jumped up and ran around the table, plowing into her with a hug, nearly knocking Tonks over in her chair. “When?” she gasped as Tonks squeezed the breath out of her.

“April,” Remus answered, beaming. Tonks released her and Hermione went back to her seat, a huge smile on her face. Minerva had tears in her eyes.

“That’s brilliant!” Hermione exclaimed.

Tonks was positively beaming. Hermione was so happy for her and Remus, but then she started to worry. Tonks was irreplaceable. Who would be in charge of intelligence? Who would interrogate the prisoners? Who would plan raids? Who would liaison with the Aurors? Who would advise her on Malfoy?

Her expression must have revealed the direction of her thoughts because Remus asked, “What’s wrong?”

“We can’t replace Tonks,” Hermione answered, her gaze shifting between the couple.

Why wasn’t anyone else worried? They already had so much turnover within the Order leadership. Only recently had they established a sense of stability. One of them leaving would undo everything they had been working towards.

Tonks quirked her lips upward. “I’m having a baby, Hermione. It’s not a sentence to Azkaban. My mum and dad will help out. Remus and I live here with them anyway.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose in surprise. So Tonks would keep functioning in her position. That was encouraging. Her brief sense of panic quickly subsided. She looked at the whisky tumblers on the table and furrowed her brows.

“Are you… allowed to drink?”

Tonks curled her fingers around her glass and morphed her nose into a pig snout. “The occasional exception to the rule is permitted. I’d say current circumstances require it.” 

“Most definitely. Cheers!” Kingsley raised his glass to her and took a long swig, emptying his tumbler and smacking his lips after swallowing. His cheeks reddened immediately, and he nodded towards the bottle at the center of the kitchen table. “That’s a decent brand of Firewhisky, Minerva.”

Remus and Tonks raised their glasses to her and knocked their whiskeys back, smiling as the glasses clinked back down on the table. Tonks immediately reached across to Remus, pulled him towards her and kissed him soundly on the lips. He blushed furiously and smiled down at his hands. Normally the affection the couple displayed towards one another was subtler. It made Hermione happy to see them less inhibited. She hoped she and Ron would end up this close, and her smile faltered. Ron had been distant since their kiss.

Minerva raised her glass. She had nearly twice the portion of everyone else and then to Hermione’s utmost surprise, downed her whisky without batting an eye. Hermione gawked at her old transfiguration teacher in shock. The Professor McGonagall? Drinking? Wasn’t she the daughter of a Presbyterian minister?

Minerva raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t look so surprised, Miss Granger. I’m Scottish.”

Hermione brought the tumbler to her lips for a tentative sip and swallowed, wincing at the unfamiliar burning sensation but pleasantly surprised at how smoothly the whisky went down. It warmed her stomach and she realized that she quite thoroughly enjoyed the quick burn, smooth descent and satisfying belly warm.

She must have been studying her glass for too long because Minerva sent her a disapproving stare.

“Are you sure you’re from my house?”

Hermione grinned and knocked the rest of her drink back to the sound of everyone’s laughter.

 

~

 

Hermione sipped her Butterbeer and nodded at Cho Chang, eager to hear about her experience being mentored by Mary. Hermione couldn’t stand her, but it was clear that Cho had a great respect for the Muggle-born witch training her and Terry Boot to be Healers. Bit by bit, they were also building up the new infirmary at Dorchester safe house, and clearly taking pride in it.

“She’s really harsh.” Cho drank from her Butterbeer. The Ravenclaw obviously enjoyed the high standards of her mentor. She wasn’t complaining in the least. Indeed, ‘harsh’ sounded like more of a compliment. “But she’s brought us her old study materials from when she was a student and I think she even stole some interactive mannequins from St. Mungo’s so we could practice surgery.” She glanced around furtively to make sure she hadn’t been overheard. “But don’t tell anyone that.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows curiously. This was new. Perhaps mentoring and becoming attached to Cho and Terry was the incentive Mary needed to stay on as a Healer. There was also the pride and satisfaction of getting to build your own infirmary from scratch. And of course, Mary was getting paid for her time. Another motivation when the alternative was going into hiding with no income.

“So does Dorchester safe house fit an infirmary’s needs?” Hermione asked, curious about the process of setting one up.

“Ravenclaw Tower.”

Hermione tilted her head in question. “What?”

“Ravenclaw Tower,” Cho repeated with a sly smile. “I have no idea what this ‘Dorchester safe house’ is that you speak of.”

Mary, Cho and Terry were all Ravenclaws. Cute.

“Well it’s your infirmary,” Hermione grinned in reply. “I guess you can do as you please. What do you have so far?”

“Three beds, an operating room, a waiting room, a small potions lab, some storage space…” her eyes glazed over for a moment. “It’s not as large as the Hogwarts infirmary but we like it.”

Hermione nodded as Cho continued describing the facilities. A potions lab… She’d have to pay a visit.

She scanned the crowd of happy, chatting people, all congregating at Worcester safe house.

Now that the Order had secured a steady source of funding, all the new recruits were having an impromptu party. Combat training was hard. They were sick of beans. All were confined by and large to cramped safe houses except when out on missions. They missed their families, and everyone needed to blow off steam. Harry had suggested it and Hermione was having a great time. Worcester safe house would quickly become the defacto location for parties in the future. It had a large ground floor with fewer walls dividing up the floor plan.

The alcohol was flowing but Cho and Hermione had opted for Butterbeers instead. They both had early starts tomorrow.

She met Ron’s eye across the room. He smiled and looked away awkwardly, returning to his conversation with Dean.

Cho noticed. “You and Weasley?”

“Hopefully.”

Since their kiss, Ron had avoided being alone with her and the sessions spent learning about Horcruxes were somewhat tense. Hermione suspected it was because she had cried the last time they snogged and he was afraid that being alone would lead to more snogging which would lead to more crying. Ron’s ego could only take so much. Harry didn’t say anything about the tension since there hadn’t been any blatant fighting. Mild tension he could deal with. It didn’t even compare to the refereeing he had to do during sixth year.

Maybe she could corner Ron later on tonight.

Hermione turned back to Cho. “What about you and Terry?”

Cho blushed. “How did you know?

Hermione smiled. “I didn’t.”

Cho smacked her arm lightly and took a long drink from her Butterbeer. People were pairing off in wartime romances. It was sweet. She loved seeing everyone so happy.

Lavender was across the room, chatting and smiling with Oliver Wood. The twins had Alicia and Angelina. Harry and Ginny were in a corner holding hands, deep in conversation. She stared at them and felt a bittersweet pull on her heart. She wished she had someone to talk to about Harry. Keeping such a horrible secret to herself was hard. And she didn’t even know if she was right.

Maybe all this agony was over nothing.

Hermione hoped it was.

A small explosion sounded from the kitchen where Fred and George were and she heard raucous laughter. Cho craned her neck to see what had happened and then shrugged her shoulders. Everyone was used to the twins’ antics by now.

Alicia Spinnet’s voice called out loudly from the kitchen. “Don’t even think about snogging me until you wash that off Fred Weasley!” There was a shuffling, the sound of chairs scraping against the tiled floor and then laughter. “Get away from me you git!” She heard a shriek and then giggling. “No! Wait!” A squeal. “Angelina!” Another squeal and more giggling. “HEEEEEEELP!

Hermione met Cho’s eyes and they grinned at each other.

All of a sudden, Tonks entered through the front door, slamming it open with an angry look on her face. Her hair and trench coat were wet with rain. The music was blaring so not everyone noticed. Hermione wondered what was wrong. Tonks pointed her wand at the gramophone and the sounds of the Weird Sisters stopped with an abrupt scratch of the record.

Worcester safe house was silent.

“Meeting. Now.”

Everyone turned to her, immediately worried.

“Some of you think this is a game,” Tonks’ voice called out, ringing through the safe house. “Your families are safe and hidden away and only a few of you have ever seen any action. We haven’t had any losses.”

She walked slowly through the crowd, meeting the eyes of everyone she crossed paths with. Her combat boots clunked along the floorboards and people backed away from her as she neared them.

“Yesterday, we had our first,” Hermione heard a few gasps throughout the silent room. Did someone get captured? Die? “And it will not be our last.” Hermione watched Tonks move among her fellow Order members, rain dripping off of her trench coat onto the floor. She waited with bated breath for Tonks to explain. “Because of the negligence of someone on duty, we lost a key prisoner.”

Hermione’s stomach lurched. She hadn’t heard anything about losing a prisoner. She glanced at Ron questioningly but he appeared just as shocked as she was. So did Harry. Did Pinner safe house get raided?

“As many of you know, we were holding a key Inner Circle Death Eater, Antonin Dolohov. He has been critical to understanding You-Know-Who’s plans and our ability to pre-emptively thwart them. It is because of his knowledge that so few of you have seen any action at all. Let alone sustain injuries.”

Everyone was watching Tonks, silent. Waiting for her to speak. Everyone except Dean, who was staring at his shoes, clearly ashamed.

What had happened? Was it something Dean had done? Hermione turned back to Tonks.

“Last night Dolohov hung himself with his bedsheets while someone was sleeping on the watch,” Hermione heard sounds of muffled surprise followed by whispers which gradually increased in volume. She turned back to Dean. He looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

“Shut it!” Tonks yelled.

The room fell silent. Hermione had never been able to picture Tonks as an interrogator, or torturing prisoners for information. She only knew that was one of her duties as an Auror and that Tonks continued to serve in that role for the Order. Hermione could certainly picture her interrogating and torturing prisoners now. She was terrifying.

“This! Is not! A game!” she yelled again. Several people flinched. “Do you know what happens when we don’t have information?” Tonks looked around as she spoke, ensuring that she met each and every person’s eyes. “Do you?” No one wanted to meet her angry glare. “We make mistakes! People get hurt! People die! Look at the person across from you. Right now!”

Hermione glanced up and met Cho’s brown eyes. Tears were forming in them, threatening to spill over.

“That person that you are talking to, sharing a beer with?” Tonks sucked in a breath, preparing to yell even louder. “Might be dead in a week! Because of information we no longer have from Dolohov!”

Hermione heard a sniffle. A tear from Cho’s eyes fell down her cheek, and she stared down into her Butterbeer.

“When one person fucks up, everyone suffers!”

Tonks stalked around the room again, while everyone hung their heads in silence. Her words were reverberating in their ears. They were shocked at what they had been told, scared of the implications. Her heavy combat boots clomped back towards the front door and she stopped. It was so quiet that Hermione could hear the rain drops falling from Tonks’ trench coat to the floor.

She turned around to face them, her voice low and threatening. “If I see a single hangover tomorrow at training,” she spat, pointing at the room. “You will all pay for it.”

She opened the front door and stepped outside.

“Enjoy the party.”

Tonks slammed the door behind her, and several people jumped.

Hermione peeked up at Cho, who was visibly shaken.

Fuck.

 

 

 

Notes:

Ok, soapbox time.

Tonks is a young woman in a profession dominated by older men. And she was mentored by Mad-eye Moody of all people. She has a baby IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WAR THAT SHE IS FIGHTING IN. Why? Why? WHY is this not talked about more? Tonks is the hero of younger me that had kids during grad school while working in a lab populated mostly by guys when there was NO MATERNITY LEAVE BECAUSE THE US SUCKS BALLS ON ANY ISSUE HAVING TO DO WITH FAMILIES. I’ve got a special place in my heart for her and I don’t think the books or fanfiction does enough justice to her character. So if it wasn't obvious already, she’s one of the BAMF’s in this fic. The BAMF-iest.

Also, I took the idea of McGonagall being a whisky pounding fiend from Olivieblake. She wrote a crackfic called Hogwarts: the Real World, which has a ton of hysterical characterizations. McGonagall is her own brand of BAMF.

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

reddit: /u/PrincessRapBattles
Facebook: Lynn Dramione
Discord: mistresslynn#1535

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Notes:

At the end of this chapter you may want to take a break as there is a pause in the narrative. Next suggested pause is chapter 23.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Fuck me now.

Draco was sitting on his bed, ready to get under the covers when the Galleon warmed.

He stared at the glowing letters.

It had been a while since Granger contacted him. He didn’t know how to process his interactions with her anymore after what he had discovered about her home and her life. Everything with her was new, risky, contradictory and unpredictable. He was having a hard time reconciling what he knew of Mudblood inferiority and her rightful place in the Wizarding world, with what he was learning about her, what she did for her parents, what she was doing for her friends, and what she did for some random pure-blood boy that she didn’t even know.

Draco had no idea what Granger would ask of him or what she would say. He had tried to be careful in the information that he gave her, and wondered if he could guess what the Order was trying to do by the questions she asked. He had to consider whether or not the information he passed along would reveal that there was a spy in the army, and if so, whether or not it would be traced back to him.

Draco put his thumb on the Galleon and smirked. One thing he did know, he definitely got a thrill out of pushing her. He had no idea what to make of his memories of her constantly kissing arse at school with the sexy, snarky, conniving person he was meeting.

Cunt, arse or mouth?

There was a pause while he waited for her answer.

The Galleon warmed.

All three. Not necessarily in that order. 5 min?

He laughed. Definitely not the swot he remembered.

Draco thought of Granger’s unplanned striptease again and his cock twitched, rising slowly but surely. It was an automatic reaction at this point. Thoughts of a nude Granger, full-blown erection.

“Cunt, arse or mouth?” Draco asked.

Hermione looked back at him over her shoulder, covering her breasts with a jumper, but the curve of her arse and back was on full display for him. Her hair hung down loosely between her shoulder blades.

“All three. Not necessarily in that order,” she smiled seductively at him.

He couldn’t meet her with a tent in his trousers, and thumbed the Galleon.

20 min.

With a creak of the mattress, he fell back onto his bad, legs dangling over the side and reached down his trousers.

Fuck Voldemort and his sodding army.

 

~

 

Hermione Apparated into her room to see Malfoy lying down on her bed again, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t holding his wand, having already placed it on her bookshelf. That was encouraging. But he could also be lulling her into letting her guard down if he planned on Obliviating her.

She eyed her bookshelf where his wand was. Were her books… out of order? She forced her gaze back to him, floored. His interest wasn’t just a passing fancy in her book from the Air and Space Museum. He was reading while she wasn’t here.

Muggle books.

Draco Malfoy was coming into her house, into her bedroom, without her knowledge, and reading Muggle books.

What else was he doing here?

The thought that he was going through her and her parents’ things was unsettling. But then again, if he was exploring her Muggle house, that meant he didn’t think it was dirty, or that he would spontaneously develop some infectious disease, did it? He had no exposure to the Muggle world, and must be curious. Considering how disdainfully he reacted when she noticed him reading the book on space exploration, she decided it best not to mention anything.

Hermione thought back to the day they evacuated the Hogwarts students and how Malfoy had simply opened the portrait hole for her and left. That was the first time they had interacted without any hostility. And during an Order operation of all things. Even stranger, he indicated that he more or less agreed with what she said to the Snake Charmer portrait, and with what the Order was doing.

“How’s your Occlumency?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

Malfoy didn’t beat around the bush. She was glad to have secured a teacher, and could confidently say she was improving. But his question would have more urgency since the student evacuation. If she had been captured at Hogwarts and someone thought it necessary to look through her memories, he’d be tortured and killed.

“I have a mentor. It’s difficult, but I’m getting better.”

Malfoy turned on his side to face her. He nearly took up the entire length of her bed. “Boxes?”

She shook her head. “Books.”

His eyebrows raised a fraction and a knowing smile creased his face. As if they shared an inside joke together. Hermione Granger the bookworm. Using books to store memories. He was acting… familiar with her.

Something about the way he was stretched out on her bed like that, with his legs extended and his head propped up on his side facing her, created a feeling of friendliness. Even intimacy. And he was smiling at her.

Smiling? Smirking? Maybe a half grin?

Kind of. It was odd.

Hermione had never seen him smile before. At least, not at her in a way that wasn’t at her or her friends’ expense. His sharp grey eyes had a completely different appearance now.

Almost… playful.

She tilted her head, silently appraising him for a few moments. Hermione wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of his friendship instead of his hostility.

Malfoy was considerably less angry from the last time they had met. In fact, he wasn’t angry at all. He was pensive. She didn’t know how to process interactions with him that weren’t aggressive and antagonistic. She didn’t know what to make of him this way at all.

Hermione thought it was a good chance to build upon the changed dynamic between them. “Thank you, Malfoy.”

He looked puzzled. “For what?”

“Hogwarts. Without your help, we would have been forced to abandon that child.”

He snorted in derision and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“He’s just a kid.”

He seemed uncomfortable. Maybe because of the conversation he had overheard then? It was personal. Even with a cessation of hostilities between them he wouldn’t want to discuss his private life with her, especially as it pertained to his struggles in the war.

But she had a purpose for meeting him now.

“Do you know any more members of the Inner Circle?”

“No,” he said, staring right back at her. He was lying, she had no doubt. “Dolohov can tell you all of them.”

Hermione should have anticipated that reaction, and didn’t reply. This was precisely why she contacted him. Because they didn’t have Dolohov anymore.

“You killed him,” he said, voice lilting upward with faint surprise.

“No, of course not,” she retorted defensively. “What do you take us for? Death Eaters?”

He cracked a smile at her jab. Again, the smile of the familiarity of a shared joke. It was weird sharing a joke with him. Two jokes in less than a minute. Even stranger, it was a joke to be shared with someone on the same side of the war instead of on the opposing side. That was good for their prospects of him continuing to work with them in the future.

For a moment, she panicked. She didn’t know how to handle this new familiarity with him, and was thrown completely off kilter.

Just as quickly, his smile fell.

“Then why aren’t you using him?” Malfoy pressed in an accusatory tone. “You don’t need me to answer that question for you.”

Hermione didn’t reply, still internalizing the way he had smiled at her. But he wanted to know why they needed him for plans they could get from Dolohov. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to give him the reason, but she couldn’t come up with a convincing lie. He noticed her hesitation.

“Granger, I’m putting my life on the line here. If you want this arrangement to continue then answer my questions.”

Malfoy wasn’t angry when he spoke. Not like during their last meeting. He was simply stating the conditions for his participation. Hermione supposed it wouldn’t hurt to let him know what happened. If the Order wanted to get any further from where they were stuck right now, they needed to bring in more Inner Circle Death Eaters.

She couldn’t run everything she did by Tonks for approval. She needed to make decisions in real time using her own judgement. So Hermione made a decision, hoping she wouldn’t regret it.

“Dolohov hung himself with his bedsheets.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose, and the briefest hint of a smug grin appeared. Hermione couldn’t believe it. He was happy Dolohov committed suicide. But she shouldn’t be surprised, should she? They caught Dolohov when he was torturing Malfoy. Likely, it wasn’t the first time.

Her next question would give away the Order’s intentions. Tonks had discussed this with her and they both agreed it was a safe bet for now. Just because they had the plans didn’t mean they had to attack.

She took a deep breath. “We need estate plans.”

His expression was impassive. “Whose?”

“Lestrange, Macnair, Carrow, Rowle, Nott.”

The exact names he gave for the Inner Circle. The Order knew more members, but Tonks instructed her not to reveal who else they knew.

Malfoy chewed on his cheek, studying her. After a few moments’ consideration he swiveled up to a sitting position on her bed. “Alright then, I’ll work on the plans. Who do you want first?”

He would know they were planning raids. Hermione wondered if the news of Dolohov’s suicide had incentivized him further to give the plans and aid in their capture.

“Lestrange.”

He nodded, as if expecting that answer. “You know the layout won’t be enough, there are wards and dark artifacts and fuck all preventing you from getting in.”

“If you have anything to add on that subject, we’d appreciate it.” Kingsley was going to have his Ministry contacts check records detailing those items as well, to compliment and verify the information Malfoy gave them. “Where is You-Know-Who staying?”

Malfoy leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How’s the pardon coming along?”

She couldn’t tell him that Kingsley had flat out refused. Hermione had to give him some hope that Kingsley would change his mind. She hoped that Kingsley would change his mind. And then there was the issue of Malfoy’s father. The pardon simply wouldn’t happen for him.

Kingsley told her to lie. She had to lie convincingly, and so she’d be vague.

“It’s a possibility,” Hermione said, playing with an eraser on her desk. It was hard to look Malfoy directly in the eyes when not telling the truth. He’d probably see right through her. “They don’t trust you.”

“Do you trust me?”

She glanced up and he held her gaze. Intelligent. Piercing. Attractive. She felt a brief pang of guilt from thoughts of Ron. She shouldn’t be noticing Malfoy’s eyes. Or anything else about him.

Hermione scoffed, as if he asked her if she believed in Wrackspurts. “Of course not. But I think the information will be worth it.”

He leaned back, considering her answer. “Fair enough, Granger.”

 

~

 

Draco laid out a roll of parchment on Granger’s desk. He didn’t want to be caught drawing up plans for the manors and estates of those in the Inner Circle. Coming to her Muggle home enabled him to work without interruption or fear of being caught. He brought some parchments, ink and quills and hid them in the guest room so she wouldn’t notice during their meetings.

There was some comfort working in her room. It was quiet. It was still. It was a completely different world. One without death, torture, rape or fear. He wouldn’t wish his existence on anyone. Thinking back to their meeting, he couldn’t believe she thanked him for helping her get that kid out.

What kind of monster did she take him for?

Maybe he was. He let his aunt and Greyback into Hogwarts, hadn’t he?

At Granger’s house, Draco could disappear from all the horror. At least, temporarily. Again, his thoughts travelled to Granger’s Obliviated parents and her refusal to go into hiding with them.

He had been coming here periodically even before he started working on the plans. A few hours here and there to explore more of her house, the gadgets in it, and the books as well.

Muggles confused him.

For all intents and purposes, they were inferior. They didn’t have magic; it was as simple as that. But he couldn’t argue with the fact that Muggles had found brilliant replacements and workarounds for many of the things wizarding society used magic for and took for granted.

And while wizards and witches used magic to do things that Muggles couldn’t, Muggles performed feats that boggled his mind. Small, innocuous items like the writing sticks at Granger’s desk which didn’t require constant ink dipping, and achievements that pushed the limits of his imagination. Like sending probes to the far reaches of their solar system, or growing replacement organs from cells extracted from women’s reproductive systems.

Muggles were brilliant.

But inferior.

Because they didn’t have magic.

Draco still didn’t feel quite right with his conclusion.

After finishing up some details on the estate plans, he set his quill down and rolled up the parchment. He stood up and stretched, surveying her room. There was a curved grey box connected by a cord to the wall that he had been curious about. He had been able to figure out what most of the items in her room were used for, but not that one. He crouched down in front of it. By now he had learned that buttons labelled ‘power’ were used to turn electronic devices on and off. When he pressed ‘eject’ a black square with an open circle slid out towards him, and back in if he pressed it again. But none of the other buttons made anything happen.

Draco had searched her room multiple times in previous visits for some clues but none were apparent. There was a pile of thin plastic squares with different images on them, stacked next to the device. However, he couldn’t find any apparent connection to the device aside from proximity. He had been through that stack before and made a mess of it. Various pictures of men and women with seemingly no relation to each other. On the back, always a numbered list of phrases.

He didn’t understand what they were for. Some had pictures of people playing musical instruments, or of conductors of orchestras, indicating that they had something to do with music. But he didn’t understand what exactly. Draco was nearly positive the plastic squares had something to do with the device and it was infuriating that he hadn’t figured out what yet. He picked up one of the plastic squares and after prying the edge with his fingernail, wary of breaking it, discovered that it opened up.

That was new.

Elated, he wondered if this was the answer to the puzzle that had plagued him for the past few weeks. Inside was a shiny circle. He extracted the circle, and nearly whooped out loud when it fit perfectly in the device. He waited until the curved grey box stopped humming, and then pressed ‘play.’

Draco closed the plastic square and studied the unmoving picture. Four blokes walking across a street, nothing particularly interesting about that. They resembled the bums that frequented Knockturn Alley. He flipped the plastic square over and furrowed his brow.

If Muggles were so smart, why would they misspell ‘The Beetles?’

 

 

 

Notes:

Yes, he’s looking at the CD for Abbey Road. :)

Colored pencil fanart drawn by the wonderfully talented @goodnight-fraublucher

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Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

New money meant new starts. Newly trained Order members. New safe houses. A new infirmary. New Portkeys. And soon, new training in explosives. The Order was truly building itself from the ground up and Hermione was thrilled to be at the center of it all. The responsibility which often bogged her down was buoying her instead. She loved working to make her ideas come to fruition. She was nervous and excited with all the ways the Order was developing.

Despite the setback with Dolohov, things didn’t feel so hopeless. Malfoy was bringing her estate plans to capture Bellatrix and Rodolphus. That would be a tough operation. But with enough planning, the Order was sure to have another two Inner Circle members at Pinner.

She grinned and gripped the steering wheel, eyeing the traffic in her rear view mirror.

Hermione was worried about Apparating her first attempt at a Portkey potion. Renting a car seemed the best way to transport it from her bedroom at Paddington safe house to the newly acquired infirmary in Dorchester. Stasis and heating charms were cast on the cauldron and Harry held it steady in the back seat. Despite the stasis charm, she was driving extremely slow to prevent the contents from spilling. It didn’t hurt to be extra cautious.

Ron would periodically duck when a lorry passed them on the highway.

“Honestly, this is scarier than driving my dad’s car in the air above the Hogwarts Express,” he commented, apprehensively watching the road behind them.

She smiled, noticing his white knuckles gripping the door and arm rest for dear life. His legs were tense, braced against the car floor.

“You have no idea how glad I am to have avoided that little adventure,” Hermione replied. “From now on, no more aerial adventures for me. No hippogriffs, no thestrals, no brooms. I’ll fight the rest of the war with my feet planted firmly on the ground.”

Another lorry driver passed, honking, yelling angrily and giving them the two fingered salute.

Ron ducked again, warily. “What’s his problem?”

“We’re driving far below the speed limit,” Harry answered. “They’re naffed off.”

“It’s like they want to kill us,” Ron replied. “I think we’re going too fast.”

Hermione smirked, and pressed on the accelerator. They were all pushed backwards slightly from the sudden forward momentum.

“Aaaaaaah! Hermione, what the hell!”

Harry laughed at Ron’s terror.

“Harry,” Ron turned around to face him and pointed at his chest. “You’re driving on the way back.”

He snorted in reply. “Trust me, you do not want me to drive.”

“But you ride a broom so well!” Ron protested.

Not the same thing, Ronald,” Hermione said rolling her eyes. “At all. Obviously.”

“Next time I’ll Apparate and meet you two. I’m never riding in a car again. Unless it’s magically suspended in the air and away from all these homicidal lorries.”

“You could always travel by TARDIS*,” Hermione suggested.

“What?” Ron yelled, eyeing the closely approaching lorries with trepidation.

Harry laughed at the Doctor Who reference and she pressed on the accelerator again.

“HERMIONEEEEEEEEEEE!”

 

~

 

Harry and Ron helped Hermione set up her cauldron with the heater and unpack all her potions ingredients, knives, vials, cutting boards, weights and scales, distillation glassware, mortar and pestles, and other items for potion brewing. She was still missing Wild Hornflower seeds, but the Portkey potion required simmering for at least a month and time to coalesce before their addition anyway, so she had started the potion without them.

As Cho had informed her, the infirmary had its own potions lab for brewing healing salves and other medically necessary potions; Hermione set herself up in a tiny corner. She tried to take up as little space as possible so as not to make Mary angry. But at least the older witch would approve of the purpose. Hermione scowled when she thought of Mary. The Healer was always so irritable when she spoke with Hermione. She didn’t even try to be nice.

Hermione was unpacking another box when she noticed Harry and Ron silently communicating with each other.

She turned to them warily. “What are you two up to?”

Ron grinned and pulled a clear bag full of what looked like tiny, black beads out of his back pocket.

Hermione squealed and jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “Is that what I think it is?”

Harry crossed his arms and smiled down at her. “That’s exactly what you think it is.”

“Where? How?”

Ron made to dump the contents of the bag in the cauldron. “So I just throw the lot in here-”

She grabbed his wrist, digging her fingers into his skin. “Don’t you dare!

Ron sniggered.

She plucked the bag of Wild Hornflower seeds out of Ron’s hand, grabbed a set of tweezers and began transferring them to a glass vial, greedily counting out loud as she went.

“25… 7…. 16… 42…” Harry spoke with a grin, trying to disrupt her. “42. The answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything.**”

“You’re not funny.” She promptly smacked his chest. “Now I’ll have to start all over!”

“How many can you make from this?” Harry asked, curious.

Hermione peered at her potion, showing the beginnings of congealment, and the collection of Wild Hornflower seeds. “I think… four. Maybe five from the seeds? And that’s assuming I made the potion correctly. But I’ll have to brew more, that cauldron is only enough for two – three at most – and I need more Rockwurst root.”

Harry’s face fell. “Bloody fuck, that’s depressing.”

Hermione nodded. “It is.” Her brows furrowed and she turned to him. “How did you get the seeds, Harry?”

“Erm.” He scratched the back of his neck and glanced to the side. Hermione shifted her gaze to Ron. He didn’t meet her eyes either.

“What could be worse from stealing? That’s how we got the Rockwurst root.”

Ron looked at her sheepishly. “Buying it?”

She put her hand on her hip. “Where did you get the money?” Neither Harry nor Ron answered and she raised her voice. “Where did you two get the money?” Her eyes widened in understanding. “Harry please tell me you didn’t use your inheritance!”

He shrugged. “If You-Know-Who wins, I won’t be alive to use that money anyway. I agree with you; we need Portkeys or we’re all dead.”

The cold, brutally pragmatic part of her thought the funds usage made sense. Win or lose, Harry might not be alive to spend it. But approving of him clearing out his inheritance was akin to admitting her fears on him being a Horcrux were correct.

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“You used all your inheritance for possibly five sodding Portkeys? Harry!

Hermione fell onto him in a hug and felt the beginning of tears. He was absolutely terrible and she loved him so much. He didn’t deserve any of this.

“I must say, I thought it would get you more than five,” he said, awkwardly wrapping his arms around her. “They’re just potions ingredients. No need to get so emotional.” He sounded embarrassed by her sudden breakdown.

“You’re surprised?” Ron quipped. “Remember when she first saw the Astronomy telescopes?”

“Sod. Off.” She pulled back to gaze up at Harry, wiping her tears away. “You shouldn’t have! These ingredients are ridiculous! Did you know I can repurpose existing Portkeys? We don’t need the potion for that. Just Arithmancy and I’m getting better at it.”

“Well, we need to start somewhere,” Harry replied, blushing. “And this is your first Portkey potion. You need to know how to make it and correct mistakes. Better now than later.”

He was right.

But still.

Ron piped up, responding to what she had just said. “We’d probably have better luck stealing Portkeys than stealing potions ingredients. But we can do both.”

“I agree,” she said with one last sniffle, returning to seed counting. “We can also try buying illegal Portkeys on the black market. Bit by bit, we’ll get a Portkey for everyone.”

“Where will the Portkeys send us?” Ron asked.

“Remus has a location.”

“You can’t tell us?” Harry asked, the annoyed crease in his brow showing that he already knew the answer to that question.

Hermione sighed and gazed up at him. “Not even Kingsley, Tonks and Minerva know. If I wasn’t doing the Arithmancy, I wouldn’t know either. This is our evacuation plan; we don’t want it compromised or we’re finished.”

“I wish you could trust us,” Ron said.

“It’s not a lack of trust,” Hermione explained. “You could be captured and,” her eyes started tearing again, “tortured or worse.”

Neither appeared to be mollified by her explanation. “Do you two know who the Secret Keeper is for the safe houses?”

She knew they didn’t. There was no reply and she continued, “I don’t either. And I don’t even know who does. That’s how the Order keeps us safe. They compartmentalize information, just like You-Know-Who does. You know I’d tell you if I could. The Order learned from its mistake when Snape compromised 12 Grimmauld Place when we moved Harry. If you don’t need to know, then you won’t know.”

Harry sighed, resigned to the fact that there was a wall between them ever since she had joined the Order leadership meetings. Hermione didn’t like it either, and the wall was getting higher.

He looked around the potions lab. “What’s with all the eagles?”

Ron scanned his surroundings, only just noticing the pictures. “And who’s that lady?” Ron pointed to a picture on the wall to the opposite of where Hermione had set her cauldron.

“Rowena Ravenclaw,” she replied.

Ron took a step back, bumping into the lab bench, taking in the blue walls and bronze trimmings. “Is that why there’s all these pictures of eagles? And the whole lab is blue.

“Cho told me that this place is no longer called Dorchester safe house. They’ve renamed it Ravenclaw Tower.”

Harry snorted. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?

Hermione shrugged. “As long as we’ve got competent Healers at the ready they could call it Slytherin dungeons for all I care.”

“Now that’s going too far,” Ron replied.

 

~

 

A few days later, Hermione entered the infirmary from the potions lab at Dorchester safe house.

Er… Ravenclaw Tower.

She thought an infirmary needed to be white, with sparse decorations if there were any at all. However, like the potions lab, the infirmary walls were decorated, quite gaudily, with Ravenclaw banners, blue walls and bronze trimmings. Someone had charmed pictures of an eagle to flap its wings and Rowena gazed down sagely from the far wall.

Hermione surveyed the Ravenclaw trio. Mary was teaching Cho and Terry. The three were bent over Bixley, who had been put to sleep. Mary had waited a few weeks before removing his implant, until the Ravenclaws could follow and understand what had to be done.

The three looked up from Bixley’s unconscious form. “Do you need me to leave?” Hermione asked. Cho and Terry turned to Mary for an answer.

Mary held up her index finger and pointed to a chair in the corner, Hermione walked over to sit down and watch. “Cho, perform the sealant spell on the stomach lining. No – with your wrist – wait – a bit to the left - yes.”

A look of triumph appeared on Cho’s face.

“Alright. I’m going to remove the Disinfectant Charm. Terry, reconnect the blood vessels just like you practiced. Cho, you restart the blood flow when he’s finished. Ready? And… Now.”

She watched the three of them work together. Mary’s face was stern and calm as she observed their wand work. “Terry, your turn for the sealant charm: up the muscle, through the fat, to the dermis layer. Wiggle slightly…” her voice tapered off. “Yes.”

He smiled, proud of himself.

Mary inspected the area after they were done. “Seamless,” she commented with a nod. “As it should be.” She backed up and looked at her two mentees. “What next?”

“Diagnostic for internal bleeding,” Cho immediately answered.

Mary nodded towards Bixley. Cho and Terry cast twin diagnostic charms at the same time, and a green glow reflected in their faces.

“And now?”

“Pain relief potion,” Terry replied, looking upwards as he recounted from memory. “Monitoring charm for internal and external bleeding.”

Mary turned towards Hermione. “I’ve thought more about supplies we need for Dorchester infirmary.”

Terry cleared his throat and Mary’s lips quirked upward. “Ravenclaw Tower,” the Healer corrected herself.

Hermione could see that Cho and Terry were quickly growing on Mary, and was heartened that this mentorship was working out so well. She held up a bag with two newly minted Portkeys. “I have something for you.”

Mary narrowed her eyes and gave her a curt nod before returning her attention to Cho and Terry. “When can he be transferred by Apparition safely?”

“Three days at a minimum,” Cho responded. “After a positive diagnostic check.”

“Portkey?”

“Twelve hours following a sustained negative on the monitoring charm,” Terry replied.

“Floo?”

“Now, if he can walk.”

“I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Cho and Terry grinned, high-fiving each other. Mary rolled her eyes, but watched them go with a pleased smile on her face. She turned to Hermione and her happy expression fell immediately. Mary wasn’t agitated all the time now, knowing that the Order wouldn't be resorting to torture anymore, but she held a grudge against Hermione anyway.

Cho and Terry exited the infirmary and Hermione stood up, walking over to Mary.

“I’ve got your Portkeys.”

She held out the sack and Mary took it from her, opening it up.

Two Knuts.

“I thought you and Reginald would want to carry them on you all the time without detection,” Hermione explained. “If you feel the flat sides of the coins, there are tiny stubs so you can pick it out of other coins, should you carry it in your pocket.”

Mary reached inside the sack, feeling the Knuts with her fingers. She took one out and inspected it, flipping it over a few times. The Healer glanced back up at Hermione, her dark eyes warring between gratitude and hostility.

“That’s… thoughtful.”

It seemed that saying something positive to Hermione was going to give her a hernia. She didn’t completely understand why Mary was always so antagonistic towards her, if it was solely connected to the Order using torture or if there was something else.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Mary was here. She was training Cho and Terry, she was building their infirmary, and there was no indication she was going to leave any time soon.

Hermione knew when to pick her battles and when to leave them. Having to deal with her was infuriating though.

The twins barged through the door.

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary!” Fred called out.

Mary jumped and swiveled around, ready to scold the twins for disrupting her space. Ever since Dolohov’s suicide, prisoner guard duty consisted of two people at all times, taking shifts.

“We’re here to guard the body!” George told Hermione, giving a mock salute and clicking his heels.

“Whose body?” asked Fred.

“NObody,” answered George. “There’s NObody here!”

Mary pointed to Bixley on the table, trying very hard not to smile.

“Oh THAT body,” George said with a silly grin. “D’ya think he’d miss his ear if I borrowed it? I miss mine. Mary, can you give me his ear?”

“You seriously want Death Eater germs in your body?” Fred asked in disbelief, giving an exaggerated shudder.

“Whose body?” George asked.

“NObody!” Fred answered in irritation.

Mary shook her head, chuckling. When she met Hermione’s eyes she abruptly stopped laughing. Hermione couldn’t understand what Mary held against her. Perhaps one more shot to bridge the gap between them couldn’t hurt.

“We really appreciate what you’re doing here,” Hermione said.

Mary brushed a greying lock of hair out of her face that was dislodged from her bun, nonplussed by her gratitude.

Fine. Forget it.

“You’re the first to receive her own personal Portkey,” Hermione informed her.

Let alone two of them.

Mary’s eyes widened slightly and Hermione walked out the door.

This wasn’t a philosophical exercise. They needed a Healer and Mary took priority. Let her chew on that.

“Bye Forge. Gred,” she waved and closed the door behind her.

“Good-bye Supreme Commander Hermione!” they called after her in unison.

 

~

 

“Explosives?” Dean gaped bug-eyed back at Hermione.

They sat on the porch of Paddington safe house, swinging back and forth on the bench together. It was evening after a long day of potion brewing for Hermione, and combat training for Dean. They were discussing the potential use of Muggle weaponry.  

Hermione watched Lavender amuse herself with variations of Fire-Making Charms on the far end of the porch while they spoke. Hermione supposed looking into fire was the closest she could get to a crystal ball.

Hermione rolled her eyes. The fire would be nearly as useful as one. What a waste of time.

She returned her attention to Dean. He was bright. He performed fairly well in Potions which was the closest analogue to Chemistry in the wizarding world. And she thought he’d be interested. He was Muggle-born and knew what explosives were, as well as the objects necessary to make them. Furthermore, the additional responsibility of specializing in explosives would be a way to make up for falling asleep while Dolohov committed suicide. Hermione knew he hadn’t forgiven himself.

Dean was everything they needed.

“You’d have to keep it a secret though,” Hermione explained. “You’d be developing a skill we wouldn’t use for a long time. No bomb making anytime soon.”

Dean sat in thought for a while. She’d never seen him so quiet. Truth be told, she didn’t know him very well. Ron and Harry talked with him more than she did.

She faltered. “Maybe it’s not so interesting if you’re not-”

“Oh no, I’m interested!” he interrupted her with a big grin. “And you’ve already hired an explosives specialist from the British military?”

“He’s retired, but yes,” Hermione affirmed. “Right now, we can afford ten hours of training a week for you. We hope to do more as we increase our funding sources.”

There had been a bitter fight between her and Tonks over this. Hermione had pressed for more funding to be diverted towards Portkey procurement, Tonks towards more hours of explosives training. Remus made a compromise which left both of them grumbling after the meeting. The fact that neither one of them was happy with his decision was probably a good indication that his judgement was sound.

Remus was a good leader.

“When do I start?”

Hermione considered his question. “Well, we’d like you to start immediately but we need to pair you with someone else in case…” Her voice faltered. “In case something happens to you.”

Dean nodded sagely. He understood. It was a reality they all faced. No one had gotten injured or killed yet, but they had been lucky. As Tonks had said the night of the party, it was only a matter of time.

“At first we were thinking of training the Weasley twins-” Dean burst out laughing and Hermione smiled. “I agree; they make sense but they’re…” She tried to think of a diplomatic way to put things. “Wild.”

Dean laughed even harder. Lavender glanced over at them, curious, and then went back to playing with the Fire-Making Charms.

“We thought they’d probably kill themselves. Or you. Or someone else. Or blow up the entirety of Paddington safe house even with blast containment charms. There would definitely be accidental death in some form.” She shrugged helplessly. “We need someone else.”

Dean was still smiling. “Who did you have in mind?”

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. “Someone who is Muggle-born so that this won’t be a completely foreign concept to them. There’s the bombs themselves, the tools, the components, just a working knowledge of how the non-Magical world works.” Dean peered above her head in thought. She could see he was tallying up a list in his mind of Order members that would fit the bill. “And we’d need someone who was good in Potions. It’s the closest we have to Chemistry.” He nodded and furrowed his brow. That list just got smaller.

“Cho?” he offered.

Hermione shook her head. “She’s training to be a Healer.”

Dean gave her a knowing look.

“What?” she asked.

“You,” he answered, as if it were obvious.

“Oh!” she said, surprised. Bomb manufacture did sound incredibly interesting actually. But her work with the Horcruxes, Portkeys and being Malfoy’s handler was too consuming. She needed more flexibility than the lessons would allow, and nearly all of her spare time was spent on complicated Arithmancy. “I can’t because of my leadership duties.”

“What else are you looking for then?” he asked.

“Motivation,” Hermione replied. “That’s the most important part. It will be lonely, tense, dangerous work. For months it will be just you two and the explosives specialist. You likely won’t see any benefit to your work for some time. I know that working with explosives sounds exciting and fun now, but it won’t be in three months. We need someone with the motivation and discipline to see this work through.”

Dean’s eyes shifted to something behind her and she turned around. Lavender was shooting little balls of fire out into the yard and extinguishing them. They even looked like crystal balls.

“Lavender,” he said.

“But she’s none of those things.” Confused, Hermione turned back to him. “She’s not Muggle-born, she was passable at Potions at best, and while I admit she can hold her own in a fight, she’s got no other academic interests aside from Divination.” Hermione motioned to her. “Look at that deranged grin of hers. Trying to tell the future through fire. Ridiculous.”

“Oh, no,” Dean said with a crooked smile. “That’s the deranged grin of a repressed pyromaniac. Motivation won’t be an issue.”

Hermione’s voice lifted in surprise. “What?”

Dean looked over at Lavender and raised his voice. “Lavender!”

She was so entranced by the flames she was playing with that she didn’t even hear him.

“Oi!” Dean yelled. “Lavender!”

Startled, she glanced up, still distracted. The flame immediately extinguished from her wand. Hermione had to admit. Lavender had excellent control of the fire she played with. And she did seem to play with fire an awful lot in the evenings. Maybe Dean was on to something.

“Do you want to learn how to make Muggle bombs?”

Lavender tilted her head, looking at them curiously. “What’s a bomb?”

 

 

 

 

Notes:

*The TARDIS is the blue police box that Doctor Who and pals travelled around in.

**In Douglas Adams’ “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” a supercomputer was built to give the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything. The calculation took 7.5 million years and the answer was 42. Unfortunately, no one knew what the question was.

I always thought Lavender got a shit deal in the books. She’s slut-shamed (which I hate), called stupid, and gets mauled by Greyback at the end. She’s essentially the slutty female victim in a slasher film. So she’s getting an BAMFy job in this story. Meet pyromaniac bomb-making Lavender.

One last thing - next chapter is aaaaaaaaaaaaaall Draco/Hermione. Time to fan the flames of that burn.

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If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

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Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The Galleon warmed, instantly sending a thrill of excitement through Hermione. This was the first time Malfoy had contacted her. Eagerly, she reached into her pajamas pocket to see what he had to say.

 

 

 

I want your mouth on my cock.

She blushed, even though there was no one around. He was so crass. But she only had herself to blame, didn’t she? Meeting for sex was the only cover she could think of in case someone found his Galleon. She chewed on her lip and then thumbed the Galleon in reply.

Behave or I’ll use my teeth.

She smiled, wondering if she was stepping over a line. His reply appeared.

Impossible when you’re gagging on my length.

These quick communications of theirs somehow became a competition. They were fun and… flirty? She shouldn’t be flirting with him. She reverted to insults and pressed her thumb on the Galleon.

It’s possible to gag on a string bean?

Hah!

Clearly your experience impacted your expectations.

Every reply that she could think of would imply that she had sex with Ron or Harry because Malfoy cornered her into defending the size of their penises.

Arsehole.

She decided to drop it and let the prick win for now.

15 min.

Hermione changed out of her pajamas, donned jeans and a jumper, and Apparated into her bedroom. Malfoy was already there, her bedroom light was on, his wand was on her bookshelf and her books were rearranged again. It was good that he was reading Muggle literature but for Pete’s sake.

Her shelves were disorganized.

He laid down on her bed, facing her, and his gaze shifted to the desk behind her. Hermione turned around to see a rolled-up parchment that hadn’t been there before. Delighted at how her contact with Malfoy was replacing the hole Dolohov’s suicide left, she nearly skipped over to see what he brought. Remembering that she had to appear uninterested, she sat down and – slowly – unfurled the parchment describing plans of what he had labelled as Rowle’s estate. The layout drawings weren’t complete by any means, but there was quite a bit of detail, and more descriptions of the wards than she could hope for. Malfoy’s input would be incredibly helpful in a raid. Critical even.

And yet, why Rowle?

“I thought you were going to give us Lestrange first,” she commented, still skimming over the plans.

He sneered in reply. “A ‘thank you’ would be more appropriate.”

She flicked her eyes over to him. He was right. Maybe she was overdoing her attempts to make him feel like he wasn’t that important. With Dolohov dead, he knew they needed him anyway.

“Thank you, Malfoy.”

He waited in silence while she studied the plans. These would be really useful. Tonks should be able to figure out a raid strategy without problem.

Hermione noticed out of the corner of her eye that her CD player had moved and was immediately curious. If she pressed eject, would there be a disc inside? If so, which one? As with her books, she didn’t want to push her luck. Malfoy was being civil. He had just given her plans to the Rowle estate and would hopefully be giving them more. She didn’t want to test just how improved their relationship was, afraid he’d revert back to his hostile, prattish self.

“You can cast a fully corporeal Patronus.”

His voice pulled her from her thoughts and Hermione glanced up at him from the plans. He didn’t ask her, just stated a fact. Malfoy had seen it when she warned Harry about the taboo.

“Yes. Since fifth year.”

She took her wand, performed the incantation and he watched, amused, as her silver otter burst forth and flew around the room a few times before she dissolved it.

Malfoy pushed himself up to sit on her bed.

“Teach me.”

It was a command.

Perhaps she should have been affronted at his lack of manners, but Hermione realized that with his command, he was acknowledging that she was better in magic, at least for this. The superior Pure-blood was asking the inferior Muggle-born to teach him something. Furthermore, he was allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of her, and was compensating by commanding her.

Interesting…

Maybe teaching him would ensure the estate and manor plans kept coming. It was better than asking about a pardon again, something she couldn’t guarantee, and didn’t know how long she could keep making excuses for. It would be best that she tolerated his tone and teach him. There was no danger to the Order in doing so, and it was a benign request, all things considered.

Except he needed his wand to do it.

She glanced apprehensively at her bookshelf where the Hawthorne stick rested atop her books. He must have deduced her train of thought because he added with a wry smile, “I suppose swearing upon my honor as a Malfoy won’t be enough to ensure I don’t kidnap you for nefarious purposes.”

Hermione blushed at the way he said ‘nefarious purposes’ and he grinned wider. Malfoy’s insufferableness aside, this was different from asking for a pardon or for information. She knew his request was important to their working relationship. He had just exposed a vulnerability in himself and asked for her help.

If she taught him, he would trust her more.

“No. No.” Hermione stood up and scanned her room. “Hold on,” she tapped her finger to her chin. “We can do this.”

He eyed her while she closed the door to her bedroom, thinking how best to allow him use of his wand. She put up an anti-Apparition ward on her four walls. It wasn’t so difficult because the space was small and fully enclosed. With her lack of experience, she wouldn’t have been able to construct the massive wards encountered during raids. Lastly, she cast a sustained Shield Charm on herself and a Repelling Charm for good measure.

Hermione was sure these precautions weren’t necessary, at least, not while she taught him how to cast a Patronus. Clearly, he wanted to learn. But Tonks taught her to always consider a hostile, underlying motive, no matter what. The recently improved rapport between them could be a way to mislead her into letting her guard down, precisely so she would let him have his wand and attack her.

She didn’t think that was the case, but had to act as if Malfoy attacking her were a possibility.

“Ok,” she said, motioning to his wand on the bookshelf. “We’re going to be here for a while. This might take several sessions, so let’s get started. You probably know the basics. Think of something happy, cast the charm. Let’s see how you do.” She backed up so that she could hex him if it appeared he was doing something besides casting a Patronus.

Malfoy took his wand and spoke the incantation. She watched the muscles of his forearm flex. A silvery smoky wisp trickled out of his wand and disappeared as quickly as it formed. That was typical and Hermione expected as much. He looked at her as if to say, ‘you see?’

She wondered how much he had been practicing.

“What memory are you using?”

He studied her for a moment, seemingly unsure as to whether or not he could share something so personal with her. But Malfoy must have decided that getting her advice outweighed the risk that she would use his memory against him. “Christmas morning with my parents. I got my first broom.”

“Receiving a gift?” Hermione tried to keep the derision out of her voice. Was he really that spoilt and shallow? It was Malfoy. Pure-blood elitist bigot. Of course he was.

He shook his head. “No, it’s more to do with my father. He was excited that I’d be learning to fly and he would start teaching me. I was happy to learn and...” He hesitated, watching her react to his words. She tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible. He was obviously uncomfortable talking about his memory. “And to spend time alone with him.”

Oh.

Hermione chastised herself for judging Malfoy so harshly. Even bullies had daddy issues. Anyone with Lucius Malfoy as a father would have. That was probably why he was a Death Eater in the first place, wasn’t it? Hermione felt a deep-seated sympathy for him, but knew he’d lash out at her if she said anything about it. He must really want to learn to cast a Patronus if he was confessing something this personal to her. It was also an unintended test of sorts. If she used the information against him in any way, she’d lose his trust completely. They’d go back to mutual hostility.

“Try again, concentrate on your father,” she suggested. “Not the broom.”

He did, the wisp was brighter, larger, and cast shadows on his knuckles and the muscles of his arm. But it wasn’t enough. She remembered how much Harry had struggled with it in third year, and how much she had struggled with it in fifth. She watched his face as he concentrated on casting the charm. The light and shadows played across his nose, cheeks and jaw.

Hermione was tired of standing while watching him cast over and over, and sat down in her chair, wand at the ready. A sheen of sweat formed across Malfoy’s forehead and his cheeks were slightly reddened with the effort of repeated casting. Every so often he ran a hand through his hair, which kept flopping down in front of his eyes. Finally, his hair stayed slicked back, slightly damp with exertion.

He had drive, she had to admit. The Patronus charm was a complex spell, and not many adults could perform it. He certainly didn’t give up easily and kept trying while she watched patiently, but no further improvement could be made.

The success in casting the charm depended on the strength of the memory and how well it could be channeled. She had no doubt Malfoy was channeling correctly. He was an extremely intelligent, competent wizard, much as she loathed to admit. The difficulty must lie in the strength of the memory, and whether or not it truly was pure happiness.

Hermione cleared her throat and he turned to her expectantly. She didn’t know how to phrase her concern without insulting him, afraid he’d just get pissed off and leave. She picked at the hem of her sleeve while she tried to think of a diplomatic way to advise him.

“Out with it, Granger.”

She took a deep breath, hoping what she said wouldn’t offend him. “Your memory has to be pure. Pure happiness.” Malfoy looked at her, puzzled, and she continued in a soft voice. “The memory may be impacted by your feelings towards your father. Both back then and now.”

He lowered his wand and sighed in resignation. She was right. He didn’t need any more explanation, and turned to her in defeat. She felt sorry for him that his memory of his father, even one that was happy, was tainted to such an extent. Either by the war or whatever complicated relationship the two of them had.

“What’s your memory?” Malfoy asked.

She brightened immediately at the recollection. But should she share it? It was personal. Would he use it against her? No, he wouldn’t. He had trusted her enough to share something of himself. And perhaps her memory would help him find something that worked well enough to fuel his own Patronus.

“Teaching Ron the Levitating Charm.”

Malfoy sniggered, then clamped his mouth shut trying to keep his laughter in. She observed, fascinated, as he squeezed his eyes shut while his nostrils flared, and then suddenly he released a big guffaw when he couldn’t keep it in anymore. Hermione watched him laugh, bending over and holding himself on his knees as his shoulders shook. She had never seen him laugh before. At least, not in a way that wasn’t antagonistic or bullying. This was pure, unadulterated mirth. How he might laugh when with his friends. His loud belly-laughs continued while she sat silently in her chair, unable to understand what he found so funny.

“Rude,” she chastised, but without any anger. “I didn’t laugh at your happy memory.”

Despite the fact that her memory made him laugh, Malfoy had tried to keep it in so as not to embarrass her. It was a valiant attempt, but apparently her teaching Ron was so hilarious he had failed spectacularly. She didn’t even have it in her to be angry that the humor was at her expense because it was completely unintentional.

At this point, she just wanted to know why he was laughing so hard.

“Only a-” he said, wiping his eyes and wheezing slightly as his laughter began to die down. “Only a swot like you would have her purest, happiest memory teaching someone proper wand technique.”

His laughter lessened in intensity until he finally looked at her, face schooled in mock seriousness. The only indication that he had been laughing hysterically a half-minute ago the occasional quirk of his lips.

Hermione’s mouth formed an ‘O’ in understanding. Okay, she could admit. That was funny. Turnabout was fair play, and she supposed she deserved that. Malfoy had misinterpreted the meaning of her memory based on his biases regarding her, just like she had misinterpreted his memory based on her biases regarding him.

“Well, it’s not the teaching bit that’s the focus of the happiness,” she explained defensively. “Although a good stroke of the wand does tick all my swot boxes,” she joked.

His mouth immediately formed a wicked smile. “Does proper wand stroking technique get you off?”

She blushed furiously and his grin widened. That was not what she meant.

“No,” she scowled.

He crossed his arms and faced her, shit-eating grin still on his face. “So, you are opposed to proper wand stroking technique?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out an exasperated sigh while he laughed at her embarrassment. Again.

“You know, you can just go home and stroke your own bloody wand until it falls off.”

“Okay, Granger,” he said with a final snigger. “I’ll behave.”

Hermione glared at him. He had a completely and utterly devilish gleam in his eyes indicating that for all intents and purposes he would not behave. The smirk set to his lips made her stomach flip.

She startled. That was wrong. She shouldn’t be reacting like that to him.

“Your memory of teaching the Weasel?” he prodded with an amused smile.

“Yes,” she explained, completely flustered and trying not to notice how much she liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at her like that. She composed herself and reverted to instruction mode. “It wasn’t the teaching itself, it was the circumstance. He had been struggling with it all first year. There was a troll loose in Hogwarts, remember?”

He nodded.

“I was by myself without a wand in the bathroom when the troll barged in, scared shitless. I tried to hide. Harry and Ron ran in to help me-”

“Weaselbee and Wonderboy saved the day?” he snorted derisively.

“We all did,” she countered.

He rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to know or not?” she snapped.

“My apologies, Miss Granger,” he said with a mock bow and a flourish of his hand. “Please carry on.”

She was briefly reminded of him bowing before her in full Death Eater regalia so she could enter the Slytherin common room.

Aristocrats.

Hermione huffed a sigh and continued. “I taught Ron how to do the charm properly. He managed to levitate the troll’s club above its head and let it go, knocking the troll out,” she explained. Malfoy listened silently while twirling his wand and she continued. “It wasn’t just defeating the troll, and it wasn’t simply that it was Ron’s first successful casting of the Levitating Charm. That memory marked the beginning of our friendship. Mine, Ron’s and Harry’s.” He nodded, and she could see him racing through his own memories, trying to find something similar.

“It also…” she paused. Malfoy waited for her to continue. Well, he asked for it, didn’t he? She plowed on, unapologetically. “It also made me feel like I truly belonged for the first time. Coming from a Muggle background I didn’t know anyone or have any friends or family waiting for me at school. The wizarding world was completely unfamiliar to me and I was thrown into it by myself. Their friendship meant – means – everything to me.”

Malfoy examined her curiously while he digested her story. She waited for him to say something. Anything. But he didn’t, and she continued, not wanting to press the issue further.

“So you see, it’s not just the memory itself, it’s everything associated with it and what it symbolizes, what it leads to. That’s my strong, purely happy memory.”

“And what happens when you’re pissed off at Scarhead or the Weasel?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Scarhead?”

He shrugged with an indolent smile. She supposed he didn’t want to hear the choice names Harry and Ron had for him.

Rude nicknames aside, it was an interesting question he raised. A valid one.

“That happened sixth year,” Hermione replied. “I was extremely hurt by one of them. At the time, it didn’t affect my Patronus because the memories that I had still made me happy,” she thought some more. “Maybe it would depend on how mad I was, or how betrayed I felt.”

He considered her answer for a moment.

“What if one of them dies? Or if they both do?”

Another good point, and very relevant to the times they were living in. Malfoy asked really insightful questions. She supposed she’d find out the answer if she was right about Harry being an accidental Horcrux.

Hot tears formed in her eyes. She tried to swallow around the thick lump in her throat, but her voice still came out tighter than she intended. “I don’t know.”

Malfoy watched her for a moment as she struggled to keep the tears she knew were forming at bay, and then turned away quickly, perhaps somewhat embarrassed for her. He extended his wand and cast the Patronus again. It was larger, brighter, and lasted longer, but not corporeal. He tried again and the result was the same.

He let out a growl of frustration.

“You’ll get there,” she said brightly, having cleared her tears. “It took me a while before I was able. And that will certainly defend you against a Dementor. Maybe two.”

He glared at her. “Don’t patronize me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She simply couldn’t win with this man. Malfoy tried again, but there was no improvement. She laid back in her chair and stretched her arms and legs while he practiced. Flashes of silvery light made hypnotic patterns of light and shadow on his face, neck and arms. She watched while he cast.

“Do you want to take a break? Have something to eat or drink?”

Malfoy turned to her, distracted, and then shook his head to the negative while casting again.

The git worked hard. It was silly to offer though. He probably thought Muggle food would make his blood turn to slime. She imagined herself chasing after him with her mum’s cookies while he screamed in horror and had to Occlude before she giggled out loud.

And yet he was going through the things in her room…

She watched him, deep in thought while he struggled to get more out of the charm. Harry’s memory was of the first time he rode a broom. He didn’t have happy family or childhood memories that he could draw from until he went to Hogwarts. Flying had never been tainted for him. It was always pure exhilaration.

She tilted her head, watching Malfoy cast. She wondered if he would be the same. He was also a Seeker, and would enjoy flying. Like Harry, perhaps his family and childhood memories were tainted in such a way that he was unable to use them for the charm.

Curious.

“Malfoy,” she started, and he turned to her in irritation. “Instead of the time you received the broom, how about the first time you rode a broom?”

His eyebrows rose in appreciative surprise at her suggestion. “That’s a good idea.”

He turned to cast again but absolutely nothing happened. The wand angle was wrong. Irritation had made his wrist movement too forceful. He’d been practicing the movement for a really long time. And saying the incantation so often made the words seem like they weren’t words anymore as well.

His arm muscles flexed. He grunted, tried again. Nothing.

“Your wrist is probably cramped.”

His lips quirked, despite his frustration. “My wrist can go as long as needed, Granger.”

Hermione flushed instantly. Would he ever stop doing that?

Ignoring Malfoy’s innuendo, she got up, walked over to him and – without thinking – grabbed his wrist.

“Loosen your grip for a moment.”

He did and she moved his arm and wrist for him, demonstrating the correct angle.

Then she remembered just whose wrist she was touching and let go immediately, backing away a few steps. She had been way too close. She had touched him. She had touched the wrist and muscled forearm that she’d been staring at for the past couple hours. After she put some distance between them she glanced up at him timidly. Malfoy was also surprised that she touched him.

Hermione was about to apologize but bit her tongue at just how absurd that would be. He asked her for help after all.

She expected some comment about her being filthy or whatever, but he didn’t make any indication that her touch repulsed him at all. He didn’t even make another joke about wand strokes. Or wrist cramping.

Instead, he pursed his lips in determination and cast again. His wand emitted a white ovular shape that undulated while he held it in place.

He was close, and gritting his teeth as if he could will the Patronus into existence from the undulations of light.

“Drop it and try again,” she instructed. She watched his face as he concentrated on his memory and cast the charm.

The ovular shape re-appeared, seemingly about to morph and break away from his wand.

“Again,” she commanded.

He cast again, to the same effect. And again. And again. He was stuck and turned to her. The memory itself wasn’t enough. She’d need to help him deconstruct it so he knew what to focus on.

“What is it about the memory Malfoy? What makes it happy? It’s not just the flying.”

“I was good at it.”

She nodded. Harry was too, but that wasn’t enough. For Harry, it was confirmation of his identity as a wizard. Similar to Hermione’s memory, it confirmed a belonging to a completely new and different world, an escape from the Dursleys and the inclusion into a new family, the Weasleys. He flew with the Weasleys when staying at the Burrow, and there were the memories of Quidditch at Hogwarts. Lastly, flying was a connection Harry had with his father over a shared talent. Harry tapped into all of these things when he called upon that memory to cast his Patronus.

Choosing an appropriate memory wasn’t simple by any means. And you had to understand what it meant.

“That’s not the core of your connection to the memory though. You’re good at lots of things.” Malfoy eyed her and heat crept up her neck towards her cheeks. The compliment just slipped out. “What else?” she asked, eager to move on.

He sighed, hesitant. “My father was proud.”

She blinked at him. Yes. Daddy issues. He had already admitted as much. But there was something else. Malfoy knew memories of his father weren’t enough.

“You’re nearly there, Malfoy. There’s something else you felt when you rode a broom for the first time. That’s what’s gotten you this far. Can you identify it? That’s what you need to focus on.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, nearly wet with the exertion of performing complex magic for so long. He peered down at her in thought, quiet for a few moments. There was something about the way he fixed his gaze on her then. His eyes were pure and unguarded, being so close to achieving a corporeal Patronus. She’d never seen him like that before and was quite taken aback.

His lips parted, and he inhaled sharply. He had figured it out.

Hermione hadn’t realized it up until now, but she was dying to know.

What would make Malfoy, the pure-blood bigoted bully, happy enough to cast a fully corporeal Patronus?

“Freedom,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. All he wanted was freedom. That’s why he was spying after all, wasn’t it? That’s why he was endangering himself. Riding a broom made him feel free. Unrestrained. Not forced to serve Voldemort.

Something passed between them in that moment. Malfoy knew she would understand. She knew he was trapped. That his family was trapped. He heard the conversation with the Snake Charmer at Hogwarts.

“That’s it, Malfoy. You can do it.”

Extending his wand, Malfoy set his jaw in determination, took a steadying breath, and cast again.

They both watched as a shimmery, silvery fox emerged from the tip of his wand and circled around them. Malfoy had an expression of pure delight on his face, and his grey eyes shone with the reflection of his Patronus.

Hermione stood back and crossed her arms, enjoying the moment. She couldn’t believe it. She was happy for him. Proud of him. He wore a silly grin that she had never seen before as the fox bounded around the room and off the walls. Suddenly, he turned to her with a look of pure mischievousness.

The fox leapt up to sit on top her head and she glanced upwards. It bent over, peering down at her from atop her head.

“Your hair makes for a good burrow.”

 

 

She’d heard enough insults from him about her hair over the years that she didn’t care, but even so, there was no animosity behind his comment.

“A fox,” she said, stating the obvious while it blinked down at her.

“I suppose I was hoping for a dragon,” he shrugged with a smile. “But I like him.”

Hermione scoffed. “Everyone hopes it will be a dragon. Probably because they’re overcompensating for something else.”

“Touché, Granger,” he replied with soft laugh, still eyeing the fox on her head.

The fox jumped off her head and she watched while he led it around her room with an almost child-like wonder. Malfoy looked… She blinked at him. He was beautiful like this. The shimmery light of his Patronus reflected off of his eyes, his hair, and his facial features. She had never seen him so happy before.

She remembered how she felt the first time she had cast hers. The memory of casting a corporeal Patronus for the first time could in and of itself serve as a good memory for the spell. The charm was circular in that fashion.

Hermione wondered what Malfoy would say if she told him he used the same memory as Harry for casting the Patronus. She wondered what Harry would say, and bit back her laugh at the thought.

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at her with a sly smile. “Better than a ferret, ‘eh?”

Her jaw dropped and he chuckled at her reaction. Another shared joke with Malfoy. And about that in particular. She didn’t know what to think or what to say. Their interaction over the Patronus was so different from what she was used to with him. She didn’t know how to process his laughter, his happiness or his self-depreciative humor.

Malfoy was in such a good mood; Hermione didn’t know if she’d get a chance to ask him this again. But she was dying to. The fact that he lay on her bed, went through her things, read her books, possibly listened to her music, and she had just touched him. She hadn’t asked before so as not to piss him off but she couldn’t hold back her curiosity any longer.

“Malfoy?”

“Yeah?” he replied absently, still leading his Patronus around her room, grinning from ear to ear.

“Do you think I’m dirty?”

Slowly, he turned around and his arm dropped, dispelling the charm. The lighting in the room returned to normal. He became guarded again, and his expression was serious.

Play time was over.

“I think it’s rather obvious that I don’t.”

“But you did?” she pressed, wondering how he would reply.

He crossed his arms defensively across his chest and stared at her, considering whether or not he wanted to answer her question. Perhaps her teaching him the Patronus made him feel more amenable to opening up. They had each confessed something personal to each other.

After a moment he replied, “Yes.”

Well. That was interesting.

She wondered how much she could press her luck.

“Do you know who invented the Patronus Charm?”

He rolled his eyes. “Ever the swot, aren’t you Granger? Marie Salisbury. She came from a long line of-”

“No,” Hermione said, cutting him off and shaking her head. “Lots of wizards make that mistake. Salisbury is a Muggle name. She was a Muggle-born witch and started that damn bloodline herself.”

He clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything.

Hermione picked up the rolled parchments from her desk. “Thanks for the plans, Malfoy. Your Patronus suits you. A fox is a sly and clever survivor. Quite devious even.”

A hint of the previous moment’s amusement returned to his eyes.

She twirled her wand, still feeling playful from the effect of his fox bouncing around the room. Pointing her wand at him she continued, “With those qualities you don’t need to overcompensate for a lack of something else.”

One side of his mouth lifted in the beginning of a grin and she Disapparated.

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Colored pencil portrait of Hermione drawn by the wonderfully talented @goodnight-fraublucher

Also Pauline made the patronus picture! She's a very talented portrait artist. Check out her instagram!

And the manip is done by the multi-talented Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

Vudelika drew the fox sitting atop Hermione's hair! https://www.instagram.com/vukidelika/

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Chapter 16: Chapter 16

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione, the Weasleys and Harry waited in tense silence for Mary to call them in from the waiting room. A dark artifact triggered by the ward breach at Rowle Manor had injured Ron, Angelina Johnson and Colin Creevey. Malfoy’s intelligence had been critical, and Kingsley had one of his ministry contacts supplement the information that was given. But even with the care they had taken, there were still injuries.

All things considered, the raid was successful. If teaching the prat complex charms was what he demanded for plans this detailed, then Hermione would happily comply. No one had died, but the injuries reminded Hermione of how close to death any of them could be, at any time. Like when they moved Harry from the Dursley’s in the summer.

It was a war, after all.

Rowle and his wife were currently locked away in Pinner being interrogated by Tonks and no one even knew they were missing yet. Luckily, Tonks was able to wrangle information out of Rowle’s wife regarding the dark curses put on Ron, Angelina and Colin which aided the Ravenclaw trio in their efforts to heal them.

Harry and Ginny were sitting in a corner, whispering, their fingers intertwined. Hermione didn’t know what to do with her restless energy. The waiting was driving her nuts. She walked back and forth across the room, finally taking a seat to survey the walls, decorated even more obnoxiously with Ravenclaw paraphernalia than the infirmary and potions lab. She glanced at each of the Weasleys and then got up to pace some more. She was tempted to Apparate back to Paddington safe house to her bedroom and get a book to read, but wondered if others would think her rude.

She didn’t think she’d be able to read anyway.

Angelina was the first to walk out the door of the infirmary and George slammed into her with a hug, repeatedly kissing the top of her head with something in between tenderness, need and relief.

“Ow,” she winced. “Ow. Shite! Careful with the goods, Weasley.”

He gingerly released her from his hold and looked apologetic, but teased her nonetheless. “You call me ‘Weasley’ because you still can’t tell the difference between me and Fred. Even without the ear.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I’ve been able to tell the difference since first year. You two aren’t nearly as clever as you think.”

“Excuse me,” Fred called out from the corner he was pacing in. “We are cleverer than we think.”

“The cleverest,” George corrected.

“Hush, you two,” Molly admonished them, visibly worried. Ron wasn’t in critical condition, but she was still anxious. So was Hermione.

Colin walked out next and the Weasley clan whooped and clapped. He looked surprised and then a huge grin spread across his face. Fred presented him with a T-shirt that said, ‘My family went into hiding and all I got was this lousy Death Eater.’ Colin’s grin spread even wider, and he laughed.

Hermione gazed over at each Weasley with an overwhelming sense of love and fondness. She didn’t know how they opened their hearts so easily. Already having raised so many children, they took in Harry, Hermione, and now all these Muggle-borns who had left their families behind, alone in the war, not knowing if they would see them again.

Angelina, being Muggle-born, hid her family early on at George’s insistence when he learned what Hermione had done. Dennis Creevey was in hiding with his family as well, after the Order had urged them to leave in the summer. Colin and Angelina were both alone. The Weasleys provided familial support for them all. Unconditional, unwavering, and with the whole of their being.

They were the heart of the Order.

Angelina spoke to George sharply and pointed at Colin, holding the T-shirt up to his chest. “I want one of those.”

He looked insulted. “You’ve got me.”

She smiled, pressed her body into him and whispered just loudly enough for Hermione to hear. “I like the T-shirt better.”

Before he could retort she was snogging him. Molly was about to say something, but Arthur took her hand. “Let them be. It’s a war.” Molly leaned into him, a sad expression on her face, and Arthur put his arm around her.

It was a war. They were all making the most of their time together. No one knew when that time would be ripped away from them, violently and without warning. The war and its unpredictability added a layer of desperation and urgency to all the blossoming romances around her.

Everyone waited with bated breath for Ron to emerge, but the seconds ticked on. She heard Arthur remind Molly that Mary told them his situation wasn’t critical, that there was nothing to worry about, it was just taking time.

Finally, the door to the infirmary opened and Cho’s face appeared. Everyone turned to her expectantly. “He’s fine,” she said, brown eyes crinkling with a smile.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Molly said, tears in her eyes.

“But he needs to stay here overnight while we monitor his recovery. You can come in two at a time.”

Molly and Arthur went in first and Hermione sat by Harry and Ginny, looking visibly relieved.

Hermione didn’t go on the smaller raids. She attended combat training regardless, as did everyone, but her participation in Order operations was extremely limited – practically non-existent – since she knew too much that would compromise Order infrastructure.

Senior leadership didn’t want Harry going on raids either since he was critical to destroying Voldemort, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Hermione got them to yield by making him his own Portkey. If he were captured, he could leave at any time. Harry hated having a Portkey when no one else on raids did, but conceded after Hermione explained it was the only way he would get what he wanted without causing a rift.

“What happened?” Hermione asked Harry.

Ginny’s ears perked up when Harry started discussing the raid. She was the same age as Colin and wanted to go on missions as well, but his parents couldn’t stop him.

Hers could. 

Everyone wanted to fight. Morale was not a problem.

Harry recounted their movements during the Rowle Estate raid, motioning with his hands to describe how they maneuvered.

“We made it through the outer wards and were clearing his house room by room. The plans we had of the Manor layout were really helpful and accurate, by the way,” he added for Hermione’s benefit. “We knew exactly where to go.”

Hermione felt a sense of pride in her work with Malfoy. She may not have been on the raid, but she contributed to its success just as much as anyone else that was there.

“Things would have gone more smoothly if Madam Rowle hadn’t been awake. She was in the kitchen getting something to eat when she saw us. It was a mad dash after that. We split up and incapacitated him fairly quickly, but his wife activated some kind of dark artifact which hit us after we caught her and tried to leave. Ron suffered the brunt of it. Colin and Angelina were behind him.”

Ginny rested her head on Harry’s shoulder, and he glanced up at Hermione and grinned. She was happy for him. She was happy for them. And Ron would be okay. She’d snog him this time and chuckled to herself at the thought. If he was in his sick bed, he wouldn’t be able to get away from her.

Ginny’s brown eyes met hers. “What’s so funny?”

Hermione gave her a small smile. “I was just thinking that Ron wouldn’t be able to escape if I kissed him. Healer’s orders.”

Ginny returned her smile. “He’ll get there, Hermione. Don’t you worry.”

“He didn’t seem to have much trouble showing his feelings to Lavender sixth year,” she said, unable to keep the resentment out of her voice.

Ginny reached out and flicked Hermione’s nose affectionately. “That’s because he didn’t really care about her. There was nothing at stake if he bolloxed it up.”

“Can confirm,” Harry said, and shifted his bright green eyes to Hermione. “Everything was about you. He was with Lavender because he liked you and wanted to make you mad.”

“Well, he did and yes,” she said, feeling anger well within her at the memory of Ron treating her so poorly. “I’m well aware that he was mean to me because he liked me.”

“He had his head up his arse to be sure,” Ginny continued, seeing Hermione’s irritated expression. “But have no doubt, it’s you he likes. He’s not being an idiot this time around.” She paused, then looked apprehensively towards the door of the infirmary. “That I’m aware of.”

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear and observed Harry and Ginny. They both looked content and Hermione felt a bittersweet tug on her heart. It wouldn’t last.

Harry.

Molly came out, motioning for Harry and Ginny to take their turn. Harry told Ginny go with Bill instead. Ginny got up, still holding Harry’s hand and let it drop limply as she walked through the door to see Ron.

They watched George and Angelina snog, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

“How long do you think her parents will be able to keep her from fighting?” Hermione asked. Not much longer, that was for sure.

“I witnessed an explosion between her and Molly over that.” His eyes glazed over at the memory and then he shook his head, bringing her back into focus. “I have no idea which Weasley female is more terrifying, to be honest. But she’s not allowed to fight at least until her seventeenth birthday.”

Ginny would turn seventeen this year. “So, in a few months. Possibly less if she has her way.”

“They’re trying to protect her. But no force on Earth can keep Ginny out of a fight. Not even her mother.” He glanced back at the door. “I wish I could protect her.”

Hermione wished she could protect him.

She willed back her tears, tried to Occlude, and did her best to push a smile on her face. “Any of us could die, Harry. You have to take what love and happiness there is to be had where it’s available. Fortunately for us,” she waved her hand towards the waiting room full of Weasleys. “There is a lot to be had.”

A warm grin graced his features as he watched his adopted family consoling each other. He turned and studied her silently for a moment. “Your smile is fake, Hermione. Why?”

Her throat constricted and she turned to stare at the ground, blinking back her tears. Hermione couldn’t lie while looking at Harry directly. It worked on Ron, but it wouldn’t work on Harry. Not having any siblings, he was like a brother and she loved him so dearly. She couldn’t bear the thought that he wouldn’t live to see this war through.

“Just worried about Ron.” It was partially true.

He wrapped her into a hug, rubbed her upper arm up and down and gave it a brief squeeze.

“He’ll be alright. Oi!” Harry’s voice brightened. “This should cheer you up. I can’t believe I forgot.”

He leaned over, reaching inside a bag to his right, pulled out a silver goblet and handed it to her.

“That’s a bit ostentatious for my morning coffee.” She sniffed, took the goblet by the stem and peered inside. There was a lot of tarnish and it looked old. Obviously, no one had drunk from it in a long time. They might poison themselves if they did.

“I had no idea if it would work,” Harry explained, “But I tried to summon Portkeys at the Rowle’s. You can repurpose it.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s brilliant, Harry!”

“I have my moments.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Although they may be few and far between.”

She nudged him affectionately. “Take the compliment, Potter.”

Hermione cast a charm over the goblet to get an idea of the Arithmancy she’d have to correct. At first glance it looked like the goblet was designed to send the Rowles to Spain. They probably had a summer house there or something. She could work with it.

Bill and Ginny came out of the infirmary looking happy. That was good. Finally, it was her and Harry’s turn to visit Ron. Harry got up and held the door open for her. She walked in, received the glare she knew to expect from Mary, and sat down next to Ron. Mary gave Harry a stiff smile and turned back to Cho and Terry, going over some procedure or another and pointing to Ron. Hermione scowled at the floor. Even if they were gruff, Mary still gave everyone else smiles.

Ron was pale, propped up on a few pillows, but he seemed in good spirits and smiled up at them. “I’m getting a sense of déjà vu.”

Harry’s face darkened. “We visited you in the Hogwarts infirmary when Malfoy poisoned that bottle of mead.”

Hermione glanced up sharply. She had forgotten about that. Well, she hadn’t forgotten, the poisoned mead was simply pushed to the back of her mind in the pile of things that Malfoy had done out of fear. Including almost killing Katie Bell, letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts which resulted in Bill getting mauled by Greyback, and whatever else he was doing now.

But it didn’t change the fact that he did almost kill her best friend.

Boyfriend.

She didn’t know what the hell she and Ron were.

Malfoy’s misdeeds were easy to compartmentalize when she was alone with him and trying to build their spy-handler relationship. When he was making self-deprecating jokes about his Patronus, when his eyes held that mixture of curiosity and amusement, and when he offered that small secretive smile of his when they unexpectedly shared a joke together.

But she couldn’t forget who she was dealing with. He was a Death Eater. He may want to leave, he may be willing to spy, and he may be coerced into doing things he wouldn’t do otherwise under threat to himself and his parents, but he was still a Death Eater. Just because he was questioning his beliefs and might be a tad bit more attractive than she remembered didn’t mean he wasn’t still dangerous.

And untrustworthy.

“How are you feeling?” she reached out to Ron tentatively, wondering if he would accept the gesture, and brushed his hair off of his forehead.

He smiled, receiving her touch, and then winced. “It’s my side, and why I’m still here.”

Hermione lifted his blanket, curious.

“Hey!” he yelled out, surprised, and clamped the blanket down. “I’ve just got boxers on.”

“Sorry!” she smiled sheepishly at him. “So, your side hurts?” she asked, embarrassed at having broached a barrier she didn’t know he had.

“Yeah, but it’s much better now,” he explained, fiddling with the blanket. “Before Mary got to it, I felt like I was freezing from the inside out. Glad we have her.”

Harry looked over his shoulder at Mary, still conversing with Cho and Terry, pointing at a series of colored jars with various healing potions. “Mary was your idea, wasn’t she?”

She shrugged. “I knew we wouldn’t be able to rely on Madam Pomfrey.” With the Carrows and Snape running the school, the Medi-witch had her hands full at Hogwarts.

“Is Mary staying then?” Harry asked. “I heard she was only mentoring Cho and Terry. But from what I’ve seen, they’re here all day, every day. She may as well be one of us.”

Hermione wondered about that as well. “I think Cho and Terry keep her here. If she leaves before they finish training, then she’d be abandoning them. Unless this war lasts several years-”

“I fucking hope not,” Ron interrupted.

“Me too,” Hermione continued. “She’ll be training them throughout the war anyway. Hopefully the war will end before their training ends. And we’re paying her so she may as well be one of us. One full time Healer and two trainees. We did well.”

You did well,” Ron corrected, looking up at her with admiration.

“So did the two of you last night,” Hermione looked fondly down at him. “Now we’ve got another big shot Death Eater for Tonks to play with. She likes her playthings.”

Ron cracked a smile at her, and she linked her fingers in with his.

“So…” Harry rubbed the tops of his thighs anxiously and shifted his gaze between Hermione and Ron. “I’m going to head out to see Ginny before she goes back with her parents. You can stay here, Hermione.”

He gave her a conspiratorial wink and left.

Ron glanced nervously over at the Healers and then back at Hermione. It appeared that her plan to trap Ron into snogging her was foiled so long as the Healers were still there.

Hermione took Ron’s hand in her own and he stared back at her in awkward silence while Mary, Cho and Terry continued working over by one of the benches. They must have finished up though, because Mary walked out calling that she would see Cho and Terry bright and early tomorrow.

Cho shared a knowing smile with Hermione and pulled on Terry, loudly protesting about Ron’s hemoglobin levels, out of the room with her. “We’re taking a break; we’ll be back to monitor you Ron. Send a Patronus if you need anything.”

Cho shut the door and the room was quiet. Too quiet.

Ron cleared his throat nervously and licked his lips. This shouldn’t be so hard, right? Everyone was snogging. Ron had initiated their first kiss. Hermione could initiate this one.

Hermione leaned closer to him and asked playfully, “Do you need personal attention?”

His eyebrows rose. “No,” he answered honestly, her flirting going completely over his head. She lowered her head slowly towards him. “I think I’m okay actually. Mary said after-”

Before she lost her nerve, she gently pressed her lips against his, cutting his words off and closed her eyes. His fingers squeezed her hand and he raised his other arm to hold her weakly to him. She slid her tongue against his mouth, delicately exploring the feel of him and prodding his lips open. He opened his mouth slightly, and inhaled. She cupped his jaw and his fingers laced into her hair, holding her close. Their tongues met tenderly and he smiled against her lips, breaking the kiss.

Ron gazed up at her, blue eyes warm and inviting. “Personal attention, eh?”

“Mmm hmm.”

And she leaned down to give him some more.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

SLOW BURN guys. It’s in the tags. You knew you what you were signing up for! ;)

Also, there seem to be an awful lot of Theodore Nott fans among Dramione lovers. He's coming up in the next chapter.

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Draco sat back on the couch in the Nott living room, swirling his Firewhisky. He watched the fire crackle in the hearth. Bits of wood popped in the flames every so often. A hearth should instill a feeling of warmth, family and security. It didn’t feel like a home here though.

Nott Manor was cold. Empty. Heartless.

Growing up, Theo had always done his best to get out of the house, and Draco did his best to help him.

At least Nott Senior wasn’t home now.

“How goes it with everyone’s favorite reptile?” Theo quipped, blue eyes crinkling in amusement.

Draco shot him a warning look. “You’d best watch your mouth, Theo.”

He was going to get his bony, snarky arse killed one day if he kept that up. And it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying by his tosser of a father. Nott Senior wanted Theo to join the Dark Lord’s ranks. Theo refused, and occasionally paid the price for it.

“Zero,” Theo said emphatically. “Fucks.”

“What?” Draco shifted his posture on the couch.

“That’s how much I give,” Theo replied, scratching the back of his neck and then running his hand through his short brown hair.

They drank in silence and Theo leaned his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Draco knew his friend felt trapped. Because Theo refused to join the Dark Lord’s army, his father threatened to cut him off from his inheritance and wouldn’t let him get a job or do anything else besides. Theo wanted to leave the house and strike out on his own. But he couldn’t without a job, and his father was sabotaging every attempt to secure one.

Theo was trapped and angry. Similar to Draco.

But he was also bored. A bored Theo was a dangerous Theo. It made him liable to do something stupid.

“Is Pansy coming over?” Theo asked, still staring at the ceiling.

“No.” Draco shook his head. “It’s just you and me tonight. Daphne and Blaise are also busy.”

“Busy,” Theo repeated, making air quotes. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Jealous?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, unashamed. “I don’t remember the last time my purple one-eyed monster has seen a breathing female.”

“He’s seen a non-breathing female?”

“Walked right into that one,” Theo snorted.

Draco summoned the bowl of peanuts and popped a few in his mouth. He should get the chess board out since no one else was able to come tonight. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t see anybody anymore that isn’t involved with the Dark Lord’s army. Even Pansy. Not since Azkaban.”

Theo shuddered visibly. “Dementors?”

“Fun times.”

“You know…” Theo brought his head up. “You would see the rest of the group if you weren’t the lizard man’s favorite whipping boy.”

Draco glared at him. “Not anymore. He’s naffed off at everyone now.”

Theo offered him a look of mock concern. “Are you feeling neglected?”

Draco wordlessly sent Theo the two fingered salute.

“I’m essentially a prisoner in my own home. Please tell me you’re at least having fun at the Ministry?” Theo shifted his posture on the couch, leaning more to the left. “I’ll live vicariously through your adventures.”

“My adventures?” Draco looked at Theo in disbelief.

“Your world of bribery and extortion,” Theo wagged his eyebrows. “The power behind the power. Tell me some tales, Draco. I’m dying here.”

Draco considered his friend. Theo would never betray him, and he wasn’t stupid. Most of the time. But even so, sharing details of what his father and Draco were doing could get him in trouble. The Dark Lord compartmentalized his operations to prevent leaks and spies from having much of an effect. It was an intelligent strategy. Not just to prevent the impact of information getting out but because not all of his followers were circumspect. Some were in it for the power and the money, some were complete and utter morons, and others had loose lips.

If Draco shared too much with Theo, and word circled back to Nott Senior somehow, they could all get in trouble with the Dark Lord.

Perhaps he could share a bit of what he was doing. Theo must feel like he was in a cage. At least Theo was intelligent enough to realize that a cage was better than being a Death Eater.

“I’m seducing an intern to get files.”

Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You can’t be serious. Lucius is actually encouraging that kind of behavior in his sole heir?”

Draco bitterly recalled his father’s dismissal of his affair with a lower class, poorly bred, pure-blood witch. He would never hand wave away Draco’s secret desire for Granger, even if there was no affair. Malfoy’s simply didn’t corrupt themselves. Corrupting others though? That was a different matter entirely.

Draco shrugged indifferently. “It’s not as if she’s a Mudblood. They’re all in hiding or in prison. And I’m not going to marry her. What were you expecting to hear?”

“I suppose I was hoping for stories about corrupt officials having their weaknesses exploited.”

He nodded. “Oh, we do that too. There’s plenty of adultery. I thought the Ministry was inefficient because it was a bureaucratic shit show, but apparently everyone is so busy fucking one other behind closed doors they don’t get any work done. Ministry co-workers.” Draco sipped his whisky. “It’s a thing.”

A wry grin appeared on Theo’s face. “Remind me to pursue a career in the Ministry.”

Draco scoffed in disgust. He couldn’t imagine a worse place to devote one’s time and effort. “There are a few with financial problems. Gambling, expensive purchases, mistresses, living a lifestyle that they can’t afford. They’re easily bribed, and then blackmailed once they’ve accepted the bribe.”

Theo motioned to him with his glass. “See, now this is how I imagine your father spending his days.”

“You sound like it’s something to aspire to.”

“Well, he did bag Narcissa.”

Draco glared at Theo, but he just smiled, smacking his lips loudly after taking a long sip of his Firewhisky.

“Tell me more about the adventures of Lucius and Draco: Father and son, corrupting the Ministry. Sounds like a good title for a book.”

Draco rubbed the rim of his glass with his finger. “The corruption is already there to exploit. You just have to find it. Co-workers rat each other out. After you develop a rapport with them, a simple lunch at an expensive restaurant can sometimes get you enough information to work with for an entire year. So many have used their position for financial gain. They can be blackmailed as well.”

Theo considered this, his tone serious now. “Maybe I won’t work in government.”

“Don’t,” Draco considered his long-time friend, and then looked into his glass of Firewhisky with disdain. “The Ministry is a cesspit. They deserve what they get.”

Theo eyed him apprehensively. “Surely they’re not all that bad.”

Draco sat back, thinking of Alexandra Wexler and the two others he had to Imperius since then. “No, they aren’t. That’s what the Imperius Curse is for.”

“I’m imagining a flow chart of sorts here with arrows pointing to blackmail, bribery, seduction and the Imperius Curse.”

Draco huffed a laugh. “You’re not wrong. That flow chart is in my father’s head. It’s what he’s trying to teach me.”

Theo spread his hands out as if framing a title. “The Master Manipulator’s Flow Chart. How to Take Over the Ministry in Ten Easy Steps. The Idiot’s Guide to Corrupting Your Own Government.” He grinned at Draco. “You feed me the information and I’ll dumb it down for mass consumption. I don’t need a job to get out of this prison; it will easily be a bestselling book. Fuck my father and my inheritance. We’ll split the profits fifty/fifty.”

Draco chuckled.

Theo.

“Fifty/fifty sounds like a shit deal to me.”

“I agree,” Theo replied easily. “I’m doing most of the work here. You at least get to shag interns. Eighty/twenty.”

Draco smiled at his friend. Theo had kept Draco from going spare sixth year, despite Draco’s attempts to isolate himself. No one knew what the hell was going on or why Draco was rejecting his friends. He and Theo had been close growing up, but he would never forget how Theo stood by him during that time.

“Is the sex good at least?”

Draco sneered. “We haven’t progressed that far. It’s more teasing and the occasional snog. I’m only too happy to keep it on that level if she is.”

“She’s not attractive?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not interested.”

“What’s her name?”

Draco paused. It was a common enough name. “Elizabeth.”

“You can’t at least enjoy her somewhat?”

Draco stared at Theo. Didn’t he understand? Draco was being used like a tool. His body wasn’t his own. “Would you?”

Theo studied him in thought. “No, I guess not.”

Draco took another sip of his Firewhisky. His thoughts returned to casting the Imperius Curse on Alexandra Wexler and other Ministry officials. Unlike the other two Unforgivable Curses, he was able to perform and sustain it effectively. He was now simultaneously controlling three separate people.

Draco hadn’t found anything relevant on Unforgivables at Malfoy Manor, and wondered if his father had pre-emptively hidden any books they had. Clearly, he didn’t want to discuss with Draco the effects of extended Imperius Curse use; merely warning him to use it as a last resort. Draco didn’t know if his father was trying to shield him for his own good or make him more amenable to performing the curse by not understanding the consequences.

Draco wasn’t sure of his father's motives for a lot of things.

Regardless, he was being kept in the dark and he didn’t like it. But the Nott library was fairly extensive.

“Do you have any books on the effect of Unforgivable use on the caster?”

Theo tapped his fingers on his knee, considering Draco for a few moments. “You’re able to torture people now?”

He shook his head, and Theo looked relieved. “I’m interested in the Imperius Curse.”

“I’m sure we do; remind me and we’ll go check the library before you leave tonight if you’re not too sloshed.”

Draco nodded in thanks and then returned to one of the reasons for his visit in the first place. “We need to see everyone. Change of pace.”

They both did.

“Definitely,” Theo continued in a more lighthearted tone. “If we have a shindig of sorts, I’d rather it not be here if my father is home. I don’t know when he’s home anyway. I have even fewer fucks to give about my dad’s schedule than the zero I gave regarding the consequences of coming up with new nicknames for that albino serpent wannabe.”

Draco tried not to snort his Firewhisky.

“Your house is obviously off limits,” Theo said, shuddering. “Zabini’s?”

Draco leaned back into the couch and sighed contentedly in thought of the visual benefits of going to Blaise’s house. He gazed back at Theo with a lazy grin. “I don’t need an excuse to see his mum.”

Theo raised his glass. “To Zabini’s mum. Physical embodiment of the Oedipus Complex.”

Draco raised his glass. “To Zabini’s mum, inspiration for my first wank, and innumerable others.” He knocked back the rest of his Firewhisky.

“To Zabini’s mu- Fuck!” Theo’s tumbler suddenly broke and a glass shard cut into the palm of his hand.

Draco jumped up and grabbed the broken tumbler, placing it on the coffee table. “Hold on, give your hand here.”

Theo winced and pulled his hand back.

“Quit moving it’s only going to go in deeper,” Draco said, tugging Theo’s wrist towards him. Delicately, he pried the glass shard out of Theo’s palm and dropped it in the broken tumbler with a clink. Blood dripped from Theo’s hand into the glass, mixing with the Firewhisky.

Draco squeezed his wrist while aiming his wand at the cut. More blood dripped out, nearly spurting.

“Bugger!” Theo cried out in pain. “What the hell are you doing?”

Draco glared at him impatiently. “I’m trying to hold you still so I can heal this.” He clamped his fingers around Theo’s wrist hard, so he wouldn’t move. His blood dribbled into the glass. “Quit moving.” He aimed his wand at Theo’s palm. “Wuss,” he muttered under his breath.

Theo rested his chin in his other hand and rolled his eyes. “My hero.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Draco had healed Theo’s cuts and bruises. Nott Senior was cruel.

“I didn’t know you cared,” Draco said as he sealed the cut and set the bloody broken tumbler to the side.

“I don’t.” Theo yanked his hand back and inspected the wound that Draco healed with an air of superiority. “Passable. Barely.”

“You’re welcome.

Theo released a greatly put-upon sigh. “I guess this will have to do.”

“So,” Draco said with a grin as he summoned the Firewhisky bottle, another tumbler, and poured Theo a fresh glass. “Pansy.”

Theo’s blue eyes warily met his as Draco held out the full glass towards him. “She’s fair game, right?”

Draco hadn’t been with Pansy since his terrible sixth year when he pushed her away along with everyone else. He summoned the chessboard and pieces.

“She is,” he affirmed, not looking at Theo as he set up the game. After a few moments he chanced a glance at his friend while putting on the pieces in place.

Theo tried and failed to suppress his smile as he took another sip.

 

 

 

Notes:

My favorite Theo is the snarky/slightly unhinged Theo of Olivieblake’s ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People,’ and ‘The Bachelorette.’ He served as inspiration for this fic’s Theo.

Also, the next three - yes you heard me. THREE! - chapters are all Draco/Hermione. Turning the heat up...

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

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Chapter 18: Chapter 18

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Some really cool art from Efinna for when the Galleon sexting goes from fake to real...

And now on to the story!

December 1997

The Galleon warmed. He was contacting her again!

Teaching Malfoy the Patronus charm must have engendered quite a bit of good will. Hermione was grateful for such an excellent opportunity since she frustratingly hadn’t gotten anywhere with Kingsley on Draco and Narcissa’s pardon; he said it was still too early.

The rest of the Order leadership had been extremely happy with the Rowle plans though, and the information they had gotten from Rowle himself. Apparently, the Death Eater was in charge of - among other things - leveraging the Dementors through the Ministry. Remus and the Aurors helping to train the Order reacted by beginning to train everyone in casting a corporeal Patronus.

Hermione wondered if coming into contact with the Dementors was the reason Malfoy had asked her to teach him the Patronus Charm.

I want to bend you over.

Hermione felt a brief twinge of heat at the thought of him doing precisely that to her. The Galleon communications really seemed like flirting now. It was different when she couldn’t stand Malfoy and simply dealt with him because she had to.

But now she was… curious.

There was nothing between them. That would be absolutely ridiculous. But the faint attraction she was starting to feel made these short missives seem like a betrayal of Ron.

Which was stupid. There was nothing to betray him with.

And even if she found some other bloke attractive, it didn’t mean anything when it wasn’t acted upon, right? Harry and Ron both found Fleur attractive, but they wouldn’t do anything with her. And they found that Muggle woman she had Polyjuiced herself as attractive. But she had to admit, finding Draco Malfoy attractive wasn’t the same as finding Fleur attractive, or the Muggle woman.

Hermione sighed in resignation. Regardless of how wrong it was, she had a role to play as his handler. If anyone found his Galleon, or hers, it would look like they were communicating about sneaking off to have sex. It was a good cover, even if it made her uncomfortable. And to be honest, a small part of her got a thrill out of it. A very small part.

She looked down at the glowing letters on the Galleon and smiled wickedly.

So you’re done stroking your wand?

There was a brief pause.

I’d rather you stroke it for me.

She couldn’t help it. The images came unbidden. She thought of herself walking up to him while his fox was bouncing around the room and reaching into his pants. He’d look down at her with that smirk of his…

She squeezed her eyes shut. Enough.

Half hour.

She went to the loo to wash her face and changed out of her pajamas and into a standard jumper and jeans like she always wore when she met him. It was fine. There was nothing unusual about any of this. So Malfoy was a bit attractive. So was Charlie Weasley. So was Bill Weasley. So was Oliver Wood. So was Victor Krum. Aside from the fact that they were all Quidditch players at one point, it didn’t mean anything. Ron found other women attractive but still wanted to be with her. She found other blokes attractive but still wanted to be with him.

Malfoy was simply one of the many, many, many blokes that she found attractive.

No more, no less.

Definitely less.

She Apparated to her bedroom.

Malfoy was already there. Wand on the bookshelf. Laying on her bed. Always on her bed. Always looking at her with those stormy grey eyes.

Why did he have to lie down on her bed and look at her like that?

Tonight, his eyes were curious and guarded at the same time.

He gazed behind her in the direction of her desk.

Hermione turned around and was excited to see another rolled up set of parchments. She walked back to sit in the chair and unfurled the roll. Nott Manor. Again, she had asked for Lestrange but he gave her Rowle and now Nott.

Why?

She skimmed the plans. Hermione was far from an expert like Tonks, but even she could see there was an incredible amount of detail included in these plans that weren’t in Rowle’s. Theo Nott was Malfoy’s friend, it made sense he’d be more familiar with the layout of the estate and its wards.

“Satisfied, Granger?”

The low tone of his voice made her imagine he was referring to something else entirely. Or maybe her dirty mind simply recalled their sex talk of only a few minutes ago.

She glanced up at him. “These are excellent, Malfoy.”

He reached behind his prone form on the bed and held out a jar with red liquid inside.

She peered at it with morbid interest. “Is that blood?”

“Yes. It’ll get you right through the wards in the southeast corner without detection. Nothing in the house can hurt you if you perform the Hearth and Home runic protection spell on everyone going in.”

She thought back to Ron’s close call, and to Angelina and Colin. This would prevent all injuries resulting from wards or other dark magic in the house.

She wondered if it was Theo’s blood or his father’s that she was looking at, and what Malfoy had done to acquire it. She scanned the parchment for the southeast corner of the estate and saw that he had indicated precisely where they could enter without detection. He really knew a lot about the area.

Hermione set the plans down on the desk, stood up and walked across the room to take the jar but he pulled the blood away, just out of her reach. She stood over him, staring down into his eyes while he lay below her on her bed. It was a strange position to be in with Malfoy, and her stomach twisted nervously. Aside from feeling uncomfortable from their respective locations, she wasn’t sure why he would offer the blood only to pull it away. She made to lean over his body and grab it when he spoke.

“Only if you tell me when the raid is.”

She sputtered and backed away. “I can’t give you that information! It’s bad enough you already know that’s what we’re planning to do!”

He shrugged. “Then no blood. Theo can’t be there.”

She considered summoning the jar. He wouldn’t be able to stop her, but that would be a breach of trust. If Malfoy couldn’t trust her, he’d stop coming. Or he would refuse to relinquish his wand during their meetings.

But what exactly was he asking for? He wanted a promise from her to ensure Theo’s safety and he trusted her not to break that promise.

Was that so terrible?

Again, in lieu of a pardon… Hermione felt so guilty for stringing him along like this.

Tonks and Remus would never approve of her giving him raid details, she knew it. They’d deem the trade too risky and worry that he’d betray their plans to Voldemort. She bit her lip in thought.

What if she told him anyway? Malfoy studied her while she thought through the ramifications of what he’d offered.

She couldn’t hide something so important from the Order. But then she remembered how Kingsley had made his own judgement call about the Legilimens, not informing Tonks that he had access to one that could help with the interrogations, and allowed her to torture Dolohov instead.

Maybe Hermione needed to make her own judgement call here. The blood would surely prevent injuries or worse. The wards at Nott Manor were more complex and more deadly than at Rowle’s Estate. She saw that clearly in the plans.

Sometimes, it was better to ask for forgiveness than request permission.

“Thirty-minute warning,” she replied, and held her breath.

Enough time to warn Theo. Not enough time to plan a counter raid.

Malfoy shook his head and her shoulders sagged in disappointment.

“That would be too obvious. Let me know as soon as you know. I need a good reason to get him out of the house that no one would trace back to me. Or him.”

Generally speaking, she couldn’t trust Malfoy. But on this particular issue she knew that she could. Hermione was well aware of his predicament in the Astronomy Tower, and that his motivations all sixth year had been to save his parents. It wasn’t beyond the pale that he wanted to ensure the safety of his friend. In fact, it was completely in character with what she knew about him. She felt a grudging respect towards him. Those were motivations she could understand and empathize with, even if he was on the wrong side.

But then why not give the Order someone else’s house plans? Why put Theo in that position at all? Why not send them Macnair’s? Or the Carrow’s? And why hadn’t he given them the full Inner Circle list to begin with? There were a few like Snape and Mulciber that she knew were in the Inner Circle that he hadn’t mentioned at all. Why Rowle and Nott right now?

She felt the weight of responsibility acutely. Hermione knew she was missing information, and she didn’t want to make a partially informed decision. If she was wrong, she was endangering the lives of those sent to pick up Nott Senior. If she was right, an extremely dangerous raid would go smoothly. The Order could sneak into the manor without setting off any alarms and have another highly placed source of information.

It was critical she make the right decision. She wished she knew what Malfoy’s motivations were.

He watched her mull through the pros and cons of his ultimatum. Adrenaline raced through her veins and her heart thudded against her chest while she considered her choice. She took a deep breath; it was like jumping off a cliff. Hermione hoped she was correct.

“Alright.”

Wordlessly, he held out the jar and she took it. She walked back to sit on her chair at the desk, thankful to be further away from him and his grey eyes.

Hermione sank into her chair holding the jar with both hands. It was strange. She felt relieved after having made the decision, but still had no idea as to whether or not it was the right one.

 

Malfoy studied her. Something else was going through his mind. She didn’t understand the expression on his face. He seemed pensive and curious when she Apparated in. Also wary.

She wondered why he always lay down on her bed when he waited for her.

Draco Malfoy in her bed.

It was unsettling, seeing his long legs stretched out, his head propped up on his elbow, considering her.

What else did he want?

Hermione knew he came to her room without her being here. But she didn’t know how often and she didn’t know when. Her stack of CDs was a messy pile now. Her desk was a mess. Her books were… piled upon her shelves vertically of all things. If he had tried to hide the fact that he was looking through her room before, he certainly wasn’t now. That meant something, didn’t it? Malfoy didn’t care if she knew anymore. He trusted her with his exploration of Muggle life, and now he trusted her to warn him of the raid ahead of time.

Going through her things while she wasn’t here was the elephant in the room. Hermione knew Malfoy was exploring her Muggle house. He knew that she knew that he was exploring her Muggle house. And neither one of them ever mentioned it at all. Maybe that’s why he had trusted her to teach him the Patronus. She hadn’t used the knowledge that he was going through her Muggle house against him, so she wouldn’t use his memory against him either.

There was a confidence of sorts between them. Hermione felt even better about her decision to take the blood.

She supposed she should have felt unsettled by the fact that Draco Malfoy was going through her things, but now she didn’t. Even if he did make a bit of a mess. Now, she was more curious as to what he thought of Muggles. Ultimately, it was encouraging, the fact that he was looking around, the fact that he was interested. It meant he was questioning the world he was brought up in, didn’t it? If she could help him undo his bigotry, he might be more motivated as a spy. Wouldn’t he?

“Granger,” Malfoy asked slowly. “If you were me, why would you think Mudbloods were inferior to pure-bloods?”

 

 

 

Notes:

I’ve read a lot of fanfics that have Hermione brow beating Draco and trying to turn him away from bigotry. As you all know by now, I think of him as someone that would not like being lied to, having information withheld from him, being manipulated, having his future mapped out – especially after that terrible sixth year.

Again, props to Cheryl Dyson who wrote Draco: Phoenix Rising - that OG pretty much cemented how I think of Draco. Yes, she's also the one that came up with the DA Galleon plot device. Genius.

So the realization that information had been withheld from him, or that he had been lied to – intentionally or not – would drive him to find out more and initiate the discussion with Hermione, rather than the other way around.

The bit with blood runes was inspired by Finders by Everythursday.

Coming up, another debate!

Awesome comic/meme by Efinna! Check out Efinna for more of her art!

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 19: Chapter 19

Notes:

Some fics have playlists to accompany the reading. I do have music that I listened to in order to get into the mood of certain scenes, but this chapter specifically references a song. If you’d like to listen to it, here’s a link:

We Won’t Get Fooled Again by the Who

I think it's appropriate for our British rebel with a cause.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione’s eyes widened. Malfoy really was questioning everything.

“You’re honestly asking me for a logical reason as to why I would consider myself inferior to you?”

He traced a pattern on her quilt with his finger but his gaze didn’t waver from hers. “Mmm hmm.”

Malfoy was dead serious. He wasn’t insulting her. He wasn’t lording his blood status over her. He was well and truly interested in what she thought about the rationale for his beliefs. Or… did he even believe those things anymore? He already said he didn’t think she was dirty. And he asked her to teach him the Patronus charm, which meant he was admitting to himself and to her that she was better at some forms of magic.

Hermione had been wondering whether or not being in her room had affected him, but here was the proof. Their few interactions were causing Malfoy to question some of the things he was taught growing up. How utterly fascinating that he was asking her of all people. Then again, who else would he discuss this with? He would be treated as a traitor for even considering it.

She looked at him with a newfound respect.

The way he framed the question was an interesting hypothetical thought exercise, she had to admit. He, the pure-blood, asked her, the Muggle-born, to find a logical reason for his bigotry against her. Furthermore, he was asking because respected her intelligence, respected her ability to reason and respected her opinion.

Hermione was floored as she re-evaluated him. Malfoy simply stared back. Interested, but otherwise impassive. If he understood the bomb he just dropped on her, he wasn’t revealing anything in his facial expression.

For years, she had often wondered herself why the bigotry against Muggle-borns persisted. Some of it was so inane and she didn’t understand how anyone with half a brain could believe the things she heard in school. She had a few theories and compared it to what she knew of divine right rule and royal blood lines, with the Sacred Twenty-eight being the equivalent of royalty. But in the wizarding world it was much worse. There was an added element of racism.

After blinking at him wordlessly while he waited for her to answer, she finally spoke.

“Well, I can certainly see why the belief is so attractive. If pure-bloods are superior to Muggle-borns and half-bloods, then obviously all of that power, wealth and influence is deserved, without even having to work for it. It’s preserved within a select few families. And if Muggle-borns and half-bloods want a piece of the pie, you can dismiss them as undeserving and keep it for yourselves. If pure-bloods aren’t superior, then what’s the justification for keeping everything?”

“Is that all you’ve got?” Anger and – disappointment? – flashed across his face. Malfoy expected more from her. “This is all because I want to keep your grubby hands off the fruits of my hardworking ancestors?”

She was going to blow this opportunity if she wasn’t careful.

“No,” Hermione replied slowly.

Yes, it was. But she should choose words that were less antagonistic, or a line of reasoning that was less antagonistic, and not call him out directly. She gathered her thoughts and considered the bigotry she had heard from him and others throughout her years at Hogwarts. Thinking about where to start, she rolled up the plans and set them on her desk.

“Not entirely,” she corrected. “Let’s take a step back. Mudblood implies that the blood is dirty, whatever that means either literally or figuratively. But for some reason, it’s understood that the actual wizard or witch is literally dirty, which…” she held her hand out towards him. “You told me you don’t believe that anymore. You always lay down on my bed. If you thought that was true you’d be Scourgifying yourself every time you left my house.”

Malfoy’s lips quirked, his anger already gone. “I actually did the first two times.”

Her eyes widened. “You seriously Scourgified yourself after being in my house?”

“Showered and Scourgified the first time. I only Scourgified myself the second.”

She was speechless.

“I had ten scoops of ice cream on me,” he said with a mild tone of protest.

Hermione scowled and he laughed.

“You really believed that the things you touched here were soiled?”

“After the second time it felt somewhat ridiculous,” he admitted. “There was nothing to Scourgify.”

“Right,” she continued. “You quickly saw how silly that is. And yet, I’ve heard comments about how dirty I am from some of your Slytherin classmates before.” She also heard it from his parents, but she didn’t want him to get angry and derail the conversation. “They may as well believe in Crumple Horned Snorkacks. I don’t understand how adults can speak such nonsense to their children. There has to be a reason for teaching something so obviously false, doesn’t there?”

She directed her question to him.

“Money?” he replied, irritated.

“That’s part of it.” She waved her hand dismissively, seeing it was a sore topic. “And yet somehow, it’s okay to have sex with Muggle-borns isn’t it? Me being dirty didn’t stop you from being a creepy pervert.”

“There’s certainly a creepy pervert here Granger, and it isn’t me,” he retorted with a smirk.

“Whatever.” She felt uncomfortable bringing up that memory of her changing in front of him. The thought of her naked before him made her feel strangely excited, and she shouldn’t feel that way. “The point stands. Isn’t it hypocritical to have sex with Muggle-borns, yet think they’re dirty? That requires an ungodly amount of cognitive dissonance.”

“Not necessarily,” Malfoy countered. “It’s called ‘rolling in the mud’. Frowned upon in polite society, but known to happen.”

Hermione made a face of disgust.

“Aunt Bella thinks it’s disgusting as well,” he said with one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Hermione glowered at him. “Well obviously she disapproves because she thinks the Muggle-born is disgusting. I think it’s the pure-blood’s attitude which is revolting. Regardless, it’s hypocritical.”

Malfoy continued. “Plenty of Mudbloods are physically attractive.” There was a gleam in his eye. She had a sneaking suspicion that he was implying that she was physically attractive, and she blushed. “Pure-bloods just shower afterwards.”

“Moving on.” Hermione didn’t want to discuss sex with him anymore. Malfoy didn’t believe she was dirty anyway. “So if my body is not physically dirty, then what would it mean that my blood is dirty? I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of blood, being all,” she waved her hand at him. “Death Eater-y.”

His lips quivered, like he was going to laugh again. Amused was better than angry, or flirty, so she pressed on.

“It’s red. It’s gross. It clumps when it clots. It all looks the same. If I cut myself and added my blood to this ultra-pure Nott blood,” she picked up the jar, Malfoy’s eyes followed the motions of her hand and she swirled the blood around for effect, “it wouldn’t look any different. Clearly my blood is not literally dirty.”

He licked his lips and leaned forward slightly in anticipation. Waiting for her to reveal her next thought. She wished she wouldn’t have noticed his tongue.

“So is it figuratively dirty?” she continued. “Such that it makes us inferior? And what would that mean? That Muggle-borns can’t do magic as well as pure-bloods? They’re not as capable? They’re not as talented?” She looked at him to see if he was following her line of reasoning.

Still interested, but impassive. He must have come to the same conclusion already.

“I think anyone with a pair of eyes would know that’s bollocks. You’ve seen enough kids at our school to know that’s not true. And to think – they haven’t even had the benefit of growing up in a wizarding house. I didn’t know anything about magic until the letter from Hogwarts arrived. Muggle-born kids start at a disadvantage, but they certainly catch up fast enough.”

He chewed on his bottom lip in thought, but his gaze didn’t waver from hers. She could tell he hadn’t considered that before. Muggle-borns had so much to catch up on, and they did.

“But pure-bloods have established Wizarding society,” Malfoy explained. “They built it from nothing, they defined the boundaries, they kept it safe from Muggle persecution. They’ve maintained it over the course of hundreds of years, protecting it from Muggle upheavals, wars and destruction. Mudbloods are invaders.”

His tone wasn’t heated. She didn’t know if he actually believed what he was saying or merely throwing ideas at her to see how she’d respond. Regardless, the rationale was similar to the thinking of populist anti-immigrant parties in Muggle Europe. She’d heard it all before.

“Invaders or immigrants?” she countered. “And don’t immigrants help build, contribute to and maintain society? Their parents, as Muggles, may not have. But Muggle-borns sure do. And then their children will. The Patils didn’t build Wizarding Britain. Are they invaders or immigrants?”

Hermione watched Malfoy process her rationale.

“But their ancestors built Wizarding India,” he countered. “Their family contributed. Mudbloods stand on the shoulders of pure-blood achievements. They exploit without having earned their place. They don’t belong.”

“So if, after this war is done – which I am fighting in, by the way – and Wizarding society is free of You-Know-Who, then I don’t belong?”

He studied her and said slowly, “You’re an exception,” he paused, traced the quilt pattern with his finger and then said, “To a lot of things.”

That wasn’t the conclusion she wanted him to make. At all. But even so, the way he said those words made her stomach feel like she had a flock of butterflies in it.

“What of the other Muggle-borns fighting for your freedom?”

Any mention of freedom would resonate with him, and he nodded. “They deserve to be here too.”

“What about the Muggle-borns in hiding?”

“What have they done to earn their place?”

“Working and paying taxes isn’t enough?” she swiveled back and forth on her chair.

He didn’t answer. Malfoy’s father didn’t really ‘work’ did he? He pulled strings at the Ministry. As for taxes… Lucius Malfoy probably found enough loopholes not to have to pay any. She supposed he considered the occasional well placed bribe to function in place of taxes.

“Muggles can work and pay taxes too, but they don’t belong.”

“But Muggles don’t have magic!” she said exasperated, and smacked her hand on her desk. “Muggle-borns do. Aside from that, Muggle-borns add to the fabric of wizarding culture. They compose music that you listen to. You like the Weird Sisters, don’t you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Everyone liked the Weird Sisters.

“Their guitarist, Donaghan Tremlett, is Muggle-born. Muggle-borns painted some of the portraits that are decorating Hogwarts’ walls.” She started ticking the points off on her fingers. “They wrote novels that you’ve read, not knowing their blood status. They invent new potions. They invent new charms. They run restaurants and pubs and stores and shops in Diagon Alley. They build houses and other buildings. They work in the care of Magical creatures. They play Quidditch. They work in Wizarding law. They work at the Ministry which – yes, it’s a bloated, bureaucratic shit show -”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and then barked a laugh at her comment.

“But the very function of the Ministry is to build, maintain and protect Wizarding society. Which Muggle-borns do. You don’t need magical parents in order to be a fully participating and contributing member of Wizarding society.”

Malfoy was silent, listening to her. “And what if the Muggle-born doesn’t participate? What if they don’t do anything? Just sit on their arse all day and do nothing?”

She was so tempted to make a jab at rich, entitled pure-blood brats living off of inheritances. But she knew she’d lose the ground she gained if she did.

“Do they deserve being here any less than a pure-blood or half-blood that doesn’t participate?” she countered.

“They didn’t have parents that contributed. The pure and half-bloods did.” He stretched his long legs out on her bed, and then relaxed them again. Like a cat. Or a panther. She blinked and took a breath, trying to focus on the argument and not his long limbs.

“Okay Malfoy,” she said, and leaned forward in her chair. His eyes followed her movement. “Let’s say you have a child of a Muggle-born and a pure-blood. Like Harry. Is the child of the Muggle-born and pure-blood a half-blood?”

Hermione saw the corner of his mouth lift. He knew where she was going with this.

“Yes, but we would say that the blood line is unfortunate.”

“Is the child of a half-blood and a Muggle-born a half-blood?”

His smile widened a bit. “Yes, Granger. But it would be extremely poor breeding.”

“So how silly is it that magical parents would be considered invaders but their child would not? In what way is that logical in any sense of the word?” She felt her voice go shrill towards the end.

Malfoy looked faintly amused. “You just squawked.”

She exhaled loudly through her nostrils. “Well excuse me for being somewhat emotionally invested in this topic.”

“Fair enough, Granger. I concede the point. Why else would I think Mudbloods are inferior?”

Her anger dissipated at once with his concession. “Well, while we’re on the topic, what of marriage and lineage? I can marry whomever I want. Or not marry at all. Can you?” she asked.

Malfoy’s jaw clenched and he returned to tracing patterns on her quilt with his finger, looking sullenly down at the floor. Clearly, that topic touched a nerve. He, along with most of his friends, would be lucky to marry for love. Most likely they’d have a few potential spouses they could pick from, but that was it. They had to get married from a pre-approved list. They had to have children. They had little to no say in their future.

Hermione should have known it would be a sore topic with him. Malfoy’s Patronus was fueled by a desire for freedom.

“Pure-bloods are obsessed with lineage,” she continued and his eyes returned to her, fixated on her face. “As if having some great-great-great-great grandmother of a particular bloodline has any bearing on how powerful a witch or wizard is. Pure-bloods have squibs at the same rate as other couples. And we’ve already covered how their children are dispersed evenly in terms of class ranking, and they don’t monopolize the history of charm, artifact and potion invention.”

Encouraged by how pensive he had been while she spoke, she wondered what he’d think about Voldemort. She paused for effect and he looked up at her, curious.

“You-Know-Who is a half-blood.”

Malfoy immediately sat up at this piece of information and denied it furiously. “No, that can’t be. He’s the Heir to Slytherin.”

Hermione noticed that Voldemort being a powerful wizard was not the reason he denied it, and she smiled inwardly. She’d take that as a victory as well.

“None of Slytherin’s progenies could have married Muggles?” she posited. “All these centuries? It never happened?”

“It would be highly unlikely,” he protested. “Of the Four Founders, he was the most adamant that magic was refined and power increased through generations of conscientious breeding.”

“Your family holds the same ideals, correct?”

“They do,” he replied cautiously, unsure as to where she was going with her line of reasoning.

“And yet Sirius Black rebelled. He could have married a Muggle if he weren’t in Azkaban all these years. Your Aunt Andromeda married a Muggle-born wizard.”

“That may be so, but she didn’t marry a Muggle.”

“True, but she rebelled against the pure-blood elitism.”

She didn’t want to bring up Regulus. It would be best that Malfoy didn’t know he rebelled, and how Hermione knew.

Malfoy shook his head. “Rebelling and marrying Mudbloods are not the same as marrying a Muggle.”

He was right. But they were going off on a tangent, she had to bring it back to Voldemort.

“My point is,” Hermione said, grabbing a pen so she had something to play with while she spoke. Malfoy’s eyes followed her hand movements. “Salazar Slytherin did not have complete control over all of his descendants. They would not have all believed in pure-blood ideology. If any of them interacted with Muggles, which wizards did quite often back in those times, it is highly probable that the occasional rebel would have married one. Even with the threat of being disowned. Some choose love and freedom over inheritance and familial obligation.”

Malfoy met her eyes at her last statement and a vein pulsed on his forehead. She could see the fire in his eyes, threatening to burst forth. He hated the lack of control he had over his future.

Hermione continued.

“You-Know-Who’s mother was Merope Gaunt,” she explained, flipping the pen back and forth between her fingers. “You must recognize the surname. She was a direct descendant of Slytherin and had less money than the Weasleys.” She looked pointedly at him since the Weasley financial situation was a cause of schoolyard taunts for many years, but he didn’t reply. “His father, however, was Tom Riddle.”

Malfoy furrowed his brows, confused. “Who’s that?”

“You don’t recognize the name because Tom Riddle was a Muggle.”

“It couldn’t be,” he denied calmly. He was still protesting the information.

“Do you know who You-Know-Who descended from then? Has he ever mentioned his parents? Siblings? Where he grew up? What his inheritance should be? Properties? Do you even know You-Know-Who’s real name?”

Malfoy had a ready explanation. “It’s common knowledge he’s descended from Slytherin. He opened the Chamber of Secrets, so there was never any reason to doubt that. And of course, he is more powerful than anyone, which is proof in and of itself to everyone.” He paused. “But no, I have never heard of anyone discussing who his parents were. And no, I don’t know his real name.”

“You don’t find that strange? With how obsessed some pure-bloods are with bloodlines?”

“You have a point,” He waved his hand at her in irritation, seeing as he was one of the aforementioned obsessed pure-bloods. “Get on with it, Granger.”

“Merope fell in love with Tom Riddle,” she continued. “She gave him Amortentia because he didn’t return her feelings and they married. After she stopped giving him the love potion he abandoned her. She later gave birth at a Muggle orphanage and died.” She paused for effect. “You-Know-Who grew up penniless in a Muggle orphanage.”

She stopped speaking again, letting him process that information.

“His full name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Named after his Muggle father.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know all this?” He was still fighting it. It was hard to believe, she agreed.

“Dumbledore told Harry. Dumbledore is the one that found You-Know-Who at the Muggle orphanage in the first place and brought him to Hogwarts.” Malfoy’s eyebrows rose. “Ironic, I know. Do you still not believe what I’m telling you?”

He did look doubtful, so Hermione threw the pen down on her desk, grabbed her wand and cast the letters ‘TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE’ up in the air above her. Draco raised his eyes and watched in horrified amazement as the letters rearranged themselves to spell out, ‘I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.’

His throat made a clicking sound.

“He’d skin me alive for knowing this,” he whispered.

“You’re already spying for the Order.”

“True.” The letters dissolved and stunned, he lowered his eyes back to her. “So,” he replied. Still incredulous. “A half-blood.”

 

Hermione nodded. “The most powerful wizard in contemporary history, aside from Dumbledore, is a piss poor half-blood raised in a Muggle orphanage.” She swiveled her chair back and forth, watching him work through the details of everything she had just told him. “So Malfoy, what advantage can possibly be had from tracing your lineage back through ten generations of pure-bloods if it doesn’t make a whit of difference to the intelligence, talent or power of your child? What’s left?”

“Twenty-three generations of pure-bloods,” he corrected. “That I am the product of.” But he was looking at her expectantly. He wasn’t arguing with her.

“Okay, forget the terms ‘Pure’, ‘Half’ and ‘Mud’ for now.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Obviously, they’re misleading and don’t describe the reality. What is the difference between your blood, that was born of twenty-three generations of Malfoy witches and wizards, and mine? The blood of Hermione Granger, First of her Name?”

He laughed, but was rapt with attention. This was what he was waiting for.

“The only thing I can think of is blood magic. And I don’t know anything about it because it’s not taught at Hogwarts.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

“Blood magic.”

He was interested, but slightly disappointed at her conclusion.

“Blood magic,” she repeated. Holding out the jar. “You and your ancestors have been forced into arranged marriages for centuries so that you or someone else can perform some charm with your blood to shore up your estates, properties, heirlooms and financial holdings. You’re bred for your blood, harvested for it, used to reproduce and then force your children to do the same. Why else would it matter? With the exception of a few like You-Know-Who, it’s because of money.”

Hermione returned to her original point, albeit in a roundabout manner. She didn’t know what to expect from him now. Anger? Resentment? Denial? Money as motivation sounded more insidious now that they had walked through everything. Instead of seeing anger, she watched Malfoy’s face drain of color. He looked like he was going to be sick.

Even as she was explaining her conclusion, she pitied him. Hermione had just told him that she thought his body and his life were not in his control, even without Voldemort. She was sure Malfoy felt the impact of her words acutely, being a Death Eater, forced to comply by fear, and his body invaded by the Dark Mark and an implant.

She sighed and looked at him in sympathy. “I don’t know what answer you were expecting Malfoy, but that’s how I see it.” She placed the jar back on her desk. “I suppose pure-bloods keeping money in the family and regarding themselves as superior to everyone else makes what’s actually happening to all of you more palatable.”

“No, I-” Malfoy cleared his throat and looked up at her. His eyes were pained but appreciative. “You’ve clearly thought about this before.”

Hermione nodded. “I have. Quite a lot over the years, having been the recipient of bigotry. I think your jar of Nott blood-” His lips twitched. “-helped me crystallize my thoughts better.”

“I haven’t thought about it at all,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair and looking over at her bookshelf. Again, she wondered what he had read besides the book on space exploration. “Not until recently.” He rubbed his hands back and forth on his thighs and muttered, “All this war for a fucking half-blood.”

She felt a sudden urge to give him a hug, but that would be wrong. Wouldn’t it? He wasn’t a friend; was he? No. He wasn’t. He was a spy and she was his handler. And he was Draco Malfoy of all people. She shouldn’t hug Draco Malfoy.

This was so awkward.

“Do you-” She still felt like she should offer him some form of comfort, having dropped that bombshell on him with Voldemort’s identity. And her thoughts about blood magic, regardless of whether or not there was any truth to them, were unsettling. “Do you want a drink?”

Alcohol was probably a worse idea than a hug. Alcohol could lead to other things. But she needed to give him something. Malfoy appeared to be struggling, parsing through what he’d been taught. Taught by people he loved and trusted. He was trying to figure out what he believed and what he didn’t believe, and her conclusion had physically shaken him, whether or not he believed it himself.

If he did agree, then he would understand that he was being used, even if he wasn’t a Death Eater. Hermione Granger, the Mudblood, with no wizarding properties or estates to her name, no familial obligations, no prestigious ancestry dating back in the Wizarding world, had more freedom than Draco Malfoy ever would.

“Maybe another time.” He ran a hand through his hair and glanced up at her. “Thanks, Granger.”

He rubbed his hand over his face in silence and stared at the ground. If she were in Malfoy’s position, she’d be contemplating her existence, the things she was brought up to believe, her lack of control over herself and her future. He looked so dejected.

Hermione couldn’t let things remain like this. They couldn’t part ways with him so despondent.

Music often helped her feel better when she as in a bad mood. She got up from her chair and knelt by her CD player, briefly wondering how much of her music he had listened to and what he enjoyed. Would he recognize what she was going to play for him? He raised his head and watched her, eyes slightly blood shot from rubbing. After tossing a few of the CD cases to the side, she found the one that she was looking for and opened it up. Malfoy craned his neck, trying to see what she was choosing, but she hid the CD with her body.

“No peeking,” Hermione scolded, looking at him over her shoulder with a playful smile.

She inserted the CD and pressed play. Immediately, the guitar riffs and synthesizer of The Who filled her room. Hermione glanced back at him and the corner of his mouth rose slightly. He recognized the song, and liked it. She instantly felt closer to him, knowing that Malfoy enjoyed the same music as her. She wondered how closely he had paid attention to the lyrics.

Malfoy was rebelling. He had recently found out that much of what he was taught wasn’t true, and was betraying the side he was raised to serve. He felt alone and distraught, struggling with his break from familiar societal structures and from what he, his friends and his family all believed. And he was doing it alone.

So Hermione played for him one of the most famous rock anthems to come out of the UK. A powerful ‘fuck you’ to authority in musical form, where he could feel a connection and kinship with other rebels around the world, past and present.

Including herself.

She turned around to face him, sitting on the floor cross legged. They listened together while Pete Townshend yelled the lyrics of ‘We Won’t Get Fooled Again’ into the microphone.

Hermione hoped Malfoy knew how much she respected and admired him right now. That she realized his struggles were difficult. She peered up into his eyes from her seat on the floor as the music blared and they listened to the lyrics together. A slow, conspiratorial smile spread on his face, which she returned.

He understood, and he appreciated her solidarity with him. After a few moments she felt uncomfortable, unable to hold his stare anymore. The way he looked at her made her stomach twist in knots and brought an unwelcome warmth between her legs. She averted her eyes to the side, pretending to look through her CDs while the song continued.

Teaching him the Patronus and having this discussion brought them closer to one another. She knew much more about him now, and he about her. Maybe they were friends. Was that so terrible? He needed one, didn’t he? He had friends, but none of them were going through what he was right now. If she weren’t here, he’d have to do it alone.

As the final guitar riffs blasted out of her speakers and the song ended, she glanced up to see Malfoy still watching her. His smile turned mischievous.

“Let’s leave.”

“What? Leave?” Hermione couldn’t process what he was saying. She looked at her clock. It was 11:30 at night. “Where to?”

“Somewhere Muggle.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

The importance of pure-blood breeding towards performing blood magic was inspired by Sugar and Spice by inlovewithforever. Although I don’t think it was seen as something negative in that fic. I don’t really remember the details on account of that fic being a big exception to my ‘not really interested in triads’ rule. A BIG exception. Whew! (fanning myself)

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

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Chapter 20: Chapter 20

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Somewhere. Muggle.” Hermione’s jaw dropped and he chuckled at her reaction. Draco Malfoy wanted to go somewhere Muggle. “It’s really late.”

“Muggles don’t do anything at night?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. He wanted her to show him something about Muggle life. What could she show him that he would enjoy? Maybe that he would even be impressed by?

“Of course they do, it’s just…”

What was available at this hour? Restaurants? She doubted he would want to eat the food she could pay for. His family probably had a battalion of house elves dedicated just for cooking. A pub? Again. Alcohol. Drinking. Malfoy’s tongue licking his lips. Malfoy’s grey eyes when they discussed pure-bloods having sex with Muggle-borns. Bad idea. Dancing? Malfoy’s abdominal muscles when he checked for a scar on his stomach. Malfoy’s arms. Which she was looking at now.

Definitely not.

Oh!

He noticed her excitement and his expression brightened.

“Alright, Malfoy, I’ll take you someplace Muggle.”

She eyed him. He was still in his pajamas.

“I’ll have to transfigure your clothes, stand up.”

“Muggle clothes?” he asked, with a curious half smile.

Hermione stood up off the floor and twirled her wand in her fingers. This was going to be fun. Not at all how she expected their meetings to go.

She smiled in return. “Muggle clothes.” She walked closer to him on the bed, sizing him up.

Malfoy pushed himself to a standing position. He absolutely towered over her when they were this close – by at least a foot. She forced herself to concentrate on his clothes – not the body inside them – waved her wand and transfigured his pajama bottoms into a stylish pair of button-fly Levi 501’s. His T-shirt would have been acceptable if not for the large ‘Holyhead Harpies’ lettering emblazoned across the front of his chest. She changed the T-shirt to read ‘Tottenham Hotspurs’ with the characteristic rooster on a football logo, and turned his loafers into sneakers.

Hermione eyed her work, looking him up and down. He was fit, it was hard not to notice. Really hard. The jeans were too baggy though, having been made from pajamas. She waved her wand and brought in the fabric to hug his frame more.

Malfoy winced and tried to reach his hand inside his pants but couldn’t, and opened the top button to adjust himself. “That’s too tight. These trousers are really uncomfortable.”

Her cheeks reddened and she abruptly turned around. “Sorry, Malfoy. Um, take your wand and fix it yourself.”

She could hear him reach over for his wand on the book shelf. She was taking a chance that he wouldn’t attack or Obliviate her. At least, for tonight. Considering the prior conversation and his request, it seemed a safe bet.

“Why isn’t there a zipper here?” Her blush deepened at his question, and she was glad she had her back to him so he couldn’t see. “Who wants to open buttons every time they go to the loo?”

“It’s called a button-fly. It’s um… Really popular with the blokes now.”

She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with him.

“Seems unnecessarily complicated. My cock needs more room than this, Granger.”

She flushed even more. It was easier to talk about genitalia when they were trying to one-up each other on the Galleon. This was… He was right behind her. In her bedroom.

“I really don’t need to know how much room your penis requires, Malfoy.”

While he adjusted the fit of the jeans with his wand, she opened the drawers to her desk and took out some British pounds that were left from before she Obliviated her parents.

“We’ve already established Gryffindor cock is much smaller,” he quipped.

“For the love of–”

He laughed at her discomfort. “You can turn around, Granger. I’m done.”

She turned around, he was less awkward. Muggle clothes suited him. So did his Quidditch uniform. So did his pajamas. The jeans fit him. Fit him well. Malfoy in jeans. His T-shirt was snug across his chest.

Lean, muscular, defined.

Turn away now, Hermione.

She swiveled around to face the door and called back, “It’s too cold outside for that, I’ll get you one of my dad’s jackets.”

Feeling slightly embarrassed at having so blatantly ogled Malfoy, she quickly left her room and ran downstairs to retrieve one of her dad’s coats out of the closet. She took a stylish brown leather jacket from her mum in case she got cold as well. Walking back up, she saw Malfoy at the top of the stairs already, heading down. His frame was a dark silhouette and she couldn’t see his face with the hallway light shining behind him.

Hermione backed down the stairs to the front door while he descended. Her heartbeat thudded against her chest with each stair as he got closer. Malfoy didn’t know where they were going, but she did. It felt like a date. She knew it was important in his role as spy that he confront his bigotry but all of a sudden she had the acute feeling that she was betraying Ron again.

A date with Draco Malfoy.

It was a betrayal. But it was too late now. They had to go.

Malfoy hit the bottom stair and she held out her father’s black leather jacket to him. Wordlessly, he took it from her and tried to get his arms through the sleeves. It was too small and she enlarged it slightly. He donned the jacket and looked down at her. It was dark and he was too close. She could feel the heat emanating off of his chest. She glanced up at his lips and tried to remember what kissing Ron felt like.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t remember at all what kissing Ron felt like. Not while looking at Malfoy’s mouth.

A slow flush creeped up from her neck. Malfoy’s eyes glittered down at her. She looked at his lips again.

They had to leave now.

“Okay,” Hermione held out her hand. “We’ll Side-Along so we can make a midnight showing.”

He glanced down at her hand and slid his fingers into hers. His palm was warm. It had just been down his trousers, less than a minute ago, adjusting himself. His touch tingled and she looked up into his grey eyes shining in the dark. They were playful. Hermione tried to push away the mental image of him with his hand down his pants – down those jeans in particular – far away.

She swallowed. How did she get herself into this situation?

Crack!

They appeared in the alleyway behind the Cineplex in the neighboring town. Thankfully, no one was around. Hermione abruptly let go of his hand, put a good two feet of space between them and fought the urge to wipe her sweaty palm on her jeans.

“Rubbish bins,” Malfoy observed dryly. “Excellent choice to disprove the notion that Muggles are dirty heathens.”

“Obviously, we’re not here for the rubbish bins,” she said primly. “Follow me.”

They walked around the building towards the front. She wondered what films were showing this late at night, and what would peak his interest. Hermione had been completely disconnected from Muggle life and culture since she Obliviated her parents at the end of sixth year. There was a long line coming out the door and she saw a few people wearing masks from the characters of Star Wars. A mock light saber fight ensued on the sidewalk while a few drunken onlookers cheered them on.

She grinned.

Perfect.

She remembered being excited for the digitally remastered trilogy to be released into theaters and had completely forgotten about it. The midnight crowd brought out the fan boys.

Hermione turned back to see Malfoy watching the light saber fight with interest. He leaned down towards her while someone in a Darth Vader mask pretended to lose his hand and fell to the ground with an agonized yell.

“I’m not even going to ask, Granger.”

She couldn’t keep the smile off her face and wished she had her own lightsaber to wave around.

“I promise you’ll understand in two hours.” She could barely contain her excitement and he watched her, amused by the tone of her voice. “Ooooh! This is going to be so much fun. Come on!”

Forgetting how awkward it was to touch him, Hermione grabbed his hand and he allowed her to pull him inside the theater and past the line of Muggles waiting for tickets. Undoing Draco Malfoy’s brainwashing was a high priority and she felt no guilt at Confounding the couple standing towards the front of the line to ensure they got tickets.

“Thank you for holding our spot while we went to the loo!” she said, her gratitude sincere. “We really appreciate it.”

The woman blinked at her, confused. “Right! May the force be with you!”

Hermione smiled and turned to the cashier to pay for two tickets.

Malfoy smirked down at her as they joined the line at the concession stand. “What’s this Granger? Jumping ahead in lines? Confounding Muggles? I thought you were a stickler for rules.”

She shot him a withering glance. “I am. Obviously circumstances require breaking them at times.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of her father’s black leather jacket. Malfoy in leather. She should have picked her father’s ski jacket instead.

“And you decide which circumstances require breaking them?”

Well, that was hypocritical. “Don’t you?”

“Of course,” he answered, nonplussed. “But I never pegged you to be the type.”

“Well I guess you don’t know me very well, do you?” she retorted saucily.

His eyes raked her up and down with an appreciation that had her whole body tingling and replied softly, “I guess not.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of the expression on Malfoy’s face, and was grateful it was their turn to purchase sweets. She grinned as his eyes widened with obvious delight at the display of unfamiliar Muggle candy and felt a surge of affection towards him at his boyish demeanor.

She was surprised at how much she was enjoying herself and it looked like he was too. Just as he admitted he didn’t know her very well, she didn’t really know him. Did she? She watched him scan the different offerings and the popcorn machine on the side.

“Would you like to sully yourself with some dirty Muggle sweets?”

He turned to her with a gleam in his eye that was far too enticing. “I would love to sully myself.”

She swallowed.

Terrible. This was a terrible idea.

Hermione turned back to the candy. Remembering that he had ordered chocolate and strawberry ice cream at Fortescue’s, she bought a bag of chocolate buttons, a small popcorn, two cokes and a pack of strawberry laces. She supposed the amount was excessive but Malfoy plainly had a sweet tooth.

Priorities. Undoing Malfoy’s brainwashing with the help of Muggle junk food.

He helped her carry the food into the theater and followed her to their seats, climbing over the legs of a few rowdy movie-goers waving light sabers. They sank into their chairs and he turned to her. His face was only a few inches away and she felt a blush creep into her neck for what must be the fifth time tonight. Hermione hadn’t thought ahead to this part; how close they would be sitting next to each other. His features really were attractive, and the sparse lighting in the theater created shadows across his face. Just like when he was learning to cast the Patronus charm.

“So I imagine we're watching a play of sorts? I don’t see the stage.”

“It’s called a movie. Or a film. Similar to a play in that a story is acted out in front of you. But the people will be on that large rectangle in front of us. The screen. It’s kind of like how photographs move? Here.” She gave him the popcorn.

He looked confused. “Wouldn’t it be better to have the people here in front of us instead of on that… screen?” He munched on the popcorn, giving an appreciative nod at the salty buttery flavor.

Muggle popcorn was just as tasty as wizard popcorn. But there was no chance of getting caught off guard by an errant exploding kernel while eating.

Hermione shook her head. Obviously wizard photos wouldn’t be that impressive to him. “Not necessarily. Just like in the wizarding world, there are different mediums to tell a story. Sometimes through books, sometimes through plays, sometimes through operas, or graphic novels, maybe a poem or a song can tell a story. Each medium has its own advantages and disadvantages and will change your experience of the same story.”

Malfoy watched her, keenly interested as he waited for her to continue. She followed the line of his jaw until it disappeared under his hair, which was a bit longer than how he wore it in the summer when she first captured him. His fringe had grown just down past his ears. It flopped around on occasion, uncontrollable. She liked it floppy. Much better from when it was short.

Too close. He was simply too close. And she shouldn’t have an opinion on his hair. 

She cleared her throat and continued, “A movie is simply a different medium of telling a story. They don’t exist in the wizarding world, which is why I thought this was a good choice for tonight.”

He licked the salt and butter off of his fingers with relish. Her eyes travelled down to the tip of his thumb in his mouth and then she forced herself to turn back towards the screen, feeling a slow heat spread between her legs. Looking at his mouth was bad. So was looking into his eyes. They were always intense, no matter what emotion he was experiencing.

Hermione could see he was still watching her thoughtfully out of the corner of her eye while digging into the bag of popcorn. Sipping from her coke did absolutely nothing to calm her nerves. She heard him munching on the popcorn and kept her eyes straight ahead, trying not to notice his jean clad thigh brushing against hers occasionally. She crossed her legs, making the space she took up small enough that she wouldn’t have to worry about chance touches with his leg.

“What are those?” He pointed to the strawberry laces on her lap and placed the bag of popcorn between his legs.

“Oh, they’re-” Hermione’s explanation was cut off by his fingers grazing the crease between her thighs as he removed them from her lap. She exhaled, taking a moment to compose herself from the shock of his hand having been right there between her legs. She was very warm now. Hot. Boiling. “Just another form of sugar. Strawberry flavoring. I got some chocolate buttons and candy with strawberry flavoring because of the ice cream flavors you chose at Fortescue’s. They’re a bit-”

She watched Malfoy suck one into his mouth, bite into it gingerly and then pull on it with his teeth.

“Chewy.”

She turned forward again. Watching Malfoy eat candy was a bad idea. Watching him do anything was a bad idea. She took another sip of her coke. Suddenly the lights dimmed and the trailers started.

Finally.

He jumped at the sudden loud noise and some of the popcorn was propelled out of the bag and all over him.

Hermione laughed and he glared at her, playfully throwing a handful of popcorn at her face. She was having a good time, and he was too. She supposed that insofar that she was breaking down his bigotry and inspiring more loyalty to the Order, becoming friends was a positive development.

However, the sexual tension building between them was not. Aside from wanting to develop her relationship with Ron, being more than friends with Malfoy would seriously complicate her role as handler. She wasn’t sure what to do about it, and hadn’t discussed that possibility with Tonks back when Tonks was advising her. At the time, she hadn’t even considered a developing sexual tension with Malfoy. It was too absurd.

Mata Hari, indeed.

“These are previews for movies that will be shown in the theater in a few months,” she explained. He leaned in closer so that he could hear her over the noise. His hot breath fanned against her jaw and cheek and her stomach twisted into a pleasant, aching knot. “After the previews, our movie will start.”

Hermione chanced a glance at Malfoy and he watched wide-eyed as the images played across the screen. After a few moments, the familiar theme music of Star Wars began and the audience cheered, waving glowing lightsabers in the dark. He held out the popcorn to her and she took it, exchanging it for the Flake and Cadbury bars so he wouldn’t try taking them from her lap.

She didn’t want his hands anywhere near her.

Especially there.

Malfoy was silent for the entire movie, completely entranced with the images, the music and the plot. Some stories simply had universal appeal. Hermione wondered what he was thinking. When she had first entered the wizarding world, there was an initial sense of awe and wonder. Magic was real. Fairy tales were real. Fantasy was real. Anything Hermione could have imagined was suddenly something that she could see, hear and touch.

The Muggle world seemed pretty mundane in comparison. So how to impress a wizard, where apparition and unicorns were a normal, everyday circumstance of life?

Science fiction of course.

The wizarding world didn’t have spaceships. Satellites. Rockets. Aliens. Hyperdrive. The worlds had diverged before the onset of authors like Jules Verne, Mary Shelley, H.G. Wells and Isaac Asimov. Science fiction simply didn’t exist. Hermione peeked over at Malfoy, and smiled, feeling extremely satisfied with herself. He had the same sense of awe and wonder on his face that she had when she first set foot in Diagon Alley.

The movie wasn’t real, but it was different. He had never seen anything like this before, and he was amazed.

There were a few awkward moments when his arm touched hers or his leg brushed against hers and she had to remember to keep her arms and legs crossed, tight to her body. Her inner thighs burned at the memory of where his fingers had grazed her, taking the strawberry laces. Occasionally he would offer her the chocolate buttons but she refused, not wanting to chance touching his fingers, or have his fingers touch her.

No touching Draco Malfoy.

Other than that, watching the movie together was refreshing. Forgetting herself and her role in the Second Wizarding War, forgetting that her parents were in Australia and had no idea who she was, forgetting that Harry’s time may be running out, forgetting the awkwardness with Ron and the growing rift between the trio, forgetting her responsibilities.

For a brief two hours, she was taken away to a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, where good always triumphed over evil.

Hermione wondered if Malfoy felt the same.

He probably did.

The movie ended to more cheering and enthusiastic waving of light sabers and she stood, turning to leave. He glanced up at her, but didn’t stand.

“Can we wait until the music ends?”

Her lips parted. She’d heard John Williams’ famous musical score more times than she could count. This would be his first. She sat back down.

“Of course.”

They sat together as the movie goers slowly filed out. There were a few who, like them, stayed to the end of the credits, listening to the music. She wondered which of her CDs he had listened to back in her room, which music he had enjoyed. She sat with her arms and legs crossed, hugging her body and acutely aware of his presence next to her. Finally, the last of the credits rolled away and he turned to her.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You’re as subtle as a Bludger to the head, Granger.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion as they stood up. “What do you mean?”

She was not looking at his jean clad arse as she followed him through their row and out the door. He turned to her in the lobby and raised an eyebrow.

“The Empire? Darth Vader? They don’t remind you of anyone we know?”

She stared at him, still incredibly confused.

He rolled his eyes as if she should have known the answer already. “The Dark Lord? His Death Eaters?”

Hermione’s mouth opened in shock. She hadn’t even considered that, but of course he’d make a comparison to the war they were fighting. It seemed bloody obvious now that he pointed it out.

“Oh,” was all she managed to say.

“So Saint Potter is supposed to be Luke Skywalker?” he continued with a hint of derision in his voice. “The Order is the Rebellion?”

She was gob-smacked that he so readily identified Voldemort and his followers as the evil empire that had to be overthrown. Hermione knew he felt threatened and wanted to get out, but if this was truly his attitude it marked a decisive shift in how he perceived the conflict.

“Who are you?” he asked teasingly, reaching out to extract a few pieces of popcorn that were still stuck in her hair. “Princess Leia?”

Malfoy pulled playfully on a curl and let it bounce back. She almost stumbled over as he touched her hair like that, so… affectionately?

Was he… Did he…She thought all his sexual innuendo was to make her uncomfortable. And it worked. But did he fancy her? He couldn’t fancy her.

Could he?

No. That was ridiculous.

Draco Malfoy couldn’t fancy Hermione Granger.

Aside from that, she was quite flattered that he would compare her to Carrie Fisher’s iconic character. But truly, if comparisons were being made, Princess Leia would be a mixture of Remus and Tonks. Hermione would be… She didn’t know who she would be.

She studied him. Was he being sarcastic? Maybe he was being sarcastic.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

He looked at her in disbelief and crossed his arms in front of his chest. She tried to keep her eyes on his face. Not on the contours of his body through his shirt and jacket. Somehow, looking into his eyes was worse. “Really, Granger. You had no point to make tonight?”

“I had no idea this would be playing or that we would be going,” she said, reminding him that it was his idea to go out and a spur of the moment decision. “It’s a popular movie and I thought you’d enjoy it. Also because you seemed so interested in Muggle space exploration.”

He scoffed.

“And besides,” she sniffed. “You-Know-Who wouldn’t be Darth Vader.”

“No?” Malfoy sounded genuinely curious.

“No. Darth Vader’s character is more complicated than that. You-Know-Who would be Emperor Palpatine.”

“Who’s Emperor Palpatine?”

Hermione's lips spread in a sly smile. Her choice of film was turning out to be successful in more ways than one.

“His character is introduced in the next movie.”

 

 

Notes:

This actually works (semi-works) timeline wise. The digitally remastered Star Wars films were released in early 1997 in the states. (I know, because I went to quite a few midnight showings back then!) I figure there's a few months' delay between when movies come out in the states and when they are released in other countries. And then you have artsy type theaters that carry movies past the time they first come out, with reduced price tickets. Or theaters that specifically do long runs of midnight showings of certain cult classics, like The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Long story short (too late!), it's entirely plausible that they could have seen a midnight showing of Star Wars.

Next up... hanging out in the snake den!

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

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Facebook: Lynn Dramione
Discord: mistresslynn#1535

Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

I want a threesome.

Draco glanced down the Galleon in his hand and smiled. She may be a swot but she was a kinky swot.

Mmmm. Two women at once.

No. Two men.                                                   

My dick isn’t enough for you?

I have multiple points of entry.

He laughed out loud.

When will we have this threesome?

Saturday night. Come prepared to please me.

Draco blinked at her message. That was five days from now. She was warning him about the Nott raid. A warm feeling spread in his stomach. Granger came through for him like she promised.

He thumbed the Galleon.

I never leave you unsatisfied.

 

~

 

It was good to see Draco’s old classmates. Everyone was in a cheery mood despite the circumstances. They had started by opening a few bottles of wine, and now some hors d'oeuvres were being passed around. He always enjoyed coming to Blaise’s house. His mum was Lebanese, although her latest husband to meet an untimely death was Italian, and the food never failed to impress. He mostly ate French or British cuisine at home or while at Hogwarts but thoroughly enjoyed the eclectic taste of the Zabini nee Petrofsky nee Kastellanos nee… Sugiyama? household. He couldn’t remember all of the previous names of Yasmine Zabini’s husbands.

He doubted Blaise did either.

By unspoken agreement, none of them talked about the war or their parents’ involvement, although Draco did have a few things he needed to accomplish tonight. Vince and Greg were each sporting new Dark Marks, but had the decency not to discuss them. Pansy was a Snatcher and had already received one of her own. She, like him, or perhaps because of him, wanted to prove herself last year. He wondered how she was dealing with the reality of her choice. If she too felt trapped and complicit in the death and torture of people she may think were inferior, but didn’t deserve the fate the Dark Lord’s army had in store for them.

At least she didn’t have to deal with Rowle anymore.

Theo had managed to avoid being recruited or going back to Hogwarts, but paid for it dearly at home. Although after tonight, that would be taken care of.

Millie Bulstrode, Blaise, Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis were back at Hogwarts. Being of age, they could come and go from the castle grounds as they pleased. The Carrows were teaching them to Imperius and Crucio other students. Despite the horror of Charity Burbage’s death and the other terrible occurrences he witnessed, he was glad he stayed home and again silently thanked his mother for her foresight.

Draco gazed at Blaise lying on the couch, his head resting in Daphne’s lap while she ran her fingers through his dark hair. He was glad to see at least some of his friends managed to find some happiness in this hell. Vince and Greg were talking with Tracy. Millie was chatting with Pansy, and Theo was sitting on the couch next to Draco, staring at his ex. Theo’s lips moved silently, and then he’d shake his head. He looked like he was rehearsing conversations, trying to get up the nerve to talk with her. His glass of wine was in his hand, untouched.

Draco kicked his shoe and Theo jumped.

“Just go talk to her.”

Theo scowled, not realizing that he was being watched. “She’s with Millie.”

Draco looked in their direction. “Is Millie that scary?”

“Pansy is.”

“You won’t get laid if you’re afraid,” said Draco as he sipped his wine. “Pansy can smell fear a kilometer away.”

Theo turned back to Pansy, interested even more now, and then eyed Draco.

“I don’t see you getting any action aside from that Ministry intern of yours.” Theo admonished him. “Snake-eyes keeping your balls in a jar?”

Draco shot him in a glare, not wanting to be reminded of what he was forced to do with Elizabeth. “I don’t have time to fuck around.”

As if on cue, he thought of Granger. For a brief moment before they left her parents’ house for the movie, he thought she might kiss him. But then she had Apparated them away and kissing her was all he could think about that night. They were so physically close to each other at the theater, he had noticed that her eyes were actually hazel. Not brown like he previously thought. And they were very expressive, framed by eyebrows that were constantly moving in accordance with her thoughts and what she was saying.

It was incredibly easy to tell what she was feeling. Despite her attempts to school her expressions, he could always tell when she was happy, angry, disappointed, impressed, sad, or embarrassed when he made her uncomfortable.

And he thoroughly enjoyed making her uncomfortable. They had been in this constant game of subtly trying to gain the upper hand on one another. Learning new things about the other forced them to adjust each time. But he quickly saw that flirting threw her off kilter.

Every. Single. Time.

Granger was so different from his Slytherin friends.

He frowned. The way she wore her emotions like that was concerning. He would have to test how she was faring with Occlumency.

Her expressiveness was part of what was so exciting about being with her. Just being with someone he wasn’t supposed to enjoy the company of was new and liberating. Lately, he found he could be himself: learning to cast a Patronus and then going to see Star Wars. He could shed the calm, disinterested exterior he had to wear all the time in front of people in the Dark Lord’s army, or his parents. It was exhausting always having to hide who he was.

With Granger, he felt he could open up, like he could talk about anything. And he did. He still couldn’t believe she had entertained his question about Mudblood inferiority, let alone taken it seriously. He thought she’d hex him just for asking. And it turned out to be one of the most fascinating conversations he’d ever had. If not the most fascinating.

Draco knew information had been kept from him, but hadn’t realized to what extent. She was a forbidden source that could answer his questions and had been right there in front of him the whole time. He wondered how his parents would react to what he had discovered about the Muggle world. Among pure-bloods, the desire to learn was stamped out by a sense of superiority so that no one would even want to know.

But he had been curious. Curious and angry that he couldn’t express his doubts to anyone.

Anyone except her.

Draco hadn’t had a real, frank, honest conversation with anyone since… Well… He couldn’t remember the last time he had opened up like that. Even with Theo, he couldn’t voice his concerns about the Dark Lord and his role as a Death Eater. And he certainly couldn’t voice his doubts about what they’d been taught regarding Mudbloods and Muggles since infancy. Not that Theo would betray him, but he already ran his bloody mouth enough to get in trouble. He didn’t need Draco pouring gasoline on that fire.

“But you do have someone,” Theo pressed, pulling Draco from his thoughts.

“As you said, my balls don’t belong to me.” Draco snorted in disgust and looked down into his glass of wine. Nothing belonged to him. Not his body. Not his actions. Not his future. The only reason his thoughts were still his own was because he was a fucking good Occlumens. “I wouldn’t drag anyone into my shit,” he said, taking a sip.

“But you have someone,” Theo repeated, and slowly turned to Draco with a sly grin. “And she’s not here. Interesting.”

“How would you know?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because you had that dopey grin on your face a minute ago,” Theo said, looking right at him.

“I did not have a dopey-”

“Yep.” He pointed at Draco’s mouth and Draco frowned, making Theo laugh. “The dopey grin when you’re interested but not sure if you’ll get her. Fourth year, Fleur. Fifth year, Pansy. Sixth year,” Theo paused, “the Vanishing Cabinet.”

Draco scowled. Theo was such a prick sometimes. Time to turn the tables on him.

“You’re stalling,” retorted Draco, motioning in Pansy and Millie’s direction.

Theo shot a panicked glance in their direction. Pressing his palm down hard on Theo’s thigh so that he winced, Draco pushed himself up off the couch. He walked over to where Pansy and Millie were chatting, looked back at Theo and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Pansy gave him an obviously fake grin. “What do you want Draco?”

He flashed his teeth at her in return. “Do I have to want something in order to talk with you two lovely ladies?”

“Yes,” she deadpanned.

Without responding, he turned to Millie. “Would you mind walking with me outside?”

“See?” Pansy said to Millie, who stood up from her chair and followed him to the veranda. He glanced back over his shoulder at his ex, eyeing them with cool interest. He recalled her face nearly slack with terror at Azkaban when he held her hand. Draco had only seen her that scared once before in her life.

When she took the Dark Mark.

She met his stare and mouthed the words, ‘Thank you.’ She must still be thinking of Azkaban as well. He nodded, and turned back to follow Millie outside.

The cool night air caused goosebumps to appear on her sleeveless arms and he cast a warming charm on her.

“Ever the gentleman, Draco.”

Millie turned to him expectantly, waiting to see what he wanted. She was one of the few women as tall as he was and looked him directly in the eyes. Her acne had mostly cleared up from her teenage days and she wore her long blond hair loose over her broad shoulders. With her tall, muscular physique, she was downright Amazonian.

The sleeveless dress was deceiving. Draco knew she could have him in a headlock and calling ‘uncle’ in less than 5 seconds. Heels or no heels. And it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. He always wondered why she never played Quidditch. She’d be an absolute terror as a Beater.

Perhaps she thought the bats got in the way of her bare hands.

“Are you coming home for Christmas?”

She eyed him warily. “Why? Are you hard up for a shag?”

“No,” Draco replied. Although the prospect was interesting, he’d probably end up bruised and with a fractured limb or two. And he knew Greg fancied her. “Just curious about the general sentiment at Hogwarts.” He wanted to know if anyone was staying. And if so, who. Tonight had a dual purpose.

Millie studied him for a moment before answering. “Why?”

He leaned on the railing. “Do you really want to know?”

“I suppose not,” she replied with a sigh. “Home is a gamble, the Carrows are guaranteed. The more students leave for the holidays, the more personal attention those that stay will get at school.” A tray floated by them and she popped a ball of falafel into her mouth after dipping it in tahini. After she finished chewing she continued, “Although, I guess I should count my blessings being at Hogwarts.” Her face darkened. “I don’t have to deal with Rowle trying to cop a feel every time I’m alone.” She took another falafel ball and dipped it in hummus this time. “I thought we weren’t talking shop.”

“We’re not,” Draco said, sipping his wine in satisfaction. Glad that Rowle was rotting away in a prison cell and spilling secrets to the Order. Shame they discovered the implant before they got him.

“If you say so,” Millie huffed and then eyed him in contemplation. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Maybe sixth year even?”

“Probably.” He looked out into the garden below and grabbed the railing, leaning over slightly.

“Your hair’s longer. Are you trying to grow it out? Want to be just like daddy?” she raised her eyebrows mockingly.

“Right,” he snorted. “Those days are gone.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” she replied softly.

He turned back to her. “I thought you said no shop talk.”

“So I did.” She drummed her fingers on the railing. She didn’t have long pink manicured nails like Pansy. They’d probably get in the way of choke holds. “How’s your mum?”

“As well as can be.” He paused and sipped his wine again. “Considering.” Millie nodded. She understood. They all did.

“What about your mum and dad?” Draco asked.

“They’re happy to support their children’s future,” she replied with a hint of bitterness. “But there is a bright side to it all. Jonathan is too young for the harder lessons this year.”

“Your brother is fifth year now?”

“Fourth,” she corrected.

He hated what the war was doing to them. Since Millie came outside to the veranda with him, they had discussed being tortured, being forced to torture someone else under threat to yourself, your siblings or your parents, and financial extortion of parents under threat of torture to their children.

It was a lovely evening.

She must have been thinking the same thing. “And now you’ve gone and depressed me, Draco. Can we talk about something else?”

He ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. “What were you talking about with Pansy earlier? Clearly I interrupted something interesting.”

She blushed, but didn’t answer.

Draco smiled and poked her upper arm. There was no give, it was rock hard. “Out with it, Bulstrode.”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, took a sip of wine and swallowed. “We were discussing how you all would be in the sack.”

He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Oh?”

“Get that cocky look off your face, Malfoy. Pansy said for months you were completely hopeless. Couldn’t even find her clit with a Point Me Charm.”

He shrugged, there was no point in denying it. “She had to teach me everything. Good teacher though, she knew what she liked.”

Millie laughed. “She did say you’d get an 'O' for effort.”

He put his empty wine glass on a floating tray and shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “I aim to please. Who else?”

“Theo would be kinky. He’s always so quiet, probably has a bunch of sick fantasies playing through that head of his.” She took a sip of her wine and swallowed. “But he’d come too fast, the sex would only be good second time around. Possibly by the third.”

Draco chuckled appreciatively at her assessment.

She put a finger to her lip and scratched. “He’s scrawny though. I’d break him like a twig.”

“You’d break me like a twig. We’d never find Theo again after you were done with him.”

She smacked his arm and he winced. Bloody fuck, she was strong.

“Vince?” he prodded her.

“Missionary. Boring.”

Draco grabbed another wine glass from a floating tray and took a sip.

“Blaise?”

She shot him a taunting smile. “Clearly he’d be the best out of all of you.”

Draco scoffed. “Please.”

“He’s got an air of mystery to him. Pansy’s never had him and I haven’t either. Daphne doesn’t kiss and tell soooo....” she shrugged. “It leaves more to the imagination.” She smirked. “And we can imagine quite a lot.”

“Greg.”

Millie flushed and looked out into the garden. Draco smiled. It was only a matter of time before those two got together.

“He may not be so imaginative, but he’d follow instruction well. It would be sweet.”

She turned back to see Draco smiling knowingly at her so she punched his chest and crossed her arms.

“Shut it, Malfoy.”

“I didn’t say a word,” he replied, rubbing his pectoral muscle.

Ow.

“You didn’t have to.” She gave him an exasperated sigh and downed the rest of her wine. “It’s nice seeing you, Draco. You’re not a snot nosed little shit anymore.”

He snorted. “Between my hair, my skills in bed and my personality, you sure know how to make a bloke feel special.”

“You know I love you,” she cocked her head at him. “When I’m sad I think back to that summer before second year when I threw you in your mum’s swan pond. Never fails to bring a smile to my face.”

She gave him wide grin and he scowled at her in mock anger. It wasn’t funny at the time, but he could laugh about that now. Things were simpler back then. He missed those days.

Millie placed her empty wine glass on a floating tray and they walked back into the living room. Draco paused in the doorway, surveying his friends. Greg eyed Draco uneasily and his gaze followed Millie as she walked to sit at the couch where Theo and Draco sat previously.

 

 

 

Theo had taken Millie’s seat next to Pansy. She was talking animatedly, gesticulating wildly with her hands. Theo sat watching her, entranced, but saying nothing. He needed to overcome his shyness around women he fancied. Pansy would like him if he could open up.

Vince lumbered over to him with a secretive smile. “Maybe we’ll be working together again this year, eh?”

“It’s possible,” Draco answered, noncommittally, hoping to steer the conversation to an end.

He didn’t want to have to speak with Vince or Greg tonight but he supposed it couldn’t be avoided. They were both enthusiastic about their recent inclusion in the Dark Lord’s army. Their attitudes reminded Draco of how he felt in sixth year when he didn’t know any better. Eager to please. Eager to fight. Not understanding the gravity and permanence of his decision, or how he had been used as a pawn to punish his father.

Draco didn’t know how Vince and Greg would cope with the realities of being a Death Eater. They hadn’t had to torture anyone yet and hadn’t faced the business end of the Dark Lord’s wand either.

“What have they had you doing?” Vince was curious. Everything was new. He wanted to know more and was motivated to start working.

“Helping my father.”

“At the Ministry?”

“Mmm.”

Draco wanted to end this conversation. He partially blamed himself for Vince and Greg taking the Dark Mark. They had always followed his orders, looking to him for leadership. And what did he do with that position? For years he used them to bully others. They were just repeating his mistakes now. He wondered when they’d start paying for it.

When Draco started to break down last year, they abandoned him, needing another strong man to follow.

And so they found one.

“Greg and I will help the Snatchers out.” He puffed his chest out, satisfied with his assignment. “They need more coverage now that Rowle is missing.” He eyed Draco. “Do you think the Order got to him or is he a deserter like Karkaroff?”

Draco shrugged. “Impossible to know. If he deserted someone will eventually find his body.”

Vince smiled evilly. “True.”

Yasmine Zabini sauntered into the room, hips swaying in a form fitting red dress that came to her knees. She was fiddling with an earring. Every male in attendance sat up straighter. Draco couldn’t help but stare. Vince was also watching her, mouth partly open. She always looked stunning. Pansy rolled her eyes as Theo’s gaze was drawn towards Blaise’s mother. Yasmine motioned for Blaise to approach, and Draco watched the two speak. After a few moments Blaise turned around to face everyone.

“Sleepover?” he called out.

Perfect.

Draco needed to keep Theo here as long as possible. He assumed the raid on Nott Manor would be quick since the Order could get in undetected, but he didn’t know exactly what time it would be. He had been wondering how to subtly introduce the idea of some of them sleeping over but now he didn’t have to worry about it.

And he knew how to ensure they all stayed.

“Do we get a Lebanese breakfast?” Draco called out from the opening to the veranda. The variety of salads, cheeses, olives and shakshuka were a rare treat for all of them.

Yasmine pointed at him and winked. “If you all behave.”

Theo raised his glass. “To Zabini’s mum!”

They all raised their glasses. “To Zabini’s mum!”

Her deep, throaty laughter echoed back as she walked out of the living room.

Thankfully, Vince walked to the center of the room and led them all in a slightly drunken chorus of “Weasley is our King,” and Draco didn’t have to talk about Death Eater business anymore. The rest of the evening was spent discussing Slytherin common room antics, school memories and some fun times from their childhood.

Blaise leaned against the fireplace, nursing a tumbler of Firewhisky when Draco walked up to join him.

“How’s Daphne?”

“Lots of fun,” Blaise replied, watching Daphne speak with Pansy. The two witches broke out into laughter. “Mum doesn’t like her though.”

Draco grinned at him. “No witch is good enough for Yasmine Zabini’s only son?”

Blaise studied Daphne in thought while she spoke with Pansy. “That’s what I thought until tonight. Quite frankly, I’m scared to leave her alone here now.”

“She’s being overprotective. You’re the only constant in her life.” Draco took a swig of his Firewhisky. “She had you when she was really young – and she wasn’t married either, was she? Did she have anyone back then?”

Blaise shifted his gaze to Draco, but didn’t answer the question about his mother. “I don’t think that’s it. It almost makes me glad we’re at Hogwarts so I can see Daphne without worry.”

“Daphne isn’t your next step father so she should be fine,” Draco teased Blaise, who shot him a dark look. He watched Pansy laugh at something Daphne said and changed the topic. “I heard they were combining some classes with sixth and seventh years due to decreased attendance.”

Blaise nodded, his brown eyes surveying the room. “They did.”

“How many Gryffindorks are left in those years?”

Blaise scratched the back of his head. “Four? Five maybe after the students broke out last autumn?

“Hairymuffs?

“About double that.”

“Ravenclaws?”

“What?” Blaise shifted his dark eyes to Draco with a look of mock disappointment. “No clever name for them?”

“Ravenclaws at least have some admirable qualities.”

“True.”

“Except for that barmy girl. How she got sorted there I have no idea.”

“Right.”

“I wonder how someone like her would deal with the Carrows.”

“She doesn’t scream,” Blaise said softly.

“What?” Draco asked, thinking he heard wrong.

Blaise turned to him, his eyes unreadable. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he explained. “They Crucio her, it’s obviously painful, and she doesn’t scream. Then they do it some more.”

Blaise kept the expression out of his voice. It was hard to tell if he pitied her or was just observing a phenomenon. Draco’s friends were mostly careful around him. He was a Death Eater. As far as they knew, he supported the Dark Lord and open displeasure with the takeover of the Ministry and Hogwarts would be punished. Severely.

Similarly, Draco couldn’t express his opinions to his friends. It was hard to see where that would come back to bite him in the arse. Overall, the rise of the Dark Lord’s army and the fact that more and more of them were joining created a tense feeling of mistrust, which is why so many of them did not want to talk about the current state of affairs.

Blaise was the hardest to read of them all.

Draco surveyed his friends, wondering which of them would be loyal to the Dark Lord, who would join out of fear, and who might try to run. “She probably can’t wait for the holiday break.”

“Yeah, she’s going home for Christmas. So many parents sent their children to Hogwarts because they thought it would be safer. I don’t know why she doesn’t stay home but I heard she’ll be back after the hols.”

Bingo. Now he could relax.

Theo walked over, his own dopey grin plastered across his face after having successfully survived a conversation with Pansy. He leaned into Blaise lecherously. “Do you have a new daddy yet?

Blaise waived his glass dismissively. “She doesn’t like younger men, Nott.”

“I wasn’t offering myself,” he retorted, clearly offended. After a pause he continued, “Unless she wanted me. In which case I definitely was. Do you think she wants me?”

“Aside from that,” Blaise added, ignoring Theo, “I think she’s found someone serious.”

“Serious enough to marry?” Draco turned to Blaise in surprise. It had been a while.

“No,” he corrected. “Serious enough not to marry.”

Draco and Theo exchanged glances, impressed. That was new.

“How can you tell?” Theo asked.

Blaise looked down into his glass and swirled the remaining Firewhisky around. “I recognize the signs that she’s dating someone. It’s been going on longer than two of her previous marriages combined, at least. And I’ve never seen him. Usually by now I’ve been bribed with gifts, she’s been bribed with gifts, we go to exotic vacations. Maybe a new villa to add to her collection of real estate. This guy? Nothing. She’s kept him under wraps,” he shrugged and downed the rest of his Firewhisky. “She’s happy. She’s got her reasons, so I haven’t asked.”

“Huh.” Draco contemplated his friend. Was Yasmine Zabini finally settling down? He wondered which man managed to achieve that? Which one would be brave enough to?

He chuckled to himself. Or stupid enough?

It was starting to get late. Goyle was slumped over on Millie’s shoulder on the couch, having dozed off already. Millie looked happy and he shared a knowing glance with her. They could die tomorrow. Next week. Next month. It was good to take happiness where it could be found.

The conversation slowly petered out and his friends started heading to the guest rooms.

Draco walked down the hallway to the loo and passed Blaise’s mum. She met his eyes, tilted her head and gave him an indecipherable look. 

She spoke in a soft, low voice. “You do anything to protect the ones you love.”

The statement took him completely off-guard.

“Don’t you?” he replied, trying to remain disaffected despite the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

He wondered what she meant. This wasn't a conversation he expected to be having with his friend’s mother. She couldn't know about the raid.

“I would do anything for my son.”

He suddenly pitied Daphne. She was the first woman Blaise was serious about, and wondered if that was the reason his mother didn’t like her.

“He’s lucky you’re his mum.”

Despite how she may be interfering with her son’s love life, he meant it. Yasmine Zabini was one of the few parents (if the only parent) that succeeded in keeping her son out of the war. Unlike his other friends who, if they weren’t already involved, were expected to be once they graduated. He heard no mention of Blaise and his involvement in the Dark Lord’s army in some form or another. Draco didn’t know how she had managed it. And she had no husband to leverage power or influence either.

He wondered who the man she was seeing was.

Blaise’s mother leaned forward slightly and he exhaled a breath with a growing sense of terror. She was staring at him like she was going to cut him open and eat his insides. In that instant it was clear. Every single rumor and whisper about her was true. He and his friends joked around but he knew right then and there. Yasmine Zabini was a cold blooded killer. Once this woman had a victim in sight they were already dead. In five minutes, five days, five months, she had them. Her previous husbands never stood a chance.

Neither did Draco, if she targeted him.

“Sometimes,” she said, her gaze unwavering, “you need to do more than protect your loved ones.”

Not two heartbeats later, her expression returned to the sultry, flirty one he was familiar with. Before he had a chance to process what was happening the moment was over.

“Towels should be on your bed, Draco.” She looked up at him and shook her head in disbelief, long black hair swaying. “When did you boys get to be so tall? Even in my heels I barely come up to your shoulder.” She squeezed his upper arm affectionately and sashayed past him down the hallway. Heels clicking on the hard wood floor.

She left him with his heart pounding against his rib cage and sweat beading on his forehead.

What the fuck was that?

Blaise was right to be scared for Daphne.

 

 

 

Notes:

So many side characters have been done so often, but I felt like I could do something completely different with Millie without prior expectations. If you’re having trouble imagining this version of her, take a peek at
MegSquats' videos.

Is she a BAMF? You might ask?

Yup. Totally. Gotta earn that 'surprise BAMFs' tag.

Also, I can't tell you all how much I've been enjoying this routine. I have my morning coffee, post a chapter, and scroll through some of the lovely reviews you all are leaving me before I start work. It's a nice little pandemic book club we've got going here. I am having so much fun. I hope you all are too.

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

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Chapter 22: Chapter 22

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Down on the ground, Granger! Thirty! You too, Midgen!”

Hermione and Eloise dropped to the stiff, frozen grass and reluctantly started yet another round of push-ups. Dedalus Diggle stood above them and yelled at everyone else. “Protecting your partner is just as important as protecting yourself! Don’t cut corners on Shield Charms!”

Eloise was grunting alongside her, and Hermione’s arms were burning. It was freezing outside, but no one was cold. Hermione could already tell she wouldn’t be able to finish the set.

She groaned inwardly.

“Midgen! Granger!” he barked. “You heard what I said?”

They were gasping in between each push-up. “Yes, Auror Diggle!”

Hermione’s arms trembled. Eloise turned her head. “You got this!” her shaky voice rasped in encouragement.

Hermione collapsed on the twenty-third. Eloise was still at it.

Barely.

“Can’t finish?” he taunted from above her. “You know what that means. Get going, Granger!”

Struggling to get up, she heard Ron laughing behind her as she broke into a slow jog around the acreage at Paddington safe house.

“You find that fucking funny, Weasley?” John Dawlish’s voice rang out, making Hermione smile.

Serves him right.

Ron’s laughter abruptly stopped.

“No!”

“No, what?

“No, Auror Dawlish!”

“Go join your girlfriend!” Dawlish ordered.

She heard Ron curse under his breath as his feet pounded on the ground behind her.

 

~

 

“You’re really coming along with the Confringo hex, Ron.”

Hermione went up the stairs of Paddington safe house, practically dragging herself by the railing. Her muscles were throbbing. She didn’t think she’d be able to move tomorrow without a muscle salve. The wooden stairs creaked with her and Ron’s ascent. Everyone else had retired from a long, grueling day by the time they finished their laps around the grounds. She and Ron had just finished their laps.

“Thanks,” his voice echoed up the staircase hallway behind her. “It means a lot to hear you say that. I don’t know which of the Aurors drives us harder. Proudfoot keeps hitting me on my side, but I can’t keep up with Diggle. He looks old, but he’s quick.”

Sometimes Hermione wondered if she was too hard on Ron, making him overly dependent on her approval. He didn’t grasp the fundamental theory behind each spell and charm as easily as she did, and often struggled with hexes. But he worked his arse off during combat training and was shaping up to be a competent fighter regardless.

Hermione reached the top of the stairs and turned around to wait for him. From his gait as he pulled himself upwards, it looked like he was also suffering from the exertion of tonight’s training.

She rolled her shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be able to move tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, stretching with a wince after arriving at the top floor. “Remus and Diggle were pretty hard on you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “When this is all over, if I’m still going on about being an Auror, remind me of how painful today was.”

They were alone on the top floor and the only light was dim, creeping out from the crack underneath the bathroom door. His red hair glinted orange, a bit like fire, from the angle of the light below. She peered up into his tired eyes.

“You do so well when you apply yourself though,” Hermione encouraged him. “I bet you’d have no problem with it. Especially when this war is finished. You could probably train new recruits.”

“Maybe,” Ron sounded doubtful. “I work hard because I want to protect my family. I want to win.” He grimaced as he rubbed a particularly painful area in his neck. “But I don’t want to do this for the rest of my life. I know that’s what Harry wants. I’m not sure what I want.”

“Oh,” she tried not to sound disappointed, but he caught the tone of her voice and glanced at her warily.

It wasn’t that she disapproved of Ron not wanting to become an Auror, it was the fact that working hard was the reason he didn’t want to do it. Hermione preferred that he work to his full potential, but he didn’t feel the same way. Contemplating his cautious expression, she wondered if she pushed him too far past his comfort zone like when they were doing Horcrux research. And if so, maybe he resented her for it.

Ron didn’t have the same drive to achieve that she did. Perhaps she should stop badgering him and simply accept the goals he set for himself. Hermione wasn’t satisfied without pushing herself to her limits, but they didn’t have to be the same in order to be together.

Did they?

Hermione didn’t want him to be discouraged. Especially when he was trying so hard. Merlin knows, he had just been in the infirmary. At least the Nott raid had gone without a hitch.

Ron was loyal and tough and brave and could be relied on in a fight without question. That much she had heard from others in the Order, and knew from their adventures at Hogwarts. She couldn’t blame him for wanting something calmer and easier after the war ended. He wanted to settle down, not continue fighting.

They gazed at each other awkwardly at the top of the stairs.

“Do you want me to rub your neck for you?” she offered, hoping to cover up her disapproval.

Hermione didn’t know whether she should follow Ron into his bedroom, or if he would follow her into hers. And then there was the issue of roommates. Harry would clear out if it looked like something would happen between them, but Ron was normally embarrassed about it. She wondered if she should start planning their make out sessions in advance. Perhaps coordinating with Lavender – which was also tricky given Ron’s history with her – so she could have her room to herself.

They didn’t appear to have much luck when allowing alone time to happen spontaneously. She wondered why that was, everyone else seemed to be falling into bed right and left. Some had found serious partners, others found temporary ones. But it seemed like everyone was shagging except them. At least Ron wasn’t afraid of her crying while he snogged her anymore.

“Um,” he looked down at her, trying to decide what an offer of a massage would mean.

Hermione wasn’t sure how clear she could be. She was all but throwing herself at him. He seemed to be pretty happy after her visit to the infirmary. She couldn’t help but think of Malfoy. If she offered to massage him he’d probably be on her in half a second.

Why were things so difficult between her and Ron?

And then they heard a low moan. It was quiet, but it was there. Ron’s eyes widened. He heard it too. It sounded again, a little louder this time. They shared a conspiratorial look and quietly approached the door that the sound was coming from, crouching in front of the doorknob.

Another low moan.

Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle. She felt like she was back in Hogwarts, sneaking out past curfew with him and Harry.

“Neville,” Ron mouthed soundlessly to her with a huge grin, his blue eyes crinkling with mirth.

“Hannah?” she mouthed back, her hands making the word a question.

Ron nodded eagerly and Hermione made a thumbs up sign. They shared a moment, covering their mouths to suppress their laughter as Neville vocally enjoyed Hannah’s company. She was happy for them both and cast a Silencing Charm on the door to give them privacy.

It was great that Neville and Hannah were getting some action, now maybe she and Ron could?

Hermione sent Ron what she thought was an enticing grin, laced her fingers through his and started leading him towards her room. When he saw the direction she was leading him in he abruptly started shaking his head. He didn’t want to see Lavender. He was embarrassed by how he had treated Hermione last year. But she thought he took his shame and regret to an extreme sometimes.

Hermione and Lavender had made amends since sixth year – the war did a lot towards squelching petty school fights – and had become closer by sharing a room at Paddington safe house. Certainly, Lavender’s interest in Oliver Wood eased the friction between them as well. Or was it Dean now that they were working together? But she saw Lavender snogging Justin Finch-Fletchly the other day. Hermione couldn’t keep track of all the men she slept with. She seemed to go through them faster than her phases with hairstyles.

Regardless, Ron’s affection was no longer a cause for rivalry.

Hermione held up her index finger, and quietly approached her bedroom door. She opened it and peeked in. Lavender looked up, sitting on her bed and paging through the latest issue of Witches Weekly, chewing gum loudly. The large bubble she was blowing popped.

“Oh hi, Hermione. Have you regained the use of your arms yet?”

Hermione’s face fell. She heard Ron leaving in the other direction, not wanting to snog her, think about snogging her, attempt to snog her or even think about attempting to snog her in front of Lavender. Hermione turned back to see him retreating to his room and Lavender immediately understood and leaned forward, peering out in the direction of the hallway even though she couldn’t see him.

“I still make him uncomfortable, don’t I?” she whispered apologetically in between loud chomps on her gum. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, it’s okay,” Hermione whispered back, shaking her head. “Thanks.” She furrowed her brow, even with the ponytail, she could see that Lavender’s hair was a lot shorter from yesterday. “Did you cut your hair?”

Lavender’s face fell. “It got singed and Dean blew off his finger. Mary easily reattached it but,” Hermione saw tears in her eyes. “I can’t do anything about my hair!

“Why don’t you wear a bun?”

“Well, I will now!” she cried. “It takes forever to grow hair that long without split ends!”

Lavender’s dismissal of Dean’s lost finger made her wonder how often the two of them lost digits in their bomb making lessons. Or maybe she thought her hair really was more important.

“I’m sure there’s a potion for that,” Hermione said as Lavender pulled some of her strands forward, inspecting them. Lavender didn’t appear mollified at all, and continued chewing her gum, pulling her hair forward to search for more split ends.

Hermione closed the door and followed Ron into his room, feeling a little dejected. With the exception of their first kiss when she cried, she felt like she was always chasing after him.

Ron opened the door to his room and walked in. Hermione, feeling somewhat like she was intruding, steeled herself to follow him inside. Ron went directly to his bed and flopped down face first with a groan. She poked her head around the door and thankfully, saw that Harry wasn’t there. He must be with Ginny somewhere else. She glanced at Ron, lying down on his bed, and sat down next to him. Her arms hurt, but she could massage his neck a little.

Hermione reached out, tentative. She still didn’t feel entirely comfortable touching him in this way. Gently, she rubbed circles in the area between his neck and shoulder. He didn’t say anything, so she kept going. She rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders, his upper back, and then back up to his neck again. 

“Does that feel good?” she asked, unsure as to whether he liked it, if it hurt, if it helped. He wasn’t saying anything.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he replied.

Okay?

She continued for a little bit more and then stopped. Her arms hurt too, and she wasn’t sure if he was actually enjoying her massage or if he was just tolerating it, not wanting to hurt her feelings. For the third time tonight, she asked herself why this was so difficult.

“Ron?” Her voice came out small and unsure.

“Yeah?” He turned his head around to face her, brows furrowed at her hesitant tone.

“Do you want to be with me?”

He rolled over on his side with a groan of pain and studying her expression, considered his answer. “Of course.”

Of course.

Like it was expected? Like there was already an unspoken agreement that they were together?

Hermione didn’t feel like she was with him. They trained together, they hunted Horcruxes, they snogged on occasion. Seldom occasions. The former two they did with Harry around all the time and the latter was almost always awkward save for a few heart stopping moments.

Despite his unexpectedly disappointing answer, Ron shifted himself to the side and made room for her to lie down next to him. She snuggled up next to him and laced her fingers though his. They stared at each other in silence for a few minutes, sharing a pillow. His eyes were so clear and so blue. He looked puzzled. Again, she thought of Malfoy. She didn’t think she’d be able to lie down next to Malfoy like this. She’d be all over him. Or he would be all over her. There wouldn’t be any moment of confusion or puzzlement, the attraction was simply there. Undeniable.

She had to stop comparing between the two of them. It was ridiculous. It’s not as if she compared between Ron and Harry. Or Ron and Neville. Or Ron and anyone else.

Maybe she and Ron made better friends than lovers. But they hadn’t ever tried to be more than friends, had they? And even as friends, they were usually with Harry, which changed the dynamic completely. Feeling bold, she released his fingers to slide her hand over his mid-riff and down to the curve of his arse. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his, searching for entry, which he gave her.

They kissed slowly, tentatively, affectionately. She curled her fingers around his bum and he wrapped an arm around her, pressing her closer. She thought perhaps things might heat up but he winced.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. My neck really hurts.”

She pulled away. “Do you want me to rub it again?”

No snogging tonight, but she could give him a nice massage.

“Nah, that’s okay.” Feeling disappointed, Hermione got up to leave but Ron reached out and grabbed her arm. “Stay here for a bit? Until Harry gets back?”

Hermione smiled. She could lie down next to him. She reached out for his hand again. Hand holding was reliably good. So far, at least that hadn’t been awkward.

She sighed in contentment, squeezing his fingers and leaned against his shoulder. “So if not an Auror, what is the Great Ronald Bilius Weasley going to do after the war?”

He traced the ridges of her knuckles as he spoke. “You mean after we destroy all those bloody trinkets and put You-Know-Who six feet into the ground?”

Hermione huffed a laugh. “Hard to imagine a life that doesn’t involve going after those bloody trinkets, isn’t it?” The search was dragging on with no leads. It was incredibly frustrating. She, Harry and Ron were at their wits’ end.

“I don’t know what I hate more. You-Know-Who, or his Horcruxes.” He stretched his neck again and grimaced, returning to her question. “I’m not sure honestly. I think I’d like to do something in Quidditch. I’m not good enough to play professionally, per se, but there are a lot of administrative and support positions that could be interesting.”

“I bet any job like that would include free tickets to games,” she observed.

“It just might,” he replied with a grin. “In fact, I could quite possibly get paid to attend Quidditch matches, depending on the position.”

“Are you sure you’re up to that?” Hermione asked in mock seriousness. “It sounds like a terrible sacrifice for this potential job of yours.”

He released a sigh of faux resignation. “And yet one I must be prepared to make.” They stared at the ceiling when Ron yawned loudly. She was getting sleepy too and yawned right after him. “But don’t worry,” he continued with another yawn. “I’ll make sure I get tickets for my friends.” And he squeezed her hand affectionately.

She felt him drifting off to sleep next to her. His breathing evened out, becoming steady.

Ron was tired and didn’t realize that he had called the two of them friends. It just slipped out. Unintentionally.

Was that all they were? Friends?

Was it only the expectation that they should be more making them consider a romantic involvement in the first place?

Was that why this was so difficult?

 

 

 

Notes:

I can hear you all screaming from the other side of your screens, “YEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!”

Next up: more Theodore Nott!

And more Star Wars!

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Chapter 23: Chapter 23

Notes:

There is a pause in the narrative here, it's recommended that if you'd like to take a break, do so after this chapter. Next break is at the end of Chapter 33.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Want to hear something crazy?”

Draco fingered his pawn on the chessboard in thought. If he moved it forward, Theo would use his knight to capture it and expose his queen. Maybe. His pawn yelled at Draco to unhand him so he could attack properly. To their amusement, Theo’s chess set was especially mouthy tonight.

“From you, crazy is normal,” Draco replied.

“My dad is missing.”

Draco looked up at him and burst out laughing, nearly knocking over the chess pieces on the board and stopped immediately at the expression on Theo’s face. But the laughter was real. He was so relieved it just spilled out. Draco hadn’t heard back from Granger since the night the Nott raid was supposed to happen and Theo hadn’t mentioned anything. As the days wore on, he started to worry that the party at Zabini’s had been for naught.

“You’re serious.”

Theo nodded wordlessly. Draco wondered who else he told. Maybe he hadn’t told anyone.

“Did you go to the DMLE?”

“No,” Theo looked ashamed. “I’m not even sure how long he was missing for.”

A week and a half.

“Sometimes he’s away. I avoid him if I can, you know that. He’ll just make me pay for not selling my soul to Iguana Man.” He studied the chessboard in front of him. “I wasn’t sure until yesterday so I went into his study and rearranged his things. Nothing happened.” His face broke into a wild grin. “Then I pissed on his desk.”

Draco picked up his protesting pawn and pointed it at Theo to emphasize the urgency of the situation. “So go to the DMLE first thing tomorrow. You have to report it.”

It would already look strange that Theo had waited so long. Draco didn’t want any reasons for people to suspect he had a hand in Nott Senior’s disappearance. Or Theo. Theo would inherit the wealth, so he had a reason to make Nott Senior disappear. He had to go as soon as the office opened.

And cooperate.

“I do.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You should probably clean up the urine before then.”

Theo snorted, and then sat back in his chair and furrowed his brow. His blue eyes were concerned. For a brief moment, Draco wondered if he made the correct decision. This wasn’t like removing a rapist. He had removed Nott Senior. Theo’s father. His flesh and blood. The man was an abusive tyrant, and drove Theo’s mother to commit suicide when he was young. But he was still Theo’s father and had raised him, terrible as that upbringing was.

Maybe Draco had misjudged the situation and made the wrong decision.

Theo’s voice was soft when he spoke. “How bad is it that… I don’t care?”

Feeling relieved that his decision was sound, Draco rested his elbows on his knees and held the gaze of his longtime friend who had suffered from such a horrific father. “Not bad at all.”

Theo ran his hand through his brown hair, making it stand up. He appeared worried, disturbed with himself. “I think I’m happy he’s gone. I shouldn’t be happy.”

Draco felt a sudden sense of warmth and gratitude towards Granger for letting him keep Theo completely clear of this whole mess. Draco fixed his stare on Theo so he would understand he meant what he said.

“You’re allowed to be happy.”

“But he’s still my dad,” Theo pressed.

“True.”

Theo looked absently down at his hands and rubbed his arm. Draco noticed that he rubbed the place where the Dark Mark would have been had Theo relented to his father’s abuse.

“But now I’m free.” He shifted his gaze back to Draco. “Until they find him, anyway.”

“Also true,” Draco set his pawn down, which huffed in exasperation, and then reached for his glass of Firewhisky. “What are you going to do with your newfound freedom? Write that guide to manipulating governments?”

Theo cracked a grin, happy for the levity. “I obviously don’t need the money now, although I would like a job doing something interesting.” He gazed absently above Draco’s head, thinking through his options. “Maybe I’ll go exploring.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Exploring?” Theo wasn’t the outdoorsy type. At all.

Theo stared back at him, and scratched his jaw in thought. Draco could tell he was hiding something, wondering whether or not he should reveal what he was thinking.

“So were those books helpful?” Theo changed the topic. A typical Slytherin tactic to avoid uncomfortable questions.

Draco knew being a Death Eater made his friends apprehensive around him. He felt a sense of loss in that Theo didn’t want to elaborate on what his plans would be. When they were kids, they shared all their dreams for the future. There wasn’t any worry about the wrong person finding out.

Theo always wanted to be an Unspeakable. Ever since he was a kid he had a fascination with the mysterious, classified nature of their work. It was impossible for him now that all of the Unspeakables and their research had disappeared without a trace. Draco wondered if ‘exploring’ had to do with that. Confiding in Draco would be a risk since the Malfoys were grappling with the Ministry.

Similarly, Draco couldn’t discuss with Theo his hatred of being a Death Eater, what he was learning from his interactions with Granger, or that he was fucking spying for the Order of all things.

“The books on Unforgiveable Curses?” Draco asked. “Yeah, they were helpful. Apparently the curses are addictive. Using the Imperius for an extended period of time like I am makes you want to control and manipulate others. Helpful for all the Ministry shite since that’s what we’re doing anyway.”

Theo leaned back skeptically. “Are you going to start ordering me around?”

“Right,” Draco snorted. “You’d just come up with more creative ways to tell me to fuck off.”

“My father has heard most of them already. Although I’m sure I could invent a few more phrases. Just for you.”

“I’m honored,” he retorted dryly.

Draco wondered if extensive Unforgivable use was the reason Nott Senior was so abusive. Theo had been actively defying him all his life. In any case, Draco was only holding a few Ministry officials under the Imperius Curse now. Nott Senior had been using all three during the First Wizarding War, which had lasted eleven years. There probably wasn’t any danger to Draco at this point.

He wondered about his own mother and father. His father used the Imperius Curse during the First Wizarding War, and the other two Unforgivable Curses, but he wasn’t even remotely abusive of his mother. Quite the opposite. And he wasn’t abusive of Draco either, despite the fact that he manipulated him on occasion.

The effect of performing the Imperius Curse wasn’t clear, perhaps he was comparing two extremes. It likely depended on the personality of the caster as well as frequency and length of usage. It seemed Draco had little to worry about at this point. He hoped he didn’t have anything to worry about.

He wished he had someone to talk to, but realized that would be impossible. Even with his mother and father. Draco’s failures with the other Unforgivable Curses were known. He couldn’t torture and he couldn’t kill. Failing at the third or even having doubts about it would render him completely useless to the Dark Lord, putting himself in danger, and perhaps his parents.

His father knew that.

Keeping Draco in the dark must have been his way of ensuring Draco would comply with performing the Imperius Curse, and to do so successfully. His family was boxed in; there was little room to maneuver and his father was protecting him as best he knew how.

Theo was luckier than he realized.

“So now that you’re a free man, what are you going to do tomorrow after the DMLE?”

A wide grin spread on his friend’s face. “Pansy.” He choked when he realized what he just said. “I mean, Owl Pansy. Not do Pansy.”

Draco’s lips lifted, studying the chessboard. “Maybe both?”

Theo suddenly looked terrified. “Wouldn’t that be too fast?”

He peered up at Theo through his fringe. “Pansy knows what she likes and she’s not shy about getting it.”

Draco took a sip and then set his glass down on the table to watch his friend ponder capturing his pawn with the knight. Theo's leg started jiggling nervously but there was a small smile on his face.

Theo was free.

Free until the Dark Lord decided to recruit him directly.

 

~

 

Hermione sat on the sofa in her living room. She was at one end, and Malfoy sat with his legs sprawled at the other. Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about the proximity of the movie theater here, but there was still a feeling of intimacy. It was just them. There wasn’t a crowd of movie goers.

It was dark, and she watched the light projected from her parents’ telly play across his features. He was transfixed, and hadn’t noticed her studying him. The digitally remastered versions of The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi wouldn’t come to the theater for another few months so she rented the VHS tapes from her local library.

Malfoy fascinated her.

Hermione was still blown away from their conversation about Muggle-borns and his willingness to question everything. By himself. It all came from him. And she couldn’t get the image of him playing with his Patronus out of her head. Or how close he had been to her in the hallway before they Apparated to see Star Wars.

She turned back to the movie, feeling guilty. The more she thought about Malfoy, the more it seemed like she was betraying Ron.

James Earl Jones’ deep baritone voice resonated throughout her living room. “I am your father!”

“What!” Came the aghast yell from the other side of the couch.

She swiveled to face Malfoy again. He sat with his back now ramrod straight, clutching the arm rest and she laughed out loud at his surprise. Luke Skywalker gave an agonized denial of his familial connection to Darth Vader while she gasped, holding her stomach, unable to stop the big belly laughs caused by Malfoy’s shock. She hadn’t even considered how he would take the big reveal of the trilogy. The story was so well known in the Muggle world that it wasn’t a surprise anymore. She doubted anyone had actually watched the second Star Wars movie for the first time, not already knowing they were father and son.

“Granger! Shut up, I can’t hear!”

Still sniggering at his reaction, she stood up to see what was left over in her parents’ kitchen. If anything was edible.

“You’re blocking the screen!” he barked at her.

This was too good. Smiling, she stood in front of the telly and turned to him with her hands on her hips but he threw a pillow at her.

“Fucking move, Granger!”

Hermione caught the pillow, laughed, lobbed it back at him and continued on into the kitchen. While listening to Luke call Leia to save him, she opened and closed a few cabinets and found a box of biscuits that hadn’t yet gone stale. She put some water in the kettle to boil and wondered if Malfoy would also want something to drink, and set a tray out for the two of them with cups and sugar. There wasn’t any milk or cream to add, having spoiled long ago.

“The fuck?!” His outraged shout could be heard throughout their whole house. “That’s the end?

She cackled evilly, thoroughly enjoying his displeasure at being denied a conclusion to the story, and brought the tea tray back to the living room. She completely forgot that The Empire Strikes Back ended on a cliffhanger. Malfoy must really be taken in.

“I’m assuming you want to see the next movie?” she asked innocently.

“How many of these movies do I have to watch to see the whole thing?” His question came out more like an accusation.

“Three,” she replied. “The next is the last one, I promise. Do you want to watch it now or–”

“Now.” He cut her off in irritation and she giggled again. Hermione was tired but there weren’t any pressing tasks tomorrow morning.

“You’re an extremely cruel woman,” he remarked.

“Tea?” she smiled sweetly at him, setting the tray down on the coffee table in front of him. “Biscuits?”

Hermione noticed him looking down her jumper and stood up abruptly, walking over to the VCR so she wouldn’t meet his eyes. She crouched down to change out the movie and a pillow suddenly hit the back of her head.

She turned around and to see a wicked grin on his face.

Malfoy was flirting with her. She couldn’t believe it. Draco Malfoy was flirting with her. He had been flirting with her at the Cineplex too, and the attention wasn’t just to make her uncomfortable.

Hermione wasn’t sure how to process the shift in his regard for her.

“Watch it Malfoy or I won’t play the final movie for you.”

“Do your friends know what a heartless bitch you are?”

She smirked back at him. “They are well aware.”

Everything about this meeting of theirs was so odd. No information had even been exchanged. She didn’t bother asking, she just knew he wanted to see the movies. They could pretend for a while that there was no war. That she wasn’t a Muggle-born witch, fighting for survival and pumping him for information, and he wasn’t a Death Eater, betraying one of the deadliest wizards in history and trying to stay alive while doing it.

For all intents and purposes, they could be two Muggles on a date. Watching a movie before… She swallowed and glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder at him while he prepared his tea.

Before snogging.

Would he try and snog her during the movie?

No, he was too invested in the story.

Even so…

Nervously, she pressed play after setting up the video tape and walked back to sit in the armchair. Separate from the sofa. If he was flirting with her he might get closer to her on the couch. And then he might wrap an arm around her. And then lean into her. And press his lips to her ear, to the side of her face. Thread his fingers through her hair. Turn her face towards his. She squirmed in the chair. Now all she could think about was Malfoy snogging her. How his lips would feel on hers, how his tongue would slide in her mouth, how his hands would touch her body…

Stop. Stop. Stop!

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. This was wrong.

Even if nothing was going on between her and Ron, and she was fairly certain their occasional awkward kissing indicated that there was something, snogging Malfoy was a bad idea. He was a spy; she was his handler. He may be helping the Order, but he had his own motivations and she didn’t know when they aligned with hers, and when they didn’t.

Although a significant barrier had been broken down between them, she couldn’t forget that his life was on the line, as were his parents’. That was his primary concern, and where his true loyalty lay. When it came down to it, the trust still wasn’t there. Getting involved with him like that would ruin the objectivity she needed to be a competent handler.

Tonks would yell at her like she did everyone else at the party if anything happened between them.

Ron was the one for her. Malfoy was merely an attractive man and a spy. Being a spy from the enemy was part of his allure. The war would end and she would still be with Ron. Hopefully. Malfoy was an attraction of circumstance.

A passing fancy. Yes. That’s all it was.

She pulled her knees up as the familiar title sequence appeared, leaned into the pillow and grabbed a blanket to wrap around herself. She wondered what Malfoy thought of all these aliens and the space travel between different planets and galaxies. Maybe she’d ask him another time.

Hermione yawned and watched Princess Leia threaten to blow up Jabba the Hut with a thermal detonator. She was so bad ass.  

 

~

 

Draco glanced over at Granger after the movie ended. She’d been asleep for at least half of it. He wasn’t sure if he should wake her or not, but he really needed to check on how her Occlumency was progressing.

So far, meeting at night had been easy, even with the Dark Lord present. His parents were usually asleep before he left. According to the detection charms he religiously set every night, no one entered his room. Granger never complained about the late time either.

He walked over to the armchair she was sleeping in and crouched down in front of her. It was rare that they were ever this close to each other. She was curled up in a ball, covered in a blanket. Granger seemed so small and almost child-like. Innocent. But Draco knew better. Her exterior appearance was deceiving and he learned quickly not to underestimate her. She may have been a swotty, brown-nosing bitch in school, but that was only the side he saw then. Now he knew she was also sexy and bold, conniving and intelligent, brave and loyal and…

Fascinating.

Draco frequently wondered what she was thinking and what she thought about him. He sometimes sat up at night, playing their conversation about Mudbloods through his head and rethinking the points she had made. Sometimes, he got the sense that she understood him so much better than he understood her.

Granger’s steady breathing blew a lock of hair across her mouth up and down. Her curls were everywhere, and he fought an urge to brush the lock off her face. He knew she was attracted to him and the sexual tension between them intensified at every meeting. She was struggling with it as much as he was. Being who they were, Death Eater and Potter’s side-kick Order member, the attraction was new and unexpected.

But… It was more than just attraction. Theo was right. He was really starting to fancy her.

Draco rubbed her arm over the blanket and called her name softly to wake her up. She furrowed her brows, mumbling something unintelligible. He watched as her hazel eyes, dark with only the light from the telly in the room, fluttered open to look directly into his. A flicker of surprise, confusion and then anxiety flashed across her face. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and her eyes lowered to his mouth.

Granger was thinking about kissing him, and she licked her lips. It was a bad idea but so was everything else he was doing. Did one more bad idea even matter? Draco’s heart thudded in his chest and he gazed down at her mouth. It would be soft, and warm. He wanted to kiss her since they first saw Star Wars. He lowered his face towards hers and she abruptly pushed herself up, almost knocking into his head.

“I have to go,” she said, breathless.

Granger leaned as far back into the arm chair as she could. Clearly putting as much physical distance between them as possible. Nothing was happening tonight. He was disappointed and wondered what her reason was for keeping her distance. Either she thought kissing him was a bad idea as well, or she was with Pothead. Or the Weasel.

Regardless, he didn’t move an inch, and stared into her anxious eyes. Time to see how her lessons in Occlumency were progressing.

“Thanks for the movies, Granger.”

She nodded, her gaze again dropped to his mouth. If she was trying to hide her attraction to him, she was doing a lousy job of it. Draco gave her a sultry smile, put a hand on each of the arm rests and leaned in closer, boxing her in. She sucked in a breath and he inhaled; she smelled inviting and feminine.

Lowering his voice menacingly, he asked, “How’s the Occlumency?”

Granger stilled and glanced at her wand on the coffee table. If she felt threatened by him now, then she must know he wouldn’t like her answer. That was worrying. He leaned in a bit more and she clutched the blanket to her chest, eyes widening, breath coming out in short pants. Her heart was thudding so loudly he could hear it.

Being intimidating wasn’t hard. She couldn’t reach her wand and he was larger than her.

“The truth,” he growled.

Draco didn’t want the playfulness of their time spent watching Star Wars to lull her into forgetting that he would die if she couldn’t master shielding her thoughts and emotions.

She licked her lips and his eyes dropped to her mouth again. He wanted to kiss her right now, more than anything. Centimeters away.

Having been taken completely off guard by his threatening behavior, her voice held a slight rasp. “I’m fairly good at keeping the memories locked away. I’m improving all the time and began to selectively reveal.”

Draco nodded. That was good, but she had been apprehensive when he asked. Not confident.

“But...?” His voice lilted higher.

Granger sucked in a breath and cleared her throat, trying and failing to keep the trembling out of her voice. “But I’m having trouble clearing thoughts from my mind. I’m told my emotions are easy to read, even when I’m lying.”

He flashed a predatory grin at her. “They are.”

She flushed at his comment, knowing she hadn’t been able to hide her attraction to him. He pushed himself up and away from her, and she exhaled in relief as he backed away.

“Keep working on it, Granger. I don’t want to die.”

He Disapparated with a crack.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I got the idea of a back-talking Wizard chess set from Chosen by 5moreminutes. HiLARious.

Coming up: more Draco/Hermione and… Mary????

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

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Chapter 24: Chapter 24

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Strip for me.

I already did.

Do it again. I only saw your arse last time.

Wanker.

And one breast.

Sodding. Wanker.

You seem upset.

What do I get in return for this striptease?

Meet with me now and I’ll show you.

You’re all bluster.

Say that again when I’m balls deep inside you.

Typical. No finesse at all.

Low expectations from previous experience?

Realistic expectations from current experience.

 

~

 

Hermione watched Malfoy stalk angrily across her room, shooting her the occasional glare and punctuating his words with an index finger in her direction. She was nervous, but preferred him when he was angry and yelling at her. Their last meeting had left her breathless, worried and embarrassingly worked up after he threatened to… She still didn’t know exactly what that was.

Threatening snogging? Dangerous making-out? She felt a warmth between her legs just remembering how close he had been. She was terrified he’d kiss her. Terrified and then… disappointed that he hadn’t.

This was all so wrong.

“You’ve captured two Inner Circle members with no losses and I know for a fact that several of our operations were fucked up because of knowledge you got from them. Not to mention what you learned from Dolohov because I told you about the Veritaserum, and that Scarhead hasn’t had his stupid arse captured from the taboo.”

Despite her efforts to appear apathetic, Malfoy knew his value as a spy. He was too intelligent to believe otherwise. Striding back and forth gave him the appearance of a predatory cat, like a tiger.

“I gave you that fucking blood, knew about the raid, and everything went smoothly. That’s not a demonstration of trust?”

He had a point. But she hadn’t told anyone that he knew of the raid. A lie by omission that came back to bite her in the arse in a way she hadn’t predicted.

Malfoy reared on her. “I want an Unbreakable Vow for the pardons and I want it now, Granger. What is the hold up?”

Hermione had to come up with something to assuage him, but she didn’t know what. Maybe Kingsley would give in, at least for him and his mother, if he understood that Malfoy was close to breaking their arrangement. She’d have to tell him and Tonks about her agreement for the blood though. A conversation she wasn’t looking forward to having.

At all.

“Will you accept a promise without an Unbreakable Vow?” she offered.

Pathetic.

In response to her question, he shot her a look of such incredible disdain that if she wouldn’t have witnessed how much he’d changed personally, she would have expected him to follow up by insulting her blood status next.

“Do I know even know this person?”

“I guess it’s possible.”

He definitely did. If Malfoy was helping his father grapple with the Ministry, he probably interacted with Kingsley quite regularly. It was highly dangerous for Malfoy to know of Kingsley’s involvement even if he could be trusted with that information. Even if he was an excellent Occlumens.

Hermione didn’t know if Kingsley would agree to a promise anyway, but at least it wouldn’t compromise his identity. In any case, there was no way he would guarantee a pardon for Lucius Malfoy. A pardon for Narcissa and Draco was one thing, since they hadn’t committed the extent of crimes that Lucius had.

She didn’t even know how to ask Draco if he would accept a pardon for just himself and his mother for now, without him catching on that his father would never receive one. And she was afraid that if he found out, Malfoy would stop spying for them. She didn’t know how long she could string him along with the promise of an eventual pardon for all three.

Hermione didn’t like lying to him, but she didn’t want him to stop helping the Order either.

“This person doesn’t want to reveal their identity to you yet. I could ask if they would do it before Obliviating y-”

Fuck no,” Malfoy cut her off, waving his hand angrily in the air. “I don’t have control over my life, I don’t have control over my body.” He stopped pacing and turned to her. “You think I’d give up control over my mind?” His voice rose in an angry desperation. “That’s the only part of me I have left!”

No. No. No.

She knew enough about him by now to understand that he would never agree to be Obliviated either, which is why she offered in the first place. She had to appear that she was trying, so the situation didn’t seem hopeless.

Hermione bit her lip. She felt badly for Malfoy. He was endangering his life and wouldn’t get what he wanted out of this arrangement. And she was allowing him to believe that he eventually would. But they could give him something else instead.

“What if we could offer you back some control over your body?”

She wasn’t authorized to offer him the implant extraction, but she couldn’t see the harm in it. Sometimes one had to make judgement calls. As with the Nott raid, it was easier to request forgiveness than ask for permission.

Reflexively, Malfoy brought his hand up to his abdomen. Hermione’s eyes followed the movement of his fingers, pressing into the fabric of his T- shirt. He looked down at his stomach in thought for a few minutes, and his posture deflated as the anger slowly left him.

“How long will it take?”

Hermione tried to recall the day she delivered Mary her Portkeys. She had only seen Mary, Terry and Cho complete the extraction on Bixley, and hadn’t witnessed the whole procedure. Mary explained that Apparition directly afterwards might cause internal bleeding, so Malfoy would have to be absent for longer than the procedure itself.

“I’m not sure, but you’ll get complications from Apparating back too soon. You might need a Healer.”

He glanced to the side in thought. “That would rouse suspicion.”

She nodded and he flicked his eyes back to her.

“What about Portkeys?”

She was so jealous. Malfoy probably had enough Portkeys for each and every family member, near and distant, one for each of the house elves, one for each day of the week, for each of their property holdings and with plenty to spare.

They probably used Portkeys as paperweights and door jams. To live a life of excess…

“I don’t remember exactly, but they’re not as detrimental as Apparition post-surgery. I’ll find out the details.”

Brilliant.

Now she had to talk with Mary.

She hoped the prat appreciated what she was going through for him.

 

~

 

“But this isn’t an extraction for a prisoner,” Mary repeated.

“No,” Hermione answered, trying to suppress her irritation and avoid another fight.

She had to twist her arm for everything. Not that it wasn’t worth it. Every service that Mary performed for the Order was invaluable. She was irreplaceable, but the process was excruciating.

“So he’s a spy?” Mary shot Hermione a disparaging look, running her hand over her greying hair. “You struck a deal with him? Tit for tat?”

Hermione put her hands on her hips. “It’s because of him we knew about the Veritaserum to begin with.”

Mary eyed her. “You only had two prisoners after they raided my house. Was he the third? The one they Crucio’d?”

Hermione flared her nostrils.

Mary picked up the tools on a bench and packed them away, hinting to Hermione in a not-so-subtle manner that she was done for the day and wanted to leave.

“I don’t want to be involved with this.”

She should have realized Mary wouldn’t agree. She was here to mentor Cho and Terry, that was it. The extractions she was willing to do because she opposed torture for any reason. Anything outside of those responsibilities she frequently refused to do. She didn’t trust the Order, or their methods.

“The information we get from him has saved lives,” Hermione pressed her.

“It brought you those prisoners, more likely,” Mary shot back casting a disinfecting charm on the surfaces of the tables.

“I guarantee you, they’re treated better by us than You-Know-Who.”

Mary’s dark eyes skewered her. “I don’t doubt it, but that’s not the point. You’re not rescuing them.”

“Could Cho or Terry do it?”

She shook her head. “Not without my supervision.”

“Would you supervise?”

“No.”

Hermione almost stomped her foot in frustration. She hated having to go through this, every single time they needed something from her. She should have sent Kingsley. He would have maneuvered Mary into thinking that it was her own idea to take out Malfoy’s implant, and by the end of the conversation Mary would have pleaded with him just to have the opportunity to do it.

Hermione could have sent Cho. Or Terry. Mary had a weak spot for the Ravenclaws.

“Why not?” The volume of her voice was rising. She was struggling to maintain a calm exterior. “Don’t you want us to win this war?”

“Yes. But I’m not going to compromise all sense of morality to do so like you and,” Mary waved her hand derisively, referring to the Order leadership. “the others.”

Hermione exhaled through her teeth and gripped the edge of the lab table, knuckles turning white. “We have not compro-”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Mary interrupted her, giving her a superior glance, as if she already knew the answer.

Hermione turned to her in surprise, and thought back to the Death Eaters she had blasted off of their brooms while riding the back of a thestral with Kingsley.

“In self-defense.”

“But you put yourself in that position,” Mary dismissed her explanation. “There could have been another solution?”

Hermione clenched her jaw. Yes, they could have avoided that battle, and Moody had died that night.

“Possibly.”

“And you condone the torture of the prisoners,” Mary added, still in that condescending, scolding tone of hers.

Hermione had already been through the ethics (or lack of) with Tonks and Remus. “As a last resort,” she retorted, defensively. “As you are well aware, we pursued another option when it became available.”

“I treated them when Tonks was done,” Mary said, shaking her head. “You didn’t see what Bixley and Dolohov looked like, Hermione. There’s always another way. You’re choosing what’s easy and convenient over what’s morally correct.”

What right did she have to judge? Hermione was furious. Mary didn’t understand what the options were, or what the consequences of each choice would be.

“Platitudes don’t work when you have to make decisions and I can assure you, nothing we have done thus far has been easy or convenient.” Hermione nearly growled at her.

It was only the thought that she needed Mary that kept her from outright screaming.

“We carefully weigh our options and the consequences against the larger goal of the Order. The larger goal, need I remind you, is to enable Muggle-borns such as yourself to live free and without fear. And we weigh the cost of the action be it in terms of lives, funds or – yes, ethics. The right decision isn’t always clear and we do the best we can!”

Hermione would get up and defend every decision she had made thus far. Every decision the Order had made. And she would make those decisions again.

Mary narrowed her eyes at her. “Clearly, your best is not good enough when you act exactly like the tyrants you’re trying to defeat!”

Hermione’s voice rose. “Be thankful you don’t have to make those decisions yourself and can criticize from the safety of your infirmary!”

Mary slammed her gloves on the counter and crossed her arms.

“Get out,” she spat.

Fuck. Hermione blew it. She may as well go for broke.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Hermione yelled at her.

Mary narrowed her eyes at her. Angry, but calm. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh really?” She raised her eyebrows. “Because you seem to manage a civil conversation with everyone else.”

Mary’s chin jutted out. “You changed. You wouldn’t have condoned torture a few months ago, I remember. You’re just as bad as Tonks now.”

She was right.

“War changes people,” Hermione snapped back at her. “What do your personal feelings have to do with taking out the implant?”

“Nothing,” Mary retorted, nostrils flaring. “Nothing at all. I won’t do it because it’s unethical.”

Hermione sucked in a lungful of air, readying to release her wrath.

“What?” Hermione was yelling again. “Why is it immoral to remove a spy’s implant?”

“Because I don’t know what you’re getting in exchange for it,” the older witch hissed back, angry lines appearing around her mouth. “Is he going to sabotage something? Kill someone for you? Do anything else that would lead to death and injury?”

“He’s going to help!” Hermione was so angry, throwing her hands out in exasperation. “He saves lives! His knowledge has prevented death and injury to the Order! And to others that aren’t in hiding! Do you have any idea how many raids the Order has done? And you’ve barely treated anyone for injuries! Intelligence has been critical to our success and our operations staying under the radar! It’s not as if he sent us Rowle and Nott to be tortured and executed! That’s not what we do! That’s not who we are!

That was a bald-faced lie.

There was no way in hell she would mention that Malfoy may very well have sent them Dolohov and Bixley to be tortured and executed. Or that he had probably been eager to draw up the estate plans after hearing that Dolohov committed suicide.

Mary flared her nostrils and her voice lowered. “Do I have your word on that?”

Hermione’s reply caught in her throat, ready to be screamed. Instead, she nearly whispered from the shock of what Mary just asked.

“You value my word?”

“Just because I don’t agree with your tactics doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re honest.”

Hermione blinked at her. She was unsure whether to celebrate because she won a victory, or cry because she had just lied to someone who told her she valued her integrity. And why did Mary value her integrity at all? Perhaps she appreciated the fact that she received Portkeys sooner than anyone else.

Hermione had promised her, and had followed through. Maybe Mary even felt guilty about it.

Hermione thought about how she didn’t tell Tonks that she warned Malfoy about the Nott raid, and how she was stringing Malfoy along with the pardon. And how she was lying to Harry and Ron about Harry being a Horcrux. She was quite sure (and even hopeful) that Malfoy’s knowledge would eventually lead to strategic advantages in battle that would definitely lead to the injury and death of those in Voldemort’s Army.

That’s how wars were won.

She wondered why Mary valued her honesty. Perhaps Hermione hadn’t yet sacrificed it at the time.

Thankful for her lessons in Occlumency, she looked Mary squarely in the eyes and said without the slightest waver, “You have my word.”

 

~

 

Can you fuck me for 7 hours straight?

Can you take my cock for that long?

I’m not sure you have the stamina.

My stamina isn’t the issue, you’ll come so hard you’ll black out.

 

~

 

“Are you trying to suffocate me?” Malfoy’s voice was muffled. Hermione gave him a black knit cap to pull down over his face during the implant extraction procedure. It would protect his identity while Mary worked on him. “It’s a strangulation kink, Granger. Not a suffocation kink.”

He was lying down on the bed in her parents’ guest room, ready for Mary to begin. Mary explained earlier that given his age and health, seven hours was the absolute minimum needed for both the surgery and recovery period prior to Portkey travel. Assuming no complications. However, by sleeping overnight, Malfoy was able to guarantee eleven hours total.

To prevent any issues with his identity being discovered, Hermione thought it best to have the procedure done at her parents’ house instead of Ravenclaw Tower. Mary reluctantly agreed. At least her compliance didn’t require a shouting match this time.

“If you shut that obnoxious mouth of yours, I’ll cut a hole so you can breathe better.” She smiled. “But I must say, you’re making an awfully convincing case for suffocation.”

Malfoy chuckled and she pinched the fabric of the knit cap away from his mouth, carefully slicing an oval with her wand. She released the fabric and it snapped back on his face, nose and mouth now exposed.

“Ow.”

“Quit whining, Malfoy.”

She couldn’t help looking at his lips. He would have snogged her when she woke up after they watched Return of the Jedi. Her relationship with him was getting messier and more complicated each time they met. She didn’t know what to think of it anymore. Or what to think of Ron.

It was all so confusing.

“Are you staring at me?”

She nearly jumped, her gaze pulled from his lips.

“No,” she lied.

“The question was rhetorical, Granger. I can see through this cap.”

“Twat.” She flushed and turned away from him. “Mary you can come in now,” she called into the hallway, eager to get away.

The older witch strode into the guest room, already digging in her bag for the items she needed. She didn’t waste any time. While arranging a series of vials and jars on the folding card table Hermione had levitated up from the basement, Mary explained in an authoritative yet detached voice what the procedure would entail, how long it would take, what the potential complications were and how long Malfoy would need to recover. He listened silently, hands folded on his chest as she lectured him on the perils of eating acidic foods in the next two weeks.

Mary may have made a fuss prior to performing the procedure, but once she had agreed, she was as thorough and as professional as could be.

It was worth the pain and aggravation of interacting with her.

Almost.

“Do you need anything before I head out?” Hermione asked her.

The Healer swiveled around to face her. “You thought you were going to leave him here by himself?”

Malfoy turned his head towards her.

“Did you need help during the procedure?” Hermione asked, confused.

“Not at all,” Mary clarified, tightening her greying hair in her bun. “But someone needs to be with him overnight while he heals and oversee the sustained monitoring charm.”

She cast the charm so Hermione could see what she was referring to. A bright series of lights and shapes in a human form suspended above Malfoy’s torso. She pointed to the display while explaining.

“External bleeding you could fix yourself, internal you cannot. If the charm is still negative tomorrow morning, he should be able to leave via Portkey.”

Mary lifted Malfoy’s shirt and pressed his abdominal muscles with her hands, spreading her fingers. Hermione’s eyes widened slightly and she averted her gaze. Merlin. Mary directed her attention to him.

“If you feel any pain after the Portkey I want you to contact me immediately.” She glanced up at Hermione. “If the charm shows positive for internal at any time during the night, again, you must contact me immediately.”

“Here Granger.” Malfoy patted the space next to him on the bed. “Plenty of room for you to monitor me.” His smirk was visible through the hole she cut in his cap and she blushed furiously.

“No, there will be none of that,” Mary scolded him, opening his trousers and roughly tugging them down several inches and then lowering the waistline of his boxers, exposing his pelvic bone. Hermione was definitely not looking. “Hermione needs to remain awake the entire night,” Mary turned back to her. “I suggest bringing a chair, some coffee and snacks. Watch something on the telly even to ensure you don’t fall asleep.” She turned back to Malfoy. “And you need rest. There will be no sexual intercourse tonight.”

Hermione was mortified that Mary thought they had that kind of relationship. Her mouth opened and closed ineffectually, making light squawking noises as she struggled to correct her assumption.

“We do not have -”

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Malfoy interrupted, pronouncing her given name in the most lascivious tone possible. “If you can’t control yourself after ogling me all night we’ll just meet up –” He turned his head towards Mary’s direction while she cast a charm over his abdomen. “When can she shag me again?”

Hermione’s face was bright red and she sputtered, “We absolutely do not-”

Now Mary cut her off, already in Healer mode as she pulled on gloves. “No strenuous physical activity for at least seventy-two hours. That includes sexual intercourse.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but Malfoy spoke with a lecherous smile. “But there are some forms of intercourse we could engage in which are not so physically strenuous for the male.”

Hermione covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh my god.”

Malfoy grinned in her direction through the hole in his cap.

Mary held a vial up, swirled the contents while peering inside and placed it on the table next to her. “If you are in a prone position, you may receive oral sex or penile stimulation as early as tomorrow evening. I do not recommend sexual intercourse with the woman on top until-”

“I’m going to get coffee!” Hermione called out loudly, abruptly turning around and leaving the room.

 

~

 

Hermione stretched her legs and rolled her neck. The chair by her writing desk was not meant to be slept in overnight, but she was afraid if she brought the armchair from downstairs she’d fall asleep. On the upside, the monitoring charm had been negative all night so Malfoy could leave without problem.

She tried not to, but she did ogle him all night. She was supposed to leave him uncovered both for observation’s sake and to ensure his clothing didn’t disturb the healing incision.

His sodding abs. They were burned into her memory forever.

Ron had been blatantly leering at the breasts of the woman she had Polyjuiced into when they were at Durmstrang. It was absolutely the same thing. She had nothing to feel bad about.

Nothing.

Malfoy was laying on his back, not having moved since the extraction. One leg was bent. One hand rested on his chest and the other on his hip, long fingers splayed across the area where his boxers were pulled down, exposing his abdomen. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. He was still in a deep sleep and looked so peaceful. Her gaze shifted to his face for the millionth time, head turned to the side, facing her. She should have left the knit cap covering him. With his blond hair, pale skin, and long eyelashes, he almost appeared angelic.

When he slept, his bloody mouth couldn’t ruin the illusion.

Tosser.

Malfoy’s wand buzzed for his morning alarm, but he didn’t wake. Mary explained that the pain medications would cause him to sleep more soundly than usual.

Hermione rested her hand on the fabric of his trousers above his shin and rubbed it lightly.

“Malfoy,” she called him, her voice low. He didn’t respond.

She curled her fingers tighter, feeling the bone and muscle underneath and rubbed him harder.

“Malfoy.” Her voice was louder.

He shifted, his breathing changed pace, and his eyes opened slightly. She removed her hand. He blinked at her, confused, and then slowly put his palms to his eyes, rubbing them. With a groan, he lifted himself up to a sitting position and let his hands fall to his thighs.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

He turned to face her and squinted, trying to bring her into focus.

“I’d offer you coffee but you shouldn’t have acidic foods for two weeks.”

“That’s alright,” he ran his hand through his hair. It was all over the place and kept falling in his eyes. He scratched the back of his head and pushed himself up, wobbling slightly. Yawning, he adjusted his boxers and pulled his trousers up over his bum with a tug. She watched him zip the fly and button the waist. He tilted his head and caught her staring with a smirk. “Perhaps some tea this morning and penile stimulation later on tonight. Eight o’clock good for you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, got up and walked out the bedroom doorway. She was too tired to be nervous and embarrassed by his innuendo. She felt so groggy after staying up all night and wanted to get back to Paddington safe house as soon as she could to fall into bed.

“I have to work with her you know,” she called back as she descended the stairs to make him tea.

As she bustled around the kitchen, she heard him enter the bathroom upstairs and the faucet run. After setting water to boil she picked out a few different tea bags for him to choose from and the biscuits he’d enjoyed when they watched Return of the Jedi.

His heavy footfalls broke the silence as he came downstairs and she poured hot water into the two mugs. She chose a lemon-flavored tea for herself. Malfoy entered the kitchen, eyed the choices of tea bags and picked Earl Grey.

Hermione flicked her gaze up to him, hoping to convey stern disapproval. “Mary already hates me. You just made it ten times worse.”

He glanced at her disbelievingly while tearing the paper wrapping off the tea bag.  

“Someone hates Gryffindor’s Princess? Whatever for?”

Malfoy dunked the teabag in the hot water, spooned sugar into the tea and stirred.

She lifted her mug to her lips and blew the steam away. “She’s a pacifist. Doesn’t agree with killing or torturing people under any circumstances.”

He took a sip from his tea and eyed her over the mug. “I hate that in people,” he deadpanned.

“Absolutely no fun at all,” Hermione agreed, tapping her fingertips against the counter. “I suppose she expects us to wait for You-Know-Who to fall prey to an unfortunate accident.”

“Why wait for karma? I could strategically place banana peels on the floor before our next group torture session.”

Malfoy took a biscuit and popped it in his mouth.

“You’re an excellent spy, Malfoy.” She reached over to the plate of biscuits and took one for herself. “But death by banana peel seems rather… anticlimactic.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You were hoping for a climax? We can ask Mary about the recommendations for-”

She huffed in annoyance. “Can you get through one conversation without sexual innuendo? Just one.”

“Hmm,” he said, chewing on another biscuit thoughtfully while looking at her. “With you? Probably not.”

“You’re not like this with everyone?”

He shook his head and winked at her with a small smile. Her stomach flipped.

Why? Why did he have that effect on her?

“You’re too much fun to tease.”

“Lucky me,” she said and took another biscuit. She eyed him as he sipped his tea. He only flirted with her? Would this be a problem, or something she could use to the Order’s advantage? Maybe he wasn’t being honest. She didn’t know. “Any pain?”

“I’m good to go.”

Hermione dumped the contents of her mug in the sink, washed it out and put it in the drying rack. Yawning, she leaned on the counter. “I’m knackered from babysitting you all night. I’m going to go see if I can catch a few hours’ sleep before I’m needed.”

Malfoy reached across the counter and lay his hand atop hers, squeezing lightly.

She glanced up, surprised, into his face. His expression was dead serious and his gaze locked on hers. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest with anticipation. Terror. Anticipation. Was he going to threaten to kiss her again?

“Thanks, Granger.”

Oh.

No teasing. No threats. No caginess. Just pure gratitude.

“Of course,” she replied, blinking up at him.

Hermione looked down at his hand atop hers. He didn’t remove it. Her skin tingled where his fingers and palm curved around her hand, and she enjoyed the strength and intimacy of his touch. Immediately, she felt guilty. About all of it.

Malfoy wasn’t Ron.

His Dark Mark peeked out from underneath his arm. Despite what she convinced Mary to do for him, his body still didn’t completely belong to him. She flicked her eyes to his and added, “If it were possible to remove your Dark Mark, I’d arrange that for you, too.”

“I’m sure you would, Granger.” Malfoy fixed his stare on her. His lips lifted slowly, warming her heart. “I’m sure you would.”

 

 

 

 

Notes:

In the next chapter, play time is over.

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

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Facebook: Lynn Dramione
Discord: mistresslynn#1535

Chapter 25: Chapter 25

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

January 1998

One snowflake fluttering down landing on a frozen pond. Another snowflake drifting down, joining the first snowflake, melting into it. A third snowflake-

“What are you doing?

Hermione jumped and nearly fell off the porch chair prompting a huge laugh from Harry. He emerged from the front door, hugging himself in a coat loosely closed over his pajamas and sipping hot coffee. His black hair was spiking out everywhere. It was even more disheveled in the morning than usual.

“Practicing,” Hermione grumbled, righting herself and getting back into the chair.

She had been sitting calmly, trying to clear her mind the way her Legilimency mentor had taught her. Being her roommate, Lavender was used to her meditating every morning and evening but Hermione wanted some fresh air for a change, despite the wintery cold. She thought it would be too early for anyone to catch her in the act but forgot Harry would occasionally rise at the crack of dawn.

Harry turned to her with a loud slurp of his coffee, extremely amused. “Practicing what exactly?”

Hermione glared at him. She wouldn’t be able to clear her head of thoughts this morning, that was certain now.

“Occlumency.”

He snorted. “That’s not how Snape taught me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And he taught you so well.”

“Touché.”

Now she was curious about how Harry had been taught. Hermione knew she was making progress and that Harry had been absolutely abysmal at Occlumency. She had always assumed it was because he didn’t have the discipline required. And also because it was Snape teaching him, whom he hated and had no desire to learn from. Maybe Snape had a different style of instruction from her mentor.

She wondered who taught Malfoy. If it had been Snape or someone else.

“How did Snape teach you?”

He sipped his coffee, looking off into the distance as he remembered fifth year. “First he’d insult me or my father or both of us – always the same insults, absolutely no originality there, sodding murderer – then he’d tell me to clear my mind and prepare myself – whatever that meant – and say ‘Legilimens.’”

Harry spoke the last word in an imitation of Snape’s superior sounding drawl and Hermione laughed. He hugged his coat tighter around his body and walked over to her.

“So he actually spoke the incantation?”

“Yeah,” Harry cocked his head. “How else would he do it?”

“Nonverbally?” Hermione suggested, as if it were obvious. “So that you don’t actually know that he’s doing it?”

“What?” Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief and he spilled a bit of his coffee on the porch. “Is that possible? How can you not know? It hurt like hell, with every memory that he pulled from me!”

“It hurt?

She didn’t ever feel her mentor entering her mind. Sometimes Hermione could see the memories that the older witch was seeing, but not always. Her mentor only showed her what she was looking at to make a point. Not because it was an artifact of the spell.

Harry nodded slowly. “Like a mother fucker. I felt really bad for you when you said you had to learn.”

“No wonder you hated learning from him.”

Hermione gazed out at the morning sun in thought. She wasn’t sure how to process Harry’s experiences. Was Snape the exception? Or was her teacher? Clearly, performing Legilimency nonverbally would be more challenging and require more finesse to hide it.

She didn’t recall her textbook describing Legilimency as a nonverbal spell either. Her mentor must be unusually adept at it.

Hermione was somewhat proud that Kingsley had secured such a good teacher for her. She looked up at Harry from her chair. “Do you think Snape did it on purpose? So you wouldn’t learn?”

Harry shrugged. “Who the hell knows? It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Harry hadn’t felt Voldemort in his head for such a long time. Perhaps he was just as worried about Harry reading his mind as Dumbledore was of him reading Harry’s. It was a two-way street that Voldemort couldn’t control. If Harry truly was a Horcrux, Voldemort’s mind was just as open to him, so he hadn’t breached the connection anymore.

Stifling the morbid thoughts that came to her every time she thought of Horcruxes and Harry, Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand. He glanced down at her in surprise, but squeezed her fingers in return.

“So long as You-Know-Who isn’t trying to access your mind anymore,” she replied, “I guess it doesn’t.”

His fingers slackened and she glanced up at him. His green eyes were pensive in the early light of dawn. “What’s wrong?”

A half grin graced his face and he pushed his glasses up his nose. “That obvious am I?”

“Completely.”

He sat down in the chair next to her. “Ginny’s officially joining next week.”

Hermione turned to him, watching while he swallowed more coffee. “I thought you were excited for her.”

“Yes and no.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it spike out even worse. “I hated being shielded when I wanted to fight. I get that and I’m not going to be some paternalistic boyfriend trying to prevent her from charging into battle.”

“Hey, look at you!” Hermione smiled, impressed. Although, it was not like Ginny would let him keep her out anyway. If Molly couldn’t keep her from fighting, there was no way in hell Harry could.

“But I want to be a paternalistic boyfriend and prevent her from charging into battle.” He turned to her with a wry smile. “Can you induct her into leadership so she doesn’t go on all the raids like we do?” Harry’s expression turned bitter. “Tell her all your secret stuff so she can’t go.”

Hermione pursed her lips in annoyance, unsure whether or not to start a fight over the information she kept from him and Ron. She was tired of the off-hand comments they dropped, expecting her to take them in stride. But before she could say anything Harry continued.

“And it’s not just that.” He pushed his bum forward in the chair, slouching slightly and spreading his legs apart. “I shouldn’t be with her.” He downed the rest of his coffee and set his mug on the floor. “At all.”

Hermione wondered if his martyr complex was kicking in. He always thought about others first, at the expense of himself.

Always.

She’d save the conversation about his and Ron’s attitude for another day.

Hermione took a deep breath, hazarding a guess at what was wrong. “Don’t tell me it’s because you’re afraid something will terrible will happen to you. You think she should be with someone who isn’t destined to face You-Know-Who?”

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, slouched in his chair even further and replied dryly, “Brightest Witch of her Age.”

“Please,” she said, squeezing his leg affectionately. “Anyone could figure that out after speaking with The Boy Who Lived to Care About Everyone Except Himself for more than fifteen minutes.”

“I’m assuming you don’t agree?”

She shook her head. “Is there anyone here who isn’t in danger? Who couldn’t die at any moment? Tonks was right.” Hermione thought back to the night of the party when Tonks yelled at everyone about Dolohov’s suicide. “Scary. But right.”

Harry stared down at the floor in thought, and then turned to Hermione. His green eyes were pained. “If we win, Ginny’s safe. She’ll live through this and can pick whomever she wants. Why drag her down?”

Harry was assuming he would die.

No.

He couldn’t think that way. Hermione grabbed his upper arm and squeezed it through his jacket, pulling him close. 

“Anything could happen to anyone, at any time. Why won’t you allow yourself some happiness like everyone else here? That’s silly, Harry.”

“But no one else has to face him,” Harry protested, looking out over the misty lawn of Paddington safe house. “The chances I’ll survive this are significantly lower than anyone else’s.”

Zero, Hermione thought despairingly. If she was right, his chances were absolutely zero. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. If Harry thought he had to die, he’d distance himself from everyone and he didn’t deserve that. He deserved happiness for whatever remained of his life. He deserved a relationship with Ginny. He deserved friendship. She Occluded, trying to steel her expression before she cried.

“Your chances are just as good as anyone else’s. And you’re wrong.” Her voice was trembling, but at least she didn’t cry.

“About what?” Harry was taken aback by the emotion in her voice.

“That no one else has to face him!”

“What?”

“You tosser!” She smacked his thigh, her voice rising. “Where do you think Ron and I will be? Playing Wizarding chess?”

He stared at her, but said nothing.

“We’ll be right there by your side!” she yelled. “As will the rest of the Order! Including Ginny! You’re not doing a sodding thing by yourself! None of us wants You-Know-Who to win! We’re all facing him! It’s a team effort, you wanker!”

Harry’s grin slowly returned to his face. He was about to reply when the front door crashed open. An irritable Seamus Finnegan stepped outside into the morning cold with his own cup of coffee. His red hair looked just as presentable as Harry’s.

“Fuck me, Hermione, it’s half six!” he protested, stretching the arm that wasn’t holding a mug. “My window is right above the porch. Have the decency to cast a Silencing Charm before you go yelling at Ron, will you?” He chastised, his voice groggy. “Oh. You’re yelling at Harry?” He joked. “That’s new.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologized.

“Not your fault. You’re the one getting yelled at.” He glared at Hermione and then turned back to Harry. “But she’s right you know. You’re not facing You-Know-Who alone. Why do you think we’re all here? Why do you think I let Dawlish and Proudfoot knock me on my arse five times a week?”

“Sorry I woke you, Seamus,” Hermione repeated.

“S’alright.” He walked over to Hermione and Harry, sipping from his coffee. He peered into the sun for a few moments and grimaced. “Who made this coffee? It’s too strong.”

He pointed his wand at the liquid and cast a Dilution Charm.

“I did,” Hermione replied.

“Figures,” Seamus muttered.

Harry leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at his feet, and Seamus continued, “Nobody regrets leaving Hogwarts, Harry. I know I was a jerk fifth year when I didn’t believe you, but every single one of us is ready to fight and face him. And besides,” He pulled the hem of his shirt up and leaned over slightly, eyeing his stomach while trying to clench his muscles. “Check this out.” Harry turned his head up to look in his direction. “If I flex, I almost have abs. I don’t play Quidditch so I’ve never had abs before.”

Hermione lifted an amused eyebrow at Seamus. It was true. Combat training was building all of them up. He wasn’t as defined as Malfoy, but she could see muscles beginning to protrude. He used to be so weedy back in school. Even on herself, she couldn’t help checking out the newly defined muscles in her back and shoulders after showering.

Malfoy.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Once her thoughts were derailed she couldn’t get them back on track. She wondered what kind of training he had to do as a Death Eater, or if it was just Quidditch that kept him in shape, like with Harry and Ron. She wondered what his role was, and what he did aside from participate in raids. They had never talked about it.

She should ask him. Maybe it wasn’t just plans he could give her.

Harry made a gagging sound and knocked Seamus’ hand down. “Put that away, Seamus. No one wants to see that.”

“Padma does,” he retorted with a grin. The sun was shining behind Seamus’ red hair as he leaned against the porch railing, facing them.

“So go find Padma.”

“She’s still in bed. Made me come down and tell Hermione to shut her pie hole.” He sipped his coffee and shifted his gaze back to Hermione. “Although to tell you the truth, I don’t know why we need all this combat training. Just have Tonks and Hermione go yell at You-Know-Who at six in the bloody morning. He’ll plead to be sent to Azkaban.”

 

~

 

Draco ran up the stairs after Lovegood, two at a time, his heavy boots thundering up the multiple flights to the top floor of her house. She was surprisingly good, but Xenophilius was out and she was outnumbered. With the anti-Apparition wards Jugson installed prior to the attack, she didn’t have a chance. Jugson and Macnair were almost a flight behind him, unable keep up.

“Give up, little girl,” Macnair taunted her from below. “I promise we won’t hurt you.”

Draco’s lip curled in revulsion under his mask. That man would fuck anything female with two legs. After seeing his mother cornered by him once, he vowed to never allow them to be alone together. He noticed his father did the same, an unspoken agreement between the two Malfoy men.

Draco, Macnair and Jugson fanned out on the top floor. He saw a flash of bright light from one of the bedrooms and sprinted towards it, disarming Lovegood just as her rabbit Patronus exited the window.

It wouldn’t matter who she had warned. They’d be gone in less than a minute, as soon as Jugson removed the wards. Draco closed in on her, ready to put her out, and she narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn’t see him behind the mask, could she? Lovegood was an oddball, but that was impossible.

Macnair and Jugson appeared in the doorway behind him. Macnair stalked forward, elbowing Draco out of the way and advanced on her. Lovegood turned towards him, afraid and defiant. He reached under his robes to undo his belt.

Dormio!

She collapsed and Draco sprung forward to catch her, easily tossing her over his shoulder.

Macnair whirled around, wand pointed at Draco. “Wait your turn, Malfoy.” His voice was low and menacing.

Thankful that Macnair couldn’t see the look of disgust on his face he spat back, “She signaled for help. We don’t have time for that.”

Jugson pressed his hand on Macnair’s arm, lowering his wand. “The kid’s right. We have to move.”

While Jugson busied himself in removing the anti-Apparition wards he installed, Macnair leaned into Draco and growled, “Do that again and I’ll make sure you’re sorry.”

Macnair wasn’t the best at dueling, and lately, the Malfoys had increased their standing within the Dark Lord’s army. They'd had success in dissolving the Auror Office and progress with the Ministry Financial Bureau. Draco wouldn’t have to fear retaliation like before.

Before they all Disapparated to the Manor, Draco sneered back, “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

 

Voldemort was pleased when he saw Lovegood hanging over Draco’s shoulder, and he noticed a faint glimmer of relief in his father’s eyes. No one would be tortured for failure this time. His aunt and the Carrows were standing to the other side of the Dark Lord, as were some other members of the Inner Circle.

“Well done,” the Dark Lord smiled slyly. “The blood traitor won’t print lies about us anytime soon. An excellent idea Lucius.”

His father nodded, “I’m pleased you think so, my lord.”

Macnair spoke out in irritation, “My lord.”

The Dark Lord turned to him with interest as Macnair continued, “By rights I should get the girl. The Malfoy brat took her before I could. He’s too soft and spoiled.”

Draco was about to defend himself when Jugson spoke up. “If I may, my lord, Malfoy made a judgement call. The girl sent a Patronus. There was no time and we had to leave.”

The Dark Lord fixed his red gaze on him. “Is that so Draco?”

He bowed his head, surprised at Jugson’s defense. Draco had never really interacted with the older, more experienced Death Eater before. “Yes, my lord. I have no desire for her. My sole concern was the success of the mission.”

Feeling emboldened by his and his father’s recent successes, Draco purposefully hinted that Macnair preferred to sexually assault their captives than execute missions properly. The Dark Lord didn’t disallow prisoner rape, but he didn’t think highly of it either. While his aunt thought that pure-bloods were unnecessarily sullying themselves with Mudbloods and blood traitors, Draco got the impression that the Dark Lord perceived it as a waste of time. Beneath the actions of a powerful, competent wizard.

Thinking back to how the Dark Lord was actually a half-blood, he wondered if he believed in any this blood purity nonsense at all. Maybe he just exploited the cause for his own power.

They were all tools, every single one of them in his army, and they didn’t know it.

Regardless of the Dark Lord’s personal opinions on the matter, Macnair would try to make him pay for his comment later. It made no difference, Macnair already hated him and his father. Draco’s comment would hardly make the situation worse. And the Order would be taking him out next.

“Well done, young Malfoy,” was the Dark Lord’s answer. “You work well with your father?”

“Yes, my lord.”

When his father told Draco of his plans, he found out that Lovegood would be home from Hogwarts over the winter holidays so the mission wouldn’t fail. He also followed Xenophilius and detailed his schedule to figure out when his daughter would be alone. Little to no reconnaissance was the primary reason raids weren’t successful in the past.

There were so many raids in the summer that they were often done impulsively. Snatchers were sent out, told the targets, and often hoped to catch people unawares at home in the middle of the night. With only a bit of planning, Draco had ensured success.

The Dark Lord waved his pale, scaly hand dismissively. “Go put the girl in the dungeons.”

Draco Disapparated and unlocked one of the empty cells. He laid Lovegood down on the stone floor carefully and scrutinized her unconscious body, conflicted. As with the other prisoners he brought in from raids, he didn’t have a choice. With or without his participation, Lovegood would be stuck here. If he didn’t want himself or his parents to be tortured, he had to bring her in. She’d be caught regardless. Did it matter if Draco was the one to do it?

Draco stared down at her through his mask. He thought of Shunpike and felt sick. Maybe raping her wouldn’t be condoned. She wasn’t a Mudblood and was needed for leverage, which could ensure the conditions of her imprisonment wouldn’t be terrible. At least, he hoped so. There wasn’t much else he could do right now. He locked the cell and reappeared in the ball room to see everyone else silent, waiting for something to happen.

The atmosphere had changed considerably in the few minutes he had been in the dungeons. Draco’s eyes travelled around the room. His father’s face remained impassive, Jugson removed his mask and had a blank expression on his face as well. Macnair had his mask off and was visibly enraged, seemingly ready to kill Draco. His aunt was excited; running her fingers up and down her wand in anticipation.

Never a good sign.

Alecto was staring at him like she wanted to devour him and he felt acid collect in the back of his throat. Draco struggled to maintain his calm. Something terrible was about to happen.

The Dark Lord’s voice slithered through the air. “Walden is not wrong, you are soft and spoiled.”

Draco tensed. This was not the reaction he expected.

“Remove your mask, Draco.”

He made sure his expression was blank, removed his mask and lowered his hood apprehensively. It didn’t matter that he had succeeded. It didn’t matter that he worked well with his father, that they were slowly but surely rebuilding the Malfoy name. The Dark Lord didn’t care that they were gaining prestige and power back within Voldemort’s army. None of that mattered because in the end it was always death and torture for one reason or another.

Draco was going to be Crucio’d anyway. That’s why his aunt looked so excited. And Alecto was sicker than she was. Macnair should be happy he was getting punished. What the fuck was his problem anyway?

And then he understood. It wasn’t Draco that would be tortured today.

The Dark Lord turned to him with a cruel smile. “Show Walden that his first priority is serving me.”

Draco had cast the Cruciatis Curse dozens of times, each one a failure. He knew the technique, the pronunciation, and how to draw from his hatred to fuel the curse. But there was never any hatred to extract when he directed the curse at prisoners.

Macnair met his eyes mockingly, knowing that Draco had always failed, but not understanding the reason. Draco met his gaze and glowered at him. Macnair’s expression faltered as Draco raised his wand. The amount of times he had attempted the curse made it easy. Almost reflexive. The only missing ingredient was hate.

Fear suddenly entered Macnair’s eyes. He knew Draco wouldn’t fail this time. This wasn’t at all like his frequently ridiculed attempts to torture prisoners. What did Macnair fucking think would happen if he tried to assault his mother?

Crucio!

Draco felt an overwhelming sense of power as his hatred combined with his magic and spread throughout his body; tentacles wrapping around his limbs. It tightened around him, squeezing with a surge and just when Draco thought he would burst, a bright red jet of light shot out of his wand and pummeled Macnair in the chest. He exhaled sharply through his teeth, arm trembling while he held the curse in place. He had never felt his magic combine with his hatred before and it was exhilarating and dizzying at the same time. Macnair dropped to the ground and began to scream.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Dark Lord and his aunt share a knowing smile.

Draco recalled Luke Skywalker cutting off Darth Vader’s hand while the smiling Emperor Palpatine egged him on. He understood what the Dark Lord was trying to do, trying to make Draco give into his hatred and use it to power his magic. The Dark Lord wanted to taint him. To corrupt him.

There wasn't much choice in the Dark Lord’s army.

Torture or be tortured. Kill or be killed.

Draco wasn’t Luke Skywalker. And he sure as fuck wasn’t Saint Potter.

A sinister grin slowly spread across his face as Macnair’s screams echoed throughout the ballroom.

He wasn’t even ashamed that his smile wasn’t fake.

 

 

 

Notes:

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 26: Chapter 26

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

I want to lick your cunt.

Hermione flushed when she read the message on the Galleon. It was all too real. Everything about their interactions was laced with an element of sexual tension. And now she couldn’t rid herself of the image of Malfoy’s head between her legs, fingers parting her knees, digging into her flesh, grey eyes watching her. She bit her lip and squeezed her thighs together.

It was all wrong.

Malfoy wasn’t for her.

She peeked out the window at the mid-morning daylight. This was the first time since Fortescue’s that they were contacting each other during the day. She flicked her eyes over to Ron and Harry, who had each taken turns with the Horcrux books and given up. It had been so long since they’d had a proper lead and the trio was frustrated.

Ron busied himself making a parchment airplane. He noticed Hermione watching him and gave her a warm smile. It was nice, but she didn’t feel the thrill of excitement and desire when around Malfoy. She supposed that was due to the nature of their relationship.

In a nutshell, Ron was safe, Malfoy was not. Ron she could trust, Malfoy she could not. Ron was loyal and funny, but he wasn’t intellectually stimulating. Malfoy was sharp and she really enjoyed talking with him. Ron she had to browbeat into submission like his mother did. Malfoy was… well he was Malfoy. Sometimes she didn’t know whether she was his handler or if he was hers. Ron was awkward sexually around her, sweet and unsure. With Malfoy, she was afraid if she let her guard down for one hot minute they’d be shagging like rabbits.

She chastised herself for even comparing the two of them at all. There was no reason to compare them. She looked down at the message again.

I want to lick your cunt.

She had no snarky retort. None whatsoever. Only a dull ache between her legs.

15 min.

Malfoy was a bad choice for so many reasons. And he wasn’t even a choice to begin with. He shouldn’t be on the table for discussion. Not even near the table.

No tables.

The problem was, and Hermione felt this acutely, that the more time she spent with Malfoy, the more interested she was in him, and the less interested she was in Ron – at least romantically speaking. And that wasn’t fair to her longtime friend. There were plenty of young women fighting for the Order who would be open to dating him.

Maybe it was better to not have any romantic entanglements until after the war if she couldn’t sort through her feelings. Malfoy was off-limits and she was only going to hurt Ron by mooning over someone she couldn’t have anyway.

“I have a few things to do,” Hermione told Ron and Harry, and stood, wondering whose estate plans he planned on giving them this time.

She hoped for the Lestrange plans, but would take what he was ready to give. The raid on Nott manor had gone without a hitch, and Kingsley was pleased with the list of informants Nott had been responsible for.

“Super-secret Order stuff?” Harry’s bright green eyes shifted to hers, irritated. He had also given up on Horcruxes and was reading the Daily Prophet, feet propped up on a footrest.

She narrowed her eyes at him, having had quite enough of the friction over her role in leadership. In the beginning, Harry and Ron were proud of her. But they hoped that because of their friendship, she would be an opening to the inner workings of the Order no one else was privy too. When they saw she refused to share the classified information, they became resentful. Having shared everything since first year, her secrecy had caused a rift, and it was getting wider.

“Okay,” she said, standing up. Ron glanced up at her combative tone. “We’re having this out now. I’m tired of this passive aggressive shit.”

“Having what out?” Ron asked, warily eyeing the fold of his parchment airplane.

“Do the two of you want me to step down?”

“What?” Harry lowered his newspaper.

“Do you want me to step down from leadership?” she repeated, putting her hands on her hips. “Is that what it would take for you both to stop throwing a tantrum every time I can’t share something?”

Harry lowered his feet to the floor and set the paper on the footrest. “We don’t-”

“You both resent me.”

Harry clenched his jaw and Ron watched them silently. Ron didn’t like Hermione knowing things they didn’t, but it was harder for Harry. He hated being kept out of the loop in fifth year by Dumbledore, and sheltered from the Order’s inner workings by the Weasleys.

“I don’t see how I can win!” she continued, throwing her hands out. “If I stay in leadership, I can’t share things with you and you get naffed off. So the only way to keep you two from getting angry is to step down. Is that what you want?”

She waited in silence while Harry glared at her. After a few moments his shoulders collapsed in defeat.

“I don’t want you to step down,” Harry said with a sigh, chastened.

“I don’t either,” Ron agreed.

“Well, good. Because I wasn’t going to.”

Harry’s green eyes glittered at her from under the fringe of his messy black hair. “You shouldn’t. You belong there," he sighed. "I’m sorry we were jerks.” He flattened the paper down on the footrest. “It’s hard being left in the dark. I always feel like my fate is being shaped by other people without me knowing.”

Dammit, Harry.

She blinked, and tried to bury her feelings of how deeply she was betraying him.

“We still have the Horcruxes,” Ron offered. Hermione felt a tug on her heart, and was grateful to him for bridging the gap between all of them, despite the topic.

“Yeah,” Harry brightened. “The Horcruxes will always be our thing.”

Ron groaned. “Please don’t say ‘always.’ I’d like to be rid of them already.”

Part of Hermione didn’t. The quicker they found the Horcruxes, the closer Harry was to the end of his life. The Horcruxes bound them together and kept their friendship alive. But they could also tear them apart.

She took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on what was happening now. Harry and Ron would probably appreciate the fact that they weren’t the only ones that had to be kept in the dark.

“Remus found out,” Hermione added, shifting her gaze to him. “That’s why I destroyed my notebook.”

Ron’s face fell. “So leadership knows now?”

“Nope,” Hermione said with a smile. “I Obliviated him.”

“You Obliviated Remus?” Harry’s jaw dropped, and then a smug smile formed as he closed his mouth. 

“Yup,” she said, pleased with herself. “Horcrux knowledge is only shared on a need-to-know basis and Remus doesn’t need to know.”

Harry sniggered and continued reading from the paper again.

“I just wish the Horcrux search wouldn’t be so bloody boring,” Ron complained. “We have no leads.”

“Well,” Hermione turned to leave, “Hopefully something will turn up soon.”

She was about to walk out the door when Harry startled and leaned forward, crinkling the newspaper. She looked back and he flattened out the paper on the footrest again, peering closely at a picture.

“Ron! Hermione!” Harry waved them over excitedly and they both rushed over, flanking him on either side to see what had him so worked up. “Look!”

She followed his index finger with her eyes and saw it was directed towards a picture of Dolores Umbridge, smiling for the cameras and shaking the hands of some other Ministry officials. She sniffed in disgust and examined the photo more closely, trying to understand what had him so excited.

“Harry, I don’t underst–”

She sucked in a breath of air. Umbridge was wearing a locket. It looked exactly like the locket Regulus Black had left in the cave by the sea. She drew her gaze up to meet Ron’s excited blue eyes. He noticed the locket as well. It had been months since they’d had anything new to work with.

The three stood up at once and she shrieked. They all laughed and hugged each other, jumping up and down. Ron’s wrist almost clobbered her in the chin as he gave a whoop.

“Breathe!” she gasped, caught in between their much larger frames. “I can’t breathe!”

 

 

 

The trio broke apart, all smiles and laughter. Hermione glanced up at Ron and then at Harry, both were beaming down at her and then at each other.

This was good. This was right. This was how things were supposed to be between them. She wanted it to always be this way.

“I’ll see if Kingsley can get us her home address and ward information,” she offered, bubbling over with excitement.

“Shouldn’t be too difficult to get the locket from her,” Harry added with a devious smirk. “We managed to best her in fifth year without wands!”

Ron chuckled in reply. “She probably still has nightmares of being carried off by centaurs.”

Umbridge was found bound to a tree two days later by Hagrid, roughed up and hungry. The worst part of her ordeal was probably having to thank the half-giant for setting her free.

“Can we set fire to everything pink in her house?” Harry joked.

“We’d have to burn the whole bloody thing down then wouldn’t we?” Ron turned back to him with a grin.

“One pink item, and we smash all her kitten themed flatware,” Hermione declared with mock seriousness.

“I’m game,” Ron answered, completely serious.

Harry protested Hermione’s limitation. “Five pink items at least.”

“I’ll see you both later on tonight for planning,” Hermione smiled and turned to leave when Ron grabbed her hand, pulling her back.

“Come here.” His blue eyes were slightly hooded.

Ron had been too shy to try anything in front of Harry before; the good news must have emboldened him. Harry, still giddy, turned to the side, his cheeks red, and scratched the back of his head. When Ginny came over, Harry always left the room to snog her.

Hermione felt slightly embarrassed for him, and looked up at Ron, willing him to understand. But he tilted his head down and brushed her lips lightly. His hand pressed into her waist and he opened his mouth, trying to gain entrance into hers. She opened her lips slightly, swiping his tongue briefly with hers and then pulled away. His fingers tightened on her waist but he didn’t try to hold her close.

A blush crept from her neck up to her cheeks and she whispered, “I’ve got to go.”

She felt horrible that she was going off to meet with Malfoy directly after this. It didn’t feel right. Not Ron’s kiss, not rushing off to see Malfoy just after kissing Ron, and not the thrill of excitement she felt at the prospect of seeing Malfoy, instead of kissing Ron.

“Sorry, Harry.” She hoped Ron would take the hint for next time. Did she even want a next time?

“S’Alright!”

She squeezed Ron’s hand affectionately, and ran out the door to Apparate to her Muggle bedroom.

Hermione arrived to see that for once, she was first. She stood dumbly, surveying her empty bedroom for a moment, and then walked over to sit on her bed. The mattress creaked as she lay down. Malfoy always chose her bed and she never got to be on it. She lay her head down on the pillow and gazed up at the ceiling, grabbing one of her teddy stuffies and holding it to her chest. The house was so quiet. She thought of her absent parents and tears pricked her eyes. She sniffed and turned onto her side, bringing up her knees and cradling them with her arms.

Being so busy, she hadn’t thought about her parents in a while. 

It wouldn’t do to be upset when Malfoy arrived, she’d be more vulnerable. To cheer herself up, she thought of Harry and Ron just moments ago, planning the destruction of Umbridge’s house and laughed to herself. She breathed in. And then out.

Better.

She turned her head into the softness of her pillow. It smelled like Malfoy. A nice, woody, masculine scent, and she felt the brief stirrings of desire as she slowly inhaled. She imagined his grey eyes taunting her from between her thighs again.

Not good.

Hermione abruptly got up and walked over to her desk, plopping herself down in her chair with irritation. The wanker was still monopolizing her bed even if he wasn’t physically present. She lifted a few items on her desk, seeing that they all belonged to her, just out of place. If he had another scroll for her, it wasn’t here.

The crack of Apparition made Hermione jump.

Expelliarmus!

Her wand flew out of her hand and slammed into Malfoy’s. She gasped and his grey eyes glittered dangerously down at her.

 

 

 

Notes:

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

reddit: /u/PrincessRapBattles
Facebook: Lynn Dramione
Discord: mistresslynn#1535

Chapter 27: Chapter 27

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Fuck.

Hermione had let her guard down since they watched the movies. She had been horrified that she had fallen asleep in front of Malfoy, but he hadn’t done anything. That night and his gratitude from having the implant taken out gave her a false sense of security. She had gotten complacent. Now he was making his move.

She had been so stupid to trust him.

She flew out of the chair towards the door, but he stalked over to her, blocking her exit from the room with his arm. She tried to use her combat training, but he quickly pinned her to the wall, grabbing her arms and shoving his thigh between her legs before she could knee him in the bollocks.

Fueled purely by adrenaline, she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, wrenching her arms, trying to elbow him in the face. Her terror mounted and she reached to pry one of the wands out of his other hand, but he held both of her wrists easily, pushing them upwards and pinning them above her head against the wall. She strained forward to bite him, but he leaned back, just out of reach, and leered down at her.

“Want me to fuck you, Granger?”

Hermione abruptly stopped struggling and stared into Malfoy’s eyes, flashing down at her. She was panting, chest heaving with the effort of trying to get away. He glanced to her breasts and then back up into her eyes, giving her a sensual smile. Immediately, the fear propelling her racing heart morphed into something else entirely and she became acutely aware of his body, his heat, and the fact that his lips were mere inches from her own. A slow, tenacious warmth started to spread between her thighs. He flexed his thigh muscle at her juncture, and she felt herself clench.

What the hell was he trying to do?

Hermione swallowed. “No,” her voice trembled. She had to be firm. Whatever this was, she had to end it. Now. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No, I don’t.” She pulled on her arms, trying to free her wrists from his relentless grip, but his fingers tightened.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and slid his thigh against her core in between her legs. Horrified, she felt a pull, a clear distinct physical tightening between her legs. He shoved their wands in his back pocket and rested his other hand on her waist, and his fingers traveled under the hem of her jumper, making her skin tingle.

He continued in a low, husky voice. “How about I bend you over your bed, rip your pants down and pound into you while you scream?”

Her nipples hardened at the imagery. Where was this even coming from? His fingers inched higher, over her rib cage. She tried again to wriggle her hands out of his grasp and failed. Taking a deep breath, she summoned the same firmness as before.

“Absolutely not.” Her throat was dry, but at least her voice wasn’t trembling anymore. “Let me go, Malfoy.”

He lowered his face until his breath ghosted her lips. His chest pressed into her breasts. “You’re terrible at lying, Granger.” He rocked his pelvis into her as he spoke, and she felt how hard he was. “Lie to me,” his voice was caress on her skin.

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise. It was a test! A test of her ability as an Occlumens and she had just failed miserably. Malfoy had been warning her repeatedly of the need to Occlude properly and was now checking on her progress.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She couldn’t look at him while she prepared herself. His thigh moved back and forth between her legs again and his fingers travelled higher towards her breast. Everywhere he touched her skin was so hot.

She whimpered but focused on clearing her mind.

Snow falling on a frozen pond. Tiny snowflakes. One snowflake hitting the ice and blending in with the others. She opened her eyes and was able to observe his intense gaze half hidden by his fringe without being affected by it. She felt her eyes glaze over slightly.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

“If I like the way you come on my cock, I’ll flip you over and lick until you can’t remember your own name.” He licked the line along her bottom lip and bit it tenderly.

“No thanks,” she answered, turning her head to the side dispassionately. Her voice sounded overly detached from herself, but she didn’t let her desire affect her demeanor.

After a tense moment where his lips brushed the line of her jaw, Malfoy pulled back and released her hands. Her arms fell limply to her sides and she absently rubbed her wrists and stood up straighter, looking at him apathetically, waiting to see what he’d do next.

“Better,” he commented. He looked her up and down, giving her a once over. “But you’re going overboard. Like I was feeling up a victim of a botched Obliviation. You don’t want anyone to know that you’re actively Occluding.”

 

 

Hermione nodded numbly, and rubbed her eyes with her fingers, feeling slightly groggy at the effort. “I’ve never practiced like that,” she explained.

She could still feel the press of his chest and thigh against her, and the dull ache in her core.

The things he said.

Did he mean them?

All she could do now was imagine him doing precisely those things to her.

Merlin.

He snorted. “More likely you’d be beaten and Crucio’d while it’s happening. They don’t warn you and sit you down for tea.”

“I’d imagine they wouldn’t,” she looked up into his intense grey eyes and was immediately sorry that she did. She couldn’t shake the images of them having sex from her mind now, and she stared down at her hands instead.

Malfoy took her wand out of his back pocket and placed it into her palm, then summoned a scroll that appeared to arrive from the guest room and held it out to her.

“Sorry, no blood this time. Your friends will have to work harder.” Hermione took the scroll without looking at him and he walked out the door. “I’ll be in the loo.”

Hermione sat down in her chair and unfurled the scroll, happy to have something to concentrate on to distract from the feel of Malfoy pressed against her. His thigh between her legs, his fingers achingly close to her breast. She squirmed and blinked a few times, trying to remove the memory of the heat of his body, and traced the lines that he had drawn.

Macnair Estate. The plans weren’t as detailed as Nott Manor, but they did have a layout of sorts with some detail regarding the wards. Perhaps one of Kingsley’s informants could supplement the information by copying whatever was on file at the Ministry again. Hermione pored over the plans, deep in thought. Once again, she had been hoping for Lestrange, but Macnair would do.

Hermione glanced at the clock and furrowed her brow. Malfoy had been in the loo for ten minutes. She shrugged and turned back to the scroll. Maybe he had some GI issue.

Whatever. Bugger him. She didn’t care and didn’t want to know.

She heard the bathroom door open, and he walked back into her room with a slight swagger that wasn’t there before. Hermione scrutinized him and he stared right back down at her. He had a faint blush on his cheeks and tinge of elation in his eyes. Her lips parted. Did he just… He must have.

He went to the loo to wank.

Malfoy raised his eyebrow suggestively, daring her to say something. She certainly wouldn’t, and turned back to study the scroll, blushing furiously.

Arsehole.

While she studied the Macnair plans, Hermione saw Malfoy out the of the corner of her eye reading one the books on her bookshelf. It was ‘1984.’ For someone questioning the very reality of the world around him, she certainly saw the appeal, but said nothing. He wasn’t shy about asking questions.

Hermione rubbed her thighs together again. He had gotten her all worked up and now she was frustrated. He could just go and wank himself whenever he wanted. She had to sit here and… And what? Masturbate later to thoughts of Malfoy? Go to Ron after this meeting? The thought of going to Ron to relieve her after Malfoy had gotten her all hot and bothered alarmed her.

That was definitely a betrayal.

“Are you going to be testing my Occlumency that way again?” Hermione’s voice came out more annoyed than she intended. He was right to test her. It was his life on the line. She couldn’t blame him, and testing her Occlumency that way was preferable to being on the other end of the Cruciatus Curse.

He turned to her with a smirk. “Do you want me to?”

She huffed. “No.”

He gave her derisive glance showing her just how pathetic her denial was. She hoped he wouldn’t just lose patience and decide to Obliviate her. Today, he certainly could have. He had to understand how hard she had been working on Occlumency. She had been undergoing months of training and her teacher was impressed with how much she’d progressed in such a short time span.

“I’m working on it. I am. It’s a struggle for me. I’ve been clearing my mind twice a day for months to try and develop that disaffected look I see you pull so easily-” He morphed the expression on his face and she laughed, despite the mortification earlier. “Yes. That. It’s like slipping on a mask.”

“Not ‘like.’ It is a mask.” Malfoy’s smile broke the mask apart and her stomach flipped.

“I can do it, you saw. Even when you-” She coughed and blushed at the memory of his fingers inching upwards towards her breast. “It just takes more time and concentration for me. I’m much better than I was even a month ago.”

He stared at her. “It’s harder for you because it goes against your nature. You have a very expressive face.”

Her heart beat faster at his observation of her, and she also felt slightly relieved. Malfoy understood. Hermione still worried that he would decide to abandon the whole arrangement and Obliviate her if she couldn’t master Occlumency. For now, it seemed that wasn’t a danger.

“It really does. But I’m taking it seriously.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“I don’t want you to die any more than you do,” she added.

“Now that,” he drawled, “I seriously doubt.”

She rested her chin in her hand and sighed. He was only half-kidding. But she was serious. “I don’t. You’re on the right side of this war, Malfoy. You deserve a happy life for yourself and your children as much as anyone else.”

Malfoy blinked at her, pensive, as if he wasn’t sure whether he believed that himself. He turned back to the book he was holding, and Hermione returned to the Macnair Estate plans. They remained in silence, the only sound the flipping of pages as he read.

“Granger?”

She glanced up waiting for him to speak, but he was still reading. After a few moments he closed the book and slid it back onto her shelf. He peered at a few more titles and then turned to her.

“Why would I think Muggles are inferior?”

Her heartbeat picked up speed again. It was one of these conversations. Malfoy was questioning everything. It was fascinating, watching his bigotry slowly break down over the course of their meetings. She noticed he had phrased his query differently this time. He didn’t ask her to come up with a logical reason that made sense to her, he asked her why he thought the things he did.

She shrugged. “Obviously, you think they’re inferior because they don’t have magic.”

It was a no brainer. He knew she would say that.

“Why don’t you agree?” he countered immediately.

She answered his question with a question. “If two magical parents had a squib, would their child be less than them?”

“Yes,” he answered, without thinking.

“If you had a squib, would your child be inferior to you?” Making abstract concepts personal always forced people to confront the reality of their assertions.

Malfoy was no different and he narrowed his eyes at her. “Perhaps ‘inferior’ is the wrong word to use.”

“Then what would be the correct word?”

Malfoy bit his cheek in thought for a few moments. “It would be like being born without a limb.”

“So is your one-legged child less of a person than you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Are they less intelligent than you?”

He snorted in disgust. “I’d fucking hope they’d be a lot smarter.”

She felt a twinge of sympathy for him again in that he became a Death Eater at such a young age. He was paying the consequences for a decision that he hadn’t understood the ramifications of at the time he made it. She struggled with the desire to hug him and make things better.

“Is your one-legged child less capable than you magically?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Are they…” she tried to think of a word but couldn’t. “Less than you in any way?”

“They can’t walk.”

“So even though your child is more brilliant and more powerful than you, not being able to walk makes them less than your average wizard strolling down Diagon Alley?”

He looked to the side. “Perhaps that’s not a good analogy. Wizards are more capable than Muggles. They can DO more.”

“Are you sure about that? It’s not wizards exploring space and they have no idea what DNA is or how to manipulate it.” The elephant in the room. It was the first time they were openly discussing what he’d been doing when she wasn’t there.

“But we don’t need all this,” he waved his hand at her books, “science and technology. Our power is innate. We don’t need tools.”

“What’s a wand? Magical artifacts? Potions? They are tools to harness our innate magical power. Science and technology are tools to harness innate brain power.”

“If Wizards wanted to explore space they could have, and we would have gone farther.”

“I’m sure that’s true. So why haven’t we?”

Hermione had also been curious about the Wizarding world in that regard. While life was certainly comfortable, it resembled the Muggle world in the 17th century, with a few perks like water that was always safe to drink and no death from infection. Magical yes, but old fashioned. The worlds had significantly diverged, and Muggles had surpassed wizards in many areas as they were forced to struggle with problems that plagued their society. Out of necessity, Muggles discovered germ theory and then implemented that knowledge to prevent infection and water-borne contagions. Wizards had simple purification spells for that.

Malfoy’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. “Are you saying our magic keeps us back?”

“Necessity is the mother of invention.” She rolled the parchment with the Macnair plans and placed it on her desk. “If you’re comfortable, why push for more? You already know there are many things Muggles do objectively better than Wizards. Far better.”

“But wizards haven’t tried.”

“Does having unused potential make one inherently superior?”

He bit his lip in thought at her question. She pressed on.

“Let’s say Crabbe and Goyle are secret geniuses.” That earned Hermione an amused snort. “But they never studied and failed all their OWL’s and spent the rest of their lives wasting their inheritance and otherwise doing absolutely nothing. Does that make them superior to someone who’s not as intelligent or talented, but worked their arse off all through school to become a renowned curse breaker at Gringotts?”

“Okay, but wizards live longer. I’ve read in one of your books that Muggles die on average around 80 years old. Wizards live twice as long easily! And that’s despite all the,” he waved his hand again as he always did when referring to something vague. “Science and technology.”

She shrugged. “Look at all they’ve accomplished despite the shorter lifespan.”

Malfoy didn’t say anything in reply, but surveyed her bookshelf again, as if it held the answer to his quandary.

Perhaps they should stay away from technology and where the two societies differed, what of the commonalities?

“Malfoy.”

He looked up.

“Do you think Muggle music is better than Wizarding music?” His eyes flicked to her CDs.

“There’s more… variety,” he answered slowly. “But there’s also six billion Muggles in the world,” he relayed the fact as if he still couldn’t believe the sheer quantity of human beings populating the earth. “There’s more talent and skill to draw from. But that’s also a subjective question. Just because I happen to like Jamiroquai and The Beatles doesn’t mean that Muggle music is better.”

Part of Hermione wanted to laugh hysterically at the fact that the words ‘Jamiroquai’ and ‘The Beatles’ just came out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth. But she had a debate to win.

“So?” Hermione countered. “If Wizards are superior, variety shouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t the use of magic make the music better?”

“In this case, it hasn’t.”

She’d take that as a victory.

“What about Muggle literature? Is it better?”

Malfoy eyes scanned her bookshelf in thought. “I wouldn’t say it’s better, but it’s not worse. Again, there’s more of it. More variety. That’s a subjective question. The same argument as with music,” he looked at her with a gleam in his eye. “It could be that you have piss poor taste in authors, Granger.”

“You dare question my taste in books?” she asked with mock indignation.

His expression sobered, dead serious now. “I question everything.”

It was true, and she respected him immensely for it. “You do.”

“I don’t understand Muggle art.”

She furrowed her brow and watched him bend over to pull out two books from her bottom shelf. One she had purchased from a trip to the Louvre a few summers ago, the other she had purchased from the Musee d’Orsay.

“I’m hardly an expert myself. What do you mean?”

Malfoy walked over to her and opened the book from the Louvre on her desk, flipping through. She tried to ignore how close his arms were to her cheek, the blond hair of his forearm lightly ticking her skin, and observed his long fingers work through the pages, pointing as he explained.

“I understand what I see here. The paintings, the sculptures, much of it historic and it’s clear how Muggles have advanced in technique over time. Exactly like the Wizarding world has.”

He opened the book from the Musee d’Orsay and placed it on top of the book from the Louvre. Hermione watched the muscles of his forearms move underneath his skin as he flipped through the book.

“I don’t understand this. The pictures are objectively worse. Not as detailed. Not as realistic. They require less skill. Less talent. And according to this book, these paintings were made after the ones in the other book.” Malfoy pointed to a Van Gogh. “I could paint something like this if I wanted to. If Muggles are capable of painting realistic portraits and landscapes, why would they go backwards?”

Hermione understood his question and wondered what he’d have to say about more modern, abstract art. It was hard to appreciate paintings out of a book. Feeling a flash of inspiration, she looked up at him.

“How busy are you today?”

She had some time before getting back to Harry and Ron this evening to start planning the stake out of Umbridge’s house, but Hermione needed her home address.

“Not very.”

“Would you like to go to a Muggle art museum?”

Malfoy didn’t even try to hide the delighted curiosity on his face, and she smiled warmly at him. “Just give me a minute in the loo.”

She went to the bathroom, silenced the door, and sent a Patronus to Tonks. One of her Auror contacts at the Ministry could tell Kingsley they needed Umbridge’s residential and ward details. She was afraid of communicating directly with him. You never knew who he was with.

Hermione exited the loo and smiled. Malfoy was already wearing her dad’s leather jacket, a white T-shirt with the Tottenham Hotspurs logo and jeans. Damn him and those jeans.

“Let’s change your T-shirt,” she said with laugh.

“I didn’t get it right?” he looked slightly disappointed.

She shook her head. “No, it’s perfect. But we’re going to London. Wearing a Tottenham football logo might get you beaten up if we come across the wrong sort of blokes and they’ve had too much to drink.”

“Muggles are as violent about their sports as wizards are, ‘eh?” he observed.

“We’re all the same, Malfoy.”

“Huh,” he said as she pointed her wand at his chest. She changed his white T-shirt to a black one with the yellow Star Wars logo on it. He looked down and grinned.

“I won’t get beat up for wearing this then?”

“Maybe by the Trekkies.”

“Who?”

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Kissing (or almost kissing) while testing Occlumency was inspired by a fic hardly anyone has heard of, Manacled by SenLinYu.

Fanart drawn by Jen (tipsyocelot!)- look at the tension between these two! (follow her on instagram she's just starting out and is very talented!

Manip done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

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Chapter 28

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione didn’t dare Apparate anywhere near the Leaky Cauldron, but even so, London was a risk. She made Malfoy wear a knit pullover cap that she sometimes saw men wearing in the cold. His longish blond hair peeked out and curled upward from beneath at the nape of his neck, but you’d have to look closely to know it was him. One wouldn’t expect to see Draco Malfoy wearing Muggle clothing anyway. As for herself, she braided her hair back and donned a winter cap and sunglasses even though it wasn’t sunny out, and pulled on a long wool coat.

As they walked through Trafalgar Square towards the National Gallery, Malfoy would periodically turn his head or crane his neck, perhaps focusing on something in particular that would catch his interest. After a few moments he leaned in towards her.

“Why are so many people talking into those tiny black rectangles?”

She glanced over at a businessman, flipping his cell phone shut and shoving it in his jacket pocket.

“It’s like your own personal Floo call. But you can take it with you everywhere.” Hermione watched him process that information, knowing full well that communication was yet another area where Muggles had far surpassed the Wizarding world. A faint glimmer of amazement graced his features as he took in the sheer quantity of cell phone users around him, both young and old.

They walked up the stairs of the National Gallery, between the pillars and through the large glass doors. Hermione put a fiver in the donation box, took out a map and faced him. “Do you want to join a tour?”

Malfoy shook his head while surveying his surroundings with obvious interest. “Let’s wander around first.”

They entered one of the corridors and she let him set the pace, following his lead, and answering his questions when she was able.

“Who’s this bloke with the long hair and beard that I keep seeing everywhere? It’s the same person, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she answered. “That’s Jesus Christ.”

“Muggles don’t seem to like him very much.”

Hermione was so taken aback by his assessment that she bubbled over in surprised laughter. Several on-lookers turned to her in disapproval, and she abruptly stopped laughing with an indelicate snort. Malfoy was completely and truly isolated from the Muggle world. It was fascinating to see how he reacted to things that she took for granted.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with a shy grin. “He’s always bleeding from the same places and nailed up to that cross.”

She tried to recount two millennia of Christianity in a brief five-minute explanation and he replied incredulously, “And all Muggles believe this?”

“Of course not.” She shook her head. “Not even the majority. And even Christians don’t agree on everything about him. There are so many different religions in the world. Christianity is prevalent here in Europe, but if we were to go to India, China, Egypt or one of the sub-Saharan African countries the predominant religions or non-religious belief systems would be completely different. A museum elsewhere would have subjects unrecognizable to Europeans.”

“Six billion people,” he muttered softly, but she heard him.

“That’s right.”

The world was vast. They knew so little about it. The wizarding world had different cultures, which Malfoy had likely experienced if his family went on exotic vacations. But they were united by magic. The Muggle world was separated by belief systems, both religious and secular.

The two meandered on and entered a large room. He rocked back on his heels for a moment, scanning his surroundings and then raised an eyebrow at her suggestively.

She blinked up at him, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. “What?”

Shoving his hands in the pockets of the black leather jacket, he sauntered over to a large painting, stopping a few paces in front. She followed his jean clad arse to gaze at the picture next to him.

“What’s the deal with that one, Granger?”

She felt her neck prickle with heat. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I am merely interested in Muggle art.” His lips quirked upward. “Teach me, Professor.”

He pronounced the word ‘professor’ as if it were something naughty.

She shut her eyes, counted to three and then opened them again to see him looking down at her in amusement. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“I really am.”

She exhaled and looked up at the devious gleam in his eyes, trying to calm her nerves. “It’s just another religious story, like the other paintings here.”

He leaned closer into her. “Then tell me the story.”

She turned to face the two naked figures, painted by Lucas Cranach the Elder, nerve endings on fire from his proximity to her.

 

 

“It’s a parable about the first human beings, Adam and Eve. They lived in paradise and were allowed to eat the fruit of any of the trees, but not that one.”

“Why?” He moved his arm and it brushed against hers, leaving a dull heat in its wake. As with the Cineplex, she crossed her arms in front of her chest to minimize physical contact with him.

“It was called the Tree of Knowledge. Knowledge of things they weren’t supposed to know. Of things they weren’t supposed to…” She swallowed, acutely aware of Malfoy’s body standing right next to hers. “Supposed to want.”

Malfoy.

“The fruit from that tree was…” A slow burn spread in her core as she stared at Eve’s nude painted figure handing the apple over to Adam.

She could see Malfoy looking down at her out of the corner of her eye, and she turned her face to meet his grey, fiery gaze. She felt, rather than heard, his low, husky voice complete her sentence.

“Forbidden.”

With that one word, she felt a tingling jolt in her body and she trembled.

She couldn’t look at him anymore, and turned back to the painting, exhaling slowly. Malfoy was still staring at her. A tantalizing hunger had been in his eyes. She felt singed by it. He wanted her too and was rearing to pounce. He’d take her now if she allowed it.

“Yes,” her voice was nearly a whisper.

Hermione tried to swallow but couldn’t. Her stomach twisted and her heartbeat sped up rapidly. Not knowing what else to do, she continued the story. He was still watching her.

“Eating from the forbidden fruit gave them knowledge they shouldn’t have had. They couldn’t unlearn what they had learned and were cast out of paradise for it. It was the first time Adam and Eve realized what it meant to be naked, and that they had to cover up. So eating the apple from the Tree of Knowledge also symbolizes a loss of…” she couldn’t speak. Her throat was constricting and her face was so hot right now. “A loss of innocence.”

She couldn’t do this anymore. Not with him standing so close, staring at her like he would ravish her if given the slightest chance. And she… She wanted him to. She wanted him.

“So that’s the story,” she concluded. She turned around and walked somewhere, anywhere to where she could put some space between them.

He caught up and they continued walking through the gallery, thankfully in silence. She was mortified, and entirely oblivious to the works of art around her, mostly staring at the ground. She didn’t know if Malfoy understood just how much that conversation had shaken her, but she was grateful that he continued his appraisal of the museum in quiet. It gave her a chance to calm down. She sat on a bench, watching him while he walked back and forth in front of a series of Rembrandt self-portraits painted at different stages of his life, comparing them.

She sighed in relief. At least there was nothing sexy about Rembrandt. Hermione hadn’t realized Malfoy was such an art aficionado. It wasn’t as if he spent time looking at the portraits at Hogwarts. Then again, if he had, would she have noticed? Or perhaps, like her, he took those paintings for granted because he saw them every day.

Everything here was new, uncharted territory for him.

He came back to her with a devilish smile. “I think we can agree that wizards are superior to Muggles in art.”

“Why is that?” She wasn’t conceding anything, but she was relieved that they were back to debating. Debating was a safer topic than forbidden fruit. She imagined Malfoy smirking at her before taking a bite out of an apple and slowly chewing.

Bad thoughts.

Malfoy looked at her as if the answer was obvious. “Because the pictures don’t move, Granger. They don’t talk.”

“So if I painted a stick figure and charmed it move a bit and say a few words, my painting would be superior to that?” Hermione pointed to a Rembrandt self-portrait.

 

 

“That’s an absurd comparison.”

“Of course it is. But that’s what you claimed.”

She really enjoyed debating with him. He was quick, insightful, asked excellent questions, and didn’t mind being proven wrong. That was a quality she envied. She knew how stubborn she could be.

“Alright,” Malfoy amended. “If this,” he peered at the name underneath the painting, “Rembrandt bloke made one still portrait and one magical portrait, the magical portrait would be superior.”

“Why?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Because then the portrait would move and talk to you.”

“So the Star Wars movies are superior to these portraits because they move and talk?”

He huffed. “Of course not, they serve a different purpose. They’re not comparable.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s right. Movies and paintings are different mediums of art.”

He looked startled at her statement, and then countered, “Why would I want a portrait in my house that doesn’t move and doesn’t talk to me?”

They turned back to the Rembrandt self-portrait, at the quiet, knowing eyes staring back at them. Unmoving.

“Don’t you think all that talking and moving would ruin him? It takes away from the guesswork. The mystery.”

“What do you mean?” Malfoy crossed his arms across his chest, his intelligent grey eyes raked over details of the painting.

“Do you know who he is? What he’s thinking in that captured moment?” He continued to study the painting but didn’t reply. Hermione continued. “Everyone that passes through this gallery will leave with a completely different impression of him. A different story. You can’t do that when the portrait is yelling at you for breaking curfew.”

Malfoy uncrossed his arms, still staring at the Rembrandt.

“It’s different,” she emphasized. “Not superior.”

He didn’t reply, and then turned to her. “Let’s go see those other paintings.”

“Which ones?”

“The ones a first year could make,” he retorted, raising his eyebrow in challenge.

She rolled her eyes with a smile and opened up her map. “Let me see… Impressionists are down this corridor and to the left.”

They walked through the halls slowly. Occasionally Malfoy would pause and saunter to the side, focusing more closely on a particular painting that piqued his interest and Hermione followed his lead, letting him determine where to go and how long to spend in each area.

Finally, they turned a corridor filled with the colorful visions of Monet, Degas, Van Gogh, Renoir and many others. Malfoy scanned the room, seemingly looking for something specific, found what he was looking for, and stalked over to a painting of a sunrise over grey skies and water. She followed him and read the label. It was a Monet, on loan from Paris.

 

 

“This.” He held out his hand towards the painting and turned to her, almost in accusation. “This is exactly what I mean. If Muggles are capable of painting in such exact detail, why ruin it? The colors don’t blend together. The brushstrokes are choppy. It doesn’t look real. Six billion people in the world and this is what England decides to display in the National Gallery?”

The Wizarding world mostly improved techniques involving magic to impart more knowledge and personality into their portrait subjects. The art itself hadn’t changed much. Again, the differences in how art had developed showed a clear diverging of paths between the two societies, in this case with Impressionism starting in the 1800’s and never appearing in the Wizarding world at all.

Hermione cleared her throat. “I’m not very knowledgeable about art history but I do know that the first critics of the Impressionist movement made the same claims.”

Malfoy looked vindicated. “So I’m right.”

“And yet, these paintings are classics. Priceless. They eventually became accepted and are now a part of our history and culture.”

“But why?” he asked, exasperated, his voice rising in volume. “I could take a paint brush myself and toss a few navy strokes over the water. It doesn’t even look real. Where is the skill?

“Excuse me, young man.”

Malfoy jumped and turned around to see an old woman staring up at him disapprovingly. She wore one of the red blazers given to volunteer docents. Her white hair was tied back in a bun and large glasses sat on the edge of her nose. She blinked up at him, seemingly ready to deliver a scolding.

“I apologize, Madam.” He stepped gracefully out of her way and held his hand out so she could have a better view of the painting. Hermione smiled at how he easily he slipped into aristocratic mannerisms, leather jacket and Levi 501’s notwithstanding.

“I’m quite familiar with this painting, thank you. But you are not,” she said in clipped tones that reminded Hermione of Minerva. A very short Minerva. “I want you to take a few steps back. These paintings aren’t meant to be appreciated up close like that.”

He stared down at her in surprise, but obeyed, backing up a few paces. The museum docent followed him and asked, “What do you see?”

Malfoy turned to the old woman and then back at the painting, letting his eyes roam over the brush strokes and features. “A sun on the horizon, possibly setting or rising. Its reflection on the water. Two… no. Three small fishing boats. Some larger boats hidden by clouds or mist. Smokestacks.”

“Very good. Now tell me young man, is the water moving?”

“Of course not,” he replied without thinking and shoved his hands in the jacket pockets.

“Look again,” she pressed. “Is the water rippling? Is the light from the sun reflecting on tiny currents?”

Hermione watched Malfoy’s eyes widen slightly as he suddenly understood what the docent was explaining, and the woman continued.

“Is the smoke slowly rising, blending in with the mist over the water? Are the boats bobbing back and forth over small waves? Do you feel like you’re standing in the middle of a cool, wet morning haze with the fishermen at work?”

Malfoy’s lips parted and he stepped closer to the painting, looking more intently at the brush strokes, and then backed away again. Hermione tried to identify the emotion that she was experiencing while she watched him. It was pride. Pride in that he persisted in his questions and in his struggles, despite the fact that every truth he unearthed toppled what was familiar.

Hermione studied his face while he focused on the painting. She looked at his eyes, similar to the color palette, while he scrutinized the Monet with the museum docent. A myriad of expressions passed over the contours of his face. She watched his eyebrows lower as he inspected some small detail, and his jaw shift to the side in concentration as if putting the last pieces of a puzzle into place.

She felt something new in her chest. A pull on her heart and a warmth from within. She wanted to kiss Draco Malfoy.

Right here, right now.

Spy.

Ron.

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and closed her eyes.

Forbidden.

The woman tutted at him. “Among other things, the impressionists were trying to capture movement. They often painted water because it is in constant motion. Take a look at some of Renoir’s paintings to see how the movement of light is portrayed through moving trees onto people. It takes quite a lot of skill-” The docent used Malfoy’s word choice on purpose to make a point. “-and imagination to create the impression that we are actively witnessing water ripple or light play across a child’s face. It’s not as if paintings can really move, but look at the beauty of those that attempt to capture it.”

The old woman walked off, giving Hermione a curt nod, and leaving Malfoy wide eyed and speechless. An overwhelming sense of wonder washed over her in that she was able to watch him in this moment. She felt honored.

His lips were parted in amazement, and goosebumps spread up and down her arms.

There he was. Her childhood bully. First to introduce her to the word ‘Mudblood’ and the Wizarding world’s bigoted views on Muggles and Muggle-borns. Once a sniveling coward hiding behind his father and now a Death Eater trying to save his family despite his father’s choices.

She wanted to tell him how proud she was of him. She wanted to burst into tears, to hug him and cry on his chest. She wanted to let him know how much this moment meant to her.

But she couldn’t do any of that.

Instead, she sniffed, wiped away the tears that threatened to fall and asked in a choked voice, “Would you like to see a Renoir?”

“Hold on a second, Granger,” he said softly, completely oblivious to how emotional she was getting. “I’m not done with this one.”

A hot tear pricked her eye and made its way down her cheek. She had just witnessed the last vestiges of Draco Malfoy’s bigotry disappear into the hazy mist of a Monet.

 

~

 

They wandered the National Gallery until closing time, and Malfoy suggested they Disillusion themselves in order to stay longer, undetected. She didn’t want the day with him to end and was scared of the implications of how she felt. Regardless, Hermione had to leave to meet Ron and Harry, and he offered to walk her outside to where she could Apparate without Muggles being aware.

They were silent as they strolled along the Thames River while the sun set and evening approached. Hermione was still somewhat in awe of what had happened today and at what she had just witnessed. She supposed he was too. She had been grinning so much her cheeks hurt. She knew that she cared for him. It was undeniable at this point. She didn’t know if he felt the same, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that it was wrong or that this would never work out while the war was going on either.

Hermione had to cut things off with Ron. She couldn’t lead him on knowing she felt this way about Malfoy.

They walked through a group of pigeons and he stopped abruptly, causing a few birds to fly away and then land right back down on the stones again. She turned around to face him, wondering why he had paused.

“Thank you,” his voice was low. Husky. And his Adam’s apple bobbed, as if he was feeling and swallowing his emotions at the same time.

“I’m glad that…” She gazed down at her feet and then back up into his eyes. Shades of grey like the Monet, like the pigeons in Trafalgar Square. “I feel grateful to have been here with you today.” She didn’t doubt she would be able to make a Patronus from this memory, and her eyes brimmed with tears threatening to fall again. “It meant a lot to me.” She eyed the pigeons hopping around them and then returned her focus to him. “To see you in that moment. More than you know.”

He was visibly stunned at her statement and his lips parted slightly, perhaps in shock. If he looked at her any longer like that, she would kiss him. She knew it. She desperately wanted to. And so, she turned around, wiped the tear that had fallen, and walked slowly to where she would Apparate back to Paddington safe house. His long strides quickly caught up with her.

He kicked his legs outward, making a few pigeons fly up to escape.

“You’ve never met me during the day before,” Hermione commented, trying to change the subject to one less emotional.

“Yeah,” From the sound of his voice, he was just as affected as she was. He cleared his throat. “Things are pretty calm right now. My mother had errands to take care of today for some event she’s planning, and father has been in the States for the past week.”

Hermione’s stomach lurched and Malfoy stopped walking, knowing immediately that he had said too much.

“In the United States?” she repeated with mounting horror, slowly turning to face him.

His expression abruptly morphed to one of disinterest.

Fucking.

Occlumency.

“You have to tell me these things!” she slammed her hand on his chest.

Pigeons took off and scattered around them at her outburst.

His face creased in anger and he grabbed her wrist before she could hit him again, holding her hand against his chest. “I don’t have to tell you shit, Granger!”

“Do you want him to win?” she hissed. “Do you?”

He swallowed, and his voice lowered. “Of course not.”

“Then you need to let me know what’s going on! You have to fight!” she yelled, wrenching her hand out of his grasp.

Hermione was so angry. She knew he didn’t believe in pure-blood superiority anymore and now he didn’t even consider Muggles to be inferior either. But he was still cavalier about his role. And while he was helping the Order, his purpose was not to topple Voldemort, even though he didn’t want him to win. He was scared for himself and his parents, and there was something else she didn’t quite understand about his motivations.

“I am helping Granger, what did I just give you this morning?” Malfoy’s voice came out in a harsh low whisper so he wouldn’t be heard by passing Muggles. “But I’m not going to endanger my father for the Order. It’s not as if my parents are happily tucked away, blissfully unaware that their daughter-”

SMACK!

His face whipped to the side with the force of her slap, and he slowly turned back to her, eyes blazing in anger. Hermione was so enraged that he would use the Obliviation of her parents against her and hot tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She didn’t even care how he knew what she had done.

“Not good enough,” she growled, pointing her finger at his chest. “If you don’t help, we’re not going to win. Serving You-Know-Who? Is that the life you want for your parents?” She wiped her tears angrily from her face. “For yourself? For your children? Tell me where You-Know-Who is staying. I know that you know. Tell me now, Malfoy!”

She hit his chest with her fist again and he simply looked to the side, disgusted with himself. Taking it.

“I’ll be lucky if my parents’ deaths are quick, let alone my own.” He glared angrily down at her. His eyes were bright in contrast to the reddened skin from her slap.

“What your father is doing in the States could cripple us! You should have told me! You should put more effort into helping us win. If you don’t want a life serving You-Know-Who then you need to fight! You need to do the right thing!”

“The right thing?” he scoffed. “You think I’m fucking Saint Potter? You think doing everything the fucking Order wants is doing the right thing?”

“You know it is! You’re chasing after small details instead of fighting for your future!”

“My parents’ lives are small details?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing.

Hermione knew she was out of line, but she was so angry right now she could spit. She had watched him change over the past half year and had naively expected more. It hurt because she was disappointed, and she was disappointed because she really and truly cared for him.

“That’s not what I meant!” she protested angrily.

Malfoy bared his teeth with a sneer. “Fuck. You.”

He turned around and stalked away, pigeons flying out and upward in his wake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

The Rembrandt and Adam and Eve paintings are actually located in the National Gallery.

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Chapter 29: Chapter 29

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione paced back and forth nervously in the Tonks’ kitchen, waiting for the others to appear. She gnawed on her thumbnail, a habit she thought she had kicked back in second year. Frustrated, she shoved her thumb into the belt loop of her jeans and walked back and forth some more.

Today had been a whirlwind of highs and lows. The exuberance she felt from the early morning when Harry discovered a substantial Horcrux lead was followed up with the knowledge that the Order was about to take its first major hit. The exciting yet confusing day spent with Malfoy turned into a stomach-churning evening after realizing that although he was a spy, he was not on their side. He was on his own side, and he would only help when the Order’s motivations aligned with his own.

She shouldn’t be disappointed, but she was.

Malfoy.

And to think she was calling things off with Ron because of that sodding prick. She would have to delay that uncomfortable conversation until after they got the Horcrux. Going on a mission would be more difficult if she and Ron were at each other’s throats again.

Priorities.

Tonks was the first to arrive, her pregnant belly quite prominent now. She eased herself into a chair with a groan and Remus appeared a few minutes after.

“Bad news, ‘eh?” Remus asked. Hermione nodded wordlessly and kept pacing. “Minerva won’t be able to make it. Do we need Kingsley?”

Hermione paused and turned to him. “Yes, we definitely need Kingsley.”

Tonks reached over and grasped Remus’ hand affectionately, playing with his index finger. “Is this from your spy?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, “but it may be too late.”

Remus and Tonks exchanged an apprehensive glance and waited for Kingsley to arrive. Tonks winced and Remus rubbed circles in her back, murmuring into her ear. Five minutes of tense silence later, Kingsley walked through the door, sat down, and glanced around the table without comment on the mood. “Minerva?”

“Can’t make it,” Tonks explained as Hermione slid into her chair.

Hermione looked at Kingsley nervously and sucked in a breath. There was no use beating around the bush. “Lucius Malfoy has been in the United States for a week.”

He didn’t react, merely raised an eyebrow. It was as if she only pointed out there was an ant crawling on the floor. Not that his effort for the past year might have been completely undermined. The Order would be back to beans, would lose their safe houses, their paid informants, their medical supplies, their Healer as well as Cho and Terry’s training, their bomb making duo, and Hermione’s progress on Portkeys would come to a grinding halt, setting them back months.

Hermione didn’t understand how it was possible to mask emotions all the time like that. She could do it when she prepared, if she knew she would be in a situation that would demand it, but to have it be the default mode of operation was an entirely different skillset. She certainly failed whenever Malfoy was involved. She wondered if her mentor would insist she mask her emotions all the time like Kingsley was able to.

He rubbed a grain of wood on the table and asked slowly, “This is from your spy?”

She nodded. Only Kingsley knew the spy was Draco Malfoy because he would be the one performing the Unbreakable Vow. He understood the significance of Malfoy revealing that it was his father over there.

“Do you know anything else?”

She chewed on her lip and shook her head. “Only that it’s bad. He…” she hesitated. “He didn’t intend on telling me. It slipped out earlier this evening.” Tonks sent her a sharp look. “That’s why I called everyone right away.”

Hermione stared down at the table. “We won’t be able to get any more Portkeys if we don’t have any funds, will we?”

The modus operandi of Death Eater raids, wherever they were, was to first install anti-Apparition wards. They caught you by surprise with the raid, trapped you in while you were outnumbered and then picked you off one by one. That’s how they managed to kill off Order members in the First Wizarding War. That’s how all of the raids had been performed the summer and autumn after the Ministry fell. They were sitting ducks if one of their safe houses were compromised. It was only a matter of time before it happened, and Portkeys had been Hermione’s evacuation plan.

The Order couldn’t stay hidden forever. It was a nerve-racking game of cat and mouse.

Remus spoke. “Minerva and I have been working on an alternative. Portkeys are the ideal solution, but the time and cost needed to acquire enough for a solid evacuation plan for everyone are prohibitive. We’re only at 35%-”

“45%,” Tonks corrected. Tonks was in charge of Portkey distribution after Hermione made or repurposed them.

Remus continued. “We’re only at 45% right now unless more than one Order member uses the same Portkey at the same time.” He eyed Kingsley. “Are you leaving for the States?”

Kingsley nodded once and spoke. “I fear it’s too late to warn them, but I’ll leave immediately. When I get back, we need to discuss what the Malfoys are doing with the Wizengamot.” He shifted his gaze to Hermione, and she felt chastened, like she should have already known what the Malfoys were up to. Maybe she should have. “Thank you, Hermione.” He stood up and shared a knowing look with Tonks and Remus before he left.

Hermione didn’t like that look. Kingsley could convey entire volumes of literature with mere glances.

Tonks turned back to her and spoke first. “Hermione, we haven’t really talked about how you’re handling the spy since the beginning when I walked you through it. Mostly we discussed protecting yourself, protecting the Order and retaining the upper hand.”

“Right,” Hermione agreed.

“He has been helpful,” Tonks stated. “The estate plans have been coming in as promised.”

“He has,” she insisted, wondering where Tonks was leading the conversation.

Once again, even though she had just screamed at him earlier today, she felt the sudden need to defend Malfoy whenever he came up during meetings. Like the Portkeys, he was her project. Her not insignificant contribution to the success of the Order because she had taken the responsibility upon herself. The success or failure of both efforts hinged on her and her alone.

Remus sat back in his chair, eyeing her, and Hermione blushed without quite knowing why. Tonks leaned forward, catching onto her defensive tone. “You still don’t understand why he’s given you some information but held back on others. Like this.”

She couldn’t deny that. It was true.

“In some cases,” Hermione explained, “he thinks the information he passes on will hurt himself, or others he wants to protect. That information he refuses to give. Usually he just denies knowing, I don’t know when he’s being truthful.”

Remus scratched his stubble. “That’s understandable. So sometimes he’s honest about what he can’t tell you and sometimes he’s not, but you don’t always know when. What about the information he has given you? What’s the connection?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s puzzling. Although perhaps it’s as you originally said. That he told us about the Veritaserum so that Dolohov would be tortured instead of having a painless death. When they were all captured, Dolohov was in the middle of casting the Cruciatus Curse on him.”

Remus leaned forward. “And who of the inner circle did he mention again?”

“Nott, Lestrange, Rowle, Macnair and Carrow,” Hermione answered.

“Is it possible that they have also all wronged him in some way?” Remus asked.

“Or his family?” Tonks added.

“It’s possible. But I don’t know.”

Tonks fiddled with the hem of her sleeve in thought. “Would he tell you if you asked him?”

Hermione thought of their conversations. Some of them surprisingly candid, open and honest. Others shrouded, where Malfoy was obviously holding back on her. She didn’t like the thought that he would outright lie to her, but he was. He had been. And she hadn't wanted to admit that to herself. Especially lately. An unsettling feeling spread in her gut.

She was certainly lying to him.

“He might.”

“Press him to explain his motivations,” Tonks instructed. “And tell him you need more information about future moves. The captures are critical.” She winced and shifted the position on her chair, uncomfortable with the weight of her pregnant belly. “But with Veritaserum, I have to know what to ask and figuring that out takes time, especially when they try to lead me astray. Any leads your spy could supply would be helpful in that regard. Even if they were vague.”

“He knows where You-Know-Who is, I’m nearly certain of it. But he won’t tell me without Kingsley taking an Unbreakable Vow to guarantee a full pardon for him and his family after the war.”

“And Kingsley refused because he can’t be trusted?”

“Correct." Kingsley was right in his judgement, but Hermione still didn't like the situation. "Also, because he wouldn’t be able to give one member of the family a full pardon. And Kingsley's not sure about the spy himself either. It would depend on the extent of his crimes.”

Tonks jaw clicked. “What kind of relationship do you have now?”

Hermione blushed involuntarily, remembering how Malfoy looked at her in Trafalgar Square with the pigeons flying around them. Tonks and Remus both raised their eyebrows at her reaction, and she dropped her gaze to the wooden ridges in the table, uncomfortable under their scrutiny. Perhaps she should take a page from Kingsley’s book and come to these meetings fully prepared to mask her emotions.

“At first things were hostile but now we get along. He’s been questioning pure-blood elitism and I’ve been helping him overcome some of his prejudices.”

Remus seemed like he was going to ask another question, but Tonks squeezed his hand and he remained silent. They both watched her shift nervously under their gaze. She wondered if being silent was one of Tonks’ interrogation tactics. Making someone else so uncomfortable that they spilled things you didn’t even ask. She felt bad enough for not telling them that she warned Malfoy about the Nott raid, even though her decision had been the right one. Ultimately, Tonks was trying to help her be better at doing this job. And she needed Hermione to be honest with her in order to advise her properly.

Dammit.

Silence worked like a charm on her.

“We’re friends.”

Tonks sent Remus a look which she couldn’t interpret, and he stood up. “It’s been a long night; I think I’ll turn in.” He glanced down at her with an encouraging smile. “You’re doing a good job, Hermione.”

She nodded and eyed him as left the kitchen. She felt… abandoned. Remus left her alone with Tonks. What was Tonks going to do? It really felt like she was being interrogated. She looked down at the table again. More silence. It was uncomfortable.

Hermione sighed in resignation. She couldn’t hold out on her.

“And there’s… tension.” Tonks’ lips quirked upwards. “Unresolved tension.” Hermione quickly clarified.

Tonks reached out and held her hand. “Hermione.” She looked into her eyes. They were violet today and matched her hair. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It happens.”

She exhaled in relief and was grateful Tonks had sent Remus off. Discussing her feelings for Malfoy was bad enough already with only Tonks here. She thought the Auror would yell at her like she did everyone the night Dolohov committed suicide.

Tonks squeezed her hand and explained, “There’s often an attraction between spy and handler. Sometimes it’s engineered so that one can be exploited and manipulated. Do you think that’s what is happening here?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Are you asking if he’s seducing me?”

Tonks nodded slowly, her eyes serious. She hadn’t even considered that. It was too ridiculous.

“No,” she shook her head fiercely. “In the beginning, he was a typical pure-blood bigot. He would even Scourgify himself after we met in my Muggle house.” Tonks snorted in amusement. “And now that we get along… well… He’s a terrible flirt and he’s definitely interested in a physical relationship. There’s an..." her face got even redder, "an attraction. But no. He’s not trying to seduce me. At least,” she spoke towards the table, unable to meet Tonks' eyes, “not for those reasons.”

Tonks gave her a small nod of encouragement, and she continued. “Over the course of our meetings, we’ve discussed his bigotry. Confronted it head on. We’ve actually gone out into the Muggle world a few times to answer questions he’s had. He feels like he was lied to and doesn’t have anyone else he can talk to about his doubts or answer his questions. And he feels used. The Dark Mark, the implant, even how pure-bloods are forced to marry and reproduce. He doesn’t feel like he’s in control of his life, his future or even his own body.”

Tonks sat back and rested her hands on her belly, assessing Hermione. Then she pointed at her. “He’s made you feel sorry for him.”

Hermione’s lips parted. Malfoy didn’t make her. Pitying him was a natural reaction to his circumstances. Tonks phrased things in a way which made him seem more underhanded.

“Wouldn’t you?” she asked, failing to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

“Yes,” Tonks agreed, without shame. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t doing it on purpose.”

Hermione didn’t think Malfoy was doing it on purpose. Despite his caginess, everything between them thus far had been real. Not manufactured.

Wasn’t it?

“But I also respect him for questioning everything he was brought up to believe. Your mother went through all this, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Tonks replied, without breaking eye contact. Tonks’ stare was unnerving.

“And was it easy for her?”

“Not at all, but that’s not the point.”

Hermione furrowed her brow, confused. “Then what is?”

Tonks spread her hands in front of her, palms up. “All of these things could be true, and he could still be manipulating you.”

“But aren’t we manipulating him as well?”

“We are, but this isn’t an egalitarian relationship. The fact that we’re using him doesn’t make it right that he’s doing the same. We have a war to win. You should be manipulating him if it serves our purposes. Not only that, but you have to understand what he’s using you for. It seems that, at least for now, he’s been using you to take out his enemies. In fact, I’m positive that’s what he’s been doing.”

“Oh.”

Remus had hinted as much when Dolohov was first captured, but the way Tonks’ phrased it made it sound premeditated and Malfoy more devious. But he was. Wasn’t he? She had said it herself. His Patronus was a sodding fox.

“Look, Hermione.” Tonks reached over her belly and took Hermione’s hand to ease the blow of her words. “He’s helped the Order, that fact is uncontested. But he’s used us all the same. He isn’t concerned with our lives, has no regard for our priorities, or what would help us ultimately succeed. He’s concerned about removing a threat to him. Not to us.”

She gave Hermione’s fingers a gentle squeeze.

“That’s why he hasn’t given us the Lestrange plans despite you requesting them several times. He simply doesn’t want to. Do you understand the difference? And how that can be harmful in the long run? Even if we are gaining short-term benefits right now?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s not a surprise to me. I knew he had another motivation. I just wasn’t sure what it was.”

“The problem,” Tonks explained, “is that this makes him unreliable. When he gives information, you have to ask yourself why. When he denies knowing something you have to wonder if he’s lying. If you think that he’ll tell you the truth about his motivations, then I suggest discussing it with him, but you know he’s not being entirely honest with you.”

Hermione stared down at the table, humbled by the conversation. “I know that.”

Tonks tapped her fingers against the wood for a few moments. Hermione listened to the staccato patterns while Tonks pooled her thoughts together. “What has he gotten you to tell him so far? Or to do for him?”

Hermione braced herself, and her stomach twisted with anxiety. She wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, but it had to be done.

“You have to understand that in the beginning, he insisted on a few things in order for this arrangement to continue.”

Tonks waved her hand. “Yes, that’s often the case.”

“And he keeps asking about the pardon. I don’t know how long I can keep stringing him along.”

Tonks stared at her. Silently. How pathetic was she, knowing what interrogation methods were effective against her, and giving in anyway? She was going to tell Tonks everything, and it wasn’t going to be easy to explain.

Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself for the fallout. “I told him about the implant. I told him that Dolohov hung himself – he thought we had killed him, and I didn’t want him to have the wrong impression. I taught him how to cast the Patronus charm. I had Mary take out his implant,” Tonks eyebrows rose but she said nothing. “I…” she was going to betray Kingsley here. “I have been learning Occlumency upon his insistence.”

Tonks hair changed from purple to red and she leaned forward. “How are you doing that?

Hermione flicked her eyes down to the table. “With a skilled Legilimens.”

Tonks voice rose. “Who found you a Legilimens?

Her face hardened and Hermione thought she would start yelling at her. Tonks scowled and glared to the side, crossing her arms above her belly. Hermione didn’t blame her for being angry that she had been forced to use the Cruciatus Curse on Dolohov and Bixley when another option was available, but kept from her.

“Never mind. I know who.” She studied Hermione’s face and then continued, “I’m not mad at you, Hermione.”

Hermione’s next words came out in a rush and she clutched the edge of her chair to brace herself for Tonks’ reaction. “I warned him about the Nott raid.”

Tonks’ hair changed from red to black and she slammed her hand down on the table. “You did what?”

Hermione jumped at Tonks’ sudden anger and was grateful the kitchen door was always Silenced prior to the Order meetings held here.

Now I’m mad at you. Why the hell would you do that, Hermione? Taking the implant out without consulting us is one thing, but telling a spy you don’t trust the details of a raid?” Tonks raised her voice to a yell and stood up, leaning over the kitchen table, unleashing her wrath. “What the fuck possessed you to do such a thing?”

Hermione winced, shut her eyes, and opened them again. “But Tonks! He wanted to know the time in exchange for the blood. It’s because of the blood that you were able to get in and out undetected. With no injuries!”

She peeked upwards to see if her words had made any dent in Tonks anger. They hadn’t.

She looked down again and continued speaking. “Nott’s absence wasn’t even noticed until his son reported it nearly two weeks later.”

Tonks bared her teeth at her. “And why did you think you could endanger the lives of the team entering the estate for that blood?”

“Because… It was in character with what we know about the spy.”

Tonks blinked and stared at her. “In character?” She sounded… impressed. But still incredibly angry.

“Yes,” Hermione explained cautiously, her voice soft. “He may be a Death Eater, but he goes to great lengths to protect the people he loves, and at personal sacrifice. I already knew that from before he started working with us.”

Tonks was watching her silently and Hermione picked up steam.

“He… didn’t want Theo there at the time of the raid in case he was hurt, or worse. He was protecting his friend, just as he claimed. So it seemed like a good judgement call. I know I should have discussed it with you, so that you would have had all information available when planning the raid.”

Tonks sat back down and pushed her feet on the floor, rocking her chair precariously back on two legs. “And why didn’t you discuss it with me?”

Hermione bit her lip in thought. That was a good question. Why didn’t she? She could have. She could have discussed everything with Tonks after she received the blood. If she was worried about trust with Malfoy, she could have returned the blood if Tonks’ refused to tell him the time of the raid.

Looking back, that’s what she should have done.

“He already knew we were raiding the locations of the plans he supplied. I thought you wouldn’t go through with the raid if I did, and that you’d be forced to work through the wards, making the operation riskier. You saw the wards on the Nott estate were much more complex and deadly. Ron, Colin and Angelina had already gotten hurt during the Rowle raid, and I was afraid something worse would happen.”

Tonks didn’t reply immediately, but continued to watch Hermione and rock her chair back on two legs. “So what I’m hearing is that you want me to trust your judgement, but you don’t trust mine?”

“No that’s not…” Hermione opened her mouth to deny Tonks’ accusation, but she was spot on, per usual. Hermione was ashamed. She hadn’t even looked at the situation in that way. “Yes. Yes, you’re right.”

Tonks studied her. She wasn’t as furious as she was earlier, but was still aggravated.

“Don’t do this again, Hermione. Ever.”

“I won’t, Tonks. Believe me, I won’t.” She was sincere.

“So far, you’ve made incredibly good judgement calls,” Tonks clarified, still angry. “Your only mistake was not informing me about the implant and that you told him the time of the raid. I can’t help you if you keep me in the dark.”

“So you would have agreed with me?” Hermione glanced up, hopeful.

Tonks narrowed her eyes at her. “Yes. But that’s not the point and you know it.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right.” Hermione looked down at the table, grateful to be past the worst of Tonks’ fury. Her heartbeat began to slow down. She hadn’t even noticed how fast it had been thudding in her chest during the time Tonks berated her.

Tonks was still studying Hermione with that knowing gaze of hers. “You can see how critical it is to make sound decisions where there isn’t always a clear, correct course of action?”

“Yes,” she replied. And she did. She felt the weight of responsibility acutely. It was never easy to make decisions. She took every single one seriously.

Tonks stared at her for a few more moments in silence, violent eyes accusatory. “You can’t remain objective if you develop a strong emotional attachment with your spy.”

Hermione’s lips parted in surprise.

“I’m not in love with him,” she protested.

“But it could happen.” Tonks sounded like it was inevitable.

Hermione thought. Could it?

“I guess… it’s… possible?” She had to be honest.

Tonks leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Here’s the answer to your puzzle,” she said, pointing at Hermione. “He’s not having us remove people that are a threat to him. He’s protecting those he loves. That may sound like the same thing but it’s not. At all. He’s protecting his parents, his friends, and yes, also himself. Quite frankly, just from what you’ve told me this evening, it’s not difficult to see why you fancy him.”

Hermione blushed and glanced down at the table.

Tonks leaned back and clasped her hands over her belly again. “Hermione. I want you to report to me as soon as you can after each meeting with your spy.”

She looked up. Did Tonks not trust her anymore? Could Hermione blame her after she had lied about the Nott raid?

As if in answer to her self-doubt, Tonks continued. “This isn’t a punishment. You’ve done an excellent job with him. You’ve gotten information critical to our success at sabotaging You-Know-Who’s operations. You’ve protected yourself and the Order. You’ve gained his trust and you’ve even broken down his bigotry. And you’ve made well-reasoned, difficult judgement calls and continued to do so even though you’ve grown to fancy him.”

Oh.

She swallowed nervously. “Thank you.”

Tonks leaned forward again. “But you need guidance. You have no prior experience handling spies and should have been debriefing me this whole time – that’s on me and for that I apologize. I became complacent after the plans started coming in.” She smiled at Hermione, looking herself a bit ashamed. “We all make mistakes, we’re human.” Hermione smiled back gratefully. Even the indestructible mega-Auror Nymphadora Tonks made the occasional error. “You've made a lot of progress so I want you to keep working on him unless we determine that you would no longer be an effective handler.”

Hermione nodded. That was fair.

“Get him to open up about what he’s doing and why. Get him to be more honest about what he knows and what he doesn’t know. And for fuck’s sake, we need information about what You-Know-Who is planning. It doesn’t matter how vague or how detailed, it will make my interrogations of Nott, Rowle, and the lower ranking Death Eaters more effective. Are we clear?”

She nodded vigorously, relieved that the conversation she had been dreading for so long was coming to a close. “Yes, I’ll start working on it with him.”

“Hermione, who is it? You have to tell me now so I can advise you better.”

She looked up to meet Tonks’ violet eyes.

“Your cousin.”

Tonks' eyebrows rose in surprise. “Draco Malfoy?”

“Do you have any other cousins?”

“Not on my mum’s side, no,” she rubbed her belly. “Auntie Bella thought children would get in the way of her career.”

That was a diplomatic way of phrasing it. Hermione grinned, glad to be good terms with Tonks again. “The last thing the Order needs are a bunch of mini-Bellatrixes running around.”

“Awwww. Don’t be like that, Hermione. They’d be cute little girls.”

“That little boy in Pet Cemetery was adorable, too.”

Tonks snorted, and she stared at Hermione thoughtfully. “He let Death Eaters into Hogwarts.”

“He did.” She couldn’t believe how much Malfoy had changed. Right in front of her eyes. And she knew just how much sixth year had impacted him. “That year changed him a lot.”

“Isn’t he a snot nosed little shit?”

Hermione huffed a laugh. “That year changed him a lot.”

 

 

~

 

Draco Apparated out to the Quidditch pitch at the Manor – warmed for the winter – with a few books on dueling he’d taken from the Malfoy library. He was still angry from his fight with Granger earlier in the evening. He stalked down to the far end, nostrils flaring.

She was right. About everything.

But he didn’t want to die. And didn’t want his parents to die.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

Draco agonized over the impossibility of his situation. Weighing the value of the information he could share against the lives of his family. He knew his father was in the States to stop the sources of funding the Order had. Indeed, it was Draco that had identified the very families sending the money transfers after Imperiusing a goblin at Gringotts.

It hadn’t even occurred to him to share any of it with Granger since she had been satisfied with the estate plans she was getting. Lulled by the false sense of security, the wonder he had been feeling during their trip to the National Gallery, and the sheer giddiness at spending the day with her which for all intents and purposes could have been a date, he stupidly let his father’s location slip.

And she understood the importance of it.

Part of him didn’t want his father to succeed, but he knew that failure would result in a series of painful Cruciatus Curses directed at them both. Probably as bad as his father received after the fuck up at the Department of Mysteries in fifth year. Maybe the Dark Lord would decide the Malfoy’s were useless and off them. Maybe his father would have been killed in a skirmish with the Order if Draco had told Granger of their plans.

He was completely and utterly torn, and had no idea what to do.

Still furious from their confrontation and the feeling of utter helplessness, he slammed a book down on the ground and enlarged it so he could see the moving diagrams while standing. Flipping through the pages, he squinted, unable to see the details in the dark.

Lumos Maxima!” he barked, his deep voice carrying across the field.

The lights brightened around the pitch, illuminating the area for him so the diagrams in the tome were easier to see. Draco conjured the dummy the Malfoys had for dueling practice sessions and levitated it to a distance of roughly twenty feet away. He looked down at the moving diagrams, copied the stance, and then flipped to the section on Shielding Charms.

He had no idea where he would be dueling, when he would be engaged in a battle or even which side he’d end up on but one thing was for sure, he needed to get better. Granger was right. He had been too apathetic about his role in the war.

At least with improving his fighting, he’d be bettering a skill which would help himself, regardless of where he was or what he was doing. He could use his body and his mind in a way which would benefit him, and he’d be more adept at protecting himself, his parents and his friends.

Her.

She wanted him to fight?

He would fucking fight.

 

 

 

Notes:

The next chapter is one of my favorites. It’s a bit… different in tone than everything you’ve read up until now. And it’s time to earn another tag. I'll let you all try to guess which one it is.

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Chapter 30: Chapter 30

Notes:

This chapter has a song! If you’ve never heard The Runaways’ Bad Reputation you should. It's tons of fun, and I think it fits this chapter, which I hope you'll all enjoy.

It has come to my attention that this chapter should have a trigger warning. It's a non-conventional trigger warning and has more to do with animals. So if you need more detail, check the A/N below.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Feb 1998

Hermione, Ron and Harry stood before a pink floral wall completely covered with hanging decorative plates. The entire room, top to bottom, was covered with porcelain decorative plates. And this wasn’t the only room in the house adorned so. Each plate had a kitten or two playing with a ball of yarn, with each other, napping, or twitching their tails back and forth happily. Hundreds of kittens. Thousands of kittens.

They knew Umbridge was a terrible woman, but this was positively sick.

Hermione glanced behind her with a maniacal grin on her face. Umbridge lay on the floor, bound and unconscious. The news of the Order’s funding source being gutted created a helpless feeling of despair within her. It was their second major loss after Dolohov. The rest of the Order members were despondent, waiting for the effects of the financial loss to trickle down and start impacting their lives.

But pursuing the locket was a much-needed brightening to the mood of the Golden Trio. It was a shame they couldn’t share it with everyone.

Hermione turned back to study the vile display in front of her. She had one hand on her hip, holding her wand. Her other hand absently swung Slytherin’s locket around in a circle.

“You know,” Harry said, scratching his chin with his wand, “When I said earlier that we should smash all her kitten themed dishes, I thought there would only be a few plates and teacups like in her office at Hogwarts.” He surveyed the sheer quantity of decorative plates mounted on the walls before them. “This may take a while.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” Hermione replied. “And if I did, I’d clear my schedule.”

Ron had a look of pure disgust on his face. “Harry, you’ve seen You-Know-Who on the back of Quirrell’s head, spoken with a piece of You-Know-Who’s soul, been bled so that he could be reborn, and even felt him inside of you. And now we’re standing here facing this abomination of a room.” Ron paused for a moment before turning to him in question. “Which is worse?”

“Are you serious?” Harry asked incredulously. “This house is the evilest thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”

Utterly repulsed, Ron scanned the decorative plate covered walls with parted lips. “I kind of want to look around.” He sounded disturbed at his own suggestion.

“I have absolutely no desire to see how toad woman lives.” Hermione countered, shoving the locket in her trouser pocket. They would have fun trashing her house, but she didn’t want to go rummaging through Umbridge’s things.

Gross.

“You’re not curious?” Ron goaded her. “Don’t you want to see what kind of books she reads?”

Ron certainly knew how to press her buttons. She pursed her lips and turned to see a smug grin on his face, knowing he had already convinced her. “Perhaps I’m a bit curious.”

Harry wandered into her kitchen and she heard him opening and closing cupboards. Ron followed him in.

“All kittens,” Harry called back to them. “Every single plate, every single bowl, every single cup.”

“I think I’m going to vomit,” she declared, entering the kitchen to see Harry turning over a bowl in disbelief.

“Oh, come on, Hermione,” Ron teased her, randomly opening a drawer. “You’re tougher than that. No vomiting on Horcrux hunts.”

He held up a cutting board with a picture of playing kittens in the center and raised his eyebrows.

“I will vomit where and when I choose, Ronald.”

“Well, at least vomit on the Horcrux,” Harry advised sagely, nodding to where the chain was dangling out of her jeans pocket. “Serves You-Know-Who right.”

“I’m sure Hermione’s vomit would be terrifying,” Ron commented, opening the fridge and poking his head inside. “Being Muggle-born and all.”

“Hermione’s vomit or Fiendfyre?” Harry mused while making a revolted face at a clock with kittens in place of numbers. “One of the pressing questions of our day.”

“Enough about my vomit. Do you think she has actual cats here?” Hermione wondered, looking around for a stray feline. “Or just kitten themed plates?”

“And clocks,” Harry added.

“And kitchen appliances,” said Ron.

If there was a cat, it may be worth ‘rescuing’ from Umbridge. Crookshanks could use a friend. She scanned the floor for any sign of a litter box, food or water bowls. There wasn’t anything. Maybe in the bathroom?

Harry shut the last cupboard and turned back to them. “I wonder if she has any robes that aren’t pastel pink. Let’s go check.” He strode down the hallway and pushed a door open. “Wall-to-wall pink carpet in the bathroom!” he called back.

“Ew,” Ron and Hermione replied at the same time.

“And one of those fluffy pink toilet-seat covers!”

“Hideous,” Hermione snorted in derision, following Harry down the hallway with Ron.

“Revolting,” he agreed.

They wandered after Harry into her bedroom, passing pictures of moving, playing kittens hung up on the wall. He was already rummaging through her closet. There was another closed door at the far end of the hall, but Hermione followed Harry and Ron into Umbridge’s bedroom.

“Oh, okay. She does have some color variety in her wardrobe.”

“Really?” Ron stepped forward, peering over Harry’s shoulder in surprise.

“No, of course not,” Harry laughed. “It’s aaaaaaaaaall shades of pink.”

Umbridge had several bookshelves in her room. Hermione actually was morbidly curious as to what the horrible woman read for fun. She meandered over to the shelves while Harry and Ron marveled at the fact that every single item of her clothing from the robes to the hats to the shoes, gloves and scarves was pink. She sniggered as Ron tried on a hat with a huge flower and made an exaggerated pose in the closet mirror.

Hermione perused the titles. Nothing surprising there. Umbridge was more of a caricature than a person. The subjects ranged from anti-Muggle-born propaganda, Slytherin ancestry, treatises on the benefits of corporal punishment, to loads and loads and loads of books on cats. Everything having to do with cats. How to care for them. How to breed them. How to draw them. The history of cats and magic. Cats in Egypt. Cats in famous paintings.

But there weren’t any cats in her house.

Were there?

Hermione hadn’t seen any felines, or any sign that a cat actually lived here. No litter box, no pet hair, no water or food bowl and no bed. Not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen, not in the sitting room… it didn’t make any sense. Maybe she kept it in that room at the far end of the hall?

Umbridge was an odd one. An evil, odd one.

Hermione scanned the shelves again and pulled out an interesting book on magical taxidermy. Why would Umbridge have a…

Oh dear lord.

“I think I really am going to vomit,” Hermione said out loud, gazing down at the cover. “Big huge Muggle-born chunks. All over her fluffy pink toilet-seat cover.”

“What did you find?” Harry and Ron eagerly abandoned her closet to see the tome Hermione was paging through.

“Magical taxidermy?” Ron read, peering over her shoulder. “What’s that?”

Hermione dropped the book to the floor and left Umbridge’s bedroom, heading to the door at the end of the hallway. The only room they hadn’t been in yet. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see, but it was too late. She had to know how this vile woman spent her days when she wasn’t torturing students at Hogwarts or locking Muggle-borns away in Azkaban.

She paused, hand on the doorknob and glanced back at Ron and Harry in trepidation, standing behind her, waiting. Ron was still confused. Harry appeared somewhat green.

“Ready?” she asked them. Harry shook his head violently.

Ron furrowed his brow. “I still don’t underst–”

Hermione pushed open the door and her jaw dropped as bile rushed to her throat. It was so much worse than what she envisioned. The room was positively filled with shelves upon shelves and even more shelves of stuffed cats forced into various poses, just like the images on the dishes.

No.

Not cats.

Her eyes widened in horror.

Kittens.

Ron and Harry each grabbed one of her hands in terror.

Several dozen tiny, cute, furry heads swiveled their terrible dead-eyed gazes to the trio, and all began to make little mewling noises at once. Umbridge had killed dozens and dozens and dozens of kittens, stuffed them, posed them, and charmed them to meow.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”

Hermione, Ron and Harry all released a terrified scream at the horrific, dead, mewling kittens and immediately she slammed the door shut, plastering her back against it. Wide-eyed, she stared up at Ron and Harry, sucking in a lungfuls of air. It was silent now. No mewling. Silent except for their panicked, heavy breathing. 

 

 

 

 

 

She would never be able to look at a kitten again.

Ever.

“Scarred,” Ron panted, eyes wide. “I’m scarred for life, I am.”

“I need bleach for my eyes!” Harry had his hands over his glasses. “Just gouge them out while you’re at it. I can never un-see that room!”

“That woman is sick!” Ron exclaimed, slack jawed.

“We have to kill it,” Hermione gulped air into her lungs and nodded in agreement. “Kill it with fire.”

Harry lowered his hands. “Can we please? I thought you said-”

“Her home is much more isolated than I thought it would be. The Fiendfyre would cover our tracks and destroy the Horcrux without anyone knowing it was the reason we came.” Her eyes lit up in delight, momentarily forgetting the horror of the dead kitten room. “We can all take turns practicing. It will be a teaching moment!”

They walked back to the dining room with the plates covering the wall. Their spirits were already rising at the thought of razing Umbridge’s house to the ground and erasing all evidence of that terrible, terrible room.

They walked back to the sitting room with wall-to-wall plates and Ron gave one last shiver of revulsion.

“What should we do with her?” He motioned with his head towards Umbridge, unconscious and bound on the floor in the corner.

“It would be hiLARious to leave her in the Forbidden Forest bound to that same tree, but she’d know it was us.” Harry released a sigh, clearly disappointed that wouldn’t be an option. “Being at the mercy of animals would be appropriate considering what she’s done with all those kittens.” He glanced back towards the closed door of the dead kitten room and gave an involuntary shudder.

“Let’s not mention that room or those kittens ever again.” Hermione wanted to burn the image from her mind.

Literally.

“Agreed.” Ron looked ill. “If not the Forbidden Forest, why don’t we take her back to Pinner?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, we don’t want the Order getting involved with the Ministry like that. If we captured every Ministry official working for You-Know-Who we’d need a holding cell larger than Azkaban. Even the lower ranking Death Eaters are barely worth the effort. Inner Circle Death Eaters are the focus.”

The Trio stared down at Umbridge’s unconscious form in thought.

“We could leave her in Knockturn Alley,” Ron suggested.

“I guess we’ll have to make do,” Harry conceded reluctantly, upset that the Forbidden Forest wasn’t an option.

“We could still smash all the plates before we burn the house down,” Hermione offered.

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice lifting up. “Yeah. That would get the vision of that horrid room out of my mind. If only we had some music while we did it.”

Hermione dug in her beaded bag and brought out her CD player. Malfoy wasn’t the only one that could be cheered up with music. Harry turned to her in elated surprise. She tapped the player with her wand and the power went on. “I thought trashing her home would be more fun with music and came prepared.”

Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her into a bear hug and kissed her cheek, making a loud smacking sound. “You are the most wonderful woman in the world.”

She smiled warmly at his praise. Anything for Harry.

Hermione set the CD player down on a side table and then reached into her bag again to pull out two CDs. “The Ramones or a Joan Jett/Runaways compilation?”

“I have no idea who either of them are,” Harry said.

Harry turned to Ron, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me. They’re Muggle.”

“They’re American.” Hermione explained. “I thought some punk rock would be appropriate.”

For the next few moments, all that could be heard was the sound of whizzing hexes, porcelain shattering, and the hysterical laughter of the trio to the sound of Joan Jett belting out the lyrics to Bad Reputation.

They were almost sad they had to destroy the evidence of their playtime with Fiendfyre.

But at least the devil kitten room would be gone.

 

Notes:

The Trio has been through a lot. They deserve some fun.

This scene was also inspired by Better Off Forgotten by Delancy354. Umbridge didn’t get her house trashed and burnt to the ground in that story, but she gets her comeuppance. And there is riotous laughter when she does.

Next chapter? Severus Snape. What's he been up to?

T/W: The trio opens up a door to see a bunch of magically taxidermied kittens - who all start meowing. Dead meowing kittens.

Manip done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 31: Chapter 31

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Having recently dedicated all his free time to becoming a more proficient fighter, Draco was now reading through several volumes on nonverbal spells. Feeling the onset of a headache, he set one of the books down on his lap. He looked out the window of the Manor library, gazing at the snow-covered grass. He couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he spoke with Granger and the things she said about him being more pro-active about helping the Order.

She was right.

She was right, but he didn’t know what the fuck he could do about it. He was torn. He didn’t want the Dark Lord to win. But to defeat him, he had to help the Order. Helping the Order meant that his role as spy had to be more than eliminating the cunts threatening his friends and family. He had to help the Order defeat the Dark Lord’s army. But he and his father were the Dark Lord’s army. He’d be fucking over himself and his family.

Granger said that the operation he and his father planned in the states would cripple the Order. He knew that it would. Cut off the funding supply, cut off the resistance. It was a no brainer, that’s why he and his father had done it.

But what would have happened had Draco told her?

Draco didn’t know, but it would most likely involve death and torture.

Not only that, but Granger explained that she wouldn’t be able to secure an Unbreakable Vow until the Order trusted him and he demonstrated his utility. Now she knew that he had been instrumental in cutting off their funding and hadn’t said a damn thing. He probably blew his chances. What if the very actions he could take to secure a pardon for his family would at the same time, cause their deaths?

Frustrated with the helplessness of not knowing what to do, he bent over, holding his head in his hands, and let the book of nonverbal spells slip from his lap to the floor. Ultimately, if the Malfoys couldn’t demonstrate their usefulness to the Dark Lord, he would make an example of them to inspire fear and loyalty in everyone else. Through months and months of hard work, Draco and his father had slowly regained their standing in the Dark Lord’s army since the debacle of the Department of Mysteries and Draco’s subsequent failure to kill Dumbledore atop the Astronomy tower. While they were busy in the working for the Dark Lord, his mother had rebuilt their reputation in society. It was so easy to fall out of favor, and clamoring back to the top took all their skill and cunning.

And the Malfoys had done so.

Now what?

He heard footsteps enter the library, interrupting his thoughts. Draco glanced up to see Severus Snape standing in the Manor library, clothed in a dark winter cloak. His expression was unreadable, like always.

“Draco.”

Draco hadn’t spoken to Severus in quite some time. Not since they witnessed Burbage get eaten alive on his dining room table. No doubt the Headmaster had something important to say, he wasn’t here by chance. His presence was comforting in a way, seeing as his ex-Head of House had always done his best to help him. Draco never understood his motivations because Severus was even more tight lipped than Draco’s father, but ultimately, he knew his godfather was on his side.

If only he could discuss his current dilemma with him.

Draco had no one. He didn’t know who to ask, he didn’t know who to confide in, and he had no idea what to do after he gave Granger the Carrow plans. And he couldn’t expect Granger to understand. If anything, their fight at Trafalgar Square showed that she wouldn’t.

“Severus,” Draco replied, sitting up straight and running a hand through his hair. “I trust Hogwarts is doing well under your leadership?”

Severus nodded, taking in Draco’s posture and the fallen book. “It is,” he replied, and glanced out the window before shifting his dark gaze back to him. “Come walk with me outside. I haven’t seen the swans in a long time.”

Draco picked the nonverbal spells book up off the floor, snapped it shut and tossed it to the side. “Truth be told, I haven’t either.”

He summoned a long black wool winter coat, gloves and a scarf, and led his ex-Professor through the hallway of the Manor to the South entrance. The heels of their shoes echoed on the tiled floor as they approached the double doors. Draco chanced a glance at Severus to see if he could determine the nature of his visit, but it was impossible. His godfather revealed nothing.

The two Slytherins exited the Manor and were hit by a blast of icy air. Severus’ brow was lined more than Draco remembered and his black hair fell loosely around his sharp, angular face. He squinted his eyes against the cold air and continued onto the patio, down towards the path which led around to the lake.

The Manor grounds were beautiful, and the snow gave the bare trees the appearance of being frosted with icing. The two walked in silence together, feet crunching residual snow on the gravel path as they approached the lake. When they reached the water’s edge Snape stopped and turned to him.

“Has Nagini eaten any of the swans?”

Draco eyed him curiously. The Dark Lord wasn’t here today, which Severus must have known, but Nagini still was. The reptile was nearly always inside the Manor during the winter. Severus was discreetly telling him to keep an eye out for it.

“She stays inside during the cold weather. The swans are safe in the winter.”

“Mmm…” His godfather glanced surreptitiously to the sides of the lake, and back up the path towards the Manor. When he was satisfied they were alone, he turned to face Draco directly. Draco nearly stumbled at the intensity in Severus’ black eyes.

“You need to be more careful, Draco.” His voice was low in warning.

He furrowed his brow in honest confusion, but he Occluded immediately. He trusted Severus more than anyone else in Voldemort’s Army, aside from his parents, but wasn’t sure where this conversation was leading to.

Draco kicked a stone into the lake and stared at a swan swimming by. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Severus continued in the same quiet tone. “Certain Inner Circle members have a nasty habit of disappearing.”

Fuck.

His heart beat rapidly and adrenaline shot down his spine.

He knew. Snape fucking knew what he had been doing with the Order.

How? How was that possible?

And why bring Draco out here to discuss it in seclusion? Why warn him to be careful? Maybe he was guessing? Did he want to trick Draco into confessing before bringing him before the Dark Lord? Draco turned to him, schooling his face into an expression of affront and anger but the blood was pounding loudly in his head.

“What exactly are you implying?” Draco hissed, his voice dangerous.

Nonplussed by Draco’s threatening tone, the Headmaster continued. “Your feelings towards Dolohov and Macnair are well known. The only reason you’re not dead now is because Nott and Rowle are the puzzlers.”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating,” Draco growled back in righteous anger. Panic began to set in, but he glared at his ex-teacher as if he had told him he was terrible at Quidditch.

Snape didn’t bother acknowledging his protestations. “I was your Head of House for six years. I know you hate Nott senior and Rowle even more than Dolohov and Macnair. Four disappearances of Inner Circle members that you hate is no mere coincidence.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Draco lied through his growing horror. “And I don’t hate Bixley or any of the others that have disappeared.”

He was so fucked. He had been stupid. And his parents would pay for his betrayal too. He wondered if he could attack Snape successfully, before he told anyone. Draco would have to; he had no choice. He slowly reached inside his winter pocket for his wand, so Snape couldn’t see, grateful he had recently become proficient in nonverbal spells.

“No one cares about Bixley or the others; they don’t know anything of value,” Severus said disdainfully. “I’m not going to tell anyone about what you’ve done so remove your hand from your wand.” Fuck. Draco released his wand and flared his nostrils, trying to think through his options. “But if the next person to disappear is Alecto,” Snape continued, “Someone less informed than I will connect the dots.”

Draco stared down at the icy water, unable to look into his teacher’s eyes. Severus found him out, there was no use in denying it. And he had unfinished plans for the Carrow Estate back in the Granger’s guest room right now.

Fuck!

But Severus said he wouldn’t tell. Draco exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. He wouldn’t tell. Draco was safe.

For now.

So were his parents.

Maybe Severus wanted something in exchange for his silence.

“Alecto disappearing is no loss.” Severus brushed some lint off of his sleeve. “But her sudden absence will give you away. You may want to consider the Dark Lord’s next move. He won’t wait while members of his Inner Circle are picked off one by one and he’ll eventually figure out it’s you behind it all. You can’t keep this up forever.”

Draco clenched his fists and stared into the icy pond, his mind racing. He was found out. He couldn’t continue spying for the Order like this. He’d get caught. But Severus wouldn’t tell; he probably wanted something. Snape continued in a bored drawl, as if he hadn’t just given Draco a psychological whiplash of absolute terror and relief in less than ten seconds.

“The Order has been in hiding since last summer and despite the recent move in the United States, is still gaining strength. Some members are suspected but haven’t been brought in because there isn’t any evidence to use against them. Perhaps that is what you should concern yourself with since you and your father all but control the DMLE now. I would also expect a raid. Very soon. So keep practicing your nonverbal spells, Draco.”

Severus turned without waiting for Draco to reply, and walked back to the Manor, presumably to finish business with his father. He heard Severus' feet crunching on the snow covered gravel as he stared at the pond, exhaling a long, shuddering breath.

The swans paddled gracefully back and forth across the water and Draco ambled over to a bench, sitting down after clearing the snow. He spread his legs in front of him, and his heart pounded furiously in his chest. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. According to Severus, he had been obvious even though he tried to be careful.

Draco hadn’t considered that his hatred of some of the Inner Circle members would be seen as a commonality between those that were captured.

But of course it would be, because that’s why he chose them.

Stupid.

Maybe he should start working on Yaxley’s. Or Travers’. The Malfoys had no conflict with them. It would add a randomness to the disappearances that might remove him and his family from suspicion even if he eventually gave Granger the Carrow plans. After disguising the trail, he could rethink his options for helping the Order. But Snape said that eventually someone would figure out he was behind the Inner Circle member disappearances, even if he didn’t give them Alecto.

Granger wanted the Lestrange Estate. Which meant the Order did. Could he give up Aunt Bella? Could he betray his own flesh and blood? He wouldn’t be suspected. Everyone hated her. In fact, if she disappeared it would remove him and his family from suspicion if the Dark Lord determined there was a spy among them.

His aunt was a sadist and borderline psychotic but… She was his aunt. She loved him in her own way. At least, Draco thought she did. She had been in Azkaban for most of his life, but he had seen pictures of her holding him as a baby. One was of her biting his chubby feet with pure happiness. And she had scared off Alecto that one time.

That meant something, didn’t it?

On the other hand, his aunt would torture and kill Hermione without a second thought. So would his father for that matter. And he would never betray his father.

Severus hadn’t asked for anything in exchange for his silence. But Draco was susceptible to blackmail now. He’d do anything. Maybe his teacher was giving him time to stew on the ramifications of the conversation only to threaten him later.

But that wasn’t like Severus.

Draco ran his gloved hand through his hair, agonizing over what to do. He watched a puff of breath disappear into the cold air in front of him, considering what had just transpired. Despite the shocking content of their conversation, he didn’t appear alarmed, surprised or even angry that Draco had betrayed the Dark Lord. His only concern was that Draco was in danger of getting caught.

He didn’t understand his professor’s reaction at all and tried to remember what he said. Draco thought back to the conversation.

“Some members are suspected, but not in hiding because there isn’t any evidence to use against them. Perhaps that is what you should concern yourself with since you and your father all but control the DMLE now. I would also expect a raid. Very soon…”

Wait.

What?

Draco sat up straighter and whipped his head around to search the path leading towards the manor, but Severus had long disappeared. He had slipped that bit in towards the end of their conversation and Draco had nearly missed it.

His old professor, the very one who had murdered Dumbledore when he could not, just told him to warn the Order.

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter...

 

 
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Chapter 32: Chapter 32

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione surveyed her surroundings in Worcester safe house. The bottom floor was chock full of yellow banners and streamers. Little painted badgers were spelled to crawl around the walls they were painted on – and the walls were all charmed yellow.

“It looks like someone projectile vomited popcorn all over the place,” Hermione commented to Terry. “This is even more obnoxious than what you and Cho did in the infirmary.”

“Ravenclaw Tower,” he corrected with a wide grin. “And what did Harry expect? Asking Hannah Abbot of all people to plan a party?”

Hermione turned to him with eyebrows raised. “Why’s that?”

“First rule of party planning,” he said, taking a sip of Firewhisky. “Never ask a Hufflepuff to plan a party.”

The running badgers were dizzying.

“I can’t decide if my mood is brightened by the sunny disposition of the room, or if I’ll be suffering from a week-long migraine after standing here too long.”

“She’ll take that as a compliment.”

“We,” Hannah corrected as she approached them, leaning on Neville’s shoulder. Her long blond hair was done in braid and lay over her shoulder.

“Oh,” Hermione said, surprised. “Neville helped you?”

At this, Hannah burst into giggles. “Good one, Hermione.”

Neville’s eyes followed the painted badgers running up and down the walls. “No, this was purely a Hufflepuff effort. Justin, Gwendoline, Susan, Zacharias and the others… they’re a cult. A party planning cult.” He pecked Hannah on the cheek. “You all did a nice job, bringing up everyone’s spirits.”

After rumors spread of the Order’s gutted finances, a sinking feeling of despair crept among the members. It was fear of the unknown which depressed everyone, and leadership knew they had to make decisions quickly to stem the tanking morale. Shortly afterwards, leadership determined they would lose Haverhill and the currently decorated Worcester safe house, go back to beans, Kingsley wouldn’t be able to bribe his informants, Hermione’s Portkey project would regress to relying solely on stolen potions ingredients and/or stolen Portkeys, and if those efforts weren’t enough, the prisoners would be transported from Pinner to Dorchester infirmary to consolidate the cost of maintaining safe houses.

Kingsley was working his other funding sources. It was hoped he would come through before any drastic changes were made, like with the safe houses. Some Order members whose families were in hiding wondered if they should join them to ease the soon-to-be cramped living conditions, but at the same time, they didn’t want to endanger those they loved by their presence.

While the impending reduction in quality of life brought everyone’s mood down, no one was scared anymore. They knew what was coming and they would adjust, just like how things were last summer. It was a significant setback, but they weren’t defeated. Not by a long shot, and that’s what this party was about. The Hufflepuffs decided to go for broke and use the rest of the alcohol on hand in a good-bye party to Worcester safe house.

Hermione wished she could share the Horcrux destruction with everyone. If only they knew just how much the Order wasn’t defeated, and still charging on despite the setback.

It helped that the majority of the Order consisted of twenty-somethings and wizards and witches that had recently come of age. While inexperience was a disadvantage to being such a young army, the ability to adapt and bounce back quickly was an advantage of youth.  

Hannah squeezed Neville in return and replied, “And I got Tonks to promise that only threat of immediate death would be reason to interrupt. No more impromptu meetings spoiling our fun.”

“Now that, is what makes a true party planner.” Terry pointed at her, holding his glass. “Tonks is a terror. How’d you get her to promise not to interfere?”

Hannah turned to him with a sweet smile. “Hufflepuff code.”

Terry laughed. “No seriously.”

“Hufflepuff code.” Hannah blinked. “She’s a Hufflepuff.”

“Oh,” Terry stopped laughing. “You’re not kidding.”

Hannah put her hand on her hip and furrowed her brow. “Why would you think she isn’t a Hufflepuff?”

“Uh oh,” Neville murmured and stepped to the side.

Amused, Hermione watched Terry try to recover, realizing he said the wrong thing. “No reason. She just doesn’t seem very… Hufflepuffy.”

Hannah leaned into Terry, getting in his face. “What exactly do you mean by ‘Hufflepuffy’?”

He scratched the back of his head and looked to Hermione for help. She shrugged, taking Neville’s cue and staying clear. She had never seen Hannah act this way either and was morbidly curious. Also happy she wasn’t on the receiving end of… whatever this was. It had an uncanny resemblance to getting chewed out by Tonks.

“You know…” his voice trailed off in a very un-Ravenclaw like way.

She jutted her chin out towards Terry. “I don’t. You’ll have to explain.”

“Just… somewhat… nice. Cheerful.” He smiled, hoping to have found a way to placate her. “Like you!

“Everyone here is nice and cheerful, Terry,” Hannah hissed at him. “And so is Tonks. So what did you mean?

He shuffled his feet. “Well, um…. Hufflepuffs just seem to be a rather agreeable lot, you know?”

“Agreeable?” Hannah repeated, her voice rising.

Neville inched away towards Hermione.

“Maybe… you know… nice and harmless.”

“Nice and harmless?” Hannah growled right in his face and Terry winced. “You think Hufflepuffs are harmless?

Terry glanced up and noticed that Zacharias, Susan, Gwendoline and Justin had approached while he was preoccupied with Hannah. They appeared, for all intents and purposes, ready to lynch him. Standing behind the Hufflepuffs, Seamus was violently making the ‘cut’ motion across his throat for Terry to stop talking immediately.

No one else had noticed the conversation.

Neville leaned over to whisper in Hermione’s ear. “I told you. A cult.”

Hermione remembered how Tonks had yelled at her. Maybe Hufflepuffs tended to have anger management issues.

Terry turned down to face Hannah, wide eyed. “Not harmless. They’re uh… badass.”

Seamus gave him a thumbs-up and nodded sagely.

She raised an eyebrow. “Say it again, Terry.”

“Hufflepuffs are badass,” he repeated, with more confidence.

She gave him a bright grin and with a light punch on the arm replied, “That’s the spirit! Can I bring you some brownies courtesy of Molly Weasley? They’re almost gone!”

“No thanks,” Terry said, shaken from the surreal experience of having just been threatened by Hannah Abbot, of all people. “I’m good.”

“Glad you’re enjoying the party,” she turned to Neville. “I just want to make sure I cleared out the Butterbeer supply.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and skipped into the kitchen, Neville following after.

Terry turned back to Hermione. “Did I really just get threatened by Hannah Abbot?”

“If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I never would have believed that actually happened.”

Terry shuddered and downed the rest of his Firewhisky.

“Want another?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah.”

Zacharias Smith was still giving Terry the stink-eye but the other Hufflepuffs had returned to whomever they were talking with.

Her thoughts returned to the consolidation of safe houses, and she wondered who would be sharing her room besides Lavender. Each of their beds would be transfigured to bunks of three.

Ugh.

She sighed and turned to Terry. “I guess we’re losing Mary.”

He looked taken aback. “Why would you say that?”

“Because we can’t pay her anymore.”

He furrowed his brows at her, offended for his mentor. “You think she’s doing this for the money?”

Hermione peered at him in thought. No. Much as Hermione despised Mary, she wasn’t here for the money. She operated on principles and she was devoted to teaching Cho and Terry. Mary wasn’t stupid. Maybe she knew how much her Portkeys had cost the Order.

“Trust me,” Terry snorted. “The Order isn’t paying her a fraction of what she’s worth. You have no idea how much you lucked out with her.”

“No, you’re right, she’s an extremely competent Healer.”

“’Competent’ isn’t the word I would use,” Terry said after sipping his Firewhisky. “Do you know she has us working twelve-hour days? Nearly every day of the week.”

Hermione turned to him in surprise. “Seriously?”

Cho and Terry lived at Cambridge safe house. She didn’t see them much.

“What did you expect? Healer training is-

“Four years plus two more of rotation. She’s told me,” Hermione cut him off with an eye roll.

“She works us hard.” He shrugged. “There’s no other way to do it. But she puts in even more hours, getting us set up for whatever it is she’ll teach. She barely sees Reginald anymore.”

“Oh.” Hermione always thought Mary considered herself above it all. She certainly acted like she was above it all. As it turned out, Mary was knee deep in the war like the rest of them.

“We’ve been following Muggle emergency dispatchers to treat diseases and injuries, and she’s thinking of contacting a colleague at St. Mungo’s so we can treat magical ailments and curses on the sly.”

“No kidding.” Hermione was floored. “I thought you just spent your time in the infirmary.” She shrugged. “It’s not as if I talk to her. I can’t stand her.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to like her. She makes Cho cry at least once a week.”

“So Cho doesn’t like her?”

He grinned. “Cho loves her. Haven’t you ever had a mentor that was hard on you?”

Tonks.

"I have," Hermione agreed reluctantly. “Has she made you cry?”

He took another swig of his whisky. “No comment.”

Terry caught Cho’s eye and, after excusing himself, followed Cho through the crowd and out the back.

Hermione scanned the room. Everyone seemed to be taking the impending loss of the two safe houses in stride. They’d already lived in cramped conditions before, they could do it again. Hermione felt better in that they wouldn’t lose their Healer, but she was worried about her progress with Portkeys, and had no idea how the loss of paid informants would affect them in the short or long term.

Her eyes landed on Eloise Midgen, sitting by herself, people watching. Eloise was friendly enough, but didn’t seem to have any close friends. She didn’t look upset though.

Hermione shifted her gaze to Lavender, currently snogging the life out of Oliver Wood in an inconspicuous corner of Worcester safe house. Apparently she was done with Justin now and back with Oliver.

Perhaps it wasn’t very inconspicuous, but so many people were paired off that no one noticed. Oliver’s hand slid down to cup Lavender’s rear and squeezed. Hermione tilted her head to the side. From the way Lavender was rubbing up against him, they’d probably disappear to someone’s bedroom soon.

Hermione chastised herself and averted her eyes. She shouldn’t be watching. She was just so frustrated lately.

No thanks to a certain blond Slytherin.

Arsehole.

Her anger bubbled up inside all over again. But could she really blame him? He was scared for himself and his parents. She didn’t know what she’d do in Malfoy's position. She was furious at him, but she couldn’t entirely find fault with what he had done. It seemed like a no win situation.

And on that same note, she had to deal with Ron. Hermione had been putting this off long enough and she couldn’t let him continue thinking they would have something together. It wasn’t fair to him.

Hermione glanced over to where he was sipping a Firewhisky with Dean and Harry. She looked down at her own half-finished glass and knocked it back, wincing as it went down. It wasn’t as good as the bottle she had shared with the senior leadership after Kingsley had secured funding from the states, but it did the job.

After a few minutes, the anxiety she felt about facing Ron dissipated somewhat and she straightened her shoulders. The sooner this was done, the sooner he would move on and find happiness with someone else. And the sooner she could… well… she didn’t know what she could do.

After her conversation with Tonks, that answer was nothing. She could do nothing.

She walked over to the three men and laced her fingers in Ron’s. He turned to face her with a warm smile, cheeks slightly reddened from the alcohol.

“Can we talk for a moment?”

Harry and Dean shared a knowing look that she did her best to ignore. Everyone was pairing off. She knew how this appeared and felt even worse. Ron let her pull him, leading him through the crowd and out to the back porch.

“We’re not going upstairs?” Ron asked, confused.

Now he wanted to snog? Maybe the alcohol had loosened him up. Or the success over destroying the Horcrux. Or both.

Hermione shook her head. “Outside.”

“Oh,” he said, somewhat disappointed. “’Talk’ wasn’t code for something else?”

Hermione looked back into his confused blue eyes and then turned towards the door, pushing it open. Ron followed her, reluctantly now, and they exited into the cool night air. Cho and Terry were battling tongues on a bench, oblivious to the two of them. She led him further out onto the lawn and around to the side of the house, away from the snogging Healer couple so they wouldn’t be heard.

When she had put enough space between them and everyone else, she turned around and stared up at him nervously. She didn’t know how to say this in a way that wouldn’t hurt him. Ron would be hurt, there wasn’t any way to avoid it.

She took a deep breath.

“Ron,” she started. “I’ve been confused. About you, about us, about what I feel.”

“You have seemed distant lately,” he said warily. “About that anyway. I thought you wanted us to happen.”

“Yes, I did,” she agreed. “But I don’t think it’s a good time for me to form a romantic attachment.”

“Why not?” he asked, slightly irritated. “Everyone else is.” He motioned back towards the house.

“I know,” she persisted. “It could be because of the additional responsibilities from working with the senior leadership.” One responsibility in particular. “But I’m not sure what I want. It’s not fair to you. I don’t want to keep you tied to me.”

“But I want to be tied to you, Hermione,” he insisted. “Don’t you feel the same?”

“I did,” she paused. “But I don’t know if I still feel that way now.” She shook her head. She couldn’t be ambiguous; he’d latch onto that. She had to be firm and end it. “I don’t feel that way now.”

“What’s changed then?” Ron stared at her for a moment and then his voice became low and angry. “There’s someone else. Isn’t there?”

She didn’t know why, perhaps because in a way he was right and for some irrational reason she was terrified he’d figure out precisely who that someone else was, she started to Occlude.

“No, of course not,” Hermione replied calmly, detached.

“Who is it?” he raised his voice and without blinking, she cast a Muffliato before someone could overhear their argument.

“No one,” she replied, in a disaffected tone. “There isn’t anyone else. I just don’t want to lead you on.”

Ron jerked his head back. “What the hell is that?”

“What is what?” she asked softly, tilting her head.

“You’re… You’re not acting like you. You’re…” his eyes widened and his voice rose even louder. “Are you using fucking Occlumency on me?” Like Harry, he knew she had been taking lessons.

Hermione didn’t want to lie to him and stopped immediately. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, lowering her hands and peeking up at him. She could hear the emotion return to her voice now.

“Since when do you use fucking Occlumency on me?” he yelled, throwing his unfinished glass of Firewhisky onto the ground. “On your friends? After everything we’ve been through? You don’t trust me?”

“Of course I trust you! Sometimes it can be reflexive,” she explained. Her words came out in a rush, frantic to quell his rising fury. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, Ron.”

“Reflexive when?” he snarled at her. “When you’re lying?”

“I’m not lying to you!” She raised her voice, getting angry now.

“Who is it?” he spat out.

“I’m not with anyone,” she repeated, balling her hands into fists at her side. “I swear it. I’m confused and I don’t want to hurt you more than you already are!” That was the truth. It was hard, it was hurtful, but that was the truth.

Ron glared down at her. “Right.”

He turned around and stalked back into the house.

 

~

 

Draco dove to avoid the spell reflected off the dummy and rolled on the pitch, firing back. The grass was still wet with frost from the morning, despite the warming charm. A movement caught his eye and he saw Jugson’s bulky frame walking over. Draco groaned inwardly. Just what he needed. Someone else from the Inner Circle getting on his case.

“Malfoy!” Jugson’s gruff voice called out.

“Yeah?”

He pushed himself up off the ground and eyed the older Death Eater warily as he approached, wiping his hands on his trousers. Draco hadn’t seen him since the Lovegood raid when Jugson had inexplicably defended him in front of the Dark Lord.

“Your father said you’d been practicing.” He crossed his arms in front of his barrel shaped chest and motioned to the dummy with his grizzled chin. “Go ahead.”

Draco eyed Jugson suspiciously, wondering what he was doing here, but did as he was told, firing off a series of spells while maintaining a shield. He dodged when he was able, absorbed backfire when he couldn’t, and recast his shield when its magical energy was close to depletion. After ten minutes of constant movement, Jugson told him to stop. He bent over, panting, hands on his knees and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Not bad for a soft, spoiled brat,” Jugson said, and whacked Draco on his shoulder, knocking him forward. Bloody hell. “Show me your grip.”

Draco glanced at him in surprise. Was Jugson giving him advice? Death Eaters never helped each other out. They fought for the Dark Lord’s approval and could be cruel and vindictive in their desperation to get it. Still suspicious, he assumed a dueling stance and held his wand out towards the dummy. Jugson grabbed his hand roughly, making him wince, shifted Draco’s grip on his wand and made him extend his index finger along the wood.

“That’s less comfortable,” Draco commented after making a few practice spell motions.

“Comfort’s for tossers that get killed.” Jugson shot back. “Extending your index finger improves your aim, the higher grip makes it easier to shift between shield and offensive spells.”

Draco made another practice motion. “I’ve never seen anyone hold their wand like that.”

“’Cause they’re tossers that get killed. Or captured,” Jugson replied in annoyance. “How do you think a bunch of fucking children were able to hold off some of the Dark Lord’s best at the Department of Mysteries?”

Draco flared his nostrils in irritation. That wasn’t what happened at all. No one would let him or his father forget the failure of fifth year. But if he said something Jugson would probably knock his teeth out and leave. It wasn’t often one was offered free advice in the Dark Lord’s army. Most conspired against each other for the Dark Lord’s favor.

Aside from that, Jugson was right, and Draco listened. Sixth year had taught him well that there were times when he needed to shut the fuck up.

“Complex spells won’t save you if a first year manages to get your wand. You’re young.”

Jugson made to smack the back of Draco’s head but he was ready this time and raised his arm up protectively.

“The fuck?”

Jugson laughed at him. “You’ve got reflexes and speed on your side. But you don’t have the power that comes with age and experience. Aim, pronunciation and wand technique are more important for you to cast correctly and land your target. That’s what you need to focus on at your age.” He pointed his wand at the dummy and removed the reflective charm. “Cast whatever you want.”

Draco ensured his grip was as Jugson taught him, aimed carefully at the dummy and hit it square in the chest. He looked back at Jugson, who nodded.

“Again.”

Draco fired again with less time to aim and hit the chest.

“Again.” Draco fired. “Again.” Draco fired. The commands picked up speed and Draco’s aim started to waiver until he missed the dummy entirely. But he had to admit, his aim was much better than before.

Jugson turned to him, not even looking in the direction of the dummy, merely pointing his wand in its general direction. Draco watched five rapid fire nonverbal spells hit their mark, one after the other.

Jugson grinned at Draco’s shock, teeth gleaming.

“You’ll get there with time, but there’s no substitute for hard work. Keep at it, Malfoy. I’ll be back again to yell at your spoiled arse some more. The Dark Lord needs serious people working for him.” He spat on the ground and stalked off the grounds. “Too many sodding fanatics.”

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I took inspiration for the Jugson/Draco dynamic from the Mad-Eye Moody/Draco dynamic in the OG, No Longer Helpless by DB2020.

Also, the only time I remember some way cool Hufflepuff action was with the Squeaky Mice in The Gloriana Set by ThebeMoon. Some House pride is in order.

Next chapter – Draco and Hermione have a sit down.

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Chapter 33: Chapter 33

Notes:

For those that want to take a break, after this chapter is a good time. Next suggested pause is at Chapter 42.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco fingered the Galleon, flipping it over his knuckles, trying to figure out exactly what he wanted to tell Granger. He was procrastinating because of how their previous meeting had deteriorated into a fight. He had been cruel, bringing up her parents like that. But she didn’t understand the tight rope he walked. How he had to consider and reconsider every word, every action that he did for fear it would bite him or his parents in the arse later. How could he tell her about the way he and his father plotted the demise of the Order finances without being tortured or killed for it?

And what’s more, he didn’t know why Severus had just used him to warn the Order. His godfather had figured out Draco was spying for them, was communicating with them, and had very clearly instructed him on what to say. He trusted Snape, even more so now that he wasn’t turning him in. So he had to follow through. But he didn’t understand what Severus’ endgame was.

He killed Dumbledore. That was a huge blow to the Order, paving the way for the Dark Lord’s takeover of Wizarding Britain.

What was going on?

Regardless of what his motivations may or may not be, Draco had to talk with Granger now. He had to warn her; their previous fight was inconsequential. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he thumbed the Galleon.

I want you riding my cock.

Draco lay in her bed and waited for her to answer, placing the Galleon on his chest. Frozen rain pattered on the windowpane and he listened, staring at her ceiling with his fingers laced behind his head. He wondered if she was still angry with him. She probably was.

The room still smelled faintly of smoke from when he burned the plans to the Carrow Manor, and he vanished it with a wave of his wand.

Better.

Draco couldn’t get rid of Alecto, and he didn’t know how to stand up to her without consequence. He remembered the feel of Alecto’s hand on his thigh, inching higher. Recalling that time he was home sixth year… he squeezed his eyes shut in revulsion at the memory.

The Order wouldn’t be able to take her out. She would still be around, lurking.

Draco was distraught. For the briefest of moments, it seemed he was gaining some control over his life and working his way towards freedom for him and his parents. But it was all an illusion. He’d be caught. Of course he’d be caught, he was stupid to think otherwise. As Severus pointed out, it was only a matter of time and he was so fucking lucky that it was his professor who caught him.

There was no way out. He didn’t know what to do.

The Galleon warmed.

Now?

Yes.

What if I don’t want you?

The moments ticked by, the only sound from the frozen rain outside.

Just when he thought Granger was petty enough to allow their fight to get in the way of events bigger than the two of them, she appeared with a crack. Of course she wouldn’t. It was ridiculous to think so little of her. He knew her well enough by now.

He shifted to lay on his side and propped his head up, assessing her stance.

Granger’s arms were crossed, lips set in a straight line and her hazel eyes were pained. She was still very hurt. And angry. Her hair was loose, curling down around her shoulders. Draco felt his chest tighten when he remembered her tear-streaked face in Trafalgar Square. He had made her feel that way, had made her cry with his comment about her parents. After all she had done for him. Teaching him the Patronus charm, talking through his pure-blood elitism with him, taking him to see Star Wars, and then to the National Gallery. Removing his implant.

And she was doing her best to get him and his family a pardon.

He had treated her terribly.

He couldn’t blame her for being angry at not telling her what he and his father were doing for the past few months. But what else was he supposed to do?

Draco sat up to face her and she winced, perhaps expecting him to say something else equally mean.

He raked his hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have said anything about your parents. That was cruel. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to not have them with you, or to know who you are. Especially at a time like this.”

And just like that, he watched the anger and hurt melt completely from her face. That’s all it took. One sincere apology and he was forgiven. No games, no grudges, no pretenses.

“I’m sorry too,” her voice was small. “I know you’re protecting your parents. And yourself. I can’t fault you for that.”

She looked to the side, unable to meet his gaze.

“It’s alright,” he replied softly.

“It’s not,” she continued, her gaze fluttered to the floor and then back up to him, clearly ashamed of herself. “I don’t have to choose. You do. You have to choose between your parents and fighting against him. You must feel torn, and not know what to do.”

Draco swallowed. She was so much more than he expected, her reaction more than he could ever hope for. Granger understood how difficult it was for him to aid the Order and protect his family at the same time.

“I think…” she continued, pulling nervously on the sleeve of her jumper. “I think what you’re doing is much harder that what I’m doing. I don’t know if I would make the right choices in your place.”

His heart thudded against his chest at her words. He couldn’t believe it. Not only did she forgive him and understand him, she… admired him.

“You would,” he replied, his words came out in a rush. He didn’t have a doubt. “You’d make even better choices than I have.”

She smiled and blushed, shook her head, but said nothing.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. When he thought of the ramifications of Severus’ warning, he realized he was suddenly terrified. There would be a raid. What if she got caught?

But that’s why he was warning her. So she wouldn’t.

“Alright.” Granger’s voice had a gentle quality to it. Perhaps she was still emotional from her apology. She looked at him warily and walked back to her chair to sit down. Her large hazel eyes studied him expectantly.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The Dark Lord knows the Order is behind the missing Death Eaters. Four belonging to the Inner Circle. He knows the Order is growing in strength and will be going on the offensive soon.” Granger twirled a finger in one of her curls nervously. “He’ll be targeting suspected Order members that aren’t in hiding and using my father and I to handle the political fallout since we control the DMLE. No trial. No Ministry procedures. No prison. They’ll simply be abducted and tortured for information.”

He watched her digest the information. Trying to think of who would be targeted, and what the ramifications would be. She bent one leg, bringing it up on her chair and wrapped her arms around her shin, hugging her leg to her chest and resting her chin on her knee. Her big hazel eyes blinked at him.

“Do you know who would be targeted?”

Draco shrugged. “You’d know better than me who would be most likely suspected as an Order member, but even I know that McGonagall and that gamekeeper would be two of them. They’re still at Hogwarts. The Carrows and Snape could decide to ambush them one day and that’s it.”

Granger looked affronted. Maybe she doubted the ability of the three of them to take down her former Head of House. She could be right, who knew. Briefly, he thought of Severus, who was at Hogwarts with McGonagall and the gamekeeper. Snape would have known that Draco knew of their obvious allegiance to Dumbledore and had all but directed him to warn the Order about it.

But he killed Dumbledore.

He shook his head. He didn’t understand his godfather at all.

Mind games.

“And there will be a safe house raid. It’s only a matter of time.”

Her eyes widened, slightly panicked. “Do you know which one?”

Draco felt somewhat relieved. That was good. They had several safe houses. Hopefully it wasn’t the safe house she was at.

“No.” He shook his head.

“Do you know when?”

Again, he shook his head.

Draco was going to pay for this. He knew it. Somehow he would pay. If the Order anticipated a raid, they’d prepare for it. Draco would suffer, his parents would suffer… Maybe the Dark Lord would even suspect someone had warned them. It was a death sentence for him and his parents if he was even suspected.

Fuck.

But he didn’t want her captured or killed either. And if the Dark Lord’s army gutted the Order, they’d lose. She’d die. She had to know. The Order had to know.

“That’s… That information will save us Malfoy, thank you.” Granger looked genuinely appreciative, and slightly scared. “Do you mind if… I need to send a Patronus to let them know. Now.”

He grunted in affirmation and dropped his head into his hands, watching the silvery light of her otter play across the rug. The information he gave her would cost him. He just didn’t know how or when yet.

Draco heard squeaking and looked up at her, she was swiveling back and forth in the chair, chewing her lip in thought. She was scared. He was too. He hoped he made the right decision, but he trusted Severus. If the Headmaster told him to warn the Order, then it was the right decision. It must be. It had to be. Draco exhaled slowly, trying to calm his nerves.

“Do you have any more manor plans?”

He intended on giving her the Carrow layout today, but he couldn’t now. Severus was right. What else could he do? What was the point of him even being here now? He had done his best to protect Pansy, Theo, his parents and himself. He didn’t know what else he could even do for Granger or the Order. And he wanted to get out.

Draco still had no idea how to convince his parents to leave without an Unbreakable Vow. The trust Granger said was needed to secure one was blasted to smithereens now. He had no clue how to regain it without being caught.

“Malfoy?”

Granger interrupted his thoughts. He raised his head from his hands to look at her.

“I’m working on it, Granger. Give me time.”

She took a deep breath and eyed him hesitantly. It appeared she wanted to ask him something else but decided against it. Maybe she thought the information he had given her was enough for now.

“Okay,” she fiddled with a pen on her desk, bit her lip and then glanced back up at him. She was anxious about something. “Just so you know, Malfoy, there are two people now that know about you.”

Draco exhaled angrily. That’s just what he needed. More people knowing about this shit show of impossible decisions. “Was that fucking necessary?

“The first is the one to make the Unbreakable Vow for your pardons. This person has always known.”

“And the second?”

“To help me be a better handler,” she explained nervously.

He smirked and she looked alarmed at his change in demeanor. He lowered his voice enticingly. “You need help handling me, Granger?”

She blushed. Her gaze dropped to his crotch and she immediately snapped her eyes back to his, horrified that he caught her staring there.

This whole arrangement was a dumpster fire already. Why not pour gasoline on it? It didn’t make a difference. Draco was going to die anyway, and everything would turn to shit regardless of what they did. He pushed himself up from the bed and sauntered over to her. Her eyes widened.

Fucking, prissy swot.

He hated this game they were playing. He fancied her. Quite a lot. And he knew she wanted him.

What the fuck was her problem anyway?

He sunk to his knees on the floor in between her legs, and she watched him wide eyed, breathing heavily, unsure of what he was going to do.

He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing either. It didn’t matter anyway. The Dark Lord would kill him. It was inevitable. Fucking Granger and her goddamn Galleon. He hated not knowing what to do. What a cluster fuck this whole situation was.

Why not take what he wanted while it was here?

He desperately wanted to feel her. To taste her lips. To see her expressive face contort in pleasure. He wanted to make her cry out.

For him.

“I could show you how to handle me.”

Her lips parted at his words. “Enough, Mal-”

Draco started unbuckling his belt, already getting hard at the thought of her pressed against him. “I could give you a demonstration right-”

“Is this another Occlumency test?” She interrupted, looking terrified that she had failed again.

He wanted her. And she wanted him. There wasn’t much in his life that he wanted, everything was all forced on him. But he wanted her. She was something he chose.

“No.” His voice sounded low and gravelly.

Draco abandoned his trousers, half open, and slid his hands up her thighs, breathing heavily, and leaned up into her, between her legs. Her thighs squeezed his torso, and she pressed her hands to his wrists. He slipped his hands up further and dug his fingers into her hips. Her lips looked warm, and she licked them in anticipation. His mouth was millimeters away from hers.

“Then why are you doing this?” Granger whispered.

He paused. He could feel the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest, he could taste her small exhalations of breath on his lips. He could see the hunger in her eyes and hear her heart hammering against her ribcage. Draco brushed his lips against hers, ever so slightly, and she whimpered. Her legs were trembling around him. She was warm. And soft. He slid his hands back and dug his fingers around the sides of her thighs.

He wanted his tongue inside her. He wanted his cock inside her. He wanted her limbs tangling with his.

Now.

“Because I want you,” he growled into her mouth.

Granger backed into her chair, nearly shaking, but she didn’t have any more room to move. “Stop it,” she whispered against his lips. “Please.”

He paused, rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, feeling like a balloon that had all the air deflated out of it.

What the hell did he think he was doing?

Draco sagged and lowered himself until he rested his head on her thigh, kneeling on the ground before her. He was such a mess.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed and wrapped his arms around her waist, still cradled between her thighs. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore, Granger. He’s going to kill me. It’s just a matter of time.”

Her whole body relaxed now that he wasn’t threatening her. He felt her fingers – delicate and exploratory – threading into his hair and stroking his scalp. He closed his eyes and took comfort in her touch. After a few moments of silence, she spoke.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

He swallowed. Wasn’t it obvious? He spoke into her thigh. “I want out. I want my parents out. I want them safe. I don’t…” He inhaled a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

He squeezed her tighter and she continued stroking his hair. “So why don’t you all leave? I could hide you. All of you. Forget about spying, I’ll hide you and your parents. You don’t need to stay. I could do it tomorrow. Today even. Just say the word.”

It all seemed so simple to her. Didn’t she understand? “They won’t come. My mother… maybe. My father won’t. And she won’t abandon him.”

Grangers fingers drew lazy circles in his scalp and he whimpered softly. He could stay like this forever, laying on her warm thighs with her gentle, comforting caresses. He nuzzled his face into her thigh. “Have you talked with them about it?”

“I can’t.” His voice was slightly muffled as he spoke into her leg.

“Why?”

He lifted his head abruptly. What did she mean ‘why?’ Why had he insisted she learn Occlumency? Her hand fell to her thigh and she startled at his angry expression.

Because he’ll know!” Draco hissed. “It’s the bloody Thought Police, Granger! They don’t just exist in a book! Not everyone is good at Occlumency! You know that! If the Dark Lord suspects my mother and father of anything, they’re dead! As am I!”

He was breathing hard, and Granger stared at him, debating what to say next.

“Why do you think I need that fucking pardon?” He clenched her thighs hard, and she winced. “My father’s in too deep. He’s invested too much! Guaranteeing his safety after the war is the only way I know to get him to leave!”

“I…” Granger’s eyes were glassy, like she might cry. She cared. After that moment in Trafalgar Square, he knew she cared about him, and here he was breaking down in front of her. “I told you the trust isn’t there yet. The fact that you knew about the operation in the states makes it worse.”

“Even though I told you about the raid?”

“Even though you told me about the raid. I know they’ll tell me it isn’t enough. It’s…” her voice was slightly hoarse, and she wiped a tear away. “Just give it more time. They’ll come through.”

He dug his fingers into her thighs again and squeezed his eyes shut, shaking slightly. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Was anything going to be good enough for them? Was it even possible to gain their trust without endangering himself or his family? Was he still trapped? Was he deluding himself into thinking that spying was a way out?

“Then tell me what to do, Granger!” His voice rose in angry desperation. His throat hurt and he felt raw, used up. She averted her gaze, staring off to the side. He shook her and she turned back at him, her expression pained. “Tell me! Because I don’t fucking know anymore!”

Granger’s bottom lip trembled. “Maybe if…” She looked into his eyes, searching for something. “Can you tell me where You-Know-”

“No, I fucking can’t,” he growled. That was his trump card, and he wasn’t giving it up for anything. “And I won’t bother finding out until you give me that fucking Unbreakable Vow first.

She sucked in a breath and spoke again; her voice still had a slight tremor.

“Can you tell me what you and your father are doing with the Wizengamot?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. She knew. Of fucking course the Order would have plants in the Ministry. Was she testing him? To see if he was being honest? It certainly made sense after he betrayed her.

“We’re securing support for a bill.” If the Order already knew, then he wasn’t endangering himself and his father by telling her.

“Yes,” she replied, and bit her lip. “To remove the illegality of performing crimes against Muggles. What we don’t know is why.”

Draco exhaled. So she wasn’t testing him. She was asking him for more information. He felt better, even though he deserved her mistrust. He relaxed his grip on her and sat back on his haunches. The tension left Granger’s body as well.

“I would assume so that wizards have free reign to terrorize Muggles for shits and giggles. You remember the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Yes, I remember. You…” her eyes widened in surprise. “You warned me back then.”

He had taunted her. But yes, he did warn her as well. Kind of. It was one thing to terrorize Mudbloods, it was quite another to terrorize Mudbloods that you knew. Draco chuckled mirthlessly. Maybe he wasn’t such a dick when he was younger.

“I guess I did.”

Granger blinked at him, returning to the topic. “So you don’t think it’s for anything more coordinated?”

He didn’t know. The Ministry was his and his father’s domain. Operations were compartmentalized, so Draco didn’t know what the larger goal was. His father probably didn’t either. Not that Draco would ask him. That would rouse suspicion against him and possibly his father. But Granger had a point. The Dark Lord was brilliant, and he didn’t do anything randomly.

The amount of time he and his father would be spending on the Wizengamot for this bill indicated that there was a larger goal. It took months of work and preparation before they succeeded in cutting off the Order’s finances, dissolving the Auror office and turning the DMLE into a puppet department.

“It could be.”

“But you don’t know?”

Draco shook his head “I’m not Inner Circle, and even then, not every member of the Inner Circle knows the Dark Lord’s plans. He’s paranoid about…” He grinned sardonically. “About spies.” She smiled back at him. “Catch the right Inner Circle member and they’ll know why.”

Granger glanced down at his hands, they were still resting on her warm thighs, feeling the denim fabric of her jeans. He wasn’t going to move them if she didn’t say anything.

“Do you know where they’re keeping Luna? If you could tell us that much, it would help towards gaining trust. Everything you can tell us helps, Malfoy.”

Fuck.

He was the sodding prick who brought Lovegood in to begin with, having planned the whole operation with his father. Here Granger was, trying to comfort him after his pathetic attempt to fuck her, trying to help him get a pardon for his family, and the one thing he knew the exact details of he couldn’t give her.

“Who?” he lied smoothly, looking her directly in the eyes, puzzled.

Granger sighed in exasperation. “Luna Lovegood. She’s a Ravenclaw, a year younger than us. She disappeared a while back over Christmas break, but we only just found out now. Her father was being pressured into silence and didn’t tell anyone.”

It was easier to lie to her before when there was no guilt. He could still lie and look her directly in the face, but now it felt wrong. Especially now. In this moment. It wasn’t purely a decision of weighing the value of shared information against the safety of his parents anymore. His relationship with Granger changed dramatically and Draco felt that he was betraying her deeply by doing so. It made his decisions harder, more complex. Betray his parents or betray her? He couldn’t win.

“The one they called Loony?”

“The very one.”

“I haven’t heard anything about her.” Granger eyed him. He could tell she wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. He deserved her mistrust. She looked like she was trying to decide whether or not to press him further.

“What about Ollivander?”

“He’s also missing?” And sitting in the same cell as Lovegood. In his fucking house.

“We don’t know for how long, but yes. If you hear anything about them, will you tell me?”

He nodded, feeling even shittier than before. “If I hear something. But prisoners are dispersed throughout England. And in Azkaban. I wouldn’t know where they’re held.” She didn’t know they had a dungeon at Malfoy Manor. If she knew, she’d ask him point blank who was held there.

What if she found out he lied about this too? There was no way he was going to keep himself and his family out of Azkaban at this rate. He tried to quell the rising panic in his chest. He couldn’t win. The cost of a pardon was too high to pay. Torture. Death. But if they stayed… they’d all die eventually. It was the same fate, no matter what he did.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

Granger’s hazel eyes studied him. Maybe she bought it. Maybe she’d realize he was lying to her after processing their conversation at a later time. Maybe she didn’t want to press the issue because he had warned her of the Dark Lord’s next move. One thing was for certain, she’d hate him if she knew what was happening to the prisoners in his home.

Under his watch.

Draco thought back to how she said that his role was harder than hers, and that she didn’t know if she’d make the right decisions in his place.

He didn’t fucking deserve her admiration.

She placed a hand atop his and he looked up, instantly consoled from her gaze. She was concerned for him.

“You’re scared.” She still looked like she might burst into tears at any moment.

Draco pictured Nagini tearing a piece of Charity Burbage’s flesh off her body, exposing the ribs underneath while she screamed for help. Chunks of her body moving down the snake’s gullet.

He swallowed and stared right back into her eyes.

“I’m fucking terrified.”

Her fingers curled around his and she rubbed his skin.

“Do you… want to watch a movie?”

He gazed down at her lap.

“Thanks, Granger. But I’m not in the mood to watch a bunch of sodding teddy bears take out a battalion of Imperial Storm Troopers.” He rubbed her thigh with his thumb. He did want to spend more time with her though. “Maybe something more serious and depressing.”

“How about the Thought Police?”

 

~

 

Hermione woke to the feeling of being gently jostled. She couldn’t remember where she was but felt safe and secure. Someone’s strong arms held her and cradled her close to their chest while they walked. She inhaled and smelled Malfoy’s male, musky scent. He was walking upstairs. They were in her house.

Now she remembered.

She must have fallen asleep while watching 1984. She had never seen the movie and knew she would never be able to stay awake, even though she suggested the movie in the first place. Her frequent early mornings dedicated to repurposing stolen Portkeys before combat training had taken a toll.

She was nervous, thinking of how he had just tried to kiss her before they watched the movie. It would be best to keep pretending she was asleep. Being awake and held so close was too awkward, despite the fact that she enjoyed it. She didn’t want to have to avoid his advances if she could help it.

Hermione listened to his heavy footfalls as he ascended the stairs and turned down the hallway towards her room. The floor creaked and he turned his body so he wouldn’t knock her feet against the door frame when entering her room, dark for the night. Malfoy approached her bed and paused. She wondered what he was waiting for. Her ear was pressed against his chest and she heard his heart beating rapidly while she wondered what he was going to do.

She felt him strain forward and his lips brushed her forehead. Tenderly. A tingling warmth spread from where his mouth touched her skin, and she hoped her body wasn’t reacting in a way he could see. He dragged his lips lightly down to her temple and then back up to her forehead again. She didn’t dare move, but she was afraid that tensing would give away the fact that she was wide awake. She didn’t know what to do.

Worse still was the overwhelming desire she had to throw caution to the wind and pull his face down to snog him properly.

Malfoy removed his lips and she felt him lean over with her, pulling back the cover of her bed. Gently, he laid her down on the bed and covered her with the blanket. He was still there, and hadn’t left yet. Hermione felt his fingers brush her hair off of her face, tucking a curl behind her ear. She couldn’t tell if she was breathing normally or abnormally, but her heart was pounding at a furious pace. She was terrified that he would figure out she was awake.

She heard a harsh exhale and then thankfully, his footsteps as he walked out of her room, down the hallway and down the stairs before Apparating away.

Hermione opened her eyes and her stomach turned somersaults inside of her. It wasn’t just lust Malfoy felt, that was certain. She knew she felt the same, and she was betraying him anyway.

That conversation they had before the movie was agonizing. She felt horrible. She even offered to hide him, knowing he’d refuse. She wanted to help him and he deserved to know the truth about the pardon for his father. But she was afraid that if she was honest, he’d stop spying for them. And then what? His intelligence was critical. The Order might lose. Tonks and Kingsley were right. She couldn’t tell him. Perhaps the feeling of being torn between two courses of action that would hurt no matter what she chose was similar to what he was experiencing as a spy.

She tossed the covers aside and sat up on her bed, thinking in the dark, remembering the feel of being held by him.

It was a quiet, tender moment they had just shared together. A stolen intimacy before the impending violence.

Soon.

Somewhere.

While the Order had been capturing Inner Circle members, Voldemort’s Army had figured out where they had been hiding.

 

 

 

Notes:

I’m assuming most folks have read ‘1984’ by George Orwell but just in case, here’s a bit about the Thought Police. They’ll get mentioned again.

Next chapter: shit hits the fan

 
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Chapter 34: Chapter 34

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

March 1998

 

Adrenaline pumping, Hermione rolled on the cold, wet grounds of Paddington safe house, frantically aiming stunners at her attackers while doing her best to avoid their hexes. Gasping for breath, she scrambled to her feet but twisted her ankle in the process. She could see Harry and Angelina’s Shield Charms were faltering. Crying out in pain, she cast a Shield Charm at Harry, and flew backwards.

Everything went black.

 

~

 

“She’s alright!”

Hermione blinked her eyes open to see a smiling Angelina Johnson extending a hand to lift her up. Her ankle was killing her. Ever since the Order learned about the impending raid, combat training was every day, and more brutal, requiring the use of Healers at the end of every evening. Leadership started drilling a defense but hadn’t told anyone they were actually expecting a raid, unsure as to how the location of the Order had been discovered.

“My left ankle,” Hermione groaned, groggy from being Rennervated. “I think I sprained it.”

She clasped Angelina’s hand and allowed her to lift her up, careful not to put her weight on her left leg.

“You got George though, before Fred hit you.” Angelina winked at her as she gazed across the lawn to see George with his hands thrown out, offended.

“She did not!” he called out.

“You need help?” She bent over to look at Hermione’s ankle.

“No, I’ll manage,” Hermione said with a grimace. “Go have fun teasing George.”

Angelina wagged her eyebrows. “Oh, I will.”

“Who else needs the Healers?” Auror Pamela Proudfoot’s sharp voice echoed across the grounds.

A few Order members ambled over as Cho, Mary and Terry Apparated in. Dedalus Diggle strode across the grounds over to Hermione.

“You okay there, Granger?”

“Yeah.” She winced as she experimented with putting more weight on her left ankle, and limped over to the Healers. “Nothing the Ravenclaw Trio can’t fix.”

The older Auror placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and peered into her eyes. “You make calculations when you fight.”

Puzzled, she furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t even know you’re doing it.” A grin graced his wrinkled features. “But I’ve noticed. When you’re in a fight, you protect Potter, Brown and Thomas over the others every single time. I’d have thought you’d defend Weasley first.”

Hermione blushed. “We’re not-”

He waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. Potter’s importance is obvious. I don’t know what Brown and Thomas are up to but you’re valuing their lives over others when in combat.”

Her stomach lurched. She had been protecting them on a subconscious level, but he was right. Harry, Lavender and Dean were more important than anyone else right now, so she defended them first. Even over Ron.

She felt slightly sick to her stomach, feeling even guiltier for cutting things off with Ron. He still wasn’t talking to her and there was going to be a raid. Anything could happen to anyone. At any time. It was stupid to waste effort on petty fights.

“I hadn’t realized,” she replied, somewhat mortified.

He squeezed her shoulder and leaned in, answering in a low voice, “Keep doing it. Not everyone will think that way and that’s what the Order needs. I’d put your lives ahead of mine.”

“What? Why?”

“Next generation.” His blue eyes pierced hers. “You’re the ones that have to rebuild when this is over.”

Hermione couldn’t think past the war. Let alone rebuilding. She took Dedalus’s hand as he helped her limp over towards where Cho was healing George’s knee.

“I don’t agree," she replied. "We’re all so young, we need your experience.”

“Eh,” he shrugged dismissively. “A few parlor tricks.”

“I’m heading out early,” John Dawlish called over to them. “See you tomorrow.”

Diggle turned to him, nodded and gave her one last knowing look before walking over to Proudfoot and Savage.

Hermione stared at the Aurors conversing. None of them would have become competent fighters without the Aurors training them all, day in and day out. She hobbled over to where the Ravenclaw Trio had begun treating everyone, thinking back to what Diggle had said.

Without realizing it, she had assigned a relative value to everyone’s lives in the Order according to their ability to help win the war. Even over her close friendships. She didn’t know whether to feel pleased or horrified with herself.

Definitely horrified.

 

~

 

“Towards me. Towards me!

Draco was deflecting Jugson’s rapid-fire curses as best he could. But now the arsehole decided it wasn’t good enough to deflect them, Draco had to aim them back at Jugson.

Hex deflection was difficult psychologically. Instead of instinctually dodging, he had to force himself to stand there, catch the hex and shoot it off elsewhere. He swished and parried, occasionally dodging with his body but did his best to stand his ground. After days of practice, he found that deflecting curses was easier than dodging them, and it expended less energy. Which was good because it was nearly night and he had been fending off Jugson’s attacks for two hours straight.

But aiming deflected curses?

“With your wrist!” Jugson barked back at him before shooting a Stinging Hex to Draco’s knee. “Stop moving your arm!”

It landed and his knee buckled in pain. Draco collapsed to the ground. Fuck that hurt.

“And don’t forget your Shield!”

Draco growled and jumped back up, ready for the next assault when his Dark Mark started burning. He grimaced and rubbed his forearm as Jugson’s large, heavy frame barreled over from across the Quidditch pitch. He didn’t seem bothered by the pain at all. The man probably ate nails for breakfast.

“Ready Malfoy?”

Draco eyed Jugson as the two donned their robes and masks before Apparating away to wherever the Dark Lord was calling them to. Draco found himself outside the Avery Estate with at least forty other Death Eaters, and more arriving every second. He scanned the crowd with mounting horror before turning to Jugson.

Jugson’s deep voice snarled through his mask. “Time for them to fucking die.”

It was the raid. He wouldn’t be able to warn Granger. Not with Jugson right next to him. He started inching away to get out from the crowd but Jugson raised his wand, shooting out red sparks.

A sea of masked figures in black hooded robes turned to face him, but Yaxley addressed everyone.

“We’re attacking the main Order safe house where the Potter boy is staying!” Yaxley called out. “It’s a surprise hit, and we’ll outnumber them two to one. Bring back all bodies dead or alive. Harry Potter is for the Dark Lord!”

Fuck.

A piece of paper was being passed around. When it was given to Draco, he glanced down to see an address in Paddington he didn’t recognize. He passed it on to Jugson and tried to work his way inside his robes to reach his Galleon without anyone noticing. Just when he thought he might reach his trouser pocket Jugson’s gloved hand clamped down on Draco’s forearm.

Terror shot down his spine. Did Jugson know?

He felt a sudden nausea and they Apparated to a forest at the edge of a clearing. Sodding fuck that was close. He thought Jugson figured out what he was doing.

Draco stumbled from the sudden Side-Along. He lifted his mask, spat on the ground and looked up to see a large house towards the middle of the clearing. Lights were on. An easy target.

Jugson set to installing his anti-Apparition wards around the clearing. He’d obviously been here before to stake out the area in preparation for setting the massive wards. Draco felt uneasy at the thought of Jugson so close to Granger, and he had no idea it had been going on.

“Wait for the signal,” he growled back.

Yaxley cast a Silencing Charm around the large group and began to instruct those, like Draco, that didn’t already know about the raid. They were confident, expecting an easy victory. The Order was trapped, outnumbered, and would be taken by surprise. Draco tried to back towards a tree where he could get inside his trouser pocket without notice, but it was too late.

Not half a second after Jugson finished his anti-Apparition ward, the loud blaring of Caterwauling alarms sounded throughout the clearing, interrupting Yaxley’s briefing. So much for a coordinated attack. The Order knew Death Eaters relied on anti-Apparition wards during their raids. And they were prepared.

Draco knew when he warned Granger that he’d be directly fucking himself over, but he had done it anyway. And she still said it wasn’t enough to build trust.

The alarm confused the Death Eaters. They had thought they’d be sneaking up on the Order. Yaxley and Jugson yelled at them to rush the house, that the Order was still outnumbered despite the alarm. But a series of popping cracks were heard from across the grounds at the exterior of the wards as more Order members arrived. It reminded him of the popcorn popping at the Cineplex. Everyone started turning around, craning their necks to see where the Order had Apparated into. A few moments after that, hexes started whizzing through the trees.

So much for an easy raid. Within the span of a few seconds, the operation turned from a quick and easy win to a battle for survival. The odds Voldemort’s Army would succeed in capturing Potter and killing or capturing the rest had just plummeted.

Maybe Draco wouldn’t survive.

What did he expect? If he helped the Order defeat the Dark Lord’s army, he would always screw himself over. He was the Dark Lord’s army. Of course this would come back to bite him in the arse.

Fucking. Granger.

Life was simpler before she gave him that sodding Galleon.

Draco ducked as a jet of light shot by his head and hit someone behind him. It was Shunpike by the sound of the scream. He dropped to the ground and crawled on his elbows in the mud, trying to get closer to the safe house. Curses were flying over his head in both directions. While he was fully capable of maintaining a Shield for longer periods of time than in the past, he knew it was stupid to rely solely on them. His was still useless against the harsher curses, but getting better.

Draco couldn’t tell who had the advantage in numbers at this point, but Voldemort’s side was not prepared for this many Order members. Or for them to be ready for battle. Everywhere was a haze of yelling, smoke and flashes of light. He wondered what Jugson would have to say about the predictability of the Dark Lord’s army. They started every single fucking raid by putting up anti-Apparition wards. Could they be any more obvious? It was like waving a flag.

Draco’s elbows sank in grass and mud still cold from the thawing winter and his leg snagged on his robe. He pulled, ripping the robe with his boot. Why did they wear these goddamn robes anyway? They may instill fear in others but were impractical for the realities of battle. Jugson had at least shown him how to charm his mask so it wouldn’t obscure his vision.

Sodding fanatics, indeed.

Lying down, Draco positioned himself behind a rock and aimed several well-placed stunners at Order members as they ran across the lawn, picking them off one by one. He was also keeping an eye out for Granger. He already had a plan, haphazard as it was. He’d stun, Disillusion and hide her in the trees until the raid ended.

Draco turned around and saw a Death Eater duck behind a tree after firing off some curses. Fucking hell, he didn’t even know who had his back. They all looked the same. Plastering himself against the rock to avoid counter fire, he watched the Death Eater. The casting style looked like Yaxley’s.

Another curse shot by his head and thudded into the ground next to him.

“Yaxley!” Draco cried out. The Death Eater behind the tree turned to face him but didn’t stop his flurry of curses aimed towards the safe house.

“Levitate them out of here!” He pointed to the unconscious bodies strewn across the lawn that he had stunned. A curse flew by and he yanked his arm back to his chest, just missing it. He saw the bodies levitate and begin to float past him into the woods. Draco continued picking off Order members as he saw them, changing the angle of his body so he was always protected by the rock in front of him. Someone finally got smart and blew his rock up. He flew back several yards from the force of the explosion, hitting his head on the ground, teeth clacking together.

Draco pushed himself up and then promptly fell back down in a wave of dizziness and nausea. He tried again and felt a heavy hand on his chest push him back into the cold, wet ground.

“How many fingers, kid?” It was Jugson’s gruff voice. He leaned over him holding up… Draco couldn’t count the fingers. His gloved hand was blurry, and he couldn’t see. Lights from the flying curses skewed his vision even more.

“Don’t know.”

“Drink this.” Jugson pulled a purple vial out of his robes. Draco removed his mask, popped the cork with his thumb and knocked the vial back. The nausea and dizziness disappeared instantly.

“Always bring an anti-concussion potion into battle.” He held out his hand and helped Draco to a standing position.

“Let’s see how many Mudbloods and Blood traitors we can round up, ‘eh?”

Draco motioned to the floating bodies that Yaxley was manipulating. “They won’t fire at us through them.”

“Smart,” Jugson growled.

They ran towards the safe house, dodging through the levitated bodies. He recognized a few of his ex-classmates floating by and felt an immense relief that none were Granger. All of a sudden, the stunned Order members dropped to the ground. Yaxley must have gotten knocked out. Or worse. He and Jugson sprinted the rest of the way, burst through the safe house door and felled two fighters firing from the lower floor window. They ran from room to room, clearing the bottom floor until they reached a room towards the back.

Jugson ran in and immediately fell to the ground with an agonized yell, clutching his leg. Draco followed, wand at the ready. He barely had time to register Granger, splattered with blood and crouching in a corner clutching a beaded bag to her chest before she shot a curse at his head. He jerked backwards and the cabinet where his head had been half a second ago exploded. As Draco ducked for cover from the shards raining down around him, she fled out the back door into the yard, firing hexes behind her.

He sprinted out the door after her, thinking she was crazy for running into the line of fire. He shot some stunners after her for show and watched, open mouthed as she leapt twenty feet up into the air and over the blasts of hexes. Her legs propelled her forward before she landed at the edge of the clearing and continuing on unharmed to the forest.

Draco’s stomach lurched. How the fuck did she do that? At least he knew she wasn’t injured.

When she disappeared into the trees where he saw most of the Order members were, he turned around and crouched down next to Jugson. Dust and wood splinters still fell around them.

“She got away, leapt clear over the field into the trees.” Draco was already tearing Jugson’s trouser leg open. “What did she do to you?”

“It’s an old Auror trick. Haven’t seen anyone use it in years. You can break your legs if not done right.” He gritted his teeth in pain, leaning forward, trying to see the damage. “Fucking bitch sliced my Achilles tendon. Heal it and get upstairs.”

He pulled off Jugson’s ruined boot and sock to see a clean cut halfway through the upper part of his heel, bleeding profusely.

“I can’t heal a cut this deep.”

“Of course you fucking can’t.” He spat. “Do your best so I don’t bleed out.”

Draco ran his wand across the cut and watched the skin stitch itself while Jugson grunted, plainly suffering.

“I can only seal the skin. You won’t be able to walk, but if I leave you here then you’re liable to get captured.”

Jugson surveyed the area. “Get me to the corner with my back to the wall where that cunt was waiting for us.”

Trust Granger to find the most strategically defensible position in any given room. Draco helped Jugson hobble over to where she had been and sat him down on the floor facing the entry and exit ways.

“You’re wasting time. Get the fuck upstairs, Malfoy!” Jugson called after him as Draco ran back through the house and thundered up the stairs two at a time. Curses were still crashing through the ground floor windows, some absorbed by his Shield. He didn’t know if the fire was from the Dark Lord’s army or Order members. Probably both.

He circled the second and top floors, finding no one and cast a Homenum Revelio for good measure.

There was some yelling downstairs, and blasts rang out. All of a sudden, he heard a long, loud cry echo from outside.

“APPARAAAAAAAAATE!”

If Jugson’s anti-Apparition wards were down, then he wasn’t conscious anymore. Draco ran downstairs to the sounds of cracks both near and far echoing across the grounds. He crouched and blasted open the door to the back room where he left Jugson and curses immediately crashed into the wall above him. An older wizard he didn’t recognize appeared in the doorway and Draco felled him immediately, but not before getting his legs knocked out from under him. He recast his Shield, quickly crawling on his elbows across the floor to the door opening and peering around. Jugson was slouched over and one of those annoying Creevey kids was sprawled on the floor.

Not wanting to leave Jugson to the Order, he scrambled over to him, placed a hand on his calf and Apparated them back to the Avery Estate.

The Dark Lord was there, as were an increasing number of worn out and bloody Death Eaters, very few had prisoners. None of them were Granger. Draco had no idea what the hell he would do if she were here. None of them were sodding Scarface either.

Draco contained his relief and scanned the scene around him. From the look of things, the operation was a complete failure, and the Dark Lord was not pleased. Draco needed a prisoner or he and his family would be tortured. It was a struggle to retain their standing within the army, and Draco’s failure to bring a prisoner could set them back.

Draco Disapparated and reappeared in the back room at the safe house, gazing down at the two prone bodies of the Order members. His blood pumped loudly in his ears.

Fuck.

Was he really doing this?

If he didn’t bring a prisoner, he didn’t know how severe the punishment would be for him and his parents. But if he brought someone back, they’d all be fine. Better than fine since this raid was a clusterfuck. The Malfoys would continue digging themselves out of the hole they were in, and they’d reassert themselves in the Dark Lord’s esteem.

Draco had no choice when he brought back Lovegood and the other Mudbloods on raids. This was different. He had a choice. He stared down at the two bodies, breathing heavily. If it was just himself being tortured, he might have let it go. Might have. But he never knew when his parents would pay for his failures and mistakes.

He hated this.

It was the Vanishing Cabinet all over again. Someone else, or him and his family.

Draco stood over the two prone bodies and clenched his fists, trembling slightly. His chest heaved with the violence of his indecision. He could go back now. He could say he had scanned the area and no one was left.

But he and his parents would still suffer. He recalled his mother and father screaming on the floor while the Dark Lord stood mercilessly above them after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries, wondering if he would have to share their fate. He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled sharply through his nostrils. They were only still alive because Draco succeeded in bringing the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

Fuck. FUCK!

He only had to bring one and he wasn’t taking a sodding teenager. Hating himself for what he was about to do, he crouched down in front of the older man he didn’t recognize, placed a hand on his leg and Disapparated.

Draco reappeared with his prisoner and looked around. More Death Eaters had returned in his absence. They were still missing several. The Dark Lord paced slowly back and forth in front of them but no one else appeared. He counted six prisoners, two among them dead. He tallied the missing Death Eaters. It was a wash. Not the expected outcome at all. The plan was to clear the safe house and capture Potter; they had barely made a dent, and had lost some of their own.

Anti-Apparition wards made sense if there was a clear strategic advantage. If not, you were just as trapped as your enemy, and the Order knew they were coming.

Would the Dark Lord suspect they had been tipped off? But he brought a prisoner. That would allay suspicion, wouldn’t it?

Voldemort tapped his chin and Aunt Bella’s white teeth flash between red lips while she held onto a struggling blond, one of the Hufflepuff women he vaguely remembered from his year. A male whose face he couldn’t see lay bleeding at her feet. Probably dead from the angle of his neck. He looked like Finnigan, that Irish bloke from Gryffindor.

He glanced at Jugson, sprawled on the floor, still unconscious. In retrospect, Draco could have left him at the safe house. He’d probably be better off sitting in a holding cell with the Order now that they could administer Veritaserum. Injured ankle or not, the Dark Lord would torture him for failure. Draco scanned all the masked, robed Death Eaters. Many that hadn’t managed to bring back a prisoner were visibly trembling. He could feel the fear spreading slowly throughout the room.

It was going to be a long night. Most of them would be tortured.

Did Draco make the wrong decision?

It didn’t matter. It was too late now.

 

 

 

Notes:

Some people were getting antsy. I don't want to give away specifics of when the first kiss is or anything like that, but you guys have made it this far! I'll be vague and say that by chapter 45 they are shagging regularly. There's also another excursion into the world of Muggles before then.

 
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Chapter 35: Chapter 35

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Missing in Action: John Dawlish, Eloise Midgen, Oliver Wood, Hannah Abbot, Dedalus Diggle.”

Remus slowly spoke aloud the names of those captured, and then those that were killed.

“Killed in Action: Seamus Finnigan, Gwendoline Hedgeflower. We have confirmation they were killed, but don’t have their bodies.”

They all observed a moment of silence until little Teddy Lupin broke into a mewling cry.

It was bittersweet. Teddy arrived a month early. Tonks had given birth one week before the raid and was recovering at her mother’s house, where the Order leadership continued to have their meetings. Everyone had been so happy, but then they lost seven.

The mood was somber around the table as the five Order leaders recalled their interactions with those that were killed and missing. Tonks got up from the table and walked back and forth with Teddy swaddled to her chest, one hand cupping his bum. Her hair was black to mourn the loss of those that were killed and captured. Teddy’s wail softened to a whimper and then he went back to sleep.

This was their first major loss. Dolohov’s suicide and the financial situation didn’t compare. They were lucky Malfoy had warned them, it could have been so much worse. Remus and Minerva had been working on the anti-Apparition ward trigger which activated the caterwauling alarms, but after Malfoy’s warning, they dropped all other responsibilities and focused solely on that task.

If Minerva had been captured, Remus might not have finished, and then the Order would be sitting ducks at Paddington. Hermione would be sitting in a cell somewhere, probably being tortured. As would Harry, Ron, and the remainder that were housed there with them.

“Seven injured, Roger Davies in critical condition,” Remus continued.

As it stood, while their losses were still painful and significant, they weren’t crippling. In the meantime, they needed a new safe house, the others would be even more cramped once they were consolidated from the financial loss. Maybe they could still keep Worcester since they lost Paddington.

Hermione was surprised at how quickly she went from mourning the death and capture of her friends to calculating the impact of their loss on logistics. She wondered if the others were the same. But… that was her job as a leader. She had to. There was no rest for any of them. That’s why Tonks was here, barely recovered from her labor.

“Four Death Eaters captured. None Inner Circle,” Tonks added. “Six killed that we know of.”

“We need more Portkeys.” Hermione had been beating this dead horse for long time.

They knew. She knew. No one disagreed with her anymore, she had convinced them long ago. The rare and expensive potions ingredients, long brewing times coupled with complex Arithmancy formulas few could understand, made them extremely costly and difficult to acquire. Even if done with inside help at the Ministry. She knew they had someone helping them out in the Portkey division of the Ministry and they were pulling as many strings in the black market as they could so Hermione could repurpose existing ones, but even then it was taking a long time.

“We should start with a Portkey evacuation plan now,” she said, unable to conceal the sad tremble in her voice. “Even if we’re not at 100%. People can share. You already secured us a destination, Remus. It doesn’t matter that it’s not furnished or warded or stocked with supplies yet. I can complete the Arithmancy to charm the Portkeys we do have within a week, I think. But it will be mayhem without a plan.”

Remus stared at her and nodded. His eyes were bloodshot. “Agreed. I’ll get started on one first thing tomorrow morning and we’ll drill it.”

Tonks spoke to Hermione while checking to see if Teddy’s diaper was wet. “You also need to replace everyone’s communications Galleons for our raids and operations. They’ll be compromised. But keep an old one for yourself in case one of the captured is able to message you.”

She nodded, choking back tears. “Right.” She bent down to make a note for herself.

“We’re not completely dead in the water with finances,” Kingsley spoke, sipping his coffee. “You already know I’ve had some mild success with the Canadians and Australians. I’ll be pushing more aggressively with some of the countries bordering the Mediterranean as well. I don’t think we’ll have to give up the safe houses, although it will be some time before we can purchase Portkeys on the black market.”

“On that note,” Minerva added, wiping a few tears from her eyes, “Horace has some Rockwurst root and Wild Hornflower seeds for you.”

Hermione raised her head in surprise. “I’ll get started on a fresh potion.”

Minerva blew her nose. “So MACUSA still won’t intervene after what happened in the States?” she asked, directing her question to Kingsley.

Kingsley shook his head. “Lucius was smart. If he would have assassinated the donors, which is what I thought I was hurrying to prevent, then the Americans would surely have gotten involved. Instead, he threatened and blackmailed. He must have known about the donors for a long time before acting. They won’t report anything to the authorities. They wouldn’t even admit they’re being threatened.”

Months.

Malfoy had known about the financial attack for months. Every time they had been together.

But he still warned them about the raid. They’d be finished without him. With a start, Hermione wondered if he was one of the killed or injured Death Eaters. They all looked the same. She had no way of knowing. She reached for her Galleon and then stilled her hand. It was probably too risky to contact him now, so soon after the raid. Even with the cover of an affair.

Kingsley spread his hands. “I’m still not certain how their identities were discovered but I’ve stopped using Gringotts and moved to foreign banks outside the jurisdiction of the Ministry. The Malfoys have been in and out of the Financial Bureau for a long time now. As a precaution, I’ve also switched four intermediaries and Obliviated them. There are a few smaller, lesser-known banks in France and Bulgaria I’ve started to use instead. We won’t be putting all our eggs in one basket. International deposits at those banks are frequent from Canada and Australia and southern Europe. Our sources will be nearly impossible to pinpoint even if the banks are identified. A needle in a haystack.”

Remus turned around to Tonks, who stood behind him rubbing Teddy’s back. “Do you know how they were able to find the safe house? Here, let me take him, love. You sit down.”

Tonks held Teddy while Remus awkwardly removed the wrap from her and tied it around himself. She delicately placed the baby in the fabric of the wrap and secured him to Remus’s chest. Tears pricked Hermione’s eyes at the sight of the new family. It was a war. Her friends had died, and they were all in hiding. It didn’t seem like they would ever return to normal life, but the presence of a new baby proved that life was indeed, carrying on.

Tonks slunk down onto the chair, exhausted from recovering from the labor and nightly nursings, while Remus walked around the table. He hummed softly to Teddy and pressed his lips to the top of the baby’s head.

“We don’t have many outside contacts besides Hagrid and Minerva that interact with Order members in hiding. It’s only the Aurors that knew the location of Paddington safe house in particular, because they train them. All four of them now serving in the DMLE,” Tonks explained. “And they all showed up according to plan. John and Dedalus are likely being tortured in a cell somewhere.”

They sat in silence. Hermione wondered if Malfoy knew where the prisoners were. He had denied knowing where Luna and Ollivander were. That didn’t mean that he was telling the truth, but if he wasn’t, he probably wouldn’t tell her where the Order members were either. She’d have to press him harder.

“What if one of the Aurors found out who the Secret Keeper was for Paddington?” Hermione asked Tonks. “Paddington’s grounds were used for training. They’ve all been there to help Remus train us. The Secret Keeper could have been Imperiused to reveal it.”

Tonks rubbed her eyes groggily. “But the Aurors also knew about the anti-Apparition ward trigger. If one of the Aurors was a traitor, we’d have a lot more missing people to worry about.”

“No, they didn’t,” Minerva corrected, looking down at Tonks through her glasses. “They only knew where to come if the Caterwauling alarms went off. Like with the rest of the safe houses. Remus and I didn’t tell anyone we were modifying them to be triggered by anti-Apparition wards. What of the other two Aurors?”

Tonks tapped her fingers on the table. “I could administer Veritaserum to Pamela and Ignatius to see if they betrayed us. If one of them refuses to comply, I suppose that’s our answer.”

Remus turned to her in thought, his hand delicately cradling Teddy’s head. “Unless one of them was Imperiused and Obliviated. They wouldn’t even know what they had done.”

“But the Aurors didn’t know who the Secret Keeper was,” Hermione protested. “I don’t know who the Secret Keeper was for Paddington. None of us do. How could they figure that out during combat training?”

“An Auror could have Imperiused one of you to find out,” Remus explained, “and Obliviate the controlled member and anyone they talked to in order to cover their tracks. Or one of the Death Eaters could have Imperiused an Auror to control one of you.”

“What?” Hermione sat back in her chair abruptly. “Is that even possible?

Remus paused from circling around the table. “It’s rare, but not impossible. The one doing the primary Imperius curse would have to be an extremely powerful witch or wizard. Possibly You-Know-Who himself. Your spy warned us that suspected Order members would be lynched or kidnapped. What if they chose to control one of the Aurors instead of capturing them? It adds another layer of subterfuge that’s nearly impossible to trace.”

“They only attacked Paddington,” Tonks added peering at the ceiling. “So they only knew about Paddington.”

“Harry was there,” Hermione added.

Tonks nodded, bringing her gaze down. “It’s looking more and more like one of the Aurors is our leak, whether on purpose or not. If being Imperiused is the problem, we should train everyone to throw off the curse. A secondary Imperius is less difficult to throw off but none of you are trained at all,” Tonks said. “The Aurors should be able to throw it off though. It’s part of their training.”

“Should?” Minerva asked skeptically.

Tonks’ flicked her eyes to Minerva. “With the exception of a talented few, it’s a skill we have to keep up with. Under normal operations, it’s a requirement for Aurors and DMLE officers to be trained and retested yearly. If you slack off, you’re probably vulnerable. The Ministry has been under upheaval and with our Auror contacts’ extra responsibilities towards us, it’s possible that one of them hasn’t kept up with it.”

“Now that I’m not teaching at Hogwarts anymore,” Minerva added, “I can take over some of the training responsibilities from the Aurors that have been helping you, Remus. We shouldn’t let them near the other safe houses until we figure out where the leak came through.”

“What if one of us is still Imperiused?” Hermione asked. “They’re a sleeper agent.” The thought was terrifying.

Tonks glanced at her. “Minerva will go one by one and release everyone. I have to train you lot to throw it off anyway. Whatever the link is to the outside, we’ll sever it immediately.”

“I know finding the leak is our top priority, but we need to discuss what the Malfoys are doing with the Wizengamot before it’s too late,” Kingsley added. “I don’t believe that bill is to legalize the occasional violent drunken escapade into Muggle London.”

Hermione didn’t either. Neither did Malfoy.

Tonks met Kingsley’s eyes. “I think my interrogation with Macnair points to You-Know-Who’s purpose.”

Everyone turned to her, anticipatory expressions on their faces. “Macnair was in charge of scoping out details of Wembley Stadium and Brockdale Bridge.”

“Terrorism.” Kingsley stated blandly, in a way that gave Hermione the impression he had seen terrorism by wizards against Muggles before. “You-Know-Who controls Wizarding Britain and wants to destabilize Muggle Britain as well.”

Tonks nodded in agreement. “Macnair agreed that was most likely, under Veritaserum. Although he wasn’t in charge of planning the attack and couldn’t confirm terrorism was the purpose.”

Minerva looked disturbed. “That’s not the most intelligent move. Wembley Stadium can seat-”

“Ninety thousand,” Tonks answered. “I checked.”

“But If he violates the Statute of Secrecy so blatantly, other countries will be drawn into fighting him,” Kingsley countered, “They won’t tolerate terrorism against Muggles of that magnitude. That would put all Wizarding communities under threat. It doesn’t make sense.”

“There’s no shortage of Muggle groups to blame it on,” Minerva replied. “The other countries don’t want to be involved. They’re looking for an excuse not to be. Waving it off as yet another Muggle conflict will be easy.”

Kingsley didn’t appear mollified by Minerva’s explanation.

Hermione thought of how isolated Malfoy was from the Muggle world. “How would they know?”

Minerva turned to her in question.

“About Muggle terrorism,” Hermione clarified. “How would they know how to simulate it? Pure-blood wizards don’t know much about Muggles, let alone Muggle technology or current affairs.”

She didn’t know if the Order leadership was aware that Voldemort was a half-blood. And Snape, for that matter.

“Most pure-bloods don’t,” Kingsley agreed. “But we can’t assume that applies to all of them. Don’t underestimate the enemy.”

He was right. Without even a whisper of warning, the enemy had found out where they were hiding, most likely in an effort to get Harry and wipe out the safe house. It had been so close. They had been so close to destruction.

Hermione thought of Seamus. Loud and obnoxious but extremely funny. Non-stop pranks in Potions and the bane of Snape’s existence, perhaps even more so than Harry was. She knew him better than any of the others that were killed or captured. Since the age of eleven, she watched him grow into a man and then transform into a soldier like everyone else from Hogwarts who joined the Order and had been forced to grow up quickly.

And Hannah. Sweet and kind and tough all the same. Hermione felt like she was just getting to know her. Eloise. Always shy and keeping to herself. But strong and determined. Gwendoline. Hermione didn’t know her very well. Oliver. Harry would be devastated, having played Quidditch under his captainship. Dawlish and Dedalus. They were so hard on the young Order members but had built them from the ground up. Dedalus, who understood and appreciated Hermione’s brutal pragmatism. Even when it scared her.

And what of Draco? Where was he right now? Was he safe? Was he hurt? Her hand twitched, fighting the urge to contact him. Two days. She’d wait two days. That should be enough.

Tears pricked Hermione’s eyes and she felt relieved at their presence. Relieved that she was able to feel the tragedy of the raid, and that she didn’t merely view it in terms of the logistical and strategic problems it posed.

Tonks reached over and took her hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

Remus was watching her sympathetically and rubbed Teddy’s back. “It’ll get worse before it gets better, Hermione.”

 

 

~

 

Sex?

Hermione bit her lip. She hoped it was safe to contact Draco. Even with the cover of an affair she wasn’t sure if it was too close to the fallout of the raid.

The glowing letters appeared and she exhaled a shuddering sigh relief. He was alive.

Definitely. How about later?

He wasn’t available now. Maybe things were too chaotic on his side. Or was he injured? Hopefully he wasn’t injured.

Is your cock in working condition?

Her heart pounded, waiting for his reply.

You don’t ever need to worry about my ability to perform.

She smiled in relief.

I’m glad.

She shoved the Galleon back in her pocket, feeling better knowing that he was alright. But it warmed again and she pulled it out.

Your bits still in working order?

She felt a familiar pull on her heart, knowing that he was concerned about her, and remembered the feel of his arms as he carried her up the stairs. She put her thumb on the Galleon to reply.

Yes.

His reply appeared.

I’m relieved I can still make you come.

She stared at the Galleon, eyes watering slightly. After a pause the letters disappeared and another set replaced them.

More than you know.

 

~

 

Hermione shifted her gaze between Tonks and Harry while he squinted in concentration. Tonks held her wand out, pointed towards him, and her arm shook slightly in effort. Teddy was asleep, wrapped tightly to her chest. Harry squatted, hovering above the ground for a few seconds and then after gritting his teeth, stood up, opened his eyes and exhaled with a smile.

Tonks turned to the crowd around them. The entirety of the Order was watching rapt in attention. Kingsley had come through just in time before they had to give up their safe houses. They were all happy to be gathered together on the grounds outside the new safe house somewhere in Westchester, but they were all sick of beans.

“And that, my friends, is how you throw off an Imperius Curse. Well done, Harry.”

He grinned and returned to his place next to Ginny to the sound of clapping. Harry had been able to throw off the Imperius Curse for several years now. He had a natural skill and power that aided him, and a few others in the Order also picked it up quickly. To her dismay, Hermione discovered that she wasn’t one of them, but Tonks assured her that just like with anything else, she’d develop that skill with practice.

“So all we have to do is pretend we’re constipated?” Fred quipped. He turned to George. “Shouldn’t be hard with all the beans we’ve been eating.”

“Push out a poo, and we get rid of you?” George added with a smirk.

Everyone burst into nervous laughter. Fred patted George on the back. Then he patted himself on the back. The twins could find levity in any situation, but the humor was ill timed. The seriousness of the war and its consequences were still fresh. Everyone was still thinking of the killed and captured. 

Tonks rounded on the twins and stalked over in their direction while her hair changed from blond to dark red. They had enough sense to school their expressions into something more serious and stand at attention. Tonks could be downright scary when she had to be. Everyone stopped laughing. Somehow, having a baby swaddled to her chest made her even more frightening than usual.

“Do you think this is funny?” she hissed up at them. They both shook their heads to the negative. Tonks whirled around and shouted to everyone out in yard. Hermione had no idea how Teddy could continue to sleep through all of this. Maybe there was a Silencing Charm on the baby wrap. “Two of you were under the Imperius Curse without even knowing it, and we don’t even know for how long. That’s why Paddington safe house was compromised. Not just last week Seamus and Gwendoline were killed, eight were injured and five others captured that we can only hope are still alive. Is that funny?”

No one spoke. It wasn’t funny. Not at all. Everyone felt the pain from their loss.

Tonks swiveled back to the twins and grinned wickedly. “Fred, if I put you under the Imperius Curse I could make you cut off George’s other ear and force him to eat it before slicing his throat.” She paused for effect. “And you’d smile while you did it.”

Fred and George both swallowed in fear, wide eyed. Tonks would be a scarier mum than Molly Weasley.

Hermione watched Tonks as she stalked back and forth in front of everyone. She had been describing how to determine whether or not an Imperius Curse has been cast on oneself, even if it wasn’t presently activated, emphasizing the importance of checking each day and pairing off with a buddy to check for you in case you were unable. She explained again and in greater detail, the principles of fighting it off. She punctuated her points with hand gestures, changing her hair color when arriving at a particularly urgent one.

Teddy slept through the whole thing.

The day wore on and the Order gradually divided into two groups. Those that were able to throw off the curse, and those that were not. As time passed, the group able to throw it off got larger, and the group that could not got smaller. The larger group began dueling exercises instead.

Hermione was still in the group that could not throw it off. It was frustrating. She was so used to being able to understand the fundamentals behind magic more easily than others and could usually master skills more quickly than her peers. She assumed that because she had been doing so well at Occlumency, especially lately, that throwing off an Imperius curse wouldn’t be too much trouble.

Apparently there wasn’t any connection between the two types of magic.

She watched as Tonks made Lavender do a series of cartwheels. Lavender finally shook it off in the middle of one and collapsed in a heap. Hermione exhaled in frustration. Even Lavender could do it better than her.

She shifted her gaze to Roger Davies over to the side. He looked weak, but the Ravenclaw Trio had saved his life after he had been horribly hexed during the raid. Parvati was holding his hand, and Hermione saw her stroke his fingers. Padma had tears in her eyes while watching her twin.

Padma lost Seamus.

Hermione noticed that even though Tonks was the primary person responsible for casting the curse on the Order members, every so often Remus would come up and whisper to her and he or Minerva would temporarily take over. While Remus and Minerva provided her a brief respite, Tonks went back into the safe house on her own and then came back, ready to instruct again. She must need to nurse Teddy, but then Hermione remembered her discussion with Tonks about the cost of using Unforgivable Curses. She wondered if taking breaks helped her cope.

Hermione recalled that Tonks explained Unforgivable Curses were addictive and wondered what kind of toll training everyone was taking on her. It was a burden Tonks shouldered for all of them. McGonagall and Remus were helping out somewhat, but it was primarily Tonks performing the casting. She had also used the Cruciatus Curse on Dolohov and Bixley.

She remembered how Tonks explained that the Aurors were taught methods to deal with the effect of casting Unforgivable Curses, mitigating the negative psychological effects. She wondered if what Tonks did enabled the effects to be completely reversible, or if it was simply a way to adjust and deal. Potions? Meditation? Cognitive behavioral therapy?

Perhaps a mixture?

Hermione knew everyone respected Tonks. She was terrifying, she was skilled, and between the training and the raids, she and Remus had transformed every single Order member into a hardened soldier ready for anything Voldemort’s army could throw at them. But she doubted that her friends truly understood the sacrifice Tonks was making for them.

Tonks turned to address the Order, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. “It’s essential you all learn this skill. We will practice daily until every last one of you throws it off without fail. Any questions?”

Neville raised his hand. He had been taking Hannah's disappearance hard.

“Yes, Neville?”

“What if we can’t learn it? What if we have trouble figuring it out?”

Tonks walked up to him, hands on her hips, and her chest pushed out with Teddy on display. “Failure is not an option. Whoever has trouble learning will have private lessons with me every day until they do.”

Neville audibly gulped.

 

 

 

Notes:

Next up... very bad things.

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Chapter 36: Chapter 36

Notes:

There is a trigger warning associated with this chapter. For those who want to make an informed decision before reading, it’s listed in the chapter end notes.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco appeared in the Manor ballroom upon being summoned. He never entered the room anymore if he could help it, feeling a reflexive rush of horror just by passing by. Even the way sound carried up to the high ceiling shook him after having heard so many screams, oftentimes his own, bouncing off the walls. The dining room, the ballroom… if he survived this war, he wondered how many rooms in his own house he wouldn’t be able to use anymore.

At least the drawing room hadn’t been tainted. He enjoyed reading there.

Draco surveyed his surroundings. The Dark Lord was waiting with Aunt Bella, his parents, Yaxley and – he repressed a shudder of revulsion – Alecto Carrow. Shouldn’t she be at Hogwarts?

He eyed his parents. His mother whispered something to his father, who nodded. Draco couldn’t determine what was going on, but it seemed everyone was waiting for something to happen. Their expressions didn't reveal anything, which did nothing to allay Draco’s anxiety.

Vince and Greg walked into the ballroom with their parents shortly after. His old classmates strode in with a measure of bravado. Draco remembered his excitement and anticipation the first time he had been summoned with the Dark Mark. He was young and wanted to prove he was capable if only given the chance. Vince and Greg would eventually learn to dread being called, as he did. It always meant pain. Or death. Or both.

The cold silence in the ballroom transformed their confident swagger into a more cautious gait. He met the eyes of his old classmates and they glanced back at him nervously, a question on their wary faces. What was happening? Draco didn’t know either.

The Dark Lord focused his red eyes on Vince and Greg, who couldn’t hold his gaze and stared down at the floor. He shifted his glare to Draco, who looked back, impassive, as the terror within him spread up and down his spine. The Dark Lord’s lips turned upwards slightly, and he spoke to Yaxley, inhuman eyes never leaving Draco.

“Corban, explain to our younger recruits the problem you have presented to me.”

Yaxley cleared his throat and stepped forward. “My lord, the dungeons here are too crowded after the safe house raid.”

Draco agreed. He didn’t know the status of the other prison cells the Dark Lord’s army was making use of throughout Wizarding Britain, but at Malfoy Manor they were disgusting. The upside was that nobody went down to rape the prisoners anymore. Perhaps there had been complaints. Rape was one of the incentives for the Snatchers, informants and some of the others in the lower ranks of the Dark Lord’s army.

The Dark Lord swiveled around to face his aunt with a sinister grin. “And Bella, what problem have you noticed?”

Her red lips spread in a slow smile. “Some of our newer members haven’t yet bloodied their hands. They’re too soft.” Her eyes travelled over Vince and Greg and they visibly stiffened under her scrutiny. “And need to be broken in.” Her gaze landed on him, and she winked.

Draco’s bowels went cold. He knew what was coming. He knew what would happen if he couldn’t do it. All their parents were there to watch and provide… incentive. He still remembered his mother’s and father’s screams when the Dark Lord was told he couldn’t kill Dumbledore. The only reason they were still alive was because he had successfully brought the Death Eaters into the castle.

What was Aunt Bella thinking? Why would she instigate this situation? Did she want her sister to be tortured? Maybe killed? He shifted his gaze to his parents. His father was frozen, and his mother was trembling, unable to hide her fear anymore.

“So you see,” The Dark Lord’s eyes flicked to his, Vince’s and then Greg’s. “Two birds,” he held out one pale scaly hand to his side, “one stone.” He held out the other hand, and then clasped them together.

“Corban, if you please.”

The tense, terrifying atmosphere of the ballroom quickly transformed into panicked desperation. Yaxley Disapparated and reappeared a few times with several of the Muggle-born prisoners and their families that were captured in the raids during the prior summer and sitting in the Malfoy dungeons. The ones the Order hadn’t managed to hide in time. They were frightened and sobbing, their chains clinking on the floor. Family members were clinging to each other, parents hushing their children. He eyed with growing horror the two children he had made laugh earlier when he Imperiused another prisoner to do somersaults.

Draco wanted to vomit.

Alecto sauntered over to him, unfazed by the impending carnage and purred into his ear. “If you had been at Hogwarts this year, I would have taught you properly.” Her finger trailed up his arm. “Without pressure to… perform.”

“Vincent,” the Dark Lord called him. “Execute this filth.”

Immediately the children began to scream, and his aunt silenced them with sneer and a flamboyant swish of her wand.

Vince raised his wand to one of the men kneeling on the floor, arm trembling. “Avada Kedavra!

A green light shot out of his wand and the man pitched over, but he didn’t die and his body convulsed. Vince gaped at the man, horrified that he had failed. Alecto walked over to him with a smile. “First time?” Vince nodded dumbly. She took hold of his wrist and made a curving motion. “Like this on ‘dav.’ KeDAVra. Try again.”

She sauntered back to Draco, her hand travelled down his arm and she circled behind him. Her hand pressed against his lower back and slid over his arse. “I know you’ll do better than that,” she whispered in his ear.

The blood was pounding in his head and he was afraid he'd start shaking. He wanted to scream.

The convulsing man spat foam and blood out of his mouth as Vince raised his wand again. He shouted the incantation, green light thudded into the prisoner’s chest and finally he lay still. Alecto’s fingers dug into his rear and her breasts rose and fell as her excitement grew.

Draco couldn’t move, he tried and probably failed to keep his face impassive while his mind raced through his options. If he failed, his parents might die. He would die. If he succeeded, the family would die.

It didn't matter.

None of his choices were good. They all ended in death. Death he'd be responsible for.

Trapped.

“Two more, I think?” His aunt looked back at the Dark Lord and he nodded once in approval.

Vince raised his arm and with more confidence, killed another man and woman. His parents sighed in relief.

“Practice makes perfect.” Alecto’s hot breath fanned against his neck, and then she licked his ear lobe. Draco swallowed the bile rising in his throat without vomiting. He couldn’t manage much more than that.

The Dark Lord turned to Greg with a thin-lipped smile. “Gregory.” He motioned to two adults clutching their crying boys.

Greg was visibly terrified. Like Vince, he started with the man, also having difficulty killing the woman first. The spell failed, and the man fell over, clutching his chest and screaming. His wife bent over his body and stroked his face, sobbing his name. Beads of sweat formed on Draco’s forehead. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t Occlude. He no idea what to do. He was going to die.

Alecto strolled over and grabbed Greg’s wrist. “With a swipe at the end. Like this.”

Greg tried again and the man fell silent. Alecto nodded in approval and sidled up next to Draco again. Greg turned to the woman, took a deep breath and killed her as well. Alecto pressed her chest against the back of his arm and reached around to his front, placing her hand on his thigh. He was going to retch if this lasted much longer. To keep the nausea at bay he inhaled sharply through his nose. Alecto misinterpreted his reaction and inched her hand up, towards his crotch.

Draco watched while the children screamed soundlessly, clutching the bodies of their parents. He wanted to claw at himself, rip himself open. He couldn't stand here while this happened. But what could he do? Greg tried and failed. The spell did nothing at all, the green light thudding without effect into the boy’s small chest.

Voldemort spoke softly to him. “They are filth, Gregory. They poison our society, our way of life. Age does not matter. They will grow up and steal what is rightfully yours. They’ll ruin your family. The children are no different from their parents.”

The threat to Greg’s mother and father was clear.

Greg squeezed his eyes shut and steeled himself. Sweat dripped down his temple. The green light flashed out of his wand and the boy fell over, lifeless. His parents sighed, and his shoulders relaxed.

Draco’s mind wandered back to when they were children. Probably the same age as the boy Greg just killed. They enjoyed playacting in the warm summer weather. He, Vince and Greg would chase each other around the extensive grounds of the Goyle estate, pretending to hunt down and kill Muggles. Sometimes, if Madam Goyle could spare the help, they could even make a House Elf join in their games and play the part of the Muggle. Once Vince had kicked it so hard that he had stained his new dragon hide boots with its blood. His father reprimanded him for taking such poor care of his boots.

Alecto’s hand inched higher. Draco felt himself getting hard and nearly convulsed in revulsion. He wanted to break apart. He wanted to die. 

“Vincent,” the Dark Lord called. “You may do the other one.”

Vince killed the other boy without problem.

“Your turn,” Alecto’s voice teased. She removed her hand, and backed away, grazing his member.

He swallowed the acrid taste in his mouth and tried not to grimace.

There was one family left including a boy and a girl. The two kids he’d made laugh in the dungeons. Blond hair and blue eyed, similar to the girl Granger had Polyjuiced into the day they met in Fortescue’s, and a grandmother. Draco’s heart thudded in his chest and the world seemed to go silent around him. He gazed into the grandmother’s eyes, remembering how the elderly museum docent had explained Impressionism. Everything around him was a blur. He was going to pass out.

He was terrified. He had already failed to kill once. If he failed again, would his mother and father die? Or just be tortured? Aunt Bella wouldn’t instigate a situation that resulted in her sister’s death. Would she? It didn’t matter though. He knew he would fail.

He couldn’t kill them. He would die. And his parents might die too because of him.

Draco swallowed his bile again and looked over into his mother’s clear blue eyes. He was scared out of his wits, but she wasn’t. Instead of fear, he was shocked to see that she was only profoundly sad and… accepting.

His mouth went dry. His mother was giving him permission to fail. She knew he couldn’t do it, and she had accepted her torture and death as inevitable.

Everyone was watching him as the seconds dragged on, silent.

The only people that he hated in this room, he wasn’t allowed to kill. He peered into the eyes of the grandmother. Tears trickled down her wrinkled face while she squeezed the hand of the little girl. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. He would die. His mother would die. His father would die. And none of it would matter because the Mudblood family would all die anyway, regardless of Draco’s actions. They were all dead anyway. It didn’t matter what he did.

Unless… maybe he could save his parents.

Draco made a decision and raised his wand with a sharp inhale, index finger in place. He looked coldly down at the grandmother.

Diffindo!

His slicing hex cut straight through her spinal column, esophagus and airway. Before her body even had time to slump to the floor, he did the same to the children. By the time the grandmother’s body collapsed to the tiled ballroom floor, the mother and father were already dead on their knees.

Speed and precision.

Jugson would be proud.

The children fell face forward to the ground, and the parents slumped over half a second after. Five individual pools of blood slowly spread on the floor and joined together. The dark red contrasted with the shiny white polished stone tiles. Maybe it would stain.

The room was stunned to silence.

Draco exhaled slowly and turned to look at the Dark Lord. There was a faint glimmer of surprise on his snake-like features.

His voice was curious. “You did not use the Killing Curse?”

Draco stared back into the red probing eyes dispassionately. “They are vermin through no fault of their own. I don’t hate them for being unable to go against their nature.” He brushed some imaginary lint off his sleeve. A signature Severus move. “All the same, they should be exterminated.”

Voldemort studied him for a few moments and rolled his wand between his fingers. Everyone was quiet, waiting for the Dark Lord to pronounce his verdict. Draco felt like a cord was being pulled taught inside of him. Tighter and tighter, until it would snap.

“Their dirty blood is making a mess of your floor. Clean it up, Draco. No magic.”

He felt the cord release and exhaled in relief.

Draco couldn’t look at his mother, afraid of what he would see in her eyes.

 

 

~

 

After Vince, Greg and he had cleared out the dungeons dispersed throughout Britain that the Dark Lord was making use of, Draco came back to the Manor to dispose of the family as the Dark Lord had commanded. His father advised him to burn the bodies and be done with it, but Draco wanted to bury them. They were a family. They lived together, they were imprisoned together, they were murdered together, and he wanted to bury them together.

On this, his father sensed Draco wouldn’t give in, and retreated to his study, perhaps unwilling to argue after having barely survived yet another threat to their lives. No cutting remarks, no sarcasm. No talk about responsibilities in the Dark Lord’s army and needless sentimentality.

His mother understood his need for closure and showed him a quiet corner on their estate under a tree which was blossoming in the spring.

Draco dug five graves.

No magic.

All day he worked, shoving the spade into the ground with a crunch, pressing down with his boot, wrenching up grass and dirt and throwing it to the side. He made no sound, not even a grunt as the sweat dripped into his eyes and down his body. Despite the cool spring weather, he became unbearably hot from the exertion and removed his shirt, wiping his chest, face and hair with the dirty fabric before tossing it to the side.

He didn’t drink. He didn’t eat. He worked without pause, without break.

His back hurt, his arms ached, his legs were killing him, and his shoulder muscles screamed in pain by the time he was finished. But Draco didn’t care. It should hurt. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to be punished. He hadn’t gotten Crucio’d but wished he had been. He wanted to die. He didn’t deserve to live.

Above everything else, he just wanted this misery to end.

After finishing the graves, he walked back to the Manor and stared down at the five bodies, slumped over in their own blood.

Five people. A family.

Draco wiped down each one of them with rags and towels, cleaning off as much of the blood as he could, from their faces, from their limbs, trying to preserve some sense of their dignity in death. When he finished, he wrapped each of them in a white sheet, and carried them individually out to the gravesite at the edge of the estate.

His mother watched him work all day and accompanied him in silence. The grandmother was light, but the children didn’t weigh much of anything at all. Tiny, fragile little bodies. Their last moments spent in abject terror, screaming and clinging to their parents. Small children turning to adults for a protection that couldn’t be given.

Draco was careful, climbing down into the grave and laying each one of them down inside the dirt as delicately as he could. As if they could break. As if he hadn’t broken them already. After each person was resting, he stood above them all and gazed down. Five people wrapped in white sheets in five shallow graves.

He wiped the sweat from his face, inhaled sharply, and grabbed the shovel to cover them up. The sun started to set, and his mother’s skin changed from her regular pale coloring to yellowish, warm orange and then darker pink in the dimming light. Filling the graves was much easier than digging them. The earth was loose, not packed, and the pile of dirt to the side gradually got smaller as he filled the holes one by one.

Draco finished burying them and patted the dirt with his shovel, forming five ovular mounds.

He thought back to Dumbledore on the Astronomy tower, telling his sixteen-year-old self that he wasn’t a killer. In a few months he’d be eighteen. Today, he crossed a line and couldn’t come back.

Draco sighed and shoved the spade into the ground. He rested his elbow on the handle and leaned on it, surveying his work. His work. He had done this. Sweat dripped from his head and he ran a hand through his dirty, wet hair.

They needed a gravestone.

“I don’t know their names.” His voice was raspy from not talking during so many hours of hard labor.

His mother glanced up him and blinked, a few tears left her eyes and she wiped them away. “We have records. I’ll find out.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. It was a funeral without words. He didn’t know who they were, only that they were Mudbloods and that was a death sentence. He knew that they loved each other and that they didn’t deserve to die. Leaving the spade in the ground, he picked up his dirty, sweaty shirt and turned around to walk back to the Manor. His mother followed him in silence back up the path. They entered the ballroom and he stared down at the pool of blood on the floor, waiting to be sopped up.

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to remove the image of his Diffindo hex cutting through their throats.

“You don’t have to stay here, Mother. You didn’t do this.”

“I did,” she said, placing her hand gently on the skin of his back. “And I’ll stay.”

 

~

 

Draco stood in the shower, sobbing, gritting his teeth and scrubbing his skin raw. There had been so much blood and dirt, he could still see it in his cuticles and embedded in his nails. His hands were stinging, blistered from shoveling all day. He didn’t bother healing himself. He wanted to feel the pain.

After he couldn’t see any remaining blood or dirt, Draco leaned forward and placed his palms on the tile wall of the shower. The hot water beat down on his back and he gasped another sob. He hung his head down and watched the water swirl around the drain between his feet. It took the blood, sweat and dirt that had been encrusted on his body.

Draco still didn’t feel clean.

He tilted his head back. The hot water hit his face and he opened his eyes into the stream so they would burn. He wanted to burn. He wanted everything to burn.

He shut off the shower and stared at his feet again, listening to the water drip down onto the tiles and the residual puddle gurgle down the drainpipe. He was empty, carved out and hollow. And slightly dizzy. He hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since the murders.

Draco opened the shower door and grabbed a towel. He stared into the mirror as he dried himself. His eyes had dark bags underneath, giving him a haunted appearance. He couldn’t stop seeing the children as they silently screamed for their parents. Couldn’t stop feeling their tiny bodies as he cradled them in his arms, taking them out to their graves.

He didn’t want to stay in this house any longer.

Nagini was here. The Dark Lord was here. Charity Burbage was eaten here. His parents were tortured here. Prisoners were tortured, raped and killed here.

He eyed his communication Galleon on the bathroom sink.

Draco couldn’t stay here tonight. He had to go to where he felt safe.

 

 

 

Notes:

Trigger warning – children get murdered, it’s explicitly described, also Alecto touches Draco non-consensually

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Chapter 37: Chapter 37

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Can you come?

Hermione glanced down at the Galleon in concern. Something was wrong. There was no sexual innuendo so it must be urgent. Maybe having to do with the raid?

Coming right away.

She looked down at herself. Camisole and knickers for bed. As quickly as she could, she donned a bra and a pair of shorts, nervous about what she would find. She Apparated to her room and heard Nirvana blasting from downstairs. She didn’t know Draco had figured out how to operate their stereo system, but should she be surprised? He was probably more competent with Muggle technology than Arthur Weasley at this point.

Still apprehensive, she hurried downstairs, hand gliding along the cool wood of the bannister. The music increased in volume as she approached to see Draco lying down in the middle of the living room floor. He was barefoot, wearing a dark T-shirt and pajama bottoms. One leg was extended outward and one was bent, knee in the air. The room stank of alcohol and she noticed a half empty bottle next to him, spilled on the carpet.

Raiding her parents’ liquor cabinet and listening to Smells Like Teen Spirit. How very… suburban. With his longish blond hair fanned out on the carpet he even resembled Kurt Cobain from a distance.

Hermione strode into the room fully prepared to yell at him and abruptly stopped. One hand lay carelessly across his chest, the other was clutching the Galleon. There was blood all over the hand on his chest. What did he do? Her irritation immediately morphed to concern, and she quickly turned off the stereo and knelt beside him.

Draco’s eyes were closed. She couldn’t tell if he was asleep or passed out from alcohol. But he had only contacted her a few minutes ago. Her gaze travelled down to his hand. It was a mess of blood, but he didn’t look like he was in pain. For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Slowly, he opened his eyes and her throat caught at the despair and helplessness held within the stormy grey.

What happened to him?

 

 

 

Gently, she laid a hand on his cheek and he nuzzled into her touch, his eyelids fluttering closed again.

“You came,” he croaked. It sounded like he had been crying.

“Of course I did, Draco” she said softly. “What did you do to yourself?”

She waved her wand to clean the blood from his hand and sucked in a breath. He had shards of glass - or perhaps mirror - embedded in his knuckles. And there were lacerations down his fingers and the back of his hand. Did he punch a mirror? The bathroom mirror here? He was still bleeding.

Gently, she turned his hand over and he winced. He had blisters all over his palm. She looked at his other hand. He had blisters all over that one too. Ripped open, exposed red skin.

She couldn’t understand what he had done.

“Too pissed to heal. Stupid. I might bleed to death.” His eyes followed her movements as she delicately extracted each of the pieces of glass, cleaning and sealing each cut as she progressed. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

He lifted his gaze back to her face and she flushed. They were close. She was touching him. And she was not wearing the jumper and jeans she normally donned for their meetings. It felt more intimate than any of their other interactions.

“You called me Draco.”

Hermione’s chest tightened from within. He was so upset, and it unnerved her. Despite their circumstances, or perhaps because of them, she had grown to really care about him. Quite a lot. She didn’t want him to be upset, she didn’t want him to hurt. And because she had instinctively offered him comfort, his first name slipped out.

Naturally. She hadn’t even thought about it, but he noticed.

“So I did.” She sent him a small smile, wondering if she could cheer him up. She had no idea what had made him so distraught. “Should I collect your blood in a jar for our next raid?”

He laughed lightly and winced again as she took another few pieces out, cleaned and then sealed the cuts. “You should. Just end this whole fucking thing.”

She eyed him and continued extracting the small pieces of mirror and he watched her silently, every so often his hand would twitch when it was particularly painful. She turned over his hand, inspecting her work while the fingers of his other hand traced patterns on her thigh. A pleasant ache spread between her legs, but she tried to ignore it to work on his blisters.

“No, don’t do those.” Draco tugged on his hand, but she didn’t let it go.

“Don’t be silly, I’m healing your blisters too.”

He mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t argue.

His fingers travelled under the hem of her pajama shorts. She looked down at him. There was a raw sensuality to the agonized expression on his face, and his eyes rested on her mouth. Kissing Draco was a bad idea. He had already tried it, and not just for the purpose of testing her Occlumency. He told her that he wanted her and now he was drunk. If he tried anything it would be worse in this state. He’d be less inhibited. As if reading her mind, he pushed himself up until his face was just inches from hers. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, and she leaned backwards slightly.

“You smell like the Hog’s Head.”

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “That bad ‘eh? Not even the Leaky Cauldron?”

“You smell like the leftover swill in glasses that haven’t even been washed properly at the Hog’s Head.”

His grin widened. “Harsh, Hermione.”

She raised her eyebrows at the use of her first name and tried to ignore just how much she liked the sound of it on his tongue.

“You almost took my head off,” he said, wobbling slightly.

Hermione furrowed her brows in confusion. She had no idea what he was talking about, he was really drunk. “What?”

“The raid. Nearly killed me.” He leaned in closer and wobbled again. “You’re fucking terrifying with a wand.”

“Oh!” she was startled.

Draco gave her a knowing look. “You would be.”

She opened her mouth to reply, and then closed it. She hadn’t really thought of the ramifications of him being in Voldemort’s Army after she knew he survived the raid. They’d see each other in skirmishes. Just like when the Order evacuated the students at Hogwarts. He would recognize her; she wouldn’t recognize him. They all looked the same in those robes and masks. She had nearly killed several Death Eaters that night. Maybe she did kill one or two, she didn’t know. Hermione was just trying to get away in one piece.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t – if I had known it was – I don’t know how –”

“Psh!” He waved his hand dismissively, cutting off her protestations with a lazy smile. “Keep trying to kill me. I’m evil.”

“What?” She cracked a grin. “A snarky git, yes. But you’re not evil.

“I’m evil, Hermione.” His voice lowered and he leaned in closer, so his breath tickled her mouth and chin. “I’m a bad person.” She felt another thrill race through her at the use of her name. His fingers teased the skin of her thigh underneath the fabric of her shorts, reaching up towards the curve of her arse. The ache between her legs intensified. “You don’t know me.”

“I do know you, and I know you’re not a bad person,” she whispered.

He leaned in closer, lips nearly touching hers.

“I’m evil,” his voice was a husky whisper. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Her heart raced and his eyes fluttered closed. He was going to kiss her if she didn’t do something, so she quickly stood up. Not having her to lean into, he fell forward onto the rug, face first.

“Ow…”

She shook her head and walked over to the bathroom, worried about the damage he had done in his drunken stupor.

“Hermioneeeeeeeeee!” he called after her, his voice slightly muffled from talking into the floor.

“What?” she called back.

“You don’t want to kiss me?”

“No.”

Merlin, he was completely shitfaced.

“Liar,” he called back. She didn’t bother answering.

Hermione walked into the bathroom and sucked in a breath, observing the carnage before her. Draco had punched the mirror. There were glass shards everywhere and blood splattered on the sink and floor. He was lucky he didn't break his knuckles.

He may be a funny, flirty drunk now, but she remembered the anguish in his eyes when she found him. He had truly been in despair before she arrived.

Something terrible must have happened to him.

“I’ll give you the keys to Auntie Bella’s Estate!” he called from her living room. “Will you kiss me then?”

“No!” she called back, fighting the urge to laugh. She had no idea what to do with him like this.

“How about I bring you Yaxley instead. All tied up. You like your men tied up.” She heard him belch softly. “Kinky bitch.”

She turned back sharply. He hadn’t mentioned that Yaxley was in the Inner Circle before. She kept playing along, wondering what else he would say.

“Possibly.”

“Maybe Mulciber? He’s,” He hiccupped. “a slightly more attractive bloke.”

She repaired the mirror and watched while all the pieces flew back into place, both from the bathroom and the living room floor. She crossed her arms and turned around, leaning back against the bathroom sink.

“I don’t know. Who else is on the table?” She called back.

“You want one of them on a table? Nice.

She snorted and walked back to the entrance of the living room with a grin. He was still lying down on the floor, sprawled on his stomach.

“Tied up and bent over a table,” she replied. “They are Death Eaters after all.”

“I knew it. That’s why Potty and Weasel followed you around all through school.” His teeth shone in between the lips of his smile. “Lucky bastards.”

She leaned against the wall, watching him.

“So I should take Mulciber?” She asked, trying to bring the conversation back to Inner Circle Death Eaters.

He glanced up at her from the floor. “No, I’ll get Jugson for you. He’s more your type. Pragmatic. Ends justify the beans.” Hermione chuckled at his flub. “He just hates,” he hiccupped again, “Mudbloods.”

She bit her lip, wondering how much he’d reveal in this state. It was worth a try.

“I won’t settle for less than the Dark Lord himself.”

He exhaled with faux exasperation. “No point. Can’t die.”

“Sure he can.”

“Scarface is really going to do it?” His voice cracked when he said Scarface.

“Scarface?” she repeated, sniggering at his nickname for Harry. “He is. If only Harry knew where You-Know-Who was, we could get on with it.”

There was a pause.

“HerMIone.” He sounded like he was trying to scold her, but the chastising tone was offset by a loud hiccup.

“Hmmm?”

“Are you taking advantage of me in my inebriated state?” Draco said in mock surprise, like he couldn’t believe she would do such a thing.

Hermione laughed out loud and walked into the kitchen. He needed water.

“I absolutely am,” she called over her shoulder.

He was silent for a few moments while she filled a glass of water for him.

“You can, you know.” His voice was husky and his gaze heated as she returned. “Take advantage of me.” He smiled again. “I like it when you say my name.”

She sat down cross legged next to him and held out the water.

“I’d like it if you told me where You-Know-Who was.”

“And I’d like you to suck my cock, but we can’t always get what we want.”

She flushed and picked up the half-filled bottle of alcohol from the rug.

“Sit up, you should drink some water. Why did you choose the vodka of all things?”

He licked his lips. “Does the job.”

Draco pushed his torso up and fell back down on the floor. Trying again, he rolled onto his side and held out his hand to her.

“Help me up?” he asked and pouted at her when it looked like she wasn’t going to. He actually pouted. “Please?”

Hermione stood up and pulled on his arm. He was a dead weight.

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered.

She yanked his arm with both her hands, leaned back, digging her heels into the ground and pulled him up using the strength of her legs to brace her body. He lurched forward and up, catching himself on his knees. With a grunt, he crawled over to the couch, climbed up to sit and sank down into the cushions.

She held out the glass the water. “Drink up.”

He drank from the cup in big gulps and wiped his mouth off with his hand. “I don’t suppose your parents have a Sobering Up Potion here?”

“No, we only keep Veritaserum on hand.” She flashed him a wicked grin and he chuckled. “But I can get you some Muggle headache medicine.”

“No thanks.” Draco laid his head back and she sat down on the couch, facing him, but not right beside him in case he tried to kiss her again. “It’ll come right back up.”

His eyes fluttered closed and she wondered if he would fall asleep on her couch. At least he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit in this position. She should get him a change of shirt – he still had blood on his front. Maybe not yet. If he threw up, he’d need a clean shirt anyway.

“Hermione?” he whispered with an agonized tremor.

“Yes, Draco?”

His eyes were still shut. His jaw clenched and his Adam’s apple moved slightly. Watching while he struggled to speak, apprehension gripped her, and she held her breath. She had a feeling she wouldn’t like what he was going to say next.

“Can you stay with me tonight?”

Her heart thumped wildly. Could she? He needed support, comfort and friendship. She wasn’t sure what happened to put him in such a state and had never seen him so hurt and vulnerable. Hermione wanted to help him. She couldn’t bear seeing him so upset.

But staying the night? Did he expect her to share a bed with him? That was such a bad idea.

“I promise I won’t do anything.” He opened one eye to look at her and smirked. “Unless you want me to.”

Draco was trying to cover up how distraught he was by flirting with her, but he was in anguish all the same.

“Won’t someone notice you’re not home?”

“I just can’t… Fuck.”

He made a gurgling sound, launched himself from the couch and ran to the bathroom, knocking into a corner of the wall. Immediately, she heard the sound of him retching. At least he made it to the toilet from the sound of things.

Hermione hurried to the kitchen to get another glass of water. By the time she returned to the bathroom he had stopped heaving and was spitting bile into the toilet.

She rubbed the muscled expanse of his back and pulled some toilet paper off the roll, handing him a wad. He wiped his mouth and spat again into the toilet, flushing everything down. Worriedly, she handed him the water and he drank, swishing his mouth and spitting a few more times before drinking the rest of the water and wiping his mouth again.

Draco leaned back against the wall across from her with his legs bent, resting his arms atop his knees. He gazed at her, eyes bloodshot and glassy. All the previous playfulness and flirtation were gone. Now he was morose and exhausted.

Breathing heavily, his head lolled to the side.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what?”

He waved his hand absently. “Ministry shit. Raids. Being Crucio’d. Worrying he’ll kill my parents for something I’ve done, or… or didn’t do. Spying. War. Living.”

Hermione stared down at his large, bony bare feet and he curled his toes, cracking his joints. She hoped she wouldn’t regret her decision to stay with him, but he was hurting so badly. Draco must have come here because he didn’t trust himself to get drunk elsewhere, and he didn’t feel safe asking for help from anyone else. Not even at home.

She couldn’t abandon him at a time like this. Knowing she’d regret her decision, she cast a Patronus to relay a message to Neville, the Westchester safe house leader, that she’d be back in the morning.

Draco’s eyes widened at the appearance of her silver otter.

“He’s cute,” he said, pointing in the direction it left, momentarily distracted.

“She,” Hermione corrected.

She reached forward, grabbed his hand and he stood up with difficulty. He swayed slightly and she pressed her palm into his chest when it seemed he might careen forward into her, but he steadied himself. He was so warm. She made to remove her hand, but Draco circled his fingers gently around her wrist, keeping her palm in place.

With trepidation, she raised her gaze to his eyes and nearly trembled from the intensity she saw sparkling down at her. He took a step forward and she backed away, lest he try and kiss her again, turned around, and led him out of the bathroom.

“Come on,” she coaxed him.

Draco followed Hermione upstairs and she stopped in the doorway of the guest room looking at the queen-sized bed.

A bed.

She stared at it, acutely aware of his presence behind her, and heard – felt – his heavy breathing. Maybe he could sleep in the guest room and she could sleep in her bedroom. She wouldn’t be leaving him alone; she’d still be here. But that’s not what he meant when he asked if she could stay the night, was it?

Goosebumps spread up and down her arms. Was it possible to be both hot and cold at the same time?

“I won’t.”

She jumped and whirled around at the sound of his voice. Draco must have sensed her hesitancy, but his eyes were icy fire. Despair and heat.

He said he wouldn’t; but what if she would?

Tonks would replace her. She had no doubt.

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

She stepped backwards and nearly stumbled into the guest room. He watched her and she turned away from him, approaching the bed before she lost her nerve. She pulled back the comforter, her heart racing and slipped underneath. The sheets were cool against her arms and legs. He stayed in the doorway and leaned on the frame, staring down at her in silence.

Nervously waiting to see what he would do, Hermione chewed on her lip.

Draco stayed there gazing down at her for another minute, and then pulled his bloody T-shirt over his head, exposing his naked chest, and slipped under the covers next to her. His face nuzzled into the pillow facing her, ready to fall asleep, but he looked as if he were on the verge of crumbling. She reached out to hold his hand and he squeezed hers back in return.

“Draco? What happened tonight?”

He studied her eyes in the faint moon light coming through the window.

“I...” His throat constricted as he struggled to speak. “I’m afraid to tell you.”

“Why?”

He hesitated, seemingly unsure as to how to explain.

“You’ll hate me.” His voice was a pleading whisper. He didn’t want her to, but he thought it inevitable that she would.

“I won’t,” she insisted, but felt increasing apprehension at what he was about to confess.

Hermione had assumed he was distraught over something that had been done to him, or perhaps that he was forced to witness. With increasing concern, she realized that his anguish was due to something he himself had done.

It didn’t matter that he had changed, that he was spying, or that she had grown so attached to him that he consumed her thoughts all the time.

Draco was a Death Eater. And he had to act like one.

He studied her expression for a few moments and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed before speaking.

“We had to…” He sucked in a lungful of air and his lip trembled. “We…” He squeezed his eyes shut and wheezed while he fought to get the words out. She watched him break down before her with mounting horror, afraid to find out what had reduced him to such a state. His grip tightened around her hand, pressing the knuckles of her fingers painfully together and his body trembled as he struggled to speak. “We had to clear the dungeons. And my mother, she knew…” He gasped for breath, his voice becoming louder. “And she… And she touched…” He wasn’t able to complete his sentence and ground his teeth, shuddering before releasing an anguished cry. “I can’t stop seeing them!”

Draco covered his head with his hands and began to sob in earnest, shoulders heaving. Hermione was horrified. She wasn’t entirely clear on the details of what had happened but ‘clear the dungeons’ meant murder.

Luna, Ollivander, Hannah, Eloise, Oliver, Dawlish and Diggle.

All gone. All of them. Draco had taken part in killing them.

Her chest constricted and she began to cry with him, thinking of the last time she saw Luna, staying behind at Hogwarts for the younger children. Maybe if they would have tried harder to convince Luna to come then she’d still be alive today. Maybe Hermione could have worked harder to convince the Order to divert funds towards Portkeys. She should have insisted they drill evacuation plans prior with the Portkeys they already had. Then they’d all be alive. If only she’d made better decisions. If only she tried harder. Their lives didn’t have to end.

If only…

Hermione’s tears broke into gut wrenching sobs, echoing Draco’s own. His shoulders heaved and trembled with each agonizing cry. She pulled his head into the crook of her neck and dug her fingers into his hair. He wrapped his arms and legs around her, crushing her with his body. Her tears streamed out, dampening his hair. His tears fell and wet her throat and breasts. She trembled against him while his body shook.

Hermione didn’t know what she would do if she were given the choice of murdering someone else or watching her parents be tortured and killed. She couldn’t think about it right now.

She cried for the loss of her friends.

Draco cried for the loss of his innocence.

 

~

 

Hermione woke the next morning, face buried in Draco’s bare chest. His arm wrapped around her small frame, its heavy weight holding her flush against him. One of her legs was clamped between his thighs, and the other rested atop his knee. She was surrounded with warmth and his physical presence made her feel secure. He still smelled like alcohol, but the odor wasn’t as strong as last night. She could smell him underneath the vodka, and she slowly breathed in.

Puffs of hot air hit the top of her head, disturbing her hair.

She rubbed her eyes, removing the residue of her dried tears, and glanced down.

His erection pressed hot and hard against her hip.

Hermione had known this would happen.

Slowly, trying to move without waking him up, she attempted to extract her thigh out from between Draco’s legs while gingerly inching herself away from his chest. Slowly, his arm tightened around her and his pelvis rocked up into her hip.

“Stay.” Draco’s deep voice vibrated through her. A low pleading rumble from his chest.

She couldn’t, she knew what it would lead to. Especially after such a loss, and each of them so vulnerable. It was tempting to seek comfort in whatever form it was offered. Things were bad enough now that they had slept in the same bed together, their bodies so intimately coiled around one another.

Not having to worry about waking him up anymore, she pushed herself away from his chest and pulled her thigh while he loosened his clamp on her leg and her back. His skin slid against hers as she untangled their limbs.  

Hermione wasn’t looking forward to returning to the safe house, to being the bearer of bad news regarding the death of so many. But she had to. Hot tears threatened to fall again, and she wiped them away before they did.

Chest, arms, torso. His bare skin was everywhere. She was afraid to look up at his face. She had to leave. She had to leave. He would… or she would…

She had to leave.

Kicking off the blanket, she sat up and glanced down at Draco, her body suddenly cold from the removal of his heat. Her eyes trailed over the bare muscles of his chest and stomach. The V of his abdominals and light dusting of hair that dipped below the waistline of his trousers. His hair was tousled, and she could see the residue of tears on his face and scruffy morning stubble. But she was quite unprepared for the mixture of desire, anguish and affection in his bright grey eyes. She felt exactly the same and wondered what he saw when he looked at her.

His hand crept over to her fingers and he lightly traced the ridges of her bones with the pad of his thumb, circling her knuckles and travelling down the back of her hand.

Hermione couldn’t leave Draco like this. He needed more comfort. More support. She had friends to take solace in but he didn’t have anyone to talk to. She could cry and mourn openly. Who did he have? That’s why he came here, wasn’t it? He couldn’t express his pain over being forced to murder. He was a Death Eater. It was expected of him. He didn’t have anyone to confide in, didn’t have anyone that would understand. He wasn’t safe in his own home.

And he needed someone.

But she had to leave.

He sensed her dilemma and his hand gently tightened over hers.

“I…” She what? He gazed up at her silently, waiting for her to speak. “I can be here for you if you need me. Nobody should be alone when they’re…” When they’re what? She still didn’t completely understand what had happened, what he had been forced to do beyond murder in the general sense. She was afraid to ask and didn’t know if doing so would cause another break down. “When they’re in need.”

He was watching her, waiting for something. And his thumb moved back and forth across the back of her hand.

“But not like that, Draco.”

“Why not?” His voice was husky, and she squeezed her shoulders into her body at the memory of his bare arms and chest against her.

Why not indeed. She had reasons. She did. But she couldn’t think of a single bloody one right now with him looking at her like that in the bed where they had just slept together.

The longing ache returned: between her thighs and in her heart.

She had to leave now.

“I’m sorry, Draco. But I have to go.” She couldn’t breathe with him staring at her as if she were all that he needed. “Let me know when you have something you can share.”

She stood, releasing his hand so his arm fell to the mattress with a thud. She felt his eyes on her backside as she left him.

 

 

 

Notes:

As a Gen Xer, I had so much fun reading Smells Like Teen Spirit by CantTouchThis, so the song choice for the obligatory ‘Draco gets drunk off his ass’ scene was for her. I have never seen so many pop culture references worked into a Dramione before reading her fic. Let alone 90’s pop culture references. Teenage me LOVED Kurt Cobain. I mean Grunge!Draco.

Shampoo_ish, one of the translators to Russian made this awesome fanart. Check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

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Chapter 38: Chapter 38

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Our spy deserves the Unbreakable Vow.”

Kingsley, Minerva, Remus and Tonks stared back at Hermione across the table, but she held Kingsley’s impassive gaze. They had discussed the morale of the Order after the vigil for the murdered prisoners and had delved into Kingsley’s acquisition of funds from private donors in other countries. The meeting came to a close and Hermione didn’t want to evade the topic any longer.

She had accepted Kingsley’s reasoning for not performing the vow before, but now she suspected there were other factors at play that she didn’t understand. Draco had endangered himself for the Order, pure and simple. Kingsley knew that. His reasoning didn’t add up, so she decided to put him on the spot in front of everyone else.

Kingsley shifted in his seat without breaking eye contact. “He hasn’t yet demonstrated trust–”

“That’s not true,” Hermione countered. “He knew about the Nott raid and said nothing.”

“He himself made that point, no? It’s likely he had multiple objectives in giving you the blood. He could demonstrate trust on a minor issue as well as take out someone that was a threat to him.”

“Protect a friend,” Hermione corrected emphatically.

Kingsley waved his hand dismissively. “Semantics.”

Hermione disagreed, but let it pass.

“He also warned us about the raid,” Hermione pressed. “I’d be dead or waiting for death in a dungeon if it weren’t for him. As would Harry, Ron and everyone else at Paddington. Likely the spy was tortured for the failed raid. You-Know-Who punishes failure. That’s not a demonstration of trust?”

Kingsley shook his head. “It’s a beginning, and even then it will depend on his actions during the war.”

Hermione had a sick, sinking feeling in her gut and she glanced at Tonks, who knew that Draco had come to her after he executed the prisoners, but the Auror was no help.

Murder.

Could Draco get a pardon for murder if it was done under duress? If there was no choice? If the prisoners would be killed anyway? Didn’t those circumstances make a difference? Kingsley said he wouldn’t pardon Lucius because his crimes were too extensive. What about Draco’s?

She didn’t know. She wasn’t familiar with the legalities, but Kingsley would be.

“You have no idea what he’ll do once he achieves an Unbreakable Vow and knows my identity,” Kingsley continued. “If he decides one day that he’d rather secure his family’s standing in You-Know-Who’s army, he’ll have the means to do it. Quite easily. We can’t take that chance.”

“But he knows where You-Know-Who is,” Hermione retorted. “We could ambush him before that would become a concern.”

She looked to Tonks for help. Why wasn’t this the same as capturing the Inner Circle Death Eaters? Better even?

“And what will you do once you ambush him?” Tonks countered. “You know he can summon his army to his side instantly. We’re not entirely sure how those Dark Marks work. Neither are the Death Eaters we’ve captured, and we don’t know how to kill him. Ambushing You-Know-Who without knowing the answer to those questions isn’t a good idea.” Hermione opened her mouth but Tonks continued before she could speak, raising her finger. “At least, not right now. Even if we did somehow capture and contain him without suffering crippling losses on our side, his Death Eaters are still running the show. What then? How would we overthrow their rule with so few people?”

Hermione crossed her arms and looked to the side. The war depended on getting the Horcruxes. And they were stumped.

“You know what else, Hermione?” She glanced up to meet Tonks’ gaze. “Let’s say we do capture and contain him. I’m not even confident I’d be able to interrogate You-Know-Who at all. What then? I don’t want to risk Kingsley like that.”

Hermione exhaled in frustration. Draco’s knowledge would only be valuable once the Horcruxes were destroyed. She didn’t have any leverage to convince leadership, and neither did he.

Remus spoke for the first time. “Hermione, I’m inclined to agree with Kingsley.” She made to protest but he held up his hand. “For now at least. If he was truly dedicated to the Order he would have told you about our source of funds being compromised. It’s too early, but we can certainly revisit the issue later.” He glanced around the table and Mineva and Tonks nodded in agreement.

Hermione surveyed them. Nobody agreed with her? “But he’s changing. His motivations are changing.”

“As are yours,” Kingsley replied smoothly.

Hermione blushed furiously at Kingsley’s insinuation that she had personal reasons for her request. As if she were some emotionally charged fool who couldn’t do her job properly. She glanced at Tonks, who held her gaze but said nothing.

Did Tonks agree with his assessment of her? She couldn’t tell. Maybe she was already considering replacing her as handler. She had to be more careful at these meetings.

Angry now, Hermione narrowed her eyes at Kingsley, but controlled the emotion in her voice. He’d only use it against her.

“My motivations have not changed and I don’t appreciate you questioning my ability to do my job properly.” Kingsley didn’t react and she continued. “I’m his handler. My motivation is to ensure our spy will continue to work for us and deliver us accurate information. We’ve been benefiting from his intelligence for months. He’s keeping up his end of the bargain and his actions have just kept us in this war.” She was practically spitting her words at him. “The Order could have been finished with that last raid if not for him. He made a reasonable request for his services and put himself in danger for us.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Kingsley said, trying to mollify her. “I simply think it’s too early. If he’s truly motivated to work for us and regain our trust after breaking it, he won’t stop spying.”

Well. That was awfully convenient. Kingsley constructed a Catch-22 for Draco. He wouldn’t get an Unbreakable Vow to keep himself out of Azkaban until Kingsley trusted him. But the only way to demonstrate trust was to continue spying for the Order without the Unbreakable Vow for an indeterminate amount of time.

After watching her contemplate his reply with obvious dissatisfaction he pressed on. “Has he told you why all that effort is being targeted towards the Wizengamot?”

“He doesn’t know,” Hermione retorted.

“Are you certain of that?”

She exhaled harshly through her nostrils and stared at Kingsley. He already knew that answer. She was never sure what Draco knew and what he didn’t, and she wondered if Tonks thought that she wasn’t handling him properly because of her uncertainty. Maybe she would replace her. Not just because of her growing feelings, but because she had no sense of what Draco knew, what he was doing, or why.

“No.”

Kingsley leaned back, knowing that she had made his point for him. Per usual. She admired him to no end and knew he was an irreplaceable asset to the Order, but she hated locking horns with him.

She always lost.

“String him along,” Kingsley continued. “If he continues to be as helpful as he has been now, we can discuss whether the extent of his crimes will allow me to perform an Unbreakable Vow.”

Hermione eyed him in distrust. Kingsley wasn’t wrong, but she began to have the uneasy feeling that she was the one being strung along.

 

~

 

“What is wrong with you, Draco?” his aunt asked softly, backing him up against the wall of the foyer. Her stiletto heels clicked on the floor, echoing down the corridor. “Do you want the Dark Lord to kill your mother?”

His back hit the wall, heart thudding furiously against his ribcage as she closed in on him. Aunt Bella was terrifying. Draco had no idea what she wanted or what she was going to do and neither of his parents were home now. The tip of her wand poked into his shoulder and she dragged it down across his chest, pointing it into his hip bone. Her black eyes followed the trail of her wand and then rose to meet his, mocking.

He didn’t understand what her problem was. She was the one who instigated the whole situation to begin with. Yaxley or Mulciber or someone else would have executed the prisoners but she chose to make a show of having him, Vince, and Greg do it.

What did she think was going to happen? At least she was concerned that his mother could have died or been tortured from his failure. He hadn’t understood what she was trying to prove or why she had endangered his parents like that. Why she had winked at him before it happened, of all things.

“You set me up to fail,” he ground out, not bothering to disguise his fury.

His aunt’s black eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. “I saw how well you cursed Macnair,” she replied silkily. “You can channel your hate now. Not like before. I gave you an opportunity. The Dark Lord likes you.”

He doubted his aunt really believed that. The Dark Lord didn’t like anyone. He liked playing with people. He liked making them suffer. The Dark Lord only ‘liked’ Draco when he was screaming on the floor or when Draco was making others scream on the floor.

“Instead,” she continued, her voice a caress. “Those two idiots look more competent than you now.” She tilted her head and her long black curls dangled off to the side. “What happened?

Now he understood her confusion. She thought he was struggling with a technical aspect of the Unforgivable Curses. Not the fact that he didn’t hate those he was directing the curses at and therefore, had no hate to channel.

This was dangerous. He didn’t know what she was after now. Draco thought the Dark Lord had accepted the explanation for his failure. She must think his lack of hatred would be a problem in the future.

Would it?

Bellatrix reached up slowly to the side of his face as if to touch him. Her hand stilled, he flinched and the corner of her mouth lifted in amusement as she flicked his ear. She cackled at his reaction and her eyes bored into his, seeking the truth. Draco couldn’t fuck this up, she’d see right through him with the way she was breathing down his neck. Icy dread spread up and down his spine.

“It’s as I said,” he replied, his voice hard as steel. “They’re disgusting, but I don’t hate them. Not enough to use the Cruciatus or the Killing Curse.”

Her nostrils flared as she studied him. Draco brought to mind the squalid living conditions the Mudbloods had been living in for the past few months in the dungeons. It wasn’t enough. He thought of Alecto and the revulsion she caused.

His aunt relaxed, and then reached out and tucked a lock of his blond fringe behind his ear. He tried not to cringe. She dragged a black painted nail along the edge of his jaw, pausing below his mouth and he swallowed nervously.

“Who do you hate,” her voice lilted slightly, “Ickle Draco?”

“Alecto,” he said without thinking.

Fuck.

Draco had been focusing on Alecto to bring out feelings of disgust and her name slipped out. His heart thudded in his chest in terror and he started to sweat. He had no idea how his Aunt would feel about his confession. Now that he wasn’t a minor anymore, she didn’t seem to care that Alecto groped him all the time.

Her black eyebrows slowly rose in surprise and she lowered her hand, her stare pinning him against the wall. Draco held his breath and her red lips parted in a smile.

“Then focus on her.” She waggled her finger at him, like she was scolding a child. “No more Diffindos.”

She backed away one step and he exhaled slowly, having narrowly escaped death and torture again. Bellatrix just told him how to channel his hatred properly, even if the object of the curse wasn’t the focus. She was helping him, and had just saved his and his parents’ lives.

Bellatrix was powerful and terrifying. And she knew more than anyone else about the Dark Lord’s plans aside from the Dark Lord himself. No wonder the Order wanted to capture her. But he couldn’t betray his aunt. She was family. She was looking out for him and his mother in her own way.

But… did Draco’s choices even matter? If the Order won, she’d be back in Azkaban. Prison now or prison later. Would it make a difference whether he directly or indirectly caused her incarceration?

Draco didn’t know whether he would regret not giving the Order the plans to the Lestrange estate in the future. But now? He knew he made the right decision not to.

His aunt backed away a few more steps and her smile widened, flashing her teeth. She skipped down the corridor and called back over her shoulder gaily.

“He’ll be watch-iiiiiing.”

Draco had no doubt she would be too.

 

~

 

Draco glared down at the four Order members, all on their knees before him in the ballroom. He recognized three of them from school. One of them was Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team a few years ago. Another was a woman from his year, maybe older, he couldn’t remember which house she was from. The two of them were looking warily around, not meeting anyone’s eyes. The third was some Hufflepuff from his year. Hannah something? She clearly recognized him, and was staring up at him with more hatred than he had ever seen in anyone before.

The fourth prisoner Draco recognized as the older man he brought back from the raid. He was a bit rough for the wear and eyed Draco challengingly. It was almost as if he knew this was less about him being tortured and more about Draco’s ability to go through with it.

Once more, he was at once thankful that Hermione wasn’t taken, and worried about her fate in the future. What if he were forced to torture her? What if his aunt tortured her? What then? What would he do? He remembered her leaping up into the air over the fray. Despite her prowess in battle, it had been a close call.

“Corban,” the Dark Lord spoke to Yaxley. “Are you ready to begin the interrogation?”

His aunt stood directly behind the prisoners, arms crossed and eyebrows raised expectantly at Draco. She tapped her fingers on her upper arm. Bellatrix was right to coach him. Terrifying, but right. The Dark Lord bought his reason for not being able to kill the Mudbloods, but he was supposed to hate the Order. They were a threat to the Dark Lord himself. Failure to channel his hatred into a Cruciatus Curse when he had done so successfully with Macnair would be a death sentence for him and possibly his parents.

His aunt knew this was coming, and she saved his life. She saved his mother’s life, his father’s life, and his. He couldn’t fuck up now.

Yaxley fired off a series of questions to the four, asking for names, ranking, what they knew about the Order leadership, if anyone was spying for them, where the other safe houses were, if they were Secret Keepers or knew who else was, who was working undercover in the ministry and where Harry Potter was now. Whenever Yaxley got an answer he didn’t like, he turned to Draco.

Draco thought of Alecto, he thought of the Dark Lord, he thought of Macnair, Nott, Rowle and Dolohov. He summoned his hatred towards them all and focused it on Hannah Abbot, who was narrowing her eyes at him defiantly.

Crucio!”

The power behind his curse was overwhelming, and it worked. Just like when he tortured Macnair, the hatred emerged within him, fused with his magic, coursed through his body before overtaking him and shot out of his wand. He watched Abbot fall over on the ground with an inhuman shriek.

Draco held the curse for twenty seconds while she screamed, muscles taught, nostrils flaring, and then lowered his wand to release her. He panted and raised his eyes to his aunt. She smiled evilly in approval and licked her lips while Abbot cradled herself on the ground with a whimper.

Yaxley fired off more questions and turned to Draco.

Crucio!

It was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain screaming now.

Each time he cast, he thought of being Crucio’d by Dolohov, Macnair or the Dark Lord. Or he recalled holding Pansy while she sobbed onto his chest. Or healing Theo’s black eye. Or keeping a smirk on his face to hide his revulsion while Alecto’s hand was fondling him.

Finally, he thought of himself.

How he stood by while the Snatchers raped prisoners he later killed. How he coldly sat as if nothing was amiss, observing a teacher get eaten alive by Nagini. How he let Death Eaters into Hogwarts when he knew children would get hurt. How he sliced through the neck of the grandmother. Of the children. Of the parents. How he killed entire families clearing out the dungeons at his manor and others’ around Britain with Vince and Greg.

With each curse, it became easier to draw from those memories of pure hatred. It was powerful and dizzying and it wrapped around his limbs. It squeezed him until he let the curse loose from his wand with a gasp, unleashing his ire on the screaming body laying at his feet. He felt a part of him go cold and hollow, filling with fury and hatred towards them all.

Towards himself.

It was the opposite of a Patronus.

In a brief moment of panic, he wondered if frequent use of Unforgivable Curses was the reason Death Eaters couldn’t cast the Patronus charm, and if he’d lose the ability. Draco remembered how proud and happy Hermione had been when he finally succeeded in casting his fox. His heart swelled with the hope she gave him of a future where he would finally have control over himself and the freedom to choose what he wanted.

The curse faltered and the Dark Lord slowly turned to him, red eyes narrowed into slits.

“Do we need to bring your mother to motivate you, Draco?”

Draco’s heart thudded in his chest, and fear spread through his body at the threat.

He clenched his jaw, steeled his shoulders and thought about what a vile person he had become. The Auror, Dedalus Diggle was his name, was only here because Draco had been scared of the Dark Lord torturing him and his parents. And right now, the Auror was being tortured by Draco. He could have left him unconscious at the safe house.

Dedalus Diggle. It was important to remember his name.

“Of course not, my Lord.”

The Dark Lord sensed his disgust, revulsion and hate, and smiled.

Crucio!

Draco’s deep voice boomed off the walls and floor. The Auror rolled over on the ground with an agonized yell, his fingers digging into the tiled floor. Over the next hour, Draco realized he didn’t even have to summon the memories anymore. He was able to tap into his hatred without thought while his muscles flexed and thrummed with power. He could feel his self-loathing coiling around his bones and seeping into his joints and sinews. Each time he cast, his body was overwhelmed with strength and the potential to do violence. Each time he felt he could barely contain it, could barely keep the power within him, the curse burst out of his wand and pummeled his victim.

The force of his hatred infused with magic was dizzying. He could see the appeal the Unforgivable Curses had and why his aunt and so many others looked forward to using the Cruciatus.

It felt good.

 

~

 

Draco sat on his bed, alone in his room, breathing quietly.

He was cold. Not physically cold, but he felt something akin to an icy frost growing inside him. Shards and crystals had embedded within his muscles, his joints, his tendons and his bones with each successive curse. It steeled him, made him feel strong and unbreakable.

The Dark Lord was pleased with him. Aunt Bella was pleased with him. Yaxley was impressed, appreciating the rhythm they had generated while working together during the interrogation. Draco’s parents would be safe. He could perform, and perform well with little difficulty.

He and his father were tightening the Dark Lord’s hold on the Ministry. The Malfoys were slowly regaining their standing within the Dark Lord’s army. Today, Draco had stared directly into the Dark Lord’s eyes and held his gaze while thinking of Hermione. He had focused directly into his Aunt’s eyes while scared out of his wits.

Neither one had a clue as to what he was doing with the Order. Draco’s mind was as guarded as a vault at Gringotts.

And now it was deathly silent in his room. The sole sound was his breathing, and the screams of the four Order members only echoes in his memory.

The Auror tried to protect the younger Order members with his answers and his taunting and took the brunt of the cursing. Draco couldn’t understand how he withstood it all. Even with Draco’s fuck ups and the failed raids, he had never been cursed for as long as that Auror was cursed today. The sounds he made were… inhuman.

Draco swallowed, still barely able to believe he had done that to a human being. Torturing Macnair hadn’t come close.

He stared down at his wand and rolled the wood between his fingers. He had damaged himself irreparably. He could feel it. He had tapped into a part of himself that he didn’t know existed, and it scared him. He wondered if he’d still be able to cast his Patronus. He almost didn’t want to try, for fear that it wouldn’t work anymore.

What would Hermione think if he couldn’t?

Draco had to know. He had to try.

He closed his eyes and thought of the first time he flew on a broom, just like she had suggested. Adrenaline pumping through his body as he realized he could fly and he would be good at it. The pride in his father’s face as he watched. Draco tried to remember that feeling of exhilaration and endless possibility. Of triumph and heady excitement. Of the absolute freedom that he could go anywhere and do anything.

Some of the ice melted.

He remembered the look in Hermione’s eyes when he cast his Patronus, and how happy she had been for him. The cold seeped out of his body. His lips lifted as he remembered her secret smile when she played ‘We Won’t Get Fooled Again’ after their debate about blood status, and later pulling the popcorn out of her hair at the Cineplex. He felt the beginnings of warmth within. Draco recalled the slight tremor in her voice when she said she’d remove his Dark Mark if she could. The warmth spread at the memory and he exhaled. He thought of her in Trafalgar Square with the pigeons flying around them, when she told him how much that day meant to her. He remembered the way she looked down at him when he was drunk and she healed his hand. The way she looked at him after she woke up in his arms.

Memories of pure happiness, pure hope. And the freedom to choose it when this was all over.

Draco could have a future after all this.

Inhaling deeply, he opened his eyes and whispered the charm. His voice was soft, a plea.

Expecto Patronum.”

Draco could have cried when his silvery fox burst out of his wand and bounced around his bedroom. The fox cast his dark room in brilliant light and he watched it wordlessly for a few moments before dispelling the charm. He dropped his wand to the floor with a thud and clutched his head in his hands, releasing a shuddering sob.

It was still there.

He wasn’t completely gone and still had a future. The Order was fighting the Dark Lord and he was helping. Hermione was working on getting him and his parents a pardon. They could escape this madness. His life wouldn’t be death, rape and torture followed by Azkaban.

All he needed to do was hold out for a little longer.

And then Draco would be free.

 

 

 

Notes:

Next up? Sexy interrogation.

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Chapter 39: Chapter 39

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

April 1998

Hermione gripped the edge of the table as she deflected the mental assault and showed memories of a snowball fight with Harry and Ron. Everything pertaining to Draco and the Horcruxes was safely locked away, as was the location of her parents, some Order plans and Kingsley’s involvement. For all intents and purposes, there was no way to know that those memories were concealed in her mental library, let alone that they even existed. Her mentor slid by her memories and she deftly lay others exposed for perusal, shifting the piles of books and laying herself bare. Seemingly exposed, but tightly guarded. There wasn’t even a hint that she was hiding anything.

After a while the search stopped, and her mentor laid back with a satisfied smile across her red lips and Hermione exhaled a breath in relief. These lessons always left her knackered.

“Well done. You’ve mastered Occlumency.” The older witch tapped her chin with a red painted nail and peered at Hermione in thought.

After all these sessions, this unknown woman knew Hermione better than she knew herself. She witnessed her fears, her sorrows, her worries and the happiest moments in her life. In the beginning, Hermione would frequently leave her lessons a quivering mess of tears. But now that she had grasped the ability to mask and even repress her emotions, fatigue was the only after effect.

“You’re completely exhausted,” she observed, twisting a gold ring on her finger.

“I am,” Hermione agreed.

“Perfect.” She raised an eyebrow.

Without warning, her mentor extracted the memory of Hermione watching herself disappear from the photographs in her house. She knew it was one of Hermione’s saddest memories, if not the saddest one, and went right to where she knew the location of her parents’ and their new identities were hidden. Hermione retained a physically impassive exterior although a despairing sadness persisted within her which she had no doubt her mentor could feel. After a few moments of holding out, her teacher broke through and reached her parents’ new names and location.

Hermione’s face fell. She failed when it came down to masking and controlling her emotions.

Again.

“To be fair,” the older woman said, “I knew exactly where to look and what to look for because I’ve already found those memories in the past. I don’t think someone else would have been able to.”

“Really?” The hope was palpable in Hermione’s voice.

“Really,” her mentor assured her. “But war is not fair. We’ll try again next time, but with external pressures. You’re ready for that now.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in fear, remembering how Draco had tested her ability to lie and mask her emotions. “What kind of external pressures?”

“Pain,” she answered casually. “But I think you can handle it. Maybe two or three more lessons and we should be done.”

Hermione choked, recalling Draco’s comment regarding how an interrogation would really take place.

Torture.

“You’re going to Crucio me?” she asked in horror.

The woman looked offended and she brushed a lock of shiny black hair behind her shoulders. “Of course not. I’ve spent so much time in your head it would almost be like trying to Crucio my own flesh and blood. I wouldn’t be able to.”

“Oh,” Hermione replied, much relieved, but still wary about what kind of pain would be inflicted on her. And then she felt a surge of warmth for this mysterious woman who had just admitted that she cared for her.

Even if she was somewhat terrifying.

Very terrifying.

“Hermione.” The woman’s voice was low.

“Yes?” Hermione felt a rush of adrenaline.

Her teacher had never spoken her name before. She wanted their meetings to remain as anonymous as possible. However, even though the older witch told Hermione not to introduce herself, she would know her identity after being so long in her head. She would have known who Hermione was after being in the same room with her for less than a minute. Hermione knew exactly how good a Legilimens her teacher was.

The woman rested her chin in her hand and studied her for a few moments. Hermione had spent many hours with those light brown eyes boring into hers. Her penetrating gaze was as unsettling now as it was the day of her first lesson.

“I think you’re correct. Harry Potter is an accidental Horcrux and needs to be killed after you destroy the cup, the diadem and Nagini. Preferably by You-Know-Who himself. Oftentimes there is a symmetry to magic.”

Hermione felt like she had been whacked up the side of the head with a sledgehammer. Her mentor never discussed her memories. And of all memories to discuss, she chose the day Hermione read Fractured Souls. She had been hoping that she was mistaken in her research, but had no one to discuss her theories with.

“I’m sorry,” her mentor continued, genuinely. “I know what he means to you.”

A tear fell from Hermione’s eye and she wiped it away with a sniffle. “Thank you, I didn’t have anyone to talk about that with.”

Her mentor kept staring at her. “You need help locating the Horcruxes and don’t have anyone to ask about that either. Sometimes I wonder what Dumbledore was thinking, entrusting the three of you with such a critical task and no one to help.”

Hermione had thought about that too. But now someone knew. They weren’t alone.

“Are you going to help us?”

Hermione still had no idea who this woman was or what she did when she wasn’t reading minds, but it was heartening to have an older and more experienced person than she, Harry and Ron, that was aware of their mission, and could advise them appropriately.

“I will. But I was going to suggest someone else. Someone on the inside.”

“Who?” Hermione asked, curious as to the identity of the person.

“Draco.”

Hermione sat back in surprise. “Draco? But I can’t trust–”

“I understand his conflict between giving you information and endangering his parents, but you can trust him with this.” She sat back and watched Hermione process the information. “Aside from that, he is a much better Occlumens than you are. Perhaps as good as Severus. No one will be able to pry the information out of him. Not even me.”

Hermione blinked. She was dying to know who her mentor was.

“How do you know all this?”

Her teacher smirked. “I told you before, I’m good with secrets.”

 

~

 

Draco studied the picture of the Hufflepuff cup in the books describing artifacts of the Four Founders of Hogwarts. Hermione sat next to him on her bed while he scrutinized the details of the ancient goblet. His long fingers curled under the page in thought and Hermione watched the motion.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at her that morning in her parents’ guest room. Recalling how it felt to be cradled against him with his arms and legs wrapped around her body, she shivered. Sitting down next to him on the bed was a mistake. Their thighs and the skin of their upper arms were touching and she felt like her whole body was heating up while he gazed at the book in thought, racking his memory. The ache between her legs wouldn’t go away. She should return to her desk chair. They were too physically close.

“And you need this why?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He stared at the picture of the cup for a few moments longer, pushing his tongue into his cheek in thought. Her eyes flicked up to the side of his face. His brows were furrowed in concentration and some blond hair fell forward, blocking her view. He ran a hand through his hair and it flopped right back down in front of his eyes. She wanted to run her hands through it, remembering how soft it was when he was sobbing against her chest.

After a few more seconds he sighed in frustration. “You’re not giving me much to work with, Hermione. If I knew something about its purpose, I might be able to figure out where it would be.”

She glanced to the side, considering what she could tell him. “It’s important to You-Know-Who. More important than anything or anyone. More important than the war even. He wouldn’t want anybody to know about it and would need a safe place to keep it. Someplace permanent, from before the First Wizarding War. That’s all I can say.”

“Someone’s vault then,” Draco answered with a shrug, as if it were obvious. “He doesn’t have his own.”

“Well,” Hermione explained. “That might be so, but the other objects we’ve found weren’t hidden in vaults.”

“Where were they?” he asked, curious.

She thought back to her Legilimency mentor. If anyone would know whether or not Draco could be trusted, it would be her. Someone who had been privy to his thoughts and feelings at some point. With a start she realized she was… jealous of her mentor. That the older woman would know and understand Draco more intimately than Hermione did, and she shoved those feelings to the side. Finding the Horcruxes was more important, and Hermione, Draco’s handler, couldn’t get romantically involved with her spy.

“One was with your father.” Draco’s eyebrows rose at this news. “It was a diary,” Hermione continued. “It could have been in your vault, we don’t know. But considering what your father did with it during second year, it probably wasn’t. Another object was hidden in the Gaunt’s old house, just among the ruins. One was hidden in a place he would go to as a child when he stayed in the Muggle orphanage. However, there were traps set in place to guard it.” She looked up at him. His face was too close to hers and she turned her head to talk to the open book page. “We think one may be at Hogwarts, and maybe another with someone else he trusted implicitly. Like he trusted your father.”

Draco scoffed. “I don’t know how much he trusts my father anymore. We’re always a hair’s breadth away from being killed.”

“So you don’t know where this might be kept?”

He shook his head. “If you want to keep something safe you lock it in a vault in Gringotts. I can check ours.”

He leaned forward to squint at the details of the cup and the warm skin of his arm brushed against hers. His forearm hair was soft and tickled. She tucked her hands between her legs, wondering if moving away from him would just bring attention to the fact that they were sitting so close to each other, and make the tension worse.

“That would be helpful but I doubt he’d entrust your father with two of these.”

“If you think it’s with someone he would trust, it would either be Aunt Bella or…” he paused, considering his answer. “Probably Aunt Bella.”

They needed to talk about honesty and him holding back on her, but Hermione was making progress and didn’t want to derail it right now. She reached across him, her fingers grazing his wrist, and flipped the pages until she reached the picture of Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem.

“What about this one?” she asked.

Draco’s eyes suddenly widened.

“You’ve seen this?” Her voice rose in excitement.

“Yes,” he said, amazed at recognizing something the Order needed so badly. “It’s in the Room of Hidden Things. I…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I spent a lot of time there in sixth year.” The silence became awkward as they both remembered the night he allowed Death Eaters into the castle.

“Draco,” Hermione said softly. “What you’re doing now, it changes things. It changes you. You’ve already changed.”

He swallowed and didn’t answer immediately. “I know. But I’m still doing…” He took a deep breath and started again. “There are things that... that I don’t know how not to do. I can’t pose as a Death Eater without actually being a Death Eater.”

Without thinking, she threaded her fingers through his to show him that she understood and that she cared. Hermione couldn’t imagine how she would deal with the ethical quandaries presented to him. He squeezed her hand back and rubbed the underside of her wrist with his thumb. She saw his Adam’s apple move while still staring at the book. Not wanting him to break down again, she returned to his discovery.

“Alright,” she said, encouraged by his discovery. They identified a Horcrux and its location. Her Legilimency mentor was absolutely right. She, Harry and Ron needed to get out of their bubble if they wanted to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes. “So I’ll go to Hogwarts and–”

“No,” Draco cut her off, turning towards her. “Don’t put yourself in danger. I can make an excuse to go without raising suspicion. I’ll get it for you.”

She glanced up at him in surprise at the protective tenor of his voice. But she shouldn’t have. Draco was already facing her. Hermione was already too close to him, sitting on her bed together and holding his hand. Her lips parted at the desire in his grey eyes and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Before she could voice a protest his mouth was on hers, muffling her whimper. She heard the book thud to the floor, forgotten, and his fingers splayed across the side of her neck and up her jaw. Shuddering, he inhaled through his nose as his lips molded to hers. The heat and desire coursing throughout her body was immediate. It was so unlike kissing Ron. She could hear and feel Draco’s want for her like it was a corporeal entity in and of itself, ready to consume them both. She opened her mouth wider and his tongue instantly slid inside, swiping her teeth, reaching out, hungry for contact. He moaned and the sound vibrated all the way down to her core.

Draco leaned into her, his hard body forcing her down onto the mattress. His hand released hers, immediately moving to her waist and sliding under the fabric of her shirt. She gasped into his hot mouth and he pressed his fingers into her midriff and her ribs. The warm ache between her legs became a fiery demand as he shifted his position without breaking their kiss. His nose rubbed against the side of hers as he devoured her mouth from different angles. Hermione whimpered and he crawled on top of her, briefly abandoning her torso to lift her legs to the bed and settling his body atop hers.

It was all so fast, and she could barely process what he was doing through the muddled haze of lust. They had been dancing around the tension between them and now it exploded. Hermione inhaled through her nose and cupped his face, feeling his jaw move as he swallowed her mouth. She tried to lift his face up so she could stop things before they went any further, but Draco was so intent on deepening the kiss that he didn’t notice. He broke off the kiss and moved his lips down to the side of her throat that his fingers weren’t holding, and slid his thigh in between her legs.

Hermione arched her back and moaned at the jolt of pleasure when his thigh made contact at her juncture and at the sensations his lips and tongue made on her neck. His pelvis rocked into her hips and she felt how hard he was. He rubbed himself on her and moaned into her neck.

It had to stop.

She would be replaced if it continued, and whoever replaced her would just pump him for information. The Order would use him like a tool – just like Voldemort was. They wouldn’t care like she did, they wouldn’t advocate for his pardon. They wouldn’t be his friend when he needed, and wouldn’t hold and comfort him while he struggled. And if she was replaced, Tonks wouldn’t let her see him anymore, would she? Hermione would only complicate the relationship with the new handler. Maybe they’d lose him completely as a spy. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Draco,” she called his name breathlessly while he groaned into her neck, his body slowly shifting and rubbing and writhing on top of hers. “Draco, stop. We can’t.”

He lifted his head from her throat and gazed down at her, breath ragged. His face was flushed and his grey eyes dark with longing.

“Why?” His whisper was low and husky and his lips brushed against hers.

Hermione felt the tension within him. He was struggling to hold himself still. If she so much as breathed too heavily his mouth would be on hers and that would be it. There would be no stages of petting and touching and pushing past limits; it was all or nothing. She knew she would give herself to him if they continued kissing.

She desperately wanted to, she had never felt a desire so overwhelming before.

“They’ll replace me with someone else. If I… If we…” She couldn’t form words with him looking at her like that. As if he would ravage her at any moment if she wasn’t careful. “If I can’t be objective.”

Hermione wondered if she had lost that ability already. If it was too late. It wasn’t just lust she felt towards him. She knew that, and Tonks would see right through her. She never Occluded at Order meetings, and she shouldn’t. She needed Tonks’ guidance.

Draco’s hooded eyes gazed down at her silently and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. He shifted his stare to her lips and back to her eyes again. He was probably wondering whether she had already lost her objectivity as well. His fingers were still under her shirt, gingerly rubbing the lines of her ribs. She squeezed her thighs together around his leg to ease the ache.

His thumb caressed back and forth across the bones of her cheek and jaw. “How can I keep you?”

“Keep me?” she repeated, her heart twisted in her chest at the possessiveness of his words.

He nodded slowly while his fingers trailed along her ribs. So close to her breast. She didn’t want to manipulate his emotions in this way but he had all but told her to do so.

The hard length of him pressed into her leg and twitched. It was so close to where she wanted it to be, between her legs. Inside her. She fingered the fabric of his shirt over his shoulders.

“Tell me what’s going on.” She had to clear her throat to continue speaking. “Tell me why you’re holding back.”

Draco studied her expression and licked his lips.

“Because some information would lead to the death or torture of myself or my parents.”

She knew that already.

His fingers splayed along her midriff and his thumb inched closer her breast, stroking the skin underneath her shirt. He could slip his fingers underneath her bra so easily. Push the fabric up. Press. Grope. Stroke. She wanted him to, she wanted him to touch her everywhere. She was afraid she’d combust for want of his hands on her body.

Draco’s grey eyes studied her. Waiting. Just waiting for the slightest signal that she would give in. Hermione was afraid to move.

“Can you…” she could barely breathe with him staring at her like that. Laying atop her. “Instead of telling me that you don’t know, tell me that instead. For that reason. There’s a difference and I need you to be honest with me.”

His thumb moved back and forth below her breast. Tingles of pleasure spread out from his touch, down through her core. She bit back a moan. His thumb was so close. And closer. It grazed the fabric of her bra and she shivered.

“Alright.”

Draco shifted his weight and his thigh moved slightly against her crotch. She flushed and inhaled sharply at the contact. The tip of his tongue appeared between his lips as he watched her.

“Just now. There was someone else that you were about to say You-Know-Who trusted besides Bellatrix.”

He studied her, considering how to answer. Hermione didn’t know if he was going to lie to her or not.

“I don’t want to betray them.”

Draco’s fingers increased their pressure on her skin. She struggled not to move. Not to react. But she couldn’t. His thumb rubbed the soft flesh over the fabric of her bra and she bit her lip, nearly whimpering.

Hermione composed herself and spoke. “But this person is not your mother or your father.”

He continued rubbing the skin around her ribs, back and forth. Achingly close to her breast. His other hand cradled her jaw.

“No,” he spoke in a low, soft voice.

Draco’s face was right above hers, his lips only centimeters away. She had been breathing so shallowly during their conversation because he was laying on top of her. She was afraid to make any sudden movements for fear of what they might result in. But she needed to breathe. She inhaled deeply and her breasts pushed up against his chest causing his fingers to slide along her skin with the movement.

His fingers tensed, and trembled slightly. He wasn’t removing them, but he wasn’t pushing past the boundaries she set either. Then his fingers slid closer to her breast again when she exhaled, perhaps wondering when she would stop him.

“You know where You-Know-Who is but you won’t tell me. You don’t need to find out, you already know.”

The hand cupping her jaw slide up to play with her curls near her temple. Hermione kept her hands on his shoulders. Struggling with the need to feel his body and draw him into her, and the knowledge that she had to push him away.

“That’s right,” he whispered.

She resumed with her questions, his fingers still splayed on her midriff. They could slide up towards her breast where his thumb had teased, or travel downward under the waist of her trousers, reaching between her legs. But they stayed, stroking, pressing, leaving hot trails and taunting her with possibility.

“You knew where Luna and Ollivander were before they were killed with the rest of the prisoners. But you didn’t tell me.”

Draco sucked in a breath, he seemed conflicted about her statement, probably because he had participated in their murder. He studied her expression, and while she waited for him to answer, he shifted his hips with a sigh. “Yes.”

“The bill that you’re trying to pass with the Wizengamot. You really don’t know what it’s for?”

He answered more quickly this time, and rested his fingers across her forehead. “I’ve tried to figure it out. I don’t know and I can’t ask.”

She bit her lip and his eyes watched her mouth. “Have you heard anything about Brockton Bridge and Wembley Stadium?”

His gaze snapped back up to hers. “Where are they?”

“London.”

His body was so hot, hard and heavy atop her.

“I haven’t heard anything, but I’ll let you know if I do.” His answer seemed genuine.

“The Inner Circle,” Hermione continued. His pelvis rocked into her thigh ever so slightly and she swallowed her moan before it left her throat. His cock was against her hip under the fabric of his trousers. She wanted to know what it would feel like inside her. “You only gave me some names, but you know more.”

He shifted his weight again over her, his thigh rubbing the juncture between her legs again. Seemingly unable to stop himself, he made slow little rocking motions against her hip, rubbing himself against her and his eyes fluttered closed. She didn’t know if he was doing it intentionally or unintentionally but the friction at her juncture was driving her mad. He opened his eyes again.

“I can’t give you everyone. Depending on how the Order uses that information, it could lead back to me. Or my parents.”

“So why did you give me the ones you did?”

Draco furrowed his brow, struggling with his answer. His hand went slack, and stopped teasing her skin. He seemed to deflate, and just like that, the tension between them was gone. Curious, Hermione wondered why this was so difficult for him. Was he afraid she’d think less of him?

“The Lestranges you already knew.”

He paused. Unsure how to continue. She held her breath, waiting.

“Rowle was raping Pansy.”

“Oh my god,” she said softly. Tonks was absolutely right. He was protecting those closest to him.

“Nott senior has been beating Theo for as long as I can remember.”

She watched him, fascinated.

“Macnair was after my mother. He’s been looking for an excuse to get rid of my father. And me. Dolohov hated me, you already know that. He resented that my father never went to Azkaban after the First Wizarding War with him and took his anger out on me. After everything that happened in the Department of Mysteries, I was an easy target.”

She swallowed. “And that’s why you told me about the Veritaserum? So we’d have to torture him?”

“Yes.”

He stopped and peered down at her. Unwilling to continue.

“What about the Carrows?” she prodded him.

“She…” Draco’s mouth flattened into a line while shame and revulsion darkened his features.

Something crumpled inside Hermione as she realized what he was about to say. There was so much physical and sexual assault within Voldemort’s army. She simply couldn’t understand why people would willingly subject themselves to this treatment, or allow their children to join, no matter what their beliefs on blood purity.

Draco pushed himself off of her and her body felt cold from his absence. He sat up and silently stared at the floor while she pulled herself up, sitting cross-legged next to him.

“She’s done things to you?” Hermione asked tentatively.

He didn’t answer and hung his head. His blond hair fell forward, hiding his expression, but his silence was confirmation enough.

“But you never gave us the plans to her estate.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Someone figured out I was behind the disappearances. I had to stop.”

Draco had used the Order to protect those he loved. But he had ensured the safety of everyone else first, saving his own predator for last. And now he couldn’t get rid of her. Hermione put a comforting hand on his thigh but he didn’t react.

“Why didn’t that person turn you in?”

He glanced at her. “I’m not sure, actually.”

“And you won’t tell me who this is.”

He shook his head silently. Of course not. She understood him. He was loyal to those he loved; to those who went out of their way for him.

“Is this the other person You-Know-Who trusts implicitly?” He didn’t want to tell her the name. It must be the same person.

“Hermione,” he said, his voice hardening into a warning.

“Is it Snape?” She pressed on.

It must be.

Snape had killed Dumbledore, who was the only wizard that You-Know-Who was afraid of. He had pretended to be a spy all these years and then delivered the death blow to the Order when it mattered. Those actions would have raised him greatly in Voldemort’s esteem, making him one of the few that Voldemort would trust so implicitly. But Snape had also protected Draco. He killed Dumbledore when Draco could not, and ensured he could leave the castle safely, avoiding the fall out.

“Stop it,” he ground out. Angry that Hermione had figured it out.

It was Snape. He was protecting his parents, his friends, and Snape. And then Snape figured out Draco was using the Order to take out Inner Circle members and didn’t turn him in. It made perfect sense, and Draco wouldn’t want the Order anywhere near him.

But why would Snape not turn in a spy?

“Alright,” she whispered.

Completely stunned, her thoughts returned to the bomb he just dropped.

Alecto Carrow had been sexually assaulting him this whole time. Hermione didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t help him.

“Will that be enough?” Draco asked, turning his head slightly towards her. He sounded exhausted from his confession.

“Enough for what?” Hermione didn’t know what to offer him right now and felt absolutely terrible. The Order was using him. She was using him. He was being abused and she was using him.

“To keep you.”

The beginnings of tears formed in her eyes and she willed them away. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his forearm, her fingers curled around gently pressing into his skin.

“I don’t know,” she replied, and he stared at her.

She had a feeling that it was too late with Tonks, and that nothing would ever be enough for Kingsley. So many emotions were playing across his grey eyes, she couldn’t identify any of them. She spoke again, her voice trembling. “You protected everyone else first.”

Draco didn’t answer, wordlessly returning his morose gaze to the floor. She couldn’t imagine all the horrors he was facing while serving in Voldemort’s Army, but he was giving her a glimpse.

“Can you stay with me for a while?”

Hermione knew that sex was the last thing on his mind right now. He simply didn’t want to be alone after telling her about the terrible things he dealt with while serving in Voldemort’s army. He wanted comfort. That was something she could give, and she desperately wanted to. She felt so guilty for how the Order was using him.

“Yes, of course.”

She leaned back down on the bed and drew him towards her, cradling his head in the nape of her neck. He tightened his arms around her, and sighed against her skin.

 

 

~

 

“You’re falling for him.”

It wasn’t a question because Tonks already knew the answer. She should have known this was coming. Kingsley had also hinted as much during their last leadership meeting.

Her gaze pinned Hermione to the kitchen chair and she broke under it, staring down at the ridges of the table. Tonks didn’t need Legilimency for most interrogations. She knew how to zero in on what she wanted.

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes.”

It didn’t matter that she had prevented anything sexual from happening last night. As Tonks had told her before, you can’t help what you feel. Either it is or it isn’t. And she was falling for Draco Malfoy. Maybe she already had.

How could she not?

Tonks voice held steady, delivering to Hermione the inevitable consequences. “You know what this means.”

Tonks would replace her.

Hermione wouldn’t be objective. Her judgement wouldn’t be sound. There would be difficult decisions to make and she might prioritize him instead of the Order. She already felt terribly for stringing him along with the promise of a pardon for his father that would never come. And she had no idea if Kingsley would even give one to Draco. She was betraying him deeply, hurting him on purpose even with everything he was putting himself through.

And he was being sexually assaulted on top of everything.

Could she continue to betray him like this for the sake of the Order? She didn’t know. Much as she hated to admit it, and didn’t want to be replaced, and didn’t want to abandon Draco, Tonks was right to remove her. Hermione couldn’t blame her for doing her job. In Tonks’ position, she would have done the same.

Except for one thing.

Hermione raised her eyes to Tonks’. They were dark blue today. “But you can’t.”

“Oh?” Tonks face hardened in anger.

She didn’t mean for her words to come out like a command, but they did. While she had a literal and figurative seat at the table with the senior Order leadership and they frequently made use of her ideas, she was considerably younger than them, and had far less experience. Hermione had never spoken that way to Tonks before. Even more so when she was out of her area of expertise, which included being Draco’s handler. Dealing with spies was what Tonks had experience in.

She steeled herself and explained with a note of contrition in her voice. Hoping that her genuine regret would ease Tonks’ irritation.

“Because he’s helping me, Ron and Harry now with our mission.”

Tonks leaned forward slightly, studying her as Hermione would a complex Arithmancy problem. She narrowed her eyes.

“That’s awfully convenient, Hermione,” Tonks finally spoke.

“I know what it looks like,” Hermione admitted, somewhat insulted that Tonks took her for some flighty lovesick fool that would endanger them all just for the chance to see her boyfriend. “But the suggestion was made by my Occlumency mentor.” Tonks face twisted at the memory of Kingsley not helping her when she needed. “My mentor knew we were struggling with the mission, that we were stuck. And… my mentor was right. He’s helped already.”

Tonks was still furious with Kingsley after all this time. Hermione would be as well. If she had been cornered into the position of having to torture only to find out there was another option available, she’d still harbor resentment.

On the other hand, she understood Kingsley’s reasoning. Not relying on a Legilimens forced them to find a solution to the Veritaserum and led to the discovery of the implant.

There were no good decisions to be made at their level. Someone would always suffer from the lesser of the two evils.

Andromeda entered the kitchen holding a crying baby Teddy. “I’m sorry to interrupt but I think he wants to be nursed, Dora. Should I come back?”

“No, it’s fine.” Tonks stood up, giving Andromeda a bright smile, took Teddy from her mother and sat back down, glaring icily at Hermione. “Thanks, mum,” she called back in a voice far too cheery for the unwavering angry gaze focused on Hermione.

Hufflepuffs.

Hermione waited while Tonks situated herself, levitating a blanket over her shoulder and the baby for privacy. She spoke a few motherly words, pacifying him while his cries quickly turned into contented suckling sounds.

Tonks glared at Hermione again.

“And how would your mentor know that you could trust Draco with something you don’t even trust us with?” She spat the word ‘mentor’ as if it were something dirty and continued her interrogation without missing a beat. Nursing her son hadn’t deterred her in the slightest.

Hermione raised her gaze from the blanket to Tonks. She was hurt that she didn’t know what the Trio was up to. Hermione remembered Remus telling her to Obliviate him after he accidentally saw their work on Horcruxes. She wondered if he was angry about it now that he didn’t know. McGonagall had simply accepted the fact that Dumbledore wanted it to remain a secret.

Who was her mentor? How did Kingsley know her? And how did she know Draco well enough to be so sure he could be trusted with something like this? Hermione had taken a leap of faith in learning Occlumency from her at Kingsley’s behest, and she had taken a leap of faith in trusting Draco with part of the knowledge of their mission.

Everything seemed to work out, but Hermione didn’t like unanswered questions.

Kingsley…

She wondered if her mentor shared the details of their lessons with Kingsley or if she kept them a secret as implied. Maybe Kingsley had even discussed trusting Draco with the Horcruxes with her mentor. In which case, Kingsley knew he could be trusted and was acting upon it.

He probably was. Kingsley valued information more highly than any other commodity and her mentor was a living, breathing gold mine.

A fury at the injustice of being lied to bubbled within her. The more she thought about Kingsley, the angrier she got. No wonder Tonks was still bitter. He had played both of them. And Draco.

And what of Draco?

She brought her focus back on Tonks’ question.

How did her mentor know that Draco could be trusted?

Hermione had thought about that question ever since her mentor first suggested it, but came up with nothing. She was no more knowledgeable now about her mentor’s identity than she had been when she first met her. She lifted her gaze to Tonks.

“I honestly don’t know.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Next up - Draco goes to Hogwarts.

Art by the amazing Irina Kulish

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Chapter 40: Chapter 40

Notes:

You know who's at Hogwarts, there is a trigger warning associated with this chapter. Check the chapter end notes for details if you need to.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Accio diadem!”

Several metal crown-like pieces of jewelry decorated with baubles and patterns ranging from the delicate to gaudy, and from the complex to simple, flew at Draco from around the room. Thankful for having played as a Seeker for so many years, he holstered his wand and caught them quickly with both hands, dropping them to the floor once his hands were full in order to catch more.

After the last of the diadem-like objects in the Room of Hidden Things whizzed towards him, he looked down at a pile of about thirty. He kicked the mess with his boot, spreading them out to the sounds of clinking and scraping on the stone floor. None of them resembled the picture Hermione had showed him. He squatted down, robe fanning out, and picked them up, one by one, turning them over and tossing them to the side.

None of them. Not a single sodding one.

Of fucking course it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing involving Hermione was.

Exhaling in frustration, he stalked back to the thrice damned Vanishing Cabinet and tried to remember where he had seen the Ravenclaw diadem. Perhaps if he walked around the stacks he’d remember. He closed his eyes, ran his hand through his hair and tried to recall. Suddenly it came to him. He walked to his left with purpose. Draco made the first right, nearly knocking over a pile of books and turned to face the ugly warlock bust sitting atop an old desk.

Finally.

Carefully, he lifted the diadem off of the bust and placed it in the pocket of his robes. Almost at once, a sinister, evil presence settled around him, tiny tendrils pricking at the edge of his mind. Whatever this object was, he would be glad to rid himself of it.

Draco strode back to the entrance of the room, eager to leave the castle as soon as possible. His boots clomped heavily on the stone floors as he quickly made his way down the fifth floor corridor and descended the stairs. He turned towards the hallway leading to the castle entrance when the long wavy red hair of Alecto Carrow appeared as she stepped outside a doorway ten feet in front of him.

Sodding, buggering, fuck.

He abruptly halted and cursed his luck. Why was she even out? Severus had assured him that she taught classes now and wouldn’t be wandering around the hallways. Maybe her classes had ended early.

Her eyebrows rose in delight and she sauntered over to him, swaying her hips.

Draco!” she called out with a smile spreading on her red lips. “How wonderful that you came to visit! A shame you didn’t tell me.” She neared him and it took everything he could not to back away and plaster himself against the wall. Alecto crowded into his space and licked her lips.

Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to keep their bodies from touching. “Last minute business with Severus,” he spoke with a twinge of regret. “Couldn’t be helped. I know how busy the faculty is here, having to respond to directives from the Ministry.”

A throaty laugh left her throat and she ran her hand over his upper arm, squeezing his bicep. “I would have cleared some time for you,” she smiled seductively at him.

“Perhaps a raincheck then,” he said with a conspiratorial wink. “I have some urgent matters to attend to back at the Manor.”

Undeterred, Alecto slid her fingers underneath his forearms, forcing him to uncross them and ran her hands over his abdomen under his robe, unabashedly fingering the lines of his muscles and pressing her body against him.

Draco wanted to be anywhere but here. He’d rather be Crucio’d. It was more painful, but it ended sooner.

“Such a good soldier you are.” Her dark eyes peered up at him lecherously. “But if the Dark Lord isn’t calling you, it can’t really be urgent.” One hand snaked down across his upper thigh and over his cock. The other reached around his waist to grab his arse. She rubbed his front and he bucked involuntarily into her hand, quickly becoming hard. She smirked triumphantly. “If you’re truly in a hurry, I’m sure a man your age doesn’t need very long.”

The familiar taste of bile entered his mouth whenever Alecto was near him and he placed his hands on her shoulders, mind racing as to how he could talk his way out of her clutches. Draco backed up a step and she pressed him against the tapestry covered wall. The back of his head hit the cloth.

She raised herself on her tiptoes to lick the skin of his neck and pressed her hand over his erection, slowly rubbing him up and down. His fingers curled around her shoulders while he tried to figure out how to delicately push her away.

“There are children here, Alecto,” he chuckled, still feeling nauseous. Her hand squeezed his bum roughly. “I’m not averse to voyeurism, but onlookers that young dampen the mood.”

Draco pressed lightly on her shoulders and she bit his neck, nearly dragging him with her as he pushed her away. Her fingers dipped between his legs, cupping his scrotum, pulling his pelvis with her. He shut his mouth tight, failing to suppress a groan and she licked her lips coyly.

“Like that do you?”

Alecto’s fingers traced patters over the fabric covering his scrotum, and his body jerked forward. He pressed on her shoulders again but she cupped him and squeezed, forcing a huff of breath out of him and a whimper. It was too sensitive there. He reached down reflexively to grab her wrist, wondering how she would react to outward defiance. Thankfully she released his sack but returned to rubbing his erection. He put his hand back on her shoulder, still unable to come up with an excuse to push her away.

Her eyes were hooded when she looked up at him. “You don’t seem to have any trouble getting in the mood. Besides,” she laughed evilly. “The children are all terrified of me. They won’t dare approach.”

Alecto leaned up to kiss him and pulled down on his neck, forcing their faces closer together. Her tongue slithered inside his mouth and Draco nearly gagged. He kept his hands on her shoulders, wondering what reason would be enough to make to leave.

Her other hand began unbuckling his belt and Draco panicked, pushing her away gently and breaking the kiss.

“The other professors,” he offered her his best smirk. “There’s nothing I’d like better than a hard fuck against the wall.” Her eyes gleamed wickedly at his words. “But the last thing I want is to see Sprout’s hairy mustache or Flitwick’s saggy jowls in the middle of it.”

Alecto laughed. He thought she might stop but she reached inside his pants, hand snaking down his pelvis until her fingers curled around his length. Hissing up at him, she squeezed him hard and ran her thumb over the tip of his cock. Draco grunted and thrust into her again.

“My, my, is this all for me?” she purred, and began to stroke him in earnest, rubbing pre-come around his length as she pumped him. Her voice lowered seductively. “Let’s find a place more private.”

“Draco!”

It was all Draco could do not to fall over in relief. Startled, they both turned to face the Headmaster walking purposefully down the corridor, robes billowing behind him.

Alecto pouted at him and squeezed his cock one last time before removing her hand from his trousers. He gave her a disappointed look and covered himself quickly with his robes.

“I’m glad I caught you before you left. I need you to pass a message to your father.” He approached them and raised an eyebrow at the red headed witch. “Alecto, don’t you have a class to teach?”

She scoffed in disdain. “No one cares about Muggle Studies, Severus.”

He looked at her, unfazed. “And yet, you have a class to teach.”

She rolled her eyes, blew a kiss to Draco and walked down the hallway.

“Another time then, Draco? You’ll come visit me?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied, flashing his teeth at her.

He and Severus watched in silence as she strolled down the long corridor, swinging her hips. As soon as she turned the corner Draco bent over and dry heaved, retching three times onto the ground. He coughed up what phlegm and bile was left over and spat on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a cup of water held out for him.

“Thanks,” he gasped, panting.

He took a sip, swished the liquid around and spat to the floor again. A handkerchief replaced the cup in his teacher’s hand. He took it and wiped his lips and chin before vanishing the puddle.

Limbs shaky, he pulled himself up to a standing position and reached down to close his trousers and buckle his belt with as much dignity as he could muster. His gaze met the dark eyes of his ex-Professor. Emotionless as always.

“Occlumency doesn’t do shit to help with that,” Draco said, and ran his hand through his hair, now damp with sweat.

“No,” Severus drawled. “I imagine it wouldn’t. You dropped something while you were otherwise occupied.”

Draco flicked his eyes down to Severus’ hand and saw the diadem there.

Fuck.

Severus eyed him curiously. Did he… know what it was? Draco had the eeriest feeling that his former Head of House knew exactly what he was holding. Not even Draco had a clue as to what Hermione had sent him to find here. But Severus did? Wordlessly, Draco took the old metal object from his godfather’s hand and shoved it back in his robe pocket.

Severus raised an eyebrow and spoke again. “I hear there’s going to be another raid soon. Make sure that stomach bug clears up.”

Without another word, his teacher turned around and walked away.

 

~

 

Come.

Draco lay on his back on the grass of the Granger’s lawn, gazing up at the clouds as they floated by. He shoved his robes underneath his head to use as a pillow. There was a gentle breeze ruffling his hair as it blew in fits and bursts, but it was too warm outside for the formal dress attire he had worn to visit Hogwarts. Unusually warm for April.

Draco Apparated there directly after exiting the grounds to Hogsmeade. Given Hermione’s description of how important the object was and the way Severus regarded it, he didn’t trust going anywhere else – especially home – and wanted to give it directly to her. If even Severus couldn’t disguise the fact that he recognized the importance of the diadem, Draco didn’t want it to be on his person any longer than it had to be.

He could still feel Alecto’s tongue in his mouth and her hand on his cock. He was revolted by the whole ordeal and worried he’d start retching again. Trying to remove the nausea he was on the verge of experiencing again, he breathed in slowly, clearing his lungs with the fresh warm air.

A faint crack of Apparition sounded from inside the house. Hermione wouldn’t know where he was so Draco thumbed the Galleon and shoved it back inside his pocket.

Outside.

Hermione’s house had become a refuge for him. It was a completely different world. It was quiet. It was calm and he could rest. Sometimes he came here just to sleep in her bed for a few hours. He didn’t have to guard his thoughts here. There was nothing in her house to remind him of the war or blood purity or even of magic. He listened while one of the Granger’s neighbors talked on the phone. It was a perfectly normal conversation about a perfectly normal life, free of war.

If Hermione’s parents wouldn’t have had a witch for a daughter, they would still be here. Happy and completely oblivious to the upheaval in their own country.

Draco heard her approach. She stood over him, the sun shining down from behind her head. He squinted up at her and raised his hand to block the sun from his eyes. Her hair was tied back in a braid but a few stray curls were loose and stood out like a halo with the sun behind her.

“I’d forgotten what you looked like in proper wizarding attire,” she commented. “It’s mostly Muggle clothes or pajamas when you’re with me.” She sat down next to him on the grass and looked around appreciatively. “I haven’t been in my backyard for over a year. We should meet outside more often.”

Hermione wouldn’t have even been to her house if it weren’t for their arrangement. He studied her, sitting in the sun. Draco hadn’t ever seen her in the summer light before. At least, not since school where he hadn’t been paying much attention. It suited her. The day was warm and safe and comforting. Just like she was when he needed her.

“It’s a quiet corner of the world,” he commented, hands resting on his chest.

They listened to the birds chirping and heard the occasional car drive by in the distance. Her neighbor chatted on the phone, worrying about the gift she had to buy for her mother-in-law.

“I suppose it is.” Hermione lay down on the grass alongside him and stared up at the clouds. The white wisps were feathery and sparse against the light blue; it was a clear sunny day. She rolled over on her side. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

He turned to face her. Her hazel eyes were full of concern and her brow furrowed. “You don’t have to Occlude with me. You know that.” She reached across his chest and laced her fingers in his. “I don’t like to see you hurting. If I can help, I want to.”

He smirked. “If I tell you, will you kiss it better?” Despite the memory of her hot, lithe body writhing underneath him and the feel of her skin against his fingers, that was the last thing he wanted right now.

But he couldn’t help himself.

She flushed beautifully at his teasing, but seemed to understand he was flirting to cover up his pain.

“What do you need?”

Draco felt somewhat comforted just knowing she cared so much about him. He returned to stare up at the clouds, wanting to get out of his head. He didn’t want to think about Alecto. He didn’t want to think about the threat to his parents. He didn’t want to think about the people he killed. Or the Order prisoners being tortured right now in his home and that he had lied to Hermione about all of them. He wanted to get away.

Hermione was watching him stare at the sky. The wind blew his hair over his eyes and she brushed it away. Her touch was too fleeting. Draco wished she would hold him again, but he didn’t think she would, given that the Order would take her away from him.

She didn’t want to be replaced any more than he wanted someone else to replace her. So they had to be careful. He wondered why the Order hadn’t replaced her already. If she felt even a fraction of what he felt towards her, she would have been.

“I need a distraction.”

Her fingers twitched in his. She raised her head to lean over him with an excited gleam in her eyes. “Day trip?”

Considering the previous outings they’d had in the Muggle world, it was a good bet that would work. But they couldn’t go with that horrific object he was carrying around.

 “Perhaps we should find something to do with…” He flipped onto his stomach and reached into the pocket of his bunched up robes under his head. “This abomination first.”

Draco held out his arm, dangling the diadem from his index finger in front of Hermione’s face. Feeling how evil it was, he would be glad to rid himself of its presence.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, pushing herself to a sitting position and grabbing it off of his finger. “You got it!”

 

 

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked, morbidly curious.

Her voice lowered in determination. “Destroy it.”

Good.

He felt better already after she had taken the diadem. It had made his sour, depressive mood even worse. Draco already had enough evil cloying around the edges of his consciousness from working for the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. This… thing made it worse.

“And I’m guessing a simple Reducto won’t do?” He rolled over to lie down on his back again, and put his hands behind his head, clasping his fingers at the base of his skull.

Hermione shook her head, looking down at the diadem. “If only it were that easy. But we’ve done it before, we can do it again.”

She flipped it over in her hands a few times and ran her finger along the gem in the center. Her fingers were so small and delicate. Then Draco thought of how those small delicate hands cast curses that sliced through Jugson’s Achilles’ tendon, nearly took off Draco’s head and blew up half a room in the safe house so she could escape, hurtling herself over the battlefield with some kind of charm that Jugson said few could do without breaking their legs.

Draco was lucky Jugson had gone through that door first. It took Jugson’s Healer quite a bit of effort to right his ankle again, first having to undo Draco’s shoddy patch job. It made him feel somewhat better that Hermione was so competent in battle.

He thought back to Severus’ comment about the raid right before he left Hogwarts. Draco was positive now that his ex-professor was using him to warn the Order. He just didn’t understand why. And his godfather knew what the diadem was. He must have known, and still he gave that evil object back to Draco, knowing he would deliver it to the Order.

Severus had to be a spy. There was no other explanation. It made more sense that he would be spying for the Order and still kill Dumbledore, than to be a Death Eater but feed Draco information to pass along and enable the delivery of whatever this diadem was. Something so terrible and so secret that Hermione wouldn’t even tell him what it was.

Draco just didn’t understand why he killed Dumbledore. Hermione’s reaction when they discussed Severus indicated that if he was a spy, she had no knowledge of it. He wondered who did?

He watched Hermione study the diadem. “There’s going to be another raid.”

She looked up, panicked. The Order lost people last time. “Do you know when? Which safe house?”

“No, but it will be soon.”

She set the diadem down on the ground in between them. “Thank you, Draco.” Her voice was soft. She motioned to the diadem with her chin. “This will help us win. It will. So will the warning of the raid. We can make sure we’re prepared.”

Draco was warning the Order about future activities. He had gone out of his way to bring her this object. He knew that his failure to warn them about gutting their financial backing had set him back from securing an Unbreakable Vow for his family to keep them out of Azkaban. But things had changed. He had changed.

“Hermione?”

She looked up at him.

“This is enough to demonstrate trust.”

Her expression hardened and her nostrils flared. “You’re right.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“If it were up to me, you’d have an Unbreakable Vow by now.”

Draco didn’t know who else he had to convince of his loyalty, of his desire to defeat the Dark Lord, or what else would be required of him to prove it. Hermione was advocating for him, he had no doubt of that. But the situation wasn’t entirely in her hands.

She shifted her gaze down to the diadem. “If only we could get a lead on the Hufflepuff Cup.”

These objects she was interested in gave him an opportunity to help without compromising his parents. No one knew about them. No one could trace the information back to him, his mother or his father. No one knew Hermione was hunting these objects down and destroying them. Draco didn’t feel like he was endangering himself or anyone he loved by helping her and clearly, he had a lot to offer.

It might also convince whoever she was reporting to that he could be trusted. The nature of his participation as a spy had shifted. He was volunteering information now and being proactive, not merely responding to her requests.

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

Hermione glanced over at him, intrigued.

“My mother is hosting a party in the summer. A lot of people will be there. Ministry officials. All of the Death Eaters and their families. If the Dark Lord entrusted the cup to someone, they would be there.”

“You don’t think it’s your aunt or…” she paused, hesitant. “That other person? What do you think you’d learn?”

Draco knew Hermione already figured out that he meant Severus, but she wasn’t saying his name out of respect for Draco’s desire to protect him. Given his teacher’s reaction to the diadem, if his godfather had the cup, he would have given it to him. Or destroyed it already if he knew how.

He shrugged. “I checked. The cup wasn’t in our vault. If the object is so valuable, I’d put it in Aunt Bella’s vault. But after I found that,” He motioned to the diadem in her lap. “just sitting on the head of an old warlock bust out in the open where anyone could find it, I’m doubting my theory of him keeping the objects in a vault.”

“You don’t think he would put it in the other person’s vault?”

Draco shook his head. “I changed my mind about the other person.” He narrowed his eyes at her in warning, lest she judge him. “And I’m not just saying that because I want to protect them.” Her eyes widened and she nodded, believing him. “Where were the other objects located?”

Hermione began ticking off on her fingers.

“Your house, likely not in a vault. In a cave where You-Know-Who went as a child – but suddenly worn by Umbridge. In the ruins of his mother’s old house. In the Room of Hidden Things.”

Draco stretched his legs and then contracted them, bending his knees. He stared up at the clouds again. “I wonder if the diary was simply left on a bookshelf in the library. With the exception of the cave, all the objects were hidden in plain sight. Sometimes, that’s the best way to hide a valuable object. And for whatever reason, Umbridge was wearing one. It makes me wonder if the cup is sitting on someone’s mantle or in their liquor cabinet. If someone was searching for the object, knowing what it was, they wouldn’t check liquor cabinets. It’s too absurd.”

“What do you think you can learn at the party?” she asked, obviously curious.

“I’m not sure, but if it’s sitting in someone’s house then people would have seen it. I could try and steer the conversation to alcohol or display goblets.” He paused. “Most people love to brag about historical artifacts, it shouldn’t be too hard actually.”

Hermione tapped her chin. “Wouldn’t that be dangerous if You-Know-Who was there? He’s a Legilimens.”

Draco shook his head. “He never attends those events. And no one would come if he did. Honestly, if death, torture and drinking the blood of baby virgin unicorns isn’t on the menu, he’s not interested.”

Hermione huffed a laugh and then suddenly sat up straighter. He turned his head, wondering what she was thinking.

“I’m going to go. Can you get me a guest list?”

What?

She couldn’t possibly think that was a good idea. Draco always thought Hermione had good sense, despite being a Gryffindor. Abruptly, he pushed himself up and leaned into her. Her eyes shifted from pondering to defiant the instant she saw the expression on his face.

“Absolutely not.”

Her face hardened at his rejection.

“I’ll Polyjuice myself,” she explained in a slightly irritated tone.

“No.” He shook his head vigorously. She couldn’t go. It was madness.

She clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. “It won’t be so difficult. I fooled you at Fortescue’s and you were waiting for me. No one looks for it. Barty Crouch Junior fooled Dumbledore and the entire Hogwarts faculty for a whole year. This is one night.”

“It’s too risky. You’ll be arrested, tortured or possibly killed on sight. There’s no reason for you to go.”

She sent him a withering glance that had his blood boiling. “I doubt I’ll be the only one from the Order there. It’s a perfect intelligence gathering opportunity.”

“Even more so if there’s other Order members there,” his voice rose in anger. “And I’m there. You don’t need to go.”

“I may see something they don’t,” she protested in irritation.

“You can’t,” his voice came out as more of a growl than he intended. “I won’t let you.”

Her jaw dropped. She stared at him in a moment of stunned silence before collecting herself.

“I don’t need your permission,” Hermione shot back, hazel eyes flashing in anger. “If you don’t give me a guest list I’ll find out on my own and go anyway.” She paused and then a small smile played at her lips. “But it’s less likely I’ll be caught if you help.”

Draco turned away from her and exhaled loudly through his nose. He couldn’t tell her anything. Nothing got by her. He had no idea how she was going to use the information he shared. She wanted him to be more proactive. She wanted him to fight the Dark Lord and help the Order. That’s what he was doing.

And how did she repay him? By manipulating him into helping her do precisely what he didn’t want.

Draco was furious. She wasn’t listening to him. Something cold crept along his spine and he bared his teeth. She couldn’t go. Didn’t she get it? He was trying to protect her. To keep her safe. Hermione was his. She belonged to him and she was endangering herself for no reason. Everything he was doing was for her and she was throwing it all away by treating her life as if it were nothing.

His shoulders heaved as his breaths became more labored in his fury.

He’d make her understand that she couldn’t defy him like this. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He could take her inside now. She would protest but it was for her own good. Afterwards, she’d understand why he–

“You’re bleeding,” she said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

“What?”

He shook his head of the unsettling images running through his mind. What had just come over him? He glanced down at the diadem. Maybe it was the effect of holding onto that object for so long. Draco could sense how evil it was and he was still unsettled by the direction his thoughts meandered to all morning.

It seemed Hermione knew how to deal with it and had more experience.

“Hold on.” She climbed over him, straddling him, placing a knee on either side of his thighs. Reflexively, he placed a hand on her lower back as she pulled his collar down.

Shit.

He closed his eyes in shame. He hadn’t thought to check or cover anything up.

“It’s not blood, it’s lipstick,” she said, voice trembling. “And you have a hickey.”

Under other circumstances, Draco would have enjoyed the way Hermione was sitting astride him, and the clear signs of jealously she displayed. But her words brought back the feel of Alecto’s teeth on his neck, her tongue slithering into his mouth, her hand around his cock. He felt like he was going to gag again.

Hermione dropped her hands from his collar and stared at him, tears prickling her eyes at the thought that he had betrayed her. And then her expression abruptly morphed to one of concern when she noticed his reaction.

“What’s wr–” Her eyes slowly widened in horror. “Alecto Carrow teaches at Hogwarts now.”

Draco was ashamed. It wasn’t as if Alecto was stronger than him. He could have walked away at any time. But his family’s position was so tenuous. The more problems he caused, the greater the chance one of them could get hurt. That was why he never fought back against MacNair or Dolohov either. He had no idea where the vindictiveness in Voldemort’s army would land, or who would pay for his direct defiance.

Severus understood that.

“It wasn’t…” Draco looked to the side, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes. “Someone stopped it before things went too far.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Hermione held him tight, fisting his hair and resting her head on his shoulder. Her heart thumped against his chest and he placed his hands gently on her back, his fingers making indentations in her shirt, and then finally pressing her tightly into him.

He released a shuddering sigh, taking comfort in her small, warm body wrapped around his.

“I didn’t know,” she said apologetically. “I never would have allowed you to go.”

He pulled back and looked at her with a wry grin. “I don’t need your permission.”

Hermione opened her mouth and then abruptly closed it, having had her own logic used against her. They cared about one another and didn’t want the other to put themselves in danger. But it was a war. It was an impossible request to make of the other. They would always be in danger until it ended.

Draco didn’t know how to cope knowing Hermione would be facing raids at safe houses. He didn’t know how to cope if she continued to go on dangerous missions. He had no idea what he would do if she were ever captured.

Or killed.

He was terrified for her.

He breathed slowly. The unnerving thoughts he had previously didn’t return. He slowly fisted the fabric of her T-shirt, and lowered his other hand to her waist. He wished he could keep her safe, but he didn’t know how to.

She must feel the same way.

Hermione released her hold on his neck and slid her hands down his chest. “You wanted a day trip?”

Draco wanted to forget, he didn’t want to think about what was happening back there.

She tucked a strand of his hair back and he turned his face slightly to press a light kiss to the inside of her wrist before she removed her hand. “I’d like nothing better.”

She stood up and extended her hand. He grasped it and she pulled while he pushed himself up to a standing position, towering over her now.

“I’ll take this back to Harry. Give me five minutes and then we’ll go.” She looked him up and down with an appreciative smirk. “Muggle attire.”

She Apparated away and Draco wandered back into the house to transfigure his clothing in privacy, making quick work of his clothing. Then he sat on the armchair where she had fallen asleep during Return of the Jedi, closed his eyes, and waited for her.

It took longer than five minutes. He cast a Patronus and watched his fox leap and jump around the living room. A reflexive sense of relief passed through him each time he performed the charm. Every time, he was grateful anew that he still could. After a few more minutes he walked over to a shelf and knelt on the floor to look at a few long flat boxes that appeared to be a series of board games and card games. Finally, he heard the crack of Apparition in the kitchen. He watched Hermione search for him and stop when she found him in the corner of their living room on the floor amidst all the board games.

“Would you rather stay in and play games?” she asked playfully, but he could tell she was upset about something. Draco wondered what her arsehole friends said to her.

“No.” He got up and walked over to her, noticing how she eyed his body. He knew she liked him in Muggle jeans. He could see the appeal. They hugged her arse better than anything he’d ever seen in the Wizarding world as well. “You promised me a day trip.”

“Yes, I did.” She smiled and pointed to his T-shirt.  “Appropriate for today.”

Draco looked down and pulled on the front, stretching the Star Wars logo.

“We’re seeing the movie again?”

“Nope.” All traces of sadness were gone from her eyes now and her devious smile stretched from ear to ear. “It’s a surprise. You’ll love it.”

 

 

Notes:

Trigger warning: Explicit non-consensual groping

Next chapter... Muggle outing #3. You guys have been through enough. You need a break from the horror and the angst.

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Chapter 41: Chapter 41

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione reached for him to Apparate and instead, Draco grabbed her hand, yanking her towards him playfully. She yelped as she stumbled into him and he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her to hold her tightly against his chest. She looked up at him with a twinkle in her hazel eyes, beaming.

Between the feel of her body against his and the promise of a day alone together with sunny weather, without war or death, all memories of Alecto, torture and the threat to his parents were vanished from his mind now.

She Apparated them close to a tree and thankfully they were out of sight, but Hermione had taken a chance that Muggles would have seen them. She glanced around, flustered, and then up at him brushing a few errant curls out of her face.

“Where are we?” he asked, curious.

“Leicester,” she replied, as if that explained everything.

Draco scanned his surroundings to see a series of buildings dispersed amongst a grassy lawn with sidewalk pathways. Lots of people were strolling the grounds, enjoying the unusually warm weather. Parents held hands with children. Some were out walking dogs. One of the buildings had a design he’d never seen before and he focused his gaze, trying to figure out what it might be.

“What’s with the gigantic silver beehive?”

 

Hermione’s turned to face him with one of the happiest smiles he had ever seen. On anyone. Her excitement was contagious, and he felt himself smiling too, despite the horror of the morning. Without answering, she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the oddest looking building he’d ever seen. They passed a sign that read “National Space Centre” and he stopped dead in his tracks. Hermione didn’t notice he had halted and almost fell into him after being suddenly pulled back.

“Are you showing me spaceships?” Draco asked her in disbelief. “Is this a Muggle astronomy museum?”

“Well not exactly spaceships,” Hermione turned to him, hazel eyes twinkling with delight. “The silver beehive building has two rocket nozzles and inside the museum they have one of the three Soyuz caps–”

He cut off her explanation by pulling her into a searing kiss. He bent over towards her, cupping her jaw, cradling the back of her head and plundering her mouth with as much passion as he could. Briefly he recalled Alecto’s mouth on his just this morning but the touch and taste of Hermione chased those thoughts away. With each swipe of his tongue and each movement of his lips, Draco tried to tell Hermione what she meant to him.

She didn’t have to explain to him why she wasn’t inferior or why her parents weren’t inferior. Or teach him the Patronus charm. She didn’t have to take him to see a movie that she had clearly seen many times before. She didn’t have to stay awake all night while he healed from the implant extraction. She didn’t have to show him Muggle art and entertain his bigoted ideas, or care for him while he puked his drunken guts out and listen to his horrific confessions, and she certainly didn’t have to take him to see a field of development completely foreign to the Wizarding world.

She didn’t have to do any of this.

And yet she did. She accepted him as he was, with all of his struggles, and she did all of those things for him.

Happily.

Hermione made little whimpering noises and he swallowed every single one of them, hungrily kissing her mouth, devouring her. Those small, delicate – deadly – hands fisted his hair, slid around his neck, and then wrapped around his torso.

Draco snaked his hand down her back and around her waist to press her body against his. She was soft, petite and moving against him in the most delicious way.

Fuck.

She smelled warm and feminine and tasted even better.

Draco wanted her now.

Slowly, before the kiss became too heated for public, he broke away from her with a low growl and opened his eyes. Hermione’s eyes were darker, and hooded. Her lips were swollen, her face was flushed and she was breathing heavily with a dizzy, lusty smile on her mouth. Draco wanted to do that to her again. He wanted to feel her body against his and to hear the sounds she made. He leaned forward but her smile faltered slightly.

Hermione was going to say something about objectivity and being his handler and he didn’t want it to ruin the day. Instead, he gave her a devilish grin, and before she knew what was happening, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, walking with long strides across the grassy field towards the entrance to purchase tickets.

“Draco!” she squealed, hanging upside down, bouncing lightly against his back.

He had never heard her squeal before. He couldn’t have imagined a sound like that ever leaving the mouth of Hermione Granger, and he grinned.

A few people walking across the grounds looked at them, but he didn’t care. She giggled. Giggled. And dug her fingers into his ribs.

“Yaaaaaah,” he cried out, stumbling as she tickled him mercilessly from her upside-down position.

He tried unsuccessfully to guard his rib cage with his arms. Giving in, he slid her down his front and down to the ground. She was still laughing, face beet red and hair coming out of her braid. Both of them were grinning ridiculously and gasping for breath. After a few seconds of panting laughter, they took each other’s hands and continued to stroll towards the entrance of the building to wait in line.

Draco couldn’t keep the smile off his face. It had been such a long time since he felt this happy, and he didn’t remember when the last time was.

His smiled widened. Yes, he did.

Walking around the National Gallery.

“No tickling.” He pointed his index finger in her face. That only made her laugh harder. She grabbed his finger with her hand and pulled it away.

A saucy grin played at her lips. “I’ll make no promises not to exploit your weaknesses.”

They continued on to purchase tickets. “Retribution, Granger.” Draco towered over her and lowered his voice threateningly. “You won’t know when, you won’t know how, but it’s coming for you.”

Unfazed by their height differential, Hermione’s eyes sparkled up at him with a naughty gleam. “Promise?”

He couldn’t take this anymore.

 

~

 

“And this is how Muggles get up into space?”

“You sound underwhelmed.”

“I was expecting something like the Millennium Falcon, or a Star Destroyer.”

“Well, this is how it’s actually done. One of the ways anyway. It’s not a movie. We’re all a tad bit constrained by the laws of physics here.”

“But it’s so tiny! You could fit that in the Slytherin Common room.”

“The Americans built space shuttles, those are much larger. The Russian Soyuz only seats three. At least, this version does.”

“Three? In that thing? Not even Aunt Bella is that evil.”

“It has to be small, so the rockets blasting it out of the atmosphere won’t need as much fuel.”

“Rockets? Didn’t you say there were rockets here, Hermione? Wait, where are you going?”

 

 

~

 

“So these suits protect from the vacuum of space?”

“Also extreme heat and extreme cold. It’s actually quite a remarkable feat of engineering. Being able to protect something as fragile as the human body so it can withstand such harsh conditions. And still retain the ability to move and communicate.”

“That’s all well and good, but is there enough room for my cock- Ow! You violent bitch.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

 

~

 

“And the scientists will live up there for months? In a fancy metal cage?”

“Metal, plastic, ceramic, but yes. It’s a collaborative project between NASA, the European Space Agency, Japan, Russia and Canada. This November they’ll launch it into orbit. We could watch it on the telly together if you like.”

“What if it fails?”

“There have been failures before. The Russians had many, the Americans had some too. They don’t stop trying though.”

“What’s it for?”

“I think some experiments are done to see what happens when gravity is removed.”

“So this multi-million – no – multi-billion Galleon international space station project is all just to simulate an anti-gravity charm?”

“Well, no, that’s not all. Muggles also go up there to prove that they can. And to see how humans live in space for extended periods of time. How does humanity know what they’re capable of if they don’t push their limits?”

“Doing for the sake of doing?”

“Doing for the sake of pushing. But also to explore. Don’t you want to see what else is out there? Who else is out there?”

“Aliens?”

“Maybe. And we have to leave Earth at some point.”

“Why?”

“The sun will get larger as it ages and swallow the Earth up.”

What.

“In five billion years. Don’t worry about it.”

“Fucking hell! Granger. You can’t just say stuff like that out of the blue.”

“It’s common knowledge amongst Muggles. There was even a Doctor Who episode about it.”

“So Muggles are going to save the world?”

“Ironic, isn’t it?”

 

~

 

“What kind of weird Cineplex is this?”

“It’s called a planetarium.”

“This one’s much larger than what you have in your town.”

“They’re expensive, and the films are made with special cameras in order to cover your peripheral vision and make you feel like you’re staring up into space. You only see them in science museums.”

“And everything we’ll see in this movie is real, not with special effects like in Star Wars?”

“Yes. You’ll see what the astronauts see when they leave the Earth’s atmosphere and go into orbit.”

“Hermione?”

“Mmm?”

“Thank you.”

 

~

 

They stood side by side, heads tilted back, staring openmouthed up at the nozzles of the Blue Streak and PGM-17 Thor rockets.

“This is definitely my favorite thing today,” Draco said, his voice lifting slightly, completely entranced.

“Of course it is,” Hermione snorted. “It’s a gigantic phallus.”

 

~

 

Hermione dipped her chips in ketchup and glanced to Draco sitting next to her. He was staring at nothing in particular, leaning on the table, head propped up with his hand. His legs were sprawled on bench, and the hot dog resting in his hand was still half eaten in its wrapper. She wondered if he was still bothered by whatever had happened this morning with Alecto. She didn’t want to ask because he said he wanted to forget. She had hoped their excursion to the National Space Centre had done the job but now she worried it was all coming back to haunt him.

She wasn’t sure what she should do and felt at a loss at how to help him. Should she offer comfort again? Another distraction to help him forget? Talk it out with him?

Draco sighed. “It all seems so pointless, doesn’t it?”

Oh.

He felt how meaningless everything was in the face of the incomprehensible, unending universe. Completely understandable. That was something she could deal with.

Hermione popped the chip in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, watching the slight breeze ruffle his hair. Coming to grips with the vastness of space had this effect on her too. It was his first time confronting the reality that something as large as their solar system was an insignificant spec in an infinite universe.

“What seems pointless?” she asked with a half grin. “Yourself? Humanity? The war? Earth?”

“Yes,” he said, turning to her, eyes slightly glazed over. “All of that. And magic. Who cares about magic? Does it even matter? We’re fighting over miniscule slivers on a tiny blue dot.”

Hermione swirled the ketchup with her chip. “Size doesn’t matter.”

Her eyes snapped up to Draco’s.

Oops.

The fire returned to his eyes and leaned into her on the bench, taking the bait with relish. “Once you’ve experienced something larger than Gryffindor cock, you’ll understand that it does.”

She let her head drop on the table. “Can you just–”

“I’m truly sorry that Scarhead and Weasel have disappointed you so...” he paused for effect and lowered his voice, “deeply.”

“For the love of–”

“Obviously you need someone else to…” he paused again, “erect your piss-poor standards.”

She lifted her head, he was still grinning. “Are you done yet?”

“I think so. No, wait…” He pointed at her, eyes teasing. “If your boy-toys told you it’s only how you use it that counts, then you should know that it’s both size and skill.”

“Okay, then–”

“And they obviously lack both.”

Hermione stared at him, exasperated. Draco stifled a laugh.

“And I suppose you have both?” she countered.

“Clearly,” he said, popping a chip in his mouth and licking the salt off his fingers. Unable to help herself, she watched the movement of his tongue. Noticing her distraction, he sent her a heated gaze and continued in a sensual tone, “I’d completely ruin you for anyone else.”

A blush crept up from her neck to enflame her cheeks. She remembered the warm coil of desire in her belly when he had kissed her, his hard body atop hers, his length pressed against her thigh, so hot it felt like it was burning a hole through her clothing.

Draco continued with a smile at her reaction. “Certainly you’ll be ruined for anyone else in Gryffindor. And Hufflepuff.” He paused, considering her. “Ravenclaws are too clinical. You won’t ever be satisfied with less than Slytherin.”

The way he said ‘Slytherin’ made her cunt clench.

How did he do that?

“You’re all talk,” her voice came out as a throaty whisper and she cleared her throat.

His smile widened predatorily as he exposed his teeth.

“You were saying, Hermione?”

“What?”

They were talking about something before sex. She couldn’t remember what it was though.

Draco closed his lips, watching her with amusement. “About size.”

Size. Size of penises. Slytherin penises. Draco Malfoy’s penis.

She returned his stare, positively clueless.

“Size of the tiny blue dot in the tail of the spiral of the Milky Way Galaxy in a small, infinitesimal part of the universe and how nothing matters,” he spoke smugly. “Not even magic.”

“Oh. Right.” She blinked, and cleared her throat again, trying to remove all thoughts of Draco’s body. Merlin. “I meant that it doesn’t matter how large the universe is. The people we love are more important than anything else. Big or small.”

Draco’s grey eyes studied her face, serious now, and then he reached across the bench to take her hand. She laced her fingers through his, enjoying the warm tingling of his touch.

The conversation had a double meaning. He knew she understood his ethical quandaries in weighing the lives of those he loved in the short term versus the larger picture and helping the Order in the long term. She hoped she wouldn’t ever have to be in that position with him. It was awful watching him go through it.

“Those we love aren’t important in the grand scheme of things,” Hermione continued. “They mean nothing when viewed from the perspective of the entire universe, but they are important to me. And to you. In the end, that’s what matters.”

He rubbed the ridges of her knuckles with his thumb and gazed down, following the pattern he made on her hand.

Draco spoke, his voice contemplative. “Wizards would make space exploration easier. Humanity would get on further by using magic and science together.”

Hermione thought back to how he had called her a Mudblood in second year and her throat constricted with that same sense of pride and wonder she felt at the National Gallery. He’d come so far since their school days.

“I agree.”

His eyes flicked up to hers at her choked tone. “Do you think we ever will?”

“I do.” She swallowed, and stared down at his thumb, rubbing across her knuckles. Sometimes it was hard to hold his gaze when it was so intently focused on her. “It’s difficult to see that now because we’re in the middle of a war. But not just twenty years ago the Russians and Americans never would have worked together on the space station. They were competing.”

Draco’s lips lifted into a smile. “You’re an optimist? I never pegged you as one.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I’m being realistic. Things change. Sixty years ago, you’d never see France and Germany work together on anything let alone a space station. Two hundred years ago France, England and Spain were fighting over lands that don’t even belong to them anymore. And now the European Space Agency represents them all.”

“So you’re saying time heals?”

She met his gaze again. “It does. People forget what they’ve fought about. They realize working together has more benefits than fighting against one another.”

This time, she rubbed her thumb lightly over his knuckles. Draco turned his hand over so she had more access to touch him. And she did, exploring the contours of his palm and the tendons of the underside of his wrist.

“You don’t think Muggles will kill all of us first?”

Hermione looked up at him again. “You’ve read ‘Hiroshima’?”

He nodded. “Atomic bombs are terrifying. There’s nothing in the Wizarding world that comes close. No one should have that much power.”

“I agree.” Hermione remembered what Remus had told her after the Paddington safe house raid. “But sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better. No one has used nuclear weapons since World War II, despite all the wars that have been fought since then.”

Draco watched two children throwing a Frisbee on the grass and then shifted his gaze back to her.

“And which stage do you think we’re at now?”

He sounded apprehensive. Draco wasn’t talking about space exploration anymore. He had just been sexually assaulted by Alecto Carrow, he was tortured at the whim of Voldemort, and made to torture and kill innocent people to keep his family alive. She couldn’t imagine what his world would look like if it were getting worse.

“I don’t know, Draco.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “Do you want to go back?”

He released her hand, stood up from the park bench and stretched. Hermione watched his long limbs tremble as he reached to the sky and then scratched his stomach. The black fabric of his Star Wars T-shirt lifted slightly, exposing his abdominal muscles between the slit of his shirt and jeans.

Draco looked around, pensive. It was late in the afternoon; she didn’t know what time constraints he had. He returned his gaze to her, grey eyes bright and wistful.

“Not yet.”

She picked up the remains of their food, holding out his half eaten hot dog. He shook his head and she threw everything in the trash, brushing the crumbs off her hands.

“It’s a university town, let’s walk around the downtown a bit.”

They ambled around the streets of Leicester, holding hands, fingers interlaced. Hermione sensed the tension between them mounting as the evening approached. Walking down the sidewalk, Draco placed his hand slightly lower on her waist, fingers splayed with his pinky pressed experimentally into her jean clad rear. She guided him forward through a doorway to a shop, her hand on his mid-riff, gingerly fingering those abdominal muscles she had ogled all night when Mary extracted his implant. She wondered if her touches would make him feel uncomfortable, given what had happened to him this morning. But he didn’t seem to mind. Quite the opposite. He appeared to enjoy her increasingly sexual affection.

Waiting for their lattes to be prepared, he placed a hand on the nape of her neck, and his thumb rubbed slow circles underneath the back collar of her shirt. They sat down to sip their lattes, and she traced patterns on his knee and up his thigh, feeling his muscles flex under the fabric of the jeans. Draco licked the froth from his upper lip and grinned at her devilishly.

In another store, Hermione bent over to look at some hand painted scarves. He stood behind her, not touching, but just close enough that she could feel his heat all up and down her back side. Right before she stood up he lightly gripped her hip and she remembered his words from when he tested her Occlumency.

How about I bend you over your bed, rip your pants down and pound into you while you scream?

His fingers twitched.

Later, she stood behind him in a book shop, watching him flip through a science fiction novel by Ursula Le Guin. Hermione couldn’t tell if she was the one pressing her breast into the back of his arm, or if Draco was the one rubbing over her nipple every time he flipped the page. All she knew was that she had a dull, pleasant ache between her legs that wouldn’t go away.

Feeling bold, she slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans and gave a gentle squeeze to his arse. She had done the same thing with Ron and hadn’t received much of a reaction. With Draco, she watched with satisfaction as his pelvis gave a slight reflexive jerk forward. He slipped the book into its place on the shelf and spoke without looking at her.

“Let’s go back.”

Wordlessly, she removed her hand from his pocket and laced her fingers in with his, leading him out the store and into a side alley.

She turned around, heart pounding in her chest, to see his eyes darker and hooded, staring down at her through his fringe.

“Won’t they take you from me?” Draco murmured.

“Not anymore.”

Hermione felt a thrill at the possessive way he spoke to her.

He closed in on her, pressing her against the brick wall of the neighboring building, hand on either side of her head. He smelled like the warmth and sun of the outdoors and his lips lowered to hers. “What changed?”

She glanced at his lips and then up into his grey eyes. So hungry for her. She had wondered if whatever happened with Alecto had put him off of any further sexual activity but it hadn’t.

Hermione swallowed nervously and her stomach twisted into knots. It was going to happen. Right now. She felt like she was burning up.

God. Was she ready? He was rearing to pounce and she could barely breathe. She was scared. She wanted this. But she was terrified.

“The tiara,” her vocal chords were hardly functioning. “The cup. Only Ron and Harry know about them. They can’t send someone else now.”

She wanted him so badly.

Draco closed the remaining millimeters between their mouths and paused, his lips ghosting across hers. Her heart was pounding in her chest. It would break her rib cage. Anticipation scorched her skin and she could feel herself getting tighter and tighter between her legs. She was going to snap.

“So it’s just you and me then?” he whispered.

Hermione closed her eyes and reached up, threading her fingers into his hair. Smooth. Soft. Hers.

“Just you and me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

160K words. I don't know who I'm more proud of: myself, for writing this much without smut, or all of you for reading it and sticking with me!

Next chapter is THE chapter. ;)

National Space Centre including the rocket nozzles, the Soyuz capsule and the gigantic silver beehive. I've never been there and only had their website and wikipedia as reference so if there's something glaringly off let me know I'll see if I can fix it.

Hiroshima by John Hersey details firsthand accounts of six survivors of the atomic bomb blast. It’s available for free on line if you’re interested.

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 42: Chapter 42

Notes:

After this chapter, if you need a break in the reading, it's suggested you take a break here. Next suggested break is Chapter 50.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione lay in the crook of Draco’s arm. His eyes were closed while she drew patterns lazily on his chest, gently exploring the valleys, dips and curves of his muscles, the smoothness of his pale skin, and the feathery texture of his body hair. She traced the red lines of the scar left from Harry’s Sectumsempra curse, and looked down to his flaccid penis laying across his thigh, and his legs extended over the rumpled sheets. The light coming through the window was colored in pale oranges and pinks from the sunset and cast shapes of long rectangles and diamonds across his body. She could hear the occasional car drive by, but it was otherwise quiet and peaceful. Her fingers grazed his ribs on the side and he jerked his body, grabbing her wrist and biting his lower lip with a grunt.

“No tickling, Granger.”

“Sorry,” she glanced up at him. “I like touching you.”

“My body is yours to touch,” he responded softly, and released her wrist with a small smile. “But no tickling.”

Draco closed his eyes again, enjoying her ministrations.

She had no idea what to expect when she kissed him and Apparated them back to her parents’ guest room. He had walked her backwards, pressing her down and into the bed, his mouth devouring hers and his hands bracing her securely – yet tenderly – against his body. With the way Draco stared at her before she kissed him, she thought the very second she indicated she was ready and willing he’d be inside her. But instead he had treated her so carefully, and took his time.

Too much time!

Thinking back to the way he undressed her, Hermione shivered as she remembered the deliberate consideration in how he had removed each item of clothing, only to cover her exposed skin with gentle kisses, exploratory nips and tender caresses. Draco’s slow, almost reverent treatment chased her fear of the unknown away and quickly replaced it with an eager anticipation for more. Her shirt was off and his arms and hands were everywhere, rubbing and stroking the skin of her stomach, arms, neck and chest. She struggled to get his T-shirt off with a series of useless tugs while he panted atop her in between kisses. She wanted more than anything else to see him, to run her hands over his skin, and growled with impatience. Upon noticing her frustration at trying to disrobe him, he pushed himself up with a smile, balancing himself on his knees astride her and tore off the Star Wars shirt. He flung it to the floor but she didn’t have time to enjoy the view. He was back on her again.

Hermione chased after his lips, trying to draw him into another body scorching kiss as he teased her neck and her shoulders, licking her collar bone, biting her lightly and sucking her skin into his mouth. She’d smile when she thought she finally had him but he’d only smirk and descend to kiss somewhere else. She was writhing on the bed in anticipation as his lips lowered to her chest, following the path of his fingers as they pulled her bra strap down over her shoulder. She remembered their kiss the night she told him about the Horcruxes and how close Draco danced around her breast and the fabric of her bra.

Now his lips were getting closer, and his fingers closer. She thrust her hips forward, feeling tight between her legs, wanting him to… to touch, to press, to squeeze… but he wasn’t. He was maddening with his teasing and she slid her hands up his back to his hair, fisting it. Trying to direct him. Trying to get his mouth there, trying to get his hands there. Hermione undulated below him and Draco was rubbing himself on her leg and she felt how hot and hard he was against her thigh. She bit her lip and released a grunting whine of frustration doing her best to shift her breast to where she wanted it. To where she wanted him.

He raised his head, and lifted a smug eyebrow at the sounds she made. Draco knew exactly what he was doing to her. Getting impatient, she snaked her hand down between them to try and grasp what was being ground into her, but his fingers finally peeled back the fabric of her bra, grazing over the nipple and she arched her back. His mouth closed over her nipple and –ungh! It was warm and wet and Hermione dug her fingers into the back of his head while he sucked. It was the most exquisite sensation and the pull on her nipple into his mouth shot electric jolts down between her legs.

She bucked while Draco licked and sucked on her breast and his hand closed around her other breast, gingerly pressing into the flesh and she gasped. He kneaded one breast gently while his tongue lathed the other, and a light pinch on her nipple made her cry out in surprise. Hermione wanted more. More of his body. More of his skin. His hands. His mouth. She ran her hands over his back, reveling in the dips and curves of the bones and muscle while they moved beneath his flesh. They each still had on jeans and she wanted to feel his legs against hers. She wanted to grab his arse. She wanted to slide against his length, she wanted him inside of her.

Hermione reached down again and struggled with the opening to his trousers. He was right, who wanted to open all those buttons every time they went to the loo? Her hands brushed against his cock while she fumbled with the opening and Draco groaned and thrust into her before lifting himself and deftly undoing the fly with one hand.

Eager to see him, to get him completely naked, she tried to sit up to push the waist down but he reached around to unclip her bra and dragged it off her arms. She reached out towards him again and he gently but firmly pressed her back down onto the bed with a quirk of his lips. His trousers were loose around his hips now that he opened them and she reached down his back to cup his arse, wanting to feel him, but he moved backwards, out of her reach to open her jeans instead.

Kissing and licking her breasts, her ribs, her stomach, he tugged on the legs of her jeans and peeled down the waistband, mouth following along the bones of her hips, her thighs, the skin of her legs. Hermione sat up to draw him back to her but he just smirked at her again and pressed her back down to her impatient huff.

Draco had gotten her so worked up that by the time his fingers had made their way between her legs, she was well and truly ready for him. Instead of taking her then, he teased her with his hands, rubbing her and circling her clit. He inserted his fingers partway only to extract them, eliciting a frustrated pout from her. He grinned wider.

Hermione grabbed that self-satisfied face back to hers so she could snog him properly and he hesitated, teasing her more. She was about to protest when his finger finally entered her and she gasped and thrust up while his mouth descended on hers. His finger was longer and thicker than hers and he inserted it slowly, up past his knuckles. It curled, and twisted, exploring and she dug her fingers into his shoulders every time he hit a sensitive spot. And then he moved it, sliding in and out and – oh! – his tongue was sliding in and out of her mouth at the same pace. Her brain was a fog of sensation and she just wanted more of him. She writhed and bucked and thrust and slid her hands down underneath the fabric of his jeans which he was still wearing and dug her fingers into his arse.

Draco chuckled into her mouth, knowing full well how frustrating he was. But he wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t take his trousers off. When he fingered her in earnest, Draco gently pulled and stretched her, rubbing her clitoris with his thumb while she pleaded for something just within reach. Her writhing became more desperate, the heat within her more consuming. She held onto him, wanting to bring him closer to her body, to be inside her. She was almost there. His thumb and his fingers, and his hips against her thigh, and the skin of his chest against the skin of her breasts, and his tongue in her mouth. Finally, Hermione came with an arch of her back and a moaning cry on her lips, thrusting onto his fingers. He broke the kiss and lifted himself a fraction to watch her. Just when she thought he had finished, he looked down at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. Another few movements of his hand and she soon came again.

She panted while he gazed down at her, face flushed and eyes bright. After a moment to catch her breath, she tried getting his jeans off again.

This time Draco let her push his waistband down and kicked his trousers off his legs, immediately crawling back up to her. She felt him. She felt it at her entrance. She spread her legs wide while he settled himself between her thighs. He was so tender, so controlled, as if Hermione were a fragile piece of glass he could break at the slightest touch.

It was her first time. Hermione hadn’t told him, but somehow he must have known and held back considerably. She could feel the control in his trembling limbs as he readied himself to enter her. Every caress, every touch, every kiss, every thrust was done excruciatingly slow. When he first entered her she felt his whole body shaking, as if any second he would let himself go, consequences be damned. He sucked in a shuddering breath and slid up her passageway, centimeter by centimeter, waiting for her to adjust until he was in all the way to the hilt. He released a breath, whimpered softly and smiled down at her, fully inside. Draco balanced himself by his forearms on either side of her head and kept himself there, agonizingly still and studying her eyes while she wrapped her limbs around him.

Hermione held him inside of her and he enveloped her with his larger frame. He watched her gasp as he slid in and out, maddeningly slow, eliciting tiny whimpers and pleas for more from her, and then followed with a deep, thorough kiss. She was completely overwhelmed by him. His tongue and his cock were inside of her. But his arms, his legs, his chest were wrapped around her.

Hermione was at once filled by Draco and surrounded by him. Everywhere. And she couldn’t get enough, begging for more but not entirely knowing what ‘more’ even was. She just wanted him. Wanted his proximity. His heat. His hardness. His strength.

He had taken such care not to hurt her and treated her as something precious to hold. To be guarded.

Draco shuddered before he came inside her and she watched his bright grey eyes through the damp sheen on his face. Hot seed burst within her dragging a vulnerable plea from his lips and his trembling limbs. Hermione watched him stare down at her in wonder while he exhaled. She felt like he gave her a part of himself. He lay atop her for a few moments and then rested his head in the crook of her neck. He breathed heavily, and the pounding of his heart against her chest gave her a sense of completeness she had never experienced before.

He rolled off with a sigh of pleasure and turned his head to study her expression.

“Did I hurt you?”

She smiled and shook her head. How could he possibly?

It was intimate and wonderful and exhilarating. Their coupling felt like making love. It was making love. Hermione thought about his level of control, at how tender and gentle it had been, and then wondered what it would be like if he released all inhibition. To feel all that passion he held at bay, barely constrained within the tremors of his muscles and his shaking limbs.

Hermione returned to stroking his chest and his collar bones. His arm cradled her to his side, and occasionally his fingers would rub patterns in the skin of her rear. His other arm was behind his head and his eyes were closed. Draco appeared perfectly content. Not sleeping, but still, quiet. Enjoying the uninterrupted presence of each other without anything obstructing them. They passed the time in silence as the sun set and the light in the room slowly faded.

“You were upset earlier today,” he said, eyes still closed. “After delivering the diadem.”

Harry and Ron had been furious that she didn’t tell them how she got the Horcrux. And Ron was still angry at her for rejecting him, although time had taken the edge off his fury. Hermione hadn’t been with Draco when she broke it off with him, but she certainly was now. She couldn’t imagine what kind of rage induced tantrum Ron would throw if he knew why she had left them so suddenly, in the middle of their row. It was going to take time for him to get over her completely, but he would. Perhaps if he found someone else, he’d be able to interact with her more amiably.

She felt bad for Harry for having to referee between the two of them again.

“It’s nothing,” she said, her fingers tracing the contours of his hip bones.

“It’s not. You want me to be open and honest with you, that goes both ways.”

Draco was right. Although Hermione had meant being open in the sense of what was happening in the war. If they had a relationship, if that’s what this was, she would want him to be open about what was happening with him as well. She shouldn’t discuss the Horcruxes. That was too dangerous.

“Before we… Well,” She didn’t know how he would take this. It was complicated. She bit the bullet and confessed. “There was someone else,” Hermione started to explain. “It wasn’t official, but a relationship of some sorts was implied. We both wanted one. And then as things progressed between you and I, even though nothing had happened, I felt like I was betraying him. So, I ended it with him. He wasn’t happy and still isn’t. It’s hard to talk with him sometimes.”

She looked up at him nervously to see how he’d react.

“Did I steal you from Saint Potter?” Draco’s eyes were still closed but the victory smile blatantly spread across his features was undeniable.

“I’m not anyone’s to steal,” Hermione countered.

Honestly. Men and their penises.

“But I did,” he said, still smiling. “You’re mine.”

Hermione stared at him. Her gut reaction was to say that she was nobody’s. Not his, not anyone’s. Nobody owned her. She didn’t belong to anyone.

But isn’t that what love was? Belonging to someone? Did he love her? Did she love him?

“Not Harry,” she replied.

“The Weasel then,” he said, his grin spreading even wider.

“What are you, Draco? Thirteen? You’re still comparing genitalia?”

“Psh. There’s nothing to compare. You know my cock is bigger.”

She poked him in the ribs. His body contracted and he grabbed her wrist.

“Granger,” he warned threateningly, still with his eyes closed.

Hermione was curious about his love life prior to her. He was obviously more experienced than she was. She continued tracing lines up and down his chest after he released her wrist and she asked, “Did you have anyone?”

Draco hesitated, as if he were unsure of what to say, but then he shook his head. That’s not what Hermione expected. He exuded sexuality. Constantly. She just assumed he’d be… busy? Maybe it was as he said the morning after Mary took out his implant, he only flirted with her.

“Not since Pansy. I let her go mid-sixth year. Things were…” he sighed. “terrible back then. They still are. I didn’t want her to get her caught up in my mess.” His lips turned down into a slight frown. “We’ve both moved on, but she got trapped in this shit anyway.”

“She doesn’t know what you did for her, does she?” Draco wouldn’t have told her that he used the Order to remove her rapist from Voldemort’s Army. He couldn’t.

“Of course not. That wasn’t the point.”

She loved him. Right in that moment Hermione knew that she loved him. How could she not? Everything he did was to protect those he cared deeply about, no matter what it cost him. He had been doing that right from the beginning.

Feeling overwhelmed by a surge of affection she nuzzled further into his arm and draped her leg possessively over his. She did belong to him. And he belonged her. He curled his arm around her tighter, pressing her closer against his side. Her fingers travelled southward over his abdominals and she saw his cock twitch.

“Round two?” he asked, eyes still closed.

“I’m a little bit sore. Can we try again tomorrow?” At her words, his prick thickened and elevated off of his thigh, transforming into a full-blown erection.

He turned towards her, opened his eyes and growled into her ear. “I’m at your beck and call.”

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter? More.

Shampoo_ish, one of the translators to Russian made this awesome fanart. Check out her instagram!

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Chapter 43: Chapter 43

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“This was ours, Hermione!” Ron raised his voice. “You had no right to bring someone else into this without asking!”

Harry plopped himself down on Ron’s bed with a resigned sigh and zapped the door with a Silencing Charm, watching the two of them blow up at each other. Again. Hermione thought they were done with this already, but Ron was still having it out.

They had argued. Ron made his case, Hermione made hers, the only reason he was yelling now was because he was still angry and wanted to take it out on her. As if combat training didn’t provide enough of an outlet for pent up irritation.

“But we were stuck!” she countered, just as loud as he was. “We’ve had no leads for months! What else are we supposed to do? Wait for the bloody Horcruxes to fall into our laps?”

Hermione was positively seething, and Ron’s face was getting redder as he worked himself up. A vein protruded from the cords of his neck.

“You could have at least asked,” Ron ground out. “Not only did you make a decision without us talking it over, but you didn’t even bother to tell us who or how they would get it for you once you did.”

She exhaled furiously. “I already told you,” she shot back, stamping her foot. “They got it from Hogwarts. It was in the Room of Hidden Things.”

Ron took a step towards her, towering over her and completely livid. “Then tell us who!

Hermione clenched her fists at her sides, very much wanting to punch him. “I can’t!

Harry fell back with a grunt onto Ron’s bed. She heard the mattress squeak. “Can you two stop?” he begged with a tired groan.

“But you can tell them about the Horcruxes?” Ron persisted, ignoring Harry’s plea.

The way Ron went back over the same points maddened her to the point of insanity.

“Again!” she waved her hand at him. “They don’t know what the sodding Horcruxes are! They brought the diadem and that’s it. They don’t know how it relates to You-Know-Who! I showed them a picture, they knew where it was and they brought it. How is this not a good thing?”

Hermione’s throat was starting to hurt as they descended into all out screaming.

“Because you didn’t ask!” Ron snapped at her.

“Fine!” she bit back. “I should have asked!”

“And you should have told us who!” he retorted.

“No!” she stomped her foot again. “I can’t tell you who!”

Why?” he persisted, his voice bursting through the air in room.

This was so frustrating. They were going in circles, saying the same things over and over. Didn’t he see that? Thank Merlin she put a halt to their progressing romantic involvement. They would have been terrible together.

“Because I can’t!” Hermione threw her arms out at her side, completely exasperated. “I can’t share everything that happens at the senior meetings, you know that!”

“But the Horcruxes were always our thing!” Ron shot back. “You don’t talk about that with leadership!”

“Yes!” she hissed, but happy that at least she could agree with him on something. “And they are still our thing!”

He closed in on her and she had to tilt her head up to glare at him amidst the shouting.

“But now someone else is involved! How did you even know to include this person?”

Hermione exhaled angrily. “I can’t tell you that either.”

“For fucks’ sake!” Ron smacked the door with his palm. He turned around to look at Harry. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“She’s already heard it,” Harry replied tonelessly.

“Heard what, Harry?” Ron snarled.

Harry sighed and spoke to the ceiling, not bothering to even sit up. “I agree; Hermione should have asked. But it’s done. She made a decision without asking us. She can’t tell us who or why and just like all the other stuff from leadership that she can’t tell us, we’ll have to trust her on that too.” He spoke in an emotionless monotone, clearly wanting the whole scene to end. “Why Hermione thinks we should trust her judgement when she didn’t even trust us enough to ask is beyond me. Can we move on now? We’ve got that buggering party at the Malfoy’s to think about.”

Dammit, Harry.

He accused her of the same thing that Tonks did. Of expecting trust but not giving it. And with her best friends of all people. He was right. She should have discussed it with them first.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Always one to appreciate a genuine apology, Harry waved his hand from his prone position on the bed. "S'okay."

They had to move on and figure out how they were going to attend the summer party. He was right about that too.

What was this war doing to her that she stopped trusting her best friends’ judgement?

 

~

 

Hermione sat on her bed, fingering her Galleon pensively. She had made some progress with Harry and Ron on how to go about attending the Malfoy event, but it was tense. Vintage sixth year with Harry taking on the reluctant role of mediator between her and Ron all over again. She felt guilty, and resolved to keep her temper in check in the future. She didn’t want to Occlude in front of them, seeing how mad Ron got when she cut things off with him. But maybe she should try again if she was able to appear more natural.

One thing was for sure, after that blow up, Hermione was glad she had a place to escape to. To her own Muggle bedroom.

It was ironic how things had turned out. She had started off communicating with Draco as if meeting up for a secret affair. Now it was a lovers’ affair. She glanced around the room, waiting for him to appear. Something felt wrong. She didn’t like waiting for him on her bed like this. As if she were passive and unsure, watching the seconds tick by until he came.

Last evening, she had been the one to kiss him but he had completely taken over, somehow knowing it was her first time and wanting to make it special for her.

And he had. Very much so.

But Hermione wanted to do things to him. She wanted to initiate. She wanted to drive him crazy and tease him like he had to her. She didn’t want to sit here waiting for him like a shy, naïve little girl, waiting to be taught.

That wasn’t who she was.

A slow smile spread across her lips.

 

~

 

Draco bent over a stack of parchments. He was sitting in his father’s study, reviewing the members of the Wizengamot in the ongoing Malfoy effort to slowly push out the remaining sympathizers with Dumbledore and get the bill passed. Ever since Hermione brought up the topic, he tried steering conversations with his father towards the purpose of the Decriminalization of Interactions With Muggles Act. But either Lucius didn’t notice, or he refused to even hypothesize. Draco didn’t know, and he couldn’t ask. Knowing too much, or anything really, outside of what he was assigned in the Dark Lord’s army was dangerous.

It would indicate he was a spy.

His Galleon warmed in his pocket and Draco took it out without interrupting his perusal of the letters in front of him.

I want you now.

Draco’s eyes flicked up to his father. He couldn’t see what Draco was doing behind his desk.

Draco thumbed the Galleon and shoved it back in his pocket.

30 minutes.

The hour was getting late and Draco could bring the night to an end without suspicion. He stood up, stretched and walked over to his father’s liquor cabinet to hurry him off to bed. The Hufflepuff Cup wasn’t there, of course. But he had checked earlier for good measure. Hermione had said it wouldn’t be with the Malfoys, and she was right. He poured himself and his father a glass of cognac. His father glanced up in surprise and took the glass.

“Thank you, Draco.”

They raised their glasses to each other, and each took a sip. Draco returned to his chair across the desk and sat down to organize the letters he wrote today.

His father studied him while he made stacks of the parchments and covered them in concealment charms for good measure. After a few moments of silence, Lucius spoke.

“The Dark Lord is pleased.”

Draco glanced up; he didn’t have to fake the happy surprise on his face. Sometimes he still felt like a child, desperate for one small word of approval from his father. A pity that approval had to come in service of a genocidal megalomaniac.

“I’m learning from the best, father.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow suspiciously. That was laying it on too thick. Draco should have known better than to flatter him like that.

“How is Severus?”

Draco sipped his cognac, hoping his father would do the same and head off to bed sooner.

“Some of the new faculty aren’t taking their jobs seriously. He has his work cut out for him.”

His father sighed and shuffled the parchments on his desk. “One thing at a time. We will have more qualified teachers to choose from once the Order is stamped out.” His icy eyes met Draco’s. “Perhaps you would like to take over my role on the Board of Governors once this ordeal is over.”

Going voluntarily to Hogwarts. Often. Sitting in on classes. Regularly interfacing with the Headmaster and faculty. The mere thought made Draco want to retch but he kept his features impassive. Draco hesitated just a bit too long to answer and his father noticed.

“The relationship between the governors and faculty is somewhat different from what you’re used to.” His father’s lips tightened in a barely perceptible smirk.

The implication was clear. Once the war was won, he would be able to not only get rid of Alecto, but make her suffer first. Personally. His father, and by extension, the Dark Lord, must be very happy with him lately if a position on the Board was being offered.

Draco swirled his cognac around, considering how best to answer. “I think I’d enjoy serving the Dark Lord in such a manner.”

His father took a long, measured sip and studied his son. “I imagine you would.”

Draco downed the rest of his cognac, hoping that would signal the end of their night’s work. “Until tomorrow?”

“Mmm,” his father eyed him thoughtfully. “Good night, Draco.”

Draco did his utmost best not to race out of the study, down the foyer, and up the stairs to his bedroom where he could safely Apparate away without anyone the wiser. All day long he had to force the images of Hermione naked, breathless and moaning his name down to the recesses of his mind so he could concentrate on political machinations with his father. All he could think about was the feel of her cunt around his cock, the press of her body against his and the taste of her skin on his lips.

Right before they Apparated out of Leicester, Draco realized that despite the way she talked, and the way he teased her about having sex with Potter and the Weasel, Hermione hadn’t ever been intimate with anyone before. She wanted him; he knew that. But she had been terrified, nearly shaking when it became clear what was going to happen. Despite her terror, she reached up to kiss him and Apparate them away.

Maybe being a Gryffindor wasn’t all that bad.

Maybe.

And once she loosened up it was phenomenal. She may have been inexperienced, but she was so responsive to his touch, and very passionate. It was easy to figure out what she liked, and she loved being teased.

After he came inside her, he simply lay atop her, breathless and basking in the sensation of her body underneath him. He could have lain in her bed with her curled up next to him forever, and hadn’t wanted to leave. Despite her fear, she had given herself to him.

None of his fantasies had even come close to the reality of making love to her.

As he walked up the stairs with deliberate, agonizing slowness, he imagined Hermione waiting on the bed for him. She was probably nervous and fidgeting, wondering what he would do to her next. He would go down on her tonight, and felt himself getting hard at the thought. If she was still sore, he could wank himself and come on top of her while he thumbed her clit. He wanted to watch her come apart again. It was breathtaking.

He entered his bedroom and took out the Galleon.

Make me wait too long and I’ll start without you.

He grinned. For all her inexperience, she was excellent at dirty talk.

Draco Apparated and nearly fell over onto her bed, stumbling over something on the floor. Hermione wasn’t there. He looked down to see that he had tripped over her shoes and socks. He furrowed his brow. She was so particular about the order of her things, it wasn’t like her to leave anything in the middle of the floor. He remembered how irritated she looked when she noticed her CDs were out of order and her bookshelf bit by bit became a disorganized mish mash of stacks in different directions.

Draco turned around to face her bedroom door and noticed her jeans on the floor. A slow smile spread on his lips. He opened the bedroom door and heard the shower running. Strewn across the hallway towards the bathroom were her T-shirt, bra and knickers. His brain blanked of any plans he had for tonight because he could only think three things: Hermione. Naked. Shower.

Immediately he started unbuttoning his shirt until giving up entirely, tearing it open and shucking it off his arms, dropping it on the hallway floor. He whipped his T-shirt off and over his head, leaving that forgotten on her floor as well. Unbuckling his belt, he strode down the hallway, opening his trousers and shoving them partway down his legs before he realized he hadn’t yet taken off his socks and shoes. As quickly as he could, he toed off his loafers and raised one foot, trying to pull his sock off with his trousers still hanging around his knees. Draco hopped forward, tilted and crashed to the floor with a grunt, still trying to get his sock off.

Steam billowed out behind Hermione as she opened the door of the bathroom. She was wrapped in a towel and dripping water all over the floor. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and full of concern as she looked down at him in surprise.

“Are you alright?”

Without answering, he removed his socks, lifted his arse to push down his boxers and jumped lithely to his feet. He kicked off the remaining clothing and she backed up a step with a nervous smile. Looming over her, his erection bobbed out between them. In less than a minute, he was going to be balls deep inside of her. He leaned forward, slowly fisted the fabric of the towel above her breasts and ripped it away from her body with a violent tug.

Hermione jumped and her eyes flashed in anticipation.

Naked. Hot. Dripping.

She bit her lip and her smile broadened; a lusty gleam entered her eyes.

“Get the fuck back in the shower, Granger.”

 

~

 

Hermione fisted the pillow and released a choked cry, pushing her pelvis up and squeezing Draco’s head between her thighs as another orgasm ripped through her. He was merciless.

“I can’t,” she gasped. “I can’t anymore.” He lifted his head up, wiped his mouth on the inside of her thigh and rested his chin on her stomach, watching her with a smug grin.

She panted, trying to catch her breath, and weakly reached forward to cup his face, touch his hair, anything, but her arm fell limply on her chest.

For fuck’s sake.

It had been clear that Draco was going to take charge in the shower, too. But Hermione didn’t want that tonight. Before he could fuck her into the wall, she played her trump card and went down on him. The instant fire in his eyes when he realized what she was about to do made her fumbling attempt worth it. Having Draco Malfoy completely at her mercy: in her hands, in her mouth, trembling and groaning with each swipe of her tongue and each movement of her lips, gave her a feeling of exhilarating power. Hermione wanted to make him feel as good as he made her, not merely a recipient of pleasure.

It was her first time, but he was patient, and guided her. She remembered how he would jolt suddenly with a gasp of ‘Teeth!’ when she would accidentally scrape him, and his groaning pleas to take him deeper, to fist him with her hand, to lick the underside, to suck the skin of the tip, to slow down, to speed up, and to fondle his scrotum until he couldn’t speak any coherent words at all.

All of his maleness, his strength, his power, was completely in her control. Hermione was on her knees before him but Draco was at her mercy. She caused him to make those sounds. She made him gaze down at her like that. And she didn’t let up until his body trembled and his knees buckled, nearly falling over in the shower. After warning her that he was about to come, he grunted, leaned his head back into the streaming water and jerked suddenly into her mouth, bracing himself against the shower wall while his legs shook.

Draco rested his head on his arm, propping himself against the tiles, and watched Hermione swallow his come with the water pounding down around them. Utterly spent, his lips lifted in a half smile as he cupped her face tenderly, lightly rubbing his thumb over her lips.

And now he was returning the favor.

Hermione was completely exhausted. She had no idea how many times she came.

“I can’t move,” she told him breathlessly.

He chuckled and climbed up to lay next to her, and the mattress depressed from his weight.

“That’s one way to keep you with me tonight.”

Draco draped his hard, muscled arm across her chest, wrapped a strong leg around hers and closed his limbs around her like a vise, bringing her in, tight against him.

Hermione smiled and melted into his warmth while her breathing returned to a normal pace. She watched while her chest pushed the weight of his arm up and down. She ran her hand along his arm and laced her fingers into his, he tightened his grip on her hand in response.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” she asked, still catching her breath.

She turned on her side and Draco spooned her, resting his chin in the crook of her shoulder.

“Pansy.”

Hermione loved how his low voice rumbled from behind her.

“Thank her for me, will you?”

She felt him grin into the side of her head.

“Apparently it took me several months before I found her clit, let alone get her off. I was hopeless.”

She hummed, enjoying the feel of the skin of his chest and thighs against her back and the back of her legs. “I can’t imagine that wicked tongue of yours being anything less than perfect.”

In reply, his tongue traced the outer shell of her ear lobe and she shivered, nestling into his body further.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he spoke softly into her ear.

She grinned wider at his praise. “I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

“And like a bloody Gryffindor, you plunged in.” He paused. “Head first.”

She laughed and snuggled into him further. “It helped that you were so vocal.”

He tightened his grip on her. “Honestly, dicks don’t require much besides something hot, tight and wet. Anything else is a bonus.”

“And you still liked it?” She couldn’t help but feel just a little bit self-conscious.

“Hermione.” His voice lowered an octave. “I will never say no to your mouth on my cock.”

Hermione turned her head around, wanting to see Draco’s eyes when he spoke with such raw desire about something she did to him. She had to kiss him. The moment their lips met he hardened against her arse and thrust lightly against her, holding her body in place with his arm.

Draco broke the kiss and lifted his leg to separate hers and position himself from behind. Hermione felt his tip at her entrance, pushing slightly, slipping along her folds and he spoke directly into her ear, making her tremble. “Are you still sore from last night?”

Hermione was ridiculously wet from his saliva and her arousal. His desire emboldened her and gave her more confidence. Instead of answering, she gripped him from below and angled him upward towards her entrance. He hissed against the skin of her cheek and pushed up and into her, hand splayed across her stomach. His fingers slid down her abdomen to find her clitoris but she didn’t think she could bear any more stimulation there.

She pulled his hand up to her breast. “Too sensitive,” she gasped as he squeezed and fondled her breasts. They rocked against each other, legs intertwined, finding a slow, sensuous rhythm amongst the desperate rubbing, moaning and groping. He grabbed her hip, grunted into her ear and trembled behind her, holding her fast against his chest.

“Hermione.” Draco exhaled her name and came inside her.

 

 

 

Notes:

Next up: Hermione gets caught!

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 44: Chapter 44

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“I’ve changed my mind. Muggles are inferior to Wizards.”

Hermione rolled over in the bed to face Draco in alarm.

“What are you–”

“Ewoks.”

She sputtered as the righteous anger died on her lips, and burst out laughing.

“Muggles came up with Ewoks and Ewoks are ridiculous,” Draco continued with a smile. “The first two Star Wars movies were brilliant. Why did they go and bollocks up the third with a bunch of sodding teddy bears? As if a primitive pre-historic tribe that hasn’t even reached the iron age could defeat a battalion of Imperial Storm Troopers?”

He snorted in disgust.

“You know,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “There’s a group called the Society for the Extermination of the Ewoks. SEE. They have a president, a vice president, a treasurer and everything. It’s fairly official.”

He chuckled. “I’d like to get a membership. The world is better off without them. We should sic the Dark Lord on them and put his genocidal tendencies to good use.”

“After you purchase a membership to SPEW.”

Draco laughed.

Hermione was quiet.

He laughed even harder and then stopped.

“Oh. You’re serious.”

 

~

 

“Stop thinking.” Draco mumbled into the back of her head. “I can’t sleep.”

Hermione turned around to face him. “How does me thinking disturb your sleep?”

He propped his head up in his hand and pulled her hair out of his mouth, blowing the remaining strands away from his lips. “The ‘how’ doesn’t matter. The fact remains that it does.” His voice was raspy from sleep – or the lack thereof – and he leaned down to kiss her nose. “What’s bothering you?”

“I was thinking about that day at the National Gallery. And then I wondered how you figured out that I Obliviated my parents. Which started me thinking about my parents, and I wondered what they’re doing. Where they are. If they’re happy.”

He jerked his head back. “You don’t know where they are?”

Hermione shook her head.

“But then,” Draco’s voice was still husky and he coughed. “How will you find them when this is over?”

She brushed a curl away from her face. “I know their new names. It’ll take some time but I’ll find them. I’m more worried that I won’t be able to reverse the charm.” She bit her lip and felt her throat constrict. “I worry it was too drastic. Maybe I didn’t need to go to such extremes.” She started tearing up. “I just…” she sniffed, and Draco gently wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “I just didn’t know how to get them to leave quickly enough or how to even convince them. They don’t know anything about this war. They never would have left me, and time was running out. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Draco left his hand atop her cheek and rubbed the area of her skin which had been wet from her tear.

“You did the right thing,” His grey eyes focused intently on her, willing her to believe him. His hand was warm on her skin, comforting, but she felt his fingers flex. “It wasn’t too much. This house was one of the first raid targets from that summer. You were right to get them out quickly, and you were right to help all the Muggle-borns go into hiding. Those that we caught, that didn’t leave…” He shifted his gaze to the side, unable to meet her eyes. “were killed.”

Draco had probably killed some of them.

“How did you know?” she asked, reaching up to clasp his fingers on the side of her face. Hermione loved how long they were, able to completely wrap around her hand. His fingers were thicker than hers, and more powerful, but elegant. “You figured out a while ago that I Obliviated them.”

He leaned over her, lips brushing her forehead. “The pictures in the hallway.”

“Oh.” She started to tear up again. Remembering her image vanishing from the photographs one by one while her parents were at the office always made her cry.

Draco continued speaking against her forehead, moving his lips back and forth across her skin. “That was the first time I questioned what I was taught about blood status. I was completely stunned by what you had done to protect your family. And even more so that you hadn’t run away with them.” He squeezed her hand. “You should have. You still can.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes. “You can, but you won’t. And I wish more than anything that you would.” His face was wrenched with such longing and pain. “But you staying to fight is one of the things I love about you.”

Draco’s eyes widened, slightly panicked and his body tensed.

“I–” he paused, seemingly unsure how to continue. He appeared somewhat alarmed that he let his feelings slip out.

Hermione heard his heart hammering nervously in his chest above hers. He eyed her as if he were afraid he’d scared her off with his unplanned confession.

“I love you too, Draco,” she whispered, cupping his cheek. She wasn’t surprised by his admission, but a warmth bloomed in her chest all the same. “For some time now.”

She wanted to tell him more, but before she could say anything else he lowered his lips to hers and covered her with his body. Wanting nothing more than to be filled by him, she opened her mouth and spread her legs, needing to feel him everywhere. His tongue slid inside her mouth and he settled himself between her thighs, the skin of his hips sliding against the skin of hers. He rested his elbows on either side of her head, enveloping her with his body and she slid her hands along his shoulders, his back and down to his arse to guide him inside. His head lifted slightly and he watched her face while he entered her with a shuddering moan, and then lowered his head again for a long, sensual, kiss.

 

 

~

 

Thinking about you coming around my cock.

Hermione shoved the Galleon back in her pocket and shut the book she was reading on Portkey related Arithmancy. Combat training was done for the day. Draco usually contacted her in the evenings after most in the Order had dinner. The atmosphere was quiet and subdued in Westchester safe house.

“Neville.” She poked her head in the kitchen where he sat, playing Exploding Snap with Alicia Spinnet and Fred Weasley. She was happy to see Neville coming out of his depression and a bit of that playful shine returning to his eyes after losing Hannah. “I’m heading out. I’ll check in with you at breakfast.”

Neville was the Westchester safe house leader and had to know where every Order member in his safe house was at all times. The extra responsibility also helped draw him out of his sadness, and he took it seriously. He nodded without comment and made an adjustment on his roster.

No one questioned Hermione when she left. Between her responsibilities with the senior Order leadership and her Horcrux missions with Harry and Ron, she had plenty of reasons for disappearing for hours or even days at a time. She doubted anyone even noticed, as they were all so busy with their budding romances.

Harry and Ginny sat with their legs intertwined on the couch in the den, doing their best not to snog each other to death in front of everyone. She felt a bittersweet pull on her heart watching them. They shared a knowing look as she made to exit the safe house.

“It’s that bloke she’s seeing,” Harry spoke to Ginny, loud enough that she could hear.

Hermione whirled around.

“I’m not seeing–” Hermione began to protest but Ginny cut her off.

“You’ve been running off nearly every night lately.” She opened her mouth to explain but Ginny cut her off. “And it’s not super-secret Order business so don’t even try that excuse.”

Hermione looked to Harry for help but all she received was a smirk worthy of Draco. He raised an eyebrow and said, “You should see your face when you take that Galleon out.”

She felt the blush spread from her neck up to her cheeks. Ginny’s grin turned predatory.

Had she really been that obvious? Apparently so.

“Now the question is…” Ginny tapped her chin, peering into the air above Hermione’s head as if deep in thought. “Which bloke is Hermione embarrassed enough about that she can’t even tell her best friends she’s shagging him, yet good enough in the sack to go to all this trouble to begin with?”

Hermione stammered, unsure as to how to answer. She had no idea anyone had noticed what she had been up to. But now that she thought about it, why wouldn’t they connect the dots? What else would she be doing if she were gone most nights?

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Harry chided her with a chuckle. “We all deserve some fun.”

“Right,” Hermione grumbled, sinking into the couch next to him. “With the way you two are carrying on about me, there’s certainly nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“She’s being considerate, Harry. She doesn’t want to rub Ron’s face in it,” Ginny explained to him while staring directly at her. “Hermione’s waiting until he finds someone of his own. Then she’ll tell us which bloke shags her so well she practically creams her knickers every time she looks at that Galleon of hers.”

Hermione dropped her head to her hands with a groan. They were terrible.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “He’s got to be good. You didn’t even finish the chapter in that book you were reading. I’ve never seen you throw a book to the side like that before.” Harry turned to Ginny. “I bet she even stopped reading,” he paused dramatically, “mid-sentence.”

Ginny gasped as if that was the most scandalous news she had ever heard.

Well, the cover could work both ways. Draco could be slipping out for an affair, she could as well. At this point, there wasn’t any line between a spy/handler relationship and a secret lovers’ tryst anyway.

“Does anyone else know?” she asked sheepishly.

“Neville,” Ginny answered motioning to the kitchen. “Obviously. He’s the one recording your absences every night and returns the following morning.”

“He’s just too polite to say anything,” Harry explained.

“Not like us,” Ginny smiled at her, completely unashamed.

“Definitely not like us.” Harry continued with another smirk.

“So who is he?” Ginny waggled her eyebrows at her. “We want to know who Mr. Wonder Cock is. Ron’s been putting the moves on Susan lately and – against her better judgement – she’s been reciprocating them. You could probably see him out in the open without Ron throwing a tantrum now.”

He wants to keep it a secret at the moment,” Hermione explained.

That was the truth at least, and it took the pressure off of her by putting the desire for secrecy on someone else.

“We’ll find out eventually,” Harry explained confidently. “Process of elimination.”

Hermione shot him a withering glance. “What, are you two keeping a record of–”

Ginny bent over and whipped out a rolled parchment from underneath the couch. She unrolled it to show Hermione a list of all the Order members with some names already crossed off.

Hermione’s jaw dropped.

“You two have way too much time on your hands.”

Ginny continued unabashed, ignoring Hermione’s comment. “We already figured out it’s not anyone in Westchester safe house,” she explained, eyeing the list. “We considered cross-checking the rosters of Dorchester, Haverhill and Cambridge with the other safe house leaders but that would reveal the answer too quickly.” She flicked her eyes up to Hermione, amused. “There’s no fun in that.”

“What if I’m not meeting him at another safe house?”

“Still easy,” Ginny replied, undeterred.  “The rosters would show who’s disappearing at the same time as you. There are missions and raids but it wouldn’t take long to find the pattern and match you up with Sir Mighty Penis.”

Hermione glanced down the list on the parchment. “What if he’s not an Order member in a safe house?”

Harry’s brows furrowed. “Is he an Auror?”

Ginny turned to him in thought. “Maybe he’s working undercover for us at the Ministry or elsewhere. Someone with more experience.” She turned back to Hermione with a lascivious smile. “An older man. You don’t fuck around, do you?”

“That’s precisely what she’s doing,” Harry quipped.

Ginny grinned.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at them. “The plot thickens. Renders that little list of yours useless, doesn’t it?”

Ginny pouted but Harry looked more determined. “You can’t hide him forever, Hermione. We’ll figure out who makes you treat books worse than Ron.”

She gasped, offended. “I do not!”

Harry gave a pointed look to where her Portkey Arithmancy book lay on the floor. She thought she placed it on the side table.

Oops.

“You think you can outsmart me?” She stood up from the sofa, playing along with their game. “You just let me know you’re trying to figure it out. That was your first mistake.”

Harry and Ginny turned back to each other, whispering furiously as she strode out the door with a shit-eating grin.

 

~

 

Hermione opened her eyes. The room was black except for the starlight coming through the slats of the blinds. She was completely trapped in Draco’s embrace and her legs were sticky with the remnants of their love making. Careful not to wake him, she slowly pulled her leg out from between his but his grip tightened and he pulled her closer against him.

“Stay,” he murmured.

“I’ll be right back. Just going to the loo.”

He mumbled something she couldn’t understand and loosened his death grip on her. She went to the bathroom and washed up.

Hermione walked back into the guest room and Draco’s eyes glittered in the dim light, following her as she made her way back to the bed. She crawled inside under the covers and he drew her close to face him, intertwining their legs together.

“You don’t sleep well?” she asked, peering into his eyes.

“Not at home, no. I do with you next to me.”

She ran her hands through his hair, fingers pressing gently into his scalp. He closed his eyes while she traced patterns through the locks of his hair, humming in contentment.

“What’s it like at home?”

Draco opened his eyes and gazed at her. “Terrifying.”

Hermione ran her fingers up and down his arm and stilled when the texture of the skin changed so dramatically. It was the scarred, black skin of the Dark Mark. He watched her while she inspected it, but didn’t say anything, and allowed her to continue to trace the lines and ridges of the cursed tattoo.

“It doesn’t disgust you?” Draco asked. His eyes followed her fingers as they made trails on his inner forearm.

She stared up at him, perturbed. “Of course not. Why would it?”

He continued to observe while her fingers drew patterns on him. “Because of what it represents, and that I chose to take it.”

Did he still think so lowly of himself? She wrapped her fingers around his arm, over the Dark Mark and squeezed. He shifted his gaze to her eyes. Hermione wanted him to understand.

“But that’s not who you are. Even then. You didn’t know what you were doing.”

His brow furrowed slightly, conflicted by her answer. “But I do unforgivable things in his name. I know exactly what I’m doing now.”

She set her mouth in a firm line. This war was so hard on him. Despite the upward battle and reduced resources of the Order, it was much easier from a psychological standpoint to fight Voldemort when you didn’t have to hide your actions and motivations all the time. When you acted in accordance with your beliefs.

“If you had a choice, you wouldn’t. You’re doing all you can.”

“Am I?” Draco sounded doubtful.

“You are,” Hermione assured him, trying to put the conviction that she felt into her voice.

She continued to caress him. Receiving the Dark Mark must have hurt with the way the skin was mutilated like that. It wasn’t just a scar or a tattoo; the texture was almost reptilian.

“What was it like? When it was done to you?”

He huffed a laugh. “It fucking hurt like hell. Like I was being burned from the inside out. We were at Aunt Bella’s for the ceremony.” Draco turned on his back and his arm slid out of her grasp. “It’s somewhat of a blur, but I remember being on my knees, surrounded by all of them. Dolohov was leaning on my shoulders, keeping me in place while my father held my arm out. I remember screaming and at some point I passed out. That was,” he stopped speaking, and swallowed. “That was the first time she…”

Hermione listened to him with mounting horror. She didn’t understand how anyone could follow a madman that purposely hurt those who worked and fought for him. She couldn’t comprehend how a father would allow his son to be branded in such a fashion. To be hurt like that.

“I woke up sometime later and Alecto was there. She was touching me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled with the words to tell her. “I was scared and didn’t know what to do.”

Hermione pushed herself up on her elbow and leaned down to kiss his shoulder, and then his cheek, and then his forehead. Just to let him know that she was here. That she loved him. That she would give him whatever comfort and support that he needed. She wished she could have been there with that sixteen-year-old boy that didn’t know any better, that didn’t understand the consequences of his decisions, that only wanted to repair the damage done to his family name and more than anything, to impress his father.

But Draco wouldn’t have wanted her comfort back then.

He looked up at her as she leaned over him. Her curls fell down around him, framing his face.

“You know who put a stop to it?”

Hermione shook her head wordlessly.

“Aunt Bella.”

He saw her expression and nodded as if he couldn’t believe it either.

“My parents were pleading with the Dark Lord. Aunt Bella walked in and just told her to get out, that I was underage. Maybe that’s why she started to teach me Occlumency.” He frowned. “She hasn’t interfered since then. Maybe she thinks I want the attention.”

Hermione rested her head in the crook of his neck and lay atop him, holding him in silence. No wonder Draco hadn’t wanted to give them the plans to the Lestrange estate.

It was quiet. All she could hear in the dead of night was their breathing, and some crickets outside.

“You know it’s not your fault, don’t you?”

She heard his jaw click. His voice was low, resigned. “I got myself into this whole situation.”

Hermione clutched his shoulders and pushed herself up to gaze down at him. Draco couldn’t possibly think that Alecto sexually assaulting him was his fault. She desperately wanted him to understand that it wasn’t. None of it was.

“You didn’t know,” she protested. “You couldn’t have. And you were so young! And even now there are things you can’t control! You didn’t–”

“Hermione.” He sounded agonized, and his voice was raw. “You don’t have to do that.” He wrapped his arm around her again and shifted her body so he could cradle her into his side. Draco pressed his lips into her hairline and spoke, “It’s enough that you’re here.”

Her hand lay on his chest. She felt his heartbeat pounding slowly, methodically, against her palm.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Next up: More mentoring for Draco and Hermione.

The Society for the Extermination of the Ewoks used to be a thing. I swear I’m not making that up. :)

Shampoo_ish, one of the translators to Russian made this awesome fanart. Check out her instagram!

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instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

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Facebook: Lynn Dramione
Discord: mistresslynn#1535

Chapter 45: Chapter 45

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione deflected hexes shot at her by the Patil twins when a large whoosh sound made everyone around her jump.

“Lavender for fucks’ sake!” she heard Dean call out. “You’re going to roast someone!”

Lavender giggled and cast another gigantic fireball into the air. It expanded until it was twelve feet across, making the whoosh sound Hermione heard earlier, and then dissolved into little tendrils of flame, finally disappearing when the fire had nothing to burn.

Pamela Proudfoot and Ignatius Savage barked orders at everyone from across the lawn. Tonks had verified the two Aurors were not the leak, at least, not that the Aurors had been aware of, and neither had been Imperiused. The Order still hadn’t figured out who had Imperiused two of their members, including the Secret Keeper for Paddington. Although all possible leaks to the outside were cut off – no one was Polyjuiced, no one was Imperiused any longer, and everyone had been interrogated with Veritaserum – it was unsettling that the leadership still didn’t know who made the Secret Keeper give away Paddington’s location, or even how it was done.

“Hermione!”

She whirled around to see Remus waving to her from the entrance to Westchester. He had Teddy strapped to his front, snoozing contentedly despite the yelling echoing across the expansive safe house grounds.

Hermione jogged over, wiping the sweat off her brow and wondering if leadership was having an impromptu meeting. She stopped abruptly when she saw the look in his eyes. He was in professor mode.

Remus stroked Teddy’s hair for a few moments in thought and then spoke. “Dora said you’re still having trouble throwing off the Imperius.”

Her shoulders sagged in defeat. She was. There were a few Order members that were still having difficulty throwing it off and to her utter dismay, she was one of them. Even private lessons with Tonks didn’t seem to work despite helping everyone else.

“Yes, I don’t know why,” she explained defensively. “I’ve read as much as I can and I understand the fundam–”

“Come walk with me.” Remus cut her off. “I don’t think the problem lies with your ability or understanding of the curse itself. The two or three others still having difficulty, yes. But not you.”

She remembered how Harry had only been able to cast the Patronus charm after being instructed by Remus, and coached into finding the proper memory and deconstructing it. Much like she had done with Draco. Maybe there was something else at play that she was missing.

“What do you think it is, then?”

Gazing over at Minerva while she demonstrated advanced Shielding Charms, he stepped off the porch. Hermione followed him as he walked down a path which led to the neighboring sheep fields. Their feet disturbed some of the dirt on the path and little clouds of dust wafted away in their wake.

“Does your responsibility weigh on you?”

Hermione turned to him, squinting from the sun shining behind him. What did that have to do with anything?

“Of course it does.”

He stopped walking when they reached the sheep field and faced her, concern reflecting in his dark brown eyes. “Do you feel responsible for their deaths?”

She blinked, and swallowed. Remus was staring at her as if he already knew the answer to that question. Immediately, she felt the burning of tears.

“I know it’s silly,” she admitted, and sniffed, preventing her tears from falling. “I’m not the only one making decisions. It’s somewhat arrogant to blame myself. And I know I couldn’t have done anything about Ollivander.”

He waited for her while she figured out how to phrase the thoughts she had the night Draco had confessed to murdering them.

“And yet? 

“And yet…” Her words came out in a rush. “And yet I wish I would have tried harder to convince Luna to come with us. I shouldn’t have let her stay at Hogwarts.” A tear finally fell and she wiped it away. “And we could have drilled a Portkey evacuation plan, even with the limited ones we had. I should have thought of it before. I should have insisted. And I could have–”

“Hermione.”

Remus’ voice was soft and comforting. She watched while his fingers played with Teddy’s baby hair and inhaled slowly to stem the rushing tears.

“Do you remember the conversation we had back at Pinner? When I said you could step down if you wanted?”

She was mortified that Remus thought she couldn’t handle the responsibility. Is that what this was? Because she couldn’t manage to throw off the Imperius Curse she had to give up her leadership position?

“But I’ll manage eventually!” she protested. “I’m working on it!”

He shook his head with a sad smile. “That’s not what I meant, and I wasn’t implying that you should step down. I don’t doubt you’re working very hard on throwing it off, just like you do everything else.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, relieved that she wouldn’t have to give up.

“I think part of you doesn’t want to have that much responsibility.”

“I do!” she insisted, put on the defensive again by his suggestion. “It’s hard, yes, but I don’t regret it for a minute!”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, or to anyone.” He smiled sadly. “We all know you can handle it. But it’s okay to admit serving in a leadership position is overwhelming. Sometimes I wish I was your age again,” he motioned to everyone throwing hexes around, “not worrying about making big decisions because Albus was doing that for me.”

Hermione felt somewhat mollified that Remus felt insecure about his role as well. Mollified, but also scared. It was unnerving; realizing that a rock she depended on wasn’t as hard as she previously thought.

But everyone had insecurities. Minerva, Tonks, Kingsley – they probably all had insecurities, and just didn’t discuss them.

At least, not with her.

“It’s not your mistake, it’s not your burden. It’s all of ours.”

She turned to him sharply and felt the lump in her throat return. “You think we made a mistake?”

“Mmm.” Remus nodded and his thumb stroked Teddy’s cheek, rubbing the soft flesh back and forth. “You were right, in retrospect. We should have drilled an evacuation plan the minute we had a place to go to. Even if we didn’t have enough Portkeys, even if the evacuation site wasn’t ready. The best we can do is rectify and do better for next time.”

“But… but then,” she felt tears burn her eyes again, and Occluded, not wanting to cry in front of him. “It’s our fault they’re dead!”

“That’s part of being a leader,” he replied sadly. “We shoulder the successes, we shoulder the burdens, we shoulder the failures. It will always be like that. Leaders fail too.” She inhaled a shuddering breath and tightened her chest, willing herself not to cry. “Albus made mistakes, didn’t he? And he paid for those mistakes with his life.”

Hermione was silent.

“And you pointed out that we made a mistake which led to Alastor’s death. Remember?”

She did. And she didn’t think any less of Minerva, Kingsley, Tonks or Remus for it. She had watched them deftly navigate the difficulties of building an underground resistance and chipping away at Voldemort’s army all while staying hidden.

“Leaders fail sometimes. Everyone makes bad decisions. Do you know the difference between a good and bad leader?”

She shook her head silently.

“Good leaders learn from their mistakes and persevere. You’re not a failure simply because you – we – didn’t act quickly enough. We’d be failures if we gave up or didn’t fix what went wrong.”

She watched everyone fighting across the lawn. They were all her responsibility. Their responsibility. “That helps, Remus. It does. I guess… I hadn’t looked at things that way. But it’s terrifying. Sometimes I feel paralyzed by the fear of failure.”

“This won’t be the last time we fail, Hermione. You know that, don’t you?”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and nodded silently.

“I hope the next time I fail won’t come at such a cost.”

“We,” Remus corrected. “You’re not alone.”

She smiled gratefully at him and they turned back watch everyone running back and forth, bright flashes of light blasting over the field as they fought one another. Lavender shot a gigantic fireball into the air, lighting a tree on fire.

“What does all this have to do with the Imperius Curse?”

His eyes rested on her.

“Part of you wants to give up control to someone else.”

Her lips parted in understanding.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“We’re different from the rest of them,” he continued, facing towards the Order members being trained by the Aurors. “While they make split second decisions during raids, and have a responsibility towards each other in battle, they don’t have the kind of deliberations we do which impact the future of the Order. They don’t make decisions which impact our ability to win this war. They follow our directives.” He started drawing circles on Teddy’s back. “The stress of combat they feel is acute, but so is the relief. The stress you experience is chronic, and there is no relief from that.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “We still have that three-foot long parchment wish list we’re working on, ‘eh?”

She furrowed her brow in puzzlement. “But why doesn’t it affect you? You’re the leader. You have more responsibility than the rest of us. Certainly more than me.” Her eyes lowered to Teddy, cradled against Remus’ chest while he slept. “And now with a baby.”

He placed his hand protectively over Teddy’s head and raised his eyebrows. “Who said it doesn’t affect me?”

Hermione wasn’t the only one who doubted herself, and she wasn’t the only one who felt overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility. She was insecure because of her age, relative to the rest of the leaders. But now she realized they had more life experience to buoy them when things got rough.

She and Remus watched while Dean, Harry and Justin doused the flaming tree with water. Lavender pouted off to the side.

“How old are you now, Hermione?” he asked, as if reading her thoughts.

“Eighteen.”

His lips quirked upwards.

“And a half,” she felt like she needed to add.

“And you’re making hard decisions with those that are several decades older than you, that have experience to help shoulder the weight of that responsibility. As you’ve noted in the past, we’ve all been through a war already, and Dora has several years’ experience as an Auror under her belt. What do you have?”

Just her knowledge, her skill, her desire to work hard and her ability to problem solve. All of which were currently failing her as she struggled to throw off the Imperius Curse.

“Your parents’ situation is unknown,” Remus continued. She had to hold back her tears again. “You’re isolated somewhat from us given your age and your mission from Albus. And also from your friends, given your responsibilities and how we hold each other to secrecy.” He turned to face her. “It’s a lot to deal with.”

“It is,” she agreed and pressed the balls of her hands into her eyes.

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and peered down at her. “If you need someone to talk to, about anything, Dora and I are here for you. You don’t have to feel alone.”

“Thank you,” Hermione sniffed, and nodded. She’d have to remember that. “I think… I think I’m also scared of letting Tonks down. It makes it harder to practice with her.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I already disappointed her.”

Was currently disappointing her.

It wasn’t just keeping her in the dark about Draco’s knowledge of the Nott raid. Although Tonks hadn’t ordered her not to pursue a relationship with Draco, she knew it was a bad idea and that Tonks disapproved. Hermione was actively defying Tonks, and Tonks knew it. But Hermione had accidentally outmaneuvered her and there wasn’t much that could be done about it at this point. She could barely look her in the eyes anymore, let alone throw off her Imperius.

“You’re not the only one who has disappointed my wife.” Remus chuckled, obviously speaking from experience. “She’s got a temper, ‘eh?”

Hermione laughed and rubbed her eyes. “It’s not just that I’m afraid of her yelling at me – which I am –” Remus chuckled again. “But it’s personal. She’s really taken the time to mentor me and I’ve been doing well…” she looked down at her feet. “just not with this.”

“So how about we practice throwing off the curse, just you and me? No fear of disappointing my wife.”

She smiled gratefully up at him. “Alright.”

Remus held out his wand and then paused.

“You know Hermione, everyone in leadership has something different to contribute. But there’s no doubt in my mind that the Order is doing as well as it is now because you are part of it.”

 

~

 

Jugson grunted in approval as Draco’s hexes hit the dummy, one after another, even though it was charmed to move. To his satisfaction, he had improved quite a bit. Draco deflected the curses that bounced back from the reflective charm, hardly ever missing his target.

“Your spoiled, pasty arse works pretty hard,” Jugson commented in his gruff voice.

Draco stopped hexing the dummy. He wiped the sweat off his brow and slicked his hair back as Jugson eyed him up and down.

It was a war. What choice did he have? If time allowed it, Draco trained every day trying to get better.

Jugson had been stopping by the Manor every so often. Sometimes working with him and his father on Ministry dealings, sometimes giving Draco pointers. Whenever Jugson stopped by, he’d make a few comments, correct his technique, and invariably put Draco through something incredibly painful.

At the end of it all, Draco was grateful for the help and had improved dramatically since Hermione had first chewed him out at Trafalgar Square. His father had also trained him to duel over the past few years, but the senior Malfoy’s style was more classical. Lucius had been more focused on complex, dark spells designed to maim and kill and break through shields.

Jugson fought dirty. He didn’t care for show, just getting the job done. Jugson was just as likely to employ spells first years used to prank each other as he was an Unforgivable.

When Draco thought back to his state of mind last summer, he couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. Just letting the time go by, waiting for something to happen, anything to happen. His only goal had been to keep his head down in the hopes of surviving the day without being tortured, without his parents being tortured, or any of them being killed.

Not once had it crossed his mind that if he honed his dueling skills, he could train himself to be as good as some of the other Inner Circle members. If Draco was more valuable to the Dark Lord, he would be less vulnerable. As would his parents. And he could defend himself better in raids, whether it was from Order members or Death Eaters.

Lovegood had caught him off guard back when they raided her house. She was good. Probably because she had been training in Dumbledore’s Army for two years at least. He had no doubt she would have defeated him if he hadn’t had Jugson and Macnair with him at the time. A pang of guilt made his stomach twist as he thought of Lovegood sitting in squalor in their dungeons.

And he let Hermione believe she was murdered.

The Order would say he violated their trust again. And Hermione would hate him, she wouldn’t understand. Or maybe she would?

Hermione had pointed out how apathetic he had been. Complacent. She had pushed him to start taking control of his life. And he was. Slowly. But he wasn’t sure how to dig himself out from the hole he created with Lovegood.

Becoming more valuable on the battlefield was at least something he had control over. His chances of staying alive were better. He was aiding the Order by helping to find those evil objects Hermione needed. And he had Hermione. She was something he had chosen for himself.

Draco was still being used, but there were aspects of his life he had control over. Important ones. And he had Hermione to thank for that.

“Okay Malfoy,” Jugson leered at him. “Time to learn how to fight.”

Draco glared at him. “The fuck have I been doing this whole time?”

Jugson abruptly stomped up to him, pushed his chest into Draco’s, knocking him back a few paces and sneered in his face. He was as tall as Draco, but broader, larger, and much, much stronger. It wasn’t hard for Jugson to intimidate by physical presence alone.

“Hex me,” Jugson barked at him.

Draco stared back, wary. He didn’t know what was coming but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. He took a step back and raised his wand. But before he could cast anything he was flat on his back, staring up at the clear, blue sky, ears ringing.

Jugson appeared in his view, leaning over him with a twisted smile on his face. “Tell Narcissa you got that shiner from falling off your broom.”

Draco blinked. Jugson’s punch hadn’t hurt at first, but now he could feel pain spreading from the bone around his eye and back up through his skull. He winced and pushed himself up to a sitting position, now dizzy and swaying slightly. After the Quidditch pitch and Jugson stopped moving, he slowly stood up, tenderly touching his cheek bone.

He grimaced. Fuck. It killed.

Something flew in his direction and he automatically caught it, grateful for having trained as a Seeker.

“Good,” Jugson growled. “No one will wait for you to lick your wounds, Malfoy.”

Draco looked down, it was a broken broom handle.

“What’s this for?”

“If you’re in close quarters, you won’t be able to use your wand.” Jugson pointed to the broken broom handle in Draco’s hand. “Best have another weapon so you don’t break your knuckles on someone’s skull. You won’t be able to use your wand if you do and then you’re finished.”

Draco’s head was throbbing. If there were any broken bones from that punch, they certainly weren’t Jugson’s.

Jugson closed in on him again and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Wand in one hand, weapon in the other. Use both.”

Draco held his wand in his left hand, finger extended as Jugson taught him. He threw the broom handle, flipping it in the air and catching it with his right hand. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. One good whack with it would knock someone out. He could break someone’s collar bone. He could shove the broom handle in someone’s throat. Up through their jaw. Into their eye.

Jugson was right. The wand was good for attacks at a distance where you had time and space to cast. Up close you’d likely end up with your wand broken and yourself on the floor, like Draco just had been.

He glanced at Jugson apprehensively. “What if I hit you?”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

 

 

 

 

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Chapter 46: Chapter 46

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

May 1998

The rain outside quickly morphed into a violent thunderstorm. Hermione stared out the window of her parents’ guest bedroom at the lightning. The cracks of thunder were too loud and woke her up. She turned around to see Draco sleeping soundly next to her. How he continued to sleep like the dead through all this noise was beyond her.

She watched as the bright flashes of light played across his facial features, his bare chest, and the contours of his neck, shoulders and arms. The sheet was drawn up just over his bum, covering his privates. Hermione was immediately concerned by the bruises he had shown up with, leftover from what he hadn’t been able to heal completely. She worried that someone was abusing him in some way. But he brushed off her worry, explaining that they were a result of more intensive combat training, and that he was better for it.

Hermione smiled at Draco’s face, content in his slumber.

Looking back, sometimes she still couldn’t believe all that had transpired between them. It was ten months ago that she had given him the Galleon. Spiteful and bound on the floor of the Muggle-borns he was tasked with bringing in, now he was risking himself for the Order. And they had fallen in love.

Her gaze stayed on Draco’s sleeping form. His hair was forever falling in front of his eyes. She tenderly brushed it back, tucking the soft locks behind his ear where it was long enough to stay in place. He murmured something unintelligible but didn’t wake.

Hermione closed her eyes again but still couldn’t fall asleep. The occasional crack of thunder kept her awake. She sat up and gazed out the window, listening to the rain pounding on the windowpane. She hadn’t showered after combat training today and still had dried fluids between her legs from their lovemaking. A hot shower would help her relax so she could return to sleep.

She left the bed and entered the bathroom, tying her hair back in a bun so it wouldn’t get wet. Upon turning on the light switch, the bulb flickered and burned out, so she opened the blinds to allow the dim light from outside into the bathroom. After letting the water run for a few seconds to warm up, she stepped in the shower and soaped her body in the dark, clearing off the dried sweat.

Eager to get back to bed, she shut off the water, drying off while looking at the dark shadows across her body in the mirror. She bent over to wipe her legs and toes and stood up again to see Draco’s reflection behind her.

Not having heard him enter the bathroom, she yelped at his unexpected presence. His posture was tense and arms at his sides, fingers curled like claws. Lightning illuminated his body with angular flashes and a crack of thunder made her jump again. She whirled around to face him and was immediately wary. He was agitated and his eyes were different. Much darker than she had ever seen before.

Had something happened?

“Are you alright?” she asked, studying the changed shade of his eyes curiously.

“Fine,” Draco answered softly. His arms circled around her and cradled her to his chest, seemingly having calmed down. “I thought you left.”

She tilted her head up again, his eyes were the stormy grey she was used to, but the poor lighting in the loo made it seem as if they had a dangerous gleam.

“I wouldn’t leave you like that,” she replied. “I just had trouble sleeping.”

He bent down to kiss her and paused before his mouth met hers.

“Do you need me to tire you out?”

Hermione smiled and raised herself up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his, but he turned her away from him to face the mirror. She twisted her neck to try and capture a kiss, but he leaned back out of her reach with a smirk and motioned towards the mirror. Suddenly nervous at the prospect of watching herself, she gazed at his reflection standing behind her.

He ghosted his fingers along her bare arms, causing goosebumps to form in their wake, and then reached up to her bun, pulling her head to the side slightly and exposing her neck.

Draco’s other hand splayed across her clavicle and he leaned down, dragging his lips against the side of her throat. Her eyes fluttered shut and his fingers stroked her neck and upper chest, making her stomach twist in anticipation.

“Watch.” His voice was a low rumble behind her. “That’s what a mirror is for.”

Hermione opened her eyes to meet his hungry gaze. His fingers slid down her upper chest, touching the towel where she held it wrapped around her body. She clutched the terrycloth nervously and watched his fingers move back and forth across her skin, teasing her by dipping beneath the fabric. His lips travelled up the line of her neck to her ear.

Lightning flashed again, coloring his skin bright white against the shadows. The flashes of light gave the bathroom an almost sinister atmosphere. It made his eyes appear to change into that strange dark shade again and return to their pale grey. Thunder rumbled in the distance and his fingers slipped underneath the towel. They rubbed, stroked and reached down over her breast. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth as his palm trailed downward, pushing the towel to expose her. His fingers moved across her nipple, then his palm, until he had the entirety of her flesh in his hand.

Hermione felt herself tighten between her legs, and she pressed her thighs together.

Draco squeezed gently and she moaned, letting the towel drop and her head loll back against his shoulder. She reached towards the back of his thighs to hold him against her. His chest was warm and his cock slid against her rear. He watched her eyes in the mirror, but his gaze trailed down to where he kneaded the skin of her breast. He released her hair and slid his hand down her back, cupping her arse and squeezing hard.

It hurt, and her knees wobbled.

“Too much?” he whispered into her ear, tickling her lobe.

The rough groping felt like he was laying claim to her body, and she liked it. She squeezed the back of his thighs harshly in return and he bit his lip with a grunt.

“Nothing I don’t like,” she replied with a small smile. 

Draco palmed her arse again, harder, testing her limits. The hand at her breast cupped her. She watched the muscles of his shoulders and forearms flex, and how he made her flesh move in the mirror. His fingers rubbed and pushed and kneaded roughly. She stared as he pulled lightly on her nipple, twisting it, and then pulled harder. He pinched, and she whined softly. Knowing he was watching her, she shifted her gaze back to his eyes.

The intense way he looked at her made Hermione feel desired and wanted, but somewhat vulnerable.

She dug her fingers into the sides of his thighs and he smiled wolfishly. His hand trailed down to where her arse met her thigh and he pinched hard. Hermione grunted from the sudden pain but he held on until she yelped. He released her to slide his hand down the back of her thigh, and hoisted her leg up onto the sink, resting her bent knee on the counter.

“Wet?” his lips grazed the lobe of her ear.

“For you?” she said with a smile. “Always.”

Draco’s teeth flashed at her in the mirror. He reached across to her other breast so he could support her front with his arm. She watched him adjust his position from behind her, dipping below, finding the angle and pushing upwards. His cock slid against her vulva and she placed her hand down between her legs to guide him inside.

“Hold onto me,” he whispered.

He pushed up again and grunted a whimper when he entered her. Hermione was shoved forward by his thrust and she grabbed onto the back of his neck for support. He braced himself on the counter and held her fast against him, clutching her breast. Draco slid in and out of her, slowly, experimentally and her body rocked forward with each thrust.

“Hold me,” he repeated. “Hard.”

She reached back with both hands, nails digging into his shoulders so she wouldn’t pitch forward.

Draco palmed her breast, fondling, rubbing the skin, massaging the flesh, groping her roughly as he entered her. Hermione held on, exposing her body to him while he thrust up and into her, pushing huffing groans out of her with each entry.

As the two found a rhythm, he grunted into her neck, eyes never leaving hers in the reflection. The lightning flashed again, illuminating their writhing bodies with bright jagged shapes and he grabbed her hip, digging his fingers into her pelvic bone. He thrust up again, hitting a sensitive area and she gasped. His lips curled upwards and his fingers reached up towards her shoulder, pinning her against his chest, pressing her down as he rocked up.

He hit her sensitive spot again. The lightning flashed, making his eyes appear dark again, and his breath was heavy on her neck.

“I love you,” he panted, with a death grip on her shoulder.

She held onto him, balanced precariously on the counter.

“I love you too,” was her breathy reply.

Draco trembled behind her and the hand holding her hip reached across her pelvis, down between her legs. He slicked around her wetness and warmth enveloped her body.

Rubbing her clit, his cock slid in and out, working her towards her climax. Between the rough groping and the adrenaline racing through her blood with each crack of thunder, she was close. Draco already knew her body so well and the flashes of lightning gave their coupling a somewhat eerie tone, watching in the mirror.

“You won’t leave me,” his voice scraped against her ear.

“No,” she groaned as he entered her. “Of course not.”

She stared at his reflection and his eyes shone dangerously with the flash of lightning. The thunder made her jump and his hand clamped down on her breast again. She felt her orgasm approach and he thrust up into her.

“Say you won’t leave me,” he repeated, dark eyes boring into hers.

“I won’t…” Hermione moaned as his finger worked her clit. She was going to come. His fingers pressed harder into her skin, and she stared at the way his arms covered her body. It was painful, but it felt good. He rocked in and out of her, holding her like a vise to his chest.

“Say it,” he hissed in her ear. His body tensed and he grabbed her breast harshly, making her shout. She scraped his neck with her fingernails.

“I won’t leave you!” she cried, contracting over him. She trembled and came with a moan, watching the triumphant glimmer in his dark eyes.

Draco’s fingers were like claws, and he stiffened. She was still pulsing when he came inside her, breath ragged. Hermione gasped, watching in the mirror as he turned his face into her cheek, shuddering with each burst. He rubbed his nose against her skin, holding her fast and quaking behind her. The muscles of his arms flexed across her front as he held her tight. His face was pained, and he grit his teeth. He curled his fingers, cupping her sex around his member below.

His hot breath encased the lines of her jaw, ear and throat, and she felt his heart pounding against her back. He didn’t move. The grip he had on her flesh was starting to hurt.

“Draco?” she called his name softly.

His forearms trembled across her torso. He held still for a few minutes, and exhaled through his teeth.

“Draco?” she repeated.

He furrowed his brows and released a soft, croaking whimper. The sex was desperate and emotional, but he appeared to be more affected than she was. His eyes were still squeezed shut. She wondered what was wrong.

Slowly, he released her breast and she sighed in relief. Hermione saw what would undoubtedly become bruises in the shape of his fingers on her skin. He lowered his hand and rested it on her stomach, still breathing heavily against her jaw.

“Draco?” she repeated, worried now. She lowered her hands from his neck and braced herself on the counter, leaning forward. “Are you alright?”

His fingers twitched against her stomach and she lowered her leg from the sink, wincing from the strain. He softened, and his prick slid out; come dribbled down the inside of her thigh. Hermione turned around to face him, and his hands fell to her hips.

She reached up to cup his face. “Draco?”

He opened his eyes, and they were grey. His grey. Her grey. The color she loved. Had she imagined their darkened shade all along?

“Draco? Talk to me.”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “Of course you can leave me.”

“What?”

She didn’t understand what was going through his head. Lightning flashed again. His eyes were grey. She could see clearly now.

“You can leave whenever you want.” His hands slid up her sides, her back and over her shoulder blades. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Thunder crashed and she pressed a tender kiss to his lips, smoothing her hands over the skin of his shoulders.

“But I won’t. I love you and I want to be with you. Why would I leave you?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“No,” he backed up and stared to the side, disturbed. “That’s not what I meant. I think I… maybe I panicked when I saw you were gone.”

She turned his face back to her so she could see his expression. He looked ashamed.

“You’re okay now?”

He nodded silently.

Hermione thought back to how demoralizing the war could be sometimes. With her parents gone, the future unknown, Harry’s miserable fate, and wondering if in the end they would all die anyway, it was hard not to give in to moments of despair.

She was Occluding a lot recently to keep her emotions in check. The mental strain took a toll and while Occlumency provided temporary relief, it was exhausting in the long term. She knew Draco Occluded frequently as well, much more than she had to. And while she worried about hurting her friends, he could be tortured and killed. He was under so much more pressure than she was.

“It’s the war,” she explained, confident that’s what was bothering him. “The future is uncertain, and sometimes bleak. Everyone has those moments. I know I do.”

The corner of Draco’s mouth lifted in a half grin. “Even you?” he appeared grateful for her admission.

Hermione smiled, and strained upwards to kiss that half-grin. “Even me.”

 

 

~

 

This is the biggest pile of shite I have ever read in my entire life,” Draco said, turning over towards her under the covers. “And I’ve read enough of that anti-Mud-” He cleared his throat. “Muggle-born propaganda Umbridge is pushing to last a lifetime.”

Hermione glanced up from her book to see what he had chosen this time from her shelf. He was eyeing The Crucible as if it were one of Hagrid’s baking attempts.

She rolled over to face him and placed a bookmark in her book, setting it aside. “The Muggles involved had to be Obliviated. So a Muggle account of the Salem witch trials would be very different from what we learned in Professor Binns’s class.”

“But… the devil? Possession?” he asked, incredulous. “Poppet dolls? Appearing in dreams and making people sick? Why make magic so evil? It sounds like something out of Tales of Beetle the Bard to scare your children with.”

Hermione bit her lip in thought. “The Puritans actually did use the devil as a threat to make children behave, and to scare adults into adhering to societal norms.” Draco’s features darkened at her words. She knew he would resent that. He had been lied to all his life in order to make him fall in line. “Wizards knew that, and the cover-up fit in well with their religious beliefs at the time.”

“That cover up just exacerbated the differences between us.”

Hermione smiled to herself, watching Draco argue against misinformation designed to keep the Wizard and Muggle worlds apart, but she didn’t want to interrupt him.

“And you have this book in your room so you must think the story has value even though it’s a load of bollocks.” Draco spoke to her in an accusatory manner. “Why?”

She took the book from him and flipped towards the end so he could read the brief biography of Arthur Miller included at the back. “The author actually wrote this play in protest of the political persecution that was happening in the United States after World War II. Keep reading. It’s good.”

He looked skeptical.

“Americans regard the Salem witch trials as a dark period in their history. Just like Europeans do with the Inquisition and other witch burnings. This play doesn’t portray the Salem witch trials as anything but evil.”

“But that’s only because Muggles don’t think magic exists,” Draco countered. “If they knew wizards existed now, they’d continue persecuting us like they always have. They can’t even get along with each other. That’s why we have the Statute of Secrecy.”

Hermione pondered his comment in silence. He wasn’t wrong. “That’s true, and neither can we. Humans have a hard time accepting outsiders. It’s not in our nature, whether Wizard or Muggle.”

Draco set the book down and gazed quietly at her for a few moments. He tucked a curl behind her ear, and left his hand resting on the side of her face, thumb caressing the line of her jaw.

His voice softened. “How are we supposed to get off Earth if we can’t work together?” His lips quirked upward, teasing her. “Didn’t you say we had to eventually?”

She lay her hand atop his wrist and slid her fingers down his forearm, feeling the soft hairs and muscles under his skin. “We’ve got five billion years to work things out. It will happen if we try.”

“True.”

Hermione eyed the play, tossed to the side. Draco didn’t appear interested in reading it anymore. “I think you’ll identify with the main character, John Proctor.”

Draco jerked his head back, offended. “He cheated on his wife.”

“I’m not saying you’re an adulterer. But he’s done things he regrets. Like you.” She motioned to the book with her chin. “Keep reading.”

He hesitated while thoughts unknown to her raced through his head. Something she said had bothered him. She wondered if she had inadvertently crossed a line she was unaware he had and was about to ask when he warily reached for the book.

“If I don’t like the story, you owe me, Granger.”

Hermione cuddled closer to him with a smile and opened her book so she could start reading again. “Are you extorting sexual favors?”

A sly grin appeared on Draco’s face. “That’s a fair assessment.”

 

~

 

Hermione rubbed her eyes to see the early morning light enter through the window. She turned to see Draco with his arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling and wondered how long he’d been awake. She ran a hand over his bare chest with a smile, enjoying the feel of his skin and hard muscles. She crawled on top of him, but he didn’t show any interest despite the fact that she was naked.

Normally he was insatiable in the morning, sometimes waking her with a rumbling growl to her ear and his erection pressed hard against her backside. But now he appeared pensive. Worried even. He must really be bothered by something.

Draco stared up at her, brows furrowed in thought. “He refused to be used.”

Hermione blinked. Confused. “Who? What?”

“John Proctor. That’s why you said I’d identify with him.”

He must have stayed up late reading The Crucible if he already finished the play. With the haunted, hollow look in his eyes, she wondered if he had been up all night thinking about it.

“Yes.”

“He redeemed himself and his wife forgave him.”

She nodded and ran a hand through his fringe, cupping his cheek. “That’s right.”

His jaw clenched and she felt his bones shift under her fingers. “Are you implying that I can redeem myself and you’ll forgive me?”

“Draco.” Her lips parted in surprise. “You already have redeemed yourself. Ten times over.” He looked to the side, a faint hint of disgust on his features. Her voice softened. “You don’t believe that?”

“Maybe I should go to Azkaban.”

What?

Hermione blinked down at him. Her thoughts strayed to Draco’s drunken confession of having murdered prisoners, and she had been wondering about Kingsley’s evasions at Order meetings. She knew Kingsley wouldn’t perform the Unbreakable Vow for Lucius. That was clear from the beginning and she still felt horribly for allowing Draco to think that his entire family would avoid Azkaban. Even if he demonstrated that he could be trusted.

But Kingsley had also been reluctant to perform the vow to keep Draco out of Azkaban and hadn’t given her a clear reason as to why. He knew what Draco’s crimes were and still his explanations were vague. Hinting at a promise… that one day Draco would demonstrate trust, but never following through when he so obviously had. Furthermore, her confidence in Draco’s character was not taken into account at all. Kingsley knew she was in love with him. It didn’t matter that she was right, he continued to use her emotional attachment against her.

She returned her thoughts to Draco.

“Whatever you’ve done, it was because you didn’t have a choice. And you wouldn’t be able to continue to spy – the Order would lose. It’s because of you we’re all still alive. You deserve a future.”

His cheeks reddened at the expression on her face. But Draco didn’t answer. The Crucible wasn’t the only book he read which involved a story of redemption and forgiveness. She wondered why this story in particular bothered him so much.

“Do you know when I forgave you, Draco?”

“When I gave you the diadem?” he spoke to the side.

“Long before that.”

He turned back to her, curious. “The art museum?”

She shook her head.

“The night we went to see Star Wars?” his voice rose in question.

Hermione shook her head again and his eyes widened. “Before that even?”

She traced his lips with her finger. “It wasn’t an exact moment; it was more of a progression. But if I had to draw a line in the sand, I’d say it was when I told you about Dolohov’s suicide.”

He looked confused and kissed her fingertip. “But I hadn’t… Why?”

“I noticed you started exploring my room, reading my books and listening to my music.” He uncrossed his arms from behind his head and slid his hands up her thighs, resting them on her waist. “It’s brave to question what you’ve been taught. And you have to be willing to humble yourself and admit you might be wrong.”

“But I hadn’t even changed my beliefs then,” he protested.

She shrugged. “That’s when I first noticed you were actively making an effort to do so. At that point it was only a matter of time, and it wasn’t even me that convinced you. You changed all by yourself. I was only a sounding board for your questions and doubts.”

Draco had changed. He had demonstrated trust, and Kingsley knew exactly what his crimes were. The more Hermione thought about Draco’s situation, the more she was convinced that Kingsley was withholding something from her, just like he had Tonks with his access to a skilled Legilimens.

She was going to find out what it was.

Draco would go to Azkaban over her dead body.

Feeling better in her resolve to help him get a pardon, she caressed the morning stubble on his jaw and upper lip, drawing patterns on his face and neck. She loved the way his eyes reflected the early morning light. Hermione wanted to lean down and kiss him, but he still looked disturbed.

“Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“John Proctor. He may have redeemed himself, but they killed him.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: Hermione breaks down
 
The Crucible

It's a classic! I know I’m making some American references in this fic (I try and use British ones) and Hermione would, of course, be more likely to have British authors on her bookshelf. I grew up in the States so I’m more familiar with American literature. When thinking of books Draco would be especially drawn to or impacted by, American stories are the first to come to mind. So I apologize in advance for the Ameri-centric view.

At least George Orwell was British!

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 47: Chapter 47

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Aren’t you terrified?”

Hermione glanced up from her book and turned to Harry. They were relaxing after combat training, sitting on a bench at the Westchester safe house porch with their legs propped up on the railing. Ron was off with Susan Bones somewhere, to Harry and Hermione’s unspoken relief. She caught a glimpse of Ron and Susan once. He didn’t have any issues snogging Susan, that was for certain. And Hermione was glad he was happy.

The trio had grown weary of the tense awkwardness caused by Hermione’s rejection. She was glad those days were over.

Harry stared straight ahead into the setting sun, Butterbeer in hand. He appeared to be in one of his pensive moods, and was having more and more of them lately.

“Terrified of anything in particular?” she asked.

There was a war. They had no idea where the Hufflepuff Cup could be and were going to the Malfoy summer party on a lark. The Order was outnumbered, in hiding, and the best they could manage was to occasionally trip up Voldemort’s operations. Admittedly, they were excellent at sabotage, and were good at staying hidden. But when it came down to it, the future of the war landed squarely on Harry, Hermione and Ron’s shoulders and their ability to find that sodding cup.

It was a lot of responsibility. Aside from that, the Order was one successful safe house raid away from death and torture and that would be the end for all of them. At least they were nearly covered with Portkeys.

Thinking back to her conversation with Remus, Hermione knew she also had her moments where she pondered the future of the war and how tenuous their position was. Somedays winning seemed impossible, and she kept herself busy so as not to wallow in how helpless she felt.

Harry never talked about his insecurities with others – at least, not in regard to the war. Everyone looked up to him, suspected he was the key to Voldemort’s defeat and he knew it. Aside from that, Harry was inspiring, he was brave, he raised everyone’s morale and he ran headfirst into battle, never looking back. Harry was a natural born leader, and he would exchange his life for any one of them without giving it a second thought.

Hermione’s chest constricted with sadness.

He would and he will.

She Occluded so he wouldn’t see her grief. That skill had become incredibly helpful over the past several months, and she could do it without most people noticing now. At the snap of her fingers, just like her mentor had instructed.

Harry took a swig of his Butterbeer and held it in his cheeks for a second before swallowing.

“We’re a bunch of kids,” he said, waving his Butterbeer out towards the empty grounds where they had just finished combat training. After heaving a big sigh, he stared into his bottle. “Sometimes I wish I had parents.”

Immediately knowing he said the wrong thing he turned to her. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

“No, it’s okay Harry. I-” Hermione was suddenly tired of constantly Occluding and keeping her feelings in all the time, so she allowed her tears to spill out.

“Hey,” his deep voice became soft, and he pulled her into the warmth of his chest. She leaned into him while he rubbed her upper arm. “Hey. I’m sorry, that was thoughtless of me.”

“No, it’s just…” she sucked in her bottom lip. “We both wish we had parents.” She continued, mumbling in his chest. “I’m worried that the memory charm can’t be reversed.” Her tears fell in plops on the fabric of his shorts.

“One thing at a time, right?” he murmured into her hair. “You’ll cross that bridge when you come to it, and you won’t be doing it alone. Ron and I will be there with you.”

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be there when she crossed that bridge, and she felt more tears fall. She didn’t have her parents and soon she wouldn’t have him either. Hermione squeezed her eyes tight, clutched the fabric of his shirt, still damp from his sweat, and began to cry in earnest.

“Thanks, Harry,” she said, wiping the tears off her cheeks. “You’re the only family I have right now.” Draco had burst his way into her heart with a vengeance. And she worried about him too. He was in the most dangerous position of all of them.

Harry wrapped another arm around her and held her in a tight hug. “That’s not true, we have the Weasleys.”

“Yes, but it’s not the same,” she said, beginning to sob in earnest. “They don’t understand what it’s like to lose everyone. They don’t know what it’s like to be alone.”

He was silent and pressed his lips to the top of her head. Her shoulders shook and she squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face into his chest. After a few moments, Harry spoke again.

“It’s not the same, but we still have them.”

He held her while she cried and rubbed her back as the sun set. After some more time passed, she released a long, shuddering sigh, and sniffled.

“Better?” he asked.

No. Nothing was better. Nothing had changed. Harry would die and she didn’t know if she’d get her parents back.

But she still had him with her now.

“I love you, Harry,” she spoke into his chest.

“I love you, too.”

They stared out at the setting sun over the far sheep fields. She saw him fingering something in his pocket, as he was wont to do when lost in thought.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you carry that piece of mirror around with you all the time?”

Harry exhaled and released her to pull the shard out of his pocket. He flipped it around and handed it to her so she could inspect it.

“I don’t know. I keep thinking I see Dumbledore in it. It’s stupid, but… I don’t want to believe he’s gone. He always knew what to do.”

“Did he?” Hermione turned to him.

“Well that’s just it, isn’t it?” His bright green eyes studied her face. “There’s hardly anyone left from the Order back then.” He shook his head. “And none of the recruits have any experience doing…” he waved his hand. “All of this.”

“We do now,” she countered.

“You think?” he looked at her doubtfully.

“I do. It’s just scary because we don’t have adults to look up to anymore. We are the adults.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He rubbed the cold Butterbeer bottle over his forehead. “I still look up to Tonks, Kingsley, Remus and Minerva. Ignatius is annoying but I respect him as an Auror. Pamela as well. I looked up to Dedalus and John before they,” he paused, not wanting to mention their murder. “They all trained us well.”

Hermione smiled. He was right. They were a young army, but they did have a few adults she admired. Greatly.

“And I look up to you.”

She turned to him in surprise. “What?”

He grinned down at her and ruffled her hair while she batted his hand away unsuccessfully. “You may be a bit short, but I look up to you.”

She blushed. “Really?”

“Fucking hell, Hermione. Why do you think I spent my entire inheritance on Portkeys? I believe in you. Everyone agrees with you now but,” he grinned in that Harry-like way, “I did back before it was cool.”

“Harry,” her lip trembled. “I’m going to cry again.”

“Well now you’re making me regret it,” he rolled his eyes. “I should have bought more Firewhisky for parties. Or supplies for the infirmary. Or Firewhisky for the infirmary.”

She smacked his chest with the back of her hand. “Mary would love that,” she drawled.

Harry’s grin widened. “That’s just a bonus.”

“Hmm,” she snuggled into his chest again. “Well, I look up to you too.”

“Nah, doesn’t work. You’re just copying me now.”

“Well I do. Everyone looks up to you. You inspire them. You may not sit in on the leadership meetings but you damn well act like a leader. You’re one of the reasons morale is so high. They believe in you and for good reason.”

She poked him in the ribs and he jerked away, trying bringing his arms down to protect his side. Both he and Draco were easy targets for tickling.

“Chosen One,” she teased.

“Brightest Witch of her Age,” he declared in an exaggerated upper class drawl.

“We need to make up a nickname for Ron.”

“The Chessmaster.”

“Hmm,” she nodded in approval. “I thought you’d go for comedic value. He’d like that one.”

“Strategy Man.”

“He does do a good job of planning raids, doesn’t he?”

“He does.”

Hermione thought back to Harry’s comment about their lack of experience. “You see? I’ve grown up, you’ve grown up. We’ve all grown up. We’ve had to.” She sat up and poked his chest. “You know, I’d wager we have more experience now than the Order in the First Wizarding War. And we’ve learned from their mistakes.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione stole his Butterbeer. Harry didn’t protest and she drank from the bottle. “They were a group of loosely aligned friends that got picked off one by one. We may not have the age and experience of You-Know-Who’s army, but we have good leaders who built us up over the past year.”

She reverted to teaching mode, ticking off points. “We’ve learned from the mistakes of the First Wizarding War. We have structure. We have a purpose, and we have a strategy which is working well. We’re all exceptionally trained in combat thanks to Remus, Tonks, Minerva and the Aurors. They’ve been teaching and drilling us every day. Every single one of us.”

She took another sip and Harry grabbed the bottle back from her. Hermione scowled but continued listing her points.

“We sabotage You-Know-Who’s operations on the regular, loosening his grip on the Ministry. It may seem like we’re not making any progress, but it’s impossible for them to move forward when they’re always having to retrace their steps. We do that to them Harry.”

She sat up straighter, gaining steam.

“We can evacuate any safe house at any time – at the drop of a hat. We have an infirmary with trained healers. And we’ve got a steady source of funding to keep us going while we look for the Horcruxes. It’s just a matter of time. We’ll do it. We’re guerilla fighters and we’ll take him down.”

She just about convinced herself. But the Hufflepuff Cup worried her to no end. What if they never found it? And even if they did, what then? How would they defeat a larger army and overthrow the Ministry? They could make Voldemort’s life difficult, but how would they win?

Harry seemed more optimistic, so she pressed on.

“Think about how far you’ve come! If you were to face your sixth-year self in a duel, who would be better?”

He stared back at her dumbly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Hermione grabbed at his butter beer again, but he pulled it out of her reach with a raised eyebrow.

She pouted but continued. “But it does. You said you feel like a kid but you’re not anymore. None of us are. If I told you and Ron that we needed to kidnap Greyback-” Harry made a face. “-and gave you the layout of whatever carrion encrusted den he lived in, the two of you would have a raid strategy in place, a team ready to go within an hour, and you’d probably come back with one minor injury, if any at all. We excel at quick, well-planned surgical strikes and that’s because we’ve all worked our arses off to be that way. We found our strengths and we use them.”

“But none of this means anything without that sodding cup,” Harry protested.

He was right. And she had no idea where it was or how they were going to find it. That’s why they needed to go to the Malfoy summer party. They needed to do something. They needed to get out of their bubble.

“It does,” Hermione pressed on. “Harry, look at me.” He did, and she made another grab for his Butterbeer, but he was too fast. Sodding Seekers and their reflexes. “How many Muggle-borns did we save by getting them into hiding?”

Harry scratched the back of his head in thought. “Thirty?”

She shook her head. “Fifty-six, Harry. And that doesn’t even include their families. Does that mean nothing without that sodding cup?”

“Of course it means something.”

You did that, Harry.”

We did that,” he corrected, but he looked encouraged.

“Look back to where we were last summer. Aside from the diary and the ring, how many Horcruxes had we destroyed?”

“None,” he said, a genuine smile gracing his features.

Hermione put her hand on his. “And we had no clue where the remaining Horcruxes were, let alone what they were. How many have we destroyed since then?”

“One, and one waiting patiently in that beaded bag for the wrath of your Fiendfyre.”

She smiled and clutched Harry’s hand. “And we know what the remaining Horcruxes are. Give it time, Harry. We’re making progress. We’re getting there.”

Trying to be inconspicuous, she slipped her hand over the neck of the bottle and tried once again to grab it from him.

Harry laughed and tugged it out of her reach while she lunged across his lap, falling down ungracefully on the bench. “Get your own Butterbeer.”

Just then Ginny walked up the stairs of the porch, sweaty from her run. How Ginny had enough energy to go for a run after combat training was beyond Hermione. The woman was a machine. Probably all those years playing Quidditch at school. Her eyebrows rose in amusement when she saw Hermione sprawled over Harry’s lap.

“This isn’t what it looks like!” Harry protested with a laugh.

“You’re not trying to take Harry’s Butterbeer?” Ginny asked Hermione.

“This is exactly what it looks like.” Harry replied.

“He’s being a git, Ginny. He won’t share!”

Ginny put her hand on her hip and looked imperiously at Harry. “Share, Harry. Or I won’t do that thing we talked about.”

“What thing? You did that thing yester- Oh. That thing.” Harry’s voice dropped an octave. “Here you go, Hermione.” Immediately Harry placed the bottle in Hermione’s hand. “Have the rest. I’ll go bring some more from the kitchen if you like. Any snacks to go with it?”

Ginny nodded at him with a smile and gave Hermione a wink. “Chicks before dicks.”

 

 

~

 

RAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIID!”

Hermione threw off her blanket and jumped out of her bed at Westchester safe house. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. Between the caterwauling charms and Dean yelling his head off with the Sonorus Charm, no one would sleep through this. She grabbed her wand from underneath her pillow, watching Ginny disappear and Lavender fall out of her bed with a loud curse. She summoned her beaded bag and laid her hand atop her copy of Hogwarts: A History, resting on her nightstand.

Portus!”

She felt the familiar pull towards her navel and reappeared in the warehouse in Bath.

The Order didn’t have much in terms of supplies there, but it was safe. It was separate. No one knew the location Remus had identified or had any idea how to even Apparate to the near vicinity. So it couldn’t be divulged via the Imperius Curse or Veritaserum and no one would be able to stake it out. But everyone could Portkey in and out thanks to Hermione’s months of hard work. She glanced around nervously, watching Order members pop into existence all around her.

Lavender suddenly crashed into her.

“Sorry!” She grabbed Hermione’s arm, and pulled her up before they both fell over.

Lavender glanced around, saw Justin, and immediately set to fixing her hair before sauntering over to him.

Tonks sat in a chair tapping her foot impatiently while sand poured through the narrow juncture of an hourglass. Everyone was looking around apprehensively – except Lavender and Justin – trying to figure out who else was missing. Neville had his roster out, checking off names as people appeared. Penelope Clearwater and the other safe house leaders were doing the same.

Suddenly Terry Boot appeared, generating a wide smile from Cho, who ran over to him. Upon his arrival, Penelope nodded to Tonks. Tonks pointed at the hourglass, suspending the sand mid-flow. They waited for the verdict with bated breath.

“Two and a half minutes.”

Everyone roared and whooped, patting each other on the back and randomly high-fiving each other. Ever since the first raid, the entire Order population hidden over five separate safe houses had been drilling Portkey evacuations, even though they didn’t have 100% coverage. Partners were assigned to seek each other out and Portkey together. As the number of Portkeys increased over the past couple months, their evacuation time dropped dramatically. With everyone assigned their own personal Portkey, the evacuation never took more than three minutes from the time the alarms sounded. No matter what they were doing, no matter the time of day, even if it was at bloody half past four in the morning.

Hermione saw Ron pull away from snogging Susan across the room. He caught her eye and gave her a thumbs up. That was encouraging. She smiled widely back at him, missing his friendship terribly. Outside of the tense Horcrux meetings with Harry, she had been giving him space to process her rejection, and withholding the source of the diadem from them. Maybe things could get back to normal now.

Remus walked over to her groggily and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Well done, Hermione.”

He knew this was her baby, having been the recipient of many of her angry tirades over funds usage. Tonks glanced over and gave them a clown faced smile.

Quite literally, a clown faced smile.

She knew Tonks intended to be funny, and was happy that tensions had also eased between her and her mentor, but honestly that was the most horrifically evil visage she had ever seen.

Hermione shuddered.

Nightmare fuel for a week.

 

 

Notes:

Next up: GIRLS NIGHT OUT (with illegal activities).

 

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

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Chapter 48: Chapter 48

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Ginny, do you want to break into the Ministry with me?”

Ginny’s eyes widened and then her face broke into a conspiratorial smile.

Ginny knew the trio kept things from her. She accepted it, but it annoyed her to no end. She already had enough baggage with being the youngest Weasley and the only female sibling. Ginny was a powerful and talented witch who always pushed herself to the limit, adamant to prove herself as competent as her brothers. She was still resentful for not being inducted into the Order as soon as the rest of her family and didn’t like being left out of the trio’s adventures. Not only was she shunted aside, but she had to watch her boyfriend dive headfirst into unknown dangers that Harry couldn’t explain.

“What for?” She turned her body to face Hermione, sitting up on her bed cross-legged, brown eyes flashing with excitement.

“I need to access legal records in the Ministry archives. We probably won’t be able to get what I need on this break in. This time will likely be more exploratory to see what charms and protections are used, what files are needed. The second visit we’ll get what I need.”

Ginny pulled her ginger hair forward, braiding it while she considered the information. “Why aren’t you taking Harry and Ron?”

Harry and Ron already hated that she kept Order leadership information from them and had been furious about the diadem. She couldn’t explain why she needed to get into the archives and what she was using the information for, and didn’t want the hassle of fighting with them throughout a mission they didn’t understand the purpose of.

“I need someone I can count on who won’t ask questions.” Harry sometimes talked with Kingsley, and she didn’t want this getting back to him either. Ginny didn’t even know Kingsley was involved with the Order anymore so there was no danger there.

Ginny’s face fell in disappointment. “So you won’t tell me what the purpose of these records is?”

“No.” Ginny pouted, and Hermione tried to assuage her. “I promise I’ll tell you when the war is over.”

Ginny wasn’t mollified at all, but she asked, “And I’m assuming I can’t tell Harry or Ron that we’re breaking in? Or anyone else?”

“No.”

Ginny’s lips quirked upwards. “So it’s just us?”

Hermione gave her a small smile, hoping she’d find appeal in the two of them sneaking out together. “Yep.”

Ginny stared at her in thought, fingering her long braid. Hermione wondered if being involved in something her older brothers weren’t and having her own secret mission would be enough of an incentive to overcome the fact that she couldn’t know the mission’s purpose.

“Why does no one else know?”

Hermione inhaled and studied Ginny.

“I don’t think I’m being told the entire truth.” Ginny would appreciate that reasoning, even if it wasn’t specific. “I want to get answers.”

Ginny’s eyebrows rose, and then her jaw set. Hermione smiled, knowing she would agree.

“Alright, when do we go?”

Hermione pulled Harry’s invisibility cloak out of her beaded bag. When Ginny’s gaze landed on it her lips lifted in a devious grin. She’d never used it before, only heard the stories.

“We could go tonight,” Hermione’s voice lifted enticingly.

Nearly hypnotized, Ginny walked over, reached out towards the cloak and pulled the fabric up over her hand. She watched as her limb disappeared and reappeared with each slip of the fabric up and down her arm.

“I’ll tell Neville we’re going on a girls’ night out,” Ginny said entranced by the fabric and her disappearing/reappearing arm.

“Well,” Hermione said with a smirk. “That’s not really a lie now, is it?”

Ginny shifted her gaze from the shimmery invisibility cloak to Hermione’s eyes and her grin widened.

 

~

 

“This is so much better with you under the cloak,” Hermione whispered, despite the Silencing Charm she cast. “Harry and Ron would usually start sweating within a few minutes. They had the worst body odor.”

After breaking through security undetected, including sneaking past three guards (two sleeping on duty and one playing Wizarding Chess against himself) Ginny and Hermione slipped into the elevator and made their way down to the archives.

“What do you mean ‘had’?” Ginny rolled her eyes. “You’d think they’d learn by now to shower regularly.”

“One time Ron started passing gas,” Hermione continued, and Ginny started laughing. “I kept having to remind him that just because people can’t see us doesn’t mean they can’t smell us.”

With a ding, the elevator doors opened, and Mafalda Hopkirk’s recorded voice announced that they had reached the archives. It was quiet and the corridor leading to the archive room was dimly lit at night.

Ginny was still sniggering as they walked down the dark, empty hallway. “I’d pity you, but I grew up constantly being trapped in Dutch ovens. I figured out how to cast a Bubblehead charm when I was a first year. It was one of the first bits of magic I learned.”

Hermione looked up at Ginny, impressed. “That’s not easy for an eleven-year-old. Fairly advanced charm work.”

“Youngest of seven siblings, Hermione. Seven.”

“True.”

The two witches entered the archives, which were not nearly as organized as Hermione hoped. The elation she felt at having been able to sneak into the Ministry so easily quickly crumbled when she saw the seemingly endless rows of scrolls, drawers, tomes, books, boxes and filing cabinets in the large room. Floating parchment airplanes glided around aimlessly, perhaps forgotten memos. Stacks of parchments and books were piled up from the floor and on tables at the ends of the shelves. Some looked like they were ready to careen and fall over from the slightest movement of air.

The whole expanse smelled old and musty. She wondered how often the archives were even consulted. Perhaps some stacks hadn’t been moved in decades. Hermione pursed her lips in thought. That might not be a bad thing. The older the documentation, the more likely it would be filed away properly. It would be the newer items located in the piles resembling leaning Towers of Pisa. Or files that were taken out and not placed back in their original space. Considering that she was looking for older records, it could be that this mission wouldn’t be so difficult.

Maybe.

Ginny glanced down to see Hermione’s disheartened face. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

Hermione surveyed the organized chaos in front of her. “Yes and no.”

“Where do we start?” Ginny asked, her voice already carrying a tinge of disappointment.

Hermione tapped her head with her wand and then Ginny’s, feeling the familiar cool sensation of a Disillusionment Charm cover her body. With a yank, she pulled down Harry’s invisibility cloak and stuffed it in her bag.

“I’m looking for records of pardons. The trial proceedings, the laws, everything having to do with pardons. Preferably post-war but I’ll take anything at this point. Copy everything that you find to my empty books, shrink, lighten and put in my bag. And I also want a complete copy of the Articles of the Wizards’ Council from 1707.”

She could see the faint outline of Ginny’s form staring at her. “Who’s the criminal?”

Hermione flared her nostrils. “There isn’t a criminal, Ginny. I’m only interested in the laws and proceedings.”

Ginny didn’t stop looking at her. “Who’s the criminal, Hermione?” she asked teasingly.

She exhaled loudly. Ginny was sharp. Youngest of seven siblings, indeed. Maybe it was a poor choice to bring her along.

“I’ll explain everything after the war, Ginny. I promise.”

Being Disillusioned, Hermione couldn’t see Ginny clearly, but she thought she detected a smirk in the diffracted planes of her face.

Not good.

Regardless of what Ginny knew, or thought she knew, they had roughly five hours until the earliest Ministry employees started to file in. Although with the invisibility cloak, they could probably stay undetected for quite some time and exit whenever they pleased.

Hermione scanned the messy, confusing aisles in front of her. She had no clue where to start.

“There’s a directory over to the left,” Ginny noticed.

The two walked over to a gigantic tome, three feet across, resting on a table and Ginny illuminated her wand to start paging through. Dust burst into the air with each page movement, making both of them cough.

“Start with the Articles,” Hermione suggested softly, trying to keep her voice down. “That should be fairly straightforward.”

Ginny flipped back to the A’s while Hermione blew the dust away from them with her wand. Finally, Ginny found the page. They bent over, squinting at the miniscule typeset on the page. “There’s been several revisions since 1707,” Ginny commented. “Do you also want the revisions?”

“Yes.” Hermione peered at the page where it was written and saw four revisions listed. She furrowed her brow in confusion. “It doesn’t say where they’re stored. How are we supposed to find them?”

Ginny took a step back, put her wand in her mouth, dug her fingers underneath the binding of the tome and lifted it with a grunt. Hermione sighed in relief. There were instructions underneath the gigantic book. Hermione lit her wand, bent over and peered underneath. Ginny’s arms shook with the effort of keeping the book raised at an angle.

“Hurry up!” Her words were muffled with the wand in her mouth.

Hermione squinted, trying to see underneath. “Looks like a simple summoning spell with the name of the file and ‘Rediro’ to return it.”

Ginny released the tome and it thumped down loudly onto the table, releasing an extraordinary amount of dust into Hermione’s face. She immediately started coughing again. The two glanced around surreptitiously. The noise they made didn’t activate any alarms or summon the guards at the Ministry entrance.

“Thanks,” Hermione said dryly, waving the dust away.

“Alright, I’m going to try,” Ginny pointed her wand in the direction of the aisles. “Accio Articles of the Wizard’s Council of 1707!”

They heard the sound of wood sliding against wood, some papers shuffling and the whiz of an object flying through the air. Ginny and Hermione eyed the aisles, not sure from where the articles were coming, or what form they were in. It was dark. Hermione ducked and a thin, hand-bound book nearly clocked Ginny in the head before she caught it.

“Whew!” Ginny exclaimed, handing the book to Hermione. “That wasn’t so bad. I’ll get the others while you copy this.”

“Thanks, Ginny,” Hermione replied. She immediately set to replicating the contents into one of the blank books she brought with them, watching with satisfaction as page after page filled with type set ink. After their experience at Durmstrang, and their luck at being able to take the books on Horcruxes, Hermione came prepared to make copies. It didn’t take long to replicate the articles and their revisions, and Ginny started flipping through the directory towards the ‘P’ section while Hermione returned the books and scrolls.

“You went too far,” Hermione said after noticing Ginny had arrived at everything having to do with the laws and records of ‘Potions.’ Ginny flipped back a few pages and then stopped, laughing hysterically. Hermione glanced back worried, but again. No alarms, no guards. There was nothing on the archive floor and they were isolated.

“What’s so–” Hermione squinted and saw a very comprehensive list of topics that began with ‘penis.’

“Would you like to copy ‘Penis Enlargements, Laws Pertaining to the Charms of’?” Ginny asked, still cackling. “The list is quite… long.”

Hermione smiled wickedly. “Actually, I think copying the laws regarding penis removal would be more helpful. As you said, youngest of seven siblings.”

“If you know the laws, you can figure out the loopholes?” Ginny asked.

“Precisely.”

“I like the way your mind works.”

“So do Harry and Ron.”

“That’s because they don’t know when you’re using it against them.”

The two witches sniggered.

“I’m curious what laws they have about vagina spells,” Ginny wondered while opening the gigantic book to the ‘V’ section.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Sure we do,” Ginny replied without missing a beat, scanning the small print with her index finger. “We have to come back anyway. Possibly several times, you said.”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing got past her. Hermione leaned over to see what kind of legislation the Wizengamot would dare pass about vagina magic.

Ginny made an offended squawking sound.

“What?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing.”

Hermione squinted and leaned over. “That can’t be right. There’s always legislation about womens’ bodies.”

Ginny let out an exasperated sigh. “I know what it is. They’re too prim and proper to say ‘vagina.’ Laws and regulations about vaginas are all well and good, the actual word is not. Penis is okay. Vagina?” She blew air out of her lips in derision. “Can’t say the name. Like You-Know-Who.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “You-Know-Hoo-Hah.”

“Nice.” Ginny grinned approvingly while summoning a quill and ink well from the archivist’s desk.

“What are you doing?”

Ginny dipped the quill inside the ink well and began to write in the margin of the massive directory. Hermione watched in alarm before placing a hand on her friend’s wrist. “You can’t deface books!”

The corner of Ginny’s mouth lifted in a deranged smile and, flatly ignoring Hermione, she spelled out the word ‘vagina’ in the margin with large capital letters.

Hermione snorted in derision. “Feel better now? Smashing that patriarchy?”

Ginny brushed the quill feather against her lips and stared down at her work in thought. Then she leaned over and wrote ‘Where are all the vaginas?????’.

“This is stupid. And vandalism.”

Nonplussed, Ginny wrote, ‘I can’t find cunts!’ and then turned to her with a raised eyebrow. “We’re already breaking and entering to commit larceny.”

Hermione released a shocked gasp. “It’s not larceny! We’re putting everything back exactly where we found it! I would never–”

“Rockwurst root?”

Hermione clamped her mouth shut while Ginny wrote ‘Where is my pussy?????’ in all capital letters.

“Wild Hornflower seeds?” Ginny continued, inspecting her work.

“Well, that’s different,” Hermione explained while Ginny penned, ‘Is there a nether region here?’ vertically, up the margin. She made the dot of the question mark into a tiny heart.

After completing, ‘There are no snatches in this book, what gives?’, Ginny continued, “And at least a third of our Portkeys were stolen by Ron and Harry on raids.” 

Hermione crossed her arms. “Well, that was their–”

“Only because you approved. I know how you three operate. They don’t do a sodding thing without you.”

Hermione huffed in indignation. “That doesn’t mean I approve of defacing–”

She burst out laughing as Ginny finished writing ‘Oh my quivering folds!’.

“If your folds actually quivered,” she said with a chuckle, “I’d think you inserted one of your brothers’ Weasley Wizarding Whizzes up there.”

“Up where? It’s got a name, you know.”

“Quim.”

“Twat.”

“Beaver.”

“Va-jay-jay.”

“Lady parts.”

“Cootch.”

“Punani.”

“Bearded clam.”

“Ew. Fish lips.”

“Gaah!”

The two snickered while Ginny continued to write sentences querying about the location of a certain female body part with a plethora of synonyms. After the margins of the directory were jam packed with her lettering, big and small, she gazed down at her work in satisfaction.

“Happy now?” Hermione asked with a closed lipped smile.

Ginny sighed wistfully. “Shame no one will see it.”

She was right. If the dust was anything to go by, the directory hadn’t been touched in months at least. And there was no way that the next person would arrive at these two open pages on the off chance someone did consult the directory.

Hermione pointed her wand at the large book and cast a Protean Charm. “Well, if you’re going to deface a book, you may as well do it properly.” Instantly, everything Ginny had written replicated itself on every single page of the directory.

The two burst into loud guffaws that echoed throughout the archive. They immediately clamped hands over their mouths and blinked back towards the entrance. After a few tense moments where nothing happened and no guard appeared, they relaxed. Hermione wiped tears from her eyes while going back to the section on pardons.

“You’re too much, Ginny. Thanks for coming with me.”

“I figure with enough time I’ll figure out who your criminal is.”

She shushed her and continued flipping back to documents having to do with pardons. Hermione scanned the very extensive list and sighed. There was no way she had enough blank books to copy all the laws and trial proceedings. She didn’t even know which trial proceedings would be relevant, all that were listed were names.

“Wow, Hermione. Are you going to read all this after they’re copied?” Ginny commented, thinking the same thing. “Oh look. They have a treatise written after the Second World War. Didn’t you say you wanted post-war pardons specifically?”

Hermione sighed. “The treatise probably won’t have the individual proceedings, but it should point me in the right direction to get them. It’s a start. Let’s copy all the laws first, then the treatise, then we’ll start with the names in the treatise…” she groaned. “I guess after that we’ll just go in alphabetical order until I fill up all the blank books.”

She and Ginny stared blankly at the very long list of topics under ‘pardons.’

“How many times do you think we’ll need to come back here?” Ginny asked.

Hermione chewed on her lip in thought but was grateful that Ginny had automatically included herself in any future ventures. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to get through everything we copy tonight first. That will help me narrow down and prioritize the list.”

“Where are you going to keep all this? There isn’t enough room at Westchester.”

“My parents’ house.”

“It’s a lot to go through.”

“Yes.”

“It looks incredibly boring.”

“I’m sure trial proceedings are fascin–”

BORing, Hermione. Maybe the first few will be interesting but how many are you planning on reading?”

She sniffed. “Until I get what I need.”

“I hope your criminal appreciates what you’re doing for him.”

Hermione huffed. “There’s no–”

“His cock must have superpowers.”

“You–”

Accio Treatise of the Second World War Pardons!”

A thick tome zipped into Ginny’s Disillusioned hand and she gave it to Hermione. She didn’t need to see Ginny’s face to know there was a shit-eating grin there.

“I love knowing something that Harry and Ron don’t.”

“I don’t know what you think you know Ginevra, but I guarantee you it’s wrong.” Hermione said while copying the treatise.

“Penis,” Ginny whispered.

“What?” Hermione choked a laugh and turned towards her friend. Ginny was absolutely nutters. No wonder Harry loved her so much. She’d pull him out of his martyr-complex-induced brooding in half a second. Her vulgar sense of humor was so much more effective than Hermione’s pep talks.

“Your turn,” Ginny answered.

“To do what?”

“You have to say ‘penis’ louder than I did. Then I have to say it louder than you, and so on. Person to say it the loudest wins.”

“Where did you ever–”

“Youngest of seven siblings, remember?”

“What?” Hermione said with a snort. “Did Percy play that game?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Ugh,” Hermione scowled, reading the overview in the treatise. “There were thirty-three wizards and witches that were pardoned after the Second World War. I’m going to have to make a list of the names in the directory to keep track of what I’ve copied and what I haven’t.”

“Penis,” Ginny said more loudly, while Hermione summoned the relevant parchment scrolls with a snorting laugh. “Normally the game is played in public,” Ginny explained, helping Hermione stack the scrolls on the end of the table. “The person to win is usually the one with the least amount of shame. But in this case, we risk an encounter with sleepy security guards. So, there’s still an element of danger.” She scanned the empty, quiet archive room. “Barely.”

“So would Fred or George usually win this game?”

“Neither.”

“Ron?”

Ginny scoffed.

“Bill?”

“Nope.”

“Charlie?”

“Nuh-uh.”

Percy?” Hermione asked in disbelief.

“You’d be surprised. He only became a snooty suck-up when he made Prefect.” Ginny raised her voice. “Penis.”

“Penis,” Hermione called out, and then giggled, somewhat embarrassed. Her voice echoed against the walls and floors of the archive. It was a good thing there weren’t any guards on the floor with the archives. Else they’d be caught for sure. No wonder Tonks was able to steal the Veritaserum stores and copy classified documents without anyone the wiser.

“Penis!” Ginny yelled, and then laughed when her voice echoed back loudly.

Penis!”

“PENIS!”

“PENIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS!”

 

~

 

“Like this?”

Hermione turned over her shoulder to look at Draco, sitting in her desk chair wearing his Quidditch uniform. After her trip to the archives with Ginny, Hermione felt as if a load was removed from her shoulders and was much happier. She wasn’t dependent on anyone anymore and was going to ensure Draco got that fucking pardon herself.

Kingsley was holding back, and she was going to find out exactly why and what it was.

She eyed Draco in his jersey and leather trousers. Quidditch leathers were the Wizarding world’s gift to women. Even better than jeans with the way they hugged his thighs and bum. She had no idea why she didn’t make him wear his Quidditch uniform earlier. He had worn them the first time they met in her room, covered in ice cream from Fortescue’s.

Draco tilted his head to the side, studying her naked backside. “Take your hair out of the plait.”

Hermione dropped her jumper to the floor in order to undo her braid and he smiled widely as her breasts were uncovered. She released her hair, shaking it out so it tumbled down her back, between her shoulder blades. While bending over to pick up the jumper he made a noise halfway between a hum and a growl. Covering her breasts again with the shirt, she stood up and turned back to look at him.

Draco opened his trousers and pulled himself out.

“Can you see?” she asked, worried and clutching the jumper to her breasts protectively. It was hard to keep the smile off of her face, but she did her best to sound terrified.

“No.” He smirked and licked his palm before sliding his hand up and down his length, squeezing towards the tip. A gentle ache spread between her thighs at the sight of him touching himself.

“You’re smirking,” Hermione accused him apprehensively.

“I’m a Malfoy. I smirk.”

Draco’s bright grey eyes were blazing with heat as he watched her and bit his lip. He was doing something with his thumb on the tip of his cock. She couldn’t see exactly what it was, but he shuddered each time he did it.

Ungh. Hermione wanted to do that to him. She wanted to feel him tremble against her body like that.

She turned around to walk towards Draco, but he groaned a protest.

“No. Wait,” he panted. “Stay there a minute. You have no idea how many times I wanked to this.”

She returned to her original position in front of her closet and held the jumper over her breasts, looking back over her shoulder at him. He shook each time he pumped himself and she rubbed her thighs together in anticipation.

“Will you tie me up this time?” Draco’s voice was hoarse, and a damp sheen appeared on his face.

Hermione raised her eyebrows in challenge. “Beg me and I will.”

They had flirted about that enough, but she wondered if Draco was serious. Would he actually like that? She tried to picture him restrained, unable to move while she rode him. The idea had appeal. Due to their size and strength differential, he usually dominated.

His lips parted. “Kinky bitch,” he grunted with another trembling stroke. Draco flushed and his eyes were nearly feral, raking up and down her figure.

She smiled seductively at him. “You love it.”

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down with his teeth. He looked like he would eat her. And she wanted him to. Draco fisted himself with another groan and her insides clenched at the sound.

“Cunt, arse or mouth?” His voice cracked.

“All three. But not necessarily in that order.” Hermione swiveled her body around and dropped the jumper. “I’ll start with the mouth.”

His eyes slithered over her naked form as she approached. Batting his hands out of the way so they rested on his thighs, she knelt in between his legs. The agonized moan he released as Hermione swallowed him resonated all the way down to her core.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Next chapter: more smut, and for the first time in this war, the Order has no idea what's going on.

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Chapter 49: Chapter 49

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione sat on her bed, trying and failing to read a book while she anxiously waited for Draco. She was feeling more confident in herself than she had in a long time. With her recent success with the Portkey evacuation plan, she was on more of an equal standing with the rest of the Order leaders. On top of that, she was reliably throwing off the Imperius Curse, Tonks wasn’t angry at her anymore, and her friendship with Ron felt normal again. Even better, she knew that with enough research, she would get to the bottom of Kingsley’s caginess regarding Draco’s pardon.

Draco.

She couldn’t wait for him to Apparate in. They had so much fun with the role play last time. He was so unpredictable with sex, but one thing was always constant. Whether it was slow and sensuous or fast and frenzied, he was always so passionate. He took what he wanted and gave what she needed, always so devoted to her pleasure. And the more she enjoyed herself, the more he desired her. 

The problem, not that it was a problem because she absolutely loved being shagged by him, was that she found it difficult to take the lead. From the moment one of them arrived Hermione was instantly caught up in a whirlwind of sensation. Draco never left her much room to lead unless she was riding him. And even then, the way that he held her hips and thrust up into her left more of a feeling that he was molding her to his movements instead of allowing her to set the pace.

And she desperately wanted to.

The only time Hermione had really managed to be in control was when she went down on him. She absolutely loved the feeling of exerting control over Draco. He was so tall and strong and unbelievably male. And all of that strength and power was completely and utterly at her mercy. Literally in the palm of her hand.

She wanted to lead. She wanted to tell him what to do. She wanted him on his knees before her.

Hermione was nervous. She didn’t know how he would react to such a request. He was usually so domineering with sex. And she wasn’t even sure she knew what she wanted to request in the first place. Would he play along?

She briefly thought back to his comment about Pansy teaching him what she liked. And he did keep teasing her about tying him up. Was he serious? Was she? Maybe there was a part of him that enjoyed being ordered around on some level. But she couldn’t picture it. She couldn’t imagine this tall, passionate, powerful man with his grey stormy eyes being anything but domineering.

It certainly made sense with what she knew about him. Draco didn’t feel like he had control over his life, body or future. Sex was an area he could completely dominate. She was smaller than him and – at least when she didn’t have a wand – considerably weaker.

With a loud crack, he suddenly appeared before her. His lips lifted in a sensuous curve and his eyes had that predatory gleam she had come to associate with an intense, desperate assault on her body which left her boneless and gasping.

Hermione had to act now or he would be on top of her.

“Stop.”

Draco paused, ready to pounce. His eyebrows raised curiously. “What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath but held his gaze. Unwavering.

“On your knees, Malfoy.” She pointed to the ground in front of her.

The air was suddenly thick in between them. She didn’t know what he would do. If he’d laugh at her or take her seriously. And then she saw a slow, subtle change in his expression. His features morphed from curious and concerned to playful and knowing.

Like they were sharing a secret.

Slowly, he sunk to his knees with a thud and she swallowed. Draco was offering himself to her. Just like that. All that strength and power before her to command.

She smiled slyly at him.

“Take off your shirt.”

Hermione loved to see his muscles move underneath his skin. Sometimes Draco was so worked up when they first met in the evenings, she could barely get his shirt off as he attacked her. She was usually undressed first and struggled to get him to a similar state. If she was able to during his onslaught of fevered groping and kisses, she could palm his chest and back while he thrust into her. But she didn’t often get to watch him until he was spent and lying beside her afterwards.

He brushed his blond hair back and out of his eyes and started unbuttoning his shirt with a smirk, exposing the thin cotton T-shirt underneath.

“Want me to do it slowly?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I want you to shut your mouth,” she retorted. “Your tongue has better uses.”

Draco grinned wider and removed his shirt, first pulling it over one shoulder than the other. He threw it to the side and pulled his T-shirt up and over his neck, balling it up and tossing that to the side as well. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets, sat back on his heels and stared at her expectantly, but didn’t speak.

He was listening to her. She licked her lips.

“Take off your belt.”

There was something utterly arousing about hearing the clinking sounds of his buckle and watching the leather slide in the pant loops around his abdominal muscles. He reached down to open the buckle.

“Slowly.”

He paused, eyes crinkling devilishly, and slowly pulled the leather through the loops. Hermione watched the belt slither along the fabric while his stomach tensed and flexed with the movement. He folded the belt in half and smacked it into his palm. She startled at the sound and he tossed it to the side on the pile of discarded clothing, still watching her.

She swallowed.

What was that supposed to mean? Did he want her to hit him with the belt? Or was he implying that he would hit her? She wasn’t sure what to think.

Still somewhat nervous, Hermione studied him, kneeling in front of her. She took her time and allowed her eyes to trail over his stomach, his chest, his arms and shoulders. When Hermione met his eyes, she was floored by the desire there.

Draco was enjoying this just as much as she was.

She stood up from the bed, taller than him for once. She crooked her finger at him and he closed the few steps between them, walking over on his knees. He reached up to grasp the waistband of her pajamas.

“Wait for the command.”

His hands paused and he dropped his arms immediately to his sides, eyes flashing with erotic intensity. Hermione stared down at him for a few seconds. Simply enjoying having him shirtless and on his knees in front of her. She raised an eyebrow.

“Take off my trousers.”

Without breaking eye contact, he reached up to grab her waistband and – ever so slowly – dragged it down her thighs. He leaned forward to graze his lips against the newly exposed her skin. His breath made goosebumps and she shivered.

“Don’t kiss me.”

Draco glanced up at her, clearly enjoying this game of trying to break her rules, only to be chastised for doing so. But he removed his lips from her thigh. He pulled her trousers down all the way to her ankles, caressing the sides of her legs and helped her step out, tossing her trousers to the side. He looked up at her again, grey eyes blazing in anticipation.

“Remove my knickers.”

Draco leaned forward, hooked his thumbs up the sides and slowly slid them down, his nose nestled in her curls, and his hot breath fanned against her slit. Her legs trembled.

“I didn’t say you could touch me there.”

He glanced up at Hermione with a sly grin but moved his face away, continuing to slide her knickers down her legs, and helped her step out of those too. With a cheeky look, he raised her knickers to his nose, breathing them in.

Immediately she grabbed her underwear out of his hand. “You’re not allowed to smell my knickers, Malfoy.”

She smacked his face lightly with the fabric and he startled, clearly not expecting her to hit him. After staring at her for a few seconds, the corner of his mouth lifted. Draco leaned forward slightly, knowing she was watching him, and took a slow, deliberate sniff of the knickers in her hand.

He peeked up at her to see how she’d react, so she smacked him again, harder, on the other cheek. Hermione was enjoying herself. This was new, it was hot, and she hardly knew what she was doing but he was a willing participant, eager to see what she would do next. Draco raised himself on his knees and waited with a sultry expression.

Hermione tossed her knickers to the side; she wanted his mouth on her. Fun as this was, she was getting worked up and was ready to come. But quickly she realized a problem with their positions. If she put her leg over his shoulder, she wouldn’t be able to balance herself. She’d have to lie down on the bed, and that would change the physical dynamic between them – making him the more dominant again.

He must have realized her quandary. “You could lean against the door,” he suggested.

She stared down at him imperiously, ran her hand through his hair and grabbed it roughly, tilting his head back. His eyes widened slightly in anticipation, enjoying her rough handling.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

He didn’t reply and she walked over to her bedroom door, closing it. She turned around and leaned against it.

“Over here, Malfoy.”

He followed her, walking on his knees while she removed her camisole. Draco’s eyes lowered to her breasts and he sat on his heels in front of her, waiting for instruction with a self-satisfied expression on his face. She ran her hand through his hair again, wanting to feel it, wanting to feel him when he wasn’t so preoccupied with sucking the skin of her throat, fondling her breasts or thrusting into her.

Hermione cupped his jaw with her other hand and rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He watched her as she touched him and let her stroke him as she pleased. She ran her hand through his hair, messing it up and tilting his head to the side. He reached up to grab the back of her knees, but she shook her head with a smile.

“No, Malfoy.”

He smirked and dropped his hands to his thighs. She held the back of his skull and traced his lips with her finger while he gazed heatedly up at her. Wondering what he would do, she gently pushed her index and middle fingers between his lips. He opened his mouth to accept them and took her off guard by sucking them in. Draco noticed her surprise and his eyes crinkled in amusement. He traced her fingers with his tongue, his cheeks hollowed with the movement.

His tongue was just as hot and wet as it was when it was when inside her mouth or her cunt.

Hermione extracted her fingers, leaving a trail of saliva down his chin.

Gently, she tucked the longer strands of his hair behind his ears, having made a thorough mess of it, and threaded her fingers through his hair, running lines along his scalp. His eyes fluttered closed in contentment, and he smiled, reminding her of a cat.

The sensuous grin froze on his face when she yanked on his hair and pulled his face to the juncture between her legs.

“Lick me.”

Hermione caught the intense flash of heat in his eyes before Draco raised her leg over his shoulder and opened his lips to cover her. His mouth was hot and wet and slick, and she groaned at the first touch of his tongue.

She was already wet, but he spread her folds and lathed her. Her leg wobbled every time his tongue swiped her clit.

“Use your finger.”

She gasped as it entered, and he pumped her while working her nub with his mouth. She held onto the back of his head, sunk her fingers into his shoulder and tilted her head back against the door while he made love to her clitoris. Draco seemed to understand that she couldn’t form any coherent words and went to work with his fingers, his lips, his mouth and his tongue without any direction. She fucked his fingers and moaned loudly as he licked and sucked between her legs.

Her legs trembled and she stiffened, tightening as her orgasm approached. Draco made greedy, lapping sounds while she urged him on with a string of expletives.

Before long she was coming. Her head knocked back, hitting the door twice but she didn’t care. She groaned and cried, fisting his hair. Her leg tightened around him and she dug her heel into his back as he made her come again. Draco was relentless, always trying to push her for more but she pulled him away from her, unable to take anymore stimulation. He released her, and her leg slid off his shoulder to the floor. Hermione stood breathless, limbs quaking. She whimpered and closed her eyes, quite sure she would fall over if she didn’t have the door propping her up.

After a few moments, her heartbeat slowed down. She slowly opened her eyes to see him towering over her, blazing intensity in his silver greys while he watched her recover. He wiped his chin of her juices with his thumb and sucked them off.

Draco leaned into her and raised an eyebrow.

“Did you have fun ordering me around, Hermione?” his voice was a low growl.

“Yes,” was her breathless answer as she gazed up at him. She heard his zipper and the sound of fabric crumpling as his trousers dropped to the floor.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“My turn.”

 

 

~

 

“We are talking about ninety thousand people Kingsley!” Hermione had never seen Minerva so worked up in her life. Her eyes were wide, and she was practically spitting in anger. “I will not be outvoted on this as I was with our use of torture!” She shot a glare at Tonks and Remus.

“Minerva,” Kingsley said calmly. “We still don’t know–”

“Don’t you ‘Minerva’ me, Shacklebolt!” She hissed his last name. “I will take the Order to Wembley Stadium myself if I have to!”

The Wizengamot was due to vote on the Decriminalization of Interactions With Muggles Act tomorrow. They were all nearly certain this would result in a coordinated attack on Brockton Bridge and Wembley Stadium, but what they didn’t know was why or how and the Order was running out of time. They didn’t know what the Dark Lord’s army was capable of and for the first time since this war started, their intelligence was failing them.

It was terrifying.

Remus spoke, trying to calm her down with his steady demeanor. “Minerva, if we act independently of one another the Order will break apart. We have to vote and accept the outcome.” She looked ready to hex Kingsley and he continued, “We cannot afford to have a resistance within a resistance. That’s a death sentence for us all regardless of whether or not you’re correct about Wembley Stadium.”

Hermione was floored at what she was witnessing but stayed quiet, taking her cue from Tonks. She had nothing to add to the conversation as it was, and didn’t want to comment, feeling very much out of her league, and thinking everyone had valid points.

Minerva turned to him in anger. “Remus, it’s our duty to prevent dark wizards from wreaking havoc on Muggles since the DMLE will not. There’s no shortage of those who will join me.”

Remus stared at her for a few moments in silence, seemingly weighing his next words. “If we vote and you choose to mutiny, you’ll be endangering the lives of our members. I’ll be forced to treat you as an enemy for creating dissent.”

Minerva flared her nostrils. “You wouldn’t.

“I’m the leader of the Order and I would.

Hermione saw the four leaders shift posture slightly, readying to grab their wands. An icy fear shot down her spine. Would they expect her to attack her teacher? She couldn’t!

“You’ll cost us this war, Minerva,” Remus continued. “I understand your need to help, but we won’t survive a fracture. I would consider your next move very carefully.”

Hermione’s heart thudded in her chest and eyed Tonks, who undoubtedly had her wand pointed at her ex-Professor under the table. Their discussion had escalated rapidly. She felt paralyzed. Did they expect her to attack Minerva?

Remus continued. “Make your case, Minerva. We’ll discuss it like we do with everything else, and we’ll vote.”

She exhaled harshly. “We should at the very least warn their government so they stop holding events there.”

“They won’t listen,” Kingsley replied without missing a beat.

Her head jerked back, astonished. “Why ever not?”

Hermione’s shoulders sagged in relief. Now they were discussing strategy, not mutiny. She was grateful she wasn’t put in the position of having to attack her teacher or defend her against others she loved and trusted.

“Muggle governments receive thousands of warnings of terror attacks a year,” he explained calmly. “And we’re not even a vetted source. Quite the opposite.”

For the second time, Hermione wondered how Kingsley was so familiar with terrorism.

“Doesn’t the Ministry have a way of communicating with the Muggle Prime Minister?” Minerva asked as if she already knew the answer.

“Yes,” Kingsley answered. “But only Pius would know how, and I’ve no doubt You-Know-Who is spying on them. If we warn the Muggles either through the Ministry or on our own, not only would it be ineffectual, but we’d put ourselves in danger too.”

“Can we push to get more information?” Tonks directed her question to Kingsley. “And by ‘we’, I mean ‘you’ and the resources you have at your disposal.”

Kingsley slowly turned to face Hermione and raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not appreciating that she told Tonks about the Legilimens.

She stared right back at him, defiant. Right or wrong, he was the one who chose to hold back from the Order. Kingsley had to face the consequences of his decisions just like she did. She thought she saw Tonks smirk out of the corner of her eye.

Regardless, it was an excellent question. Kingsley interacted with the Malfoys and other Death Eaters at the Ministry. He might be able to figure out what was going on. And if he couldn’t… Hermione’s Occlumency teacher could. If only they knew who to sic her at.

That was the problem. They didn’t know who could connect between Macnair’s plans of Brockton Bridge and Wembley Stadium and the Malfoy’s work at the Ministry. Draco had described Voldemort’s paranoia about spies and how information was compartmentalized. The need-to-know strategy – which the Order also employed – made interrogations less effective as well.

“I don’t know how much time we have, but I’ll do as you suggest.” He eyed Minerva. “Lucius Malfoy didn’t kill the American donors precisely because he didn’t want MACUSA to get involved over here. Terrorism of that magnitude would undoubtedly cause the rest of the wizarding world to suspect You-Know-Who was behind it and rally with us against him for violating the Statute of Secrecy. That’s not what he wants. Nothing about this is rational and we should stay far away from what we don’t understand.” Minerva’s eye twitched but before she could respond he turned to Hermione. “If your spy can find out what’s going on, or at least figure out who in the Inner Circle does –”

Hermione shook his head. “He doesn’t know anything about it and is afraid that asking those kinds of questions will expose him. He’s been trying.”

“Are. You. Sure.”

Was Draco still lying to her?

No.

After everything they had been through together, after everything that had happened, she knew that he loved her and was doing his utmost best to defeat Voldemort while not compromising himself or his family – and he was finally being honest with her about all of it.

But… she was still lying to him.

“Yes,” she said, jutting her chin out. Kingsley studied her but said nothing. Like Tonks, he wasn’t a Legilimens, but he could read people so well he almost didn’t need to be.

Remus waited until they finished before speaking. “Alright, everyone make your last arguments. We’ll vote tonight on whether or not to prevent the supposed impending terror attack to allow Dora time to prepare and run reconnaissance.” Kingsley was about to speak again but Remus cut him off. “If more information comes to light, we’ll vote again. We can plan an operation and still not execute it.”

He looked pointedly at Minerva. “If anyone chooses to mutiny, they’ll get the empty cell in Pinner next to Macnair.”

 

 

Notes:

Next up: Kingsley vs. Lucius and Draco at the Ministry.

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Chapter 50: Chapter 50

Notes:

After Chapter 50, there is a pause in the narrative, if you need it, it's suggested you take a break. The next suggested chapter break is Chapter 64.

Also: there is a trigger warning associated with this chapter, see the chapter end notes for more detail.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Lucius! Draco!”

Draco was leaning over some administrative assistant’s desk and turned to see Kingsley Shacklebolt calling from his office. He quickly found that a bit of innocuous flirting with middle aged admins got him nearly everything he wanted from the offices he and his father were infiltrating, without too much trouble. They were usually married and not interested in an affair. They simply appreciated the attention from a young attractive male. He hated all of it, but preferred flirting over subtly threatening to poison someone’s son.

Something he had already done this morning.

Draco winked at her before pushing himself off her desk and following his father down the hall, hearing her giggle.

“I just heard your bill in the Wizengamot passed,” Kingsley spoke from his office. “Come in for a celebratory drink.”

His father paused before the door and glanced back at him, raising a cautionary eyebrow. Draco knew that look. Be on your guard. Kingsley had called it “their bill,” which was an interesting turn of phrase. The bill had been championed by several Wizengamot members although he and his father had been subtly pushing from behind the scenes for months.

He followed his father in and took a seat in front of Kingsley’s desk, smoothing out his robes. Hermione wanted to know the purpose of the Decriminalization of Interactions With Muggles Act. Which meant the Order wanted to know, and what it had to do with Wembley Stadium. His father was tight lipped about anything having to do with the ‘why’ of their efforts and was only forthcoming about the ‘how.’ Draco wasn’t sure if his father knew the purpose or not. Maybe this was his chance to finally learn something and prove he could be trusted. He felt nervous, wondering how much he could steer the conversation without endangering himself or his father.

Kingsley poured some brandy for the two of them and himself. He raised his glass and drank first, showing the drinks hadn’t been spiked. Draco raised his glass and sipped at the brandy, enjoying the sweet taste on his tongue.

By unspoken agreement, Draco was usually silent in his father’s dealings with Kingsley, save for a few pleasantries. There was plenty to learn by watching the two older wizards in action. He always felt like he was observing a game, and figuring out the rules on the fly.

“How is Narcissa?”

His father smiled. “Very well, thank you. Busy planning her summer party.”

“Ah, yes. Every Narcissa Malfoy event is a singular experience.”

“I’ll tell her you said so, she’ll be pleased.” His father sipped his drink slowly. “You won’t be bringing anyone with you, Kingsley? The perennial bachelor, aren’t you?”

“The international work during my Auror days didn’t leave much time to court a wife.”

“Perhaps that may change now that your Auror days are behind you?”

“Who knows?” Kingsley shrugged. “When things settle down, I may start looking.”

Kingsley and his father eyed each other. Pleasantries now exhausted, his father was waiting for Kingsley to get to the point of their impromptu meeting. Not that Kingsley would ever arrive at it so directly. Perhaps he was hoping his father might speak first after he called the Decriminalization of Interactions With Muggles Act ‘their bill.’ But his father said nothing, nonplussed by uncomfortable silences.

Kingsley shifted his dark eyed gaze to Draco. “And what of you Draco? I know half the female work force at the Ministry starts pulling out their mirrors and lipstick when you and your father walk in. Anyone special in your life?”

The question appeared harmless. He didn’t know where Kingsley was leading the conversation. Did he know what Draco was doing with Elizabeth? But why would he care? And his flirtations with Elizabeth publicly didn’t appear any different from how he interacted with others.

“Not at the moment,” he replied, taking a steadying drink of brandy. “There’s a lot going on right now.”

“It’s a difficult time to start a family, especially for a young man forging his own path, isn’t it?”

Draco tilted his head, unsure what Kingsley’s angle was.

“There are still violent factions opposing the Dark Lord,” Draco replied. “But the rumor is that they’ll be defeated before years’ end.”

His friends were going to be recruited soon for that purpose. Draco felt sick to his stomach at the thought. Hogwarts was only delaying the inevitable for them.

Cannon fodder.

“Yes,” Kingsley said rubbing his finger over the glass tumbler. “I think we’re all looking forward to some stability, so life can go on.”

“We are,” his father replied. Perhaps eager to draw Kingsley’s attention back to himself. Kingsley didn’t let him.

“Your father is keeping you busy then?”

Draco smiled. “He is indeed.”

“I heard you’re taking over some responsibilities on the boards your father participates in.”

Draco cleared his throat. He had already started interacting with the board of governors at Hogwarts and his father had introduced him to the union of small business leaders a few months prior. Kingsley was well informed, no sense in denying it.

“Yes, I’ve learned quite a bit from working with them.”

“I imagine those boards of directors have been quite helpful in securing votes for your bill.”

This was the second time Kingsley called the act ‘their bill.’ Draco wasn’t sure if he should deny it or pretend Kingsley hadn’t named it as such.

“They do support the DIWM Act,” his father continued before Draco could answer, choosing not to take direct ownership of the bill, and pulling the conversation away from Draco. He could see what was going on now. Kingsley was forcing his father to answer by directing his questions to Draco, trying to get him to reveal more than he would otherwise.

“Muggles are beneath our notice,” Kingsley continued speaking to Draco as if Lucius hadn’t replied. “Your bill will do quite a lot to ease unrest in certain quarters by providing an outlet for frustration. You play Quidditch, don’t you?”

Draco eyed him. Kingsley knew he did. “Yes.”

He continued. “Quelling unrest is especially important now since Quidditch leagues have been severely disrupted with the regime change.”

“I imagine it would,” his father replied, still ignoring Kingsley’s implication, and drawing Shacklebolt’s attention back to him.

“That wasn’t your intent at the outset?”

Now Draco understood. Kingsley wanted to understand why the Malfoy’s had been pushing for the DIWM Act. And he just maneuvered his father into the position of giving a reason. Draco stared into his glass, trying to hide just how interested he was in his father’s answer.

Kingsley must be worried about stability, he wanted to know if that was the expected outcome of the bill, or if there was something else at play. He had been leading up to it with his talk of finding a wife and starting a family, and now with Quidditch.

Draco listened while his father considered his answer, not daring to raise his eyes.

“The Minister would be interested in stability, wouldn’t he?” his father deflected smoothly.

Kingsley steepled his fingers, elbows on the table, and Draco glanced up.

“Absolutely,” Kingsley confirmed. “Achieving stability so quickly after the blood traitors are overthrown would assure a long, fruitful career as Minister.”

His father’s lips lifted in a sardonic smile. “Some instability might shorten that career.”

Draco sat back and regarded his father with barely concealed amazement. Kingsley was good, but Lucius Malfoy was a master. He avoided Kingsley’s question, avoided taking ownership of the bill, and cornered Kingsley by bringing up his own ambitions. Kingsley could leverage a destabilized wizarding society to oust Pius, unrest would certainly work in his favor.

Perhaps that was why he was asking about the purpose of the DIWM Act. Would it bring stability or more violence? If more violence, he could leverage it. He wanted to know what the Malfoys were doing, and if they would align with him in the future.

Kingsley chuckled in what seemed like… relief? Draco couldn’t tell.

He wagged his finger at his father. “Maybe one day, Lucius. I’m still learning the ropes of the Office of the Deputy.”

His father said nothing. No one bought it.

Kingsley turned to Draco. “So is the passing of the DIWM Act a sign that you’ll be announcing your engagement to a lucky witch? Especially since those factions will be defeated within the year? Don’t your social circles start to marry off around the summer?”

Kingsley had a point. No one was getting married. No one. And no engagements had been announced. Draco’s marital prospects hadn’t even been a topic of conversation since he left Hogwarts. The Malfoys had been too busy trying to secure the Dark Lord’s hold on the Ministry and destroy the Order. Which purpose did the DIWM Act serve? Perhaps both?

One thing was certain, if marriages and engagements were anything to go by, stability was not expected in the near term. The passage of the act would result in violence, and now Draco was back to square one. The Order suspected it would be leveraged to eliminate any judicial fallout from large scale attacks on Muggles. A series of attacks would destabilize Muggle Britain and would most certainly destabilize Wizarding Britain as well.

Draco didn’t think Voldemort wanted to destabilize Wizarding Britain. That would leave an opening for the Order to gain traction. Now that the Dark Lord had control, he wouldn’t want to relinquish it. But the purpose of the bill wasn’t stability either.

The only threat to stability was the Order. What did the DIWM Act have to do with the Order?

Nothing made sense. What was Draco missing? He didn’t know. Kingsley didn’t know either and was watching him, expecting an answer.

Hoping for stability was innocuous. He could pretend that was the purpose.

“Perhaps I should start looking,” Draco replied. His thoughts strayed to Hermione. His path diverged from what was typical in his social circles long ago. Briefly, he wondered how his parents would handle the fallout of his choices, but couldn’t find it within himself to care. He just wanted them to pull through alive.

From the way he was studying Draco, Kingsley didn’t believe his answer. Kingsley figured out the purpose of the bill wasn’t stability, and he was probably right. Once again, Draco wondered if his father actually knew why they had been pursuing it for so long.

Kingsley shifted his gaze to his father. “So how long before your brilliant son takes your place Lucius? From what I hear, he’s giving you a run for your money. Any plans for retirement you’re not sharing with us?”

It was obvious flattery, but his father still smiled with pride and Draco’s cheeks flushed from his approval. “Indeed, he is. But I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. It’s far too early for retirement.”

Kingsley laughed softly. “Regardless, I approve of mentoring the next generation. We have many passionate up-and-coming political hopefuls with bright ideas. They haven’t yet become cynical from the daily grind of a bureaucracy.”

All three chuckled, intimately familiar with the never-ending struggle against government gridlock. Their shared laughter died down, ending in an awkward silence. Perhaps Kingsley had determined he wasn’t going to get anything out of his father, despite his attempts to force him to answer for Draco. Lucius finished the rest of his brandy and Draco did the same.

“Well,” his father stood up and extended his hand. “It’s always a pleasure, Kingsley. You have excellent taste in alcohol.”

Chuckling again, Kingsley shook his father’s hand and then Draco’s before he followed his father out of the office. The Malfoys just learned something about Kingsley. He had designs on Pius’s position and was trying to figure out if they would support him. But he didn’t appear satisfied with what he had learned about the DIWM Act. In fact, he hadn’t learned anything. Draco wondered if his interest was solely connected to his desire to oust Pius or if he had an ulterior motive.

“Draco.”

He paused and turned to face Kingsley before exiting. The Ministry Deputy leaned back in his chair.

“It’s good to have a Malfoy presence in the Ministry. You help cut through our red tape.” Kingsley crossed his arms and gave Draco what seemed like the first genuine smile he’d ever seen on his face. “I think you and I will be working more together in the future.”

Draco nodded at him, unsure what to make of that closing comment.

 

~

 

“So Kingsley wants to replace Pius?”

His father turned to Draco in thought, brushing ash off his sleeve after exiting the Floo in the Manor foyer.

“I’m sure he does, but I wouldn’t have expected him to act so soon. Perhaps he sees an opening now.” Lucius set his cane against the wall near the fireplace. “He showed his cards too easily. Something else is going on with his focus on the bill. And he’s taken an interest in you for some reason.”

Draco felt uncomfortable, remembering Kingsley’s scrutiny. His father must have noticed his nervousness from Draco’s expression because he added, “That’s not a bad thing, Draco. Especially if he does succeed in ousting Pius. And I have no doubt he will. It’s only a matter of time.”

“So Kingsley’s ambitions weren’t behind that conversation?” Draco thought that was the key to their interaction at the Ministry. He still had a lot to learn from his father. “I thought Kingsley supported our cause.”

The corner of his father’s mouth lifted. “Kingsley is loyal to no one but himself. You saw how quickly he abandoned Dumbledore once the tides had shifted.”

Draco studied his father in thought. Knowing his father wouldn’t reply, he asked what had been bugging him and the Order anyway. The conversation with Kingsley was as good an excuse as he would get and wouldn’t raise suspicion.

“What is the purpose of the bill?” he asked, trying to keep his voice curious, but nonchalant. “We put in an awful lot of effort just to prevent drunken wizards from going to Azkaban after a foray into Muggle London.”

His father stared at him and clenched his jaw. Draco knew right away he wasn’t going to tell him what he actually thought. It was important to compartmentalize, the purpose of the bill wasn’t in the Malfoy’s purview and seeking out information they shouldn’t have would implicate them should the Dark Lord suspect a traitor. And the Dark Lord was always paranoid about traitors.

“The Dark Lord has his own designs,” his father replied. “We can’t hope to comprehend them.”

Draco wondered if his father knew but wouldn’t say. He tried to push him one last time.

“I don’t think this bill has anything to do Muggles.”

After a few moments his father spoke. “I agree.”

 

~

 

Hermione was bloody, face down on the ground. Draco yelled to her, feet pounding on the grass, running as fast as he could but Jugson got there before him. He yanked Hermione up by her hair to a kneeling position.

Panic spurred him on. He shot a hex at Jugson, but he deflected it without effort.

This is what you betrayed the Dark Lord for? This fucking cunt?” Jugson shook Hermione’s body by the fist in her hair, and she whimpered.

HERMIONE!” Draco’s desperate cry ripped through his throat.

Draco shot more hexes at Jugson, but he blocked them all with practiced wrist movements. He kept running but his feet were so heavy. It felt like he was slogging through water and he couldn’t move fast enough.

“Draco…” Hermione croaked, reaching out to him, blood on her hands.

He watched in horror as Jugson brandished a knife.

“Secondary weapon, Malfoy,” he leered. “If I slice her open, she won’t be much use to you anymore.”

Draco screamed and launched himself into the air, but it was too late. Jugson sliced Hermione’s throat just as he crashed to the ground in front of her. Her pale, white throat, the one he had kissed so many times, ripped open and blood spurted out. The red liquid covered his chest while Jugson laughed.

“NOOOOO!” Draco grabbed Hermione’s arms, watching as the light extinguished from her eyes. Her body slipped in his grip, wet with her blood.

“Hermione!” he sobbed.

Her lifeless body sagged, and Jugson released his grip on the mass of Hermione’s curls. He looked down at Draco with an evil smile while she pitched forward into him.

“Draco.”

NO!” he cried out, cradling her dead body into his and heaved a sob. He was too late! Her blood covered his chest. Dark, thick, viscous liquid. It was everywhere.

“Draco.”

It smeared all over him. He couldn’t hold her, everything was slick and wet and her body slipped out of his hands. He sobbed again.

“Draco.”

And suddenly she was there in front of him. Warmth in her eyes, gentle hand on his cheek. Concerned. Lying next to him in bed.

“Draco, are y–”

Before Hermione could finish her sentence, he pushed her onto her back, grabbed her wrists and pressed them down into the pillow she lay on. Her eyes widened and he lowered his mouth to hers. She was here and she was alive. She gasped as he plundered her mouth and shoved her legs apart with his knee.

Draco wouldn’t let her go. Not ever. He had to feel her underneath him. He had to know she was here. He had to be inside.

She spread her legs wider to receive him and he thrust into her without preamble. Her head tilted back with the force of his intrusion, but his mouth followed and he swallowed her choked cry.

Fuck.

Yes.

There.

Hermione whimpered and he held her underneath him, needing her warmth. She wasn’t going anywhere. She was here with him. She couldn’t move, pinned underneath his body. He lifted himself and slowly pushed back into her with a groaning sigh.

Hot. Tight. Wet.

More.

His thrusts weren’t fast and frenzied, but slow and powerful. Draco released her mouth and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He wanted to smell her, and he inhaled a shuddering breath. He wanted to feel her skin. He wanted her inside him. He wanted to eat her. He sucked on her flesh with his lips and teeth, bruising it. She moaned and jerked, begging him with incoherent phrases. Hermione struggled to move her arms, but his grip tightened around her wrists. He didn’t let her do anything but writhe underneath him, pinning her with his body.

He just wanted… he wanted her here. Always. With him.

Her pelvis rocked up to meet his controlled thrusts and he panted into her neck, thrusting with the same, deliberate pace. He kept it slow, savoring the feel of her cunt on his cock, of her breasts against his chest. Of her neck against his face. He pulled out, so slow it was agonizing, hovered for a second and rammed himself back in with a grunt.

Ohmygod!” He pushed the cry out of her.

Fuck, she was wet.

All for him.

His.

She’d never leave him.

Again, Draco lifted his hips, held steady, and pounded back into her, fingers digging into her wrists. Each time he thrust into her she cried out. Hermione tried to wrap her legs around his, but Draco shoved his knee into hers, spreading her legs wider. He didn’t want her to move, he wanted to take her. Mold her body to him. To his hands, to his legs, to his cock.

He pulled out and slammed into her again.

There.

Hermione gasped at the ceiling and her body rattled with each plunge into her.

She turned her head into his hair. He felt her lips searching for his, but he didn’t raise his head from the crook of her neck. He wanted to lick and claim her. He snarled and drove into her again, digging his fingers into her wrists. She heaved another cry with each ferocious thrust inside her.

It wasn’t enough. He had to know she was his. That she was alive. That she was safe. That she was here.

He released her arms. Hermione tried to grab his head, but he lifted himself up and out of her reach, snatched her ankles and pressed her legs down against her stomach, bracing himself on the backs of her knees. Her eyes widened in surprise. He aligned himself, flexed his stomach muscles and pushed.  

All the way in. Inside her.

Like that.

Hermione released a strangled cry and her eyes rolled back.

Fuck.

With the new angle he was in so deep. Draco set a punishing pace, pistoning in and out of her, bracing himself against her body. Her breasts bounced with each of his thrusts and the headboard hit the wall.

His. His. His. HIS.

The word echoed in his mind each time the bed banged into the wall. Each time she slid around his cock. His body was heating up and desire wrenched his insides.

Hermione cried out and threw her head back.

No.

He pulled her face down, pressing his fingers into her cheeks.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Her eyes flashed with a hazy lust and her curls were wild, sprawled out on the pillow.

Hermione grabbed his forearms, struggling to hold on while he pounded into her. He didn’t want her to be steady. He wanted to break her apart so that he was the only thing that could anchor her. He was so far up inside she couldn’t do anything but gasp as he rammed into her. His body became slick with sweat, and he could feel her tensing and tightening around him.

It was hot and tight and he couldn’t hold it in.

Hers was coming. His was too. He could feel it building up and he wanted to give it to her. All for her.

Yessssss.

Hermione’s eyes rolled back again.

“Look at me!” he growled louder, his fingers pressing harder into her jaw.

She had to know it was he who made her feel like this. He that made her scream in pleasure. He that unraveled her. Her eyes focused on him. That passionate hazel he loved.

His.

Hermione’s breath caught and she came hard with a wail, clenching her legs and contracting around him. Her face flushed and she trembled beneath him.

Draco felt her cunt pulling at him and she dug her fingers into his arms. She’d leave marks. Her marks on him. The corners of his mouth lifted in a twisted smile and he snapped his hips against her with huffing grunts. Hard. And his body shook.

Almost there.

He heaved and flexed, bracing himself on her body.

Yes.

Her eyes were wide, and he smacked her flesh with his. Feeling overwhelmed by his own orgasm, he groaned, straining himself against the back of her thighs while he emptied into her.

Pulsing and moaning, his fingers dug into her as the last of his seed shot out of him.

His.

With one last shudder, he heaved a breath and released her face and the back of her knee. His heart thundered in his chest and he gazed down at her. Her breasts were heaving and her face red after being fucked so violently.

Hermione extended her limbs with a grimace and he lay down atop her, resting his forearms, one by one on either side of her head. His nose touched hers and he watched her while he caught his breath.

Fuck.

Draco didn’t understand what had happened. Did he hurt her? He didn’t feel so desperate anymore. He didn’t have that insatiable need to claim her. She was right here. She was with him. It was just a nightmare.

Draco panted and he heard her heart beating as loudly as his. Her hot breath hit his lips and she slid her hands up his back to embrace him. He was covered in sweat.

After a few moments her breathing returned to a steady rhythm. He had never been so rough before, she’d probably bruise. But from the look on her face, Hermione enjoyed it. He smiled in relief.

Tenderly, almost apologetically, he teased patterns in her scalp and watched her calm down from the previous moment’s frenzy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, still breathing hard.

“Don’t be.”

He searched her eyes for any hint that he had hurt her. There was none. She was breathless, elated. He grinned wider.

“What were you dreaming about?” she asked, curious and wide eyed. “It sounded like a nightmare. You woke me up before…” she smiled, still breathing heavily. “Before all that.”

He studied her, gasping for breath as if from an uphill sprint. “I dreamt that I lost you.”

Hermione lifted her head to press a close-mouthed kiss to his lips, which he returned.

“I had no idea nightmares could fuel such hot, rough sex.”

He grinned against her mouth, still panting, and no longer worried. “I don’t know what came over me.”

She smirked. “I did.”

Draco huffed a laugh and lowered his head for a slow, sensual – gentle – kiss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Next up: Wembley Stadium.

TW: Draco dreams that Hermione gets her throat cut by Jugson. It's bloody.

Shampoo_ish, one of the translators to Russian, made this awesome fanart. Check out her instagram!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

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Chapter 51: Chapter 51

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Group 1 Disillusion and Apparate to top row

Hermione glanced down at her Galleon and then over at Ron nervously. He gave her a smile of encouragement. Having been in more missions and raids than he could count, he wasn’t nervous at all. She was. Being part of Order leadership meant she seldom participated in fighting, despite the rigorous combat training. She knew too much. In this case, she and Tonks were both here, wanting to ensure the Order wasn’t falling into a trap.

Aside from that, Wembley Stadium was huge, and they needed everyone to comb it.

Despite the severe reservations she, Tonks and Remus had about this operation, Kingsley was outvoted three to two on preventing the suspected terror attacks. The votes were always anonymous, so no one knew it was Hermione who had voted with Kingsley. She could tell, they all thought it was Tonks who had sided with him.

But Tonks knew it was Hermione and said nothing. If she was surprised or disappointed, she didn’t reveal her feelings on the matter.

Hermione agreed with Kingsley’s reasoning. A terror attack of this magnitude would destroy the Statute of Secrecy. It would cause the international wizarding communities to get involved in a conflict which had remained confined to Britain, which would lead to upending Voldemort’s tenuous hold on the Ministry. On top of all that, Voldemort knew the Order captured Macnair and likely suspected they were privy to his focus on Brockton Bridge and Wembley Stadium.

The whole situation reeked of bait to draw the Order out for a purpose they hadn’t been able to identify.

But the risk if an attack couldn’t be prevented pushed Minerva, Remus and Tonks to walk into the fire regardless. 90,000 potential Muggle deaths. Hermione had never made such a hard decision in her life and agonized over her vote. In the end, she sided with Kingsley, and felt terrible about it. She was relieved they were outvoted, and felt sick to her stomach at her decision.

Tonks had a team of Polyjuiced Order members scoping out Wembley Stadium and Brockton Bridge every day since.

No traces of magic could be found. No Death Eaters. No suspicious activity.

However, not just half an hour ago, Brockton Bridge had been destroyed in seconds by a series of well-placed Bombarda Maximas, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of Muggles. Almost the entire Order was out patrolling Wembley Stadium now, which was in the process of being evacuated along with other crowded areas and government buildings.

As before, there were no sign of anti-Apparition wards. No sign of dark magic. No sign of magic, period, aside from scanning charms performed by the Order.

No sign of Death Eaters… so far.

She wondered where Draco was and what he was up to. Briefly she considered contacting him but worried that would get him in trouble, and left it up to him to contact her.

Wembley Stadium couldn’t be destroyed as easily as a bridge. Hermione had thought it was a trap until Brockton Bridge was destroyed. Now she wasn’t sure of anything, and her terror was mounting.

Hermione reappeared in the top row with a crack, still Disillusioned, scanning the stadium below her. It wasn’t as chaotic as it could have been. The Muggles were evacuating according to whatever procedure the stadium had in place. However, Tonks had quickly figured out that with the tension and fear in the air, it wouldn’t take much to cause a stampede. One or two Bombarda curses and that was it.

Hermione wondered if that was the plan. The noise in the stadium was deafening as people talked with each other, trying to figure out what was going on as they filed out. Hermione bit her lip, feeling anxious and waiting for something to happen. Hoping that nothing would.

Voldemort’s army didn’t need to destroy Wembley Stadium in order to wreak havoc and cause mass death and casualties. Not like with the bridge. And so far, everything they had done could be chalked up to Muggle terrorist groups. MACUSA and the other international wizarding communities wouldn’t think twice about something as mundane as explosions being caused by Voldemort.

Hermione agreed with Kingsley. Lucius Malfoy hadn’t killed the Americans providing financial support to the Order, which meant Voldemort didn’t want MACUSA or any other countries to have an excuse for getting involved in Wizarding Britain’s internal conflict. Even unrest in the Muggle world could look too coincidental if they weren't careful. There was no reason to blow up the bridge. No reason to… do whatever what was going to happen here at Wembley Stadium. And there was no reason for the Malfoys to pass the DIWM act.

And yet the act passed.

And yet Brockton Bridge was destroyed.

So what would happen to Wembley Stadium? Would anything even happen today? Or maybe at another time? And if not now, what could the Order do to prevent it? How could they possibly stop a stampede of 90,000 people?

Everyone felt morally obligated to be here.

But… something about the situation wasn’t right.

Hermione scanned the evacuating Muggles. All the top and middle rows were empty. Sirens were blaring all over London’s streets below. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as her fear mounted. Although the noise in the stadium was slowly receding, the sirens were making it hard for her to hear her own thoughts. Not that she knew what to do anyway.

Her Galleon warmed, jolting her out of her thoughts. Anxiously, she yanked the coin out of her trouser pocket.

Two Death Eaters spotted behind section HH

Her hair stood on the back of her neck. This was it. Voldemort’s army was here. Something was happening. A stampede? Would they cause a stampede? No one knew. Bright letters flashed again, giving orders.

Spread out and comb in pairs. Top to bottom.

“Ready?” Harry’s voice sounded next to her.

She turned to him and grabbed his hand. He squeezed it back in encouragement.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied with a tremor in her voice, but feeling somewhat more secure that she was paired with Harry. He was an excellent fighter, one of the best.

The Order wondered if this whole scenario was an elaborate set up to nab him. But even that seemed extreme.

Or was it?

Harry was the key to destroying Voldemort. She wondered if Voldemort suspected he was an accidental Horcrux as well.

She wished Draco would let her know what was happening.

If there was a fight, how would she know it was him behind the mask and robes? She remembered when he told her she almost killed him during the safe house raid. Hermione had no way of knowing and wished he would communicate with her.

They jogged down the stairs, casting Homenum Revelios when her Galleon warmed again.

DEs popping around, not fighting

What did that mean?

She shoved her Galleon back into her pocket when a Death Eater ran into their view. Her stomach lurched at the sudden appearance of the masked, hooded figure and she instinctively raised her wand. He hadn’t noticed their Disillusioned forms yet, but Harry grabbed her arm before she could hex him.

Hermione glanced over in surprise and Harry shook his head silently. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking, and her first thought was to prevent any harm from coming to him.

“This is weird,” he whispered. “Wait and see what he does.”

“Follow him?” she whispered back.

“Yeah.”

The strangeness of the situation nearly made her ill, but she drew strength from Harry’s confident presence. She wondered if she should call the whole operation off or wait a bit longer to see what the Death Eater was up to.

Harry and Hermione Silenced their feet and jogged after him for a few paces before he Disapparated with a crack. They skidded to a halt. This must be what was meant on the Galleon communication by ‘popping around.’

But to what end? What was Voldemort planning? It wouldn’t be difficult to cause a stampede; a few explosions should be enough. One even.

What was the point of Apparating around the stadium? Hermione couldn’t make sense of it and her chest constricted with the weight of decision. Call off the operation or not? She wondered what Tonks was thinking.

Another crack down the hallway made them jump, and she gasped loudly in shock, whirling around with Harry. A different Death Eater, of shorter stature, popped into view and saw the diffracted panes of their outlines. Reflexively, they cast Shield charms but instead of hexing them, he cast a Finite, revealing their identities.

Harry flicked a Stunner in his direction, but he Disapparated.

What?

Hermione’s heart thundered in her chest. She had no idea what to make of the strange interaction. So they weren’t interested in Harry? Or were they? Should she cancel the operation or wait to see what happens?

The blood rushed in her ears. She didn’t know. She didn’t understand what was going on and she hated making decisions without enough information. If she called the operation off and was wrong, the Muggles still here in the stadium could die. That’s probably why Tonks hadn’t told them to abort either.

None of this made sense.

She cleared her throat, trying to quell her nerves. They needed more information.

“I don’t understand what’s going on, but they know where you are now,” she forced out, her voice trembling. “Let’s Apparate to another part of the stadium where we can see what’s going on.”

Whatever the plan was, it would not result in Harry getting taken. Over her dead body.

“Alright,” Harry agreed, and rubbed her back encouragingly. How was he not nervous?

They recast the Disillusionment Charms and she Apparated them to the middle of the athletic field.

“We’re sitting ducks here, Hermione,” Harry commented, watching the Muggles file out around them. She surveyed the bleachers, craning her neck and spinning around in a full circle. The Muggles had nearly finished evacuating the crowds. It was only first responders here now.

She furrowed her brows in confusion. No stampede. Voldemort’s army hadn’t attacked anyone or made any attempt to take Harry. What was going on? The pressure in her chest increased and she struggled to breathe in all the way.

“You’re right.” Her voice was still shaking. She needed to calm herself down, she needed time to think.

Hermione Apparated them to the ladies’ room on the ground floor where a cacophony of voices echoed loudly from the hallways as everyone filed towards the exit.

Harry glanced around appreciatively. “This is so much cleaner than the loo for blokes.”

How could he make jokes at a time like this? Maybe this was how he dealt with pressure. They were still waiting, hadn’t even engaged in any combat yet. She almost preferred to be in the middle of hexing Death Eaters.

The waiting and fear of the unknown was absolute agony.

Hermione rubbed her temples. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Nothing happened. The bridge was destroyed. They’re here, we can Apparate, but nothing happened. That Death Eater saw you, but he didn’t even attack.”

“Take it easy, Hermione. Nothing’s happened yet,” he offered with a crooked grin. “As you said.”

“That we know of,” she corrected, completely unaffected by his reassurance.

“We can leave at any time,” Harry replied, trying to console her. He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms. “The Muggles are almost out. If You-Know-Who wanted to cause a stampede, he lost his window. Honestly, that was the only thing I was worried about. Maybe we should call it off.”

They stared at each other in thought, trying to piece together what was happening.

“The only other reason for the operation that we thought of was to draw the Order out in an attempt to nab you.

Harry nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I thought that as well.”

How could he be so cavalier about it?

“And they drew us out,” she insisted, still anxious and worried. “They succeeded. But they saw you and didn’t even attack.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair and gazed back at her in thought. “I feel like we’re playing hide and seek. You can’t hit anyone if they’re Apparating away.”

Just then they heard someone yelling a hex followed by an explosion. The two jumped and glanced at each other. Hermione gripped her wand tightly.

“They’re attacking now,” Harry commented, his eyes straying towards the door to the loo.

After the Muggles evacuated?”

He shrugged and twirled his wand, equally as puzzled as she was.

“Ready?” he raised his eyebrows, studying her face.

“Yes, of course,” her words came out in a rush. “I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t help but be nervous.”

His mouth lifted in a reassuring, half grin. “I’ve seen you fight, you do well under pressure. And I’ve got your back.”

And I’ve got yours, she thought, and smiled gratefully up at him.

She took a steadying breath and the two ran out of the loo. Almost immediately flashes of light flew over their heads and they ducked. Alicia Spinnet came charging down the hallway, separated from her partner, and skidded to a halt next to them.

Hermione’s stomach lurched as three Death Eaters ran behind, hot on her trail. She hardly had time to raise her wand before one of them fired a curse at Harry. She pushed him out of the way just as the tall Death Eater in the center hexed his own comrade, blasting him into the wall.

The hex nicked Harry’s arm instead of his chest and he fell to the ground. Utterly stunned at what she just witnessed, Hermione tore her glance from Harry’s bleeding arm back towards the Death Eater.

Draco.

A surge of relief at seeing him, unharmed, swept through her as a smaller Death Eater next to him swiveled around in surprise. Hermione went to run to Harry, but Alicia was about to hex Draco. She clamped her hand down on Alicia’s arm and angled it away before she could cast anything.

“No,” she said, shaking her head desperately, heart still racing in her chest.

“But…”

Alicia stared back, eyes wide in alarm and then turned to Draco, who was talking with the smaller Death Eater, gesticulating wildly. Hermione wondered why he didn’t just curse him like he did the other, but the smaller Death Eater wasn’t fighting.

Hermione looked down to where Harry was groaning, rolling on the floor. He was bleeding out of his wand arm and had hit his head with the blast of the curse. She and Alicia ran over to him. He was in pain and didn’t seem very lucid, but his physical injuries didn’t look so bad. Nothing the Healers couldn’t treat.

“Alicia, you have to get Harry back to Ravenclaw Tower now.” She motioned to the Death Eater knocked out on the floor. “If you’re able, come back here and take that one to Pinner. You can’t tell anyone about what you just saw. Okay?”

Alicia stared at Draco Confounding the smaller Death Eater next to him and then to Harry.

“Okay,” she nodded, jaw slack in disbelief.

Hermione trusted her not to say anything, but she’d Obliviate her later anyway.

Hermione leaned over Harry and cupped his face. “You alright?”

He squinted up at her while she did her best to close the wound to prevent further damage from Apparition. Harry would be okay, it appeared to be a standard laceration.

“Hermione?” he croaked.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. Harry didn’t know what had happened. He wouldn’t need to be Obliviated or Confounded. She glanced back at Draco to see him incapacitate the smaller Death Eater and carefully heft him over his shoulders. It must be one of his friends.

The Death Eater was petite. Like Hermione.

Pansy.

Alicia squatted down next to her and tore open Harry’s sleeve to survey the semi-healed laceration on his arm better. “I’ll get him to Ravenclaw Tower safely.”

Nervously, she glanced back at Draco who stood glowering down at them through his mask; tall, dark and ominous in the corridor. “Be careful, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded at her, kissed her palm and laid it atop Harry’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

He groaned in response and Alicia Disapparated the two of them.

She stood up and turned around to see Draco stalking towards her with Pansy thrown over his shoulder, black robes billowing behind him.

“What are you–”

He clamped her upper arm with his gloved hand and they Disapparated, reappearing in the announcers’ box. She stumbled from the sudden Side-Along and he righted her up, looming over her.

“You all have to leave.” He glared down at her through his mask.

“What? Why?”

He flicked his wand and noxxed the lights so the room was only illuminated from the outside. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I can’t… I can’t remember. I wanted to tell you, but I can’t remember. You shouldn’t have come.”

“Wait, Draco. What–”

He was getting agitated. “I don’t know. We were told to look for…” he shifted Pansy’s weight on his shoulder. “I asked Pansy and when she tried to tell me she couldn’t remember either. I think I just fucked her over.” His voice rose in increasing desperation. “And myself, if anyone finds out we were talking about it. We were told to only attack the Order once the Muggles left, so there wouldn’t be a stampede.”

Draco craned his neck, looking out through the window towards the stadium to see if anyone could see them and pushed Hermione into a darkened corner. The announcer’s box was isolated, probably the best place to meet outside of the loo, but he was right to be prudent.

“That makes even less sense than–”

“Of course it doesn’t make sense.” Hermione could hear him getting even more worked up, and he tightened his grip on her arm. “Just leave.” He set Pansy down gently in one of the announcer’s chairs and reared on Hermione. “How are you communicating with them? Those sodding Galleons?”

“Yes, but–”

He wouldn’t let her finish her sentence, instead reached around her to dig in her back jeans pocket. He knocked her off balance and she grabbed the folds of his robes to right herself. His fingers were rough as they searched, and she winced.

“Draco, stop manhandling me! I can–” They heard more yelling and another explosion. She jumped and he spun her around. She braced herself against the wall while he dug in her other back pocket, pulling out the Galleon.

“No! That’s the one I use with you.” He growled in frustration and shoved it back in her pocket. He spun her back around trying to dig his fingers into her front pockets. “Will you just wait–”

“Hermione, you need to tell them to leave,” his voice rose in desperation. “We came for something. I can’t remember what it was. We expected… we... Fuck!”

He swore when he came out with nothing and started digging in her other front pocket.

“Alright! But can you just–”

He pulled the Galleon out of her front pocket.

“Stop it!” She tried to grab the Galleon back from him, but he held it out of her reach. “It won’t work with your gloves!”

With another growl he tore off his glove and tossed it to the floor while she watched him stare down at the coin.

He turned back to her and smacked it into her hand. She jumped. The masks were terrifying even though she knew it was Draco behind it.

Hermione glanced down at the coin. He hadn’t communicated anything.

“I can’t fucking remember what I wanted to say.” His voice rose in urgency.

“That it’s a trap?” she whispered, horrified for him, and the Order.

What did Voldemort do to them all? He messed with their bodies to ensure loyalty and he messed with their minds to ensure secrecy.

He stared down at her. “Is that what I said?”

“You’re sure?” she asked, voice trembling.

He threw his hand out towards the stadium. “Do you have another explanation for this insanity?”

“No.” Hermione thumbed her Galleon.

It’s a trap. Abort now.

Blunt.

“It’s fucking hide and seek. We were looking for something and the minute Pansy and I try to talk about it we can’t remember what it was we were looking for.”

He stared down at her, breathing heavily. They heard a few cracks of Apparition echoing down the hallway, some more yelling and explosions.

He bent over to pick his glove off the floor and tugged it on with a grunt before turning back to Pansy.

“Wait!”

He stilled, she didn't understand what was happening or what had been done to him, and needed to kiss him before he left. She reached up and pulled his mask off, removing his hood as well.

Draco’s eyes were dangerous. That dark grey again. It wasn’t the effect of poor lighting in the bathroom, or because of starlight coming through the guest room window at night. They were uncharacteristically dark. She could see the different shade clearly with the daylight coming in from the window of the announcer’s box.

What was happening to him? She hoped they could speak later tonight.

They were both scared that they didn’t understand what was going on and frightened at how Voldemort had messed with his mind.

At least the Order was leaving.

She dropped his mask to the floor and cupped his cheeks, pulling his face down towards hers.

Instantly, Draco wrapped his arms around her and crushed her body to his. His robe enveloped her, and his breath was ragged as he panted into her mouth. She felt completely encased by him as he kissed her: wanting, needy and desperate. His lips moved over hers, over her jaw, her cheek, her neck and back to her mouth again. His hands dug into her arse, her back and her shoulder.

It was a harsh and bruising kiss to the sounds of yelling and the cracks of Apparition echoing throughout the stadium. He released a frustrated moan before pulling away and pressing his forehead to hers. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Dark grey. Not Draco’s color at all. And there was something sinister in the way he looked at her.

“Draco?” Her voice was soft in her caution.

He inhaled, shuddering slightly, and slid his hand from her shoulder to the crook of her neck. The leather from his glove was cool against her skin.

“You should go,” he whispered. “Make sure the Chosen One can still win this war.”

His thumb caressed the hollow of her throat and his fingers pressed into her rear. She stroked his cheek and jaw with her fingers and tilted her head up slightly for a close-mouthed kiss when he suddenly cried out in pain. 

“What’s wr–”

He stumbled backwards, clutching his forearm.

“It might be too late,” he ground out. “I don’t know if I’m being summoned because you’re all leaving or because we got what we came for.”

“But what–” she began, eying him warily as she picked his mask up off the ground.

He was already hefting Pansy over his shoulder, careful not to jostle her. “I’ll let you know if I learn anything.”

Hermione held out his mask. “I love you.”

Draco glanced down at the evil visage carved out in shimmering metal and then shifted his dark eyed gaze back to her. “I know.”

She watched while he donned his mask and hood. A tug of despair wrenched in her gut as he turned to her, a faceless Death Eater. Draco backed a wary step away and she couldn’t help feeling like she was losing him.

Roughly, he shoved the sleeve of his robe up, exposing his Dark Mark, and pressed his wand into his flesh, Disapparating away from her.

And back to them.

 

 

~

 

Hermione Apparated to the entrance of Ravenclaw Tower in Dorchester to see how Harry was holding up and was startled from the yelling. Instantly worried, she opened the door to see half the Weasleys speaking at once in the waiting room. Molly and Ginny were in tears, holding each other.

“Hermione!” Ron turned to her. “Where have you been?”

She flushed, not wanting to explain. “I just–”

“Harry’s hurt!”

“I know, in his arm. I told Alicia to take him back–”

“No,” Ron gripped her arms tightly. “He’s really hurt! And he’s not the only one! Justin, Lavender, Penelope, George–”

She wrenched her way out of his grip and tried to push past everyone in the waiting room to enter the infirmary itself.

“Wait!” Ron called back. “You can’t–”

She burst through the door to see Mary, Cho and Terry rushing back and forth between eight bodies with glowing lights above each one. The three of them were casting charms and administering potions with a controlled urgency Hermione had never seen before. Every so often Cho or Terry would look back to Mary for instruction and she would direct them without pausing what she was doing. Vials of potions were suspended in the air above them and would frequently whiz through the air, when summoned.

Hermione scanned the beds, saw Harry on the far left and strode over to him. To her horror, the bandages covering his arm were bright red and whatever wound he had sustained seemed to be coming from his chest as well.

Cho immediately appeared at her side. “Hermione, you can’t be here.”

“Cho!” she pointed to Harry’s chest. The monitoring charm signaled internal bleeding as well. “He’s bleeding out! You have to–”

Cho gripped her arm. “We are. We are treating him. Let us work. You have to leave.”

Hermione saw Mary out of the corner of her eye removing something blue from Lavender’s chest while Justin watched impassively from the cot next to her, cradling his hand.

“Out. Now, Hermione,” Mary ordered her while siphoning the dark blue mass into a pail and then vanishing it. Lavender shrieked and Mary flicked her wand, summoning a pain relief potion from the cabinet.

Terry eyed Hermione nervously while leaning over Penelope. Mary pointed at the monitor blinking next to him. “Her blood pressure is too high. Salt removal 30%.” He nodded and cast a charm while Penelope groaned in pain. Mary pulled three vials out of the air and walked over to Padma. “George’s skin growth spell,” she called back to Terry without breaking stride. “It’s not covering his thigh properly.”

Hermione shrugged herself out of Cho’s grip and leaned over Harry, brushing his hair back. He was so pale. He looked almost grey, near death. “But he’s dying! Cho you have to–”

“Ron,” Cho turned to him, her voice rising. “Please get her out.”

Ron pulled on her arm, wiping tears away. “Hermione, come on. We’re not helping.”

She stared down at Harry’s grey face and the widening red on the bandage while Cho waved her wand over his chest. He was dying right in front of her. Didn’t they see?

Tears streamed out of her eyes. “But he’s–”

She struggled while Ron tried to gently pull her towards the door when the two of them were suddenly propelled outwards.

“But he’s losing so much blood!” she cried out, now from the waiting room.

“We can’t save him if you interfere,” Mary’s cold eyes met hers. “Get away from my Healer.”

Mary flicked her wand and the door slammed shut on her face. Hermione burst into tears, pressed her back to the door and sank down to the ground. Ron sat down next to her and held her while she cried.

 

 

 

Notes:

I hope everyone has realized by now that Mary is one of the surprise BAMFs in this story, even though she’s not very likeable. Shout out to all the healthcare workers working overtime and understaffed over the course of the pandemic. Especially during that terrifying period in the beginning where they didn’t have enough PPE. They also put up with unending piles of crap from the very people they were trying to help. I can’t imagine how terrifying it all must have been.

Also, yes. The 'I love you' 'I know' is a reference to Han Solo being frozen in carbonite, if any of you were wondering.

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 52: Chapter 52

Notes:

FYI: This story is officially as long as the Deathly Hallows. And it's 2/3 posted. :O Thanks for sticking with me everyone!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“So I saved Pothead’s life?”

Hermione peered up into Draco’s eyes.

Grey. They were grey. They had been grey all evening.

“You did.”

“Hmm.” A teasing grin played at his lips. “Well, nobody’s perfect.”

He chuckled after she smacked his chest with the back of her hand. Hermione brought her knees up to the bench and wrapped her arms around her shins, watching the kids play on the jungle gym as the sun set in the distance. He tightened his arm around her, and she snuggled into his side.

Draco had been mostly quiet this evening, unsettled by the events of yesterday and much like her now, thinking through the ramifications of Voldemort messing with their memories, and what the nonsensical events of Wembley Stadium meant.

Last night, Hermione had been primarily focused on Harry, crying in the waiting room with the Weasleys until he was released, good as new, and then collapsing into bed. What she and Alicia had mistaken as a simple laceration had continued to travel through his body, opening up a much larger wound. Mary had identified the curse right away and treated it before it could spread further and kill him. He was lucky the hex hit his arm, and not where any vital organs lay.

Despite some near fatal injuries, the Order weathered the attack. It was still unclear what the purpose of the whole operation was.

“How do you think your friends would react to me?” Hermione turned up to face him curiously, but he was watching the kids play, his expression was guarded. “To us,” he clarified.

Draco had never shown much interest in how Harry or Ron or anyone else in the Order would process their relationship before. Perhaps coming face to face with Harry in battle made him consider the way in which he would be perceived.

“To the Muggle-born with the big, bad Death Eater?”

He huffed a laugh, but she heard a twinge of apprehension in his question. “Something like that.”

 

 

 

They seldom spoke about the future. It wasn’t as if the future was a taboo subject between them, but Hermione wanted to avoid the topic of his pardon – or lack thereof – until she had answers and a solid path forward. She hated lying to him, hated that he thought he could still get clemency for his father.

“Your deeds during the war make up for the past,” she reassured him. “We’d have been finished after that first raid if it weren’t for you.”

She watched his jaw move as he contemplated her words. Draco had been conflicted the last time Azkaban and his culpability in the war were brought up between them, which unsettled her.

But he didn’t say anything, so she tried to lighten the mood.

“Honestly, I think your schoolyard pissing contest is the only thing we’ll have to deal with.” She saw the corner of his mouth lift. “Maybe if you compliment their Quidditch prowess, that will smooth over the–”

He burst out laughing and his body shook, jostling her forward. “Oh, you are precious, Hermione. I’m not that desperate.”

Draco’s laughter died down and he twirled a curl in his fingers while listening to the kids yelling at each other, caught up in a game of tag.

“Potter,” Draco continued softly. He pulled on the strand of brown hair, watching as it unwound off his finger. “And the Weasel. They mean a lot to you.”

The sight of Harry’s ashen face in the infirmary had been enough to make her heart stop momentarily.

“We each have our people.”

“We do,” he agreed, winding his finger with a curl again.

And Pansy was one of his. Draco had the Order remove her rapist before anyone else, and she was reminded of how careful he had been with her unconscious body before Disapparating. Draco had been worried that by talking about whatever it was they were supposed to find at Wembley Stadium; he had compromised the two of them.

But nothing happened.

“Is Pansy okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “As far as she’s concerned, I saved her hide from the terrible blood traitors.”

Pansy would see Hermione as the enemy. An inferior enemy. And Draco was worried about how her friends would treat him?

“So how do you think your friends would react to us?”

His fingers stilled in her hair as he thought. Likewise, she never asked how his friends and family would receive their relationship. She just assumed she’d be rejected. Hated.

“Some of them will be in Azkaban. It won’t matter.”

He didn’t elaborate, so she prodded him further.

“And those that aren’t?”

He sat, pensive, before speaking.

“I think they’ll be too shell-shocked to care. Those that aren’t Death Eaters now, they will be soon. It’s inevitable. Of those that survive, I think they’ll just be glad that it’s over and their families safe.”

Hermione burrowed into Draco’s side, leaning her head against his chest so his voice would rumble into her ear. She ran her thumb along the seam of his trouser pocket.

“They won’t care about pure-blood supremacy anymore?”

He snorted.

“It doesn't make a damned bit of difference who wins the war to someone who's dead.”

“True.” She lifted her head up from his chest. The phrasing of his words sounded familiar. “Was that–”

“Yossarian said it.” He gazed down at her with a smug grin.

“Yossar–” Hermione repeated, confused. “Oh! From Catch-22!”

Draco hummed, pleased she caught on. “Muggles understand war so much better than wizards.”

“They’ve been through more of it,” she explained. “Joseph Heller served for several years in the military.”

He slouched against the bench and spread his jean-clad legs out. Hermione pitched forward and he caught her, pulling her back up so she could lean against his shoulder instead.

“At some point, you stop caring about why you’re fighting because you just want it to stop. Especially if your families are threatened, too. You just want to live to see another day.” Draco was tired and scared. She could hear it in his voice and glanced up at him. His eyes reflected the pastel colors of the sunset.

“Wizarding war fiction doesn’t speak to you? I haven’t read any before.”

“When I was younger, yeah. But now?” He shook his head. “It’s all romanticized and mostly deals with goblins and other magical beings. It’s not relevant, it’s not real.

Science, art, and now literature. Hermione was fascinated at how the Wizard and Muggle worlds had diverged and how Draco processed that divergence. Muggles missed out on the fantastical, the magical and the seemingly impossible hidden from their view. A world within their world.

But frozen in time, small and closed off, it was the Wizarding World that was missing out, and Draco knew it. Hermione wondered if his friends and family could get over their bigotry in order to realize how much they were unaware of.

She returned her thoughts to how war was portrayed in literature. “The goblins probably have their own version of those war stories.”

“I’m sure they do,” he agreed. “And Wizard fiction doesn’t discuss how some people on your own side hate you more than they hate the enemy they’re supposed to be fighting. Joseph Heller does. He was never a Death Eater, but he understands how petty and vindictive they are.”

Hermione huffed a dry laugh. “It’s not just Death Eaters.”

He turned down to her in surprise. “They’re like that in the Order?”

“No,” she shook her head. “But I think it’s because we know that if we don’t win, we’ll die. There’s no space for it. It’s human nature to be petty and vindictive. Look at how the Ministry functions.”

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “Fucking useless, the lot of them.”

Hermione thought of Amelia Bones, who had been murdered before the war started. And Arthur Weasley. And… even Kingsley. There had to be more that were similarly devoted to their jobs, she just didn’t know very many Ministry employees.

“Not all of them,” she insisted.

“No,” he agreed reluctantly. Draco stared down at his lap, looking more upset. “Not all of them.”

She reached out to clasp his hand, resting on his thigh, and laced her fingers in his. She knew he hated what he did at the Ministry, but wasn't privy to the details. His role in Voldemort's army weighed heavily on him. Although her duties in the Order were difficult, she believed in what she was doing and wouldn’t change a thing. Draco had to act like someone he hated.

“You enjoy Muggle literature,” she commented.

Hermione thought about why Muggle books had so much more to offer, at least on this topic. Wars had completely torn apart the entire Muggle world over the course of the twentieth century. While there had been some magical involvement here and there, wizards didn’t know what it was like to serve in a military. There weren’t armies, navies, and air forces in the wizarding world. Wizards that fought didn’t leave their families for years on end. They didn’t spend months in trenches with poor food and poorer hygiene.

The First Wizarding War was fought by a handful of people who stayed hidden in their own homes with their families, many of whom were no longer alive.

“On the one hand,” Draco continued, “it’s somewhat comforting to know that so many people understand and explain it vividly. I don’t have anyone to talk to about being a Death Eater. Ironically, it’s Muggles that prevent me from thinking I’m going crazy, or that I’m… some type of monster. They get it.”

She squeezed his hand in comfort and he kissed her forehead again, letting his lips linger against her skin.

“And on the other hand?” she prodded gently.

His jaw clenched and she felt his fingers slowly tug on her curls. “It’s going to get worse. Some of my friends already see that but some...” his voice trailed off. “Some are still trying to figure out pure-blood politics. They’re stupid. I couldn’t care less who anyone is marrying or who is inheriting what. So long as I don’t have to live in terror anymore.”

She studied the outline of his nose against the pink and blue sunset. He was still watching the children play.

“You don’t care about your inheritance?”

Hermione didn’t want to bring up the subject of his parents directly, but she worried about how they would process her relationship with Draco. Lucius would be in Azkaban, but Narcissa wouldn’t be, and she was a blood supremacist. Hermione remembered how nasty she had been the last time they met in Madame Malkin’s. Narcissa had been very cavalier about Dumbledore’s impending death and had subtly threatened Harry.

He turned to her, offended. “Money won’t do me any good if I’m dead. Priorities change.”

“Of course, I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb. “I didn’t mean that you cared more about money than your life. Or your parents’ lives.”

“I’d give it all away for a chance for us to live in peace,” he added. “Every last bit. I don’t want it. I’d rather live as a Muggle.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You’d give up magic?”

“It feels safe here, doesn’t it?” Draco shrugged, looking out across the park. “The Ministry is trying to convince everyone that the war is won and life is normal, but everyone walks around Diagon Alley as if someone is chasing them. People know it’s a lie, even if they’re unaware of the details.”

The children, the dog walkers, the couples holding hands. Evening was approaching and parents started collecting their children to head home. The contrast between the terrifying events of yesterday, of Wembley Stadium and its aftermath, and the boring humdrum of Muggle suburbia was jarring.

Hermione turned to him, inhaling his scent. He smelled fresh like the trees outside, and warm from the sun.

“The Muggle world is an escape for you, isn’t it?”

He nodded silently. “Not just an escape. I could live here.”

“Muggles have wars too,” she reminded him. “A lot of them. All the time.”

“I know that.” He turned to her. “But the Muggle world is large enough that you can hide from it all.”

Maybe he worried that Azkaban was all he had in his future. Draco might be able to escape imprisonment by living in exile. Would he want her to go with him? Would she even be willing to do that? These questions were pointless now. As Draco pointed out, they didn’t even know if they would survive the week.

“I…” Draco’s voice cracked, pulling her from her thoughts, and she looked up at him sharply. “I never apologized to you.”

She furrowed her brow in puzzlement. “I told you I forgave you.”

“You did.” Grateful, he glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “But it’s not the same. I was such a piece of shit in school. To you, to others, and I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

She didn’t say anything. It was true, and she nodded in acceptance. “I know you are. Thank you, Draco.”

“But how much do apologies change things?” He pulled up his sleeve, exposing his Dark Mark to her. “It doesn’t matter how sorry I am or what I do during this war, I can’t get rid of this.” He made a fist, flexing the muscles of his inner forearm. “It’s a symbol of every bad decision I’ve made, of how terrible I am.”

“It’s not,” she shook her head and placed her hand gently over the brand. “Not anymore. The opposite, actually.”

“What do you mean?” His voice lilted upward in surprise.

“You’ve changed. You’ve rejected that part of yourself,” she insisted. “It’s not a symbol of evil at all, it’s a symbol of how far you’ve come. You’ve changed its meaning.”

“But the Dark Lord still uses it. It still means–”

“No,” she raised her voice, cutting him off, and his cheeks flushed at her fervor. “Maybe for the rest of us because we didn’t grow up with those beliefs. But it’s so much harder to go through the process of rejecting what you’ve been taught and repenting for your past. And you’ve done it.” Her fingers dug into his skin as she worked herself up. “When I look at it, I see how far you’ve come. How much you’ve changed. How much you still struggle and how hard you’re fighting. You’ve changed the meaning of the Dark Mark! For you it symbolizes atonement!

Hermione was somewhat breathless from her outburst, and she glanced to the side to see a few onlookers staring curiously at them. She hadn't realized that she raised her voice. Shyly, she brought her gaze back to Draco to see his lips curl upward in amusement.

She lowered her voice and held his gaze. “It’s one of the things I love about you, Draco. Even this.” Her fingers tightened protectively over the curve of his arm. “Especially this.”

He stared back at her for a few moments, unsure of what to say in response, and swallowed. “But it traps me. He’s still making me…” His shoulders rose as he inhaled a deep breath. “I’m still doing things I don’t want to do. Terrible things, Hermione.”

“But you’re fighting for your right to live in freedom,” she protested, more softly now.

His smile was so sad, and it broke her heart. “That’s what you’re fighting for. If I had freedom, I’d leave. I feel like…” His smile fell, and he raked his hand through his hair, upset. “Like pieces of me are being taken away and replaced with something else.”

She thought back to how adamant Draco was that he not be Obliviated in order to receive the Unbreakable Vow. He didn’t want his head messed with. Minerva explained that a triggered Obliviation was possible in theory, but never put into practice. She didn’t recommend trying to retrieve Draco’s memories because of the potential for cognitive damage, and the likelihood they’d retrieve the memories was slim.

Voldemort experimented on his own army. The Dark Mark, the Veritaserum implant, and now this triggered Obliviation. Draco digested her news earlier of the triggered Obliviation with a resigned horror. He had expected it, but was terrified nonetheless.

She leaned up into him and pressed her lips against his. “You’re still you. He can’t take pieces of you away.”

“Hermione,” he swallowed again. “He already did, and I’m scared. He… he does things to us. I’m scared of what he’s doing to me, and I want to leave.” He gazed earnestly into her eyes and his jaw hardened. “I’ll come fight for the sodding Order. I don’t care anymore; I’ll do whatever they fucking want. Will that demonstrate trust? Just help me get my parents out. Can you tell that to the werewolf? Please?”

Hermione felt absolutely awful. The only reason he stayed as a Death Eater was because she was stringing him along. Maybe he would have convinced his parents to leave already with a different means if he hadn’t started spying and had that pardon dangled in front of him like a carrot.

And being a human experiment to Voldemort was the price he was paying.

She wondered if Kingsley told her to string him along to ensure he would continue spying throughout the war. He’d been invaluable to the Order’s success. If Draco got the pardon and left with his parents like he wanted, they’d be stuck without a spy, and no intelligence.

Just like with Wembley Stadium.

The Order still didn’t know what had happened or why. Yes, Harry and Lavender had almost died, but it was an awful lot of effort for several treatable injuries.

With a growing sense of unease, Hermione realized she had unwittingly trapped Draco into spying throughout the entirety of the war. She had trapped him into continuing on as a Death Eater. That was Kingsley’s plan. Draco would never get the vow because once he did, he would leave.

And even though she loved him and didn’t want any damage done to him, she didn’t want him to stop spying either. The Order could lose, and they would all die. And just like the brutal pragmatist that she was, if having Draco spy throughout the war was truly Kingsley’s motivation for stringing him along, she agreed with him.

They couldn’t afford to lose him.

Hermione was horrified with herself, and felt sick to her stomach.

“I’ll tell them you’re willing to join the Order,” she lied, and Occluded to stem her tears.

He rested his forehead against hers and exhaled in relief. “Thank you,” he whispered against her lips. “The sooner, the better. I’m… I’m changing. I can feel it.”

She squeezed his hand in reassurance.

“So am I. We all are. War changes people.”

He shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

Hermione thought back to his darkened eyes and how upset he was after he fucked her in the bathroom. Draco was right. He was changing. She didn’t know what the changed hue meant or what had bothered him so much. But she didn’t want to bring up her worries about his darkened eyes now. There was enough that he was dealing with now. Maybe she could figure it out on her own. But she didn’t know where to start, and she was already busy researching the legalities of pardons in her spare time.

“Alright,” she replied. The tension in his face relaxed, and she gave him a smile with a playfulness she wasn’t feeling. “When this war is over, you get your people, I’ll get my people, and we’ll go see a midnight showing of Star Wars.”

Draco barked a laugh and her heart swelled to see that she was able to bring him out of his melancholy. She could fix this. She would fix this. He didn’t deserve whatever was happening to him.

“We could make real light sabers. Show the Muggles up.”

“I’ll come in costume.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Princess Leia in that bikini?”

She laughed.

“Please?”

“There aren’t too many choices for women, are there? We’d all have to dress up like her. You’d probably go as Han Solo.”

He cracked a grin. “Roguish anti-hero? Brought to the Rebellion by the love a woman?”

Hermione flushed, slightly embarrassed. “I just meant that he’s snarky and plays by his own rules.”

“Too predictable,” he said with a playful tug on her curls. “Save the snark for Theo.”

The sun had set, and the stars came out, glittering above them. The park was quiet, empty except for a few nighttime walkers.

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“Maybe you can draw up some more plans of whomever you think would know what Wembley Stadium was about. They’d be more willing to trust you and agree.”

“I can do that,” he sounded encouraged.

Hermione was starting to hate herself for the way the Order was using him. The way she was using him. Her gut curdled and she fought the compulsion to retch.

“I have a few suspects,” Draco offered, pulling her away from her thoughts.

“We still don’t even know if You-Know-Who got what he wanted.”

Order leadership was flummoxed from everything that had happened yesterday, and Draco hadn’t indicated that they had brought anything or anyone back. The entire day was a mystery.

“No,” Draco countered. “I think it was successful.”

“How do you know?”

“No one was tortured.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: Draco returns to the snake den

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Chapter 53: Chapter 53

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

June 1998

The Greengrasses were hosting an end of year party for the Slytherins who had gone back for seventh year. Greg and Vince were enthusiastically discussing their increased responsibilities as Death Eaters all evening. And now that the rest of their classmates had graduated, it was only a matter of time before they took the Dark Mark as well.

With the exception of Blaise, it still seemed. Once again, Draco had no idea how Yasmine Zabini had managed to save her son from such a fate.

“You really want this for Millie?” Draco asked, shoving his hands in his pockets

Greg watched Millicent Bulstrode, on her knees by the coffee table, taunting everyone around her into arm wrestling her. She was barefoot, her long blond hair was held back in a clip and she wore a shimmery gold sleeveless dress which showed off her broad shoulders and muscular arms.

Theo appeared to be considering it.

Theo was stupid.

“It’s not as if she has a choice,” Greg rationalized. “The Dark Lord will take everyone now that they’re out of school. He’ll finish off the Order soon and needs them for the last push. We all know that.” He scratched the back of his head, shorn short in a crew cut. “It’ll be less painful if she comes voluntarily like we did. And then it’ll all be over.”

Draco eyed him. “It hasn’t been less painful.”

Greg had only been tortured once, after the first safe house raid along with everyone else who hadn’t brought back a prisoner. He hadn’t yet displeased the Dark Lord personally, but it was only a matter of time.

“But I thought–”

Draco shook his head. “The Dark Lord has high standards. He wasn’t happy during the failed Mudblood raids.”

He took a wine glass off a floating tray that neared him, so did Greg.

Greg furrowed his brow. “But if you do everything he asks, he rewards you. We’re all fighting on the same side.”

The conversation was veering into dangerous territory. Greg was too loyal to the Dark Lord’s cause. Draco should have known since he had been able to kill Muggle-born children. It appeared Greg didn’t consider what would have happened if he had failed to kill upon command. Even with the implicit threat to his parents.

Reflexively, Draco’s stomach did a small heave whenever his nightmarish thoughts of the murdered families returned. He swallowed some wine, washing down the bile that accumulated in his mouth.

“Yes, the Dark Lord rewards those who serve him well.” He sipped again, clearing his mouth of the remaining acid. “And punishes those who don’t.”

Greg returned his gaze to Millie. Her face broke out in a large predatory grin as Theo took the bait. He dropped to his knees on the opposite end of the table and clasped Millie’s right hand. Daphne counted down and the two started arm wrestling. At least, Theo did. Millie didn’t look like she was trying at all. She sat calmly, sipping her glass of wine while Theo struggled, veins protruding from his forehead while his face turned red. After a few moments he started straining his body, shifting his posture to get more of his back behind his hand, and then his legs.

Millie glanced over her shoulder and made a comment to Pansy, who was watching the scene with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused. Millie took another sip of her wine, calmly watching Theo’s antics. Eventually Theo gave up all pretense and added his other hand, still struggling to push Millie’s arm down. He braced his entire body against her hand when she decided to put him out of his misery. With a slam of his hands down on the coffee table, he tumbled to the floor. She jumped up, raising both arms into the air in victory and turning around towards the onlookers.

“Who’s next?” She called out to the room.

“It’s just for a short while,” Greg explained. “The Order will be destroyed soon, the Dark Lord said so. She won’t have to… do what we did.”

Greg shifted his brown eyes to Draco, seeking reassurance. Draco didn’t have any to give. The Carrows had trained everyone at Hogwarts to use Unforgivable Curses. They’d be expected to use them on everyone. Parents, children, fighters, prisoners.

Blaise sunk to his knees on the other end of the coffee table to try his luck against Millie. They each put their right arms on the table and clasped hands. Daphne gave Blaise a kiss on the cheek and whispered something in his ear. He smiled and shook his head. Pansy counted down and the arm wrestle began. Draco watched their arms wobble a bit. Millie didn’t drink wine this time, but after a few seconds her bicep bulged and, slowly but surely, she pushed Blaise’s arm down to the coffee table.

Blaise hopped up and winced, wringing his wrist.

“Next!” Millie called out. Vince sunk to his knees on the opposite side of the table. Greg and Draco approached, more interested in seeing this pair up. Everyone at the party crowded around to watch. Vince might actually win.

Eager to change the conversation topic Draco motioned to Millie with his glass of wine. “Are you going to take a turn?”

Greg shook his head. “I don’t have a chance.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. Maybe Vince wouldn’t win.

Pansy counted down this time and he watched the two glare at each other. The arm wrestle began and almost immediately the exertion of trying to push each other’s arms over made them shake. Millie gritted her teeth and Vince winced.

This match might be a draw.

The Slytherins all crowded in more closely, interested in who would end up the victor. Beads of sweat formed on Vince’s forehead. He may have strength, but Millie had strength and stamina. Millie released a low grunting whine; Vince exhaled sharply and held his breath. After a few moments, the angle of their arms tilted ever so slightly to her advantage. Vince didn’t give up. He inhaled quickly, blew out another breath of air and his face turned bright red. Slowly, slowly, their arms lowered to the table until the back of Vince’s hand touched the surface.

Huge grins spread on their faces as they released their grip on each other. Impressed, Vince shook Millie’s hand.

“When she gets the Dark Mark,” Draco whispered softly turning to Greg. “Make sure you stay with her.”

Greg eyed him, not quite understanding what he meant, but was already disturbed enough by the conversation. He looked uncomfortable, and ambled over to talk to Vince. Millie wrung out her hand, releasing the strain, and rubbed her arm up and down to ease her muscles.

If there was any time to arm wrestle her, it was now. Draco walked around the coffee table and sunk to his knees across from her, placing his wine glass to the side.

She narrowed her brown eyes at him as he rested his right elbow on the table, hand ready to grab hers.

“Nice timing, Draco. Right after I finish with Vince?”

Draco flashed his teeth in a wide smile. “Alright then, Millie.” He replaced his right arm with his left. He was left-handed. She wasn’t. “Fresh arm.”

He raised his eyebrows in challenge and her nostrils flared. He had no doubt she’d kill him with her right arm if she hadn’t just wrestled Vince. He might actually have a chance with his left.

Might.

Millie brought her left arm up and they clasped hands. She crushed his fingers in her grip, grinding his knuckles together and he braced himself. Daphne counted down for them and immediately he felt the power behind her arm, pushing into his palm. The two locked eyes over their hands, which started to wobble. His lip curled and he bared his teeth as he struggled to push her hand down. Her eyes flashed defiantly, and she clenched her jaw.

Draco smirked at her and her eyes widened slightly, wondering what he was thinking. He released a tiny bit of pressure on Millie’s hand. The sudden change put her off guard and her distraction enabled him to push her hand back so her wrist wasn’t straight. He gained the angle, and then the advantage, slowly pushing her arm down to the coffee table. Her knuckles hit the glass and everyone whooped and cheered.

“Cheat,” she hissed at him.

“That’s not cheating,” Draco said with a smirk. “That’s Slytherin.” He stood up and looked down at her, she was seething. “Maybe next time.” He turned around to walk away when suddenly arms wrapped up from under his armpits and hands laced behind his neck.

Fuck.

He was such an idiot. He knew better than to mess with Millie.

Draco grabbed uselessly behind his back, but she jammed her knee behind his and kicked his instep, making him crash to the floor with her atop him. She twisted his arms behind his back and shoved her knee into his spine.

He winced with a grunt.

Millie’s voice was playful now. “Say you’re a cheat, Malfoy.”

He looked behind, over his shoulder. The grin on her face spread from ear to ear.

“Just because you’re easily distracted-” She pulled his arms up higher and he howled. She shoved his face into the carpet.

“No mercy, Millie.” Pansy stood over him with a smile, holding her wine glass.

“Traitor,” Draco shot back, his voice muffled by the rug. Pansy grinned even wider.

“Say you’re a cheat,” Millie repeated.

“I’m a cheat,” he drawled with as much superiority as he could muster with Millie’s hand forcing his head to the ground.

That appeared to mollify her. Millie stood up and released his arms to more cheering and whooping. Draco stretched his back and shoulders with a grimace before pushing himself to a standing position.

Fuck. She was brutal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He wondered if she could beat Jugson. Draco remembered when she had Hermione in a headlock fifth year. Hermione had gotten off easy.

Vince clapped him on the back, right where Millie’s knee had been, and he winced again. “She’ll make a good fighter for the Dark Lord.”

Draco rolled his neck and eyed Vince warily. He wondered how many followers were brainwashed like Vince, and how many were simply terrified for themselves and their families, like Millie. It was a dangerous topic of conversation. “She will, indeed.”

Draco meandered around the room, sipping his wine and nursing his pride, and sunk into the couch, hoping no one would notice. Almost immediately, Pansy sat down next to him, crossing her legs.

Of fucking course.

The fabric of her sleeveless red dress rode up her thighs and she pulled it back down again. She rested her chin on her fist, staring at him. Her Dark Mark looked so different from his. Smaller, almost delicate on the inside of her thin forearm.

He snorted.

Pansy. Delicate.

“Would you like your penis back? I bet Millie would return it if you asked nicely.”

“Sod off, Pansy.”

She narrowed her dark eyes, studying him. She knew something. Not good.

“Spill.”

He peered into his glass. “The wine?”

She curled her lip at his evasion. “Who is she?”

Draco sipped his wine slowly, watching her eye twitch as he prolonged his response. Then he waited just a little bit more to irritate her.

“She?” he asked, innocently.

Pansy leaned in even closer. “Don’t even try it, Draco. Theo said you’ve been with someone since at least the winter hols.” Fucking. Theo. “I didn’t buy it then, but you’re definitely getting screwed on the regular now and you don’t shag for fun. It’s all or nothing with you.”

“Ah yes, so I’ve been told,” Draco said with a disparaging look. “My dopey grin.”

“Nope.” Her lips made a popping sound on the ‘p.’ “You’ve got other tells.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You and Theo spend way too much time observing me. If you’d like a threesome just say so. Millie told me he’s kinky as fuck.” He sipped his wine and smiled. “But only after he comes twice.”

Pansy’s pink lips quirked upwards and she pointed a perfectly manicured nail at him. “Ever since sixth year, when you’re alone you brood until someone takes pity on you and drags you into a conversation. Now when you’re alone you seem hopeful.” She shuddered as if it were the worst quality in the world. “Something’s changed, and it’s not your success in the Ministry. You hate that shit.”

Draco fingered the stem of his glass. Pansy knew him too well. They had been through a lot together. And he did hate what he was doing at the ministry. Threatening, bribing, blackmailing, popping in on Elizabeth for the occasional heavy petting session, Imperiusing officials… He may be good at what he did, but he loathed it.

“I do not brood.”

She sent him a withering glance. “You sulk more than Snape.”

He leaned back and crossed his legs. “That’s simply not possible.”

Pansy lifted an eyebrow and he took another sip of his wine.

Theo walked up behind her and placed his hand affectionately on the nape of her neck. She leaned into his arm and smiled up at him. Draco liked to see his friends happy. Someone should be happy in this fucked up time they lived in.

“He’s still denying it,” she reported, turning back to Draco. “I don’t care how good an Occlumens you are Draco Malfoy. You can’t lie to me. The question that’s burning in my mind is… Why isn’t she here?”

Theo shrugged. “It’s not obvious? She’s not Sacred Twenty-Eight. His parents would never approve.”

“Oooh!” Pansy’s grin widened in scandalous excitement. “He must have met her in the Ministry. There’s plenty of staffers and interns around our age.”

“Pretty ballsy,” Theo smirked at Draco’s eye roll. “Sneaking off for a shag in between extorting Ministry officials with Lucius. Is it Elizabeth?”

Draco shot Theo a threatening glare. The prick shouldn’t be running his mouth.

Pansy’s eyes widened, misinterpreting Draco’s ire at Theo. “E-liz-a-beth.” She said the name with relish.

If they wanted to believe he was having some kind of affair, hidden from his parents, Draco supposed Elizabeth was a good enough cover. Finding out about an affair with a Ministry intern was infinitely preferable to what he was actually doing.

“Defying your father when he’s right there.” Pansy flashed him a set of perfect teeth. She lowered her voice and swiveled to face Theo. “I see the appeal.”

Draco started to get up. “Let me know when you two are done discussing my sex life.”

Pansy put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “Oh, sit down, you big baby. We’re happy that you’re happy.”

Draco reclined again and rested his arm on the back of the couch with a pout.

Pansy sipped at her wine, leaving a ring of pink lipstick around the rim. She scrunched her nose at the taste and abandoned her glass on the table. “I just want to know what you’re going to do about it.”

He scoffed. “There’s no ‘it’ to do anything about.”

Draco downed the rest of his wine. It did have an odd aftertaste. Pansy must have been put off completely. He was surprised the Greengrasses didn’t serve higher quality.

Theo continued talking to Pansy as if Draco hadn’t spoken. “Pain now or pain later. Either he ends it soon or it reaches its inevitable conclusion when his parents find out.” He stroked his jaw in thought. “Lucius will have a stroke. Perhaps that’ll make him more agreeable; less prone to plotting the demise of everyone around him.” Pansy snorted a laugh. “Narcissa will forgive everything once she’s got grandkids and a daughter-in-law to go shopping with. She’s got Lucius by the balls anyway, stroke or not.” He shrugged and turned back to Draco. “Happy ending for all, just pop out the pure-blood babies. Easy.”

Draco rubbed his face. This was ridiculous. All the talk of Sacred Twenty-Eight and approved marriages. Entire family lines would be wiped out. “For fuck’s sake Theo. Who knows if any of us will survive this war? None of this pure-blood inheritance shit matters.”

Theo and Pansy both turned to him in shock, then scanned the room to make sure no one had overheard what Draco had said.

No one had. Did it matter if they did?

Pansy squeezed his thigh again and lowered her voice. “We will. Don’t talk like that. You survived sixth year.”

He glared at her in annoyance. What was she talking about? She knew exactly how bad it could get. Pansy was a snatcher during the failed raids.

“This is worse and you know it. I was getting Crucio’d almost weekly last year during the Muggle-born raids.”

Her eyebrows raised curiously. “Muggle-born ra–”

“You had it just as bad then too, if not worse,” he cut her off. Pansy was being stupid. Why deny what was happening to all of them? “And Rowle was raping you.”

“What–” Theo sputtered at the verbal bomb Draco just dropped. He turned to Pansy. “Are you–?” He protested in horror but Pansy held her hand up to silence him.

Her nostrils flared and her eyes flitted around the room, ensuring no one could hear. “What the fuck are you doing Draco?” she hissed. “And Rowle’s gone. It’s better now.”

He stared into her dark eyes. They were all deluding themselves. Everyone thought that once the Order was destroyed, pure-bloods would take their rightful place in society and all their problems would be solved.

“Why does everyone think that if we hold out just a little bit more, life will go back to normal?”

“Stop it.” Pansy held his gaze and whispered. “Someone will hear.”

“Right,” Draco spoke into his empty glass. “The fucking Thought Police.”

Theo’s eyes bulged and he dropped his wine. The glass shattered on the floor and he looked around at everyone, laughing awkwardly. “S’Alright! Can’t hold my liquor! Lit-er-al-ly!

Pansy helped him siphon the wine up and vanish the shards, scanning the room warily at the curious stares they were receiving by their former classmates.

Draco raised his eyes to Theo’s. Theo could leave. Theo should leave. His father wasn’t beating him anymore but the Dark Lord would recruit him soon. Just like he would ensnare the rest. He wanted to defeat the Order and needed more foot soldiers. They were all cannon fodder.

“You need to leave before he comes for you. Like he’ll come for everyone else here. I can hide you.”

Theo’s jaw dropped. Pansy plastered a smile on her face.

“Theo isn’t feeling well you mean? He should leave? Had too much to drink, didn’t he?” She put her hand on Theo’s forehead and offered him a fake look of concern. “I think that’s a good idea. We should leave.”

Pansy stood up and spoke to Theo’s ear through her teeth. “Something’s wrong, get him out of here.”

Draco glowered at her. Nothing was wrong with him. They just weren’t listening. They were in denial.

“You don’t understand, Pansy,” he insisted. “Now that everyone’s out of Hogwarts, the Dark Lord is going to go after him, he’ll go after Blaise, Daph-”

Pansy bent over and covered his mouth with her hand. “You really want to tell me, Draco?”

He nodded his head up and down, her hand still over his mouth. He needed to tell her. He needed to tell Theo.

“Wait two minutes. I’ll tell Daphne we left. Can you wait two minutes?”

He supposed he could. But not much longer.

“Okay,” he glared at her sullenly, speaking into her fingers.

Pansy removed her hand from his mouth, took the empty wine glass from Draco’s hand, inhaled the fumes and held it out to Theo. “I wonder if he’s the only one who had their drink spiked with Tongue Loosening Serum tonight.”

She took her own wine glass from the coffee table and sniffed, then sniffed harder, sending Theo a knowing look.

Just then, Vince climbed atop of the coffee table and raised his wine glass. “The Dark Lord will kill all the Mudbloods and the blood traitors!” He pushed down his sleeve to show everyone his Dark Mark. “We’ll all take the mark! And fight to purify our world!”

“No.” Theo raised his eyebrows at Pansy in amusement. “Not the only one.”

 

~

 

Draco sat with his head in his hands in Theo’s parlor. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to giving himself up. He could have talked about Hermione, he could have talked about spying for the Order, he could have talked about anything. He was lucky the serum hadn’t started affecting him until he was speaking with Theo and Pansy. And he was lucky Pansy caught on so quickly and prevented him from saying anything more incriminating than his thoughts on the bleak outlook of pure-blood society. Draco hadn’t realized he was babbling at all.

Millie told Pansy that Greg also had his drink spiked, and of course, Vince. Pansy did as well. The obvious commonality was that the four of them were active Death Eaters. Draco didn’t understand why someone would want to give them Tongue Loosening Serum and because of that, it was nearly impossible to know who had done it. Those floating trays provided anyone the opportunity to do so.

Pansy and Theo sat across from him on the loveseat, quietly discussing what Pansy had been through with Rowle while an all-purpose antidote made its way through his body.

“Draco,” Theo called out.

He lifted his head.

“Who’s the ministry intern? Is it Elizabeth?”

“Fuck off.”

Theo turned back to Pansy. “It’s out of his system.”

Pansy absently drew patterns on Theo’s thigh with her fingers. She pursed her lips and looked at Draco. “Tongue Loosening Serum was a poor choice. Veritaserum would have ensured that direct answers would be given to questions and it has no aftertaste.” She raised an eyebrow tauntingly. “I cannot believe you drank that wine. Were you raised by Weasleys?”

He glared at her, but ignored the barb. “It has to be someone working for the Dark Lord. Probably checking loyalty. They knew about the implant.”

Theo flicked his eyes to Draco and then back to Pansy. “What implant?”

“Hopefully you’ll never have to find out,” Pansy answered evasively. “You know, Theo,” she leaned back against his chest, but stared at Draco. “Draco’s right. You should go on holiday.”

“But I don’t want to leave you,” Theo said, nuzzling her hair.  

Pansy closed her eyes and took his hand. “They’ll force you to take the Dark Mark. You’ll fail at torturing prisoners just like Draco does–”

“Did.” Draco interrupted.

Theo turned to him, shocked. Maybe now Theo would understand how urgent it was for him to get the fuck out of here.

“Did,” Pansy continued, without missing a beat. “And then someone will torture you instead. You’ll fail at killing and then you’ll get tortured some more. Eventually, you’ll have so much hatred towards everyone and everything you won’t fail anymore. And then you won’t want to leave.” She paused and tilted her head playfully. “Unless they kill you first.”

Draco wondered if that was to be his fate from using Unforgivable Curses. Broken down and hating everyone around him save for a precious few.

“And that’s assuming you even remember,” Pansy continued in a bitter tone, eying Draco. By unspoken agreement, neither one mentioned the incident at Wembley Stadium. Both worried it would come back to bite them in the arse.

“What do you mean?” Theo raised his voice, slightly panicked.

Draco shifted his gaze from Pansy to Theo. “You don’t have any family here. Don’t you have some elderly relative to take care of?” Caring for one of the many Notts living abroad would be as good a cover as any.

“Is that why you stay? To protect your family?” Theo asked.

Draco clenched his jaw. “I stay because I want to serve the Dark Lord.”

Theo narrowed his inquisitive, blue eyes at him. “You’re worried about the Thought Police.”

Draco stared back at Theo, each of them stunned the other had read a Muggle book; sharing something even more forbidden than going into hiding.

“Who the hell are the Thought Police?” Pansy asked, irritated.

Theo ignored her question. “And how long would I be away?”

“Until the Dark Lord defeats the Order,” Pansy replied, as if it were obvious.

“And when he’s won, my absence won’t be frowned upon?” Theo asked skeptically.

Pansy scoffed and waved her hand dismissively. “Draco’s right. You can say you’re caring for one of your elderly relatives. The Dark Lord's army is too busy to track down all the Nott cousins and second cousins and family by marriage all over the globe. You’re not that important in the grand scheme of things.”

“Excuse me, I am extremely important.”

“To me you are,” she said, patting his thigh patronizingly, and then turned back to Draco. “Draco, you said you could help?”

He looked up. “Yes, after my mother’s summer party.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Next chapter: A bit of fluff before the angst comes to a head again.

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Chapter 54: Chapter 54

Summary:

There is a trigger warning associated with this chapter, see chapter end notes for details.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco dipped his quill in the inkwell, recalling from memory the layout of Yaxley’s mansion, and drew broad strokes on the parchment before him. Every so often he’d make a mistake and remove the offending ink with his wand. Hermione hadn’t requested Yaxley, but he had quite a bit of clout in the Dark Lord’s army, and therefore, a lot of responsibility. Interrogating him would probably help the Order more so than anyone else right now, aside from his Aunt.

Draco hoped it was Yaxley that knew what the purpose of Wembley Stadium was.

Warm lips pressed lightly on the back of his neck while he finished labelling the wards used on the windows of the ground floor. He grinned as small, delicate hands slid over his shoulders and down his chest, over the fabric of his T-shirt. He continued working in silence, Hermione’s mouth lightly sucking on the skin of his throat, little nips up towards his ear causing tingles of pleasure to race down to his cock.

“Did you want these plans now?” Draco asked, sopping up some ink that pooled in the corner.

Hermione sucked his earlobe into her warm, inviting mouth and he hummed in pleasure. She captured his lobe gently with her teeth and released it to answer him. “Yes, Malfoy. They better get done tonight. So keep working.”

By now his erection formed a tent in his trousers and he shifted in his seat to make himself more comfortable. Her hands wrapped around his torso from behind the chair, slid lower and rubbed his thighs. Not touching him there, but getting close, teasing him.

“I’ve got too many distractions at the moment,” he chastised her.

Her hands lifted the hem of his T-shirt and rubbed the muscles of his stomach, dipping just slightly below the waistline of his pajama trousers. At the rate Hermione was going, he’d have to finish the plans tomorrow morning.

“Sounds like a poor excuse to me,” Hermione scolded him, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “I would expect more from one of You-Know-Who’s finest Death Eaters.”

Draco continued drawing on the parchment when her fingers lightly stroked him over his pajamas and he bucked, making an angry ‘V’ where a straight line should have been. He waved his wand and removed the mistake.

“Are you calling my competency into question-aaaaahhhhhh,” he groaned as she bit his skin at the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

Her voice was low and sultry as she replied into his ear. “You don’t seem to be performing very well.”

Enjoying their game, he bent forward over the parchment, putting space between them, and returned to labelling the wards he had drawn. “You should know by now not to question my performance.”

Hermione’s hands dipped below his waistline, rubbing the skin of his thighs under his trousers. Draco huffed an exhale as her fingers grazed his length and scrotum.

“Your performance has declined,” she reprimanded him from next to his ear. “I don’t think you’ll finish tonight.” At the word ‘tonight’, she cupped him and gave his balls a light squeeze, his pelvis jerked upward.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he groaned.

Her other hand wrapped around his length and she fisted him, sliding the skin up and down over his length. Draco gave up all pretense, dropped the quill and leaned his head back onto her shoulder. Immediately she latched onto his jaw with her lips, sucking on his bone, making her way down the lines of his neck.

“Giving up?” she muttered into his throat.

He smiled and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her hands fondling his balls and fisting his length, and her hot, wet mouth on his neck. He thrust forward reflexively as she stroked him.

“Yeeeeees,” he moaned towards the ceiling, and reached around behind the chair to grab her arse.

She removed her hands and he whimpered from the loss.

“Unacceptable,” she replied firmly. “I need those plans tonight.”

He opened his eyes to see a devilish gleam in hers.

“I don’t think I can manage in my current state.” Draco held a hand out towards his lap.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Then I guess you’ll have to finish up both activities on your own.”

He frowned at her. “Heartless bitch.”

She smirked and kissed his downturned lips. “You’ve told me that before.”

Draco rearranged himself in his trousers to accommodate the pressure of his raging erection, leaned forward and wrote in a few more details on the wards, extremely uncomfortable below, and wondered what Hermione would do next. She walked around him, pushed his leg aside and crouched between his legs underneath the desk.

He pushed himself back to give her room and tilted his head to the side so he could see her underneath the table. Hermione slid her hands up his thighs and stopped, peering devilishly up at him.

“I really won’t finish up tonight if you plan on going any further,” he warned her. He would definitely have to go over these plans tomorrow morning before heading back home.

She licked her lips. “Who said I’m going any further? That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Malfoy.”

Draco exhaled slowly and returned to writing. He couldn’t see her while leaning over the parchment, but her hands continued travelling up his thighs. She grabbed the waist of his trousers, tugged, and he lifted his bum, allowing her to pull the fabric down and over the curve of his arse. His hard shaft was released with a bob, and she tugged his trousers down until they crumpled around his ankles.

“You better still be working,” came the disembodied warning from under the desk.

Hermione spread his knees apart and her shoulders brushed against the inside of his thighs.

“I’m definitely working,” he replied with a grin.

“I don’t hear any quill scratching on parchment.” Her hot breath fanned against his dick as she spoke. He strained to reach her mouth, pushing his pelvis forward slightly. She must have moved backwards.

Draco dipped the quill in ink and scribbled in the corner.

“That sounds like scribbling. Finish the plans, Malfoy.” She licked his tip lightly, sending tingles down his cock and he jerked his pelvis forward with a grunt.

“As you wish.”

He removed the scribbles with his wand and continued to write. Hermione’s hand closed around the base of his shaft and she licked his balls. He grunted and thrust again. The word he wrote ended up being a jagged slash.

Fuck, I can’t.” He exhaled heavily as her tongue traced the shape of his scrotum and then up the base of his cock, making his legs tremble.

Hermione removed her tongue but her lips brushed against him as she spoke. “No excuses, Malfoy. Finish up now or finish by yourself.”

Draco removed the mistake with his wand and wrote the remainder of the descriptions as fast as he could. Her tongue ran up and down his length and her hand dug into his thigh, doing nothing to still his shaking limbs. He gripped the quill hard, nearly snapping it as he furiously finished writing the last few words in between soft groans. The handwriting was terrible. He probably forgot a few details but that was all he was going to get done while her mouth was on his cock. He’d have to check for mistakes and fill in the rest tomorrow morning.

“Done,” he croaked, throwing the quill down.

Hermione sucked his tip inside the warm wetness of her mouth and slowly engulfed his member, moving down his length, nearly swallowing all of him. His arms fell slack and Draco tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. Hermione bobbed her head up and down, sucking him off in earnest. He released a long, agonized moan and his eyes slowly rolled into the back of his head.

 

~

 

The loud, obnoxious crunching made Hermione throw her book down on the covers with an exasperated sigh. She turned to Draco in irritation and his eyes widened at the expression on her face. He stopped mid-chew; cheek protruding from the piece of apple in his mouth.

Must you eat that apple in bed?” she huffed. “It’s so loud.”

His eyebrows rose and he finished chewing, slowly, and with as much relish as possible. How he managed to smirk and eat at the same time was beyond her. Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

“Apples are healthy. They keep my bits in working condition.” He held out the apple to her, now missing a piece. “Want a bite?”

She scowled at him. “I can’t read with all that noise.”

Fixing his gaze on her, he drew the apple back to his mouth and paused. Her nostrils flared and his lips twitched, stifling a laugh. Slowly, deliberately, he pierced the skin of the apple with his teeth and pulled the fruit away, crunching loudly and again, somehow managing a smug smile at the same time.

“You’re going to get apple juice on the bed,” she warned.

He raised an eyebrow, amused, and crunched on that sodding apple with as much satisfaction as one possibly could. After swallowing he replied, “My tongue is quite skilled at licking up stray droplets of liquid.”

Hermione blushed and he smiled predatorily before taking another loud bite. The apple crunched and Draco watched her debate the merits of smacking that damn apple out of his hand or snogging him for turning apple eating into foreplay. She didn’t know where to look. His bright grey eyes, taunting her. His cheeks and jaw, moving with the effort of chewing the apple, his throat while he swallowed, or his lips, slightly turned upward at how successfully he was irritating her.

There were other ways to get what she wanted. Hermione tossed her book to the side and climbed on top of him. His grin broadened.

“Is it weird that your apple eating makes me want to shag you silly?”

Draco laughed.

“I don’t care if it’s weird, but if that’s the case I’ll bring a bushel whenever I see you.”

 

~

 

I’ve got something long, hard and thick for you.

The letters on her Galleon flashed.

Hermione squeezed her thighs together at the dull ache that presented itself whenever she thought of Draco. They had been together almost every night for the past couple months. Sometimes the sex would be fast and hard in a way that would leave her pleasantly sore and slightly bruised. Other times it would be slow and tender. Sometimes he took the lead, and other times she pinned his arms down, basking in his sensual groans of satisfaction while she gyrated on top of him.

Lately, he had been agitated about something, but wouldn’t discuss it. The past few days he didn’t let her move, first using her as an outlet for his frustration, ramming into her at a punishing pace, and then pleasuring her until she was a gibbering mess. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy him being dominant in bed, but she didn’t like his refusal to discuss what was bothering him.

Draco’s forcefulness reminded her of the rough sex they had when he woke up from his nightmare, although his eyes remained grey. She still didn’t understand why his eye color changed, and didn’t know where to look.  

It wasn’t like him. Normally, he was open about things, and she felt unsettled.

Hermione Apparated into the guest room and was surprised to see the light on in her bedroom instead. She walked across the hallway to see him sitting on her bed holding a rolled up parchment out to her.

He narrowed his eyes at her and sneered. “Were you expecting something else long, hard and thick?”

Draco was angry, Hermione knew him well enough by now to read his expressions, but she didn’t understand why.

“Cheeky,” she scolded him, trying to be playful. She took the parchment and sat next to him on the bed.

Hermione unrolled it – there were several rolled up into one – and he pushed aside her hair, immediately attacking her neck with an onslaught of nips and kisses. One parchment contained a list of names and yes/no replies for the Malfoy summer party. Another had a diagram of table seatings, and the third detailed floor plans and event times.

But Draco was doing his utmost to ensure that she couldn’t read much.

His mouth broke from her throat with a gasp. “I’ll alter the wards of my bedroom. If you’re in trouble take your fucking boy toys there. Signal me with the Galleon and I’ll Apparate you all out.”

Hermione nodded and tilted the parchment, reading names off the guest list. His hand had already made its way under her shirt and crept up towards her breast.

“I don’t like this,” he murmured into her neck, and then bit her. Hermione winced, and sighed impatiently. They already had this argument. “You don’t even know how to look for what you need. You’re wandering around hoping you’ll see something.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “We’re stuck; we need a lead. This may be an opportunity.” She returned to scanning the guest list, wondering who would be the best to Polyjuice themselves as. “We each do what we have to until this war is over. You know that.”

Draco broke away from her neck and turned her face towards him, fingers pressing into her cheek. He glowered down at her. “I can do it for you. You don’t need to fucking go.”

Hermione furrowed her brow, studying him, and tugged his hand down from her face. His fingers curled around her breast instead. If she didn’t know better, it almost looked like he was threatening her. She’d never seen him like this before.

“I know that, and I appreciate your help.”

“Look at the fucking guest list,” he growled, his features creasing with anger. “They’re all there. My aunt. Travers. Jugson. Mulciber. The Carrows. Everyone.” His grip on her breast tightened slightly.Polyjuice won’t fool Aunt Bella if she suspects something. It’s not worth the risk.”

“It’s not your decision to make,” she retorted, trying to pull his hand down from her breast. “You can’t control me.”

Draco’s eyes changed while she spoke. The grey color of his irises shifted to that curious darker shade the night he surprised her in the loo, and the time he had his nightmare. Hermione immediately felt wary.

“Wait, what hap–”

Her words were cut off.

Draco grabbed her upper arm, spun her around and pushed her down into her mattress, bent over her bed. The parchments fell to the floor and his fingers dug into her upper arm so hard she yelped. She grabbed the quilt, struggling to right herself but he tugged on both her wrists, holding them together and pressed them into the small of her back. She turned her head so that it was only the side of her face pressed into the mattress and she could speak to him.

“Draco! I-”

She gasped as he yanked her pajama bottoms and underwear down to her knees. He leaned over her and growled into her ear.

“Shut up.”

What?

Was this his version of when she had told him to get on his knees? Or when she sucked him off while he drew Yaxley’s plans? But she had been playful. He was downright menacing now. His legs pinned hers into place and she heard the clink of his belt buckle and the sound of his zipper before he pushed down his trousers.

Hermione didn’t know what to say. He had taken her from behind before but this felt different.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, fingers digging into her wrists. “You can’t just do whatever the fuck you want.”

She was shocked at the manner he was speaking to her.

“Draco! But we-”

SMACK!

She sucked in a breath of disbelief. He just spanked her and now her arse cheek burned from the sudden sharp contact. Draco leaned over her, breathing heavily.

“I said,” his voice was low and somewhat terrifying. “Shut. Up. Don’t you fucking defy me.”

Was he… punishing her?

“But you just–”

THWACK!

Hermione grunted. Now her other arse cheek stung and she wiggled, trying to look back at him from underneath the curls covering her vision. Part of her was appalled that he was using sex to punish her for a decision he didn’t agree with. Part of her was strangely excited.

Was this role play? Was he using his anger at her going to the summer party as inspiration?

Hermione heard Draco spit on his hand and reach down to stroke himself. She could feel him strain against her as he squeezed and lubricated his cock. The familiar hot, dull ache returned between her legs with a vengeance. She clenched in anticipation of being filled. He must not know how aroused she was right now.

“I’m wet,” she half gasped. It was as much a confession as an exclamation of surprise. Whatever he was doing, it was scary and she liked it.

She felt him shift against her legs as he brought his hand back for another blow and she squeezed her eyes shut.

SMACK! THWACK!

Draco spanked her hard and quick and Hermione felt his saliva evaporating from her right arse cheek. He continued mercilessly while chastising her for disobeying him. She didn’t know how many times he smacked her and her body rocked forward into the mattress from the force of his hand. His palm landed all over her backside and upper thighs. She grunted and cried and yelled and by the time he had finished she was throbbing between her legs with the want of him. He landed one last smack across her lips and she shrieked. Before she had time to get her bearings, he grabbed her hips and thrust into her, pushing her down into the mattress with a growl.

She released a choked cry and tried to look back at him but couldn’t see anything from under her curls. Draco set a relentless pace, pounding into her from behind. She rocked forward, unable to do anything with her wrists pinned to her lower back, unable to move. All she could do was take his length.

“You’ll fucking do what I tell you!” he snarled, breathing raggedly.

Hermione gasped as he hit her inside, in places he hadn’t reached before. Her bed lurched and the springs squeaked with each ferocious thrust. Draco pushed groaning huffs out of her and his sack smacked against her still throbbing lips. If only he would reach down, she would come instantly, she knew it.

But he didn’t.

Hermione felt the erratic movements that signaled he was about to come. But instead of holding her tight so he would empty inside her, he pulled out and with a gruff moan. She tried to look back to see what he was doing but couldn’t. Draco’s legs trembled against her. He moaned and hot liquid spilled over her backside. He strained, releasing the last bit of his seed, and abruptly let go of her wrists with an angry exhalation.

“You’re mine!” he growled. He smeared his come over her backside and gave her arse one last smack.

Hermione lay still, somewhat in shock over what just happened. She heard the fabric of his trousers rustle as he pulled them up and then he walked out and into the bathroom leaving her wet and wanting.

He turned on the shower.

Gingerly, she rolled her wrists, and pushed herself up. Draco’s come dribbled down her back, some going into her crack, some dripped onto the rug. She stood dumbly for a few seconds with her pajamas still around her knees.

What the hell just happened?

Was this real or was it role play? Was he really punishing her? His come dripped down the back of her thigh and a blush of shame spread across her cheeks. Was she supposed to follow him into the shower? Ask him to make her come? The thought of requesting him to get her off after he had treated her in so degrading a manner made her angry.

Hermione didn’t understand what had just happened and was overwhelmingly frustrated. Sexually frustrated. And pissed off. Draco had never treated her like this before. Never left her wanting. He was always so devoted to her pleasure. She didn’t know how his wrists didn’t cramp or how he didn’t get a crick in his neck. Sometimes he kept going until she pleaded with him to stop.

What in the world was going through his head?

Hermione removed his seed with her wand, pulled her pajama pants back up and sat down on her bed. She didn’t understand what she was supposed to feel.

Lust, shame and anger.

That’s what she felt.

She wanted to grab Draco by his hair and force his head between her legs until she came. She wanted to smack his face for how he had just treated her, and then felt guilty for feeling that way. But he came on her back. It all felt wrong.

Hermione folded her hands in her lap, still staring silently at the floor ensconced in her thoughts when he emerged from the shower. He wasn’t wearing anything but a towel wrapped around his waist. Water was dripping from his hair, landing in droplets that made paths down his chest, following the lines of his Sectumsempra scar. She eyed his abdominal muscles and the V shape which pointed tantalizingly down to what was just hidden below.

“Are you going to come?”

His grey eyes were unreadable. But they were grey. Not darker like before. The moment had passed. She still didn’t quite understand what had happened. Or why.

And what was Draco asking now? Did he mean for her to come with him into the bedroom? Or to come… in that way? He noticed her inability to parse his meaning and smirked.

She swallowed, nervous now. Unsure of what she was supposed to do. “I thought you were upset with me.”

“I’m fucking pissed,” Draco spat at her. “You’re needlessly risking your life and you manipulated me into helping you do it.”

“It’s not needless,” she protested weakly.

Hermione felt used. Like an outlet for his frustration and nothing more. He had never made her feel used before. And the thought made her angry again.

He leaned on the doorframe of her bedroom and clutched the fabric of the towel at his waist. “I beg to differ. Are you coming?”

She didn’t answer, and he turned to go into the guest bedroom. She felt like she didn’t know him anymore. What had just happened? And why did his eyes darken like that? Why had they before? She didn’t understand what was the matter with him. Could it be connected to how often he was Occluding? But she had never read anything that would indicate near-constant Occlumency was the culprit.

Draco didn’t hurt her. Not in a way Hermione didn’t like anyway. She was certain he would have stopped if she asked. She told him it made her wet, and only then had he spanked her in earnest. But she felt so degraded. He had used sex to punish her. Hadn’t he? She wasn’t sure how to process that.

Was this what she should expect each time they had a major disagreement? She wasn’t sure if she was excited or worried by the prospect. Probably both. Hermione didn’t know what to think right now and she was just so angry with him.

And she desperately wanted to come. She was nearly pulsing below.

She waited a few moments until she heard him get underneath the covers. He’d be naked. One thing was for certain, two could play at this game. He couldn’t just get her all worked up and leave her like that. At least with her role play, she hadn’t left him wanting. She still wasn’t sure what this all was.

Real or role play? Hermione didn’t understand.

She picked up her wand, held it to her side so Draco wouldn’t see, and slowly entered the guest room.

His grey eyes glittered in the dark and he watched her walk around to her side of the bed. She slid her wand between the mattress and the box spring and crawled under the covers beside him. Lying on her back, she folded her hands across her chest and stared up at the ceiling. She wasn’t sure what he expected her to do now. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, aside from get herself off and smack him for being such a prick.

Hermione was so confused.

Draco wrapped his arm and leg around her and pulled her close. His naked proximity only made the ache between her legs stronger. She didn’t turn into him like she usually did, but stayed flat on her back.

Was he just going to go to sleep as if nothing had happened?

Bugger him to hell.

Hermione reached down her pajama pants and spread her legs to stroke herself. She was barely able to get her fingers inside when Draco’s hand clamped around her wrist. She stilled and turned her head to face him.

What was he doing now?

He bent his elbow and propped his head up, gazing imperiously down at her.

“Apologize. And if you beg nicely, I’ll let you get yourself off.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Mother. Fucker.

His expression didn’t change. Not a hint of a smile, grin, smirk, nothing. Was he angry? He didn’t sound as angry as he was before. But he was using sex to punish her. She narrowed her eyes at him.

Hermione circled her clit, arching her back and Draco pulled her hand away, up her pelvis and just out of reach. Her finger drew a trail of arousal across her skin. He raised an eyebrow and watched her. Hermione strained her hand but his grip tightened. She reached with her other hand and he grabbed that wrist too, and pressed it down into the pillow next to her head.

He held himself atop her, only a few inches separating them. Draco was so much larger than she was. Pinning her down felt threatening and dangerous again.

“Apologize.”

She wriggled, ineffectively trying to get her hands out of his vice-like grip. His voice lowered an octave when he spoke next. “If you get me hard, I’ll make you suck me off. But I won’t let you come.”

Dammit. She wanted him to.

The image of him fisting her hair while she swallowed him made her squeeze her legs together. And he was right there on top of her. He could take her right now.

She released a frustrated grunt and let her arms go slack.

The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. “Stubborn.”

“Pot. Kettle,” she retorted in a huff.

“Good night, Granger.”

Hermione waited until he settled in next to her and she turned on her side away from him. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Draco wrapped his arm around her and held her close. She smiled as she reached underneath the mattress to grab her wand. He really didn’t know how stubborn she was.

Incarcerous.”

 

 

 

Notes:

The Drapple scene is for Missy!

TW: Bad BDSM etiquette. Draco spanks Hermione without getting her consent first.

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Chapter 55: Chapter 55

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione jumped off the bed in triumph to see his wrists and ankles bound in front of him, much like the first time they had met at her house.

Anger completely gone, Draco stared up at her with a disbelieving grin.

“You kinky bitch.

Perhaps, but she was absolutely furious. She waved her wand in a series of circles and the ropes attached themselves to the bed posts, spreading his limbs. Hermione dropped her pajama bottoms and knickers to the floor and tore her shirt off, over her head, and tossed it to the side. Draco watched her with a smirk, and his erection rose to life as she crawled on top of him.

She dug her nails into his shoulders and rubbed herself over his length. He hissed and thrust forward, but she didn’t let him inside her, merely sliding against him. It wasn’t enough for her to come, but it eased the throbbing ache.

Hermione couldn’t explain it, but she was so worked up and so fucking pissed off that she wanted to bite him. So she leaned down and bit his neck. He moaned a laugh and turned his head to the side so she had more access. She bit him again harshly and sucked the skin at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, rutting against him. He grunted while she worried his skin with her teeth.

She raised her head. Draco’s expression was pained but the sounds he made told her it was pleasure. Grabbing his arms, she rubbed her breasts against his chest. She braced herself against him and lowered her body, changing the angle so her clitoris would have more direct contact along his length.

Draco writhed and thrust up towards her, but she just smiled wickedly down at him. The tosser could be denied for a change. Hermione crawled up his body and sat on his upper chest, legs bent on either side of his head. The bite marks were an angry red on his pale skin.

“Make me come,” she ordered. She’d forgive him for whatever had happened earlier if he ate her out at her command.

Maybe.

 

 

 

His lips lifted mockingly. “Apologize, and I might.”

She gasped. Still?

Hermione was so angry with him right now. She still couldn’t believe what Draco had done to her. He held her down while he rammed into her; she couldn’t even see him. He spanked her, and then he pulled out, came on her back and sodding walked away.

And then he wouldn’t even let her get herself off!

All because he didn’t agree with her decision.

Draco used sex to punish her. It may be a kind of role play but that didn’t change the circumstances.

And he was still carrying on with it.

Hermione wanted to hit him, and so she did. She backed up to sit on his abdomen and smacked his chest with her palm.

“You’re such a prick!” she cried out. “I can’t believe you did that to me! What the hell is wrong with you?” she yelled, hitting him again.

Draco clenched his fists and bit his lip at the impact, grey eyes flashing up at her. She watched that smirk slowly appear again. “Apologize.”

Fuck no!” she yelled, smacking his chest again. His limbs tensed in their bindings and released. “I have nothing to apologize for!”

Breathing heavily, Hermione sat, straddling his torso. He held onto his bottom lip with his teeth, watching her with a smug expression.

After a few tense, silent seconds he replied calmly, “I won’t allow you to go.”

Draco wasn’t angry like when he had spanked her. This was more calculated. But he brought her the plans already. What the fuck was he doing?

Who the hell did he think he was?

“You can’t tell me what to do!” she snarled at him.

He raised his eyebrows imperiously. “I’ll burn the parchments; you won’t have time to get the information you need from someone else. Fucking stay home.”

Fearful, she sucked in a breath. Would he really do that? Is that why he brought the plans? To trick her into thinking she had what she needed so she wouldn’t have time to plan properly? Would he really do something like that?

At least he was tied up. She could take the plans and Apparate out of here right now.

So why tell her, if that was his intent?

What was wrong with him?

“Stop it!” She smacked him again and he released his bottom lip and pushed his chin up into the air as a low agonized groan escaped.

Her eyes widened. Was he… Was he was goading her into hitting him?

Draco’s smile was sinister when he lifted his head to look at her. “I’ll burn them. You can’t go.”

His muscles tensed in anticipation and he watched her, grey eyes smoldering.

“What the hell are you doing, Draco?” she whispered. He held her gaze, hungry and lustful.

“Do it,” he rumbled. His nostrils flared, and his breath came in small pants.

Hermione was shocked. She didn’t move.

“I won’t make you come,” he threatened.

“I’ll do it myself,” she replied, slightly horrified at what was going on. “You can’t stop me.”

Truth be told, she didn’t even want to anymore. But she didn’t want to release him from his ropes either. She had no idea what was going through Draco’s head.

He glared at her and pulled on the bindings, muscles flexing while he strained against his ties. “I’m a Death Eater. I deserve it.”

Hermione was taken aback. “You’re not and you don’t,” she insisted softly.

Draco stared at her silently for a few moments, contemplating her. Slowly, his lips curled into a cruel smile. “Second year, I wanted the monster in the Chamber of Secrets to kill you. The only tragedy back then was that no one actually died.”

“What the hell are y–”

“Fourth year,” he cut her off with a sneer, “I told Rita Skeeter all those rumors about you and Potter.” He smiled meanly at her.

“I know all this! But you’ve cha–”

“The best memories I have of Hogwarts were from fifth year.” Draco tugged on his ropes and then relaxed his limbs again. “Docking points from you for being a–”

“Draco, stop–”

“Mudblood.”

Hermione exhaled in frustration and balled her hands into fists. Why was he doing this?

She shook in anger. “Draco. Stop it.”

Draco raised his eyebrows again and smirked. “Filthy.”

“No,” she ground out.

“Dirty.” His grey eyes bored into her, taunting.

“Stop,” she gasped.

“Disgusting.” He grinned maliciously, baring his teeth.

“You don’t belie–” she protested but he cut her off again.

“Mudblood.”

Hermione grabbed her hair, fisting it on either side of her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t look at him. Draco thought he needed to be punished for the things he did. As if he didn’t suffer enough already. And worse, he was getting off on it.

She could feel how excited he was. Sitting on his stomach, his prick was sticking right into her backside. He wanted her to hit him. The way he was looking at her, how he was breathing, the way his face was flushed and his muscles flexed under his skin. She’d never seen him so aroused.

But Hermione wouldn’t hit him. She couldn’t; she didn’t want to, so Draco was egging her on.

She forgave him, but he didn’t forgive himself. The thought made her ill.

Softly taunting, he asked, “You know what my one regret is from school, Mudblood?”

Hermione gazed down at him in dread and unfisted her hair, knowing she wouldn’t want to hear the next words to come out of his mouth.

He smiled evilly at her. “That the Weasel didn’t choke to death.”

Before she knew what she was doing she smacked him. Hard. Draco’s face flew to the side and his pelvis jerked upwards, bouncing her up. He strained against his bindings, limbs quaking and he released another long, low agonized groan of pleasure. Slowly, he turned back to face her, eyes bright and triumphant, his cheek emblazoned with red from her handprint.

“Stop it,” she pleaded, her tone rising with her anxiety. “I don’t want to hurt you. None of what you’re saying is true.”

“What’s not true?” He was cold, emotionless. “I started this war. It’s because of me Dumbledore’s a splat on the ground and your friends are dead and your parents–”

Stop!” she screamed at him, not wanting to hear the rest of it.

Her hand was balled into a fist two inches above his sternum. Hermione nearly hit him again. His chest heaved and his arms flexed in their restraints. Draco eyed her fist in anticipation, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

He strained his legs against his bonds and lifted his pelvis towards her. “Do it,” he commanded her. “Please.” His voice was low, trembling, and he switched to begging. “Hermione. Hurt me.” His plea came out as an agonized groan.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered to him.

I want you to.” Draco bit his bottom lip again and shuddered. The mere thought of her hitting him was arousing him. She didn’t know how to handle his behavior. “Please,” he begged her. “Do it.”

“I won’t,” Hermione said, her throat was so tight and tears formed in her eyes.

She wanted him to stop this game. But it wasn’t a game. It wasn’t role play, it wasn’t kink or whatever else she thought they had been doing tonight, this was real.

“Hurt me,” he said loudly, anger beginning to crease his face. “I need it.” Draco’s eyes flashed dark and sinister again and her blood run cold at the change. “I let women get raped!”

Hermione stared down at him in horror, not knowing how to deal with him in this state, when his eyes were dark. He was unpredictable. She didn’t know what he was going to do or say and felt like she didn’t know him anymore.

“Do it,” Draco growled louder. He was dangerous, despite being tied up, and Hermione truly was afraid. He tugged at his bonds, contorting his body, trying to get himself free and glaring at her furiously. She wondered if he would be able to get loose. He was a hell of a lot stronger than she was. “I’ve killed Mudbloods while they cried on their knees, did you know that Hermione?”

“No!” she shook her head while tears spilled down her face. “They made you do–”

“I’ve killed children while they pleaded for their mothers!”

Draco tried to bend his legs and pulled on his ropes more. His wrists reddened and he hissed in pleasure as his skin scraped.

Hermione choked back a sob, not wanting to hear what he had actually done. “But you’d be killed if you–” she protested weakly.

“Hurt me!” Draco snarled louder. His muscles rippled as he struggled more violently. Pulling and twisting his arms and legs, he writhed underneath her.  The skin of his wrists opened up as it rubbed viciously against his bonds.

“I’m a fucking monster, Hermione!” he yelled at her, his dark eyes wild and frantic.

She shook her head, vigorously denying it. “You’re not!” Hermione wondered if she should stun him. She was terrified of him now. Terrified for him. She didn’t understand what was happening.

“Do it!” he screamed, leaning up towards her as far as his bonds would allow.

She flinched and reached for her wand but he thrust his pelvis up. Pitching forward, she landed on top of him, her hands on either side of his face. His darkened eyes were angry and unhinged and she couldn’t bear seeing him this way.

Draco yelled right in her face. “Dammit, Hermione! Just fucking do it!”

She sucked in a breath and lay her head down on his chest so she couldn’t see him. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, starting to cry in earnest. She didn’t know what to do.

“Stop it, please! Draco, I love you. Please, stop it!” She begged and pleaded, hoping she could get through to him. She didn’t know how to make him stop, and whimpered against his chest.

“HURT ME!” His pained scream echoed throughout her house and she squeezed her eyes tight.

Draco thrust up and she clung fast to his body as he struggled with his ropes, holding tight while tears streamed down her face and onto his chest. He grunted and growled like an animal, frustrated and furious, fighting against the bonds holding him. Hermione sobbed onto his chest, trying to hold on while he violently contorted his body, bouncing her up on top of him.

Suddenly he stopped.

Draco heaved deep, angry breaths, pushing her body up with each intake. Hermione didn’t say anything, just clung to him and cried silently. A few quiet minutes passed and she listened to his heartbeat slow from its thunderous pace. He released a soft whimper, and then a shuddering sigh of defeat. Warily, she raised her head and saw that he had lain his head back and closed his eyes. Hermione studied him for any sign that he would return to the insanity of a few minutes ago. There was none. He didn’t move and continued breathing steadily with his eyes closed.

“I’m going downstairs to get something to drink,” she told him, lower lip trembling. “I need some time to calm down.” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “And so do you.”

Hermione left him tied up, scared of what would happen if she released him, and tightened the ropes for good measure. He didn’t react. She didn’t know if he would hurt her or if he would hurt himself.

She dressed in her pajamas and went downstairs to get something to drink. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she sipped from a glass of water, and then decided she wanted something stronger. Scanning her parents’ liquor cabinet, she chose a bottle of port, unscrewed the cap and took a swig. She grimaced, recapped it and put it back.

Hermione slid down against the wall to sit on the floor, put her head in her hands and cried again. He hated himself. She had no idea. After everything that Draco had gone through, that he did for his family, for his friends, and now towards defeating Voldemort no matter what it cost him, he was full of self-loathing. He hadn’t forgiven himself for what he had done in the past, or what he was doing now in order to stay alive as a spy.

Children.

Draco had murdered children.

She wiped her eyes, they were still blurry with her tears.

Hermione knew he murdered prisoners from the night he had gotten drunk, but his confession was vague, and he had been so upset that she hadn’t pressed him. She hadn’t dealt with his drunken confession or really considered the ramifications of it, or whether or not he’d be forced to kill again. Draco needed someone to talk to back then and she left, not knowing how to handle his grief. Not knowing if she should.

And now it had blown up in her face.

The murder, the rape, the torture, everything he was forced to do or forced to witness was eating away at him.

How could he hold onto his humanity? How could he not lose sight of who he was? If she were in his position, how would she? Would she handle it any better?

If it were up to him, Draco wouldn’t be a Death Eater. He and his family would be far away. The only reason Draco continued was to get his parents out. He wouldn’t do any of this if he had a choice. That’s what differentiated between him and them. He wasn’t a Death Eater, and never had been. It was a role that he played. If he refused to kill prisoners, they’d be killed anyway. It’s not as if defiance would gain anything. For him or for them. He’d only be tortured, killed or both for refusing an order.

Didn’t Draco see that? He must.

How did this whole evening even start? At first, she was angry with the way he treated her, but everything had rapidly spiraled out of control. She still didn’t understand what had happened or why. Something triggered it.

Climbing upstairs, Hermione dried her face with the collar of her T-shirt, carrying a glass of water for him. She didn’t know what she’d be confronting when she returned and walked down the hallway apprehensively. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she entered the guest room.

Thankfully, Draco just looked worn out. He opened his eyes and she exhaled in relief. They weren’t dark, but the intense grey she had grown to love. His exhausted gaze followed her as she walked around the bed. She sat down on the mattress and stared at him in silence for a few moments.

“If I release you, will you hurt me?”

He furrowed his brow, clearly disturbed. “I would never.”

“But you just–”

“You wanted me to spank you,” he rasped, sounding raw from screaming earlier.

She did. If it would have lasted any longer she might have climaxed. But that all paled in comparison to what had happened afterwards. Draco said he would never hurt her. But did he even know? The danger in his eyes was extremely unsettling and he scared her.

Hermione rubbed her forehead.

“I meant what you did afterwards.” She inhaled slowly. “If I release you, will you hurt me? Will you hurt yourself?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head, still agitated. “I don’t – that’s not the point.”

“What do you mean?” She was so confused.

Draco studied her, grey eyes glittering in the dark. “It has to be you. I want you to hurt me. You’re the one I’ve caused pain to. You and other Muggle-borns. It’s poetic justice, isn’t it?”

Hermione released one of the ropes binding his arms and he pushed himself to a slightly inclined position on the bed. She gave him the glass of water and he gulped it down gratefully.

“But I don’t want to. Draco, you’re already hurting enough,” she explained, still shaking from her terror and helplessness of not just ten minutes ago. “You’re already being punished, far more than anyone would deserve. And you don’t deserve it.”

His haunted eyes met hers. “I do.”

She gently brushed his hair away from his eyes. Draco sounded so sad and resigned to his fate. In order to spy for the Order, he was forced to do terrible things to protect his family and friends, and then he had to be punished. He simply accepted that sequence of events as fact.

Had he resigned himself to Azkaban?

Hermione’s stomach churned with guilt.

Due to Kingsley’s waffling, she was fairly certain he was stringing Draco along on purpose, and would never give him the Unbreakable Vow. But she didn’t know what Kingsley’s end game was. When the war finished, would he grant Draco the pardon? As Draco’s handler, shouldn’t Kingsley tell her if that was his plan? And if it wasn’t, what could Hermione do to ensure he got it?

So far, her research into the legalities of pardons hadn’t helped at all, but her resolve to help Draco strengthened. Maybe she wasn’t looking in the right place.

“No,” Hermione shook her head and grabbed his hand. “You don’t deserve any of this. If I thought you deserved to be punished, I wouldn’t be with you.” She exhaled slowly, her lungs rattled from sobbing earlier. “You scared me, Draco.”

He laughed mirthlessly and glanced down at his chest, wet with her tears. “I scared myself.”

Hermione couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice, and thought she might cry again. “You said horrible things.”

“I know. And I’m sorry,” he said softly, genuinely apologetic. “I was out of control, I’m not sure what happened.”

“Don’t do that to me again,” she said firmly, like an order, and his eyes flicked up to hers. “Don’t do that to yourself either. You can’t…” she sounded more unsteady now. “I didn’t know what to do. I was terrified.”

“I went too far.” Draco’s eyes flashed at her from beneath his fringe. There was something dark in him that hadn’t been there before, something deviant. “I still want you to hurt me.” He wet his lower lip with his tongue and his voice dropped an octave. “I liked it.”

Hermione’s stomach twisted at the heat in his words. She enjoyed getting spanked. She couldn’t deny the appeal and understood why he wanted to be smacked by her as well. It was a way of releasing the undercurrent of fear, tension and barely contained panic brought on by the war through role play.

But the difference was that she didn’t think she deserved to be punished for disobeying him. Draco genuinely believed he should be hurt. It added an extra layer of unpredictability, pain and danger to what could otherwise be a consensual sexual act.

Hermione rested her hand on his chest. “You can’t say those things to me. Ever again.” She ground out harshly so he would understand. “Ever.”

“I know,” Draco replied slowly, and swallowed. “I’m sorry. I won’t.”

“I don’t…” she inhaled a shaky breath and slid her hand down to his abdomen. “I don’t know how to handle you like that. I don’t know what happened to you just now.”

Hermione waved her wand, releasing him from the ropes and then healed his wrists and ankles. He exhaled in relief and rubbed his wrists while she crawled into bed next to him. His body shook as he stretched his limbs and then he rolled over to face her and closed his eyes, utterly spent.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, and he opened his eyes. The grey she loved, but small flecks glimmering in the starlight from the window. She tucked his long fringe behind his ear, and then traced her finger along the line of his jaw.

“Maybe I can help?” She slid her fingers around his neck and rubbed his jaw and chin with her thumb. “You know I love you. You don’t have to hide things from me.”

Draco studied her expression. “Maybe because I Occlude all the time. The stress from it builds up.” Hermione nodded in encouragement. That much she understood, and he continued. “I can’t say what I believe. I think I feel things more strongly when I’m around you because I don’t have to keep it in anymore. Maybe that’s why I…” he squeezed his eyes shut, and a single tear fell down the side of his face, wetting the pillow. “I’m sorry, it’s not an excuse for what I did. It’s just… I’m always wearing a mask, and I’m terrified someone will find out. I… I almost got caught the other night.”

Her eyes widened in terror. “What? How?”

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “My drink was spiked at a party.”

Hermione knew Voldemort was paranoid about spies, was he actively searching for them? Did he suspect there was a spy in his midst? How much danger was Draco in right now?

“Do you know who it was?”

“One of my…” he paused and his throat visibly tightened. “Friends. I don’t know which one.”

Her heart broke for him. He couldn’t even trust his friends.

“Does anyone suspect you?”

Draco shook his head silently. “Sometimes… sometimes I want to be found out. You don’t know what I’ve done. I deserve–”

“Stop it,” she whispered, and lightly caressed his bottom lip. “You are a good person and you are doing the best you can. You don’t deserve whatever it is you’re thinking.”

Hermione wiped the tears from the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t understand.” He inhaled deeply, and sounded disappointed.

Draco was so troubled. He needed to get everything out, and she had to hear it. They couldn’t keep sweeping his crimes under the rug because his role as a Death Eater was eating away at him. She didn’t know how to help him but keeping everything bottled up inside was disastrous.

“Do you…” she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer to her question but it was time. “Do you want to talk about what you’ve done?”

Draco’s eyes flicked up to hers, testing the waters, seeing if she was serious. She reached down and clasped his hand.

“Tell me.” She gave his hand a light squeeze. “Please?”

He stared at her for a few moments in silence, considering her, and then he spoke.

“I’ve tortured prisoners. People we went to school with, and others. They could be your friends, I don’t know.” He sighed. “They probably are. I’ve tortured your friends.”

It was exactly what she was afraid of. This is what Death Eaters did. He was a Death Eater. She couldn’t continue to compartmentalize the roles he had to play, as if he were a different person. He had tortured Hannah, Oliver, Eloise, Dedalus and John. And according to his broken confession the night he was drunk, he killed them too.

Her heart ached for her friends, and for him.

Draco peered at her, searching for disapproval, horror or disappointment perhaps, and continued when he only saw worry. “I’ve overseen prisoners getting raped. I just…” He sucked in a breath. “I just let it happen.”

He swallowed, studying her expression, waiting for judgement. Hermione remained quiet, and stroked his knuckles with her thumb. She felt sick at the thought of her friends suffering so much in captivity before death, but kept the look of concern on her face.

“I saw Professor Burbage get eaten by Nagini and I smiled.”

Draco seemed ill at the memory and closed his eyes again. She reached out to rub his neck and shoulder, silently waiting for him to continue.

“I Imperius people, I’ve held them under my control for months. I take away their free will. I threaten people, I threaten their loved ones. I bribe. I blackmail. I’ve…” He choked, as if suddenly coming to his own realization, and looked at her desperately. “I’ve turned into my father, Hermione. Another puppet of the Dark Lord.”

“You’re not.” Hermione said adamantly, willing herself not to cry. “That’s not true, Draco.”

But he needed to get everything off his chest, to confess his sins, she should stay silent. She ran her fingers through his hair when a horrifying thought occurred to her. He was using Unforgivable Curses, and apparently doing so very effectively. What if they were impacting his behavior?

Tonks had said using the Imperius Curse over long periods of time made the caster want to manipulate and control other people.

Control.

She had told Draco that he couldn’t control her and he snapped.

Hermione clearly remembered the shift in his eyes as soon as she said it. That would explain why she hadn’t found out anything about his eye color change. She didn’t have any information on the effects of Unforgivable Curses on casters. Suddenly his behavior and the things he said made sense. Using the Imperius Curse was adversely affecting him.

Draco continued taunting her after his shower but there wasn’t the same sense of danger as before. The way he treated her was more akin to sexual role play, and he already knew that she was enjoying it on some level even if it made her furious.

But then she smacked him, and everything went downhill. What had happened then? It must be connected.

She’d have to ask Tonks. Tonks would know.

“I’m…” Draco spoke again, pulling her out of her thoughts. He took a deep breath and gazed at her apprehensively. What could be worse than what he had already told her? “I’m seducing an intern at the Ministry to get financial information. Since November.”

Oh.

That was longer than they had been together. But he was hoping Hermione wouldn’t be angry, jealous or judgmental. His anxiety grew the longer she stayed silent. He was laying himself bare to her, and he needed her to accept and forgive him.

She couldn’t help it. She felt sick at the thought of Draco being with another woman.

Hermione gnawed on her lip, considering her next words while he watched her nervously. “It hurts me to think of you with someone else. But it’s the same as everything you do for You-Know-Who. It’s not your choice.”

His tense form deflated somewhat in relief, but he continued, half-heartedly trying to convince her to be angry with him. “I’m betraying you. This whole time. The whole time we were together.”

Hermione trailed her fingers down his neck, his shoulder, along the muscles of his arm and then down to his hand.

Hermione shook her head. “You’re not betraying me.”

But she was betraying him. Her guilt twisted her stomach and more hot tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m just sorry for what you have to do.”

Draco’s expression softened and his body relaxed in that she understood his predicament. “The worst part Hermione… is that I’m good at all of it. I’m expected to get results and because I succeed,” Draco paused. “And then they take more from me.”

He inhaled a shuddering breath and she tenderly ran a hand through his hair. He opened his mouth to speak again and then closed it. Patiently, she waited for him to speak.

Seemingly unable to meet her eyes, he turned over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Her hand fell to his chest and she felt his heart beating, strong and steady.

“That night.” Draco gritted his teeth and he started to tremble. Her fingers twitched on his chest. “That night I came here.” He was referring to the night she found him drunk in her parents’ living room. “We killed all the prisoners. Entire families. Parents, children, there was a grandmother…” Hermione watched his Adam’s apple move as he fought back a sob, and her heart broke for him. “I knew I’d fail, using the Killing Curse. And my mother was there. They’d torture her if I failed. Maybe kill her, I don’t know. I don’t know.” His chest heaved as he relieved the memory. “So I cut their throats. Quick and painless. They’d be killed anyway. Did it matter if I did it or if Greg did? Or Vince?” He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t… I can’t come back from that, Hermione. I’m evil.”

“You’re not.” She curled up against his side and held him tight, reaching across him protectively and wrapping her leg around his. His arm, usually holding her like a vise against him, lay limp. “You’re not evil. You’re not truly a Death Eater and you’re not your father. You’re making your own path.”

“It’s too late for me,” he sobbed, choking on his words. “Dumbledore said I wasn’t a killer.” His voice cracked. “He was wrong.”

Hermione studied him, lying there with his eyes closed, looking as though he would break apart and crumble to pieces. She nuzzled into his shoulder and squeezed him tighter, hoping she could hold him together. She felt terrible, and didn’t know how to help.

“What else could you have done, Draco? What other choice was there?”

He looked like he was going to say something, paused, and then replied quietly. “Die?”

“And then you’d be dead with them. Your life...” She couldn’t help it. Hermione released a harsh sob imagining his body lifeless, his grey eyes dull. Draco turned to face her, perhaps having forgotten how his morbid thoughts would affect her. More tears trailed down his cheek. “Your life would be gone for no reason at all. What purpose would that serve?”

He didn’t answer.

“Draco?” Hermione curled her fingers gently around his, and slowly tightened them. She didn’t know how to help him. All she knew was that she loved him, and that he was always choosing the lesser of two evils. What else could he do? What else could anyone do?

A tear ran down her cheek. She couldn’t get the image of him dead, unmoving, lifeless, out of her head now.

“Would I love you if you were evil?”

He stared at her, eyes soft and full of pain.

“No.”

Her throat tightened. She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Finally, she was able to speak.

“Can you hold onto that?”

He didn’t answer, but slowly closed his eyes.

“Draco?”

Hermione watched him breathe, his chest gradually settling into a rhythm as he fell asleep. Even though he eventually calmed down after he screamed at her, she was utterly terrified for him. And for herself.

She watched him sleep, tasting the salt in her tears as they trickled down her face.

What was going on?

Draco was deteriorating. And she was complicit.

 

 

Notes:

Readers: Did you seriously include this whole Unforgivable Curse plotline as an excuse to write kinky smut?

Mistress Lynn: I – What? Of course not. That’s… (clears throat) No! Why would you even think that?

Readers: (raise an eyebrow)

Mistress Lynn: The curses are also about the effects of war. And I am exploring themes in this story. I have metaphors. There are philosophical discussions and… stuff. Do I seem like the kind of person that would insert a plot device for the sole purpose of writing fucked up porn?

Readers: (looking pointedly at Blackmailed, They All Taste the Same, Draco’s Body, and A Dish Best Served Cold)

Mistress Lynn: Okay, you may have a point.

Next up: Draco gets caught.

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Chapter 56: Chapter 56

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione opened her eyes to see the pale, early morning light creeping through the window. She would never get tired of waking up, spooned by Draco. Reveling in the feel of the skin of his chest against her back and his heat surrounding her, she loved to sleep with their legs intertwined and his strong arms holding her securely against him. Although they had fallen asleep with her cradling his head to her chest, their bodies shifted during the night and now she was completely enveloped by his larger frame.

The cadence of his breathing indicated that he was probably awake. Hermione turned around to face him, somewhat wary of the aftermath of his break down. The warm skin of his arms slid against her body and she swiveled in his embrace. Draco’s clear grey eyes were wide open. She wondered how long he had been awake, watching, and unwilling to disturb her.

He seemed to have recovered from the agony of last night. But she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She was about to speak and his nostrils flared in anger.

“Don’t go.” Draco must have realized that he sounded vaguely threatening and changed to a more contrite tone. “Please.”

He was still mad about her attending the summer party at Malfoy Manor. But his eyes were bright grey with the morning sun. They weren’t dark and dangerous like last night. They were loving and concerned, not controlling and menacing.

“Draco,” Hermione asked cautiously. “Last night…” She paused. She didn’t want to say anything that would set him off again, and searched his eyes for any hint of that menacing gleam. There was none. “I was frightened. I didn’t understand what you were doing or why it was happening.”

He cradled her face gently. “I would never hurt you. If you didn’t want to be spanked, I would have stopped.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” His eyes widened in horror when he saw the doubtful expression on her face. “Yes!” His voice rose, insistent. “Why would I…” He shook his head. “I was angry because I was scared you’d get hurt. Or worse. Hermione, my aunt will be there. They all will. She’ll see right through you and those two tossers of yours.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

Draco began to breathe heavily as he became more agitated. He slid his fingers into her hair. “You don’t understand. I’ve been tortured. My parents, too. My friends. I see what they do to prisoners – what I do to prisoners. Hermione, you’ll beg for them to kill you and I won’t be able to do a fucking thing.” He sounded more desperate. “Thoughts of you getting caught and killed are constantly in the back of my mind and now you’re just… walking right into it.” His fingers curled tight, pulling slightly on her scalp.

She studied his eyes, and the grim line of his mouth, and felt the muscles of his arms twitch as he warred with himself. He wanted to protect her, just like she wanted to protect him. But because of using the Imperius Curse, he was struggling with a dark and deep seeded possessiveness. A need to control.

“It’s the Imperius Curse, isn’t it?”

Draco’s brows slowly came together at her statement, but he didn’t look surprised.

How could he not have told her?

“You knew about this?” Unable to stop her anger from coming out, her voice rose in volume.

“I suspected,” he answered warily.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

His hand went slack against her head, slipping to fall on the sheet between them. “I wasn’t sure – I’m still not. And I tried to tell you I’m changing I just…” He was almost pleading with her. “Maybe it’s because I have to Occlude all the time?”

Draco didn’t want it to be true, and was fighting the evidence. Her anger gave way to sympathy as she recalled him explaining that pieces of him were being taken away and replaced with something else.

He was scared. Not only was he terrified living as a spy, but he was fearful of what was happening to him.

Hermione felt awful. He was being subjected to Dark Magic to help the Order and had no way out. The Order wouldn’t get him out and she had no way of knowing whether or not Kingsley would give him a pardon when the war was over. Kingsley was so damn cagey and wouldn’t commit to anything.

She needed to work harder on researching the laws of pardons. There must be something to force Kingsley’s hand when this was over.

Hermione’s voice softened and she reached down to take his hand. “Sustained Occlumency doesn’t help, obviously. But it doesn’t explain everything. Did you know that your eyes darken sometimes? I can see the change.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “They darken?”

She nodded wordlessly and he rolled over onto his back with a sigh of resignation. Draco spoke tonelessly to the ceiling.

“Unforgivable Curses affect casters differently but that’s one of the common symptoms. My aunt’s eyes have always been black.” He turned his head to face her. “I’ve been holding several people under the Imperius for months. It’s…” he searched for something in her expression while tried to explain himself. “I have these moments where all I can feel is a need to…” he swallowed nervously pressed his palms into his eyes. She waited while he took a few steadying breaths. “A need to control. Not just you, I feel it in other situations, too. But here, I can let myself go. It scared me before, but you enjoyed it so I didn’t worry as much. It seemed relatively harmless. I don’t know if I’m explaining it properly. It’s just…” He rubbed his eyes and dragged his hand over his face. “When it happens it’s overwhelming. Everything else seems trivial.”

There was a slight tremor in his voice when he spoke. He must be anxious of scaring her. Truth be told, she had been scared of him last night.

“Do you feel like you can’t control yourself?”

Draco shook his head. “No, I know what I’m doing. It’s still me. That’s why I said I would never hurt you. It just becomes harder to…” He paused as he considered his words. “I lose perspective. All I can focus on is what I want.”

“A focus on what?” she pressed on with morbid curiosity. “What’s going through your head?”

“Sometimes…” He shifted his gaze to her chin, seemingly ashamed to meet her eyes. “The thoughts I have scare me.”

“Scare you?” Hermione repeated worriedly. Was he dangerous to be around or not? She wasn’t sure.

“No! Not like–” he stammered when he saw her expression. “I don’t… I wouldn’t…” He was getting more upset as he tried to help her understand. “They’re just thoughts,” he implored her. “Don’t you ever fantasize about doing things you’d never actually do?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sexually?” Hermione couldn’t help but be intrigued, even if she was still apprehensive from what happened last night.

His cheeks flushed. “That’s only with you. With others, my thoughts are… violent.” He swallowed and watched her reaction as he explained. “Much more than they used to be.”

“Because you’re using the Cruciatus Curse.”

Until last night, she never would have considered Draco to be a violent person. But as a Death Eater, he had to be. And the dark magic was making it worse.

“Probably,” he answered. After a pregnant pause he added, “Yes.”

She gnawed on her lip. It was worse than she feared. She had to get him help, and wondered if he had ever used the Killing Curse.

“Have you–”

“No.” His voice trembled when he cut her question off, already knowing what she was going to ask. “No. Not that. Not... not yet.”

It was only a matter of time; Draco knew that too. Her stomach churned with dread at what would happen when he started using all three regularly.

But Draco was like a ticking bomb of sorts, wasn’t he? Forced to do things against his will and holding everything inside. Everyone has their breaking point and he just had his. She hoped it wouldn’t get any worse.

Using Unforgivable Curses explained part of the evening, and some of his behavior before: during the storm, after his nightmare, and when he spanked her. Hermione couldn’t figure out what had caused him to spiral out of control afterwards though. Why he had screamed at her like that.

“I still don’t understand why you wanted me to hurt you.”

Draco’s eyes flashed, and he slowly sucked his bottom lip into his mouth.

“I don’t know either,” he rasped. “I just do.”

“Do you think it’s related to using the Cruciatus Curse?”

Draco peered at her in thought. “I don’t think so; from what I understand, increased violence towards others is typical behavior. But my father…”

He stopped speaking, and appeared unsure if he should continue. Lucius Malfoy would have killed her and her friends, fourteen and fifteen-year-old children, in the Department of Mysteries. The man was a terrible person. But he was still Draco’s father. They had never spoken of him since she taught Draco the Patronus charm.

“What about your father?” she asked gently, and squeezed his hand in encouragement.

His eyes met her gaze. “He was never violent towards me or my mother. The opposite.”

“He loves you.”

“Yes,” Draco clenched his jaw, she could tell he was conflicted about something, and remembered that he failed to make his Patronus from a childhood memory with Lucius. “Yes, he does.”

“Can you ask him?” The thought that Lucius Malfoy of all people could help Draco cope with the effects of Unforgivable Curses was ironic.

He shook his head. “No. He’s not an Occlumens. I’ll get him in trouble. And myself.”

Her heart sank. Hermione wondered how Tonks dealt with dark curse usage. Based on what Hermione witnessed of her relationship with Remus, it was something that could be treated, and the Aurors knew how to do it. She’d ask Tonks, and get him help.

Draco watched her while she thought through ways to help him. He seemed worried that he scared her – and she was frightened. Maybe he thought she would leave – which she wouldn’t. None of this was his fault. She leaned forward to press her mouth against his, trying to reassure him, gently prodding his lips open with her tongue.

His shoulders sagged and he whimpered in relief. Hermione deepened the kiss, her tongue rubbing against his, and he slid his arm around her, pulling her in close. As their lips molded together, and she kissed his upper lip and his jaw, she tried to tell him that she would stand by him. She felt the tension leave his muscles bit by bit, and tried to comfort him with her caresses.

It wasn’t his fault that the dark magic was affecting him. If the Order hadn’t dangled the pardon in front of him, he might have found another way for himself and his parents to leave. She wanted him to know that she was here for him, that she wouldn’t give up, and that she’d find a way to help him. She ran her hand through his hair and spoke against his mouth. “I love you. I’ll see what I can find.”

Draco touched her forehead with his and closed his eyes. “Thank you.”

His exhalations tickled her mouth and they lay still, wrapped in each other’s arms. All she heard were the crickets outside, and the sound of their breathing.

Despite her resolve to find a solution, she’d still have to be wary of setting him off.

“Draco,” she said, considering her words carefully. He opened his eyes at her cautious tone. “This won’t be the last time I do something for the Order you don’t agree with.”

He studied her for a few seconds and then slowly tightened his arms around her, drawing her close into his chest.

“I know,” he muttered into her hair.

 

 

~

 

Draco Apparated into his bedroom before his family met for breakfast. He was worn out from his break down last night, extremely worried about her coming to the Manor, and angry that she hadn’t listened to him.

But most of all, he hated how she had looked at him.

Afraid.

As if she didn’t know what he would do and had to tread carefully. Draco remembered how he felt, overcome with a need to punish her for defying him. The compulsion to possess her had been overwhelming. But after he calmed down, it became a kind of game. The moment had passed and he was relieved. He would never hurt her, of that he was certain. And he had continued in the role play, thinking she enjoyed it on some level.

But then Hermione hit him, and he completely lost control. Draco didn’t understand what had happened then. He thought of Hermione sitting astride him while he was tied up, her eyes flashing in righteous anger. From the moment she smacked him, all he could think about was her unleashing her fury until he came. Nothing else mattered and it was almost dizzying with the blood pounding in his head. He’d never gotten off on pain before, and it was frightening now that he looked back on last night, and how much he needed it.

How much he still did.

Draco’s body thrummed from Hermione’s bites, kisses, smacks and touches. He peeled off his jumper and stared at his shirtless figure in the bathroom mirror. There were dark bags under his eyes, giving his pale face a haunted look. She hadn’t bruised him; her smacks hadn’t been that hard. But he wished she would have.

Reaching up, Draco traced the semi-circle of her teeth indentations with his finger. The bite marks were red, almost purple. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a shuddering breath at the memory of her marking his body. He didn’t want to be so aroused, but he was.

Tentatively, he dropped his hand from his neck to his chest and over his member, already growing hard under his trousers. He imagined the ropes tightening around his limbs and he fingered the fabric over his prick, jerking his pelvis forward slightly.

He trailed his fingers downward, creeping around his balls to cup himself, and pictured Hermione punching him in the face. Flinching, despite nothing being there, he thought of Theo’s many bruises. It was enough to make his cock flaccid again and he dropped his hand.

Draco leaned on the sink and studied his eyes, blowing his hair out of the way with a puff of breath. They weren’t dark now, but he didn’t know what Hermione saw when he was overwhelmed with that insatiable need to make her his. He gripped the countertop and dug his fingers into the marble.

Would he become abusive? Was that the path he was heading towards? It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t hurt her. Even when he was engulfed with the sudden need to possess her when she didn’t listen to him, he didn’t want to hurt her.

He would never hurt Hermione.

If anything, he wanted her to hurt him.

Draco didn’t understand the differences between his father and Nott Senior. Both had used all three Unforgivable Curses throughout the First War. Maybe love was the difference. As Hermione pointed out, his father loved him. Draco hadn’t ever thought about whether or not Nott Senior loved Theo. He was simply cruel to his son. Maybe there wasn’t any love.

Exhausted, he walked back into his bedroom, waving his wand for the perfunctory check on his detection spells.

His stomach lurched.

Fuck.

A house elf had been in his room last night.

 

~

 

The past few days, Draco had been treading lightly around his mother and father, waiting for the axe to fall, not knowing if one of them sent the house elf, or if it was just by chance. As a precaution, he stopped his nocturnal visits with Hermione, but things appeared normal between the Malfoys.

Draco followed his father into the Floo, having finished their business at the Ministry that week. Blackmail, bribery, threats, extortion. The Malfoys were slowly cementing the Dark Lord’s death grip on wizarding society. Draco wanted nothing more than to head out to their Quidditch pitch to clear his head, but his father rested his hand on his shoulder.

Something was up.

His father’s icy eyes bored into him. “That was elegant work with the head of the DMLE. A fine conclusion to months of preparation. You’re holding how many under the Imperius Curse now?”

“Six.”

“Six.” His father gave him an appreciative glance. “Quite the achievement.” He studied Draco for a few moments before speaking again. “Let’s have a drink before dinner.”

Draco sensed a trap and goosebumps spread up and down his neck. Much as he craved the positive attention, his father barely complimented him, certainly never invited him to have a drink. Full of dread, Draco followed his father into the library. He didn’t know if the house elf had reported to his mother or his father, and he hadn’t seen a change in either of their behaviors. After more time had passed, he had the ridiculous hope that the elf had been merely performing duties in service of the Manor such as checking the temperature of the room.

But he doubted it.

Draco followed his father into the library and his father, back turned, poured and handed him a glass of brandy. After the party at the Greengrass’s he was paranoid about being served drinks and wondered if his father would dose his own son with Tongue Loosening Serum.

Draco wouldn’t put it past him.

He tilted the glass to his lips and pretended to swallow. His father eyed him over the rim of his tumbler, and took a full swig. He let the drink sit in his mouth for a few seconds, and then swallowed.

“Draco,” his father began. “Crushing the Order and any semblance of resistance to the Dark Lord’s reign has become our family’s priority. Due to that singular focus, we’ve neglected other duties.” His gaze shifted to something behind Draco. “Ah, Cissy. Excellent timing.”

Draco turned around to see his mother enter the library with a glimmer of excitement on her face. His mother’s presence and demeanor were comforting, but something was up, and both his parents were in on it. He watched his mother traverse the thick green rug of the library. She leaned over to place a light kiss on his cheek before sitting next to his father on the couch.

“Lucius told me you’re making a name for yourself at the Ministry.”

Draco wondered how much his mother approved of what they did, considering it was her that insisted he stay here instead of going to Hogwarts. It was her version of choosing the lesser of two evils for her son. Much as he despised the political machinations, he was grateful to his parents, and his mother in particular, for saving him from the horror of attending Hogwarts with the Carrows.

“I’m doing my best,” Draco replied, shifting his gaze between the two of them.

His mother’s smile was real, but his father’s small grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. Lucius found out. He must have, but didn’t tell his mother. Draco didn’t understand how. He had been so careful. He twisted his glass in his hand nervously and then stilled the movement, hoping his father didn’t notice.

Lucius rubbed the rim of his glass with his index finger back and forth, and Draco waited for him to explain the purpose of the surprise attack. His father seemed to have sensed Draco’s worry, and allowed the silence hang in the air while Draco’s mind raced, wondering what was in store for him.

“You’re eighteen now,” his father began. He took a slow sip from the brandy, enjoying his son’s discomfort. “A man of your age should be married. At the very least engaged.”

Draco released a slow, measured breath, and did his utmost not to show outward signs of relief. His father discovered Draco’s disappearances at night, and must have assumed it was an affair and nothing more. Once again, he had to admire Hermione’s foresight in how she communicated with him through the Galleon. If it was ever found, and he had no reason to believe it would be, an affair is exactly how their correspondences would appear.

Indeed, that was his father’s assumption after having caught him stealing away. He wondered if his mother knew. Probably not. She was just excited to see Draco married. He thought back to Theo’s comment about popping out pure-blood babies.

His mother was looking forward to the end of the war, and he knew she wanted grandchildren. A light at the end of the tunnel.

Gazing down into his glass, his father’s voice rose slightly in feigned disinterest. “Is there anyone in particular that’s caught your fancy? I do remember you were with the Parkinson girl for a time.”

He wanted to know who Draco was sneaking out to see. If it was someone his father approved of, he would set up the marriage contract. If it wasn’t, he’d get a lecture on Malfoy bastards and the witch’s parents would be threatened. If not the witch herself.

Draco wondered if his affair with Elizabeth served a dual purpose. The first, obviously, to get files from the Financial Bureau. The second purpose, and one he hadn’t considered at the time, was that his father may have hoped that some side action with someone inconsequential, not of his choosing, would prevent him from starting up a more serious relationship with someone he did choose.

Which had happened anyway.

Draco felt anger rising within him. He hated the way he was manipulated by his father.

“No one at the moment,” Draco lied smoothly.

His father knew there was someone, and he knew it wasn’t Pansy. If his father did dose him with Tongue Loosening Serum, he would now know Draco had suspected as much, and didn’t drink the brandy. His father would conclude that he wouldn’t approve of Draco’s secret lover, and that Draco cared enough to protect her.

Drink and tell the truth. Don’t drink and he’d figure it out anyway. A classic Lucius Malfoy trap. It didn’t matter what course of action one took, his father would get what he wanted.

Draco clenched his jaw but his father revealed nothing with his close lipped smile.

“I think it’s time we remedied that situation.”

His mother rested her hand on his father’s thigh. “Pansy is with Theodore now, Lucius,” she replied. “But there are so many wonderful young ladies that have come of age. Did you have your eye on anyone in particular, Draco?”

Likely there was a short list of pre-approved eligible witches for Draco to choose from at the ready, courtesy of his mother. Even without this bloody war he wouldn’t have had any choice in his future. Whoring himself out for the Dark Lord for fucking financial documents of all things, or selling himself and his future to ensure Malfoy assets and interests stayed within pure-blood circles.

It was all the same.

As Hermione had told him, despite the fact that she had no inheritance or properties, she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

Draco did his best to appear happy for his mother. It wouldn’t matter anyway. If the Order lost, he’d likely be dead. If they won, there was no way in hell he was marrying anyone from that short list, but he had a role to play right now. And he already knew who was on that sodding list.

“Astoria,” he replied brightly.

His mother’s smile widened and she nodded in approval. “Astoria Greengrass is a wonderful young woman. Such beauty and poise. She’ll make you happy, Draco.”

“I think so, too.” Astoria was unattached, on the younger end of the group of eligible witches around his age, and relatively naïve in comparison to the other pure-blood women he knew. She wouldn’t suspect anything untoward and was too nice for him by far. Briefly, he felt some regret at dragging her into his shit but it couldn’t be helped.

“Excellent choice,” his father replied.

He refused to look at Lucius’ barely concealed smugness, now having trapped Draco into falling in line.

Again.

Fuck.

Draco wondered how Hermione would receive the news of his engagement. No, she’d understand. She understood his position with Elizabeth as well.

He was lucky to have her.

Hermione. He wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. At least, not as often.

Draco didn’t think his father would be able to tail him and figure out where he was going, but he had to err on the side of caution. His rage intensified at the loss of one of the only things in his life that he had chosen for himself.

His mother glanced back and forth between the two men and her smile faltered.

“Should we owl the Greengrasses now?” Draco suggested, hoping to preserve his mother’s happiness for as long as it could last.

Her eyes crinkled again in mirth. “I’ll take care of it. Perhaps an autumn engagement party?” She glanced questioningly at Lucius. Draco stared down at his glass. That was only a few months away.

“Yes. The Order should be destroyed well before then.”

Those were the rumors. Time was running out and Severus had said there would be another raid. But when? Where? How?

Draco needed to find that Hufflepuff cup. His mother’s summer party was only a few days away. He hoped he would find answers.

“I’ll be back in a moment.” His mother left the library and Draco glared angrily at his father.

“So that’s it for Elizabeth?” he retorted rebelliously. “No more whoring myself out to the Financial Bureau then? She’ll be devastated.”

His father’s lip curled.

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: The Malfoy summer party.

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Chapter 57: Chapter 57

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

July 1998

Hermione and Ron arrived at Malfoy Manor Polyjuiced as a married, middle aged couple, both Ministry officials. She worked in the Portkey Division, he worked in the Ancient Artifacts Division. Hermione’s department was highly in demand, and she could use her position as an excuse to talk to nearly anyone present. Ron’s department would, of course, have a natural interest in the Hufflepuff Cup. Harry arrived separately as Stan Shunpike. Although not Inner Circle, Shunpike would have an excuse to talk with any known Death Eater.

Shunpike and the Ministry officials were currently confounded and incapacitated in their homes.

The trio agreed that Harry would be adequate at keeping up the Polyjuiced pretense by himself. Ron would be better off mostly silent, with Hermione at his side to handle the majority of the talking. However, she had to be careful about bringing up the topic of the Hufflepuff Cup without revealing the reason they were asking about it.

She also didn’t know how to figure out whom Voldemort would trust with its safekeeping.

It was a dangerous mission but the trio was stuck. They needed a lead and wouldn’t find one holed up in Order safe houses. Nervously, she entered the ballroom with Ron, fingers wrapped around his elbow.

Hermione scanned the room. There were five hundred people here at least, both inside the ornately decorated ballroom, and outside, spilling into the gardens. A quartet played music in the corner and house elves ensured the food was plentiful and the alcohol flowing. All the men were dressed in black formal robes and the women were adorned in colorful, sometimes glittering dresses. She observed Kingsley talking with Umbridge and someone else she didn’t recognize.

She narrowed her eyes at Kingsley. All her research into the legalities of pardons indicated that he was hiding something. But how could she find out what it was? She shifted her gaze to Umbridge and stifled a nervous chuckle at the memory of smashing Umbridge’s kitten themed plates prior to burning her house to the ground. Ron must have been thinking the same thing and shook with barely concealed laughter.

“Umph,” he grunted as she elbowed him.

The danger of their situation somehow made it harder to keep from laughing. Ron gazed down at her with an anxious grin and she steered him in a different direction before one of them laughed out loud.

Some guests parted as Bellatrix sauntered through, her arm laced through Rudolphus’. Her black curly hair was piled loosely on her head and her hips swayed confidently as she walked among the guests. Everyone was terrified of her, including Hermione, and regarded her deferentially. In a brief moment of panic, Hermione glanced over at Harry/Stan Shunpike, worried what he would do when faced with Sirius’ killer. With relief, she saw him clench his jaw and abruptly turn away.

Good. He was keeping himself together.

Hermione squeezed Ron’s arm and murmured, “Let’s go mingle on the opposite side of the room as her.”

Ron didn’t need any convincing. Fear at her presence wouldn’t be perceived as anything out of the ordinary. They wouldn’t give themselves away by avoiding her. The two strolled around together past a tray of wine glasses, and she plucked one off the tray for him.

Ron shook his head. “I don’t want anything to drink tonight.”

Hermione pressed it into his chest. “It’ll give you something to do with your hand besides clenching it into a fist. And a sip here and there won’t hurt. It’ll look more natural.”

“Fine.”

She sighed in relief and took a glass of wine for herself. Bellatrix’s presence was unnerving.

Hermione scanned the crowd, wondering where to start and saw Draco over in a corner with Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson. He looked so different in his formal robes. She was used to him in jeans and T-shirts, pajamas, occasionally her father’s black leather jacket.

Scruffy and tousled.

Now he was elegant. His hair styled and combed back instead loose, always falling into his eyes. His posture was perfect, his movements measured and deliberate. The perfect aristocrat; a costume Draco donned with ease.

Hermione caught a glimpse of his posh persona when he slipped into it addressing the elderly museum docent. At the time, she thought it endearing. He had also given Hermione a mock bow when she taught him the Patronus, using that part of his life to amuse and pacify her. It was different to see him acting as such for so long. He was a completely different person, and yet the same.

She wondered what Draco was like as a Death Eater, and felt her bowels go cold at the thought. She knew it was another costume he had to wear. She was as much terrified for him as the victims of his wand.

Parkinson patted his chest affectionately and stretched up to kiss his cheek. Draco raised an eyebrow at something she said and laughed. It was obvious how close they were from the way they regarded each other and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Parkinson leaned into Nott and he put his arm around her, drawing her close.

She knew Parkinson and Draco had dated in the past and they were still friends now. Just like she and Victor were. Just like she and Ron were. From the body language, it seemed Parkinson was with Nott now anyway.

Hermione felt like an outsider looking into Draco’s life. She knew nothing about this side of him and had no part in it. She was hidden. A forbidden secret. His friends and family had claim to a part of him that she never would and Hermione felt a sense of loss.

Draco seemed to belong here with them, and not with her.

Ron must have noticed the direction of her stare because he grumbled, “Fucking Malfoy. He started this damn war.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

Looking around the room he said, “I have no idea where to start.”

That was Draco’s critique of this operation as well. It was a valid one but they had no leads. The trio was stuck and the war depended on them destroying the Hufflepuff Cup. They had to start taking risks. They had to do something.

“Give it a chance,” she replied, scanning the crowd. “We haven’t been here for more than ten minutes. You never know when-”

Hermione gasped.

Her Occlumency teacher just entered the ballroom on the arm of Blaise Zabini.

Hermione watched gob smacked as the attractive woman sauntered in with a smile, receiving a number of appreciative glances from the men she passed. At once, she understood why the witch had looked so familiar. Her mentor had the same light brown eyes, nose and facial features as… Blaise must be her son. Hermione had heard rumors about his mother and how she became a wealthy woman. She had spent enough time with her – she had no doubt they were all true.

And she was teaching Hermione Occlumency.

And Kingsley trusted her.

Hermione was horrified at his lack of scruples at enlisting the help of a murderess, but she supposed they had to take help where they could get it. She wasn’t murdering for blood purity, but for financial gain. As Zabini’s mother had explained, skilled Legilimens were rare. Kingsley was pragmatic and knew which battles were worth fighting in pursuit of the larger goal.

Hermione could respect that reasoning. She was often the same.

But could you trust someone that murdered for financial gain?

You couldn’t. Absolutely not. They’d betray you if the price was right.

Kingsley was trusting a murderess with three of the four biggest secrets the Order had: Kingsley’s involvement, Draco spying and the Horcruxes. The only thing Blaise’s mother didn’t know was where the Order was hiding.

But her Occlumency teacher killed for money. Who was to say she wouldn’t sell them all out? Why in the world was Kingsley trusting her? How did he know he could? Blaise’s mother specialized in taking advantage of men.

Was she playing both sides to see who would win?

Zabini’s mother caught her gaze. After a moment of confusion, she sent Hermione the same disapproving stare she used when Hermione failed in their lessons together. Immediately, Hermione cloaked herself in emotionless apathy. She barely caught her mentor’s nod of approval before Blaise and his mother turned to chat with other guests.

Hermione was floored, and then felt a rush of terror. Her mentor knew her thoughts right then and there. She had finished her Occlumency lessons, but would there be repercussions for Hermione figuring out who she was?

But Kingsley knew, and he trusted her.

Who else did Kingsley have working with the Order?

After giving his mother a quick peck on the cheek, Blaise walked over to join Draco chatting with the other Slytherins, leaving his mother alone. Immediately, two wizards approached her and she smiled flirtatiously at them while they did their best to outdo each other for her attentions.

Hermione remembered her mentor’s promise to help with the Horcruxes. If anyone would be able to figure out who had the Hufflepuff Cup here tonight, it was her. But would she even help if Hermione knew who she was?

Kingsley said she hadn’t been able to find out anything about Wembley Stadium. Was that even true?

It had to be. Blaise’s mother knew enough to bury the Order five times over if she wanted to. She could have finished the war long ago if that was her purpose.

She was on their side. She had to be.

Hermione squared her shoulders and turned to Ron.

“I have to talk to someone but you need to stay here. Just five minutes and I’ll be back, alright?”

He looked at her suspiciously. “Where are you going?”

“I think I have a lead, but they won’t talk to me if I’m with you.”

Ron glared down at her, rearing for a fight. He was still pissed off that Hermione refused to explain where she got the Horcrux from.

“You’re going to have to trust me on this one,” she whispered. “We can’t fight about it here.”

He flared his nostrils and yanked his arm out of her hand angrily, stalking away. She wondered if she and Harry should have come alone. If Ron wasn’t able to control his temper, they’d be caught for sure.

Hermione took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face and concentrated on cultivating a contented apathy as she approached Zabini’s mother. Her mentor tilted her head as Hermione approached.

“Madam Zabini, if I’m already seeing you here, I wanted to discuss with you the difficulties we were having with your Portkey to Greece.”

She raised her eyebrows. The two men next to her were visibly annoyed that Hermione had stolen the attractive witch’s attention away from them.

“That’s considerate of you to let me know. How about I find you in an hour to chat? I haven’t yet finished speaking with these wonderful gentlemen,” she winked at them and they chuckled. “And I’d like to get another cup.” She raised her half-filled glass of wine, indicating that she knew exactly what Hermione wanted her to do.

Working with a Legilimens had its advantages.

“Cheers,” Hermione raised her own glass.

Blaise’s mum peered over her shoulder and Hermione thought she saw a flash of rage in her eyes. But before she knew what she was looking at, the fury was gone, replaced by sultry flirtation. Hermione glanced around to see what had caught her mentor’s attention but only saw Blaise and Daphne Greengrass sharing a drink together. 

She walked back to Ron, silently fuming in a corner with his hands shoved in the pockets of his dress robes.

“One hour and we may have something to work with,” Hermione told him.

Ron was determined in giving her the silent treatment so she scanned the ballroom. Her eyes were drawn to Draco again and she watched him bow and kiss the hand of a tall, slim, attractive brunette who just arrived and was obviously enjoying his attentions. Hermione recognized her from the Slytherin house. Perhaps a year younger? Her hair was expertly done, swept up with a few curls hanging down her neck. Her dress was elegant and expensive looking. Shimmering silver, sleeveless with a plunging backline. Draco drew her in affectionately and placed his hand on her lower back where the skin was exposed, and led her around the ballroom.

Hermione watched his hand, his long fingers resting there. On that woman. On her skin.

She couldn’t suppress the surge of hurt and jealousy that fired through her. Was he cheating on her? No. Of course not. Draco knew she would be here. He knew she would see. It was a role he had to play, just like his role as Death Eater. Just like with that intern he was seducing at the Ministry. As he had told her, his life was not his. He was trapped.

Even so, she wished he didn’t look so pleased to be with the young woman.

And did she have to be so beautiful?

Hermione quietly observed him as he handed her a glass of wine, fingers delicately holding the stem out to her. She took it, wrapping her fingers around his with a small, sensual smile. He offered her his arm and she lightly gripped his elbow while he led her around the room, introducing her to some Ministry officials that were high enough in the bureaucracy that even Hermione recognized them.

Once again, it was a side of Draco Malfoy she had never seen before. Not the bully she loathed in school, not the passionate, rebellious spy she loved now. With that witch, he was a diplomatic aristocrat, wooing her properly at a ball.

Hermione yearned for this part of him too. She wanted all of him. She couldn’t prevent the emptiness forming inside her at the thought that this part of his life didn’t belong to her too. Sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, the beginnings of tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

Draco must have sensed her gaze upon him because he glanced over at her, grey eyes icy and guarded. So different from the intense, barely contained passion she was used to. Hermione turned away immediately, pretending to survey several people in the ballroom. It wouldn’t do for him to know who she was disguised as.

Ron looked down at her, breaking his silent treatment. “You’re keeping things from us.”

“Can we discuss it afterwards?” she sighed impatiently. “Now is not the time. And you should take your… medication.”

Hermione extracted a vial of Polyjuice out of her clutch, quickly downed it when she thought no one was looking, and then vanished the vial. Ron did the same. She searched the room for Harry to remind him.

“Let’s look for Harry and make sure he takes his as well. It’s about time.”

Ron nodded and they strolled slowly around the ballroom together watching the elegant guests mingle, drink and snack on hors d’oeuvers. After several minutes they crossed Draco’s path. The elegant witch was still holding onto his elbow and he spoke to several Ministry officials who laughed at something he said. She nearly brushed him as she passed by, and tucked her arm in closer to avoid contact.

Hermione couldn’t help herself, and snuck a glance as she and Ron walked by. Draco’s muscular body was hidden but the angles she was familiar with showed through, hinting at what was underneath. He was clean shaven instead of with a days’ scruff or more. She longed to run her fingers through his perfectly styled hair and mess it up so it would flop in front of his eyes again.

He held the stem of a glass of wine with long graceful fingers. Fingers that had touched every inch of her body. Fingers that had made her come, made her scream, made her cry, made her moan.

Hermione was unable to draw her eyes away. Draco met her stare and furrowed his brows in suspicion while she passed him. She was going to get him in trouble. He was focusing on finding out who might have the Hufflepuff Cup anyway, better leave him to it. She tore her gaze away to focus on someone else.

Glancing back, she saw his grey eyes studying her over an unknown woman’s shoulder while he sipped his wine.

Bollocks. He must know it’s her now.

She continued on her circuit around the room, craning her neck while she and Ron searched for Harry.

A large man Hermione didn’t recognize sneered at them and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘useless tossers at the Ministry.’

“Jugson,” Ron whispered to her.

“What’s that?”

“Jugson,” Ron repeated. Hermione watched the large man down his drink in one go. “He’s one of the Inner Circle Death Eaters. We should tail him for a bit; try and see who he’s talking to and what he’s talking about.”

“We could butt into the conversation,” she added, still scanning the room for Harry.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Jugson’s not the type to brag about artifacts but having someone else talking with him might help open him up.”

They stopped near the large Death Eater, waiting for him to strike up a conversation with someone, while still searching for Harry. Hermione had no idea where he had gotten to and was beginning to worry when all of a sudden he appeared in front of them.

“They’re here,” Harry whispered, low and breathless.

“Who?” Ron asked, apprehension in his voice at Harry’s nervous state.

Hermione was grateful for the loud background noise created by everyone’s chatter and the music, but she walked them away from Jugson anyway. No one would overhear them if they kept their voices low.

“Luna, Ollivander, the Order members,” Harry explained, still whispering. “In the dungeons below. I overheard Yaxley and Mulciber talking outside.”

Hermione felt a barrage of emotions all at once. Panic, because she knew their mission tonight just became infinitely more complicated. Shock and relief in that the captured Order members were still alive. And betrayal, because Draco had lied to her. He had let her think they were all executed.

She snapped her gaze back to him. He was surreptitiously watching her over the rim of his wine glass and then angled his face away, nodding at something an older wizard said.

“I thought they were dead!” Ron whispered back furiously. “How do we get there?”

“Wait, you two.” Her authoritative tone caused them to turn down to look at her. “Think. First.”

“But we have to–” Harry protested.

“Yes, I know,” Hermione said firmly, cutting him off. “But it won’t help them any if we’re caught.” She looked pointedly at Harry’s pocket. “Did you take your medicine?”

He stared back at her. “What do you–  oh.”

Harry glanced around warily, faced the wall and downed the vial of Polyjuice. She sighed in relief. Merlin, that was close. Too close.

“I’m getting answers about the cup in forty-five minutes,” she informed him. “So we can’t get them out now.”

“Alright,” Ron said glancing around the ballroom. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet and looked down at Hermione. “You wait here; we’ll wander around, see what we can find out in the meantime.”

“Split up, meet back here then?” Harry asked, eying the two of them. “Just outside the garden?”

“Stay far away from Bellatrix,” she warned them. “Don’t give her an excuse to take an interest in you.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “We’re not suicidal, Hermione.”

“Sorry.” She’d forgotten how experienced they were. Much more than she was. “Can I still tell you both to be careful?”

Her boys each turned to her with matching half grins. Unsettling and yet comforting coming from Stan Shunpike and a middle aged Ministry employee.

“I suppose,” Ron answered.

She smiled back nervously and watched them as they meandered off into the crowd, trying to figure out where the dungeons were.

Hermione found a spot on a wall and leaned against it, sipping her wine and eyeing the crowd while she waited for Madam Zabini. Lucius Malfoy had his hand on the small of Narcissa’s back as he led her around the room, just like Draco had with that younger witch. Narcissa held a glass of wine, laughing and leaving smiling guests in her wake. The perfect hostess. Bellatrix stood against the buffet table, tapping long, black nails impatiently while Rabastan whispered something in her ear. Bellatrix’s red lips curled upwards and Hermione abruptly looked away. It wouldn’t do to look at Bellatrix or be near her lest she catch her attention. She saw Blaise with Daphne Greengrass, the two of them holding hands as they walked outside.

Hermione perused the crowd and startled when she noticed Draco leaning against another food table, by himself, staring directly at her from across the room. Their eyes met and he took a long sip from his wine glass, his grey gaze unwavering. She looked away, feeling incredibly hurt and betrayed after they discussed the necessity for honesty and trust. Especially when it concerned the lives of people she cared about.

He had been lying to her for a long time. And she was still lying to him.

She hated this war.

She was also hurt that he had been with that witch even though she knew she shouldn’t be. It was an act.

Draco walked away. She thought he had gone off to mingle again but after several minutes he reappeared in her peripheral vision, leaning against the wall three feet away from her, staring out at the crowd.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking away from her and sipping his wine.

She looked straight ahead towards Kingsley while he socialized with a few others. Kingsley was someone else she couldn’t entirely trust.

“Dungeons.”

He stiffened. “Don’t,” he said, his voice threatening.

She flared her nostrils. “Too late,” she spat back at him.

Hermione searched for Zabini’s mother and caught her eye while she spoke with Narcissa. Madame Zabini gave her the slightest of nods. Hermione strolled outside into the cool evening air, willing her to follow, and left Draco glowering after her.

She didn’t know what he’d do after direct defiance like that. He couldn’t do anything. It’s not like they were in her bedroom.

A few moments later Madam Zabini appeared outside and Hermione ambled around the topiary where they wouldn’t be seen. Her mentor appeared behind her and she cast a Muffliato.

“If someone has it, it’s either Severus or Bellatrix.” Her light brown, sultry eyes sparkled in the moonlight, as did the ruby pendant on the gold necklace she was wearing.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

“Aside from Draco, they’re the only ones I can’t read. Process of elimination.”

Snape and Bellatrix. The two most difficult people to get to, aside from Voldemort himself.

“Were you able to discover anything about Wembley?” Hermione pressed, even though Kingsley said she hadn’t.

She shook her head. “Kingsley already asked. No one knows, their memories have been wiped.” She inhaled a slow deep breath while glancing over Hermione’s shoulder back towards the opening to the ballroom. She brought her eyes back to Hermione’s. “Your friends are going to cause trouble and you’ll be caught. You got what you came for. Leave now. Too much is at stake.”

And without another word, she sauntered back towards the house, swaying her hips in the form fitting red dress. Hermione turned around and saw Harry and Ron perusing the grounds, waiting for her. Both their gazes were drawn to Blaise’s mother and they gawked as she passed them on the way back in. Hermione waited a few minutes so they wouldn’t realize she had just been talking with Madam Zabini and then stood in their view until they noticed her. She descended further into the garden and they followed. She stopped once she reached a secluded corner and waited for them to catch up.

They appeared and Harry cast the Muffliato this time.

Ron looked down at her, speaking quickly and quietly. “We found the dungeons. You can reach them through a staircase behind the drawing room.”

“Where’s the drawing room?” she asked.

“Down the corridor and to the right. Turn left after exiting the double doors of the ball room. There’s only one guard,” Ron explained. “Greyback.”

Hermione sneered in disgust.

“We don’t know how many they’re keeping here,” Harry said, anxious from what they were about to do.

“That shouldn’t be too much of a problem. You’ve got your Portkey?” Hermione asked, wondering why he was so bothered.

“No!” Harry whispered violently. “It’s in my jeans pocket back at Westchester.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Ron blew out a breath in exasperation.

“Harry!” Hermione rubbed her forehead at his forgetfulness. “Don’t you always have it on missions? That’s the only reason leadership lets you go in the first place! I specifically made–”

“I forgot when we changed clothes!” he interrupted. “I know! I’m an idiot!”

Now she understood his agitation. That complicated things tremendously.

“We have three vials of Polyjuice left, correct?” Hermione knew they would be making an impossible decision in the next few moments.

Harry nodded, agonizing over their limited resources and his forgetfulness.

“We have to take them up the stairs, through the drawing room, down the corridor, past the ballroom, through the main entrance and out towards the Apparition point,” Ron explained, also not liking the direction of the conversation.

“There’s no other exits?” Hermione asked.

“There are,” Harry answered. “But the gates on the grounds complicate the exit route and Nagini’s outside. She’ll see through the Polyjuice just like You-Know-Who.”

“We’ll be visible the entire way out,” Hermione said, stating the obvious.

“Yes,” Harry agreed, his voice rising with anxiety.

“So we can only take three, and only three that can walk,” Hermione replied, anticipating a row.

“We can’t do that,” Harry countered.

“We have to take them all, Hermione” Ron hissed through his teeth.

Hermione closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Despite their experience, Harry wouldn’t make decisions like these. Neither would Ron. They’d never been in a position where they had to leave someone behind before.

They had no choice.

“Let’s get back to Tonks and see where to go from there,” she suggested, kicking the can down the road.

Harry clasped her hand and she opened her eyes. “Hermione.” It wasn’t Harry’s eyes imploring her through the Polyjuice but she recognized the expression. “Promise me we’ll come back for them.”

“I can’t,” she said, willing him to understand that they would do the best they could. “And it won’t do us any good if we return with no one and end up in the dungeons ourselves. You know that don’t you?”

Neither of them answered.

“We didn’t come prepared for a rescue operation,” she reminded them.

“It’s not right, Hermione,” Ron argued.

“We know they’re here and we can get them out,” Harry implored her. “We owe it to them.”

“We do,” Hermione agreed, hoping that would mollify them at least until they made it back. “We’ll get three, then we tell Tonks when we know more about what we’re dealing with. Alright?”

They didn’t answer.

“We can’t save anyone unless we’re all in agreement,” she said. “Fight later at the safe house. Five minutes and we’ll discuss coming back with Tonks. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

Briefly, she felt sorry at the mess she was dumping on Tonks’ lap right now. She already had a nursing baby and sleepless nights to deal with, but Hermione didn’t know how else she was going to get Ron and Harry out of here.

They would never leave anyone behind. But it was impossible to take them all.

“Five minutes, Harry,” she repeated. “Tonks will have a solution.”

Tonks wouldn’t have a solution. There was none. They’d have to leave some behind and Harry and Ron would hate themselves.

“Alright,” Harry ground out reluctantly.

Ron grunted his agreement.

“Who’s down there again?” Hermione asked, relieved that they’d given in.

“Greyback,” Ron answered. “You and I will go first and take him out.” He glanced up at Harry. “Count to sixty and follow.”

Harry nodded. She glanced at Ron and put her hand through his elbow, feeling the adrenaline race through her. They’d get a few prisoners back. But she had no doubt the aftermath would be horrific. Ron stood up straighter, more confident now that they were enacting a plan with a clear purpose.

“We’re married. And useless tossers at the Ministry,” he joked. “Smile.”

She plastered a grin to her face and they re-entered the ballroom. Hermione saw Draco out of the corner of her eye whispering to his mother. Narcissa was smiling and nodding, a hand on her chest. Draco held her stare as she exited the ballroom to the hallway, his expression was unreadable.

What was he doing?

 

 

 

Notes:

Next up: what Draco was doing

Aaaaaaaand..... her Occlumency mentor was Yasmin Zabini! Yes, yes, I know. Nearly everyone figured out it. Hopefully I still surprised some of you!

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Chapter 58: Chapter 58

Notes:

There's a trigger warning associated with the chapter, more detail in the chapter end notes for those that need it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

God fucking dammit.

Hermione was going to get herself killed. She was to get him killed, she was going to get his parents killed, she was going to get Boy Wonder killed and this whole shit show would be for nothing.

And even if by some miracle they made it out, his chances of getting that Unbreakable Vow were just shot to hell. So much for building trust with the Order.

FUCK.

Draco gripped his champagne glass so hard he thought it might shatter in his hand. But he smiled and watched his parents speak to the attentive crowd, toasting the Ministry and their efforts over the past year to cleanse society of the Mudblood scourge. At least they’d keep everyone’s focus drawn away from the idiot Trio while they made their exit with the prisoners.

He wandered around, seemingly aimless, but headed towards the double doors of the ballroom while his mother spoke. Releasing a sigh of frustration, he watched the hallway out of the corner of his eye. How were they getting out?

“Malfoy.”

Draco groaned inwardly as Jugson stalked over, drink in hand.

“How’s your shoulder?” He shot Draco a sinister grin.

Draco cleared his throat, furiously thinking how to rid himself of Jugson. “Healed.”

The last time they sparred, Jugson had dislocated it and broken one of Draco’s ribs with a broom handle.

“You’re a hell of a lot tougher than you look.”

“Not much of a choice, is there?” Draco retorted resentfully, scanning the crowd for ideas.

“No, no there isn’t.” Jugson downed his drink and punched Draco lightly in the previously dislocated shoulder. Pain shot down his arm and torso.

“Fucking hell.” Glaring at Jugson, he massaged the sore area.

The large Death Eater chuckled. “Your mother puts together a good spread.” He grabbed some beef tartare off a floating tray and swallowed it without chewing. “Almost makes it worth putting up with these worthless sacks of flesh,” he growled, motioning to the guests with his empty glass.

Draco didn’t know if Hermione would be making her way out the front entrance. Or when. Frantically, he searched the ballroom for inspiration on how to get Jugson away and noticed Blaise’s mother chatting with Pansy’s parents.

Perfect.

“I heard Yasmine Zabini is single again.”

“Oh yeah?” Jugson’s predatory smile bared his teeth. “I thought she was seeing someone.”

“No.” Draco shook his head. “Blaise told me.”

He waited while Jugson eyed Blaise’s mother, sizing up his chances. “Thanks for the tip, Malfoy.”

He clapped Draco on the back this time, making him pitch forward and spill champagne on his front.

“Sod it all,” he muttered, cleaning himself off while Jugson stalked over to Yasmine to try his luck.

It was just in time. For a moment his blood ran cold in fear. He saw the woman Hermione came Polyjuiced as limping down the corridor with the help of someone else. Did Greyback hurt her? He walked out into the foyer and they stopped, wide-eyed in terror at his presence. The woman started trembling.

Something was wrong.

The unknown man reached for his wand and Draco forced himself to casually turn around, pretending to listen his mother’s speech again. He tried to make himself relax as the man paused, and continued down the hallway when he realized Draco didn’t care what they were doing.

He exhaled slowly.

It wasn’t Hermione, she was fine. It was an injured prisoner – Polyjuiced as the same woman as her – with haphazardly transfigured clothing. The man must be one of Hermione’s moronic boy toys. The crowd laughed at something his mother said and he did as well, observing the pair exit through the front entrance from the corner of his eye.

The faint crack of Apparition echoed in the distance.

One down, two to go. He surveyed the crowd again. Everyone was preoccupied with his mother’s speech and Blaise’s mother was speaking with Jugson.

Good.

Someone else caught his eye and started to walk in his general direction. Draco nodded and smiled viciously across the room at Arnold Peasegood, one of the Ministry officials he was extorting to get a member of the Wizengamot sacked. The official looked visibly shaken, and waved at Draco before scurrying away.

Tosser. Jugson was right. They were all worthless sacks of shit.

His heart pounded in his chest. What was taking so long?

A few moments later, he heard another pair shuffle down the corridor. This time it was Stan Shunpike and the same man he just saw leaving. Draco’s heart thudded harder in his chest and he willed them to walk faster.

Of fucking course she’d be last.

He cursed impatiently under his breath when his father started to speak. Finally, the second pair was out the front door and a few moments later he heard another crack of Apparition.

Hermione was still here.

He slowly sipped his champagne to quell his anxiety, rested his head back against the door frame and watched his father speak, toasting Pius and the new age of stability. The whole ballroom raised their glasses and he did as well.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was she doing down there? And with Greyback? He exhaled in frustration.

If Hermione didn’t appear in the next minute, Draco was heading downstairs. He couldn’t risk anything happening with that creature, and would deal with the fallout later. Adrenaline pumped through him as the seconds ticked by and the hallway still remained bare.

He shifted his gaze back to Jugson and Blaise’s mother. Jugson appeared to be enjoying himself, leering at her when all of a sudden he blanched, as if he saw a ghost. Yasmine gazed sweetly up at him but Jugson abruptly turned on heel, walking out towards the garden, a look of abject horror on his face.

Jugson.

Afraid.

What the hell was that?

Blaise’s mother slowly turned to face Draco, meeting his stare, and terror shot down his spine. He had the sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly what he had just done.

But how?

Draco thought of Nagini eating chunks of Professor Burbage again and he dug his fingers into his palm. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he wondered if she would confront him. With a playful wink, she turned to face his father as he spoke to the crowd, as if nothing had happened.

Fuck, she was scary.

Draco nearly sagged in relief at the sound of two people shuffling in the distance, and he ran his hand through his hair to wipe his sweat away.

Hermione struggled down the hallway with a prisoner disguised as the man that first walked down the corridor. He dragged his left leg, clearly injured. Couldn’t they go any faster?

Terror squeezed the breath from his lungs as Alecto Carrow appeared behind them, exiting the loo.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

“What are you doing?” Alecto called imperiously down the hallway. Hermione’s eyes widened in panic and she turned around.

Without missing a beat, Draco pulled a champagne flute off the tray next to him and strode towards Alecto with a smirk.

“Draco!” She smiled seductively as soon as he appeared in the hallway. “I was wondering if I was going to see you tonight. I heard rumors of an engagement?”

One less thing to confess to Hermione, he thought bitterly. He was now completely stripped bare of everything. Lying to her by letting her think the prisoners were dead, and unable to tell her that he was forced into marriage.

It would have happened eventually. What a nightmare. And it was only going to get worse when they discovered the prisoners were missing.

“Yes, I’m a very lucky man,” he replied with a flash of his teeth.

Draco approached Alecto and sent the fumbling pair a disparaging glance, not missing the horrified look on Hermione’s face when she understood what he was doing. Her eyes were red, as if she had just been crying in the dungeons.

Now what?

“Not everyone holds their liquor well,” he sneered at Hermione in disdain. “Bad breeding.”

Alecto laughed and reached out for the glass he handed her, leaving her fingers on his hand longer than was appropriate. Hermione stopped moving.

Keep. Walking.

He stroked Alecto’s fingers with his thumb and smiled as she licked her lips in anticipation. Hermione headed towards the exit again.

Fucking finally.

“Will you join me for the rest of your father’s speech?” Alecto purred into his ear and slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow.

“I’d love to.” Draco swallowed the bile in his throat. “My parents are about to announce the good news.”

 

 

~

 

Tonks looked exhausted; she was still nursing Teddy frequently in the night. Hermione sat in silence, unfeeling and deaf to the cacophony around her. Harry and Ron had been yelling mutinously at the top of their lungs for the past half hour. Hermione knew it was going to be a bad night, but she had no idea how far things would spiral out of control.

Ollivander told them flat out to take Luna and the other younger Order members before him. He claimed they were the future, and had more value to the next generation. Hermione’s initial thoughts were to rescue Ollivander first, as his knowledge would benefit the Order more so than another foot soldier. But she never voiced them. He appeared to know exactly what she was thinking and made it clear he would not come.

Without consulting anyone, Hermione quickly surveyed the state of the prisoners and decided it would be Luna, Oliver and Hannah that would be returning with them. She worked wordlessly with Harry and Ron on preparing the three to leave one by one. Hermione shooed Harry and Ron out the door with frantic whispers. After Eloise realized she wasn’t getting a dosage of Polyjuice, she started to cry, and begged Hermione not to abandon her.

Already Hermione felt like she was going to vomit. She couldn’t look Eloise in the eyes as she prepped and healed Oliver as quickly as she could. Oliver choked out an apology, having spent the previous couple months in the dungeon with her, and appeared a sickly green.

Dedalus was in terrible shape, his mutilated body sprawled on the floor. Being an Auror, he was trained to withstand torture and harder to break. As she and Oliver were about to leave he glanced up at her, a plea in his eyes.

“Kill me.”

Her heart stopped.

Dedalus couldn’t possibly have said what she thought she heard. Hermione clutched Oliver’s arm, supporting him with her body. She had been on the way out, feeling utterly wretched from the sounds of Eloise’s weeping.

“Kill me,” he repeated.

Hermione fought the urge to retch as the blood pounded in her head, making her dizzy. She didn’t know how to deal with his request and spoke to him, as well as Ollivander and Eloise, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

“We know you’re here now. We’ll come back as soon as we can.”

Dedalus shook his head.

“Kill me, Hermione. You have to. I’ll compromise others. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t.”

She had no idea what to do. The seconds ticked by. For better or for worse, she and Oliver needed to make their exit. She glanced at Eloise, crying in the corner, and then at Ollivander, who stared at the floor silently but offered no help.

“We can come get you tomorrow.”

Hermione knew they wouldn’t be able to. There was no way they could get back into Malfoy Manor without detection. They had no more Polyjuice of invitees, and she didn’t know when they’d notice the prisoners were gone, and raise security. It would be impossible to come back tonight, and they knew nothing of the state of things tomorrow.

Dedalus realized that too, and shook his head. “Just kill me.”

Harry wouldn’t do it. Ron wouldn’t. What would Tonks do?

“Hermione,” Oliver nudged her. “We have to leave.”

She made to head out the door.

“Hermione. Hermione, love,” Dedalus called to her from the floor. “Look at me.”

She turned back with tears in her eyes. “No,” she choked a sob. His body was so mangled. Broken, bloody, emaciated, beyond repair.

“You can do it.”

He’d spoken those words to her before during combat training, pushing her past her limits and hardening her as a soldier. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she wiped them away.

“I can’t,” she pleaded with him, vision now blurry with tears. She couldn’t think. She felt like a vise was tightening around her chest as the seconds ticked by.

“You can,” his voice was soft. “I know you can. Others will die at the Ministry. You have to.” He beckoned her weakly with his fingers. “Come on, love.”

She exhaled harshly between her teeth. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. She couldn’t.

“End it,” he croaked. “I can’t anymore. They’ll die.”

Oliver breathed heavily next to her, Eloise sobbed in the corner, and Ollivander stared at the ground. None of them offered any help. None of them knew what to do.

“Please,” he whispered. “Hermione. Please.”

Hermione’s heart thudded in her chest. They had no time. Whatever would happen, she had to act now. His pained eyes pleaded with her.

With a trembling arm, she raised her wand and he closed his lids with a sad smile, nodding in encouragement. She squeezed her eyes shut and gasped for breath.

Ohgod.

Opening her eyes, she hoped it was the right thing.

Diffindo.

The cut was clean and precise, jerking his head and shoulders once with the force of the slice. Dedalus was already on the ground and died instantly. Blood spurt upwards, splashing down on his face, neck and torn shirt, and continued to pool slowly underneath him. Eloise cried louder, ramming her fists into her forehead over and over, and Oliver apologized for abandoning her, agony straining his voice.

The two of them turned to the sound of Eloise whining, “No, no, no, no…”

Her pleas became louder. “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me here!”

Oliver met her eyes, guilt and terror paralyzing them both.

“They’ll hear,” he said.

“Hermione!” Eloise cried out, her voice echoing in the cell. “Oliver! Please don’t lea–”

Her screaming was abruptly cut off after Hermione silenced the cell and they ascended the stairs to the drawing room. Hermione couldn’t meet Oliver’s eyes as they made their slow, lumbering escape.

She heaved a shuddering sigh at the memory and stared blankly at the table while Harry and Ron screamed at Tonks and Remus.

Not wanting to get involved in the ensuing argument between them, she retreated into her thoughts and her grief. Tonks and Remus could talk some sense into them. She was exhausted, having done enough for tonight. She struggled to Occlude, and found that she didn’t need to, she just felt numb.

Eloise’s cries still echoed in her ears.

Luna, Oliver and Hannah were currently in the infirmary at Dorchester safe house. Eloise and Ollivander languished in prison. Dedalus was dead. Hermione hadn’t told anyone what she had done. She didn’t know how. She could still see his closed eyes and accepting smile as he lay on the floor, waiting for death. She would never forget how he looked then.

Hermione had killed before – last year defending herself on the back of a thestral with Kingsley. Fighting for her life, she hexed two Death Eaters off their brooms, and hadn’t really felt the consequences of her actions. She never could have imagined that the first time she would see someone die from her hand, that it would be on her own side. Gazing down at her hands, her wand lay loosely in her palm, rolling back and forth.

Her decisions. Her sins. Would she ever be clean? For better or for worse, she couldn’t take it back.

Is this how Draco felt?

Her thoughts flitted back to him at the gala, elegant and aristocratic when he carried the champagne to Alecto. She couldn’t find it in her to even care about the news of his engagement. It was all a sham. He hid his pain well. There was no hint of his revulsion towards Alecto, and Hermione’s heart ached at the thought of what he put himself through.

With increasing dread, she wondered what else he had sacrificed for her tonight.

 

 

 

Notes:

TW: Hermione kills someone, she slices his throat and it’s explicitly described

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 59: Chapter 59

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco lay prone on the floor, digging his fingernails into the stones. He arched his back and strained his neck as the pain forced his body, taught and shaking, into a spread eagle. There was nothing he could do, no position to make it more bearable, no place to hide. His screams echoed throughout the ballroom that had, only just the night before, been filled with the laughing banter of twinkling guests.

His father was being held responsible for the escaped prisoners. He could tell by the order in which they were all tortured. First, Draco and his father were made to watch his mother suffer until she had passed out from the pain, her shrieks suddenly silenced. Next Greyback, who had been guarding the prisoners, was tortured while he and his father watched in dread, knowing they were next.

Now his father watched Draco, and lastly, he would have his turn. Draco wished he could have taken the punishment for his mother. He offered and then prostrated himself before the Dark Lord, tears streaming down his face. He would have done anything to save her from the pain contorting his body right now. All his supplication earned him was an evil smile and a comment about weakness in the lap of luxury.

His father had also begged, trying to claim responsibility, saying it was his fault and his fault alone. He pleaded for Draco and Narcissa to be spared. He explained it was his idea to only station Greyback in the dungeons, and should have had more guards present.

The Dark Lord only smiled, and his red eyes gleamed down at them.

The curse stopped and the Dark Lord spoke while his muscles spasmed after the sudden release. Draco heard the words, but his brain was foggy with pain. He couldn’t understand what was being said. He squeezed his eyes shut, limbs quivering violently. Curling over onto his side, he slowly hugged his knees to his chest, trembling and shaking, grinding his teeth. He couldn’t remember ever being tortured this long before.

Blood pooled in his mouth; Draco must have bit his tongue at some point. He spat the blood out onto the floor so he wouldn’t choke. Maybe the Dark Lord was finished with him?

He just wanted it to end, he couldn’t take it anymore. His body hurt everywhere.

The Dark Lord raised his wand. Draco whimpered and braced himself.

It wouldn’t help.

Crucio!

 

~

 

I want you.

I need you inside me.

Let me suck you off.

Please.

Hermione lay in her bed at the safe house in Westchester, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling. Draco hadn’t responded to any of her Galleon messages over the past few days and she was sick with worry. She had no idea what Alecto had done to him and didn’t know if he and his family had been punished for the escape. When he hadn’t answered her, she assumed the worst. Seesawing from furious rage and betrayal that he had lied, allowing her think the prisoners were dead, to overwhelming anxiety at the realization that he was paying for the breakout.

And Draco had aided them anyway, knowing he and his parents would be punished.

Harry and Ron had been distant and withdrawn the past few days. They had grudgingly concluded that there was nothing they could have done to save the others, and they hated themselves for it. Harry even more so, having forgotten his Portkey. They were both sullen during combat training. Harry excused himself in the afternoon and came back an hour later with red, glassy eyes. Ron vomited once. None of them were ready to discuss it. And she had no desire to face their hollow expressions. She would burst. They had no idea what had happened after she rushed them out, and they’d only feel worse.

She heaved a shuddering sigh, her thoughts flitting from Eloise’s desperate cries, suddenly silenced by her wand, to the blood spurting upwards from Dedalus’ neck and his silent, accepting smile.

Welcoming death.

Hermione felt sick to her stomach. She was absolutely disgusted with herself, and was sure Harry and Ron would hate her as well.

And what of Draco? She was using him, and was now directly responsible for whatever punishment he faced. It wasn’t right. Nothing felt right anymore. She didn’t feel capable of making decisions. She couldn’t be trusted with responsibility like that. She should have thought of another way. When it came down to it, she failed under pressure.

And she wasn’t a good person.

Suddenly the Galleon warmed in her pocket.

Tonight. Be gentle.

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, unable to stem the flow of her tears.

He was alive.

Draco was alive, but he was hurt. And he was hurt because of her.

Hermione Apparated to the guest room in her parents’ house and waited for him, nervously pacing back and forth across the room. She entered her bedroom and chose a book. After trying and failing to read it she tossed it aside. Hermione returned to the guest room when Draco suddenly appeared, bent over and clutching his side.

She was on him at once, cupping his face with her hands, peppering him with kisses.

“Bed,” he grunted.

Hermione flung the covers back and helped him lie down. The mattress creaked and he winced, turning into the pillow.

“What can I get you?”

“Nothing.” Draco sounded muffled.

She climbed in next to him. “Is there something I can do? Muscle relaxant?”

His face pinched in thought. “Yeah, haven’t had one today.”

Immediately she crawled over him as carefully as she could, lifted the back of his shirt and pressed her wand into his lower back muscles. She bit her lip and watched the gold glow diffuse into his skin and spread throughout his body. His limbs relaxed somewhat, and he released a moaning whimper.

Hermione teared at the sound of his pain and then went under the covers facing him. His eyes were closed, and she stroked his face. A light beard grew along his cheeks and jaw. She ran her hands through his hair, massaging his scalp the way he liked and then leaned forward to lightly kiss his forehead. She felt helpless, not knowing what else she could do for him. Gently, she ran her hand over his arm and shoulder.

Draco needed time to recover. Because of her.

His breathing steadied and she thought he had fallen asleep when he spoke. “My father knows.”

Hermione’s hand stilled. “He knows you’re spying?”

He huffed a laugh and then grimaced. “Fuck no. He knows I’m shagging someone. We won’t be able to meet as often. Definitely not at night. The only reason I’m here now is because he’s in worse shape than I am.”

Hermione gazed at him, wondering if his mother was tortured as well, but she was afraid to ask. His eyes were closed but he continued to speak. “And I’m now engaged to Astoria Greengrass.”

“Oh,” she said softly, remembering that Alecto Carrow had congratulated him. “So that was the woman you were walking around with?”

She ran a finger over his cheek and jaw, feeling the unfamiliar beard. It was soft instead of prickly, much longer than he normally had at night when he saw her.

A small smile graced his features, despite his pain.

“Jealous?”

Hermione bit her lip. She shouldn’t be, but she couldn’t help it.

“She’s very beautiful. You looked like you belonged together. In that world.”

“It doesn’t matter. I hate that world.” Hermione trailed her eyes over his face. Every so often, Draco would wince and emit a whimper. She wished she could do more for him. “You said so yourself. I’m a tool to consolidate wealth among the pure-blood elite. None of it matters.”

Even before they had fallen in love, marriage had been a sore topic with him. She reached down and clasped his hand in hers.

“You’re not a tool, Draco.”

He opened his eyes and stared at her, exhausted and aching. His eyes were blood shot. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

Hermione’s throat was tight and she fought the urge to sob in front of him. “Sometimes things get worse before they get better, remember?”

He closed his eyes again. “I don’t think I can handle things getting any worse.”

She squeezed his hand. “We’re doing this together. You and me. Your future will be what you make it.”

His lips lifted in a small smile. “If Hermione Granger says so, then it must be true.”

Except Kingsley wouldn’t ever perform the Unbreakable Vow. He was stringing Draco along.

Hermione couldn’t lie to him anymore. It was wrong. She loved him. He had just risked torture to himself and his parents to ensure she could leave with the prisoners. With everything he was doing for the Order and all he was subjecting himself to, he didn’t deserve to be lied to.

She needed to come clean.

But she couldn’t tell him now. Not when he was so broken.

Hermione watched him breathe in silence for a few moments, eyes still closed. Even with his scruffy beard, he looked younger and more innocent when he was half asleep.

“You and your father were…” She cleared her throat. “Tortured because of the breakout?”

Draco nodded wordlessly.

“And…” She had to know. This was a result of a decision that she made. They were her consequences to face. “And your mother?”

“Yes,” he replied, and his face contorted with pain at the memory.

She tried to picture Narcissa Malfoy, hostess extraordinaire, screaming on the floor next to Draco, and shuddered. Hermione should apologize for what she had done. But would she make the same choice again knowing the consequences? The Order members would have been tortured and eventually killed, or potentially compromised like Dedalus, causing even more damage.

“I know you’re not sorry,” he said, releasing a pained grunt. “You don’t have to be.”

“I didn’t think through the consequences you’d have to pay. And Harry and Ron would never have left without them.” Her heart was breaking. How could he be so understanding of her now? While he was recovering from torture? “I was so angry with you at the party, that you let me think they were all dead.”

Draco sighed, and shifted his arm with a wince. “I know.”

Hermione lay next to him in silence and rubbed his knuckles. He looked like he was in agony, grimacing every time he moved. A lock of blond hair fell across his forehead and she gently brushed it back.

“Would you have let the Order know if it were your parents that could be tortured?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to make that decision. But he did.

“I don’t know,” she replied. But that wasn’t fair to him. Draco was asking her to put herself in his place, to understand him. Being forced to make impossible decisions all the time, he didn’t have the luxury of saying he didn’t know what to do. He had to choose, and face the consequences. “No, I don’t think I would. I would choose my parents over the prisoners.”

He exhaled, taking no pleasure from her answer. “This is my world now, Hermione. Serving the Dark Lord, spying for the Order.”

Draco simply wanted her to understand the tight rope he walked, that’s all. He had lied by omission. But then, even knowing he and his family would be tortured, he didn’t try to stop them. He ensured they all got out safely by providing a distraction with his parents’ speech, and then by enticing Alecto.

“I love you, Draco.”

“I know.”

There were no good decisions. Hermione thought of Dedalus, and squeezed her eyes shut at the memory. They were all forced to weigh one set of bad consequences against another set of bad consequences and choose. In theory, she knew that in terms of the war, the lives of the prisoners outweighed the torture her parents would suffer. But that’s not how people considered the importance of their loved ones, and she couldn’t expect Draco to be any different. The well-being of her parents was more important than the lives of some of the Order members that may not even affect the outcome of the war.

“Did Alecto do anything to you?”

He furrowed his brows, agitated. “Copped a feel, like always. She couldn’t get me alone that night, though not for lack of trying.”

Thank Merlin for small mercies.

“I choose my parents over the Order,” he said with a croak. “I’ll do that every time. That’s why I didn’t tell you about the prisoners.”

“I know,” she replied softly.

“You’d all die if you got caught. We wouldn’t, that’s why I helped. But…” he sighed. “You choose the Order over me.”

Her heart ached and tears filled her eyes. “I have to.”

“I know,” he groaned. “I’d come, Hermione. I would. But I can’t leave my parents…”

Hermione watched Draco drift off, the pained features on his face gradually softened as sleep overtook him.

Eloise’s desperate pleas not to abandon her rang in Hermione’s ears. She pictured Dedalus again, lying down on the ground, waiting for her death blow with a sad smile.

Hermione closed her eyes as tears leaked out, and wished this war would end.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: Everyone consoling each other and then some Golden Trio Antics. You guys need a break from the angst, right?

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 60: Chapter 60

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Alright, everyone’s here now.” Remus sipped his tea as Kingsley entered through the door to the Tonks’ kitchen. “What did you want to discuss, Hermione?”

“Two things,” she answered, proud that she could keep the tremors of defeat and self-doubt out of her voice.

Hermione didn’t want to discuss anything, actually. She was mentally exhausted after everything that happened at Malfoy Manor and was having difficulty processing her actions in the dungeons: leaving Eloise and Ollivander behind and killing Dedalus. She desperately needed to talk to someone, and was at a loss as to who. But there were more urgent things to deal with, so she compartmentalized her sorrow and guilt. She didn’t even need to concentrate to Occlude anymore, it had become as natural as breathing.

“This is the first.” She slid several rolled parchments over to Tonks. “Manor and estate plans for Yaxley, Mulciber, Rookwood and Avery. The spy thinks one of them may know what happened at Brockton Bridge and Wembley Stadium if they weren’t Obliviated already.”

At least Hermione didn’t have to do anything with the plans. Tonks was in charge of planning and executing raids, and she reached across the table and grabbed the parchments without preamble. “That’s quite a lot.”

Remus gazed affectionately at his wife’s greedy smile. “They should keep you busy enough while Teddy naps.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Our spy has been more… motivated.” And he was paying for that motivation. Hermione hoped she could see Draco again soon; he had been in so much pain last night.

Tonks quirked an eyebrow at her, perhaps expecting another diatribe at how Draco deserved the Unbreakable Vow, but said nothing. Hermione’s research indicated that Kingsley was not telling the truth. Not just stringing her along, but actively lying. Hermione wasn’t going to battle with him again without understanding why, or without knowing how she could force his hand.

“Still no Lestrange?” Remus asked.

Hermione shook her head. “The spy won’t give the Lestranges up.” Tonks nodded. She understood the relationship Draco had with Bellatrix was complicated.

Kingsley peered over Tonks’ shoulder as she studied the plans. “I’ll get the Ministry files on their wards copied for you right away. It’s imperative we understand the purpose of the attacks.”

Minerva turned to Hermione after flattening her parchment for note taking. “What is the second item?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “I don’t know why I didn’t notice this until now. Probably with all the excitement after getting the prisoners out of Malfoy Manor but…” Everyone eyed her expectantly. “John Dawlish wasn’t there.”

Remus lifted his chin and blinked. “What do you mean?”

She tucked a curl behind her ear. “He wasn’t in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor. Dedalus was,” she swallowed and forced the memory of his accepting smile to the back of her head, “but John wasn’t.”

The senior members looked around the table at each other, confused.

“Was John killed?” Tonks asked, taking Remus’ hand.

Hermione shook her head. She hadn’t told anyone about her role in Dedalus Diggle’s death. Oliver didn’t speak about it either. “Hannah said she didn’t even know he’d been captured. He was never in the dungeons with them. Never present when they were all tortured, wasn’t even there when they were first captured.”

They all sat back in their chairs, pondering the new information.

“Did John know something Dedalus didn’t?” Hermione asked. “Would there be a reason to separate him from everyone else?”

Tonks held her chin in thought.

“Perhaps he’s the one that betrayed us?” McGonagall asked. “That enabled the Paddington safe house raid?”

Remus glanced at her. “It’s certainly possible. Plenty of opportunity to cast an Imperius while training Order members. If he identified the Secret Keeper, he could have compelled them to divulge the Paddington safe house location to capture Harry.”

Kingsley shifted in his seat. “Something doesn’t make sense.”

Hermione turned to him, curious.

“If you have a spy,” he continued, stroking his jaw. “And no one has identified him, then why pull him out? Why not keep him here among us? He’s more valuable hidden here among us with the other Aurors. If he’s not here, and he’s not there, where is he?”

“You-Know-Who must have known we discovered the Veritaserum implant. I interrogated everyone after the raid,” Tonks reminded him. “If he was a spy, they’d lose him if he stayed.”

“Could he be connected with Wembley somehow?” Remus asked.

No one had an answer, and the eerie silence gave Hermione a sense of foreboding. Earlier in the war, the Order had always been one step ahead. Now, she had a feeling that Voldemort’s Army was slowly putting pieces into place while they scrambled to catch up.

“Well, we’re not going to figure this out tonight,” Tonks said, eager to get to work on the plans Draco had supplied. She let go of Remus’s hand in order to sort through the rolled parchments. “I’m going to start interrogating the prisoners tomorrow to see what they know about John. Let’s meet after I’ve finished; we’ll all be a lot smarter by then.”

“Alright,” Remus helped Tonks collect all the parchments. “I think we’re done for the night.” He turned to her. “Well done, Hermione.”

Hermione tried but couldn’t manage to smile from his praise. She felt like absolute shit.

Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone stood to leave. Everyone except Hermione.

“Tonks?” Hermione called out.

She turned around, eyebrows furrowed in concern at Hermione’s tone. “Yeah?”

“Can I speak with you alone?” Her voice sounded small and meek. Very unlike herself. Kingsley glanced at her curiously, Minerva with worry, but they exited the kitchen.

“Of course.”

Tonks took in the expression on Hermione’s face and walked around the table to sit next to her. Remus raised his eyebrows in question and Tonks shook her head. They waited for him to leave and then Tonks returned her eyes to Hermione.

Bright green today. Like Harry’s.

Hermione started to speak but couldn’t. Her voice caught in her throat.

Tonks set the parchments down on the table and cradled Hermione’s hands in her own. “What’s wrong Hermione?”

She felt tears well from within, and couldn’t stop them from spilling out. “I… Dedalus.” She couldn’t form anymore words and gasped a sob.

Tonks wrapped her arms around her, bringing her in for a hug and pressing her fingers into her shoulders. “There wasn’t anything you could do. You did the best you could and brought back three. It was three or nothing. You all would have been caught.”

“No!” Hermione sobbed into Tonks shoulder. She smelled like Teddy. “I… I… He asked me to… He was…” She couldn’t speak. Her throat kept closing and her chest burned.

Tonks rubbed her back and she leaned into her comforting warmth. “What did he ask?”

“He was tortured so badly. He looked awful. His limbs were…” Hermione hiccupped a sob. “I wouldn’t have even known where to begin to heal him if I had time. And we couldn’t get him out.”

“I know, Hermione,” Tonks tried to soothe her. “I know you couldn’t bring him.”

“No, he… he said he couldn’t take it anymore. He said he knew too much and people at the Ministry would die. He asked me–” She heaved and her body trembled as more tears spilled out. “He asked…” She couldn’t say it.

Tonks gently clutched her shoulders and held her upright in front of her, green eyes searching Hermione’s face.

“He wanted me to kill him!” She bent over, tears and snot were streaming down her face and she wiped it away with her sleeve. “Tonks, he asked me to kill him!” she cried out. “I don’t – I don’t – I don’t know! He pleaded with me! He begged! I didn’t know what to do! I can’t…” she hiccupped again, unable to speak anymore as Tonks cradled her into her chest.

Hermione couldn’t look at her, afraid of what she would see. Her body shook violently as she cried and her head dropped into her hands. She spoke, her voice muffled by her sleeves. “He said others would die, that he’d break. He wanted me to kill him.”

“And you did.”

“Yes! I killed him!” she wailed. Hermione gritted her teeth together, trying to breathe but only succeeding in wheezing. “I knew we wouldn’t be able to go back to get him out. Especially after they’d see the dungeons were broken into. He knew that too. He… He…” she heaved in another breath. “He smiled.”

Tonks drew her in for another hug and pressed Hermione’s head against her breast, shushing her much like she did Teddy when he was crying. It felt good to confide in Tonks again, like she used to, and she let her body sag against her mentor. Hermione lay limp, and Tonks rocked her back and forth.

Tonks wasn’t judging her. She understood, and held her while waiting for Hermione’s violent crying to subside. After a few minutes her sobbing stopped, save for an involuntary loud, shuddering breath. Tonks continued to rock them back and forth, humming an unknown melody.

“What would you have done?” she croaked.

“I don’t know,” Tonks replied softly. After a pause she continued, “I might have done the same.”

“Would you have?” she asked desperately, tears streaming down her face. She needed to hear that she did the right thing.

“I’m not sure,” was Tonks’ whispered reply. “Maybe.”

“But,” Hermione protested, wiping her eyes and her cheeks. “Was it the right thing to do?” Her voice trembled, she was terrified of the answer she’d receive.

Tonks sighed, her green eyes gazing at Hermione’s face in sympathy. “I don’t know, Hermione. It’s hard to answer that question sometimes.”

 

~

 

“Sweet Circe.” Draco let out a long contented groan. “Your hands almost make suffering through the Dark Lord’s Cruciatus worth it.”

Hermione straddled his back and massaged his shoulders, his neck, his sides, wherever he wanted and for as long as he wanted. He was doing so much better than last night. She dug her fingers deep into his muscles and pushed her palms into his flesh. His eyes were closed and a sleepy smile graced his features. She enjoyed hearing his contented moans while her hands worked across his body.

“Would you like to flip over?” she asked.

He opened an eye and gazed back at her with a lazy grin. “Are you going to take advantage of me in my weakened state?”

“Absolutely.”

Slowly, he rolled over onto his back with a wince. The skin of his torso slipped against her bare thighs. She rubbed circles into his pectoral muscles and moved to the nape of his neck and then his shoulder, squeezing his biceps and the girth of his right upper arm, all the way down his forearm. She smiled and bit her lip, shyly looking down into his hooded grey eyes.

Hermione knew Draco loved her and she felt his passion deeply. Just now, he had even endangered himself for her. Without any hesitation, he dropped himself right into his predator’s clutches and willingly subjected himself and his parents to torture so that she could get out alive.

And she was still lying to him.

He was clinging to that pardon. But hadn’t asked about it, believing that he had destroyed the trust built over the past few months by concealing the fact that Order prisoners were at Malfoy Manor. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that Kingsley was not just stringing him along, but actively lying to both of them. Draco was still recovering, and right now he needed to believe things would be better after the war.

Maybe next time they were together when he wasn’t in so much pain she would tell him. Hopefully she’d have more answers, and a way to force Kingsley’s hand.

“Why did you stop?” His lips turned downward in disappointment.

Hermione hadn’t realized she did. Smiling, she worked her way back up his arm and down his left where the Dark Mark was. She pressed the balls of her hands into his chest muscles again and made her way down his stomach to the waistline of his trousers. Every so often he released a whimper of pleasure. He hadn’t been hard before but she could feel him stiffening under the fabric of his pajamas.

She crawled backwards, and licked his member lightly as she peeled the waistline down. He huffed a groan and his cock twitched upwards.

“Tease.”

Hermione grinned and removed his trousers to continue massaging up and down the hard muscles of his legs. Draco crossed his arms behind his head, quietly watching her while she dug her fingers into his pale skin. Hermione felt quite overwhelmed by his intense gaze.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair to him. He trusted her.

Her throat constricted from her overwhelming sense of guilt, and she stared back at him. He was still observing her in silence, hands behind his head. She lowered her eyes to her hands. She was so ashamed of the situation she found herself in and wasn’t sure how to fix it. He didn’t deserve this from her.

“I don’t deserve you.”

His eyebrows rose in amused surprise. “Isn’t that my line?”

She couldn’t do much more than smile sadly. Her eyes became hot with the beginnings of tears.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out with his hand and motioning with his fingers. “Come here.”

She crawled on top of him and he tenderly tucked a curl behind her ear.

“You’re doing what you need to win, Hermione. I understand that.”

Draco thought she only felt guilty because he had been tortured. And she did. It was awful knowing how much he suffered for her actions. But he didn’t know just how much he was being used by her. Her chest shuddered and a tear spilled out. The corner of his mouth lifted and he wiped the tear away, spreading the wetness on her cheek.

“Feel free to service me sexually to assuage your guilt. I guarantee it’ll make me feel better.”

Hermione laughed softly, wiping her tears away and took the lead, relishing in the pleasure she gave him. Draco lay languidly on his back while she kissed him, licked him, rubbed him, sucked him. She reveled in the way his bright eyes watched her, and the sounds she elicited from him. Their lovemaking was slow and sensuous and exploratory. She took her time with her mouth and with her hands, and grazed his chest and abdomen with her breasts and lips. Hermione kissed patterns over his pelvic area, cupped him gently and licked swirls around his length. She watched as Draco sucked in a breath, bit his bottom lip in anticipation and pushed his chin up, body trembling as he strained for more contact. He made soft, agonized declarations of need and she slid against him, becoming slick with sweat while writhing with him inside her.

She wanted to cover him, shield him, pleasure him and comfort him. Draco came inside her with a desperate gasp, clinging to her hips. Now he held her, laying atop his body, and Hermione pressed tiny kisses to his jaw while she rose up and down with the cadence of his breathing. His cock slid out, seed dribbling between their legs. He traced patterns up and down the line of her neck, down her spine, around the curve of her bum, and back up again. Fighting the urge to cry, she rolled off to lay beside him, arm draped across his chest.

Her head rested next to his on the pillow, and she watched him breathe. His cheeks were flushed in the afterglow of her devotion to his body and his lips spread in a warm smile. For the first time since the summer party, he looked content and sated.

She didn't have the heart to tell him now.

 

~

 

“Who’s turn is it?”

Hermione, Ron and Harry stood on the ledge of Voldemort’s cave, overlooking the sea. They stared down at the diadem laying innocently on the rocky outcropping. Wind whipped though her hair.

“Ron.” Harry motioned to the Horcrux and shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “You have a go.”

Ron looked unsure of himself. “I’m not certain I can cast the Fiendfyre, remember what happened last time? We barely left with our bits intact. Better you or Hermione do it.”

Because Fiendfyre was so dangerous, they thought it safer to wait until they had the cup and diadem together to destroy them both at the same time. Fun as it had been smashing the kitten themed dishes, and the room full of hell spawn kittens, things had gotten out of hand at Umbridge’s house. They barely made it out alive and were wary of using Fiendfyre again. However, since Yasmine Zabini revealed the cup was likely with Snape or Bellatrix, they decided it would be best to destroy the diadem and get it over with. They had no idea how to get the cup at this point, or how long it would take them.

A problem for another day.

Despite the success of bringing back Luna, Oliver and Hannah, all three were mentally and physically exhausted from the events at Malfoy Manor. Being forced to leave others behind had changed them forever. All three shared a haunted look in their eyes that had not been there prior.

Everything the trio did together, for better or for worse, brought them closer. Including the horrors of war. They had been through so much, but they were bearing it together. Destroying a Horcrux felt like old times, similar to the antics they got up to back at Hogwarts. It brought them strength, and got their friendship back on track.

If there was any time to destroy a Horcrux, it was now.

“Harry destroyed the diary, Dumbledore destroyed the ring, I cast the first Fiendfyre so technically I did the locket. You can do this one,” she nudged Ron with her hip. “We believe in you.”

Ron gazed down at her warmly, heartened by her praise. Hermione missed having him look at her like that so much and her heart swelled. He had been so angry and distant. First from her rejection and then from her refusal to tell them who brought the diadem.

All that was in the past now, their friendship weathered the storm.

Ron eyed Hermione. “You sure you don’t want to vomit on it first?”

Harry laughed, also relieved the Trio was back to normal again. Mostly.

She sighed in faux exasperation. “What is it with you two about me vomiting on Horcruxes?”

Harry chuckled again. “You’re the one who said Umbridge’s kitten collection made you want to throw up.”

She snorted. “Right. Such a paragon of composure, Boy-Who-Lived-to-Gouge-His-Eyeballs-Out-After-Bleaching-Them.”

“Your vomit is special,” Ron retorted. “Muggle-born chunks with Horcrux destroying powers. Safer than Fiendfyre to be sure!”

Ron started cackling and she directed a raised eyebrow at him. “Don’t think we don’t know you’re stalling, Ronald.”

Ron abruptly stopped laughing and steadied himself with a deep breath. He raised his wand and she and Harry walked behind him, flanking his sides, when a shimmery doe Patronus appeared out of nowhere. Having been taken by surprise, the Trio immediately shifted their stance, wands upright and ready to attack. But the doe stood, silently blinking at them.

After a few seconds of calm, Harry lowered his wand. But Hermione and Ron remained wary, eyeing their surroundings and ready to attack.

The doe hadn’t moved, and appeared to be waiting for something.

“Have either of you seen that Patronus before?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “But it feels… familiar. Does it feel familiar to you?”

“No,” Ron said. “Not at all.”

Hermione shook her head to the negative.

The Patronus turned and walked a few steps away. They stood unmoving, and the doe looked back at them, waiting.

“I think it wants us to follow,” Harry said.

“Is that wise?” she asked.

“Where could it possibly lead us to?” Harry replied. “If anyone knew we were here I doubt being fifty paces north would make much of a difference.”

Hermione shrugged and lowered her wand. He made a valid point. She picked up the diadem and the three followed the doe off of the rocky cliff and into the adjoining grassy field. The doe stopped, turned to them, and lowered its head down to the ground, nuzzling the grass. It raised its head, looked back, and then disappeared.

The three exchanged glances, not understanding what just happened. Harry stepped forward towards the spot where the doe had led them.

“Do you see anything?” Ron asked.

“No,” Harry replied, kicking the ground with his toe. “There’s nothing – wait a minute.”

Hermione and Ron quickly approached to see him rubbing some dirt off of a shiny metallic object with his shoe. Harry crouched down and dug into the dirt with his hands, revealing more metal and a ruby.

“Stop,” Hermione warned him apprehensively. “We don’t know what that is.”

He continued digging in the ground, green eyes determined. “I trust the Patronus.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he squinted up at her. “It feels like… home?”

Hermione eyed him curiously. Harry didn’t mean home with the Dursleys.

“Okay but back up, don’t dig it out with your hands,” Ron admonished.

Harry stood up and stepped backwards. Ron pointed his wand at the metal. It trembled, lifted, wobbled some more, and then all three of them gasped as the Sword of Gryffindor emerged from the ground, dirt and grass falling off of the handle in thick clumps.

“Is that…” Ron’s voice trailed off.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, voice soft with amazement.

Harry tentatively reached out to clasp the handle and Ron halted the levitating spell.

“Maybe we can destroy the Horcrux with the sword?” Ron suggested, hopeful that he wouldn’t have to cast the Fiendfyre.

“Would it still have the Basilisk venom on it?” Harry asked, clearly doubting its usefulness.

“Yes!” Hermione nodded excitedly. “It’s Goblin wrought steel. Goblin wrought steel preserves the magical properties of the items it comes into contact with.”

Ron coughed and said something that sounded suspiciously like ‘swot’ under his breath. She glared at him and he grinned right back at her. The playful teasing warmed her heart. She missed him.

“Who knew we were destroying Horcruxes?” Harry turned to them, eyes wide.

Hermione wracked her brain. “Remus found out, but I Obliviated him, remember? And that’s not his Patronus.”

“Hmm…” Ron sat in thought.

She thought some more. “My Occlumency mentor knows. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Is that their Patronus?” Harry asked skeptically.

Hermione chewed on her lip, thinking. “I have no idea if they can even cast one, let alone what it would look like. And why would it be familiar to you? You’re the one that felt we could trust it. What does that mean?”

Harry shrugged. “Would your teacher know how to destroy Horcruxes? About the venom from when I stabbed the basilisk? About the properties of Goblin steel?”

She stared at him pensively. “In theory, they know everything I know.” It sounded unlikely though.

“That’s an awful lot to put together during the time you have your lessons,” Ron mused.

“I agree,” she nodded. “They’re good, but that’s highly improbable. And they search for the memories I try to repress. Not random ones.”

“How would they get the sword from Snape’s office?” Harry asked.

Hermione remembered Blaise’s mother sauntering around the ballroom.

“I don’t think she’d have a problem with that at all.”

Ron and Harry glanced at her curiously.

“She?”

Oops.

She cleared her throat. “Yes. She.”

They both looked disgusted, imagining their greasy Potions professor being seduced into relinquishing the Sword of Gryffindor. Draco would have a field day with the dick jokes inspired from that bit of knowledge.

Although it was possible and all the pieces could potentially fit together, the explanation of her Occlumency teacher getting the sword from Snape was far-fetched. The way Harry reacted to the Patronus made no sense whatsoever, and Hermione doubted her teacher would pull all those random bits of knowledge together from her head like that.

Ron was anxious to get his hands on the sword. “We can discuss it later, let’s kill that thing already.”

Harry handed him the sword and Hermione placed the diadem on the ground, backing away a few steps. Ron gripped the sword with both hands, lowered the tip to the stone in the center, arms straining as he took aim, and then raised the sword to strike.

As soon as he did, smoke spewed out of the stone, wind whipped around them and they held onto each other, unsure what was happening. Frantically, they searched the ground for the diadem, but couldn’t see until the smoke slowly parted, revealing two phantom visions in front of them.

Harry and Hermione, naked and holding each other in an embrace. Their jaws dropped and Ron fell backwards onto the ground, dropping the sword into the grass next to him.

As the presence of dark magic surrounded them, it became harder to breathe and Hermione inhaled deep gasps while the images looked cruelly down at Ron. The phantom Harry started to taunt him, saying he was the least loved of all the Weasley children and that his mother would have preferred to have Harry as a son instead.

Struggling to breathe under Voldemort’s presence, Hermione met Harry’s eyes, horrified, and they crouched down on the ground next to Ron. She knew Ron had insecurities, and Voldemort’s soul was taunting him with the worst of them. She felt terrible, but wasn’t sure what to do for her friend. Harry sprang into action right away. No matter what, Harry could always be relied upon, and she drew strength from his presence.

“Ron, it’s bollocks! He’s lashing out. He’s trying to make you doubt yourself.”

“But it’s true!” Ron protested as the phantom Hermione told him that she never wanted him, that he wasn’t good enough for her.

The three watched in transfixed revulsion as the Horcrux images mauled and groped each other in an obscene manner, grunting and groaning while sneering provocatively down at Ron.

“Ron,” Harry squatted next to him on the ground. “None of this is true.”

“But you don’t want me!” Ron turned to Hermione, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “You don’t think I’m good enough for you!”

“I don’t want Harry either,” she countered, taking his hand. “Not like that. You’re both my best friends. You’ve got Susan, now. And if you think she deserves to be your wife, I’ll be the best man at your wedding.” She paused and met Harry’s amused glance. “Harry can be the maid of honor.”

Hermione saw a bit of a grin crack through Ron’s agonized expression, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the phantom versions of Harry and Hermione rubbing against each other.

Harry’s voice lowered an octave. “Don’t you understand, Ron? You’ve got the weapon. He’s scared of you. Go show him why.”

Ron gritted his teeth and stood with a grunt. He grabbed the sword and with one hand swung it in a wide arc over his head and down, slicing through the smoke and smashing the diadem with a loud crack.

The smoke dissipated at once, as did the choking presence of dark magic and the three stared in wonder at the place where the phantom images of Harry and Hermione once stood.

Ron tugged on the sword, loosening it from where the strength of his blow had lodged it in the dirt, lifted it up and turned it over in his hand. The inscription of Godric Gryffindor’s name on the blade flashed back at him.

“Ron,” Harry clapped him on the back in pride. “You’re a fucking Gryffindor.”

Ron’s grin was wide. Ear to ear. He flipped the sword again in his hand, testing the weight and enjoying the feel of it. Hermione leaned in to hug him, pressing his body into hers.

“Well done, Ron.”

He gave her a mischievous grin. “Thanks, Mione.”

She shot him a dark look. “When have you ever called me that?

“Mia,” he continued with a snigger.

Excuse me?”

“Mi.”

Harry started chuckling now.

“As in… do, re–”

“Herms.”

“Ronald. What is wrong with–”

“Hermy.”

“Won-won,” she shot back.

Ron’s smile fell. “Fine. You win.”

She smirked in victory.

He tried a few practice swings with the sword, grinning again.

“It suits you,” Harry commented, crossing his arms.

Harry watched with a tired expression as Ron attacked an imaginary foe with a series of thrusts, slices and parries before he turned back to them with a silly smile.

“I could get used to this,” he said, twirling the sword in his hands again. “Fuck you, Voldemort.”

The three gaped at each other in horror as cracks of Apparition sounded around them. Of all the people to say Voldemort’s name, Ron was the least likely. Even before the taboo he hated it when Harry would throw the name around, emulating Dumbledore. Ron must have felt emboldened by his victory and accidentally let it slip.

The next few seconds passed in slow motion. All three attempted to Apparate away immediately. Hermione’s body slammed into an invisible wall and she staggered, falling to the ground with Harry and Ron. Dazed from the impact, she realized that Anti-Apparition wards must have already been cast. Her terror mounted as she realized how fucked they were. Six. There had been six cracks of Apparition; they were outnumbered two to one.

Harry couldn't get all three of them out of there with his Portkey, it was too small. And he would never leave one of them behind. Ever.

They’d be captured for sure.

She had to do something to disguise Harry and they had to get rid of the Horcrux.

As they scrambled to their feet, Ron dropped the sword in her bag, covered the three of them with a Shielding charm, and started firing hexes over her head with angry, desperate yells. Return fire was immediate and mercilessly pummeling his Shield charm. It wouldn’t last long.

Hermione saw Harry’s determined face illuminated with the red flashes of Ron’s curses. His jaw strained and green eyes squinted in concentration as he propelled the destroyed Horcrux out and over the cliff, into the sea. He must have been thinking they’d be captured as well and, like her, wanted to cover their tracks with the Horcrux.

Hermione heard one of the Snatchers scream as Ron's curse pummeled him, just as she hit Harry’s face with a Stinging Hex. He yelped and turned to her in surprise as his face began to bubble and morph beyond recognition, pushing his glasses off and distorting his telltale scar.

She turned to hex Ron, who was admirably trying to fight and shield the three of them at the same time when she got hit in the shoulder. She shrieked as pain slowly spread through her arm and neck. Twisting around and fighting through the ache, she tried to hex Ron’s face again but couldn’t move her arm. He looked down at her in terror when something hard suddenly rammed into her side and everything went black.

The next thing Hermione knew, she, Harry and Ron were being dragged through the long hallway of Malfoy Manor.

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: The drawing room scene

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Chapter 61: Chapter 61

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco leaned on the fireplace mantle in the drawing room and closed his eyes, considerably weakened. His body still had muscle and joint pain from the sustained Cruciatus Curses he suffered after the prisoner escape. It would take a couple more days before he healed completely. His mother and father were sitting on the couch together, listening halfheartedly to his aunt lecture them about how there must be a traitor amongst the ranks.

He knew the Dark Lord suspected a spy. Having his drink spiked had scared the shit out of him, and he didn’t know if he, Pansy, Vince and Greg were removed from suspicion or not. Draco was terrified he’d be found out eventually. It didn’t seem that Aunt Bella suspected him, and she wasn’t testing how he reacted to her claims. In fact, she seemed completely oblivious to him, his parents and their pain as she ranted.

His father appeared haggard and Draco felt like he had just been torn apart and put back together. Even his mother, who never had a hair out of place, seemed as if she hadn’t slept well last night. He nearly smiled at the thought. Only extended torture by the Dark Lord himself could get Narcissa Malfoy to look like she hadn’t had a solid eight hours’ rest.

He wondered when Aunt Bella would get bored and just go home. His parents gave the occasional noncommittal reply or encouraging remark. The Dark Lord wasn’t here. Draco had no idea where he went during the days he was absent from the Manor and he didn’t care. So long as he was gone.

Draco knew he should be more terrified of his aunt’s spy accusations, but his body hurt too much. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

Suddenly, he heard shouting and struggling footsteps echoing down the corridor. He groaned inwardly. Nothing good could come of that unless it would get Aunt Bella out of the Manor.

One could hope.

His aunt turned around, waiting to see who would enter.

“What is this?” his father sneered, annoyed that none of them could get back to recovering in their beds any time soon.

To his horror, he saw Hermione, the Weasel and a bloated faced Potter being walked to their drawing room by Greyback, Scabior, Pansy and two other snatchers.

His blood froze in his veins.

How the bloody fuck did they get caught?

“We’ve caught Harry Potter!” Greyback snarled, stomping in, apparently unaffected by the Dark Lord’s torture. Being a werewolf must enable him to recover more quickly from the Cruciatus Curse.

Despite their pain, his parents eagerly rose up from the sofa to inspect the Trio, each with hands bound behind them. Hermione was visibly terrified, and injured from a recent battle, wincing from the manhandling. Draco could tell she was doing everything in her power not to look in his direction.

He had to help. But how?

Pothead appeared to have been hit with a Stinging Jinx, and his father inspected the tosser’s head for the telltale lightning scar. They weren’t sure it was really Boy Wonder. If they weren’t sure, then they wouldn’t summon the Dark Lord. At least, not right away.

He wondered if Hermione jinxed Potter on purpose to disguise him. She probably did, and he took a moment to appreciate her cleverness and quick thinking. Not discovering Potter’s identify was Hermione’s only chance at surviving. They had to keep the Dark Lord away.

And then what?

Draco’s mind raced furiously as he considered the situation. Even if his parents and Pansy fought with him, and there was no way in hell they would, they still had four Snatchers against them, with the Malfoys considerably weakened. Aunt Bella was a force to be reckoned with all on her own. She could probably take on all three Malfoys by herself now that they were recovering from torture.

Fighting was out of the question. The Trio were bound and had their wands confiscated anyway.

His aunt was yelling at Greyback not to call the Dark Lord unless he was certain it was Potter. Draco eyed the interaction waiting for an opportunity when his father walked over.

“Draco.” His eye twitched, probably residual tremors from the Cruciatus. “If we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv –”

“Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?” Greyback called over to them menacingly.

His father responded to the werewolf, and then discussed details of Harry’s face, coming to the conclusion that it was a Stinging Jinx. Draco was momentarily relieved that the focus wasn’t on him anymore but his father turned back to him.

“Well, Draco?”

Adrenaline pumped through his veins. If Draco said yes, the Dark Lord would come and kill Hermione and her wankers. If he said no, they’d be thrown in the dungeons and tortured, maybe killed anyway depending on his aunt’s mood. He had to stall for time.

"I can’t — I can’t be sure,” Draco stammered, thinking through his options.

None. There were no options. He was failing her.

Pansy’s eyes snapped to his from across the room, wide with terror. She knew who they were, and didn’t understand why Draco didn’t identify them right away.

The Dark Lord was searching for spies, and she knew it.

Maybe she even suspected the spy was Draco now.

His father inspected Pothead’s scar and waved him over. “Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?”

Draco exhaled and slowly walked over, hoping his terror wasn’t written on his face. Hermione stared at the ground, probably not trusting herself to look at him. His fingers tightened around his wand. He wanted to take her and Apparate away more than anything, but at what cost?

Either Hermione dies or his parents die. He couldn’t make a choice like that.

Greyback shoved Scarface directly in front of him. Draco met his eyes. Bright green, filled with defiant determination. He didn’t understand how the Chosen Git wasn’t frightened out of his wits. Draco was fucking terrified.

Stall for time, stall for time.

He made a show of inspecting Potter’s distorted face, glaring right back at him.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Boy Wonder’s eyes widened in surprise and his father’s face fell. Draco walked back toward the fireplace where his mother stood watching, hoping he wouldn’t have to elaborate. He couldn’t think of anything else to buy them more time. They weren’t considered important now. Maybe they’d be tossed in the dungeons and he could set them free later.

His aunt watched the whole exchange impatiently, tapping her foot while his parents discussed the necessity of being certain before calling the Dark Lord. Draco eyed them nervously.

His father’s face lit up. “The Parkinson girl!”

Everyone rounded on Pansy, who was doing her best to appear bored with the whole scene. Heart pounding furiously in his chest, he tried to silently communicate with her not to contradict his answer. He knew they had more loyalty to each other than the Dark Lord. Pansy not attacking him after he hexed Marcus Flint at Wembley Stadium was proof of that, but this was different. It was potential suicide.

If they were caught in a lie, they’d be tortured and killed.

And Pansy had no idea what Draco was playing at.

After being asked about Potter’s identity she repeated Draco’s answer with a shrug. Despite his nearly overwhelming gratitude towards his friend, he tried to remain indifferent while figuring out what to do next. Everyone was yelling and anxiety slowly tightened around his chest.

Heart pounding furiously, Draco frantically searched the room for ideas. What to do, what to do, what the FUCK could he even do?

“What about the Mudblood, then?” growled Greyback.

The werewolf reached out and tugged Hermione close to his body. Draco ground his teeth, eyeing the werewolf’s hands around her arm.

“Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?”

Fuck. His mother must have remembered her from Madam Malkins’. He helplessly watched Greyback turn to her in interest while abject terror spread through him.

His mother’s blue eyes implored him, glassy and exhausted. Hands still twitching from torture, she clutched his upper arm. She was desperate to be in the Dark Lord’s good graces again, as was his father.

He gazed into Hermione’s eyes. They were wide with terror, knowing she’d been identified.

"I... maybe...” he answered, trying to keep up the pretense of not knowing. Hermione turned her head to the side and his mother eyed him suspiciously, wondering why he wasn’t confirming what she knew.

Claiming ignorance wasn’t good enough. They already knew she was Muggle-born. That could be a death sentence in and of itself regardless of whether or not the Dark Lord came. Or she’d be given to Greyback.

She’d definitely be given to Greyback.

Draco repressed a shudder at the thought of what the werewolf would do. He’d use her and kill her. Draco needed to take control of the situation. If Hermione was the Mudblood, that was better than being a Mudblood. At least for now. Until he could think of something else.

“Yeah,” he added, more firmly.

Stall for time.

Hermione turned to him, shocked and betrayed. He felt sick to his stomach, not knowing how to tell her this was the only thing he could think of to buy her more time. Potter and the Weasel glared murderously at him.

Aunt Bella turned to Pansy, who glanced questioningly at Draco. He subtly gave her one curt nod and she confirmed it was the Mudblood they were looking for. Pansy must be confused by his about-face and he was grateful to his childhood friend for standing by him.

Hermione was momentarily saved from rape and death.

Now what?

Draco’s palms started to sweat and he inconspicuously rubbed them on his trousers.

“But then, that’s the Weasley boy!” shouted his father, striding towards them. “It’s them, Potter’s friends – Draco, look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name –?”

Shit.

Draco turned around and leaned against the fireplace. He couldn’t think with Hermione staring at him like that. She didn’t understand what he was trying to do. He didn’t know what he was trying to do either. He raked his hand through his hair.

Think. Think. Think.

“Draco!” his father repeated, more urgently.

Digging his fingers into his palms, he pondered his answer. His father knew the Weasel anyway. He’d create more problems by denying it.

“Yeah,” he said, his back to the Trio. “It could be.”

Cold dread seeped through his bones. He didn’t like where this was headed. That was as good as confirming that the third was Potter. What the hell could he do? He turned his body slightly so he could still see what was going on while averting his gaze from Hermione’s face.

His eyes met Pansy’s. Her posture was disaffected, but he knew she was confused as she glared back at him.

Time. He needed more time.

Everyone started talking at once. Arguing over whether or not it was really Potter, arguing over whether or not they should contact the Dark Lord, arguing over who would contact the Dark Lord. Greyback demanded gold for his efforts. While his aunt taunted him, Scabior extracted a sword from Hermione’s beaded bag.

The metal flashed with the light from the chandelier, drawing everyone’s gaze and his Aunt suddenly went ballistic, screaming about the sword.

The Snatchers started fighting over who should get the sword as reward and his aunt stunned Scabior, taking the sword for herself. Draco tightened his grip on his wand, wondering if a fight would break out. What he could even do if one did.

Bellatrix rounded on the other Snatchers, daring them to defy her. He eyed them, now fearful of his aunt, and looked for an opportunity. Pansy gracefully took two steps to the side in his direction, removing herself from the conflict.

“Where did you find this sword?” she whispered loudly to Hermione, brandishing it in her face. “Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!”

Hermione’s eyes snapped back to his for the briefest of seconds.

Snape was a spy. He must be. And he knew about those objects she was looking for.

“We just found it!” Hermione stammered.

Draco had to admire her courage in standing up to his aunt. Few could.

He had never seen Bellatrix terrified, but she was now, and started muttering to herself, pacing back and forth. Draco tried to hear what she was saying. She was worried the Dark Lord would find out about something. Likely those objects. With a perverse sense of satisfaction, he realized that his aunt, always above reproach, must be in trouble. He had never seen her more unhinged and she began shrieking orders at everyone. She was frightening, mad; a thin stream of fire issued from her wand and burned a hole in the carpet.

His mother tensed next to him, but said nothing.

“Bring the Mudblood here!”

Greyback gave a grunt of pleasure and smelled Hermione’s hair with an evil smile. She winced in revulsion and Draco cracked his knuckles as cold fury spread through him.

The idiot duo screamed at his aunt to take them instead.

“Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he pushed Hermione towards Bellatrix. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, ginger?”

Draco dug his fingers into his palms again to stop himself from shaking. He couldn’t allow… he’d seen what that creature did to women. Pansy was watching him and he turned his face to the side.

Fucking Pansy.

Potter and the Weasel struggled violently against the Snatchers holding them but bound by ropes, their struggles were ineffectual.

Bellatrix hit the Weasel across the face; the blow echoed around the room.

“If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,” she threatened. “Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book.”

The blood pounded in Draco’s head as he watched the scene unfurl in front of him with growing horror. His aunt withdrew a knife from her robes and cut Hermione free, dragging her by the hair to the center of the room while she cried in pain, trying to tear his aunt’s hands off of her.

 

 

Draco knew exactly what would happen in the next few seconds if he didn’t do something. His aunt drew her wand and pinned Hermione to the ground with a charm, arms and legs spread.

His stomach lurched. It was going to happen. What could he do?

“I’m going to ask you again!” his aunt hissed, wand pointed down towards Hermione’s chest. “Where did you get this sword? Where?

His heart thudded loudly in his chest.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

“We found it!” Hermione pleaded, voice trembling. “We found it – PLEASE!”

This was his worst nightmare. He clenched and unclenched his fists uselessly, unsure of what to do. He had to stop where this was going.

Right. Now.

Draco strode over to his aunt.

“Take them to the dungeons, Draco,” Aunt Bella motioned to Potter and the Weasel, screaming Hermione’s name at the top of their lungs. “We’ll deal with them later.”

With a cold, cruel smile he replied, “I want to do it.”

Hermione gaped up at him in horror. Bile rose in his throat, but he kept the sinister grin on his face as he gazed down at her. His aunt slowly turned to him with a surprised and evil smile of her own. “Ickle Draco, are you finally growing up?”

He raised an eyebrow and sneered down at Hermione. “She was always a bitch in school.”

“But…” Hermione started to cry. She couldn’t understand what he was doing, and his insides twisted violently at the thought of what he was going to do to her.

Bellatrix directed the Snatchers to throw Potter and the Weasel into the dungeons. The idiot duo shouted death threats at him while Greyback and another Snatcher dragged them down to the dungeon with the other prisoners.

Pansy watched him, impassive but obviously confused by this further shift in behavior.

Draco stood over Hermione and pointed his wand at her, gazing into her hazel eyes, glassy with tears of betrayal.

No!” she whimpered, tears now streaming down the sides of her face. “Draco! Please, don’t!”

His heart ached for her, but he couldn’t hesitate.

“Scream for me, love,” he said softly with a wink. Pleading that she understood. Praying that his aunt wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

His aunt cackled at his taunting and curled her fingers around his upper arm, staring down at Hermione with a twisted grin. He paused so it would look like he was summoning his hatred.

“Draco,” Hermione tried pleading again. “You don’t have to–”

Crucio!

He felt the brief icy presence of dark magic that accompanied the curse, but it was muted. Hermione’s body jerked when the red flash of light hit her body. She released a choked gasp of surprise which quickly morphed into a shriek of agony, but no one noticed her delayed reaction. Draco exhaled through his teeth as he held the curse and masked his relief, knowing that she understood now.

He halted the curse after several seconds.

Hermione gasped for air, whimpering and pleading for him to stop. Bellatrix cackled and dug her fingers into his bicep.

“You are a lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it!” Bellatrix hissed next to his ear with a smile. “You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!

Crucio!”

Hermione shrieked again with an arch of her back, this time exactly when the curse hit. Her pain seemed so real that Draco nearly faltered.

“HERMIONE!” The Weasel’s scream echoed from the dungeons.

Draco didn’t know what to do next. His mind raced while she screamed. How long could he keep this going? Would they give up and throw her in the dungeons? That was probably the best course of action.

Draco released the curse and Hermione lay limp and trembling, crying for him to stop.

“What else did you take? What else have you got?” his aunt continued, breathing heavily next to him.

What else?

Draco’s eyes snapped to Hermione’s. Despite the pain he was inflicting on her, she didn’t miss that bit of information either. Draco had been right all along. The cup must be in her vault. It was the only explanation for Bellatrix’s terror.

“Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!”

She released Draco’s arm and approached Hermione with the blade.

No.

Before his aunt could cut her, Draco cast the Cruciatus again and again, trying to mimic the time held and pauses which he used during interrogations. Hermione sobbed and arched her back as she screamed.

“How did you get into my vault?” his aunt screamed, pointing her knife at her. “Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?”

He released the curse. Would his aunt leave? Would she need time to plan? Time to think? Maybe this was the way to get her out of the Manor. If his aunt were gone, Hermione’s chances of survival would be infinitely better.

“What goblin? I don’t know who that is!” Hermione sobbed. “We’ve never been inside your vault… It isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!”

“A copy?” screeched Bellatrix. “Oh, a likely story!”

Draco made to curse Hermione again but stopped at the sound of his father’s voice.

“But we can find out easily!” his father suggested. “Greyback, go fetch the goblin.”

Greyback grumbled and went down to the dungeons. He had all their wands. Draco suddenly had the insane hope that Pothead and Weasel would be able to overpower him. But they were bound with ropes. It would be impossible.

Draco scanned the room, reassessing the situation. His mother was standing behind the couch, digging her fingers into the cushion, clearly unnerved from Hermione’s screaming. Pansy had slowly made her way over to Draco, standing several paces behind him, and the snatchers were eyeing each other uneasily.

His father was anxiously awaiting Greyback’s return and his aunt sneered down at Hermione, fingering her blade while they waited. Draco’s heart raced in his chest.

He had to get Bellatrix out of the Manor. But how?

“If I find out you’re lying to me, little Mudblood,” she flicked her curls over her shoulder with a flourish of her hand, “I’ll cut out your entrails and make you eat them.”

Draco averted his eyes, unable to look at the sheer terror on her face.

But suddenly with a crack, Potter and the Weasel appeared with Dobby, the goblin, Eloise Midgen and Ollivander. Everyone turned to them in shock, ready to attack, but Dobby hexed the chandelier. He and his aunt dove to the side and Draco, hoping he was unnoticed, propelled Hermione out of its way before it crashed to the floor with a cacophony of shattered glass.

The next few seconds were filled with the blur of flashing lights and a series of crashes, explosions and yelling. He didn’t know how Pothead and the Weasel managed to retrieve their wands from Greyback but they used the element of surprise to gain the advantage, quickly incapacitating the Snatchers while Pansy stayed by Draco’s side. Hexes flew back and forth and they dove for cover behind the couch with his parents. Bright lights shooting over his head, Draco joined his parents and Pansy fighting from behind the couch while their furniture got blasted to bits and the windows shattered. He halfheartedly aimed a few curses in the Trio’s direction when they all Disapparated away with a crack.

Heart thundering furiously, he inhaled a deep, shuddering breath.

Safe.

She was safe.

He turned to his mother, who was wide eyed in shock. His father looked terrified. Pillow feathers wafted about in the air and silently descended to the floor. The quiet following the raging battle of only a few seconds ago made his ears ring, and his shoulders sagged in relief.

Panting and heart racing, Draco surveyed the destroyed drawing room. Pieces of glass were everywhere; wooden furniture was blasted apart, and his aunt stood in the middle of it all, silent with rage.

He couldn’t believe it. The Trio were caught. Outnumbered. Brought to the Dark Lord’s den where Aunt Bella was ready to torture and kill them all. And then, not only did they get out unscathed, but the bloody Gryffindors rescued the remaining prisoners.

And now they knew where the Hufflepuff Cup was.

Un-fucking-believable.

Draco shook his head at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

The silence didn’t last much longer because Aunt Bella started screaming again. He allowed himself a painful sigh of relief and fell back to sit on the floor next to his crouching parents, wincing at the aches in his body.

Pansy eyed him as if she’d never seen him before, but said nothing. His aunt yelled at no one in particular, slowly drawing Pansy’s dazed stare away from him.

From what he could gather from his aunt’s ranting, the Dark Lord would not be hearing about this.

Aunt Bella certainly liked to dish it out, but she couldn’t take it.

 

~

 

Mary eyed Hermione shrewdly, completing her diagnostic. “You were never Crucio’d. Why did they tell me you were Crucio’d for over ten minutes? You have no symptoms.”

Hermione watched Cho and Terry, busy healing Eloise and Ollivander, and then turned to face Mary’s suspicious glare. “I was. But the caster wasn’t very good.”

After she had seen Draco at the summer party, cloaked in his identity as pure-blood aristocrat, a completely different person from who she had learned to love over the past year, she had wondered what he was like as a Death Eater. Now she had seen, and understood how he was able to spy for the Order so convincingly.

He was, in a word, terrifying.

Bellatrix had her restrained on the floor, unable to move. And despite still recovering from the Cruciatus Curse, Draco gazed down on her with pure, unadulterated evil in his steely grey eyes… and tortured her. Hermione wouldn’t ever forget the sinister smile he shared with his aunt before they turned to stare down at her, relishing in what would happen next.

Hermione hadn’t understood what he was trying to do at the time. First he denied knowing who Harry was, obviously a lie, then he confirmed her identity. Even more surprising was Pansy playing along with him.

Hermione’s fear had been real as she gaped in horror at the end of Draco’s wand. In that moment, she thought she had lost him. She wondered if his use of Unforgivable Curses had pushed him pass some sort of threshold into darkness. There was no hint of the love they shared in his cold, cruel eyes. Everything that they had experienced together was gone.

She lost him.

He was a Death Eater. Truly one of them.

Draco’s voice was soft and menacing as his lips curled upwards. Bellatrix clutched his upper arm in anticipation. He winked, taunting her, and then the curse hit.

It felt like a full body muscle cramp. Her limbs hurt like hell and she screamed from the pain. But she knew at once that it wasn’t a true Cruciatus Curse without ever having experienced it before. Thanks to his quick thinking, Draco had temporarily saved her from Bellatrix.

And so, Hermione screamed for him, just like he told her to.

“A Death Eater couldn’t cast an effective Cruciatus Curse on Undesirable Number Two?” Mary’s voice was scornful, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. The Healer put her hand on her hip and leaned to the side.

“No,” Hermione answered, and refused to elaborate further.

“Your spy?” The older woman sighed impatiently when Hermione didn’t answer. “How much pain do you have now?”

Hermione sat up on the bed and winced. Her entire body hurt, but she had no doubt she’d be in terrible condition if it wasn’t for Draco performing the curse. She didn’t feel any worse than after a particular grueling session of combat training.

“It’s manageable, it just feels like I pulled several muscles.”

Mary walked over to the cabinet and returned with two vials filled with light blue potion.

“Quarter vial twice a day for the next three days. If you don’t need it on the third day bring the potion back, we’re on a tight budget.”

Hermione knew.

“You should be fine for combat training after taking the potion.”

“Thanks, Mary.”

The older witch regarded her with considerably less animosity than she usually did. “It’s because of you they’re all back?”

Honestly, what was it she thought Hermione did all day? “And Harry and Ron. And the spy.” Hermione stared at her pointedly, unable to keep from rubbing it in. Mary knew anyway. “Whose implant you removed.”

Mary ignored her comment about the implant. “And the Portkey evacuation plan,” she pressed. “That was also you.”

“Someone else got the funding for it and Remus was responsible for the evacuation plan itself.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mary clarified. “For months you’ve been holed up in that lab making and repurposing Portkeys during your free time.” Mary stared at her curiously. “What else do you do?”

Hermione groaned and rubbed her aching lower back. “Not enough.”

With one last, thoughtful glance, Mary returned to help Terry and Cho with Eloise. The eagles flying in the paintings of Ravenclaw Tower were giving her a headache so she stared down at the vial of pain potion.

Not enough, indeed.

Now she had a bank heist to plan.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Some dialogue and passages were taken directly from the Deathly Hallows.

Next chapter: The prisoners are back! The Order has a party! Yaaaaaaay! Do you guys trust me that this will be a fluff chapter?

Also, I added another tag since I think some of you are having doubts. Hang in there!

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Chapter 62: Chapter 62

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Everyone was in such a good mood; a party was inevitable. Every Order member had been rescued from Malfoy Manor with the exception of Dedalus Diggle. Luna joined the Order and quickly became the life of the party, and was already a ridiculously adept duelist. Xenophilius joined the party as well, and was currently trying to explain to Harry the importance of the Deathstick, or Elderwand. Hermione watched as Harry’s eyes gradually glazed over. Even Mary and her husband Reginald came to celebrate with them. She had healed the prisoners after all, and wanted to celebrate their return to health and normalcy.

Although no one else was privy to their mission, the Trio were slowly but surely knocking out Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Harry and Ron weren’t even daunted by the prospect of breaking into Bellatrix’s vault. They had her wand, they had her hair, they had Griphook to help them, anything was possible.

“You look pretty, Hermione,” Lavender said, eyeing her up and down. “A nice change from your jeans and T-shirts.”

Hermione had borrowed a simple black cocktail dress from Lavender for the occasion. She was tired of her clothing; practical for combat training, but not very festive. She hoped the fancier outfit would improve her mood.

It hadn’t.

Hermione couldn’t share in everyone’s joy. The grim realities of war hit her full force. Eloise, Oliver and Hannah may be back, but she caught the vacant expressions on their faces when they thought no one was looking. Haunted by memories they didn’t wish to share.

Especially Eloise.

Hermione remembered Dedalus again. His eyes closed and his smile sad as he begged her to kill him. If she hadn’t killed him, he might be recovering in the Infirmary right now. And she thought of Draco, who was made to pay for decisions she made.

Draco.

She had to tell him the truth. Even if she didn’t know how to help him right now, he deserved at least that. She couldn’t lie to him anymore. She shouldn’t.

The next time them met, she’d tell him.

“Justin’s been avoiding me.”

“What?” Hermione asked, pulled from her thoughts.

“The past two months or so, he hasn’t been interested,” Lavender explained, watching Justin brood in a corner.

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. “Aren’t you with Dean?” 

“No,” Lavender rolled her eyes. “I’m with Oliver now that he’s back.”

“But,” Hermione glanced from Justin standing alone with his arms crossed, to Oliver, smiling shyly in their direction. He met Hermione’s eyes and his face fell. Oliver didn’t judge her, but by unspoken agreement, neither had mentioned what happened in the Malfoy Manor dungeons. Eloise hadn’t either, but she refused to speak to Hermione about anything, anyway. Hermione turned to Lavender, forcing a grin to her face, and Dedalus’ accepting smile to the back of her memories.

“So why would you care about Justin?”

“Well I’d go between the two,” she waved her hand flippantly. “We weren’t exclusive. They didn’t mind before.”

“But not with Dean?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

Lavender shook her head. “Three is too many.”

“Of course,” Hermione nodded sagely. “Two men tops.”

“And there’s the conflict of interest, with the bomb making.”

“Obviously,” Hermione agreed with a small smile. “You’ve got to separate your personal and professional life.” She watched Justin in the corner. He was sipping a butter beer by himself, occasionally looking at the clock on the wall. “Maybe Justin wanted a more monogamous relationship?” she suggested.

“Who knows?” Lavender shrugged and sauntered over to Oliver, the haunted look in his eyes disappeared as she approached. “His loss,” she called back to Hermione.

She watched the two of them lock lips and forced her gaze over to Harry, who had escaped Xenophilius and was laughing with Ginny. Hermione wanted to be happy for them, but she couldn’t. Harry’s time was running out with each Horcrux they destroyed.

The Hufflepuff Cup. Then Nagini. Then Harry.

Ron had his arm around Susan Bones and they were gazing warmly at each other, deep in conversation. His happiness made her smile and she was heartened he found someone. He didn’t look awkward around Susan like he had been with Hermione. Their romantic affection was natural. She was proud of him for destroying the Horcrux, even if his moment of bravado got them caught.

Harry and Ron’s moods had lightened considerably after everyone but Dedalus was brought back. They had oscillated between sullen and morose since the party at the Manor, but the destruction of the Horcrux and the retrieval of the remaining prisoners returned the light to their eyes… somewhat. But they’d never be the same again. They’d never been in the position of having to choose one person over another before, and both had been irreparably damaged. Especially Harry, who had forgotten his Portkey that night.

“You seem distracted.”

Hermione jumped and spun around to see Fred leaning against the wall next to her. She hadn’t even noticed him approach and took a sip of her Butterbeer, considering her answer.

“They’re not the same,” she replied, unable to remove Dedalus’ face from her mind. She shouldn’t have done it. He would be here. Alive.

Fred followed her gaze towards Oliver and Lavender, towards Hannah and Neville, and then towards Eloise. “I don’t suppose any of us will be the same after this is over.”

Hermione observed Eloise’s hollow expression. “But it’s different. For them. They’ve been tortured and who knows what else. I wonder if we shouldn’t just send them all into hiding with their families. We don’t know what they’ve been through.”

Fred glanced at Oliver, shifted his gaze to Hannah, and then Eloise. “Luna seems okay; I don’t think they did much to her since she wasn’t an Order member when she was captured.” Fred’s brown eyes bored into her. “Do you really think that’s what they want?”

Hermione shrugged pensively. “Hannah has Neville, Oliver has Lavender, but Eloise doesn’t have anyone. And we left her at the first breakout because we could only take three.”

Fred turned to look at Eloise, sitting by herself and holding a Butterbeer that she wasn’t drinking. Hermione couldn’t imagine the feeling of abandonment. It wasn’t like with Ollivander, who told her to leave him there. Eloise had watched them all leave without her, desperately pleading for them to come back. After giving Hermione a determined look Fred pushed himself off the wall and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alright, then.

Hermione had never understood the twins. She’d do a better job predicting Quidditch fantasy league with Arithmancy equations.

After being left by herself, she walked over to Hannah and Neville and they both smiled as she approached.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you, Harry and Ron for saving us,” Hannah said, laying her hand on Hermione’s forearm.

Hermione shook her head. “It could have been any one of us in that dungeon. We have a responsibility towards one another. We just didn’t know how to get you all out at the same time.”

Hannah took her hand, eyes imploring her to understand. “You did what you could, that’s what matters.”

Hermione stared at Eloise, sitting by herself, a hollow expression on her face. “Not to her.”

Hannah shifted her gaze to Eloise.

“You can’t blame yourself, Hermione,” Neville said. “And she’s here now.”

“You should have seen what they did to Dedalus.” Hannah’s face hardened uncharacteristically. “He protected us, said we didn’t know anything – which we didn’t. Not anything useful anyway. And he never broke, kept most of their focus on him. It would have been so much worse for us if he weren’t there. I can’t wait until I’m put on a raid again.” Her tone became menacing. “I want to make them pay.”

Hermione twisted her hands in the fabric of her dress and tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach when she thought about Dedalus’ smile.

Neville rubbed her upper arm. “Don’t talk like that, Hannah.”

“I hate them, Neville. I can’t help it. Not after…” she sucked in a shuddering breath. “I hate them.” Hannah clenched her jaw, took a sip of her Butterbeer and stared at nothing in particular. “You know who tortured us most of the time?” Hannah asked, still staring with a distant expression. “Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione flicked her eyes to Hannah’s. She shouldn’t be surprised. Draco had confessed to torturing her friends. Once again, she was forced to confront the fact that Draco was a Death Eater. Despite the fact that he had changed, he was still working with people that expected him to kill, to torture and to maim.

Aside from that, the use of Unforgivable Curses was harming him. She needed to speak with Tonks about how to help him deal with the affects.

“Malfoy?” Neville’s eyes widened. “But Harry said he couldn’t go through with killing Dumbledore. He was just a petty bully.”

“Not anymore. Those Slytherins.” She almost hissed the word, angry at the memory. “They’re all evil and going the way of their parents. This war is changing them for the worse. Pansy Parkinson is a Snatcher. Did you know that?”

She hadn’t ever talked with Draco about what his friends were doing in the war. He had been absolutely adamant that she not contact them about spying, saying it was too dangerous. Back then, she didn’t want to chance breaking his trust.

But twice now, she had seen Pansy follow Draco’s lead despite him acting contrary to what Voldemort would have wanted. It must be that many of Voldemort’s followers weren’t necessarily loyal, they were scared.

Hermione wondered how many.

“Some of the Muggle-born prisoners we were with mentioned who they were captured by,” Hannah continued with venom in her voice. “She’s no stranger to torture either. I’ve seen it. They’re all rotten.”

Hermione sipped her Butterbeer in silence, pondering the Death Eaters, remembering how terrified she felt on the other end of Draco’s wand.

Suddenly, Fred and George burst out of the kitchen, singing Happy Birthday at the top of their lungs, off-key and completely mismatched in timing. George held a cake, replete with candles sending off tiny explosions.

Everyone stopped their conversations and watched the twins as they approached Eloise, each going down on bended knee, bowing their heads and holding out the cake as if offering tribute to a queen. Eloise gaped at them from her armchair.

“But, it’s not my birthday!” she protested.

“Not your birthday?” Fred lifted his head and looked at George in mock horror. “Who’s in charge of collecting intelligence around here anyway?”

“Sack them immediately,” George replied. He turned to Eloise, who had a huge smile on her face now. “Apologies Eloise. This is so embarrassing. I’ll just go toss the cake, clearly it was a misuse of valuable Order resources.” He raised an eyebrow in Hermione’s direction. “Hermione would never approve. No fun of any kind when she’s making Portkeys.”

Hermione smiled, and the warmth of affection for the twins spread in her belly.

Eloise grabbed his sleeve as he turned to go. “We shouldn’t waste a perfectly good cake. And I’d like to blow out those candles.”

“Oh, right.” Fred said, scratching the back of his neck. “About that… I wouldn’t blow out the candles. We haven’t finished testing them yet.”

George craned his neck, searching the room and smiled widely when his eyes landed on Ron. “Oh Ronnikins!” he called out in a high pitched voice, waving him over. “Be a good chap. Come blow out Eloise’s candles for her.”

Ron took a swig from his Butterbeer and called back. “Those days of me being your pygmy puff are over.”

Fred looked at George, wistful. “I miss those days.”

“Dearly,” George solemnly agreed.

“Eh…Ginny?” Fred looked around the room and saw her snogging Harry while giving him the two fingered salute. “I’ll take that as a ‘No.’”

“Rude!” George called back to her.

“So how do we eat the cake then?” Eloise asked, still smiling.

George levitated the candles out of the cake one by one while Fred stood up. “We should probably do this outside.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed eyeing him. “One of us could lose an ear.”

“Or their only ear,” George retorted, levitating more candles out and shaking his head in mock consternation and muttering. “So inconsiderate to the one-eared.”

“Fancy joining us, Eloise? We’re probably going to blow random things up trying to get rid of these.”

Eloise gazed at the two of them and the candles floating in mid-air, still giving off tiny explosions, and then stood up from her armchair determinedly. “I would love to blow random things up.”

Immediately Lavender appeared, Oliver cautiously trailing behind her. “Did you say you were blowing random things up?”

George slowly turned to her with a smirk. “Do you have a hidden penchant for destruction, Brown?”

Lavender blushed, forgetting that no one knew she was being secretly trained to build bombs with Dean. The Order didn’t want Voldemort’s Army to get wind that they were utilizing Muggle bombs, lest they prepare for that eventuality. “I’d like to join. If you don’t mind.”

“The more the merrier,” Fred replied jovially.

Hermione watched the five of them exit the safe house, feeling a burst of love for the twins. Angelina and Alicia were huddled over their Butterbeers in the corner, whispering to each other and staring after the twins fondly. Alicia wiped a tear off her cheek.

She wished Seamus and Gwendoline could have been with them today. And Dedalus.

Her Galleon warmed in her dress pocket causing her heart to nearly leap out of her ribcage.

Draco was finally contacting her!

Eagerly, she dug the Galleon out and read the glowing message.

I need you now.

Hermione surveyed the room. Everyone was happy, joking and celebrating. They didn’t need her, but Draco did. She told Neville she was leaving, ignored his knowing look and headed to her room.

She glanced down at her dress and, feeling a burst of inspiration, sprinted up the stairs to her room, removed her knickers and left them on her bed.

 

~

 

As soon as Hermione appeared in her bedroom she was gently whirled around. She barely had a chance to see him before Draco started carefully moving her arms, tilting her head, apparently checking for something.

“What are you doing?” she asked, as he brushed her hair out of the way.

Cradling her face, he studied her expression, tenderly inspecting her. “How much did I hurt you?”

Draco’s brows furrowed in worry. The tips of his fingers gingerly pressed against her neck, cheeks and jaw. He must be nearly recovered himself by now, if not completely.

“I’m fine, actually.”

He tilted her head back so he could look down into her eyes. “You’re sure?” His gaze roamed over her face, looking for any hint that she hurt, and his thumbs lightly stroked her cheekbones.

“Yes. I only had to take a mild potion, but I don’t even need that anymore.”

He remained unconvinced, searching for any sign that she was covering up pain.

Hermione smiled at his affection. “Draco, really. I’m alright. I’ve even been to combat training every day since we got back.” She smirked. “Your Cruciatus is lacking.”

He raised his eyebrows in challenge. “Oh yeah?”

“Definitely sub-par wandwork.”

At her retort, he pressed two fingers into her sternum and pushed her lightly away from his body.

“I’ll teach you not to question my wandwork,” he murmured, taking in her dress with an appreciative smile. His hungry eyes raked up and down her body. “What are you wearing?”

His voice was a low growl and then his mouth descended onto hers before she had a chance to respond. Draco’s strong, muscular arms wrapped around her, one hand grabbing her arse, the other cradling the back of her skull. He walked her backwards, prying her lips open with gentle nips and an increasingly demanding tongue. She thought he was walking her back towards her bed but he aimed her towards the desk. As they approached he was practically ravaging her mouth while his fingers descended lower, splaying over her thigh and creeping under the hem of her dress.

“It’s not what I’m wearing,” Hermione explained with a ragged intake of breath. He lowered his head to attack her neck and throat. Her body thrummed from his touches and she ran her hand through his hair. His hand slid up her thigh, pausing at the exact moment he realized what she had done. “It’s what I’m not wearing.”

Draco released a long, low moan of appreciation as his hand slid around the curve of her bare arse and dug in.

Naughty,” he breathed into her ear.

Hermione reached down to feel him but he lifted her up by her bum, bunching up the fabric around her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him. His hands cupped her rear and she ground onto his length. He smiled against her lips.

“Love you.” He exhaled into her mouth and pressed himself into her soft body, molding her against him.

“Need you.” Draco’s voice was a low desperate gasp and he thrust against her.

“Want you.” His tongue plundered her mouth, and it was all she could do to breathe as he devoured her moans and placed her on her desk. One hand made its way between her legs and the other snaked up her back to find the zipper.

Hermione couldn’t keep up with him. His fingers had already found her wet slit and he inserted two inside her. She threw her head back to the sound of the zipper sliding down her back while he sucked on her throat; frantic, desperate and rough. Draco tugged the opening of her dress and bra strap down her shoulder, exposing her breast. He released her throat and she strained forward, fucking herself on his fingers while he lowered his head to lathe her breast. She clung to his shoulders as she thrust against his hand with a grunt, reaching forward while he licked her nipple, finally sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh…” she gasped as the inward motion of her nipple shot heat down to her core, and her walls clenched around his fingers.

Hermione pleaded, hardly aware of what she was she was saying while his thumb worked her clit, bringing her up and over her climax. She came hard and fast, moaning towards the ceiling, fingers digging into Draco’s shoulders with her nipple in his mouth. He released her breast and she reached down for his belt buckle, wanting nothing more than to be filled by him. He raised his head, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen and grey eyes bright and ravenous for her.

Hermione couldn’t open his trousers fast enough and Draco started to help her when he suddenly stumbled backwards with a cry, clutching his forearm. His eyes were wide with alarm.

“I have to go,” he panted.

She nodded wordlessly, placing her hands on her bare thighs, her head a whirlwind of sensation.

He Disapparated and Hermione remained there breathless, sitting on her desk with her heart pounding furiously, digesting what had happened. Her body was still hot from his fevered, desperate touches. Slowly, she breathed in and out, trying to calm herself down from the orgasm Draco wrenched out of her.

She wondered why Voldemort was calling him at ten o’clock at night, and hoped it wouldn’t result in him being tortured again. He had only just recovered from the last time.

Biting her lip with worry, she Apparated back to her room, donned her knickers and rejoined the Order party.

“That was a quick shag.”

Hermione turned around to see Ginny with a shit eating grin on her face.

“You know,” Hermione replied with a wry smile. “There are other things in life besides sex.”

“Not many. And you can’t hide your criminal forever,” Ginny warned her before sauntering back to Harry and wiggling onto his lap.

Hermione grabbed another Butterbeer and surveyed the room. She could hear faint explosions and smiled to herself. Fred and George were brilliant in more ways than one. She walked outside, leaned against the post of the front porch and watched little fireballs burst in the night, followed by a few yells by Fred or George, and the deep belly laugh of Eloise.

Lavender stood with Oliver, entranced, resting her head on his chest and watching the bursts of fire on the lawn. Oliver met Hermione’s eyes, and then looked away, face contorted with guilt. Oliver hadn’t forgiven himself for abandoning Eloise either. She wondered how he had processed his experience there, if he felt similar to Hannah.

Eloise had also seen her kill Dedalus, and hadn’t spoken with anyone, let alone Hermione, since she returned.

She shivered in the night air and smiled at the twins.

Hermione felt a warmth in her dress pocket. Draco must be finished with whatever Voldemort wanted and was now able to see her again. She hoped he was okay. Eagerly, she took her coin out and stopped breathing.

Raid. Now. Get out.

Adrenaline raced through her body. She thumbed a reply.

Which house?

The seconds ticked by but there was no answer. She waited a few more seconds. Nothing. They’d have to act as if every house was being raided. Heart racing, she ran back into the house, pushing past Cho who glared at her, elbowing her way forward until she stood in front of Neville and Hannah again, breathing heavily. He tensed when he saw the look on her face.

“There’s a raid now. Soon,” she gasped for breath. “Now. Activate the caterwauling alarms.”

Hannah grabbed his arm in terror.

“Here?” Neville asked, his voice rising in slight panic.

“I don’t know. We all need to leave.”

She turned to Hannah. “Can you warn the other safe-house leaders? I don’t know if they’re here. I think I saw Penelope but I don’t know about the others.”

“Of course!” she replied in a shaky voice.

The caterwauling alarm started blaring while Hannah’s Patronuses flew around the room and out the window, searching for their targets. Hermione sent hers to McGonagall, Tonks and Remus. Dean’s loud cry rang through the air.

“RAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIID!”

Bottles and glasses smashed on the ground as everyone ran around trying to get to their Portkeys. Cracks of Apparition were heard, reminding Hermione of a persistent problem in their evacuation plan – not everyone brought their Portkeys with them to other safe houses and they needed to be retrieved. She wondered if some were Apparating precisely to the safe house under attack. Then again, they’d only succeed in doing so if there was no anti-Apparition ward in place.

With a start, Hermione remembered Eloise. She didn’t have a Portkey. The Trio had only recently rescued her and Hermione hadn’t had the time or the resources to make her one.

She clutched Neville’s arm frantically. “Eloise doesn’t have a Portkey, I’ll take her with mine.”

He nodded and Hermione lunged towards the door, almost getting knocked in the face as the twins burst in with Eloise, face stricken with terror. “I’ll take her with my Portkey,” Hermione told them. “It’s pretty large. Get yourselves out!” She grabbed Eloise’s hand and they raced up the stairs into her room. She summoned her beaded bag and pulled it over her neck and across her chest.

“My book is a Portkey,” she said, gasping for breath and motioning towards Hogwarts: A History sitting on her nightstand. “We’ll touch it on the count of three. Ready?”

Eloise nodded wordlessly, grabbing Hermione’s hand like a lifeline.

“One, two, three, Portus!

 

 

 

After a tug on her bellybutton, they reappeared in the Bath warehouse, book in hand. Confused and frantic Order members were popping into space all across the empty expanse of the building. It was noisy and the din got louder as more people appeared.

Hermione glanced at Eloise. She was terrified.

“Are you alright?”

Eloise shook her head to the negative. Of course she wouldn’t be. Eloise was captured during the first raid, held in a dungeon and tortured. She’d just been rescued only to face another raid.

“Nobody knows this location except Remus and I. Certainly they don’t. They can’t get us here. The only way in is by Portkey,” she raised her book and wiggled it for show, “which they don’t have.” Hermione went to find Harry and Ron but Eloise didn’t release her hand. Hermione took in her frightened expression. “Come with me, okay?”

Eloise nodded with a whimper and they wove in and out between the Order members who were all speaking at once, hugging each other and craning their necks to see who else had arrived. Neville had his roster, checking off names. So did Penelope and the other safe house leaders. Justin slipped outside. Hermione wondered why he left but supposed he needed some fresh air. It was awfully crowded in the warehouse and they’d be here for a while. Finally, she saw Harry and Ginny run and hug each other, and then turned around to see Ron and Susan holding hands, nervously eyeing everyone appear.

Her posture relaxed in relief. She started searching for the rest of the Weasleys and exhaled slowly as she found them, one by one.

Now she needed to find Tonks. Hermione whirled around again, searching the crowd and saw Tonks with Teddy strapped across her chest. She strode over to her, dragging Eloise with her. She was about to speak when she heard Eloise’s trembling voice instead.

“Tonks?”

They turned to Eloise, waiting to see what she’d say.

“I want to go home,” she was on the verge of tears. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Tonks glanced down at Eloise’s hands and Hermione’s gaze followed. They were shaking. She tried to still the tremors but couldn’t, and grabbed Hermione’s arm instead.

Tonks nodded and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ll arrange it as soon as this blows over. Alright?”

Eloise relaxed somewhat but started to cry, and ran over to Hannah, who upon seeing her face, immediately drew her into a hug. Hermione watched and bit her lip to stop herself from crying, remembering Eloise’s face, silently screaming in the dungeon cell as she and Oliver walked away.

“All the houses got hit at once?” Tonks asked her, brow furrowed.

“I don’t know,” Hermione explained, still watching Eloise and Hannah. “He just warned me now. We’ll have to stay here until we know which house was compromised.”

Tonks eyed her. “We have alarms set off by anti-Apparition wards. They’ll know we were tipped off now. He endangered himself by warning you.”

Hermione drew her gaze back to Tonks. “It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s demonstrated trust, even though he lied about having the prisoners.” That had been Kingsley’s latest excuse for not granting him an Unbreakable Vow.

Draco had been pro-active this summer, using his own knowledge of what would be useful to the Order instead of waiting for instruction. He endangered himself and his family to ensure the Trio got out with the prisoners, lied about their identities when they were captured by Snatchers, and just now warned them about another raid.

The older witch set her mouth in a grim line. “I know, Hermione.”

Fat lot of good that did her if Kingsley still refused.

The safe house leaders reported to Remus one by one. Everyone had gotten out safely but they weren’t sure which safe house had been hit yet, although they suspected Westchester, again where the Trio stayed. The Order would have to wait for some time in the Bath warehouse before sending scouts back to investigate.

Hermione saw Eloise’s body shudder with sobs and Hannah squeezed her harder, whispering something into her ear.

They probably had nightmares caused by Draco.

“Tonks?” Hermione asked tentatively.

The Auror scanned everyone milling about in the warehouse one last time before facing Hermione.

“Yeah?”

“How do you deal with performing so many Unforgivable Curses? With torturing? The Imperius Curse? Even killing?”

Tonks studied her in pity. “Are you still thinking about Dedalus?”

Hermione’s gaze fell to the ground. She often saw his face before going to bed. Eyes closed, smiling, waiting for death. Killing Dedalus was insignificant in comparison to what Draco had done, but the Auror still haunted her dreams.

“Yes, but I was referring to…” she flitted her eyes around to ensure they could talk in confidence. “To Draco. To everything he does to stay on as a spy, to protect his parents. It’s eating away at him.”

Hermione knew that Tonks still had reservations about her acting as his handler but for all intents and purposes, the arrangement was working out well, they were getting more information than before.

“You know that Draco’s tortured prisoners at the Manor,” Hermione explained. “He mentioned he’d never been able to do it properly before, but he is now. Has been since the raid in March.”

Tonks looked at her sharply. “He’s tapping into his hatred of others to do it. That’s what I do.”

“I don’t think it’s just that.” Hermione chewed on her lip in thought, remembering the night he lost control and screamed at her to hit him. “I think he also hates himself on some level, because of what he does as a Death Eater.”

Tonks was taken aback, considering her words. “That’s… interesting. I’ve never heard of anyone using self-loathing to fuel the Cruciatus or Killing Curses before.”

“But it shouldn’t matter, right? You manage it,” Hermione persisted. “You don’t let it change who you are. And you and Remus have a good relationship.”

Hermione wondered what Tonks could offer Draco to help him as he struggled with his role as a Death Eater.

The Auror scrutinized her, quiet for a moment. “Are you scared of him?”

Hermione held her breath, staring back into Tonks’ probing eyes.

“There was one time that…” It was his self-loathing that made him snap when she hit him, the fact that he was using hatred of himself to fuel his Cruciatus Curse. The violent way he demanded she punish him had truly scared her that night. “Yes,” she relented. “I wasn’t before, but the use of dark magic is starting to affect him. Was Remus scared of you?”

Tonks grin was sardonic. “Around the full moon or not? Remus and I are an odd pair. But no, I manage it.”

“So Draco could see a Mind Healer? He could learn to manage it like you do?”

Tonks eyes softened in sympathy. “No, he can’t get help.”

Hermione’s stomach lurched. “But he–”

“What excuse would he have to see a Mind Healer? And specifically about this? His case is more complicated than what Aurors have to deal with.” She looked at Hermione in pity. “I’ve never heard of anyone using self-hate as fuel for Unforgivable Curses. He’ll compromise himself, or the Mind Healer would.” Teddy shifted in the wrap and Tonks rubbed his back. “Draco told you he couldn’t even ask his father for help about this, and you want him to see a stranger?”

Hermione felt sick to her stomach. Tonks was right, but the situation was terrible and her whole body ached for him. After all Draco was putting himself through, he couldn’t even seek help?

“Isn’t there anything he can do?” She hated the pleading whine in her voice, but she couldn’t help it.

“There is,” Tonks added hopefully. “He can cast his Patronus. He’s fortunate you taught him how. It’ll slow down his deterioration, maybe even stop it, depending on how often he’s using the curses, and if he’s using all three. But he’ll need to see a Mind Healer when this is over. Immediately. There’s no substitute.”

Hermione wondered when the war would be over, and she glanced around at the Order members, still talking loudly in the warehouse. They were all here – and safe – because of Draco.

“I’ll tell him.”

Tonks studied her. “I know you, Hermione. You won’t abandon him, but you need to be careful. He’s unstable. Yet another reason I should have replaced you earlier.”

The rational side of her knew that Tonks was right again and Hermione clenched her jaw. But whoever Draco’s handler would have been, they’d be far less sympathetic to his plight. Even in retrospect, she was glad she hadn’t been replaced, and outmaneuvered Tonks, albeit unintentionally.

“What if his state of mind impacts his performance as a spy?”

Tonks’ eyes travelled over Hermione’s face. “Let me know if you think it is. And in the meantime, you need to watch yourself around him.”

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: Golden Trio Antics.

And Pansy. She’s got opinions.

Chapters 63 and 64 have some fluff before the angst and violence start up again. So enjoy it while it lasts! :P

Artwork done by Pir_Piromanka, check out her instagram!

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Chapter 63: Chapter 63

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco kicked the dueling dummy, pushing it to the side in a pile with the other items he used for combat training. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the muscle strain and wiped his forehead on his sleeve.

The dummy was adequate for maintaining his deflection skills but other than that, it wasn’t much of a challenge anymore. Sparring with Jugson was the only way to improve further. Draco never beat him, and only managed to get in the occasional hit. Probably more from luck than anything else.

He turned to head back to the Manor and stopped mid-stride. Pansy stood in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, watching him. His stomach twisted with unease.

Fuck.

Draco wondered how she’d processed the fight in the drawing room. After hearing nothing, he thought torturing Hermione covered his tracks. He’d hoped so anyway. Maybe Pansy could tell it was fake. Having already seen him deny Pothead’s identity she would have been suspicious.

Warily, he approached her, heart thudding loudly and wondering what she’d say. As he got closer she placed a hand on her hip, taking in his sweaty, dirty attire with obvious distaste.

He didn’t say anything as he closed the gap between them, silently gazing down at her.

She tilted her head and peered up at him.

“It’s you." 

He felt his chest collapse, as if all the air was being squeezed out of his lungs at once.

"It’s been you all along,” she continued.

Even if she hadn't told anyone - and she probably hadn't - she wasn't an Occlumens. Pansy knowing he was a spy was dangerous.

For her. For both of them.

Draco fingered his wand. He’d have to Obliviate her. It was the only way.

Pansy’s dark eyes lowered to his hip and he tightened his grip on the wood.

He opened his mouth to explain but she held up her hand.

“Just tell me you’re getting Theo out. We’re running out of time.”

He swallowed, and relaxed his hold on the wand in relief. “I know. They’re getting things set up for him.”

She parted her lips as if she wanted to say something, and then exhaled in irritation.

“Will they win?”

“Why?” he cracked a grin, feeling a bit more at ease. “Are you going to defect? Go into hiding with Theo?”

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him.

“Fuck you, Draco,” she stuck a finger into his chest. “I can’t do that anymore than you can. I want to know what you know. Right. Now,” she ground out, punctuating her words with more pokes to his chest. He winced.

Draco gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist and lowered her hand. “They’ve got a decent chance.”

She rolled her eyes.

“They’ve got a decent chance.” Pansy parroted his low voice in irritation. “Start talking, Malfoy.”

Draco thought of the massive amount of intel the Trio recently gathered in a situation where they should have – for all intents and purposes – been tortured and killed. And now they had a fucking goblin ready to help them get into Gringotts. If anyone could figure out how to break into his aunt’s vault, it was Hermione Granger.

“More than decent,” he clarified.

She tucked her short black hair behind her ear. “Can they kill him?”

That’s what everyone wanted to know. If the Dark Lord could be killed, or at least stopped. He had no doubt Hermione knew how to end him.

“Yes.”

She shifted her posture, and narrowed her eyes to dark slits.

Dammit. He knew that look. The interrogation hadn’t ended.

“Does she appreciate what you’re doing for them?” she raised her voice. “Does she know what it costs you?”

He started to reply but she cut him off and poked his chest again. “Ow!”

“Does she appreciate you? Does she know what she has?”

Fucking Pansy. She knew everything. 

“Yes,” he replied with a blush.

Does she?” her voice became uncharacteristically shrill.

“Yes!” His voice rose in irritation but he smiled, feeling a pleasant warmth from her concern.

She raised an eyebrow and lowered her hand. “She better.”

Pansy studied him in silence and reached out to take his hand, running her fingers over his knuckles. It felt strange, and yet familiar. They hadn’t really been physically affectionate since he broke things off with her in sixth year.

She squeezed his hand.

“You’ve changed,” she said softly.

Draco squeezed her hand back. “So have you.”

She shook her head. “Not like that I haven’t. I’m not going to pretend to understand but…” He saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes and she blinked them away. “I just don’t want to die, Draco. And I don’t want my family to either.”

Her reluctant tears spilled out and he drew her into a hug, rubbing her back.

"You'll all be fine." It was a meaningless assurance. 

"Shut it," she replied, her voice trembling. "Don't lie."

Pansy leaned into his chest, and her tears dampened his sweaty shirt. Thinking back on sixth year, Draco remembered how she held him while he cried countless times. He should have confided in her earlier back then. Maybe she wouldn’t have taken the Dark Mark.

By then it was too late.

Speaking into his chest, her voice was muffled. “You have to Obliviate me.”

Draco winced. For a moment, he felt so relieved to have someone find out. A fellow Death Eater and a long-time friend. It was tempting to confide in her, to talk about his struggles throughout the war, and have someone on his side. But doing so would be a death sentence for them both.

He sighed.

“I will.”

The sun set over the pitch casting the sky in pink and purple shades, and Draco held her in silence. Neither one wanted to be the first to initiate the process of Obliviation. He tightened his embrace as evening approached.

Pansy sniffed.

“Draco?”

“Yeah?”

He looked down and saw a playful smirk grace her features.

“You smell like you were raised by Weasleys.”

 

~

 

 

 

 

Harry held the Sword of Gryffindor at his side and stared down at the blackened halves of the Hufflepuff Cup, smoking on the ground before him. High off the success of their break-in to Gringotts, the Trio and Griphook had immediately Apparated to the Forest of Dean to destroy the Horcrux. Hermione had often gone camping with her parents here as a child. It was the first place she thought of, and so she brought them here.

Hermione still had adrenaline pumping through her. They had been so close to getting caught. She was excellent at Occlusion, but acting like Bellatrix wouldn’t have earned her any awards. Griphook said the bank teller already suspected them and Harry improvised, casting the Imperius curse on him. Between the terror in the bank vault when the Gemini curse nearly prevented them from getting the Hufflepuff Cup, and then the realization that they wouldn’t be able to leave without confronting the dragon somehow…

It had been… a day.

Hermione had no idea how she managed to Side-Along with them after they jumped off the dragon, dropping into a lake.

Not five minutes ago they had been soaring in the air, clinging to the neck of a dragon for dear life. Hermione hadn’t seen any of it. Eyes squeezed shut, she had been sandwiched in between Ron and Harry, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t fall. 

All she could remember, besides the wind whipping through her hair, was the smell of Harry’s shirt because her face was smooshed into his back the entire time. She thought they’d topple to their deaths when they first took off. Harry and Griphook had fallen back, smashing her against Ron but somehow, they all held on.

Later, the dragon dove downwards, and she, Ron and Harry were propelled against Griphook. She couldn’t even scream. She just gritted her teeth, tore holes in Harry’s shirt and prayed he had a better grip than she did. Hermione was barefoot now, having long lost the heels she had worn when Polyjuiced as Bellatrix somewhere over London.

“Guys.”

Hermione, Ron and Griphook glanced up at Harry from the destroyed cup.

“We rode a fucking dragon!” He was staring at them in disbelief. Hermione, mouth agape, could hardly believe what had just happened either. “We broke into Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault in Gringotts and we rode a fucking dragon!”

Ron and Harry high fived and started whooping like morons, having just escaped about 72 instances of near death when their plan veered wildly off the rails. She still couldn’t believe they all got out alive. Griphook eyed them as if they had succumbed to temporary insanity. They turned towards her, expecting her to join in the fun but faltered at her expression.

“Hermione?” Ron asked, worried.

She gurgled, clutched her stomach, fell to her knees and vomited her lunch all over the Horcrux. Ron and Harry stared at her for a few seconds and then burst out laughing with loud guffaws. Hermione tried to glare at them but was too busy spitting the remainder of puke out of her mouth.

“She actually–” Ron wheezed, struggling to speak and clutching his stomach. “Bloody hell!” he wheezed again, laughing and sputtering. “She actually vomited on a Horcrux!” 

Harry bent over and slapped his thigh. His face was bright red and tears streamed out of his eyes as he gasped for breath. The two leaned on each other and knocked heads with the force of their laughter, making them laugh even more. Griphook eyed her in distaste, thoroughly unamused.

“Are you two twats done?”

That only made them laugh harder. After a few more minutes of her recovering while the two tossers calmed down from their explosive laughter, Harry spoke.

“Nice aim,” Harry observed, his mouth still twitching. “Who needs the Sword of Gryffindor? Next time just blow chunks on the Horcrux. You-Know-Who will be grossed out from your Muggle-born germs and voluntarily leave.”

Hermione spat onto the ground and retched one last time. “Fucking hilarious,” she grumbled.

Ron laughed again. “So you won’t take up dragon riding as your next hobby?”

Harry conjured a cup and Ron cast Aguamenti to fill it for her. Harry held the cup out and she took it gratefully, washing her mouth of bile, spitting onto the vomit and then drinking greedily.

Ron extended a hand for her to stand again but Hermione shook her head.

“Let me sit for a few minutes,” she gasped.

Instead of sitting, she lay down on her back, and then rolled over on her stomach, arms and legs splayed outwards. She didn’t care that she was getting leaves and dirt all over herself.

It didn’t matter what the fate of the Wizarding World was. She was never riding a dragon again. Or a thestral. Or a hippogriff.

How in the world did she get herself into these situations? And it was always her idea. Every. Single. Bloody. Time. She was a sodding idiot. She should just stop talking. And thinking. No more thinking for Hermione Granger.

This forest floor was the best in the world. She fisted the leaves and dirt and emitted a shuddering sigh.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, amused.

“Hugging the ground,” Hermione answered. “I have never been so happy to see dirt and leaves in my life.”

“Should we…uh…leave you two alone for a bit?” Ron asked her suggestively.

“We could get them a room perhaps,” Harry commented. “When she’s done having her way with the Durmstrang library.”

“Sod off,” she grumbled.

“You know,” Ron continued, taunting her. “I bet riding a broom would be easier for you now. We could–”

“Fuck you,” Hermione cut him off, breathless.

“Are you seriously still scared of riding brooms?” Ron said in disbelief.

“With the end of your broomstick,” she continued.

Ron and Harry laughed.

“After it’s been broken off,” she closed her eyes. “So there’s splinters. Big ones. Sharp and pointy.”

Never, never, never again.

The two tossers broke out again into loud guffaws.

“Just think, you could finally join us when we play Quidditch!” Ron suggested, still sniggering and sounding entirely too happy with himself.

“I won’t even go up into the stands anymore. I’ll stay on the ground.” She fisted the dirt again. “The wonderful, safe, beautiful, lovely, lovely ground.” She turned her head, resting her cheek against the leaves and gazed at the vomit-covered Horcrux. “Disintegrate that thing, will you?”

Hermione turned over onto her back to see the two of them standing over her, still chuckling.

Harry lowered his hand and she clasped it. He yanked, easily pulling her much smaller form upward. She remembered when they were all the same size in first year. Now he and Ron both towered over her, much like Draco did.

Harry took aim at the two halves of the cup and blew them to smithereens with a well-placed Bombarda.

They all jumped back at the explosion and stood in silence, listening to the flapping of wings and loud chirping of birds as they flew away. Hermione stared at the hole in the ground where the cup used to be.

“Nagini,” Ron said, voicing aloud what they were all thinking. He eyed Hermione with a sly smile. “You’re the only one that didn’t get to use the Sword of Gryffindor yet. Feel like decapitating the snake?”

Harry held the sword out to her and she eyed it with distaste. “I’d sooner play Quidditch with you lot than use that sword to decapitate anything.”

“Careful,” Harry sniggered. “You also said you’d spend the remainder of the war on the ground. No more aerial adventures.”

She scowled at Harry as he took a few practice swings. Hermione and Ron watched him as he thrust and parried, spinning around with a flourish. “Fuck you, Vol–”

“NO!” Hermione and Ron yelled, leaping forward.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Kidding.”

“You fucking cunt!” Ron cursed him, and punched his upper arm for good measure.

Harry grunted at the impact and laughed again, swinging the sword above his head with a flourish.

Hermione watched them take turns with the sword and smiled, despite her receding nausea.

Griphook cleared his throat loudly and the trio turned to face him in surprise, having forgotten he was there watching their antics.

“Alright there, Griphook?” Harry asked with a silly grin on his face.

The goblin nodded, and motioned to the sword in his hand. “The sword, Harry Potter. You will return it to the goblins as promised? It is rightfully ours.” They had already discussed the necessity of the Sword of Gryffindor towards destroying Voldemort with him. Griphook knew that goblins would be subjugated under Voldemort’s rule, and was eager to see him disposed of.

Harry squatted down, serious now, meeting Griphook’s gaze at his own height, as an equal. The gesture was not lost on the goblin, who had already witnessed the relationship Harry had with Dobby. “You have my word.”

“And mine,” Hermione added.

Ron nodded as well. “We’ll make sure the goblins get it back.”

“You’re an unusual wizard, Harry Potter,” Griphook commented, turning towards Hermione. “And you’re an unusual witch.” He eyed Ron in thought. “They’re a good influence on you.”

Ron’s face fell. “Hey, wait a min– oof!

Hermione whacked Ron’s torso with the back of her hand. No use starting a fight with Griphook. He’d been critical to them getting in and out of Gringotts.

“When we’ve killed Nagini,” Harry continued. “I promise you.”

Griphook nodded in agreement. One more Horcrux left, and Harry wouldn’t be able to make good on his promise. They'd have to do it for him.

Her face fell at the thought. The end of Harry’s life was getting closer and closer.

“Five down, one to go,” Harry said, watching the wind carry the blackened dust of the Hufflepuff Cup away. A feeling of dread encroached on her as the wind blew softly in the forest. One to go, and then what? Voldemort and his army were still so powerful.

Despite the victory, they still didn’t know what happened at Wembley Stadium. The close call they had with that second raid was a slap in the face.

Destroying the Horcruxes was necessary, but not enough. How could the Order overthrow him? How could they win?

Harry stared up at her and Ron. “Now we just have to get close enough to that thing to kill it without alerting You-Know-Who what we’re up to.”

Ron exhaled in frustration. “Shame Snape betrayed us. I wish we had someone on the inside.”

Draco.

Even though Hermione couldn’t wait to see him again, she knew he’d be furious once he heard what she’d done. She had to tell him about the pardon, too. And she had to tell Harry about his fate.

Bit by bit, the secrets she was holding onto needed to be told, and she wasn’t looking forward to the fallout.

Harry stood up and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I bet this war would’ve been easier if we’d had a spy.”

Hermione glanced up at them. If there was any time to clue them in to the fact that they had a spy, maybe even two spies, it was now. Even if she couldn’t reveal their names.

She exhaled loudly.

“We do.”

 

~

 

Hermione sat in her parents’ study, surrounded by the stacks upon stacks of books where she had copied laws pertaining to pardons and all the trial proceedings. It was unfortunate that she couldn’t see Draco as often now that Lucius caught him, but his absence had given her free mornings, evenings and nights to delve into wizarding laws both archaic and recent. At this point, she could probably be considered an expert in this niche area of law.

Despite all her condensed research, Hermione still didn't understand Kingsley’s problem. It was clear that the Minister of Magic could pardon whomever he or she damn well pleased, and someone in the Deputy’s office, as Kingsley was now, would have considerable influence. If she understood correctly, he could even pardon Draco right now if he wanted to, under certain clauses.

No need for the Unbreakable Vow.

In the beginning, she had assumed Kingsley was telling a truth of sorts. Perhaps lying by omission like he had to Tonks. She thought it had stemmed from Kingsley knowing the laws better than she did and being unwilling to trap himself into a vow like that. He had worked at the Ministry for decades, had arrested wizards and as an Auror, participated in proceedings resulting in pardons and understood the inner workings of the Ministry judicial system much better than she ever could.

Hermione couldn’t fathom what was so difficult about it. Indeed, every instance of post-war pardons seemed to be relatively easy in comparison to pardons which were performed during peace time. Certainly that’s how it happened during the First Wizarding War. Society was eager to move on.

So what was she missing?

Hermione exhaled in frustration and stretched her arms. None of the hundreds and hundreds of individual trial proceedings that she read gave her any clue. None of the laws helped. For all intents and purposes, it wasn’t just Narcissa that could get a pardon, but Draco could get a pardon. Lucius could get a pardon. Hell, Bellatrix Lestrange could get a pardon.

As time went on, she realized he was stringing both her and Draco along. But his reasoning wasn’t even a half-truth. She didn’t understand why the extent of Draco’s crimes would matter and was nearly certain now that he was outright lying to her.

On purpose.

But why?

If his intent was to string Draco along and ensure he stayed on as a spy, why not inform Hermione of his plan? Why not make an Unbreakable Vow saying he would do his best, knowing that his best would be a pardon? Did it hang on Lucius? He could have given Draco a pardon now, but hold Lucius’ for the end of the war if he wanted to string Draco along.

There were so many other ways Kingsley could have handled it.

Why was he lying?

Perhaps Hermione wasn’t looking at the situation correctly. Not seeing the forest for the trees. She flipped back to one of the first tomes that she and Ginny copied. The treatise written after the Second World War. It didn’t provide much in the way of detail, but had been a good starting point for her research. Absently, she flipped through the pages that described the actions of the then Minister of Magic, Leonard Spencer-Moon.

She read a passage and her stomach lurched. She read it again. Her blood boiled and she read it one last time to make sure she completely understood the ramifications of the words on the page.

Hermione slammed the book shut.

“Kingsley, you son of a bitch.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: Antics with the other Golden Trio – Theo, Draco and Hermione. :)

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Chapter 64: Chapter 64

Notes:

This is the next suggested chapter break if you need it. Next one is TBD since I'm still posting but my guess is that it will be chapter 75.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Where are we? Is this a Muggle house?” Theo surveyed Hermione’s bedroom, inspecting the books, the objects on her desk and the CD player. He returned his gaze to Draco, incredulous. “Who the hell are you, Draco? First the Thought Police and now this?”

“Told you I could hide you,” Draco walked over to sit on Hermione’s bed. At this point, her mattress practically had an indentation of his body embedded in it. “You can live as a Muggle until it’s over, right here in England. They’ll never find you.”

After scanning the titles of the books on Hermione’s shelves, Theo turned back to Draco. “So, I’m going to live in this house?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I think she’s going to put you in a hotel to start. You can afford it.”

“She?” Theo cracked a grin and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Is this the Ministry intern?”

Just then, Hermione Apparated into her bedroom. Draco eyed the jeans and red form-fitting T-shirt that hugged her curves. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail exposing her neck. His gaze trailed over her body, her lips, and then met her eyes which were warm with longing, but also nervous.

He wondered what she was worried about.

Fuck, he missed her. Draco nearly had a heart attack when he read about the break in at Gringotts in the paper.

He couldn’t believe half the shit she managed to pull off. He didn’t know if he wanted to fuck her or throttle her. To his horror, he was suddenly accosted by an image of himself doing both at the same time. Clenching his fists, he repressed the vision with a brief sense of panic.

Draco watched Theo take in Hermione’s presence in surprise, readjusting the weight of the satchel he was carrying over his shoulder.

“Hermione Granger,” Theo said, clearly impressed. “Otherwise known as Undesirable Number Two. Robber of Gringotts Bank and Dragon Rider Extraordinaire. According to the illustrious Daily Prophet.” He said the last bit in a derisive tone, as if the source couldn’t be trusted.

“Theodore Nott,” she replied, still looking somewhat apprehensive. “Most tolerable of the Slytherins.”

Thank you,” he said with a mock bow. “Probably the highest compliment one can expect from a Gryffindork.” Hermione scowled and he glanced back at Draco with a smug grin. “You don’t fuck around. I didn’t trust you to competently hide me, but I definitely trust her.” He motioned to her with his thumb.

Theo looked deviously between the Draco and Hermione and rubbed his palms together as if he were plotting something. She shifted on her feet uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“This is much more scandalous than Pansy’s theory of you fucking some Ministry intern right under Lucius’ nose. So how did you get a member of the Order of the Phoenix to–” Theo’s arms fell slack and turned back to Hermione, who was tapping her wand against her thigh anxiously. Then he gaped at Draco.

“Are you spying for them?”

Hermione met his eyes, leaving it up to him to decide how he wanted to reply. But the silence was answer enough.

“You’re fucking insane!”

He was. Draco was absolutely insane. He couldn’t believe he’d been spying for the Order this long and was still alive to tell the tale.

Theo took a step back and shifted his gaze between the two of them. “For how long?”

Draco scratched the back of his neck and looked at Hermione questioningly. “About a year?”

“Fuck me up the arse with a Blast-ended Skrewt!”

Hermione scrunched her nose in disgust. “How would that even work?

Draco chuckled. Theo’s easy banter seemed to put her more at ease.

He blinked, looking back and forth between Draco and Hermione.

“Wait, wait, wait.” His eyes widened in comprehension and a smile slowly appeared. “My father didn’t disappear; the Order took him!” He turned to Draco, triumphant. “I knew something was off when you healed my hand. You squeezed all that blood–”

“He’s treated well!” Hermione blurted out, and then started babbling, nervous at Theo’s realization. “It’s a comfortable cell. Three square a day. The food isn’t great but it’s nutritious, the same that we eat actually. We provide books, and there’s an opportunity to go for walks outside! Interrogations are only with Veritaserum. On Christmas we–”

Theo waved his hand dismissively. “Keep him.”

She abruptly closed her mouth, surprised at his reaction.

“I’m only too happy not to be on the business end of his wand anymore.” He raised his eyebrows. “Hope he’s been useful.”

“He has.” Hermione nodded vigorously, looking relieved.

“You–” Theo studied Draco, serious now. “You had the Order take him away. They could have taken someone else.”

Draco shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and gave a curt nod. He felt uncomfortable under Theo’s realization. It was too much, too intrusive. Draco hadn’t wanted him to find out.

“And…” Theo’s voice lilted upwards in amazement. “Pansy said Rowle went missing around that time.”

Draco blinked and stared back into Theo’s surprised blue eyes. In his peripheral vision, he could see Hermione shifting her gaze shyly between the two of them, not wanting to interfere in the moment. He felt a flush of embarrassment tinge his cheeks and glanced to the side.

“Is this the thanks we get for wiping your snotty tears all though sixth year?”

Draco flicked his eyes up to Theo’s wry grin and laughed. Theo cupped his hand to his mouth and explained to Hermione in a stage whisper, “It was disgusting.”

Draco turned to her, still somewhat embarrassed, but was floored by the love and admiration written all over her face. He felt his heart swell in his chest. He could die tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter because he would remember Hermione looking at him as if he had just saved the world.

Saving a friend, saving the world. It was all the same to her. Just like she had explained the day they went to the National Space Centre.

“Are they going to win?” Theo’s anxious question cut through Draco’s thoughts.

As with Pansy, that’s what everyone wanted to know.

Draco shrugged with a smile, still feeling like the sun was shining on only him. “It’s possible.”

“But how can you kill Melanin-Challenged Man?” Hermione’s lips twitched at Theo’s nickname. “He’s figured out immortality. Or at least, some version of it.”

Draco didn’t know that either, and he wondered if the diadem and cup had anything to do with killing him. They probably did.

“It’s best you don’t know,” she said slowly.

Theo’s lips spread in a wide smile. “You are going to kill him.”

Hermione cleared her throat, not wanting to discuss the topic any more, and caught Draco’s eye for a moment. She was still nervous about something. Perhaps they could sit down and talk later, depending on how long it would take to set Theo up. They hadn’t had many moments alone since his father caught him.

“We should get started,” Hermione said, all business now. “We need to exchange your Galleons for pounds, open a bank account, go by your post office box and check you into a hotel.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded paper pamphlet. “I’ve already gotten you a tube pass with fifty pounds on it and brought you a map. That will get you around London very easily.” She held up a plastic rectangular card and handed it and the pamphlet to Theo. “You should get in the habit of Glamouring yourself whenever you’re out and about. Or at the very least wear some kind of cap.”

Theo opened the satchel he brought to show her the wads and wads of pound notes he had withdrawn from Gringotts that morning. “How long will this last me for?”

Hermione’s jaw went slack in amazement. “You’re… prepared.” He flashed a set of teeth at her surprise. Draco heard her mutter in disbelief while she closed Theo’s satchel, ensuring the buckle was securely tightened. “Shrink that and put it in your pocket with a sticking charm. Someone could steal it while we’re walking around.”

She glanced over at Draco. “Take Theo and Apparate next to the National Gallery where we arrived last time. I’ll meet you there.”

Draco stood up, grabbed her hand and tugged her against his body. “Thank you,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers.

Hermione kissed him briefly on the mouth, letting her lips linger tenderly. “Anything for you.”

Once again she seemed almost… sad? Nervous? Surely she’d tell him what was bothering her later.

He rested his forehead on hers, wondering how in the world he arrived at a point in his life where Hermione Granger loved him and would do anything for him, simply because he asked.

“Definitely better than a Ministry intern,” came Theo’s snarky observation and she huffed a laugh. Foreheads touching, they turned to face him with twin smiles.

“Oh!” Hermione stepped back and conjured three baseball caps, holding one out to each of them. “Just in case. You never know who’s in London.” She donned her hat and pulled her ponytail through the hole in the back.

Theo raised an eyebrow and turned the baseball cap around, scrutinizing it with distaste. “I’m going to look like a sodding American tourist. Just give me one of those terrible Hawaiian shirts and a belly bag while you’re at it.” Hermione’s lips parted in surprise. Draco didn’t understand how or when Theo became knowledgeable of the Muggle world either.

“See you there!” Hermione stepped back and Disapparated.

Draco picked up his wand and went to grab Theo’s hand.

“Ew. I don’t know where that hand has been.” Theo pulled his hand away in disgust. “Actually, I do. Knowing is worse.”

“Quit whining, Nott.” Draco clamped his hand down on Theo’s scrawny wrist and they Disapparated.

The three appeared in a back alley near Trafalgar Square and the two Slytherins let Hermione lead the way, following her purposeful strides. She wasn’t wasting any time.

Draco eyed her backside while they walked behind her. Hermione’s arse looked great in those jeans. His hands twitched at the memory of spanking it.

Theo turned to him. “When did you start reading Muggle books?” Draco wanted to ask him the same thing.

“We’ve been meeting at her parents’ house. She’s got,” he tilted his hand back and forth. “Eh. Passable taste in authors.” Hermione glanced over her shoulder and smirked. “What about you?”

“Do you know how boring it is to manage an estate that you care nothing about? What am I supposed to do all day? Count my Galleons? Have afternoon tea? Play chess with myself? Play Exploding Snap with myself? Play… with myself?” Theo paused. “I can only piss on my father’s desk and bed so many times before it gets really disgusting.” Draco heard Hermione snigger. “Pansy is often busy working for You-Know-Who-Needs-A-Nose, so I started exploring. Muggles are fascinating. I’ve been here before.”

“Where?” Draco asked. “The National Gallery?”

“And the British Museum, and the National History Museum, the Maritime Museum, the Transport Museum, the Science Museum–”

Draco was starting to get jealous.

“Have you been to the National Space Centre?” Draco asked, unable to tear his eyes away from Hermione’s derriere. Surely he could get a good grab in while they ran around on all these errands.

Theo stopped, mouth agape. “Like with rockets?”

“This way!” Hermione pointed them in the direction of a bank.

Theo called out to her. “There’s a museum with rockets?”

Hermione smiled. “Come on, then.”

They followed her into the bank. Draco watched while she deftly Confounded one of the bank officials with her Disillusioned wand and they were brought immediately into someone’s office. Hermione took a seat at the desk and Draco and Theo stood back against the rear wall, observing her while she worked.

Hermione started speaking. “We’d like to open an account for–”

“Oliver.” Theo interrupted her. Hermione turned around and the bank official raised his eyebrows.

“Pantzoff. With a ‘z’. It’s German.”

Draco snorted, and Hermione’s lips spasmed as she struggled not to laugh. The two watched as she spoke with the official, every so often grabbing the Disillusioned wand in her lap, Confounding as necessary. After about ten minutes of clacking on keyboards, the bank teller pushed a keypad towards them and told Theo to enter his pin number.

Hermione glanced back. “Four digits. Your choice.”

Theo stepped forward, flexing his fingers and leaned over the desk to inspect the keypad held out for him.

“6-9-6-9.” Theo called out loudly while typing the numbers with an exaggerated flourish.

Draco sniggered and Hermione released a half-snort, half-laugh. They entrusted the teller with a gigantic stack of pounds and after thirty minutes and another Confundo, Oliver Pantzoff had a bank account with an obscenely large opening deposit.

“Now where?” Theo had observed the whole procedure, clearly impressed with how efficiently Hermione worked.

“Post office,” she explained, giving him a key that she had been carrying in her pocket. “I already opened a post office box for you. Even if you move around or change your name, you can continue receiving Muggle post there. Your debit card will arrive from the bank in a few days so you don’t have to walk around as if you’ve just pulled off a bank heist.”

“Looking like I’ve pulled off a bank heist is part of my allure,” Theo retorted. “How else am I going to get laid? That’s how you snagged Mr. Tall, Blond and Sulking, isn’t it?” He gave Hermione an exaggerated wink.

“I do not sulk.”

Hermione laughed loudly.

It wasn’t that funny.

“You sulk more than Snape!” she retorted, still chuckling.

“For the love of–”

Theo gazed down at her in appreciation. “She’s got you pegged, Draco.”

Hermione glanced up at him with a devilish gleam in her eyes. “Not yet I haven’t.”

“That–” But he had nothing to say. His mouth went dry as he pictured her behind him, grabbing his hair. He felt himself start to harden.

What was wrong with him today?

Theo guffawed even louder, and Draco pointed at her.

“Careful,” he lowered his voice and smiled menacingly. “Theo won’t be around much longer.”

She grabbed his finger and lowered it. “I’m counting on it.”

With another smirk, she turned around and started searching for Theo’s post office box among the many on display. The pressure in his trousers was starting to make him uncomfortable and he scanned the room to ensure no one saw as he adjusted himself.

Theo crossed his arms with a smug smile and said nothing as he watched Hermione. Draco swore he heard Theo mutter 'dopey grin' and shoved him lightly into the wall.

"What'd I say?" Theo shrugged in mock innocence.

During the few minutes, Hermione explained how to access the box and then they were off to the next stop.

“I get the feeling she’s done this before,” Theo commented to Draco.

She turned around without breaking stride, continuing to walk backwards. “We hid a lot of Muggle-borns and their families over the summer and autumn. None of them have been found.” She pursed her lips in thought. “That we know of. You’ll be safe.”

Draco and Theo eyed the multiple restaurants in the West End while they passed through. From the extremely high-end to the hole-in-the-wall establishments with barely a table to sit, there was so much variety.

“Muggles have got better coffee houses,” Theo remarked. He paused, and then continued. “And bakeries. And Chinese take away. And Indian take away. And Vietnamese take away. And Cubanos. And sushi. And fusion food. It’s even better than eating at Blaise’s.” He patted his stomach. “I think I’ve gained two stone since I discovered Muggle London.”

Draco looked his friend up and down. He was the same tall, lanky Theo he’d always been.

“But once I ordered extra spicy Tandoori and couldn’t leave the bathroom for–”

“Theo.

“–didn’t have any potions strong enough–”

Theo.”

“–learned that my European stomach can’t handle–”

THEO!

“There are limits.”

Draco heard Hermione laughing up ahead of them and they continued following her brisk pace. He leered at her arse moving underneath her jeans. The second Theo was gone he was going to bend her over the first available solid surface he saw. He’d sink his teeth into her backside just for torturing him all morning with those jeans. Then he’d pound into her while she screamed.

Fuck.

He ran his hand through his hair.  

“Can I get one of those mobile phones?” Theo called ahead to her. “I really want a mobile phone.”

She furrowed her brow, stopping in front of a large, tall building. “Who are you going to call?”

“Does it matter?” he countered.

Confused, she tilted her head and Draco chuckled. Hermione didn’t know how Theo’s mind worked. “If you don’t have anyone to call, why would you want a phone?”

He sent her a scolding look as if she missed something completely obvious. “Because they look like fun and I have to order take away.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head. They entered the Radisson hotel in central London where she had booked a room for Theo for the next month. They approached the front desk and Hermione immediately placed her hand on her Disillusioned, holstered wand while she asked about Theo’s reservation.

“Do you have a room on the top floor?” Theo asked. He glanced down at Hermione. “I have to be on the top floor.”

The concierge made a few clacking noises on the key board and looked up. “We do, sir. Shall I make the change to your booking?”

Confounding as necessary, Hermione arranged Theo’s accommodations and he transferred a stack of pounds to the concierge. After receiving the room key the three took the elevator to the top floor and entered Theo’s hotel room.

Hermione stared out the window for a moment, appreciating the view of central London and then turned back to Theo. “You’ve got a month to decide if you want to stay here or rent a flat for a longer-term arrangement. But you should be all set now. You’re officially a Muggle.” She smirked and then added, “Careful with the Tandoori.”

“Excellent,” Theo replied, surveying his new place of residence, and then returned his gaze to Hermione. “Where can I get a gun?”

“What?” she replied, confused.

“What?” Theo repeated, as if he hadn’t asked anything.

“You asked where you could get a gun,” she clarified.

“What? I never said that.” He looked at her as if she were absurd and picked up the remote for the telly.

“What? Yes, you did.” She glanced at Draco for him to confirm she wasn’t insane. He shrugged. Hermione, meet Theo. She turned back to Theo and furrowed her brow. “What are you going to do with a gun?”

“I asked where I could have some fun,” he said, clicking through channels.

“What? No you didn’t.” She turned to Draco for help again. He shrugged once more, trying not to laugh as she released a harsh exhale of impatience.  

“The spaceship museum,” he glanced back at her with a grin. “It looks like fun.”

“What?” she said, thoroughly exasperated.

“Tell me about that spaceship museum and I’ll let you two get back to shagging. Draco looks like he’s going to lose it any second and I’d rather not watch if it’s all the same to you.”

 

~

 

Draco held Hermione down by the back of her neck, shoving her into the mattress. She was bent over her bed and he pounded into her from behind, pushing guttural sounds out from deep within her. He hadn’t even been bothered to get their jeans all the way off after they Apparated into her room. All he wanted was to feel her hot, wet, slick, cunt around him. He leaned over, covering her back with his chest and reached underneath her thighs, straining to rub her clit.

He flicked her nub and thrust into her with a grunt. “How did it feel,” he growled into her ear, pushing her into the bed. “Having a dragon between your legs?”

Draco stood up again and she moaned, and the sound was broken by the punishing pace he set from behind. “Not as good as this!” Hermione gasped and then made a strangled cry as she came, inner walls clenching around him.

“That’s fucking right.” He whacked her arse and she yelped.

Draco snapped his pelvis, bracing himself on the back of her neck, squashing her bum against his thighs. His fingers dug into her hip, and he bent over her again, rubbing his cheek against hers with a groan. Thighs shaking, he emptied himself into her, crushing her body under his. After one final thrust he lay atop her, heart thundering and breathing heavily. Hermione’s eyes were squeezed shut and he watched her hand delicately un-fist the quilt of her bed, panting. His heartbeat slowed down and his breath pushed her flyaway tendrils in rhythmic motions.

Draco pressed his cheek into hers, soaking up the warmth of Hermione’s skin. He slid his hands up her arms to curl his fingers around her wrists, and folded her arms in towards their bodies. He could completely encase her. All of her passion, her love, her devotion were underneath him, within him, inside him. He could swallow her whole.

She was still panting and he turned his head to press his lips to her cheek.

“Draco?”

“Yeah?”

Hermione glanced back at him and studied his expression. She looked as if she wanted to tell him something, and had been nervous earlier today. He wondered if his eyes had darkened.

But it was fine. Draco was casting his Patronus like she had advised. He was keeping things under control, it wasn’t getting worse.

Hermione didn’t say anything and after a few minutes, he softened and slid out of her. Squeezing her wrists, he bit her jaw lightly, wanting to keep her within him for just a little while longer. She whimpered and slowly, he bit down harder until she yelped, jerking underneath him.

Draco released her jaw and she sighed.

His.

 

 

Anyone know Oliver Pantzoff?

Season 3 Drinking GIF by The Simpsons

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Next chapter: things start to go downhill.

also: "Mr. Tall, Blond and Sulking." I originally wrote "Mr. Tall, Blond and Brooding" and at some point while giving Love in the Time of a Zombie Apocalypse a reread, realized that I unwittingly copied it from there. The phrase was probably stored in the part of my brain dedicated to the massive amounts of Dramione I've read during the pandemic. So I changed the last word, but it wasn't my joke, it was Rizzle's. She's got a lot of good one-liners.

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Chapter 65: Chapter 65

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco fell to his knees on the Quidditch pitch with a grunt, clutching his arm where his Dark Mark burned him. Apparently combat training was at an end for today. Merlin it fucking hurt, more so than usual. The Dark Lord must be angry.

When the burning sensation finally ceased, he wrung his arm out with a grimace and summoned his mask and robes. After donning his Death Eater garb, Draco Occluded and Apparated to the Manor ballroom to see a good portion of the Dark Lord’s army already present, sprawled on the ground and clutching themselves. His father was on the floor, holding his midsection, teeth still chattering, and Draco’s stomach lurched at the sight of him in pain.

A growing unease crept through his bones as Nagini slithered in between the trembling bodies. There hadn’t been any failures. Certainly nothing to merit this level of punishment. Aunt Bella hadn’t said anything about the prisoners…

With growing terror, Draco realized the Dark Lord was searching for the spy. Thank Merlin he Obliviated Pansy. He scanned the floor, she hadn’t been summoned yet. Vince was moaning over by the piano.

“Draco,” the Dark Lord said slowly. He shifted his sinister red gaze from the Death Eaters groaning on the ground up towards Draco. “Take off your mask.”

He removed his mask and scanned the writhing bodies on the floor with mounting trepidation. Only Severus and Bellatrix were standing, unaffected. Perhaps killing Dumbledore had placed Snape beyond suspicion of spying for the Order.

Ironic.

Everyone else had been tortured. Some were struggling to stand. Alecto was on the ground as well and he couldn’t help smile inwardly even though he’d be joining her soon enough.

“Do you know why you are here?”

“No, my lord,” Draco answered with a bow, his voice trembling in dread. Fear was natural, and he didn’t bother disguising his. If anything, the Dark Lord wanted his followers to be afraid.

Another audible groan sounded from somewhere to his left and Nagini swerved to approach him. As she neared closer, the hair stood on the back of his neck.

He knew in information leaks would eventually be noticed and the Dark Lord would route the spy out, it couldn’t be helped. Today was that day. His heart thumped wildly in his chest.

“We have a traitor in our midst,” the Dark Lord hissed. “Do you know who it is?”

Out of the corner of his eye Nagini encroached. Goosebumps spread up and down his spine in terror as he remembered Professor Burbage screaming on the dining room table.

“No, my lord,” he repeated, his voice rose slightly. He struggled to swallow, and cleared his throat. “I’m not privy to the inner workings of our cause.”

“No, you’re not, Young Malfoy.” The Dark Lord tapped his wand on his palm, gazing at Draco in thought. “Perhaps it’s time you were.”

For a brief moment Draco thought he’d receive mercy but then the Dark Lord extended his wand.

Crucio!

He dropped to the ground, smacking his head on the stone. Arching his back, he screamed towards the ceiling, feeling like he was being torn apart. The sound of his agony echoed in the room and bounced off the walls.

The pain stopped almost immediately, and he gasped for breath, allowing his limbs to relax, and wondered why the Dark Lord didn’t curse him longer. Something moved against his calf and he realized with horror that it was Nagini.

Alarmed, he raised himself on his elbows to see the gigantic snake slither up his knee and over his thigh. Draco heaved in a breath and scrambled backwards, but Nagini opened its mouth, hissing at him until he stopped moving. Frozen in terror, he stared at the white gleaming fangs framing the abnormally large, pink mouth. Terrified, he peered down it’s gullet, the pink changing to black once encased by the darkness within. She would swallow him whole.

Nagini closed its mouth when she saw he wasn’t trying to escape. The snake’s weight was heavy as it slid over his torso and chest, pinning him to the ground. He gazed into its yellow eyes and swallowed in fright. Nagini paused, her emotionless eyes boring into his.

“Please,” he begged, glancing up at the Dark Lord and then back to the lidless reptilian eyes watching him. “Please, my Lord. I’m loyal.” The desperation in his voice was real. He couldn’t have masked it if he tried. “I serve only you. You know what my father and I have done–” 

“Yes, Draco,” the Dark Lord’s soft voice cut him off. “You and your father have served me well. And yet…” Nagini hissed, its tongue tickled Draco’s lips. Black and forked, he felt violated by the contact and flinched. “Someone has betrayed me.”

Draco’s heart rammed against his ribcage and he clenched his fists, breathing fast, wondering if that snake would be the last thing he saw. The blood drained from his face as he remembered Nagini tearing pieces out of Professor Burbage’s body, swallowing chunks of her, and he trembled.

“I would never.” Draco didn’t know if begging was making things worse but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. He had never been so scared in his life. Panicked, he continued groveling. “Please! I would never do anything that stupid. You are my lord. I live to serve you and your cause.”

He glanced at Severus, but his ex-professor was no help, and would not meet his eyes.

His breathing became more shallow as he struggled to push Nagini’s weight up and down. He knew he was starting to hyperventilate but couldn’t do anything about it. Draco began to shake more violently as Nagini settled atop his torso. Her body curled and her length slid around his hip and thigh, trapping him underneath. Every instinct told him to buck and scream and run the fuck away, but he couldn’t move.

Draco was going to die. Horrifically. He tried to blink back his tears of fright, and found that he couldn’t.

Briefly, he thought of his mother, and then Hermione before immediately repressing all thoughts of her.

Heels clacked on the stone floor, slowly approaching him until his aunt appeared at his side. She crouched down until her nose was only a few inches above his. He turned to face her, and Nagini’s tongue caressed his cheek and jaw, dry and foreign.

His teeth clacked in terror.

“Please.” Draco’s voice cracked and he gulped for more air. “Please, Auntie Bella!”

She was his aunt. He remembered the photo of her holding him as a baby. Her smile was genuine then. Didn’t she love him… in her own way? She protected him from Alecto when he was underage. She had taught him how to Occlude. She had taught him to channel his hatred.

She had saved his life!

Nagini undulated, letting her body sag in between his legs as she shifted her weight atop his chest. Bile accumulated in his mouth as her scaly skin rubbed back and forth against his cock. He was caged in, immobile on the ground as the snake coiled its weight around him.

Desperate for help, he reached out to grab his Aunt’s hand, digging his fingers into her cold, pale skin. Wouldn’t she help him?

She looked down at his hand and curled her red lip.

“PLEASE! Auntie Bella!”

“Ickle Draco,” she crooned, eyebrows furrowing. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Was she going to let Nagini eat him?

“Please! You can’t!” he cried out. “Please tell him it’s not me!”

She stroked his cheek gently, wiping his tears away. Curiously, she studied her fingertips and brought her index finger to her tongue, licking the tip. She smiled evilly down at him. “It only hurts a tiny bit.”

His aunt was going to abandon him! He clutched at her hand but she stood up, sliding out of his reach.

“NO!” He choked on his tears as Nagini’s body slithered atop him. "Please!"

She aimed her wand down and whispered, “You’ll thank me later when we find the filth.”

He squeezed his eyes shut right before the pain hit.

Crucio!

Legilimens!

The Dark Lord’s curse followed immediately after, slicing into his memories.

All he felt was pain. Pain engulfing his body, pain shredding his mind, and Nagini’s length coiling around him while he screamed.

His vocal chords became raw with blood, and he yelled until his throat made no more sound.

 

~

 

Hermione Apparated into her room and was immediately accosted by Draco’s frantic kisses. His lips searched hers out, desperate and ravenous. She knew it was dangerous for them to meet now that his father found out he was having an affair. As such, they barely saw each other and hadn’t met at all since she hid Theo last week.

She captured his mouth, barely registering his tongue searching for hers before his lips were somewhere else. Her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her ear. His mouth was warm and his tongue was hot against her skin. She tried to wrap her arms around his neck but he forced them upward, removing her T-shirt up and over her head. Then he tugged her arms back down, yanking her bra off her breasts.

She tried to place her wand on the night table but it got knocked to the floor by Draco’s frenzied movements.

Hermione struggled to pull her arms out of her bra straps, hanging loosely around her elbows. She whimpered while Draco palmed her breasts, needy and panting as his fingers dug into the base of her scalp, tangling in her hair. She groaned, and heat encased her body. She wanted nothing more than for him to bury himself inside her.

She tried to hold him still, cupping his jaw, holding his throat, feeling the cords of his neck move while he hungrily devoured her mouth. But Draco was all over the place, frantic. Making quick work of her jeans, he tugged them down with her knickers before fumbling with his belt. She heard the clinking of his buckle and his zipper next while she kicked off her jeans and underwear. She was already wet with anticipation when he hoisted her up, hands splaying over her arse and lower back. She wrapped her legs around him, trapping his length against his stomach, meeting his feverish kisses and fisting his hair with a groan.

God, she missed him. It had been too long.

Hermione felt herself moving backwards, her posture shifting to horizontal as he lowered them onto the bed. As soon as her back hit the mattress Draco sunk into her with a groan.

“Ohgod!” She wasn’t prepared and his sudden entry took her by surprise. But he held himself still, unmoving inside her and breathing hard from the frenzied groping of mere seconds ago.

Draco raised his head slightly, pulling on her bottom lip before releasing it from his mouth. Hermione stared into his eyes and wrapped her legs around his. Something was wrong. He brought his eyebrows together, as if he were suffering.

With a start, she realized he was hurt.

“I need you,” he said with a desperate, rasping cry.

“I’ve missed you t-” Draco swallowed her words with another open mouthed kiss and slid his cock slowly, in and out of her, punctuating each entry with a half-grunt, half-moan. It was warm and smooth, just like she remembered, and she welcomed him.

Hermione rocked her pelvis upward to meet him and he lowered his head to her neck, sucking on the juncture with her shoulder. She tightened below, enjoying their heat and she slid her hands down to his arse and squeezed, feeling his muscles flex. The broken sounds he made were agonized, and she held him tight. Each time he entered, his body shook  with the effort.

It reminded her of when she made love to him after he was tortured, and with growing horror, she realized that’s what must have happened. Draco started to tremble and piston into her erratically, and she knew he was nearly there. Burying his face in her neck, his entire body quaked as he emptied himself with a muffled cry.

Hermione hadn’t come, but she didn’t care. He was hurt.

She wanted to hold him, and so she did, listening to him breathe. His shoulders heaved from the onslaught until he slowly relaxed atop her, releasing a soft whimper. She couldn’t stand to see him in pain, and turned her head to nuzzle his cheek.

Pushing himself up, he stared down at her through his fringe.  

Draco had been tortured, she could see it in clearly in his eyes now. Slightly bloodshot, haunted, a hollow darkness surrounding them. She didn’t know how long ago, and he appeared to be tolerating the residual pain. But he was also upset about something. Hermione was about to ask how she could help when he spoke.

“You’re not staying at the safe houses anymore.”

Her need to comfort him shifted to surprise.

“What? Why? I have to.” Hermione frowned, completely taken aback by the topic of conversation, and just after he had made love to her so passionately.

Draco grit his teeth. “No. You don’t. You can stay here. Or with Theo.”

She eyed him cautiously, she’d have to be careful lest she set him off.

“The raid went fine, Draco,” she reassured him. Hermione rubbed her hands over his upper back, trying to calm both him and herself. “Our Portkey evacuation plan worked because we’ve drilled it to death. You-Know-Who’s army can’t get us and we already vacated the compromised safe house.”

He softened inside her and slipped out. She contracted below, wanting him back inside.

Draco shook his head, agitated, and pulled the curls away from her face, tugging gently on her hair. “They knew about the Portkeys. They knew they wouldn’t succeed in the last raid, they used it to figure out the details of your evacuation plan.”

She tensed as fear gripped her spine. “What do you mean?”

“One of you is a spy. I don’t know how, I don’t know who, but one of you is a spy. They’re going to attack all the safe houses at the same time – even the warehouse in Bath.” His words came out with increasing urgency. “All of them. They’re going to crush the Order. This is the death blow we’ve been hearing about.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in terror. “How did you know about the Bath warehouse?”

How did they know? No one in the Order even knew the exact location except for her and Remus. Everyone else just Portkey’d in and out during drills. And they were so close! She, Harry and Ron had destroyed all the Horcruxes and needed to figure out how Draco could kill Nagini safely. Then they’d deal with Harry and finally kill Voldemort.

“The spy,” Draco explained, his fingers cradling her cheek and her shoulder. “During the last raid, they found out where you were all Portkey-ing to. They’ll ambush those of you that escape while the safe houses are being raided. They’re pulling in new recruits. You’re already outnumbered by at least two to one.” He panted, out of breath. “You’ll lose.”

Hermione turned her head to the side, her mind racing furiously. Remus had to find a different evacuation point and set it up so she could alter the destination of everyone’s Portkeys. Not nearly as time consuming as making new ones but an arduous process nonetheless. But she had to do it in a way which didn’t include the spy.

How? And who would it be? How long had the spy been among them? How did they infiltrate? The Order was clean after the first raid. She racked her brain, going through all the Order members… it could be anyone. It could be Remus. But how would they get to him? Was that possible?

Did someone betray them or was someone Polyjuiced? Imperiused?

And how long did they have?

She turned back to Draco. His grey eyes were desperate now and panic lined his face.

“When?” her voice trembled. “When’s the raid?”

He exhaled angrily through his teeth. “If I knew then I’d tell you. The Dark Lord’s operations have always been compartmentalized in case of a spy. All I know is that it’s coming. They’re getting the pieces in place. I don’t know what they’re waiting for but once they have what they need it’s all your safe houses.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, twitching with nervous energy, pushing it off his face. His features were angry, he looked like he was ready to lose it.

“You’ve never given me so much detail about a raid before.”

He clenched his jaw. “Severus told me. He’s trying to figure out more details as well and…” She could see him considering whether or not to continue. “And I’m Inner Circle now.”

Hermione’s heart ached for him. Advancement in Voldemort’s Army didn’t come without cost.

“You were tortured, weren’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco continued, desperate, but he didn’t deny it. “We’re coming. All at the same time, all at once.” She could tell from the tense curl of his body atop her, he was doing all he could to keep himself from lashing out. “Hermione, I want you to leave. I want you out.” His tone became uncharacteristically gruff. “They’re not. Fucking. Around.”

 

 

Notes:

Next up: dark smut

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Chapter 66: Chapter 66

Notes:

There's a trigger warning associated with this chapter, see end notes for details if you'd like them.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione had to go and warn them. Tonks first. She needed to tell Tonks.

Oh god! What if the spy were Tonks?

No. Draco would be dead if that were the case. She’d start with Tonks and they’d figure out where to go from there.

She tried to get up, but Draco pressed her shoulder back down with a flare of his nostrils. Startled, she sucked in a breath. What was he doing? Would he not let her go back? His fingers were starting to hurt; he was digging them hard into her shoulder.

Goosebumps spread up and down her spine. She needed her wand, but it was on the floor. Hermione strained her arm over the edge of the bed but couldn’t reach it with the way he restrained her with his body.

“I can’t leave them,” Hermione protested, struggling under his weight. He wouldn’t let her up. Terrified, she blinked up at him. His eyes hardened and he wouldn’t move, trapping her underneath his body. “Draco?” She reached down on the side of the bed again, but her arm wasn’t long enough to get her wand. “Draco,” she pleaded, her heart racing. His mouth flattened in irritation. “I can’t abandon everyone.”

“You’re not,” Draco ground out. His face contorted in anger and her eyes widened apprehensively. He grabbed her wrist and pinned it to the bed next to her head. She tried to pull her hand out, but his grip tightened. “You are one person. Warn who you have to, let them take care of it and leave.”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through her as the dangerous glint in his eye appeared.

Fuck.

It was coming.

She watched in dread as his muscles slowly tensed, and she remembered laying trapped on the floor of his home, horrified, when she thought he might curse her.

Hermione was still naked; he was mostly dressed and lying on top of her, trousers shoved down to his knees. The whole situation made her perversely excited, like when he had spanked her, but she squirmed underneath him, trying to get loose.

“Draco, it’s me that ‘takes care of it’,” she explained, trying to keep her voice steady, struggling to get her hands free. “I’m the one that has to repurpose the Portkeys. I can’t leave them.”

“If you stay, I’m going to lose you.” Draco squeezed his eyes shut, shaking, as if ready to explode. “Don’t go back. Please.”

“You’ve warned us. We can prepare. We have some time,” Hermione tried to mollify him, sounding more confident than she felt.

Draco looked to the side. “Fucking dammit,” he spat, and pushed himself off of her to sit on the bed.

She exhaled in relief. He wouldn’t hold her against her will. Of course he wouldn’t do that.

Hermione’s bare body was suddenly cold at the loss of his heat, and despite the momentary fear, she still felt empty where he had been thrusting inside of her.

Draco pulled his trousers up over his bum and reached into his pocket. “I knew you wouldn’t leave,” he cursed harshly to himself. “Here, take this.” He extracted a small, brown pouch and held it out to her.

“What is it?” Hermione pushed herself up to sit next to him, still feeling vulnerable and exposed in the face of his anger.

“A Portkey to one of our summer villas in the south of France. We haven’t been there since the Dark Lord returned.” She took the pouch out of his hand and wrapped her fingers around it. It was round, and heavy for its size. Probably metal. Draco continued, “Don’t stay there though. As soon as you arrive, go to the main gate and Apparate outside. I don’t know where you’d stay but at least you won’t be here. I’ll come for you after the raid.”

Hermione rubbed her thumb over the fabric and eyed him. Still agitated, he ran his hand through his hair. It flopped right back down in front of his face.

“Thank you.”

She was awful. He was always looking out for her, but she still didn’t have a solution for him. She hadn’t forced a vote yet among Order leadership on Draco’s pardon because she didn’t want to risk losing. Tonks would side with her. Kingsley would not. But if she couldn’t convince Kingsley, all he had to do was mention Draco’s war crimes and Minerva would vote against.

Remus was the tie-breaking wild card, and she didn’t want to chance losing his and Minerva’s vote.

Hermione thought it best to wait until she had some way to force Kingsley to change his mind. He was hiding something. Many somethings. She had started collecting information on Kingsley’s home wards from the Ministry but hadn’t yet had a chance to break into his house.

Her plan was to hold her cards close, and only play them when she knew she had a winning hand. If she called a vote with something to leverage over Kingsley, then he wouldn’t sabotage it by discussing Draco’s crimes. The opposite. He’d do everything he could to pass it.

But she had nothing on him so far.

Hermione felt so guilty. Draco deserved to know, but he was so on edge. After that night when he had given her the plans to the gala, she wasn’t sure what to expect if they fought again.

Regardless, she needed to get back and start working with Tonks. She clutched the pouch, wondering how to repurpose everyone’s Portkeys while excluding the spy. They’d figure something out. She made to bend over and get dressed but Draco pushed the curls out of her face.

“Keep that on you at all times. Like the Galleon.” His eyes flashed and he threaded his fingers into her hair, cradling her skull.

She swallowed, feeling both comforted and scared by the intensity of his concern. “Alright.”

“Do you hear me, Hermione?” His fingers tangled in her hair as his gaze raked over her breasts and back up to her face, making her feel exposed, scared and desired all at once. “At all times.”

“Yes,” she whispered, and heat flared between her thighs again.

Draco’s grip gradually tightened, and he tilted her head back, slowly invading her mouth. It was a powerful but controlled kiss, and arousal instantly spread below. His hands were firm and unyielding as they guided her down and Hermione’s body thrummed in anticipation, not having climaxed earlier.

Draco was still hurt after being tortured. He needed her. She could stay a bit longer before heading back. He knocked the Portkey from her hand as he ripped his shirt off, over his head. She barely saw the small bag roll over her wand and across the floor when his hot mouth was back on hers again. She arched into him, enjoying the way his tongue stroked her, and wanting to give him the same pleasure in return.

His long fingers slid to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, pressing her down to the mattress and her skin tingled with excitement. Reaching around his lithe form, she shoved his trousers down and he shucked them off. Draco positioned himself between her legs and she spread herself to accommodate him, eager to have him inside her again. His body felt so good atop her and she slid her hands down his back, feeling his muscles move.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed as he captured her mouth and she held him close. His lips were firm, and the force of his hands on her body made her cunt clench with want, but he didn’t enter her yet. She groaned, grinding her hips into him. He bit her lip harshly, making her yelp.

It hurt, but she welcomed the pain. It was nothing compared to what he had gone through.

Draco’s breath was ragged against her mouth and his nose pushed against her cheek. They moved together, the sex was hot and rough, he was nearly mauling her and while his touch was aggressive and bruising, she pulled at his body for more, wanting him that way. And yet, despite how sinful it all felt, something about how he was acting made her nervous.

The hand on her collarbone inched up slowly and his thumb circled the base of her neck.

It pressed into her flesh.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open. He was angry, trying to make her submit. Using sex to punish her again. But this time it wasn’t meant to be humiliating, and the way he held her down made her heart thud rapidly with fear.

She had to get her wand.

Hermione pulled away but his mouth chased after hers.

Draco was all writhing limbs, smooth skin and hard muscle. Electricity throbbed below as his thigh rubbed against her apex, but she pushed against his shoulders, struggling to get him off. She needed her wand. He didn’t get up, instead kissing her more aggressively. His hand crept downwards towards her breast and kneaded her flesh, making her gasp. She dug her fingers into him as he groped her and she pushed on him again. Draco released her mouth to attack her neck, sucking and nipping, making ravenous grunting noises.

“Wait!”

She tilted her head back with a whimper as he rutted against her. Every rub, every touch, every way his body moved against hers made her tighten further. She wanted him inside her, but fear spread from his fingers around her throat, throughout her body.

When he lifted his head, the blood froze in her veins. His eyes were dark behind his fringe. She tried to lean to the side to reach over the bed, but she couldn’t move enough to get her wand. She pushed herself up, but his hand tightened and his body caged her on the mattress.

Hermione tensed, heart racing, not knowing what Draco would do. She had a brief flashback of him tied up and screaming at her to hit him. He had said he would never hurt her, but his hand was on her neck and she didn’t trust the look in his eyes.

She was hot with want, but her growing fear sent chills of dread down her spine. She grabbed his arm, unsure if she should pry his fingers away, but he bared his teeth, contracted his muscles and thrust into her.

“Fuck!” she panted, throwing her head back.

It was sudden, and the impact of his pelvic bone against her hips hurt. But she was wet, and he slid right in, filling her completely. His cock was so far up inside and his body surrounded her; she released a choked cry.

Watching her face contort in pleasure, Draco’s dark eyes gleamed victoriously, and the edge of his lips lifted in a twisted smile. He pressed his thumb into the side of her neck, pushing into the skin, tightening his grip around her throat. Sealing her mouth with his, he muffled the words of protest she hadn’t yet formed. As his mouth devoured hers, almost painfully, she kissed him back, fisting his hair. Not quite pulling his head away and still unsure if she should stop him. Unsure if she wanted to. Her fear was thrilling, and made her stomach twist in desire.

Draco pulled out, waited a few seconds and speared her again, rocking her body backward. He repeated the motion again, and again, picking up his pace. His thrusts were rough, and his hips smacked the inside of her thighs each time he entered her. Bone hit bone and she winced as he curled his fingers around her throat.

Hermione slid her hand atop his, tentatively placing them over the fingers on her throat. She anxiously caressed his knuckles, and he tightened his hold. Not quite restricting her air flow, but pushing her chin upwards such that she couldn’t move her head. He was rough – too rough – but it was exciting, she wanted it.

She deserved it.

 

 

She had betrayed Draco‘s trust. She was using him, all the while knowing what he was putting himself through. And she had made terrible decisions in retrospect. She had killed Dedalus when he would have been rescued just a few days later. He would still be alive today if not for her. Eloise was broken because she had abandoned her. And she was lying to Harry.

Draco should punish her. She squeezed her eyes tight, and a few tears leaked out. She remembered the red line of blood as she sliced Dedalus’ throat as Draco’s fingers splayed across hers. His hand on her neck thrilled her, and Hermione thought she might come from the fear alone.

He squeezed, making her cunt contract in response. Draco chuckled menacingly against her lips. She tightened more down below, orgasm fast approaching and squeezed his torso with her legs. His hips snapped against hers. Mad and forceful. Slapping against her skin.

Draco bit at her lips. They stung, and she whimpered. It was rough but she wanted more, kissing him back even as the fingers on her throat terrified her. She remembered his cold eyes gazing down at her at wandpoint. And how he had completely lost control while tied up.

Draco was so much larger than she was. So much harder, broader and stronger. Would he hurt her? She didn’t know. If he lost control, he wouldn’t know either.

His breath was hot against her skin and their bodies became slick with sweat. Draco could overpower her so easily if he wanted. He could use her however he wanted. He could strangle her. He could snap her neck. Without a wand, there was nothing she could do.

But Hermione wanted more. She was going to come; the pressure was building.

His cock slid against her walls, hitting her deep inside and she felt it pulse. She moaned into his mouth as he pistoned into her and she throbbed below. Her breathing became erratic, and she knew she was close. From the desperate grunts he made, he was too.

His grip slowly closed around her windpipe. Hermione whimpered until the sound was cut off. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, and just when she started to panic she came hard and fast as he squeezed her throat. Draco lifted his head, watching her with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. She tensed, contracted, and arched her body, screaming her release when he loosened his grip on her neck.

Hermione’s gasped for breath as her vision whited out. Her body quaked as the swift and powerful orgasm receded, leaving her boneless and trembling.

Draco snarled and shook as he came inside her. After a few jerks of his hips, he collapsed on top her, sweaty and breathing heavily against her neck. His heart thundered inside his chest.

After a few heaving breaths, he slid off to the side, resting his hand on her throat like a collar. She placed her hand atop his, and felt his fingers twitch. Curling her fingers under his, she lifted them from her skin, and breathed in, slowly. Deeply. And then again.

They lay in silence for a few moments. Hermione’s mind was racing, unsure what to think about what just happened. She swallowed a few times, it was uncomfortable at first, and then her throat felt normal again.

Tentatively, she rested her hands on her chest and waited for her breathing to steady. She tried to will her racing heart to slow but found herself unable to calm down.

Completely shocked, Hermione couldn’t believe how intense her orgasm was. But maybe she shouldn’t be, knowing how she responded when he acted like this. It felt good precisely because Draco was rough and terrifying. Part of her wanted him to be deviant. And part of her wanted him to punish her.

He pushed himself up on his forearms to study her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were still that dangerous dark grey. His gaze shifted to her mouth and back up again. Hermione breathed heavily while she watched him, unsure what he was thinking.

Draco lowered his mouth to hers and lightly bit her lip, moving it back and forth between his teeth. It still hurt from when he bit her earlier and she whimpered. He released her lip and reached down between their legs. Inserting two fingers into her cunt, he made her hiss and buck since she was still sensitive, and brought his fingers back up. Still watching her, eyes dark and sinister, he pressed his fingers against her lips, against her teeth.

Hermione opened her mouth slightly and Draco pushed his fingers in, wet with her arousal and his come. The flavor was salty and pungent.

“Suck it off.”

He pushed his fingers in further and she opened her mouth wider to stroke his knuckles with her tongue. Hermione didn’t understand what he was trying to do. Was this still a punishment?

Hermione licked and sucked the come off his fingers, swallowing. His eyes were hooded as he stared at her lips. With a twitch of his fingers, his dark gaze locked on hers. After one final swirl of her tongue, Draco removed his fingers, and reached down between her legs again. He swiped around her clit, and shoved his fingers deep inside her, again making her jerk her hips.

His fingers strained and she grunted as he hit sensitive areas, still throbbing from her orgasm. His eyes held hers, and the shade had lightened somewhat. He pushed his fingers back into her mouth again and she sucked his come clean without being told. He bit his bottom lip, watching her, and his cheeks flushed in obvious pleasure.

Draco made her do it three more times, each time his eyes lightening until they returned to their normal shade. He lowered himself to kiss her. It wasn’t rough like before, but it was demanding. Hermione reached up to cup his face and just as her fingers cradled his jawbone, he rolled onto his back with a sigh.

Hermione stared at the ceiling, listening to the crickets outside, somewhat in shock. She could still feel the indent of Draco’s fingers on her neck, and was fairly certain she’d have bruises on her thighs and the rest of her body. It seemed the moment had passed, but she rolled over, reaching to the ground to grab her wand off the floor anyway. She picked it up with her clothes, so that he wouldn’t see her take it.

She couldn’t believe he had just done that to her. And she couldn’t believe she had let him, and had enjoyed it.

Draco turned on his side and delicately stroked her neck. She swallowed nervously and he watched the motion. Those tender fingers had been tight around her throat just a few moments ago. Had pushed inside her mouth, forcing her to suck off his come. Had smacked her arse and her vulva before.

Hermione didn’t know what to say and waited for him to speak. He slid his fingers down to her shoulder and she winced as they touched a sensitive area. He had definitely bruised her there.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and trailed his fingers down her arm. She was relieved he had come back to himself. “You…” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he appeared to be deciding what to say. “I didn’t want to do that. Why did you like it?”

Because I killed Dedalus. Because I broke Eloise. Because I’m lying to Harry. And I want you to hurt me, like I’m hurting you.

“This war.” She met his eyes. “You’re not the only one who’s done bad things, Draco.”

His voice was raw, and he looked troubled. “I don’t want you to use me like that.”

“You of all people should understand. You wanted me to tie you up and smack you.”

The shift in him was palpable at her statement. Draco closed his eyes and his body trembled ever so slightly. The tips of his fingers pressed into her arm.

He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. Their feral gleam made her feel as if he would eat her alive, and she gripped her wand tighter.

His voice was low and rough, but he said, “I don’t want us to be that way.”

Her eyes grew hot, but she kept the tears inside. “I don’t either.”

Draco reached up, tenderly tucking a curl behind her ear, and she rested her hand on his, stroking the lines of his fingers.

“Are you scared of me?”

Her gaze locked on his, and his brow furrowed in apprehension. Draco wanted her to say no. But he had just admitted that he had gone ahead with a sexual act that he didn’t want to do. Despite his assurances that he would never hurt her and that he would stop if she didn’t want it, she didn’t know how far he would go. And she was perversely excited by that prospect.

“Not now. But when your eyes darken I am.” She studied his haunted expression. “Even though I like it.”

Draco laced his fingers in with hers. “But I would never hurt you. Even when I’m overwhelmed with…” He paused, unsure how to describe what he felt. He looked pained and she watched as several emotions played across his face: fear, anguish and finally resignation. His voice was tight as he struggled to speak. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore.”

Her fingers tightened around his hand.

No. No. No.

That’s not what Hermione wanted, of that she was certain. None of this was Draco’s fault. He just needed help and she wasn’t going to abandon him. Not to the demons that haunted him now, and not to Azkaban.

She pushed herself up and stared down at him, jaw set.

“You think I can’t take you?”

His lips quirked, but he still appeared worried.

“Hermione, I’m changing.”

“I’m changing too. The war is changing all of us.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Draco studied her while he tried to find words to express himself. “I’m darker – I’m worse than I was. Even a month ago. I don’t know when it will stop.”

Hermione wasn’t sure how to handle his sexual appetites. Or hers. Draco didn’t seem to know what he was going to do until he was in the middle of doing it. And if that was the case, how did he know that he wouldn’t hurt her?

And she didn’t even say anything after he started to squeeze her neck.

Upon noticing her hesitation, he continued, “What if it gets worse, Hermione? What if casting the Patronus isn’t enough?”

She was worried about that as well, but what about Tonks and Remus? They made things work.

“It’s treatable. The Aurors know how.” His eyebrows rose, surprised at her confident tone. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone, we’ll figure it out together.”

Draco’s voice was soft when he replied, “I don’t deserve you.”

Her stomach twisted in guilt. It was on the tip of her tongue. Kingsley was lying, and she had knowingly strung Draco along. She stared into his eyes; grateful, sincere and hopeful right now, but dark and dangerous just a few moments ago.

It wasn’t wise to tell him. Not now. Not after what had just happened, and she needed to get back to talk with Tonks anyway. The spy and upcoming raid were more important.

“I love you, Draco.” She slid her hand up his arm, up his neck to caress his jaw. “I’m the one who’s lucky to be with you. And I want your darkness. I want you. I want all of you.”

He cradled her cheek and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “You have me,” his lips ghosted against hers, tracing her upper lip, circling the lines of her mouth. “All of me. For as long as you want.”

Hermione wished they could stay longer together. They hadn’t spent the night since he was tortured after the breakout. But she had work to do. And he needed to get back as well to prevent any suspicion.

“I miss our time together.” And she had to tell him. She couldn’t keep this up, it was eating away at her. He deserved to know. “I miss our moments.”

“I do, too.” He studied her earnestly. “I’ll figure something out.”

She made to get up, but he squeezed his eyes shut and curled his hand into a fist behind her head.

“Draco?” she called his name tentatively.

He opened his eyes. Bloodshot and desperate.

“Stay here,” he replied with a slight tremor. “Please.”

“I can’t. I have a job to do.”

He flared his nostrils, but kept his anger constrained in the tense coil of his body. “Then promise me you’ll get out immediately. As soon as I warn you.”

Once again, she was thankful for her Occlumency lessons. Taking a deep breath, she gazed into his eyes.

And lied.

“I promise.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: The Order finds the spy.

TW: Erotic asphyxiation, dub-con

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Chapter 67: Chapter 67

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

September 1998

Ever since Draco told Hermione there was a spy, Tonks had silently been taking the Order members away individually for interrogation with Veritaserum, removal from the Imperius Curse if necessary, checking for signs of Obliviation, and instructing them to tell no one. After each one was cleared, Hermione modified their Portkeys to transport them to the camp site Remus was setting up with the aid of a few others.

The plan was to abandon the safe houses and evacuate as soon as the necessary supplies and protections were in place. But they couldn’t do it until they found the spy, and Remus had to be careful – setting up the campsite without the spy catching on.

Everyone was tense, but morale was still high despite the terror looming over their heads. Combat training continued as usual and leadership did their utmost best to proceed as if nothing was amiss. They even had an impromptu party to cover up the fact that 15 Order members had left with Remus to help set up the tents and transport accumulated supplies.

It was terrifying, knowing that the enemy was among them. Stressed beyond belief, all of Hermione’s waking hours were devoted to the complex Arithmancy based magic to repurpose Portkeys once Tonks gave her approval. Scared and exhausted, she had been working non-stop, sleeping little, and often times passing out over her lab bench.

Tonks hadn’t been sleeping much either. At the last leadership meeting they exchanged exhausted glances, each with bags under their eyes. Up until then she had felt lonely, working by herself. But Tonks rubbed her back, trying to give her support, and she instantly felt a kinship with the woman who shouldered so much. Hermione could always lean on her.

“It’ll be alright, Hermione. We’re doing everything we can, we’ll make it. I’m halfway there, and so are you.”

She smiled weakly, and Tonks continued, squeezing her upper arm affectionately.

“I want you to go to bed early, and sleep as long as you have to. We’re each going to start making mistakes if we continue like this.”

“But–” she protested.

“We know we have more time,” Tonks answered, running her hand over her face. “The raid won’t happen tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows curiously. “How do you know?”

“Draco’s friends haven’t been recruited yet, have they? He’s been worried about that since graduation and there’s been non-stop talk this summer of crushing the Order with their far superior numbers.”

“They have the superior numbers.”

“Yes and no. Not enough to crush us. Not yet. But they will.”

Hermione didn’t know how Tonks had any brain cells left with so little sleep.

“Oh.”

“So sleep tight, yeah? Rest that mind of yours. We need it.”

Hermione eyed her suspiciously. “Are you going to?”

Tonks gave her a warm smile. “Yes, Hermione. Everyone is going to bed early. We’ve been racing at breakneck speed and we all need it. No more Wide-Eye Potion tonight. We’ll start up again tomorrow, late afternoon.”

“Thank you.”

Tonks morphed her nose and mouth to a duck bill and Hermione huffed an exhausted laugh.

The older witch pointed at her. “Never fails.”

“It’s loads better than that evil clown face.”

 

~

 

Minerva was aiding Tonks with the interrogations, the Order was secretly preparing the secure camp site, and despite the much needed rest, Hermione felt like she was running as fast as she could in a race she couldn’t hope to win.

She was empty inside, and she missed Draco. But despite it all, she sighed in relief. Not just fifteen minutes ago, she completed all the Portkeys Tonks had confirmed for her. Not knowing what else to do with herself, and too tired to go anywhere, she stared absently at the equation covered parchments in front of her when Harry and Ron burst through the door of the potions lab.

“We brought beans!” Ron called out, startling her from her daze. “And toast! Brings back the early days!”

Hermione snorted, despite how numb she felt after working so hard for so many consecutive days. “Really? Of all the things you–  Ooooooh!”

Ron was carrying a sack filled with something. But Harry brought in a platter of bread pudding, homemade dinner rolls, butter, beef stew, a colorful chopped salad and the creamiest mashed potatoes Hermione had ever seen.

Her mouth started to water. “Fresh from Molly Weasley’s kitchen?” she guessed, barely able to suppress the tears of joy.

“She knows how hard you’ve been working,” Harry explained, setting the plates, bowls and cutlery down for her. “All holed up in here with only the Ravenclaws to bother you on occasion.”

Ron pushed her parchments aside so she’d have more room.

“Are you sure we can’t help you, Hermione?” Ron asked. “We could uh…” He peered at the complex equations written over an expanse of several feet of parchment. “Sharpen your quills? Refill your ink well?”

Harry surveyed the parchments over her shoulder. “I’ll have you know I am excellent at handling random objects. Fully capable of holding a Portkey while you repurpose it.”

Hermione laughed, wiping an errant tear and grabbed a fork to spear a piece of meat from the stew. “I’m actually all caught up now. Waiting for more news from Tonks. This meal looks lovely and I’ll likely crash right after I finish. You two want to sit and eat with me? This is enough for three people anyway.” She eyed the food in front of her again. “Or one if you’re Ron.”

Ron tugged on her ponytail affectionately.  She swatted his hand away and brought a forkful of meat up to her mouth, but paused mid-bite when she saw the somewhat forlorn expressions on their faces. Something bad happened, they were hiding it by joking around but she could see right through them.

She laid her fork down. “What happened?”

Harry punched Ron in the arm.

“Umf!” he grunted. “I didn’t say anything!”

They had the subtlety of a herd of hippogriffs. Feeling apprehensive now, Hermione swiveled on her stool to face them. “What are you hiding? What happened?” She glanced warily at the sack Ron had with him. “What’s in the sack, Ron?”

“You should have let her eat first!” Harry chastised him. “She’s exhausted!”

“Why are you blaming me?” Ron retorted before turning back to placate her. “Nothing hap–”

“Oh, shut it, Ronald. It’s too late now.” Hermione twisted her napkin nervously. “What happened?”

The two glanced at each other and their faces fell.

“The good news or the bad news?” Ron asked.

“Just tell me!” She burst out, wanting to get it over with.

“Will you at least eat?” Ron cajoled her, clearly regretful he slipped up. “You can’t survive on Wide-eye Potions.”

“The snake fangs have calcium and there’s plant starches in the Wolfsbane,” Hermione countered. “It may not have the calories of a Molly Weasley dinner but it’s something.”

“Bollocks.” Harry picked up her fork and held it up to her mouth. “Eat or we won’t tell you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and then opened her mouth obediently. He shoved in the forkful of meat and she chewed. After a few seconds of them watching her eat she held her hands out in expectation and mumbled “Well?” through her chewing.

Ron eyed Harry. “It’s a good way to shut her up. Withholding information so she lets us stuff her mou– ow!

She smacked his arm.

Harry turned to her with a grim look and sighed. “Justin Finch-Fletchley was captured. We think he’s probably dead. They’ve no reason to keep him alive anymore.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she swallowed. “What? How?” She didn’t know Justin very well. Not as well as she knew Oliver and Seamus. She didn’t think Harry and Ron did either. They had never been on raids together and he stayed at Haverhill safe house with some of the other Hufflepuffs.

Harry held up a forkful of meat. She sighed in resignation and let him feed her another bite.

Hermione didn’t remember hearing about Justin being captured. And she had just seen him last week. Had the Order gone on a raid? Being so busy and exhausted with repurposing the Portkeys, was it possible she forgot such an important piece of information? She was about to ask when Harry stuffed a spoonful of mashed potatoes in her mouth.

“Tonks had him in for interrogation and he collapsed as soon as she administered the Veritaserum. Dead,” Harry clarified.

Hermione stared at Harry, confused, and he took the opportunity to shove more mashed potatoes in her mouth.

“Justin was a Death Eater?” she mumbled while trying to swallow.

That made no sense at all.

Oh.

She was about to correct her assertion when Harry stuck another forkful of beef into her mouth. Ron voiced her thoughts while she pieced the plot together.

“He was a Polyjuiced Death Eater,” Ron said. “The cunt came back in Justin’s place during one of our raids so we wouldn’t know he was taken.”

“Wembley,” Hermione closed her eyes, remembering the chaos in the infirmary and Harry and Lavender’s brush with death. “They drew us all out on purpose and Justin came back with a small injury. No one noticed because of all the injuries that had to be treated, and we just Apparated him back without question.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed with a hollow expression. “Getting captured is my worst nightmare. I’d prefer to be killed. They’re all sick fuckers.”

Harry shuddered in agreement, but Hermione winced, remembering Dedalus’ request that she end his life.

Harry was about to give her a forkful of salad but she pushed his hand away, feeling sick to her stomach at the memory. “I can’t Harry.”

“Then no more information,” he said, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

She sighed and grabbed the fork out of his hand. “Fine, I’ll eat.” She stabbed the greens in the bowl and tried her best to swallow. “Poor Justin. And none of us knew.”

Lavender had noticed something was off with him, but Hermione had brushed off her observations as inconsequential. Hermione remembered the state of Oliver, Eloise and Hannah when they came across them in the dungeons. She cringed, not knowing how they’d find him if he was still alive.

“Wembley was to draw us all out,” Ron continued. “They already had Polyjuice prepared.”

“So who…?”

And then it all clicked.

“It was Dawlish the whole time,” she said, quickly taking a bite from a dinner roll when Harry threatened her with a spoonful of bread pudding. “He could blend in because he’d been around us for months.”

Harry nodded. “He’s been Polyjuicing himself into Justin since his capture. That’s why we never saw him in the Malfoy dungeons. He’d already identified Justin as the target and they waited for the opportunity to take him.”

“Why Justin?”

“Justin was our Secret Keeper,” Ron replied. “Dawlish found out.”

Hermione’s eyes bulged. So that’s how they knew the locations of all the residential safe houses, and the first raid. Justin must have been the Secret Keeper for the Bath ware house as well. She thought it was Remus, but Remus was the only one who knew the Secret Keeper’s identity. Everyone would have assumed the Secret Keeper was Remus.

Dawlish would have assumed that as well – Remus’ decision to make their Secret Keeper an inconsequential Order member must have bought them more time. After realizing Remus, Hermione, Minerva and Tonks weren’t the Secret Keepers, Dawlish would have had to go through the Order members one by one during combat training.

“Why not attack all the safe houses at once back in March?” she asked.

“Hard to tell. Most likely because they had fewer numbers then and thought capturing me would be enough to defeat the Order,” Harry answered with a shrug. “Afterwards, they realized anti-Apparition wards weren’t enough to prevent us from escaping during a raid. They couldn’t beat our Portkey evacuation plan.” He patted Hermione’s head affectionately. “So they had to figure out a way around it, and they did.”

Hermione turned back to her Arithmancy equations. They found the spy. Which meant…

She groaned inwardly. Sixteen more Portkeys to do. So much for sleep. She was so tired she felt like crying. But at least they could share Portkeys now. There was no danger of a spy tagging along and compromising their new location.

She should message Draco and let him know they found the spy. He had been terrified for her.

Hermione stood up from her stool. “I need to get the remaining Portkeys.”

Ron hefted the sack up on the lab bench. “Already collected them for you.”

Hermione shoved her food to the side and opened the sack. She looked up at him gratefully, but with tired eyes. “Thanks, Ron.” He had done the legwork for her, but she knew she couldn’t go to sleep. Or eat. Food would make her sleep. No wonder Harry and Ron were trying to force feed her.

Her heart swelled with love towards them.

“Come on, Hermione,” Harry cajoled her. “Molly will get upset if you don’t eat more.”

She downed another vial of Wide-eye Potion and grimaced at the bitter taste. “The food is too heavy; it’ll put me to sleep. I’ll take a few bites after each Portkey, okay?”

“We’ll come back to make sure you’re eating,” Ron said, casting a stasis charm on the food so it would stay fresh. “We’re all working ‘round the clock to prepare the camp site so we can abandon the safe houses as soon as possible. I expect to see some progress on that meal.”

She looked up at the two of them gratefully. They both had smiles on their faces, but their eyes were forlorn. Another Order member had probably died a painful death – alone – and the raid was coming.

“I love you both.”

Harry squeezed her shoulder.

“Right back at you, ‘Mione,” Harry said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Stop trying to make ‘Mione’ happen.”

Ron chuckled. But his laughter sounded hollow.

 

~

 

Minerva entered the potions lab and may as well have been Wonder Woman as far as Hermione was concerned. Hermione burst into tears at her arrival. After some brief instruction from ex-student to ex-Professor, which was received with a look of fond pride on her teacher’s face, the two got right to work, finding an easy rhythm. Hermione supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised at how well she worked with her ex-Transfiguration teacher. The two women had strong analytical minds suited to the complexities of Arithmancy-based charms.

While they worked, Hermione considered bringing up the issue of Draco’s pardon, and Kingsley’s political ambitions. Would it be worthwhile to state her case now? Pre-empt whatever Kingsley might have to say? Minerva would never approve of Kingsley’s reasoning of that Hermione was certain. Then again, even if she gained her approval now, any mention of Draco’s crimes by Kingsley would likely sway the elder Gryffindor against.

No, it was better to address the source of the problem. After they completed the Portkeys, Hermione would figure out a time where she could stake out Kingsley’s house.

Upon the completion of each Portkey, Harry or Ron delivered it to its rightful owner. Finally, after 72 straight hours of work without sleep and more vials of Wide-eye Potion than Hermione had ever consumed in her life, the Portkeys were finished.

Her shoulders sagged. Minerva eyes were just as bloodshot and rimmed with dark bags as Hermione’s must be. “Thanks for your help.”

Minerva nodded with a small smile for her ex-student. “A pleasure.” The two collected the piles of parchment, stuffed them in an empty cauldron and incinerated them.

Hermione turned to face her ex-Head of House and took a few steps back. “Ready?”

Minerva peered down through her spectacles. “You’re not too tired? I can ask Remus.”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s simple. Only the location related equations.”

They pointed their wands at each other’s heads. Hermione stared at the tip of Minerva’s, and then focused on her teacher’s eyes. “On three?”

With a curt nod, her teacher began the countdown and Hermione summoned her last bit of focus from the encroaching exhaustion. “And three… two… one.”

“Obliviate!” they said in unison. 

Hermione blinked her eyes and suddenly felt dizzy. The room spun and she nearly fell, catching herself on the lab bench. Minerva crashed into her and Hermione caught her arm, pulling her in towards her body so she wouldn’t fall.

“We should have done that while sitting,” Minerva blinked her eyes, clutching onto Hermione’s forearm.

Hermione pushed herself back up and helped her teacher to a standing position. “Next time we repurpose the entire Order’s Portkey supply, I’ll remember that.”

Rubbing her eyes, Minerva huffed a laugh. “You look like you’re going to be sick. I want you to go right to bed. That’s a direct order from your Head of House.”

Hermione nodded and smiled weakly. She didn’t need to be told twice. They exited the lab and entered the infirmary waiting room.

“Don’t worry, I’ll–” She paused to see Harry and Ron sprawled out in chairs, deep in sleep and snoring loudly with their mouths wide open.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “I was going to suggest that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley each Side-Along one of us back to our safe houses. However, I’m not entirely certain that it should be them doing the Apparating.”

Hermione swayed on her feet and Minerva steered her to a chair to sit. She sunk down and her head lolled to the side, hitting the wall. She was done, they were all safe, they could all evacuate, she could sleep.

“Potter! Weasley!” Minerva called out in her clipped tones, so reminiscent of their school days.

Harry jumped in his chair. “I have my homework professor! But I left it– wait. What?” Hermione smiled at his confusion. Ron blinked his eyes blearily at Harry’s outburst. Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his face.

“I trust you two will deliver the remainder of the Portkeys and see Miss Granger back to her bed for a good night’s rest?”

Harry looked between the two of them, stretching his long legs. “Of course.” He stood up and summoned the sack Portkeys from the workbench. “Do you need a Side-Along Minerva?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Hermione closed her eyes. She could sleep in the infirmary. The chair was comfortable, but Mary would hate her sleeping here. She smiled inwardly. An added bonus.

“And Miss Granger will need your help.” She heard Ron jump to action.

“Good night, you two,” Minerva’s voice trailed away as she headed to the door with Harry.

“Good night, Minerva,” Ron echoed. The door to Dorchester infirmary opened and closed as they left.

“I’ll sleep here,” Hermione slurred, not wanting to get up. “S’fine.”

“Bugger that,” she heard Ron grumble and was immediately picked up from the chair and cradled to his chest. She turned into his warmth. Hermione didn’t care where she was, so long as she didn’t have to support her own weight. And being surrounded by tall, warm, male was always comforting.

“Blimey, Hermione. Did you have to eat all the stew?”

“Piss off,” she mumbled into Ron’s chest.

Ron chuckled and they exited the infirmary together. It was going to be fine. They were going to be alright. They’d be evacuating soon, and even if the raid happened before they managed to clear the safehouses, it would be alright.

Ron entered the front door of the safe house and ascended the stairs to her room, carrying her without further complaint. She would have refused to be carried but she simply did not have it in her to do anything but breathe.

They entered her room. Lavender wasn’t there, probably with Oliver.

She felt herself being lowered to her mattress. Ron released her and turned to go.

“Sleep well, Hermione. You just saved all of us.”

“Ron, wait.”

She forced her eyes open and dug her Galleon out of her back pocket, handing it to him. “I don’t have the energy. Strengthen the warming charm on this – if he communicates with me, I don’t want to sleep through it.”

Hermione flipped over on her stomach and closed her eyes, shoving her hands under her pillow.

Ron held the Galleon in his palm and increased the intensity of the communication trigger. “Ow!” he dropped the Galleon to the floor. “You won’t sleep through that. Honestly, Hermione tell your bloke to wait. He can go a few days without a shag. You need to rest.”

He carefully re-inserted the Galleon into her back pocket, trying his best not to touch her arse.

“No,” she spoke, her voice muffled by the pillow. “It’s the spy. He might warn us.”

Ron had turned to leave her room but paused. She had corrected him without thinking.

Bugger.

“You’re shagging the spy?

Hermione was too exhausted. She couldn’t think of a good cover, excuse, explanation, anything.

“Yes. Now, go away and let me sleep.”

He didn’t leave.

“Is this why you broke things off with me?”

She sighed.

“I wasn’t shagging him at the time. You and I didn’t work well and you’re happy with Susan, it doesn’t matter anymore and we’re both happy, the end.” She cracked an eye open. “Please let me sleep.”

Ron was staring down at her in thought. But he didn’t look angry.

“You’re right.” A mischievous grin spread on his face. “And I’ll get the twenty Galleons.”

“The what?”

“Harry, Ginny and I said whoever figures out who you’re shagging gets ten Galleons each from the other two.” He rubbed his hands together. “They were so sure they’d figure it out before me. Can you tell me who the spy is?”

“No. And don’t tell Ginny.”

Especially Ginny.

“Please?”

“No.”

“I’ll give you half my winnings.”

“No.”

“I’ll teach you how to fly a broom properly.”

“Why would you even think that’s something to bribe me with?”

“I wonder if they’ll take ‘spy’ as an answer since his identify is classified.”

“Ron!”

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll let you sleep. Your secret is safe with me.”

 

~

 

Draco watched dispassionately as Millie’s screams filled his ears. The gut wrenching sound torn from his long-time friend ripped at his heart, but he gazed down at her through his mask as if nothing were amiss. She was on her knees, wearing her newly acquired Death Eater robes. Travers held her in place by the shoulders while her body shook in agony. Bellatrix had a death grip on her arm, long black fingernails digging into Millie’s flesh, and an evil smile on her lips. The Dark Lord’s wand tip pressed into the inside of Millie’s forearm and Draco saw the Dark Mark ripple onto her skin and flash bright red before cooling to black. The Dark Lord removed his wand, took a step back and Millie fell over, passed out on the floor like Daphne, Tracey, Ernie Macmillian and Anthony Goldstein had before her.

There were more new recruits on the floor, a year or two older than them.

He was taking them all, one by one. There would be more tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after that. The Dark Lord was forcing all of the recent Hogwarts’ graduates into submission, creating fodder for his army.

Some loyal and eager, some scared and unsure how to avoid their fate. If the new recruits weren’t already loyal due to pure-blood politics, the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters made them so with coercion, threats and intimidation to themselves and their families.

It was impossible to rebel; it was impossible to run. Adrian Pucey and Lisa Turpin had tried and were Crucio’d for their efforts, along with their parents before receiving the Dark Mark last night.

Although…

No one had found Theo. And not for lack of trying.

Hermione had ensured that his friend was safe for no other reason except that he asked. Despite the horror in front of him, a warmth diffused in Draco’s gut. Hermione had hidden his friend, and hidden him well.

Draco didn’t know when the raid would happen but this slew of new recruits meant it would be soon. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress his anxiety at what was looming in the near future. At least Hermione had his Portkey. He would warn her as soon as he knew.

The Dark Lord walked around the room, giving a speech about the next generation of Death Eaters which would destroy the resistance and purify the Wizarding world. Everyone murmured in agreement, with the occasional enthusiastic shout punctuating Draco’s foreboding. After the Dark Lord was done, everyone began to disperse and his former classmates’ parents followed the Dark Lord into another room in order to be debriefed on his new expectations of their families.

Draco was glad Macnair wasn’t here anymore, but he stayed regardless, remembering what Alecto had done to him after he took the Dark Mark, and what Rowle had done to Pansy.

Draco hadn’t had enough foresight or clout to help Pansy or himself back then. Now he had both.

He gazed across the slumped bodies of his classmates at Greg, whose face was hidden behind his mask. Greg remembered Draco warning him to stay after they received the mark, and he was.

His child-hood friend glanced up and nodded, but said nothing.

 

 

 

Notes:

I don’t want to give away spoilers by giving credit but the Justin/Dawlish plot line was inspired by The Fallout by everythursday.

Next chapter: Hermione confesses.

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Chapter 68: Chapter 68

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione had practiced what she was going to say and how she was going to say it. Draco would be angry and she was a little scared his anger would trigger him in some way, but she had her wand. She was prepared.

And then she’d explain the changing circumstances. They weren’t always in love, and she had only recently figured out Kingsley wouldn’t give him a pardon. She’d tell him that she understood, that he deserved to be angry and that she agreed with him. She knew it was wrong that she didn’t tell him the truth about his father. He deserved to know.

And she’d apologize. She’d beg for forgiveness.

Draco would understand, wouldn’t he?

But all her preparations flew out the window the minute he arrived. Hermione was overwhelmed with how much she missed him. Who even knew when she’d see him again? And there was going to be a raid. Before long, she was sitting astride his naked form on the bed.

Hermione lowered herself to capture his mouth with a pained whimper and she squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears. She cradled the sides of his face, rubbing his cheek bones with her thumbs, and sighed into his mouth. Trembling as she kissed him, she wanted him to know that she loved him, that she was sorry, and that she was doing everything she could to make it right. 

He cupped the back of her head, swallowing her pleas, perhaps thinking she was just worried about the upcoming raid. Hermione deepened the kiss, reaching out with her tongue, tracing the inside of his mouth while she ran her hands over his chest and shoulders. His hands slid up her skin, underneath the fabric of her camisole and pushed it up and over her head.

Draco stared up at her in wonder. She couldn’t take it. He was looking at her as if she were some kind of goddess that could promise salvation. But his love and adoration was too much; she didn’t deserve it.

His intense gaze trailed up and down her body and when the passion in his eyes met hers, he whispered, “I love you.”

“I know,” Hermione said with a quivering lip.

Draco furrowed his brow. He could tell something else was wrong. But Hermione didn’t want to talk yet. She wanted him to have more time when he felt secure, adored and happy. When making love wouldn’t be tainted by betrayal.

She wanted him to have one more time before… before…

Hermione was nervous. She didn’t know how he’d react. She remembered the bruises leftover from their lovemaking, how he screamed at her to hurt him, how he restrained her wrists, bent over as the flat of his hand smacked her behind, and the way his lips twisted into a deranged smile as his fingers curled around her throat.

This betrayal was so much worse than simply going against his wishes, and she didn’t know what he would do.

Before Draco could say anything, she got up on her knees and aligned his cock at her entry. He bit his bottom lip in anticipation and she sank down with a moan. He thrust upward to meet her and she rolled her hips and paused. For a few moments she simply sat with her knees spread, filled the hilt and enjoying his warm length inside her.

Hermione caressed the smooth skin of his abdominal muscles, watching goosebumps form in the wake of her fingers. His gaze locked onto hers and they continued in a slow, sensual push and pull, rocking rhythmically against each other.

Please, please, please… she begged silently, each time she tilted her pelvis into him. Please forgive me.

Hermione forced back tears, watching his eyes rake over her body, down to where he was inside her, over her stomach, her breasts and then back up to her face.

Please take this. Even though it’s not enough.

They writhed against each other as a familiar heat spread between her legs. Would he even want her after she confessed? 

Draco’s palms rested on her waist before sliding up to cup her breasts. Stroking the skin lightly, his thumbs circled her nipples.

He reached out to touch her. Always coming to her, always so devoted. She placed her hands over his while he fondled her, wanting to keep his hands there. She tilted her head upward and arched her back.

Stay here with me.

Would he reject her? She didn’t know.

Wanting to increase the contact with her clit, she leaned over him slightly, placing her hands on his chest to brace herself, rubbing against him with each thrust.

“Hermione.” Her name was almost a prayer on his lips.

It wasn’t right. She was failing him.

“Touch yourself. Let me watch.”

Anything. She’d do anything for him.

Still leaning atop him, without breaking their rhythm, she reached between her legs to stroke her clit, knuckles grazing his pubic area. His gaze held her while she inserted her fingers where they were intimately joined, wetting them, and spreading her arousal around herself.

Hermione grunted as a sudden jolt of pleasure ran through her and his lips parted while he watched. She rubbed faster and his hands kneaded her breasts, tweaked her nipples, and then slid down her sides to cup her rear. Her climax was approaching and she rocked over him with her hair dangling down, brushing against his chest.

She slid back and forth faster along his length but he stilled her, fingers digging into her hips.

“Wait,” Draco croaked. She stopped rubbing herself, panting, and looked down at him, concerned. “No,” he rasped, “You keep going. I’ll come too soon.” His lips quirked upwards. “It’s been a while.”

She smiled and resumed circling her nub, holding herself taught with one hand on his chest. Fiery heat spread within and she clamped his torso with her thighs, whining as she strained forward, shaking.

Hermione jerked forward and heaved a breath, still throbbing below and he stared, grey eyes bright and entranced. The bursts of pleasure receded to tingles and she relaxed her hold on his chest.

After she came down, breathless, Draco moved her back and forth over his length again. Everything was slick with arousal and sweat and she slid against him, letting him guide her hips, watching as he approached his own orgasm.

Yes. Use me.

Draco’s eyelids fluttered closed and his thighs stiffened underneath her, quivering slightly. Hermione didn’t want it to end – she’d have to tell him. Maybe she could make his pleasure last longer. And so she stopped moving just as he was about to come. Draco’s groan was agonized as he came close. He tried to push her back along his length but she dug her hands into his chest to still herself, squeezing his torso between her thighs again.

Draco opened his eyes, surprised. “Bitch,” he panted with a smile. After a moment he said with a heavy breath, “Do it again.”

Anything.

Hermione waited a few seconds until Draco’s legs stopped shaking beneath her, and then she rocked on him again. His lips parted and his face flushed. Instead of pushing her back and forth along his length, he rested his hands on her thighs, letting her set the pace. She rode him and he canted his pelvis up to meet her. Watching his face closely, she saw his tongue peek out, his breaths come in short huffs as he bit his bottom lip, neck muscles straining. She waited until his thighs stiffened and shook before stopping.

Draco shuddered from the loss of his approaching orgasm. “Bloody fuck,” he rasped. After a few pants he opened his eyes. “Again.”

“You’re sure?”

“I can take it.”

“Can you?”

He lifted an eyebrow in challenge, as if Hermione were doubting his sexual prowess. But that’s not what she meant. She didn’t know if he could withstand the truth of her betrayal. If he’d be able to stay in control with the dark magic he was using. This war was taking so much from him, and he didn’t have anyone he could rely on.

Not even her.

Draco breathed in heavily, looking as if he couldn’t decide whether to continue or flip Hermione onto her back and ram into her. His loud exhalations tempered slightly and she started riding him again, almost immediately wrenching a desperate cry from his throat. His muscles tensed and he turned his head to the side, face contorted in agonized pleasure, blond hair damp with sweat. She rolled her hips and his pelvis jerked upwards as he released a pained grunt. Digging his fingers into her thighs, his arms shuddered and he whimpered. She slid back and forth and he exhaled sharply through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

Hermione undulated on top of him and his whole body trembled with strain. His fingers hurt where they pressed into her flesh but she kept moving, and then stopped again once he was on the verge of coming.

Draco winced, pressed the side of his face into the pillow and his whole body spasmed, jostling her upwards. He cried out and released her hips to grab at the sheets, his knuckles white. It almost sounded like he was hurt. Was he?

Head still turned to the side, he gritted his teeth. She made to move again but he stopped her.

“Not yet,” he gasped.

She waited while his shaking subsided, and he heaved a breath of air. After a few moments to collect himself, he turned his head and opened his eyes to stare at her, face flushed with exertion. Her chest tightened in dread, he couldn’t take much more of this and she’d have to confess. Slowly, he un-fisted the sheets and ran his hands up her thighs. She gave him another few moments to recover before clenching around him and sliding back down his length, preparing to ride him again.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut before hurling out a series of expletives with increasing volume. His whole body jerked and he pulled her forward, tight against his pelvis. She winced as his fingers dug into the flesh of her arse. He pushed his chin to the ceiling and Hermione watched, fascinated, as the cords of his neck strained through his skin. His muscles flexed and his whole body quaked with spasm after spasm. He bucked up with a whining grunt and she fell forward, covering his chest with her body.

Draco’s cock pulsed with each burst of hot seed and she clung to him, wanting to feel as much of his body as she could. Holding back her tears, she waited while huffs of hot air blew against her neck. He shuddered, heaved another breath and slowly released her, head still tilted back in ecstasy.

With a groan, he lay an arm over his forehead and Hermione watched his breathing slowly even out. His chest was covered with a sheen of sweat and his eyes were still closed. She’d never seen him come like that. His orgasm looked as painful as it was pleasurable. After he calmed down somewhat, she brushed his lips with hers.

“Have you ever done that before?”

“Never,” Draco replied with a quirk of his lips, eyes still closed.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Yeah. That was…” His grin widened. “I feel like jelly.”

She loved him so much, she’d do it all over again if he wanted, and peppered his mouth and jaw with light kisses. He was still smiling with a post-coital afterglow.

“Hermione?”

“Hmmm?”

“Stop moving,” Draco mumbled into her lips as they travelled over his face. “C’mere.”

Hermione nestled into his side and watched him breathe with a contented smile on his face.

She felt awful. Her throat was thick with unshed tears and she tried unsuccessfully to swallow them.

Feeling sick with anxiety, she reached her wand, and held it at her side so he wouldn’t see.

It was time. It was time. It was time.

She had to tell Draco. She couldn’t delay it anymore.

Summoning her courage, she tried to mentally prepare herself. Hermione loved him and couldn’t keep lying to him like this. She was doing the right thing.

Her stomach lurched violently. She was going to retch.

“Draco, I have something to tell you.”

His eyes snapped open and he glared at her. “You’re going on some ridiculously dangerous mission for no reason again?”

“No.” Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself, closed her eyes and then opened them to look into Draco’s wary greys. “There…”

She had a whole speech planned, and couldn’t remember a word of it.

Fuck.

The words spilled out.

“There won’t be a pardon for your father.”

He sat up abruptly, and she winced as the motion pulled on her hair. “What?”

Hermione swallowed nervously, there was no going back now. This was it. “Your father won’t get a pardon. He’ll have to go through the Wizengamot with the others.”

“But… then…” Draco glanced to the side, as if searching for something. “Then he’ll go to Azkaban.”

“Probably.” She cleared her throat, no use in sugar coating it. “Yes.”

Agitated, he ran a hand through his hair. “Is this because I haven’t demonstrated trust?”

She propped herself up and curled her fingers around her wand. Draco shifted his gaze to her hand and back up to her face, suspicious now.

“No. You have.”

“Then…” He studied her, and then his eye twitched. “He was never going to get one, was he?”

Eyes starting to burn with tears, she shook her head silently.

He narrowed his eyes to slits. “You knew.

Heart beating furiously in her chest, she tightened the grip on her wand. “Yes.”

“Since when?

“Since the beginning.”

Draco flinched, like he’d been slapped in the face. Hermione thought he’d be angry, but he stared out the window, and she couldn’t see his expression.

“I never wanted to lie to you,” she protested. “But we couldn’t take the chance that you’d stop spying. You were critical to the war effort. You still are.” She swallowed nervously. “Your mother will get one,” she continued, trying to ease the pain of the blow. “But… but…” She couldn’t get the rest out.

Slowly, he turned his head to glare at her and the blood froze in her veins. His eyes were cold and cruel, like when he tortured her in his house. He was a completely different person. “But. What?

“I’ve… I’ve…” She couldn’t stop stammering, and just blurted the rest out. “I’ve recently found out they won’t give you one either. But I’m trying to change that. I’m trying to–”

“The fuck?” he cut her off with a yell and she jumped, wand at her side, ready if needed. “Trapped in this war and then trapped in a cell? So I’ve been endangering myself and my parents for nothing?”

Apprehensive, she reached out for his hand, but he yanked it away and she grimaced. “Do you really believe it’s for nothing, Draco?”

He flared his nostrils. “You lied to me.”

“You lied to me too,” she reminded him. “And I forgave you. I understood.”

He stared down at her hand resting on his thigh. For a moment she thought the conversation might change direction. But then he shook her hand off his leg.

His refusal of her touch stung badly.

“You used me.”

“You used me, too.”

“Oh fuck you, Hermione,” he bit out, and she winced. “I didn’t once I loved you. And I sure as fuck didn’t use you the way you used me. I was desperate to leave! You knew that!” She blinked back tears. It was true. “Maybe we would have figured out how to leave if not for you.”

Her tears started to fall and he sneered at them. “But I didn’t know they wouldn’t give you a–”

“You knew I needed the pardon for my father so I could convince him to leave,” he cut her off. Everything he said was true. “All I ever wanted was for my family to get out,” he spat at her. “I stayed for that pardon and you knew what it cost me.”

He tore the blanket off his legs. Desperately, she wiped her tears and reached out to him but he hopped off the bed, away from her.

“You watched while I became a fucking experiment,” he continued, summoning his trousers. Panicked, she realized he would leave if she didn’t do something. “It doesn’t matter how critical I am. I’m doing the dirty work of your fucking Order just so you can wash your hands of me when this is done.”

That’s exactly what Kingsley was doing. But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t abandon him.

“No! That’s not true!” Hermione got up on her knees and crawled on the bed over to him. “Draco, I’m not abandoning you. I told you, it’s just you and me. I didn’t lie about that. I’m here with you, I’m trying to–”

“You knew!” his voice rose to a roar.The things I did to…” He pressed his fists into his eyes and cried out. “I– I murdered people! I tore myself apart, Hermione!”

It was all true, and his agonized cry cut her deeply. Her chest ached from the pain she caused him and tears streamed down her face. “But you don’t understand!” she choked out.  “I’m trying–”

How can you claim to love someone and then watch while they slowly destroy themselves?” He threw his hands out towards her. “And you didn’t tell me?” He sucked in a breath, glowering at her. “The timing of your confession is a bit convenient isn’t it? After what you did now? Did you plan that too?”

Draco made her sound terribly Machiavellian. She was. But it counted for something that she was telling him now, didn’t it?

“It seemed safer to tell you tonight,” she explained, wiping the tears off her cheek. “You’re not… your eyes aren’t dark. And we have time to talk it out. Please stay?” She knew she was begging him. She didn’t care. “I didn’t want to continue lying. I know I was wrong, and I’m so sorry. I’m trying to make it right. I love you.”

He stared down at her in silence, infuriated.

“You don’t understand; I’ve been trying–”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Draco pulled his trousers up over his bum and buttoned them. “I’m just as expendable to the Order as I am to the Dark Lord.”

She winced. He was right. “Once you got what you wanted you wouldn’t have stayed,” she protested. “You said so yourself. We would have lost; we would have died!”

“That was before, Hermione.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, hopeful now that they agreed on something. “And you’ve changed! So I’m telling you now! I should have told you sooner, I know that!”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I…” her voice faltered. “I wasn’t sure you’d stay to spy, you wanted to come to the Order.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“You don’t get to decide. If I wanted to be manipulated by people who love me, I’d go to my parents,” he spat out.

“But I changed my mind! I wanted to tell you! I did! I just, I put it off – you were tortured remember? I couldn’t tell you then! I know I should have! And after that I was scared. When your eyes were dark! And I’d hoped that when I told you I’d have a way–”  

“A way to what?” he cut her off impatiently.

“To force the person to give you a pardon!”

“And why won’t they?”

Her throat caught on the answer. It was terrible to say it aloud. “Post-war politics.”

He stared at her, wide eyed, and then burst out laughing. She watched in horror as he bent over, shoulders shaking, but completely devoid of humor. It was worse than his anger.

“The sodding Order,” he stuttered with his mirthless laughter, “is just as fucking corrupt as those shitstains at the–”

“No! It’s just one person, Draco! And I’m trying to fix it!”

“It’s always the same, isn’t it? Nothing we do matters.”

“A oppressive government under You-Know-Who is completely different from–”

“Don’t,” he said, cutting her off.

His voice was cold now. Unfeeling. Hermione almost preferred the dangerous unpredictable anger and darkened eyes. She reached out for his hand, but he pulled it away, refusing to look at her.

“Draco, I–”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said, pulling his T-shirt over his head he yanked the fabric down across his chest and grabbed his wand, glaring at her.

Hermione stepped off the bed, holding the sheet to cover her breasts with a rising sense of panic.

Draco was leaving. He wouldn’t stay.

“Wait, Draco.” She nearly cringed at how desperate she sounded. “Please stay, I’m trying to fix this!”

“You’re trying? It’s pointless! I’d say that you’re fucking naïve but you’re too manipulative for that," he said with a sneer. "You're no sodding Gryffindor, you should have been sorted into Slytherin.”

Desperate, Hermione reached out to him again but he pulled back with a look of disgust.

“Wait, Draco–” she pleaded.

She winced from the crack of Disapparition.

Fuck.

 

 

 

 

~

 

What were you thinking?” Tonks hissed at her. “And now of all times? Right before a raid?

“He would never hurt our cause!” Hermione shot back.

“You don’t know that,” Tonks retorted angrily. “You said yourself he’s getting more unhinged.”

Hermione bit her lip and closed her eyes. She had been dreading this conversation with Tonks and it was every bit as painful as she thought it would be. Maybe Tonks was right. Did she make a mistake? Did she endanger everyone over her need to be honest with Draco?

No, he would never do that. He’d changed, and had endangered himself repeatedly for her, and for the Order by actively fighting and volunteering information. Tonks was wrong.

But Draco had been ignoring her pleas to talk throughout the day. She didn’t know what he was thinking now.

“If you and Remus backed me up on the pardon,” she continued in a wavering voice, “we could have voted and forced Kingsley to make the vow.”

“And once he had the vow, what would Draco have done?” Tonks asked, eyes flashing in anger. “Would he have stayed to spy?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied stubbornly, even though she wasn’t sure now, after what just happened.

“He wanted to leave, he told you that himself. Stop making excuses, you’re better than that.”

“But he would have come fight with us. He offered.”

“He’s critical as a spy, we don’t need another foot soldier.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Hermione had already suspected Kingsley thought this as well before she discovered his political ambitions. But Tonks was right. It was horrific, but she was right. Hermione agreed with her rationale, but she was convinced Draco would have stayed to spy anyway.

“You know as well as I do that you’d be outvoted on that vow.” Hermione stared at the table, utterly defeated. “Maybe Minerva would have agreed with you but one word about Draco killing children from Kingsley and you wouldn’t have had her vote either.”

Hermione already knew that, but it didn’t matter anymore

“But he deserves a pardon when this is over!” she insisted, slamming her hand on the table. “None of this is right!”

“That’s an entirely different question, Hermione. And it doesn’t matter that I agree with you. You made a big fucking mistake.”

Hermione hung her head, chastened by the tongue lashing.

“I should have replaced you,” Tonks continued, furious. “To hell with the secrecy of your mission. I could have replaced you with Harry or Ron.”

“Draco wouldn’t have–”

“Shut it!” Tonks yelled at her and then glanced down at Teddy, still nursing contentedly through the Silencing Charm placed on his wrap.

Hermione clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t have the right to protest. She didn’t have a right to say anything. She felt more ashamed and disappointed in herself than she had been in her entire life. She thought she was doing the right thing. Draco was putting himself through hell and back for her and for the Order. He deserved to know that things weren’t going to turn out the way he had hoped.

“I stayed for that pardon and you knew what it cost me.”

His cold, angry words still echoed in her ears. Hermione knew Draco had been clinging to the pardon despite not mentioning it in a while, but she hadn’t thought he would abandon them over it.

No. Tonks was wrong. He was angry, but he wouldn’t betray them. He wouldn’t abandon them. And yet, a twinge of doubt asked, Would he?

Tonks had a point about Draco getting more unhinged, and Hermione had just made it worse. He needed the light at the end of the tunnel. He needed something – someone – to show him the way out of the darkness he lived with, a promise that things would be better. She had essentially just told him that after everything, after all he suffered, after all he put himself through, he may only have a cold cell in Azkaban to look forward to for several years.

What would that do to him?

Tonks was still cursing under her breath while shifting Teddy from one breast to the other. “I knew I should have removed you when I saw you were falling for him.”

Hermione felt terrible. Her attempt to fix her betrayal of Draco had backfired horribly now she endangered the Order.

The clock was ticking. It was just a matter of time before Voldemort’s Army hit. The Death Eaters were coming to the ware house, to all the safe houses. Any day now, at any time. They were coming. All at once.

Unless…

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Tonks.”

She snapped her eyes up from Teddy, furious.

“What if we blow up the safe houses? We can’t go back to any of them anyway.”

Tonks stared at her silently before speaking. “What if the raid happens before we can evacuate properly? How do you keep from killing one of us in the process?”

“Once a safe house roster checks out at the camp site, we trigger it. If we don’t get a full roster, we don’t set it off.”

Tonks stared at her and flared her nostrils. “That’s fucking brilliant,” she muttered. Her jaw clenched, still angry. “Depending on how many of them are inside at the time, that would be a hell of a payoff.” Tonks furrowed her brow in thought. “They’d have to be electronic explosives. Triggered remotely.”

“Yes.”

“We can get away with electronics once and only once,” Tonks mumbling to herself, considering Hermione’s idea. “When they understand what’s happened, they’ll use anti-electricity charms every time they attack with the anti-Apparition wards. Next time we use explosives it’ll have to be non-electronic.” She looked up after concluding her thoughts. “But we’ll take a huge chunk out of their army. It’s worth it.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, slightly relieved now that Tonks’ wrath had subsided at the thought of turning the Order’s devastating predicament in their favor. She watched as Tonks shifted Teddy to her shoulder, patting him. He burped.

“We shouldn’t do the infirmary though,” Hermione added, biting her lip. “In case it’s not attacked. It took too long to build up.”

“Or Pinner,” Tonks agreed, rubbing Teddy’s back. “If they rescue the prisoners, then so be it. We can’t hold them at the camp site anyway. And Justin wasn’t the Secret Keeper for those locations.”

Hermione watched the Auror as she raced through the details of Hermione’s idea. Apprehensive, Hermione asked, “Are we good now?”

“No, we are not fucking good now.” Tonks glowered at her. “Having a good idea doesn’t change the fact that you endangered everyone. And Draco.”

Hermione looked down at the table, ashamed. She heard an audible sigh and glanced up.

“Go fetch Lavender and Dean. We don’t know how much time we have.”

Tonks was done chastising her. But there was a problem with the plan.

Draco.

The older witch must have known exactly where Hermione’s thoughts strayed to, and her features softened.

“You can warn him, but only once the Caterwauling alarms go off.”

All the blood drained from Hermione’s face.

“Why not now?”

“If you tell Draco any earlier than that, you’ll put him in the position of having to warn his friends and his father. We’ve learned enough about him to know that he will. And then what?” Teddy burped again, and Tonks vanished the spit up on her shoulder. “He’ll compromise himself, put his friends and father in danger, we’ll lose our chance to leverage the electronic explosives and they’ll know we knew about the raid. We’ll be even more fucked than we are now and You-Know-Who will torture him to death.”

Hermione wished she’d never thought of using explosives. She felt a claw slowly closing around her lungs and it became hard to breathe. Draco might get blown up in the raid. She had to take it back. They couldn’t–

Her wand whipped out of her hand and Tonks caught it effortlessly while still pinning Teddy to her shoulder.

Her voice lowered. “Do I need to Obliviate you?”

“Tonks!” Hermione protested, horrified. “You can’t! He’s one of us! You can’t treat him like that! You have to pull him out! If it were Harry, you’d pull him out!”

“If it were Harry I could pull him out. Would Draco even come without his parents?”

Tears started to pool in her eyes. “But with the vow–”

“Fuck the vow Hermione!” Tonks spat. “It’s not going to happen! He's tied his fate to his father's! Will he come without his parents?

“No,” she sobbed. “No, he won’t.”

“So I can’t pull him out.” Tonks pointed her wand at Hermione’s head. “Draco or the Order, Hermione. Choose.”

She stared at the tip of Tonks wand, and then at the hard eyes focused on her. Hermione’s blood pounded in her ears as the seconds ticked by. “If it were Remus or Teddy, what would you do?”

Tonks expression softened again. “If that were the case, then I’d be compromised, and probably wouldn’t be able to do my job. I’m not in your position, but I’m currently in this one, and I take no pleasure in it.” She shifted her grip, ready to Obliviate Hermione. “Choose.”

She swallowed, and met Tonks’ penetrating stare. Even thought it was an impossible decision, Hermione already knew her choice. It had never changed. And Draco knew it too.

“The Order,” she choked out.

Tonks studied her for a few moments before returning her wand. “Alright.” Hermione wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve. “I am sorry, Hermione. I should have replaced you.”

“Go to hell, Tonks.”

She grabbed her wand and stalked out, slamming the kitchen door behind her as more tears streamed down her face.

 

 

 

Notes:

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Chapter 69: Chapter 69

Notes:

There's a trigger warning associated with this chapter. See the end notes for details if you need them.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione stepped into the shower, hoping the hot water would help calm her nerves. Everyone was on high alert. Even though they were prepared, and just about ready to leave, it was still unsettling knowing that the raid could be any time.

After chewing Hermione out, Tonks suggested she tell Draco to stand-by for information right before the raid, and Hermione did her best to make it sound like instructions before sex. She hoped he understood the double meaning because he didn’t reply, didn’t acknowledge receipt of the message, and refused to answer any of her pleas to talk.

Several times she held her Galleon in hand, tempted to tell Draco outright about the bombs. And then she’d change her mind. It was only the knowledge that she’d put everyone – including Draco – in even more danger than they were already that kept her from saying anything.

Feeling empty, she held her body as the water pounded down, and her lip trembled in worry. Covering her face with her hands, she began to cry. Hot, angry tears of frustration.

Hermione understood Tonks’ rationale. For all the trio’s work on the Horcruxes, killing Voldemort wouldn’t be enough. They also needed to gut the support system of Death Eaters that ran the Ministry and other institutions from behind the scenes. She couldn’t deny that blowing up the safe houses would strike a devastating blow to Voldemort’s Army, a victory that the Order desperately needed. Although they stymied Voldemort’s progress in controlling wizarding society, they hadn’t been able to overthrow him. Up until now, the Order had been treading water, barely keeping above sea level.

The bomb strike could mark a significant turning point in their favor.

But Hermione was still furious. She had never felt so helpless, or regretted an idea so much in her life. She wiped her nose, smearing snot and tears in the water running down her face.

What if Draco didn’t get her warning in time? What if he ignored it? What if he threw away the Galleon? All sorts of irrational thoughts ran through her head. He’d only have a few minutes. And then what? What could she do?

Maybe she could stay during the raid. With Harry’s invisibility cloak, no one would see her. But how would Draco know where she was? How would she even know which safe house he was at? How would Hermione be able to identify him? When in their masks and robes, all Death Eaters looked more or less the same.

Fingers twitching nervously, she pulled the wet, matted hair from her face and tilted her head back into the water stream.

Tonks told her long ago that the spy/handler relationship wasn’t an egalitarian one. But good relationships were.

Militaries weren’t democracies. Without knowing why, soldiers did what they were told, trusting their commanders to make the right decisions for the whole, not the individual. But you couldn’t hide critical information from someone you loved.

Hermione understood all this. And yet, knowing didn’t help.

She wanted to strangle Tonks. And she was certain Draco felt similarly towards her. She betrayed him. Thinking back, there were a thousand ways she could have handled that conversation with him better. She wished he would have stayed so she could explain her moral dilemma, but what was left unsaid? She was sure he understood why she held back, but it didn’t matter then, or now.

Her heart ached, and she wiped away more tears. Hermione was sure that telling him had been the right thing to do. He didn’t deserve to be lied to. But the longer Draco’s silence lasted, the more she second guessed herself. Would he really abandon them? Had she endangered the Order? She didn’t think she had at the time, otherwise she never would have said anything at all. But after her conversation with Tonks, she wasn’t sure.

What if she had left that conversation until the end of the war? Taking up his case up with Kingsley – when she may even have had something to compel him with?

Less dangerous for the Order, but it felt wrong.

Everything felt wrong.

Despite her marathon of Portkey repurposing, she felt like a failure.

The shame she felt after her conversation with Tonks hurt. It was a foreign feeling, hollowing out her body.

Sitting down on the shower floor, Hermione wrapped her arms around her legs as her cries turned into gut wrenching sobs. The helpless ache in her chest was amplified by how scared she was that Draco would get injured, or die.

Weeping with heaving shoulders, she watched the remainder of the soap suds spiral down the drain before exiting the shower.

Hermione wrapped herself in a towel and noticed the D.A. Galleon glowing.

He was contacting her!

She nearly rammed her knuckles into the sink in her haste to grab the coin, and flipped it over immediately.

Polyjuice. Get out now.

Hermione’s stomach lurched violently. It was starting. But… Polyjuice? With growing horror, she realized that if the Death Eaters were using Polyjuice, they could walk in right through the front door.

She thumbed the Galleon in response. No time for sexual innuendo.

Safe houses rigged to blow. Stay outside.

Panicked, she glanced around the bathroom. She had Draco’s Portkey; she could get out now. But she didn’t know how long it would take for her Patronus to arrive from France to warn the others.

Too long.

Polyjuice.

The Order was fucked.

She made sure the bathroom door was locked and stepped back into the shower with her wand, Galleon and Portkey, closing the curtain around her to buy herself more time.

Quickly, she shot off two Patronuses to Harry, Neville, Penelope and the other safe house leaders warning that the raid was now, the Death Eaters were Polyjuiced, to trust no one and leave. She watched a series of her otters shimmer, circle around the bathroom and fly through the door. She signaled Draco again, hoping he could check the Galleon.

No reply. She didn’t hear the Caterwauling Alarms either. Second by second ticked by in silence.

She signaled Neville again, and more to the other safe house leaders, then Lavender and Dean. She messaged Draco again. Soon after, shouts and the sounds of hexes firing punctuated the silence, and the Caterwauling Alarms finally started blaring.

The bathroom shook as a hex hit the floor from below, making her slip and fall over in the shower. She cried out as she banged her knee.

Sitting on the wet tiled floor, clutching her knee in pain, she signaled to the other safe house leaders again as shouts and rising pandemonium sounded from below. Not knowing which houses would be targeted, she sent more Patronuses to Tonks, Remus, Minerva. Heart thundering in her chest, she messaged Draco again. She sent more Patronuses to Mary, Cho and Terri. Then to the other safe house leaders, hoping against hope they had activated their alarms, she didn’t know.

Hermione gripped her wand, hands trembling in terror; her Patronus was more of a desperate prayer than a charm at this point. Fear clawed at her chest. She hoped she had reached them in time, and couldn’t think with all the noise around her. Panicked, she realized her Patronuses might be too slow to reach the other safe houses. She summoned her Galleon for communicating on raids and tapped her bare foot anxiously as she heard it slip under the door and around the shower curtain.

Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped it before messaging everyone.

She messaged Draco again. No reply.

Suddenly, the bathroom door blasted open with a bang and she jumped again, dropping her Portkey. The Patronus Charms must have given up her location. She pointed her wand towards the door and, cursing, bent to pick up her Portkey. She fumbled with the pouch one handed, trying to undo the drawstring while holding the towel around herself.

“Hermione! Why are you still here?”

Hermione’s shoulders sagged in relief. It was Harry. She stood up and shoved the shower curtain aside to see his panicked form in the doorway. Heart beating rapidly, she stepped out from behind the shower curtain, holding her towel closed and clinging to the Portkey. Of course, the stupid sod would come get her instead of leaving by himself.

“Come on!” he yelled. “Summon your Portkey! We have to get out now!”

She looked up sharply at his fear-contorted face. Harry knew they had anti-Summoning charms on their Portkeys. Precisely so Death Eaters couldn’t pick them up like Harry and Ron did during raids.

It was his fucking idea.

Cold terror gripped her spine as she realized it wasn’t Harry standing two feet away from her.

She angled her wand at him from below so he wouldn’t notice and shot a non-verbal Stunner.

The Polyjuiced Death Eater fell to the ground just as her wand flew out of her hand, caught by a sneering mirror image of herself.

“Mudblood,” her doppelganger said with a disgusted curl of the lip.

Hermione shrieked for help and there was a flash of red light. She flung the Galleons and Portkey back into the shower before everything went black, hoping the Death Eater didn’t notice.

 

~

 

Hermione woke to a pounding headache and blinked open her eyes. Wherever she was, it was dark and damp. The stones she lay on jutted into her back and legs, cold and uncomfortable. She only had her bathroom towel loosely covering her body. But it wasn’t just the stones, the lack of clothing, or the air that chilled her. She had only experienced the frigid despair seeping into her bones at one other time in her life – when she and Harry faced Dementors in third year.

Was she in Azkaban?

Frantically, she pawed the wet stone floor though she knew her wand wouldn’t be there.

“Hello?” she called out, in a raspy voice, wondering if she was the only one captured. She coughed. Her throat was dry.

The answering cackle echoing off the walls scared her more than any Dementor ever could.

Nononononono –

“I had to purify my wand of your filth.”

It was dark in her cell, but she could make out the faint outline of Bellatrix’s curly hair, illuminated by her wand as she entered. Hermione struggled to get up but Bellatrix waved her wand with a swish, spreading her limbs out from her body, pinned down with invisible restraints.

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror as the older witch sauntered closer. She pulled on her arms but there was no slack. She tried to move her legs but to no avail and she heaved shallow pants of terror.

“The little Mudblood that knows far too much,” Bellatrix crooned. “You didn’t get to taste my knife last time.” She pulled a long sharp blade out of her belt and licked the flat side, smiling down at Hermione. “There’s no one to save you now,” she taunted with a flash of her gleaming teeth.

Hermione struggled violently, trying to get up. “Please don’t!”

Bellatrix knelt down over her, black eyes reflecting the poor light of her wand.

Oh god!

“Are you ready to tell me what you did with my sword?”

Hermione yanked with her arms, straining to get away, but only succeed in moving her torso a few inches. Bellatrix observed her ineffectual struggling with delight. She lowered the knife to Hermione’s breast and she curled her toes and dug her fingers into her palm, trying to brace herself.

“No?” Bellatrix tsked. “More fun for me.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, but that did nothing to prevent the sting of the knife piercing her skin. She cried out in surprise from the sudden slice into her flesh, and then wrenched her jaw wide, screaming in earnest.

 

~

 

Hermione drifted in and out of consciousness, briefly thinking she heard someone enter her cell. She wasn’t entirely sure what Bellatrix had done to her. All she knew was that now, she couldn’t move, couldn’t open her eyes, and could barely breathe. Her exposed muscle was burning, and the slices in her skin seared her nerves every time an air current passed over.

Draco had said before he felt like pieces of him were being taken away and replaced with something else.

She just had pieces taken away. Pieces laying on the ground next to her.

The person approached her and stopped. They couldn’t do anything else to her, it had already been done. There was nothing left to take, there was nothing left to hurt, and she had peace from that knowledge.

“Mother of – NO!” was the strangled whisper of a male voice she didn’t recognize.

What did he want? There was nothing here. There was nothing left of her. Her head was throbbing from Legilimency, and it dulled the physical pain in her body somewhat. So did the fact that she was near death. The pain would end eventually, she’d be dead. Her life was rapidly slipping away – but she hadn’t told Harry that he was the last Horcrux.

The stranger knelt down next to her and pressed two fingers to her throat, and released a muffled sob of relief.

Maybe he’d figure it out. Harry was so much smarter than he gave himself credit for.

She should have told Harry.

The man cast a charm, and almost immediately the burning from her exposed flesh ceased. That was nice. She could go back to sleep now. And not wake up.

A vial was pressed to her lips, but she couldn’t move her mouth. She didn’t want to. She was done. 

At least her parents were safe.

And she protected Draco, if he survived the raid. She should have told him sooner. About everything. 

“You have to drink,” whispered a shuddering voice.

She didn’t have to do anything. Not anymore. She was dead, she did everything she could.

He tilted her head upward, and the Legilimency induced throbbing morphed into dizziness. She almost drifted off into blackness again but the bitter taste of Blood Replenishing Potion roused her.

“Stay with me,” the unfamiliar voice rasped. “Please.”

The warm liquid spilled out the side of her mouth.

“Hermione, drink. We have to leave. You won’t make it if you don’t drink.”

Leave? She could leave? Someone had come for her. She was too tired to feel happy.

“Swallow. Swallow and you’ll live. Please don’t leave me.”

She could live? She struggled to swallow and coughed, but some of the potion made its way down, and warmth diffused within, enabling her to drink more.

“Again,” he commanded her.

There was a controlled urgency as he fed her the potion and within seconds, feeling returned to her body. But the dull pain she had experienced prior burst through her muscles and skin, wreaking havoc on her nerve endings.

The shriek on the tip of her tongue was silenced by his wand. Then he cast a quick charm which dulled the overwhelming pain.

“That’s it, Hermione,” he whispered, covering her naked body with a warm blanket. Despite the charm it scratched against her exposed flesh and she released another silent shriek. “Pain means you’re alive. We’re leaving now.”

Gently, he lifted her into his arms, wrapping the blanket around her. She felt sharp, stabbing pains in her back and stomach when he moved her and she jerked, writhing in his hold.

“Shhhh,” the man hushed her.

“Wha…” Her throat hurt from screaming and he couldn’t hear her anyway.

“Don’t try to talk,” he whispered, holding her close. He must have seen her attempt to communicate. Hermione felt herself rising upwards as he stood.

Despite regaining her ability to feel more pain, relief washed over her. Hermione was being rescued, she could still live, and her rescuer made her feel safe. His hand dug into her back as he hoisted her up close to his chest, arms cradling her tight. She whimpered a moan after he hit something broken.

“Sorry,” he murmured, sensing her pain.

The strange man’s lips pressed briefly to her forehead. Harry? Ron? She was jostled slightly as he walked out of her cell and down a hallway. Even though he had silenced her, she did her best to keep quiet and bite back her cries of pain.

His boots clomped loudly; he wasn’t even trying to be quiet. Was that on purpose? Or maybe her head hurt so much that any sound was jarring. He strode down the stone corridor and the rocking back and forth nearly lulled her to sleep when suddenly, the cold air dropped in temperature. He tightened his grip on her, curling her into his chest as a feeling of despair settled in.

It was a Dementor.

They wouldn’t make it out, she’d die here. He’d die here. There was no point to any of this. She just wanted to go back to sleep. Death was easier.

Her rescuer’s body tensed as the Dementor passed by. After a few moments, Hermione's despair gave way to nervous anxiety, and then dizzy exhaustion. Her mind started to drift away as the walking motion rocked her to sleep, despite how loud her rescuer was being.

Hermione felt his body flex nervously again as they heard another person walking down the corridor, rousing her.

“What are you doing, Travers?” the voice called out, clearly annoyed.

The voice of the man carrying her was a low growl, more confident than it had been in her cell. “Transfer to the cell with the other Mudbloods. Lestrange finished interrogating her.”

“Why bother covering her up?” Came the suspicious reply.

I don’t want to see her bloody cunt. You do it if you’re so hard up for filth.”

Draco.

Tears of relief pricked her eyes.

He was alive, and he had come for her.

The other man grunted in answer. “Fuck off,” he replied, his voice trailing down the hallway.

Draco’s body relaxed and they continued on down the corridor. He turned and walked down another hallway, heavy boots stomping on the stones. It was almost as if he wanted to be caught. Hermione was scared, but started to drift off again. She couldn’t stay awake.

Suddenly his thigh hit her back and her body jerked up and down as he ascended a staircase two at a time. Hermione screamed as something sharp moved inside her. He reached the top and waited, breathing heavily from the exertion of running up the stairs with her. His wand touched the top of her head and the cool feeling of a Disillusionment spell spread down and over her body.

“This is going to hurt,” Draco whispered in Travers’ voice.

Hermione squeezed her eyes in preparation and shrieked as he hoisted her over his shoulder, keeping one arm across her rear to lock her in place. His shoulder pressed into a torso injury and she cried out again. Hanging upside down made it even harder to breathe. She couldn’t keep quiet in that position and started coughing. Draco felt her erratic movements and rubbed her lower back.

“Little bit more,” he whispered. “You’re going to make it.”

“Travers, can you tell–” Draco jerked and turned them around to face another approaching Death Eater. She heard footsteps close in and then pause. “Is that a Disillus–”

Avada Kedavra.

It wasn’t a yell. Hermione always imagined that someone using the Killing Curse would be so filled with hate they'd scream the incantation. Like when Bellatrix killed Sirius in the Department of Mysteries.

Not in this case.

His voice was soft and cold, but full of hatred nonetheless. She was shocked Draco was using the Killing Curse now. There was a burst of power within his body, and his muscles contracted underneath her as magic surged through him.

 

 

 

She heard the man crumple to the ground. Draco was already fumbling with something in his robes, and pressed a cold object to her bare foot.

“Portus.”

Hermione screamed as the tug on her belly button displaced them. They reappeared and she swayed, upside down. The blood rushed to her head and she felt dizzy, drifting off again. Her surroundings confused her. They were indoors, and a cacophony of voices echoed around her. If she wasn’t completely delirious, she could have sworn she heard the incessant whooshing of the Floo network marked by the Hall of Arrivals at the Ministry.

Before she had a chance to wonder anymore, his long strides cut through the crowd and she cried out, jostled painfully back into consciousness by wizards and witches going about their daily routine.

She heard him call, “Leaky Cauldron,” and they disappeared into the Floo. Before she had a chance to wonder what Draco was doing, the transition ripped something open in her leg and she jerked her body with a scream.

“Good afternoon, Travers,” she heard Tom call out with a quiver in his voice.

Draco grunted in reply and was already out the door, entering Diagon Alley. He rounded a corner when they suddenly Disapparated. She cried out again as they reappeared. Her limbs were wet; now actively bleeding from wounds re-opening.

He lowered her from his shoulder and gently laid her down on something soft. It smelled like her bedroom.

Finite Incantatum!

Her voice came out as a strangled scream from her raw throat. Draco opened the blanket and released a choked cry when he saw her body in the light.

“Eh–” Hermione tried to speak, but coughed. Her throat was dry from dehydration and hurt from yelling.

Immediately, he Scourgified the dirt and dried blood from her body and she shrieked in between his desperate utterances of ‘fuck’ and ‘sorry.’ Soon after she felt soothing, warming sensations as he got to work healing what he was able and numbing what he could. He tenderly lifted her arms and legs, moved her head from side to side, searching for areas he could attend to, careful not to touch where her skin was removed. She winced as he touched something particularly painful.

Draco cursed again in Travers’ voice.

Hermione heard him fumbling in his robes again and he gently cradled the back of her head, trying to angle her upwards slightly.

“Come on, Hermione. Once more.”

He pulled her lip down with his thumb and Blood Replenishing Potion filled her mouth again. She swallowed the entire vial and he followed the potion with water, soothing her parched throat. But she drank too much and coughed, sputtering the liquid out.

“Dammit.”

She recognized Draco’s voice now. The Polyjuice must have worn off. He gently wiped her mouth and chin with his sleeve and got back to working on her lacerations and bruises. Feeling some strength return, she tried to open her eyes, and winced from the light. His face was blurry above her, but she could see how it was lined with barely suppressed panic.

“You came.” Hermione would have sobbed if she could. Her throat hurt too much. Until the warning on the Galleon, she had felt abandoned by him. “Thought you–” she coughed and the jarring movement made her dizzy, “Thought you left me.”

Draco stared down at her and swallowed, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you.”

Furrowing his brows, he pressed his wand tip to her forehead Hermione whimpered in relief as a cut stitched itself together. She watched him work above her in silence, occasionally meeting his intense grey gaze; determined and desperate as he continued healing her.

“We already had an all-purpose Portkey to the Ministry. Those are rare and I have to destroy it now, but... my father might notice it’s missing. I came as soon as I could swipe leftover Polyjuice from the raid,” His voice was low, on the verge of cracking, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Who do you need, Hermione? Who can get you to a Healer?”

Delicately, he turned her over on her side and pressed the tip of his wand to the small of her back.

“Harry,” she mumbled as the soothing warmth of his muscle relaxant spell diffused throughout her body. “Lost my Galleon.”

She watched his silvery fox leap from his wand and fly out the window. Gingerly, he brushed her hair off her face and leant down to place a chaste kiss on her forehead where he had just healed her. Draco extended the cup of water to her in question. She nodded and he helped her drink some more, wincing as she swallowed.

Gingerly, he wiped a few errant droplets from the side of her mouth with his thumb.

“Others?” she murmured.

“Yes,” he said, scanning her body, gently running his fingers up and down, following with a wand, healing where he could.

“Have to get them,” her words came out in a tired exhale.

He snapped his gaze back to hers. “We’re lucky we escaped. I can’t pull the same stunt again.”

Before she had a chance to reply Harry’s stag appeared and asked who Hermione Polyjuiced into in second year. Draco glanced down at her for the answer.

“Bulstrode’s cat,” her voice was scratchy and her throat still hurt. Despite the water and the Blood Replenishing Potion, she thought she might pass out again. Her vision was blurry, and she had trouble focusing.

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Draco spoke her answer into his wand and added a few expletives about wasting time and injuries needing to be treated before his Patronus left the room.

“Hold me,” she whispered.

With extreme care, he lifted her and cradled her to his chest, and she closed her eyes again. Everything hurt, but she felt secure with him holding her and she breathed in his scent, familiar and masculine. Draco’s body was warm, and she felt protected. Aside from that, if he was holding her, Harry wouldn’t hex him.

Hermione missed him so much it hurt. And now he was here, but he couldn’t stay.

“Mask,” she whispered again. She didn’t want to have to Obliviate Harry.

His arm moved to don his mask and cover his hair with his hood. She heard his wand hit the floor.

Smart. Harry would see Draco wasn’t armed.

His voice rumbled in his chest against her ear. “Why were you taken? You knew we were coming before anyone else. You should have escaped.”

“Warned everyone,” she mumbled.

His mask pressed onto the top of her head and he sighed. “Of course you did.”

“You used the Killing Curse,” she whispered, and a tear ran down her cheek.

“That was my first time. It just happened.” Draco’s arms tightened around her, but he didn’t say anything more.

That answer worried her more than if he would have admitted to doing it on purpose. He was giving in to spontaneous fits of hatred and darkness, without even having to try. Hermione thought back to the day Draco had demanded a pardon and she offered to have him Obliviated after the Unbreakable Vow. He had reacted so strongly, adamant that he didn’t want his mind messed with, that he didn’t want to lose himself.

Was he losing himself? They were so close to the end of the war. Tears of despair fell from her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Hoping he would forgive her for lying to him about the pardon. “I didn’t want to lie to you.” She felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness again.

“I know. It doesn’t matter anymore,” he cradled her close and sighed. “I just want this war to end. I want it all to stop.”

Hermione had to help him. He didn’t deserve any of this. She couldn’t fail him, but she was so tired and her body was broken. A few more moments went by before two cracks of Apparition broke the silence. The sounds were distant, and she knew she was falling asleep. Draco’s body tensed and he tightened his grip around her.

“My wand’s on the floor.”

“Who are you?” she heard Harry ask menacingly. “Holy–” she heard Harry gasp. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

“I got her out and I healed her,” Draco sneered at him.

She sensed Harry approach them and Draco dug his fingers into her involuntarily.

“There’s so much blood!”

“You can trust him.” She heard Tonks speak. It had been smart of Harry to bring someone else, and fortunate that it was Tonks. She knew everything about Draco. But Tonks sounded different, her voice was raw and… weak? Hermione had never heard her sound weak before.

And distant. Far away.

She was so tired.

“Hand her over,” Harry barked at him.

She was jostled lightly as Draco stood. “You’re welcome,” Draco drawled.

Harry’s arms snaked under her body. There was a moment where Draco pulled her in closer, but then reluctantly let Harry lift her away. His arms felt like steel clamps around her.

“New Galleon?” Tonks asked. Fabric rustled as Draco reached out to take it.

“Who is he?” Harry asked Tonks.

“Quit wasting time. She needs a fucking Healer now, Potter,” Draco spoke to him with such disdain, he sounded exactly like he had back in school.

“Thank–” Harry’s voice was cut off by the sound of Draco Disapparating.

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: recovery, and more confessions

TW: Hermione gets tortured but it’s a ‘fade to black’ scenario. There is a vague description of what was done to her in the aftermath.

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Chapter 70: Chapter 70

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione drifted in and out of consciousness. Her body was numb and she couldn’t move either. Briefly, she saw flashes of Mary’s face over hers, brows furrowed in concentration. Sometimes Cho’s face appeared instead. She wondered where Terry was. For a moment she could have sworn she saw Mary and Cho crying and hugging each other. She had never seen Mary cry before.

It was hard to think.

Later Hermione heard murmuring. She strained to listen – it was Harry and Molly speaking with Mary, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying, and only made out snippets.

“–words carved on her–”

“–survived after the Cruciatus–”

“–time for skin to regrow on her thigh and stomach–”

“–bones broken?”

“–always have heavy scarring–”

“–how long before she–”

Who were they talking about? She tried to open her eyes to tell them she was awake, but her lids were so heavy, and she fell back asleep.

Hermione wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The worried faces of Ron and Ginny, the Weasleys, Harry, and Minerva appeared and disappeared in her fog. She knew not all the Weasleys came, and that it was important some were missing. But she couldn’t remember why, and couldn’t remember which ones weren’t there.

But Draco was safe. She remembered she hadn’t failed him. Or Harry.

She smelled something warm and comforting… babies. Instantly, she felt secure and loved. She would have smiled if she had any control over her facial muscles. The disembodied voices of Mary and Tonks sounded above her.

 “–warned you that you’d lose your eye–”

“–not going to let Harry go alone–”

“–if you hadn’t Apparated–”

“–had to bring her back–”

“–too late to repair–”

“–didn’t stop Alastor from–”

She couldn’t quite understand the verbal volleying back and forth. Although they sounded angry, Hermione could sense there was no real animosity behind the words. But that changed quickly.

 “–get her a fucking specialist, Mary–”

“–already told you I have a colleague–”

“–alive because of her–”

“–aware of that, Tonks. I said I’d bring–”

Their voices were getting louder, dragging Hermione out of her blissful haze. She tried to speak but her tongue was thick and heavy in her mouth.

 “–children fighting a war–”

 “Young adults. Muggle militaries enlist–”

“–hardly paragons of morality–”

“–sodding superiority complex–”

“–only eighteen. You’re teaching them to kill and look at her! Hermione shouldn’t have to–”

Who will protect them if they can’t do it themselves? You-Know-Who doesn’t care how old they are.”

“It’s indiscriminate. You didn’t have to blow up the houses, Tonks. His army isn’t the Order. They’re not all volunteers.”

“We can’t win a war with clean hands, Mary. Shall I Obliviate your colleague when he’s finished so you can keep yours pristine?”

“No. I already agreed, I’m already culpable. I’ll do it.”

Hermione’s head was beginning to pound.

“Hmmmuuuh–” She tried to open her eyes.

Immediately the two women ceased their verbal sparring. She blinked at the bright lights of the Dorchester safe house infirmary and immediately shut them again.

“Hermione?” she heard Tonks’ desperate cry.

She squinted again to keep the light out, and saw Tonks’ blurry face leaning over her. She had an eye patch, and a gash across her forehead, eye and cheek. Before she could ask anything further Mary’s face replaced Tonks’.

Peering into Hermione’s eyes, Mary’s brows pressed together. “Not yet, Hermione.”

Mary tapped her wand to her forehead and everything faded to black again.

“–woke her up with your yelling–”

“–my yelling?” Tonks paused, and choked out a sob.

“I’m so sorry, can’t imagine–”

“–no time to mourn–”

“–need help with Teddy–”

“–thanks, but my parents–”

Hermione returned to blissful silence.

Sometime later she felt someone holding her hand.

“–can’t believe they were taken–”

“–would have been more if–”

“–never seen Tonks in a fight before–”

“–bloody insane–”

It was Ron and Harry. She squeezed the hand holding hers.

“She moved!”

“Hermione? Are you awake?”

“Mary! She’s awake!”

Footsteps rapidly approached. Her heart thudded rapidly. Was Bellatrix coming back?

Hermione recalled the feel of Bellatrix’s blade cutting through her skin, carving letters, peeling parts away and she shuddered involuntarily at the memory. More images returned to her of that blade in the poor wand light, Bellatrix’s smiling lips, her flashing eyes, her gleaming teeth. She had never felt so helpless in her life; completely unable to defend herself while her body was opened and Crucio’d.

Bellatrix cackled from above.

“She keeps trying to wake up, but it’s too soon.”

She gritted her teeth and began to hyperventilate.

“Mary, she’s having trouble breathing!”

“Yes, I told you, it’s too soon. Let her sleep.”

Unable to move, she could see the knife blade cutting into her thigh. Releasing an agonized, low pitched whine, she tried to struggle in her bed, trying to get away, gasping for breath. She couldn’t move! No one could help her!

A wand tapped her head and immediately her muscles relaxed as a state of near bliss settled over her, and Bellatrix faded away.

 

~

 

“Please my lord,” Travers screamed. “I’ve done nothing! Nothingggaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!”

Legilimency had failed, torture had failed. Travers continued to deny his role as the spy among the Dark Lord’s army. It was only death that awaited him now.

Draco watched as the Inner Circle took turns casting the Cruciatus Curse. They stood around Travers while his beaten and bloody body writhed on the floor, helpless. His agonized shrieks echoed off the ceiling. Draco didn’t know who had interrogated Hermione aside from his aunt, but it could have been Travers. It could have been any of them. Travers was simply unlucky enough to have left his cloak unattended.

This is what we do to blood traitors,” the Dark Lord hissed, walking around the outside of the circle. “This is what we do to those that betray our cause.” He raised his wand and added a curse of his own.

Draco couldn’t be sure, but the Dark Lord’s Cruciatus seemed weaker than usual. The reduced power was more noticeable when Draco wasn’t screaming on the receiving end of it.

Draco’s Cruciatus wasn’t weak. Quite the opposite.

His imagination ran wild. Thoughts of his aunt giving Hermione the bruises he had healed, carving the words on her body or flaying her stomach and thigh were more than enough fodder for an effective Cruciatus. His curse was significantly stronger than when he had tortured Macnair or the Order members, and when it was his turn he didn’t disappoint. Ever since he saw Hermione, bloody and battered, he’d been consumed with fury and no outlet for release.

The Dark Lord noticed the surge in power and raised his hand to stop the next person. “Again, Draco.”

Crucio!

His hatred and desire for revenge blended with his magic, thrumming throughout his body while he held the curse in place. He felt stronger than he ever had before. Travers screamed until he released the curse with a dizzying rush. His aunt smiled as if she were the one responsible for his personal growth.

Draco returned her sinister grin.

You’re next.

“Again, Draco,” the Dark Lord’s voice was a soft caress.

Draco lost Tracey Davis in the explosions, and Vince and Millie were convalescing. His father was recovering from a burn injury as well. Some Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in his year had died. They were all cannon fodder in this fucking war for a sodding half-blood using brainwashed pure-bloods to amass power for a cause he probably didn’t even believe in himself.

It was insane. This whole fucking war was insane and he hated them all.

Crucio!” Draco’s deep voice echoed off the walls.

Travers screamed again and the Dark Lord nodded in satisfaction. Sweat broke out on Draco’s forehead with the exertion of holding the spell. Aunt Bella would suffer for what she did. Travers would suffer for what he did. They all would. He would make them pay. Draco’s arm quivered with the force of magic pulsing through his body, towards his wand, and bursting outwards in a jet of red light.

“Again,” the Dark Lord whispered in the silence following the screams.

Crucio!

The curse was more powerful now. His rage crept into his muscles and wrapped around his sinews and ligaments like icy tentacles. Draco could still feel the trembling in Hermione’s limbs and the mutilated skin on her body as he tried to heal what he could. He remembered Tracey and Vince on fire. He smelled burnt flesh. He saw Millie struggling with wood embedded in her thigh. He recalled the shuddering hug from his father after the raid, knowing how close they had each come to death.

Travers’ screams echoed in his ears and Draco grit his teeth, his breath coming out in sharp exhalations. Travers contorted his limbs and Draco twisted his mouth into an evil grin.

“Again,” the Dark Lord hissed.

Travers screamed and continued to plead his innocence. But it was no use. The Dark Lord knew there was a spy, and a spy had been found. Travers dug his fingers into the stone floor and blood streamed from his ears, nose and mouth. Draco’s grin widened maniacally at the pleas and he cursed Travers again.

His body was throbbing, and he grunted with pleasure while fury squeezed his limbs.

Noticing how the curse thrilled him, Alecto sauntered over and reached out to stroke his chest. He growled and shoved her away violently. She stumbled back, falling to the floor and gasped at Draco’s brutal rejection. Slowly, he turned to gaze down at her and grinned wolfishly. Her bottom lip trembled in terror.

Next.

“Leave Draco be,” admonished the Dark Lord. He waved his hand in Draco’s direction. “Continue.”

Crucio!

The dark and sinister magic of the Cruciatus seeped into Draco’s bones and curled around his spine. He threw his head back, laughing while Travers writhed on the ground in agony.

“Again.”

Broken, bloody, beaten and burnt.

He breathed in his hatred, and it pulsed through his body. With an exhale, he released it.

Crucio!

Travers screamed again, he sounded inhuman.

“Again.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Sectumsempra!”

Travers arched his back as large, deep gashes suddenly broke across his chest and torso. The blood splattered up, gushing out, and pooled on the floor surrounding him.

Draco chuckled darkly.

Crucio!

Travers screamed one last horrible, gurgling wail before falling silent forever. Draco’s laughter finally died down and he turned to receive the Dark Lord’s approval with a deranged smile.

Next.

“Well done,” the Dark Lord praised him softly. “Young Malfoy.”

 

 

~

 

Harry and Ron were on either side of Hermione’s hospital bed when Mary finally allowed her to wake. Her whole body ached, but her head was clear. Ron held her hand, and she was so relieved to see their faces. She knew they were alive and well, having recalled them coming in and out of the infirmary to visit her, but it was reassuring to be with them now that her brain wasn’t muddled. The downside was that she started to have nightmares about Bellatrix cackling, brandishing her knife, and her eyes flashing evilly.

“We thought we lost you,” Harry croaked, his green eyes were unusually bright and glassy. Rimmed with red from crying.

“You didn’t,” she smiled weakly at him. Speaking was still difficult despite Mary’s treatment.

“You look so much better now,” Ron told her, tears brimming in his eyes. He played with her fingers and she squeezed his in return.

She wondered if any of his family was taken, and tried to remember who she had seen during that state when she was not quite aware of her surroundings.

“Who’s gone?” She closed her eyes. The lights were bright and burned her.

“Charlie and Fred.”

Her throat felt like it had something large in it she couldn’t swallow. Charlie and Fred. She remembered Fred and George presenting Colin with the gag T-shirt after he got injured in a raid. Then she recalled how he and George sang Happy Birthday to Eloise even though it wasn’t her birthday, and blew up the candles with her outside.

Fred.

Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand as tears formed, leaving a trail down her cheek.

She turned to him and squinted, trying to re-adjust to the light. “We’ll get them back.”

“From Azkaban?” He bent over, resting his elbow on his knee, and shook his head. She watched his tears fall to the tile floor of the infirmary with loud plops. “It doesn’t seem likely.”

“Remus,” Harry continued.

No.

Her stomach heaved as if punched. What would they do without Remus? She shifted her gaze towards Harry and squinted again from the light. More tears ran down the side of her face and entered her ear, tickling the inside.

“Oh.”

A weak, completely inadequate reply. Remus who always had good advice and encouraged her. Remus who taught her to throw off the Imperius, that it was okay to admit to self-doubt, and that it was okay to fail, so long as one learned from one’s failures. Who grounded the rest of the leaders, balancing the different needs of the Order, keeping them in line and focused on the larger goal.

Remus was one of the first she warned. He must have stayed to help others evacuate, like Tonks. They didn’t have a leader now. Who would replace him?

And… Her eyes shot open.

“He’s the Secret Keeper!” Her outburst caused a jolt of pain in her leg and she grimaced, trying not to move. The sharp burn in her thigh receded to a dull ache again.

“He’s dead,” was Harry’s toneless answer. “Tonks said he would have killed himself. He had the means to.”

Remus was as much a mentor to Harry as Tonks was to Hermione. She knew he was feeling his loss acutely, and looked to Remus as a father figure as much as he did Arthur Weasley, given how close Remus was with his real father.  

Teddy was now fatherless. She sniffed and more tears spilled down her cheeks. Tonks was a single mother.

“Is Tonks alright?” she choked out.

In spite of everything, Tonks came with Harry to ensure she got back safely.

Harry wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Functioning? Yeah. ‘Alright’ isn’t the word I would use.”

There must be a lot more. Fourteen and she only knew of Remus, Charlie and Fred.

Hermione tried to shift her weight and get more comfortable. It was impossible, her entire body hurt.

Harry took a deep breath; she knew she wouldn’t want to hear who he said next.

“Luna.”

Her heart crumpled. Again. Luna was taken again. She stayed at Hogwarts to give strength to the younger students, and after months in the Malfoy dungeons, she joined the Order, proving her worth on missions.

It all felt so pointless.

“Parvati. Terry.”

No wonder Mary and Cho were crying. She remembered Hannah threatening Terry for badmouthing Hufflepuffs while badgers raced around the walls of Dorchester safe house. Happier times. Before Hannah’s torture replaced her love with hatred, and the raid took Terry away.

Harry rattled off the rest of the names, looking as dejected and exhausted as she felt. There were Order members missing that she wasn’t particularly close to, but she felt the loss all the same. Their numbers were small enough as it was; the raid was a crippling blow.

She bit her lip and more tears left her eyes. “How?” It was difficult to speak, and her back ached.

Ron wiped his eyes. “That second raid during the party – remember?” she nodded. “We all evacuated, we think that’s when they nabbed our hair from Westchester. They would have had all the time they needed.”

Hermione couldn’t help but appreciate the well thought out strategy. Using one raid which they knew would fail to set up the real one. She recalled seeing Harry in the bathroom before she was caught. And then herself.

“Must have been a lot of confusion,” she commented, blinking away her tears.

“Yeah. There was,” Ron agreed, his voice raspy from crying. “Two Freds. Two Georges. It would have worked too, had you not warned everyone. Cambridge and Haverhill safe houses didn’t even lose anyone. Lavender and Dean blew them up along with the Bath warehouse, so we got some of those cunts.”

Hermione wondered if Draco lost any of his friends. Or his father. She wondered if Draco got caught, and then recalled how he didn’t even make an attempt at stealth on the way out of Azkaban. Everyone had seen him in the Ministry, and later on in the Leaky Cauldron.

She hoped he’d be able to kill–

“Oh no!” she rasped, clutching her sheet. Her hands burned at the motion. “The Sword of Gryffindor–”

“Don’t worry,” Ron answered, and she released her grip on the blanket, wincing in pain. “After two days I returned to get your bag with Harry’s invisibility cloak.”

She sighed in relief, grateful that she could count on them. Ron ran his thumb gently over her knuckles and Harry rubbed her upper arm lightly. They sat in silence with their grief for a few moments.

“The Death Eater that brought you back,” Ron asked, leaning back against his chair. “He’s the spy you’re shagging? And he’ll kill Nagini?”

She nodded warily, happy that Ron already processed the information. “Yes.”

“How long has he been working for us? How did you meet him?”

She sighed, peering into his sad, blue eyes. “When we got Mary.”

“But – but I was there!” Ron exclaimed, his surprise briefly replacing his sadness. He looked up to Harry. “Did you know?”

Harry shook his head, but didn’t appear surprised by Ron’s realization.

“Mmmm,” Hermione answered with a mirthless laugh at the memory. “You thought it was a terrible idea.” She tried to push herself up but couldn’t. “Harry approved.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and adjusted her pillows, helping her sit up at an angle to speak with them. The newly grown skin on her stomach and thigh burned with the motion and she grimaced.

“You Obliviated us,” Harry replied.

“You agreed to it,” she spoke slowly, defensively. Her words were slurred from exhaustion and pain medications. Raising herself up at an angle disoriented her slightly.

“I can’t believe you kept him a secret all this time,” Ron said, his voice low. “That was over a year ago.”

“Had to,” she explained apologetically. It was getting harder to speak. “He’d be killed. Can you ask–” she coughed. “Mary–” She could barely get out her sentence.

“Mary!” Ron called out across the infirmary. She and Cho were trying to keep busy, silently cataloguing their inventory of potions, herbs and other ingredients.

Mary walked over, brow creased with grief and worry. Wordlessly, Hermione pointed to her throat. Mary gently pressed her wand into her skin at the side of neck and a soothing sensation spread from inside her larynx and throughout.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, grateful to be able to speak again.

Mary smoothed back the greying hair coming out of her bun. “Five minutes and no more visitors,” she admonished Ron and Harry. “She needs rest and shouldn’t be speaking at all right now.”

“Yes, Mary,” they answered. The Trio eyed the Healer as she went back to Cho, who started crying again. Mary brought her into a hug, tightly pressing her hands into Cho’s back.

“Who is it?” Ron asked. “You may as well tell us now.”

“He loves you.” Harry spoke softly. He didn’t sound like he was asking a question. “I could tell when I came to get you.”

Hermione glanced over at Harry. “He does.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” he continued tonelessly. “If he hadn’t just saved your life, I would have decked the tosser right then and there.”

Hermione looked at him, and he stared right back, waiting for her to react. Harry knew.

He must have recognized Draco’s voice despite the mask and robes. No one could drawl ‘Potter’ with as much contempt as Draco could. He’d been doing it for years. Hermione should have known it would be a dead giveaway.

“What? You know who it is? Who is it?” Ron repeated, his hands twitching. “Enough secrets, Hermione. You’ve been holding back on us for a long time.”

Harry was quiet, and then raised his eyebrows. “How about you trust us with the information this time around?”

She sighed in resignation. Damn Harry. He still felt resentful that she didn’t ask them about including Draco in the Horcrux hunt. And he was right about it. Ron may as well know too. It would all come out soon enough. They were so close to the end.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Hermione opened her eyes. Harry peered down at her, his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“But he tortured you at the Manor.”

She shifted her gaze to Ron as he put the pieces together. “Malfoy?” Ron choked out.

Hermione tightened her fingers around Ron’s so he wouldn’t leave. “He saved me from Bellatrix. That Cruciatus was nothing.”

“You chose Malfoy over me?” Ron’s voice lowered resentfully.

“It’s not like that,” Hermione sighed, closing her eyes again. Her body was starting to throb again with the exertion of being awake. Mary was right, she needed to rest more. She didn’t have the energy for a blow up with Ron. And he was already distraught from Charlie and Fred being captured.

“He was in the doorway of the ballroom when we left with Hannah, Luna and Oliver,” Harry recalled.

“He was,” Hermione confirmed, grateful to Harry for stepping in. He hated refereeing between her and Ron, but he was good at it.

“That’s right,” Ron said, looking up at Harry over her, momentarily distracted. “I thought we were going to get caught for sure when I saw him. I nearly hexed him.”

“Now you know.”

“What else did he do?” Ron asked, curiosity taking over his anger and sadness.

Hermione sighed. Her words were slurring but she managed to get them out. “He warned us about the taboo, the Veritaserum, he brought manor plans, the Nott blood.” Their eyes widened as she continued on down the list. It was long. She started to feel dizzy from talking so much. “Warned us about Minerva and Hagrid, said Wembley was a trap,” she looked pointedly at Harry, “he saved your life there, Harry. He got the tiara out of Hogwarts, and he rescued me.”

Draco walked right into Azkaban and faced down Dementors for her. He could have blown his cover; he could have gotten both of them killed. But he did it anyway. She hoped he was safe.

Tonks ensured she had another Galleon to communicate with him but she hadn’t had the chance yet. Hermione wondered how Voldemort was investigating her rescue from Azkaban, and then realized Draco had framed Travers in the process. That explained why he hadn’t made any attempts at stealth on the way out.  

She wasn’t sure how she felt about Draco causing the torture and murder of someone else. She had a hard time feeling sorry for Travers. He was Inner Circle, and a completely terrible person. But she was grateful Draco was able to rescue her, and felt worse regarding the effect on Draco’s conscience than what his actions meant for Travers’ fate.

Hermione was surprised at her lack of remorse for Travers. Before the war, she would have at least felt somewhat guilty.

She brought her thoughts back to Harry, and watched while he pieced the bits of information together. “And Malfoy told you about the raid,” he replied. “That’s how you were able to warn everyone else.”

She nodded, still slurring her words. “All the raids.”

“That’s… quite a lot.” Ron glanced down at her in disbelief. “Are you saying I owe the bouncing ferret my life?”

Harry huffed a mirthless laugh. “I guess we all do. Fucking hell, he’s…” He ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “He’s been invaluable.”

“Mmm,” Hermione replied, and closed her eyes.

“And he’s going to kill Nagini?” Ron asked, incredulous.

“Mmm,” she answered. She couldn’t sleep. Not yet. She had one last thing to say. She had almost died and Harry wouldn’t know.

“Aren’t you worried You-Know-Who will make more Horcruxes when he sees Nagini killed?” Ron asked. “He might figure out we’ve destroyed the others once he sees she’s dead.”

“He won’t,” Hermione whispered, and opened her eyes. This was it.

“How do you know?” Harry furrowed his brow at her.

Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself. The secret she had been keeping for so long weighed on her, hurting her chest. But just as with Draco, she had to tell Harry now for better or for worse. Fresh tears spilled out as she peered up at him.

“Harry, give me your hand.” He glanced down at her apprehensively but reached up and took the hand that was resting on her stomach. Coughing, she nearly choked on her tears. Her head pounded with the movement and she waited for the dizziness to fade. Harry and Ron watched her patiently while she struggled to speak. “The last time You-Know-Who made a Horcrux, it was by accident and he lost his body. His soul is split into eight pieces, not seven.”

Harry jerked back. “You mean, he made a Horcrux when he killed my mum?”

She shook her head and winced at the motion. “No, when he tried to kill you.”

“So we have to destroy another Horcrux at Godric’s Hollow?”

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand and more tears flowed. She shook her head, and heaved a sudden, sharp sob, gazing up at him, pleading that he would understand. His face fell at the exact moment he realized the implication of her confession.

I’m the final Horcrux,” he said softly, eyes wide with the realization.  

“How can you be sure?” Ron asked, panic edging into his voice.

“In Fractured Souls, it explained Harry’s connection to You-Know-Who. Like Nagini’s.”

“I read that book too, Hermione.” Harry glared down at her, betrayal flashed in his green eyes. “Cover to cover.”

Hermione knew he would be angry. Harry hated the way Dumbledore kept him in the dark fifth year and she had done the exact same thing. Neither she nor Dumbledore gave him a choice regarding the knowledge of his fate. But what Hermione did was worse, because this was the second time it happened. She knew how much it would hurt Harry, she saw how he perceived Dumbledore blocking him out as a betrayal, and she chose to hide information from him anyway.

And then there was the issue of her not trusting them and their judgement when she expected their trust in return.

“I removed the pages,” her voice trembled and tears streamed out of her eyes. “I didn’t want you to know until we were ready to kill him.”

“You kept that from me all this time?” Harry released her hand, glaring down as if he barely knew her. “Malfoy, I can understand. But this? This is my life, Hermione! I have a right to know!”

“Harry, please!” Hermione pleaded, and her thigh burned as she tried to keep talking through her tears. She grimaced in pain. “I didn’t want you to think you had to die. Durmstrang was over a year ago.”

Harry turned away from her, fuming, and got up to leave.

“Harry, wait,” Ron chastised him, still half in shock from her revelation. “Not after what she just went through. Not after everyone we just lost. Stay and talk.”

Hermione looked at Ron, surprised and grateful for his defense. She didn’t expect him to intervene like that, clearly not giving him enough credit for how he’d matured.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’m glad you’re alive and back with us Hermione, more than you know.” He pushed his chair back with a screech on the tiled floors. “But I need some time alone. Our time’s up anyway.”

He stalked out the door.

"Fucking hell," Ron said in disbelief.

She and Ron watched him leave in silence. Ironic that it was Ron that had stayed with her. She thought he would have stormed out after hearing about Malfoy. He had grown up, and Susan was good for him.

“Hey,” Ron said, squeezing her hand lightly. She turned to stare into his concerned blue eyes. “I think you did the right thing. I would have done the same. I’ll talk with him later, and stay until you fall asleep.”

“Thanks Ron. That means a lot.”

He wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb and gave her a sad smile.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Next up: The prisoners.

Two more chapters of pain, then the fun starts. Hang in there guys.

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Chapter 71: Chapter 71

Notes:

Trigger warning associated with this chapter - see the end notes if you need them.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco shared an apprehensive glance with Pansy before putting on his mask and covering his hair with the hood of his robe. Vince donned his with an evil smile as did Greg, with a determined expression. Draco could tell Vince was trying to cover up the pain in his abdomen, where his burns were still healing.

“Do you know why we’re all here?” Millie’s voice was slightly muffled behind her mask, but he could hear her terror. Millie was still somewhat in shock from the raid. Happy to be alive, but horror struck at the death of her classmates, and of Tracey in particular.

She directed her question towards Draco. He had been a Death Eater the longest and was now Inner Circle. All the other new Death Eaters from his year – from all four houses  – turned to him in answer. He looked at the group before him in their black robes and flashing metallic masks. Identical on the outside, but everyone processing the horrors of war differently.

“No idea,” he answered impassively.

There weren’t any older Death Eaters present, so it wasn’t another raid, and some of them were still recovering from injuries. He wondered if there would be some kind of ‘demonstration.’ There probably would be.

Bile accumulated in his mouth.

“Just do what they say, Millie,” Greg admonished, “and you’ll be fine. How’s your leg?”

“Hurts, but it’s getting better. I wish Tracey were still alive.” He took her hand, and she squeezed it back.

“Will…” MacMillan was visibly shaking underneath his robes, “Will he be here?”

“The Dark Lord,” Greg corrected him.

“Probably,” Pansy answered without pity.

Draco couldn’t think of a reason to summon so many of them if the Dark Lord wouldn’t be here. Pansy masked her fear well.

“Fuck,” Goldstein muttered under his breath.

“Scared, Goldstein?” Vince taunted.

“Aren’t we all?” the Ravenclaw replied in disbelief.

Yes.

“You should be grateful to be in his presence,” Vince scoffed, straightening his shoulders to make himself more intimidating.

“The Dark Lord rewards those who serve him well,” Daphne added derisively. “It’s a chance to impress him after you failed during the raid.”

Not that any of them had a choice. The Polyjuice raid had left many traumatized from having to attack their former schoolmates and teachers, and watch others burn to death like Tracey, or suffer acute injuries from the explosions. Those that had balked or wavered in battle – like MacMillan – had been Crucio’d on the spot.

Draco still had the residual odor of burning flesh inside his nostrils. He didn’t think the smell would ever leave. Someone had lost an arm. He didn’t know who, but saw the ownerless appendage on the ground outside the blown up safe house.

Goldstein continued. “Don’t any of y–”

“No,” Draco cut him off before he could elaborate. “And you fucking shouldn’t either, Goldstein.”

Draco had no idea what Goldstein had been about to say. But either the Ravenclaw was smart at realizing few of them wanted to be here, or completely daft for voicing his opinion at the Lestrange Estate of all places.

Goldstein seemed to get the message and shut up before he could incriminate himself further. Air thick with tension, they waited until several cracks of Apparition broke the silence, followed by Bellatrix’s cackle.

Raw anger began to eat away at Draco’s insides, and he sneered underneath his mask as he recalled the words carved on Hermione’s body, and the exposed muscle where her skin was peeled away. Aunt Bella would pay. He didn’t know when, he didn’t know how, but she would suffer before he killed her.

“Wheeeeerrrrrrrrre are the precious babies?” his aunt’s voice echoed off the high ceilings of the foyer and everyone stiffened in terror.

“Oh god,” he heard someone murmur behind him.

“Shut it, Turpin,” Pansy admonished her.

They heard the ominous clicking of stiletto heels approaching. Bellatrix curled her long pale fingers around the door frame, peering at where they all stood waiting, and smiled evilly at them. Draco fought to conceal his rage.

“Time to come out and play, kiddies.” Her black eyes surveyed all of them and rested on Draco. She twirled a finger in one of her long black curls and licked her lips. “We have a surprise for all of you.”

Draco’s stomach heaved as dread replaced his rage. Nothing good could come from a surprise that made his aunt happy.

Quirking her finger so they would all follow, she swiveled around, black curls flying behind her, and sauntered down the foyer. Ten other Death Eaters were waiting – all masked, all robed. She turned around to face them with a sinister twist of her lips.

Draco peered into the adjoining room, but no one was there. No Dark Lord. No victim waiting to be tortured. Having no idea what was about to happen, his heart hammered in his chest. Maybe they were about to be punished for the poor outcome of the raid. They hadn’t been.

Yet.  

“Time for a field trip,” her voice lilted in a sing-song.

Several older Death Eaters surrounded the new recruits and clamped hands on their arms. His aunt dug her fingernails into his shoulder and a sharp pang of nausea hit him from the sudden Side-Along Apparition. After a few groans and the sound of someone retching, everyone glanced at the old, moss covered graves of their surroundings.

It was the Azkaban graveyard. They were being taken to the prisoners.

Torture? Execution?

Draco didn’t know. But his eyes fluttered closed in relief that he had been able to get Hermione out. She likely would have died already, and he hoped she was recovering. She hadn’t answered any of his messages thus far.

“Where are–” he heard Vince ask.

His question was cut off by gasps as their gazes were drawn towards the tall, foreboding stone walls of Azkaban. Cold wind from the ocean whipped at their cloaks and they instinctively huddled around each other for warmth and protection. Draco held his hood steady atop his head.

Bellatrix opened the large double doors at the corner of the triangular prison with a swish of her wand and glanced back at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Ready to play a game?”

No one answered as they all followed her inside. Everyone was scared into silence, even Vince, Daphne and Greg. Pansy immediately grabbed Draco’s hand and he squeezed her small, gloved fingers back, recalling the first time they had been here together.

“Fucking hate this place,” he heard her murmur.

Azkaban was still terrifying, but knowing how to cast a Patronus, and having recently broken in and out with none the wiser, rid Draco of the helplessness and despair he felt during his previous visits.

The now familiar cold of the Dementors seeped into his flesh. He doubted any of the new recruits had been here before besides him and Pansy. They followed Bellatrix quietly, the only sounds were her heels on the stone floor and the shuffling of their boots and robes.

The crowd turned into a corridor and rounded a corner. They entered a room where thirteen beaten and bloody Order members all kneeled in a row, hands bound behind their backs.

It was an execution, and the Dark Lord was there to oversee it.

Draco’s stomach heaved. He scanned the room, quickly tallying up the loyal Death Eaters, the scared recruits, and the wandless prisoners that were too weak and injured to fight. Some members of the Order he recognized from Hogwarts in older years, some he didn’t know. Two of them must be Weasleys – their red hair was a giveaway. An older one he had never met, and one of the twins. Parvati Patil and Terri Boot were there from his year, and Lovegood.

Again.

There was no chance for escape, the prisoners were all dead. And they were brought here to kill them.

“Time to pick a playmate,” Bellatrix’s voice lilted upwards.

Vince stepped in front of one of the Weasleys. He thought it was Pansy, Daphne and Greg that moved next, each standing in front of a kneeling Order member. It was difficult to tell who was who with their masks on. Draco stepped in front of another Weasley – one of the twins – and the rest followed in dread.

The Weasley in front of him glared. “Fucking cowards. Hiding behind masks.”

It was true.

“Fred, stop,” the older Weasley called out from down the line. Everyone looked to see what the Dark Lord would do.

Bellatrix flicked her wand and the Weasley twin screamed as a gash appeared across his cheek. But the Dark Lord’s attention was directed elsewhere.

“You’ve had a week, Augustus,” the Dark Lord hissed. “I’m disappointed.”

“None of them knew where the rest escaped to, my Lord,” Rookwood replied with a tremor in his voice. “And they don’t know anything about the Order’s plans.”

Draco closed his eyes behind his mask, dreading what was to come next. Useless Order members were dead Order members. The Dark Lord wouldn’t tolerate any more prison breaks.

Draco surveyed the line of broken Order members. They all eyed the row of newly minted Death Eaters facing them. Classmates pitted against classmates in a war few wanted to fight. He knew that per Amycus’ instruction, the recent Hogwarts graduates could torture people and kill animals. He wondered if they’d be able to kill someone they had attended class with. So many of them were scared, hadn’t wanted to fight, and paid for it dearly.

A few of the prisoners stared at the floor, some eyed the Dark Lord or the other Death Eaters in trepidation. A few Order members appeared ready to rip anyone of them in half if given the slightest chance. Draco glanced down at Fred Weasley, cheek bleeding from Aunt Bella’s curse. His clear brown eyes glowered up at Draco defiantly from his kneeling position.

“Where is the werewolf, Augustus?” the Dark Lord asked. “He is the leader, is he not?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Rookwood cleared his throat before speaking. “Dead, my lord.”

“Dead?” the Dark Lord repeated, his voice dangerously soft.

Everyone turned to Rookwood, silent, waiting for the Dark Lord to unleash his wrath.

“Y- yes, my lord.” Draco could hear the fear creeping into his voice. “Right in the beginning, he w-was found dead in his cell.”

“How?” Voldemort narrowed his red eyes at him. “The prisoners were restrained. They had no wands.”

Rookwood got ahold of himself and stopped stammering. “We don’t know. We think it was something Muggle.”

Voldemort turned to face the kneeling Order members, with a sneer.

The air was thick with tension and Draco swallowed. He wasn’t sure who the Dark Lord would lash out at. The prisoners? Rookwood? Any one of them? Draco could sense everyone curling in on themselves, trying to be less conspicuous. The seconds ticked by in silence as the Dark Lord assessed his options when Fred Weasley burst out laughing. Draco could see through the blood smeared on his face that a few of his teeth had been knocked out.

“You’ll never find them now, Voldemort,” the Weasley called out.

Everyone turned and gasped in shock. No one had ever spoken to him that way.

“Fred. Don’t,” the older Weasley cautioned from several feet away.

“S’Alright Charlie,” Fred answered with a deranged grin. “We’re dead anyway.”

The seconds ticked by in silence as they all waited to see what the Dark Lord would do. Instead of reacting angrily, he narrowed his red eyes and curled his lip.

“Crucio!” Rookwood cursed Fred Weasley and he fell over in front of Draco, screaming to the ceiling. Goosebumps spread up and down Draco’s arms at the sound of his shrieking, and he dug his fingers into his palms.

Rookwood released the curse and Draco tried not to wince as the Weasley twin choked on his own blood before laughing louder. Rookwood’s posture sagged in relief, he wasn’t the focus of the Dark Lord’s ire anymore now that he was avenging the insult.

“Is that the best you can do?” Fred spat blood onto the ground. “You inbred fuckers have more money, more people, you control the sodding government and you still can’t win.”

“Fred!” Charlie raised his voice, panicked at the repercussions that would shortly follow. “Shut up!”

“Kill him,” the Dark Lord commanded Rookwood with a sneer. “Make it painful.”

“No!” Charlie cried out desperately.

At this, the Weasley twin laughed even louder.

“Can’t even do the dirty work your aaaaahhhhhhhhh!–”

Rookwood’s Cruciatus cut off the Weasley twin’s taunts.

Draco grit his teeth while watching Fred writhe on the ground and wondered why the Dark Lord simply didn’t do it himself. Perhaps it wasn’t a figment of his imagination, and the Dark Lord’s magic really was getting weaker. Maybe Draco wasn’t the only one that noticed.

Was that even possible?

Fred’s screams stopped.

“Fred, please don’t,” Parvati pleaded with him.

Fred rolled onto his back.

“You’ll never find them! And Harry Potter is going to kill you!”

“Fred!” Charlie cried out.

“Fred! Stop it!” Parvati’s choked pleas joined Charlie’s.

Draco could tell that several of the Death Eaters were shaken by his words.

Now, Augustus,” the Dark Lord hissed.

Crucio!

Fred released another gut-wrenching scream as his body contorted on the ground. After it was done, he rolled over on the stone floor, smearing the blood on his face. And then he laughed harder, sounding even more maniacal.

“You can’t control everyone with fear, Voldemort.” Fred gurgled and coughed before yelling directly at the Dark Lord again. “You’re going to die. You couldn’t even kill a fucking infant.

“Kill him!” the Dark Lord commanded with a curl of his lip. “Kill him now!

FRED!” Charlie’s desperate cry rang out.

Draco didn’t have to turn around to know that his classmates behind him were tense and terrified. A jet of bright green light shot out of Rookwood’s wand and pummeled Fred in the chest, silencing him forever. He heard a soft strangled cry behind him, and wasn’t sure if it came from the recruits or the prisoners.

The older Weasley flinched and heaved a loud sob.

“And the rest,” the Dark Lord waved his hand. “They’re useless.”

A few Order members pleaded to be left alive. Patil started crying, Boot yelled something about being a healer and Charlie cried from the loss of his brother. Luna watched everyone with her back straight, a single tear trickling down her cheek. Draco gritted his teeth, trying to block out the sounds, and realized that he shouldn’t. Even if he didn’t want to be, he was complicit. So he closed his eyes, and let their gut wrenching pleas to live wash over him.

Vince was the first to raise his wand, and Charlie Weasley’s sobs ceased. Pansy and Greg raised their wands, killing Patil and someone else two years older than them. Draco knew it wasn’t the first time they killed and he watched as the bodies slumped over and hit the ground. Torture and murder were necessary evils to stay alive and protect their families. Draco glanced down at Fred’s beaten corpse.

At least he wouldn’t have to murder today.

“Your turn,” Bellatrix crooned at Ernie Macmillan.

The Hufflepuff stared at Terry Boot, kneeling in front of him. “Please!” Boot pleaded. “I’m a trained Healer. I can be of use!”

The MacMillan glanced over at the other Death Eaters but Bellatrix quirked her red lips. “He’s a Mudblood. We won’t sully our ranks with his filth.”

“No, please!” Boot began to beg, his words coming out in a stream of tears. MacMillan stared down at his former classmate and raised his wand. The seconds ticked by and his arm began to shake. Finally, he lowered it.

“I can’t!” MacMillan panted from behind his mask. Instantly, he dropped to the ground screaming as Bellatrix sauntered over, wand trained on him. She released the Cruciatus and he rolled over, gasping for air.

Tapping the tip of her wand to her chin she stared down at Ernie. “If you’re as useless to the Dark Lord as they are,” she waved to the prisoners on their knees, “then you’ll share their fate.”

Ernie struggled inside his robes and groaned as he pulled himself up.

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Care to try again, poppet?”

The Dark Lord and the older Death Eaters stared at Ernie from behind their emotionless masks. If he didn’t kill the prisoner, he’d pay with his life. The new recruits shifted nervously on their feet across from the prisoners as they waited to see what Ernie would do.

Ernie turned back to Terry and raised his arm again, it was still shaking.

“Please!” Terry pleaded. “Please, I can be useful!”

Bellatrix walked around behind Erin and whispered loudly into his ear, “Do it…”

Ernie’s voice shook. “Avada Kedavra!”

Much as when Greg had tried to murder the muggle family so many months ago, the curse was ineffective. Terry fell over with a cry, his body twitching on the ground. They all watched in horror as pink foam spilled out of his mouth as his body shook more violently.

“Terry!” one of the other prisoners cried.

“Awww,” Bellatrix crooned, twirling her wand in her fingers. “You broke him. Put him out of his misery.”

Likely understanding that not going through with it would be worse, Ernie raised his wand and cast again. Terry Boot stopped shaking, and Ernie heaved a sob.

Bellatrix stroked Millie’s robe with her fingers and gazed up at her with an evil smile. “Your turn.”

The rest of them killed the Order members without complaint, and with little trouble. Some were hesitant, but they chose to kill over being killed themselves. One by one, the Order members slumped lifelessly to the ground. Bellatrix’s smile widened and the Dark Lord looked pleased.

Finally, Anthony Goldstein stared down at Luna, his former housemate. The last prisoner still alive. Head held high, she gazed back in silence, and another tear fell from her eye. Draco admired her bravery, as he did Fred’s.

They were all brave. They knew joining the Order was a death sentence if caught.

Goldstein swiveled towards Bellatrix.

“No.”

Her smile fell and they all turned to him, surprised. Luna watched the interaction and blinked.

“No?” Aunt Bella raised her eyebrows. Cocking her head, she walked closer, stepping over the dead bodies as if they were mud puddles to be avoided. Ernie had been scared and pleaded with her. This was different. Anthony was directly refusing an order.

Slowly, the Dark Lord walked over, and Draco, like everyone else, shrunk back in fear. “You would dare defy Lord Voldemort?”

Draco could hear Anthony’s breathing become ragged under his mask. He turned down to Luna and his voice cracked. “I’m sorry Luna, I should have opposed the Carrows with you.” A muffled sob sounded through his mask. “I abandoned you. We all did.”

“It’s alright, Anthony.” She was the only calm person in the room besides the Dark Lord. “I understand. You were scared.”

“It’s not,” Draco could hear him crying. “It’s not alright. I don’t know how to make it right.”

The Dark Lord approached even closer, and Anthony backed away.

“Do you know,” his voice was soft and threatening, “what we do with those that defy me?”

Draco heard Anthony’s voice catch, and then he spoke, but his words were for Luna. “I’ll do it. I’ll cast the Killing Curse.” She gave an imperceptible nod.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, shifting her gaze between the two of them.

Anthony pointed his wand at her, inhaled a deep breath, and then turned his wand back. Draco and several others jumped at the flash of green light and cast Shield charms, unsure if Goldstein was attacking them. Draco’s eyes widened in surprise to see the Ravenclaw drop into a crumpled heap on the floor.

Luna stared at his body, blinked, and said nothing.

Everyone was stunned into silence, shocked by Goldstein’s last act of defiance.

The Dark Lord waved his hand, as if he wasn’t affected. “We have no use for blood traitors in our army. Draco finish it off.”

Draco faced the Dark Lord to see his red eyes judging him. He had never seen Draco use the Killing Curse before, but expected him to succeed nonetheless. He didn’t know Draco already had. Draco gazed down at Luna Lovegood and her fierce, blue eyes stared back, unflinching. There was no avoiding it. He was a murderer now.

He raised his wand and recalled cradling the small bodies of a brother and sister to his chest as he brought them to an early grave. He remembered the agony of parents pleading for the lives of their children, and a grandmother having her throat slit.

Self-loathing wrapped around his limbs and tightened.

Either way, Lovegood was dead. But Anthony Goldstein kept himself clean. Draco wondered if he should have killed himself instead of that family. Looking down at Luna, he realized murder wasn’t as difficult as it used to be.

Hermione would hate him.

Avada Kedavra.”

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I know you guys didn't want Fred to die, I stuck with canon this time. One more chapter of pain and then the fun starts up. Hang in there, everyone!

TW: All the Order prisoners are executed. One Death Eater commits suicide. It's explicitly described.

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Chapter 72: Chapter 72

Notes:

Trigger warning associated with this chapter, scroll to the end if you need to.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione sat naked on the bed in her parents’ guest room, waiting for Draco to come back from the loo. Her body still ached here and there, but the pain was manageable, and receding. She glanced at the doorway. The hallway lighting seemed off, and the shadows cast on the rug by her feet were skewed and unnatural.

Something about the room felt strange, as if she didn’t belong here. The guest room didn’t seem familiar anymore. She rubbed her eyes, maybe it was an after effect of being tortured – unable to feel safe in the familiarity of her own childhood home.

Hermione heard Draco’s footfalls in the hallway and he paused under the doorframe. His black boxers contrasted starkly against the pale shade of his skin, and the light behind him cast a long shadow on the floor of the darkened room. His shadow was odd, it looked as if he was wearing a hooded cloak. She raised her eyes, watching him curiously. His lips pursed as he studied the inside of his forearm and his hair covered his face, she couldn’t see his expression.

Or his eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

He rubbed the area of his Dark Mark with his thumb and hissed. “I’m not sure, it’s never done this before.”

Concerned, she stood up and approached him.

“Here, let me see.” Hermione pulled his arm towards her an inspected the dark, scaly skin. “It doesn’t look any different.”

“It’s sensitive. Almost like it itches.”

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“No.” His eyes met hers, brows furrowed in worry. “It… tingles. It’s never done that before.”

Curious, she leaned over to inspect the brand more closely, turning his arm over. His breathing became heavier while he awaited her verdict. It didn’t appear any different. The only sensation he had ever described from his Dark Mark was pain. Gently, she traced the outline of the mark on his skin, and he whimpered.

Hermione looked up sharply to meet his surprised, wide-eyed expression.

“Did that hurt?”

“I…I think…” Draco stammered, and his cheeks flushed. “No, it… I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Over their time together, she’d memorized the shape and outline of the brand, tracing it with her fingers more times than she could count. She still couldn’t determine what was so different, so she dragged her fingertip over the outline again.

Draco’s eyes fluttered closed and a soft groan escaped his lips. He leaned into her and grabbed her upper arm with his other hand.

Hermione had seen that expression on his face many times before, and was shocked to see it now. “It’s erogenous?

He opened his eyes, ashamed, and nodded wordlessly. Apprehensive at what the shift in sensation meant, she made to touch it again but he grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t,” his voice was alarmed. “It’s not supposed to feel good.”

Remembering how Draco had wanted her to hurt him, she understood his concern. The Dark Mark represented the terrible things he did, the bad choices he made, and the horrible sins he committed when having no other choice. He wanted to be punished for them. The burning pain he felt when it was activated served that purpose. If it felt good… it would be a reward, not a punishment.

“I’m sorry, I won’t touch it if you don’t want me to.” Her eyes roamed over the Dark Mark in thought. Draco had changed since his increased usage of Unforgivable Curses. She bit her lip and gazed up at him, horrified at where her thoughts led. “Maybe it is supposed to feel good now.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, slightly panicked.

“What if it has something to do with Unforgivable Curses?” She was nearly certain that it did, and worried for him even more. “You’ve succeeded at all three the day you got me out of Azkaban.”

His words came out in a rush. “But I don’t want it to feel that way!” he protested, eyes wide in terror. “I want it off of my body! It should – oh fuuuuuck!

Hermione watched in morbid fascination as he trembled, fingers digging into her arm until his knuckles whitened. She winced and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down with a whining grunt.

“Hermione,” he croaked, eyes closed. “It’s… I don’t want this!”

She drew her gaze down to the Dark Mark and saw the snake undulating on his arm. She gasped. It could move?

“The Dark Mark is moving, Draco! Has it ever done that before?”

He grunted and bucked against her hip, ignoring the question. “Please!” he pleaded through his teeth. “Get it to stop!”

Draco was hard, and curled in on himself with the exertion of fighting his arousal. He leaned his forehead on her shoulder, panting, and his hot breath fanned across her neck.

“Hold on, Draco.”

Trying to stay calm, she grasped his upper arms and leaned him against the bedroom door. He hunched over, quaking, and clutching his forearm. Heart pounding, Hermione ran across the room and grabbed her wand from the night table. Eyes squeezed shut, Draco moaned and cursed under his breath. She ran back to him and, careful not to touch the mark, cast a diagnostic spell that she’d seen Mary perform a few times. Bright lights blinked from the charm. From what she could understand of the readings, everything was normal.

Before she could try anything else, Draco released an agonized cry. Eyes wide in disbelief, he held his shaking hand up to his face.

“It’s… the snake!”   

The blood rushed to her head, she was so frightened for him. What was going on? She didn’t know what the moving mark meant and reached out to pull his arm forward to see what else she could do.

“Yes, I don’t know wh–”

Horror struck, Draco sank to his knees with a thud, staring at his arm and gasping for air. Quickly, she knelt in front of him and tried to pull his arm down so she could see. He wouldn’t let her. Squeezing his eyes shut, a vein protruded on his forehead and his whole body trembled with the effort of trying to stop what was happening.  

As his skin reddened, she knew he was close to climaxing. Holding her wand out, her mind raced through what she knew of counter charms and her limited knowledge of diagnostics, but was at a loss. Horrified, she didn’t know what she could possibly do. She didn’t even know if she should touch him or not.

“I’m here, Draco,” she cried, utterly powerless to stop it. “I’m right here.”

Suddenly his eyes rolled back in pleasure and he cried out.

“It’s…” he panted and thrust forward, still clutching his arm. “I can’t... Ungh!”

Hermione worried Draco might fall over so she held him upright, bracing his body by holding onto his shoulders. Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward, face planted into the crook of her neck, shuddering and she struggled on her knees not to fall backward. Draco grunted a whine and his pelvis jerked as a warm wetness spread on her thigh. She glanced down between them to see that he came in his boxers.

But it wasn’t over yet. Draco was still shaking. His shoulder muscles flexed and contracted under her fingers. Suddenly he spasmed, nearly knocking her over. He held his arm up in front of his face again and his eyes widened in terror.

“It’s… It’s… Oh fuck!”

Hermione had to take him to Mary. He was in trouble and she didn’t know what to do. Adjusting her grip on her wand, she readied to Apparate them.

Voice trembling, she reached out to grab his elbow. “Draco, I’m going to take you to–

“What’s it doing?” He cried out, staring at the inside of his arm. She tried to pull it down to see what had him so scared but he wouldn’t let her see.

“I can’t stop – Hermione, help me!” His pleas grew increasingly desperate.

She pulled him in closer, frightened tears forming in her eyes. “I’m taking you to–

Help me! FUCK!”

He quaked violently. Fear shot through Hermione’s limbs, she didn’t understand what was happening to him and tried to pry his arm down so she could see his mark again. Suddenly, Draco let out a long low agonized groan and threw his head back.

Frozen in horror, she watched as a snake’s head appeared between his fingers and slithered down the back of his hand and around his forearm. Hermione jumped back with a yelp and her bum hit the floor. The snake wrapped its long, slender body around Draco’s arm, slithering upwards to his bicep, and coiling loosely around his neck, its length still wrapped around his arm.

Hermione watched open mouthed as it reared back its head at her and hissed.

Draco brought his head forward to look at her and slowly opened his eyes, no longer panicked.

“No,” she whispered.

His eyes were dark.

The snake raised its head to the level of his ear and hissed at her again.

Her stomach lurched and she tightened her grip on her wand.

“Draco?” she pleaded.

Still trembling, he stood up, lowered his arm, and gazed down at her with an upward turn of his lips. Watching in fear, she struggled to stand as the undulating snake of the Dark Mark pulsed upwards, taking on a three dimensional form and slithering right out of his skin. Draco released a guttural groan, fully embracing the pleasure now. The snake exited his flesh and hung loosely by his leg until it detached, dropping to the floor. Hermione jumped back, but it didn’t attack. After hissing at her, it slithered up Draco’s leg, wrapping itself around his calf, up past his knee and circling his thigh.

She glanced up at Draco’s face to see him watching her with a wicked smile. “One more.”

He rolled his eyes back and parted his lips to release a long, low, ecstatic moan. A third snake emerged from his Dark Mark and coiled around his arm, sliding across his chest to wrap around his abdomen. She stumbled back and hit the wall, aiming her wand at him.

“Hold still!” Hermione cried out, her voice shaking. “I can get them off you!”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I don’t want them off me.”

The hair stood on the back of her neck as she watched the snakes slither on his body; coiling around his neck, his arms, his torso, his legs. Draco’s muscles flexed where they passed around him and he held his arms down at his sides, fingers curled like claws. He inhaled a deep, shuddering breath and drew his gaze back to her.

“They’re dark magic,” she protested, taking a few cautious steps forward. “They’re poisoning you!”

“They are me,” he replied with an evil smile. “I like them.”

She dug her fingers into her palm, and watched as the snake on his thigh slid underneath the fabric of his boxers. As it passed between his legs, Draco chuckled and groaned. It exited out the other side and coiled down his other leg.

“No,” she said, aiming her wand carefully. “No, they’re not. I’m getting them off you. Hold still.”

Hermione held her breath, hoping she wouldn’t hurt him, and flicked her wand, trying to remove the snakes. But nothing happened. She tried again, and again, her movements more erratic as panic set in.

“You can’t remove them,” he replied calmly.

“Why not?” she asked, voice shaking.

“Dark magic is always stronger. You can’t fight it.” His body quivered as the snakes slithered up and down, coiling around his limbs. “Why would you want to?”

“No,” she flicked her wand again, wondering why it wasn’t responding to her. Her heart thudded faster as anxiety squeezed her chest. “That’s not right at all. Dark magic only makes you feel stronger. It’s an illusion.” Her tone rose upward and she tried to conceal the panic rapidly overwhelming her. “You know that, Draco.”

Hermione pointed her wand at the window to close it but nothing happened. Her wand wasn’t working. Heart racing, she tried to stop, breathe deeply and think, but she couldn’t. Why wasn’t her wand working?

Draco advanced on her slowly, and she backed away. Her wand wasn’t working, and he wasn’t himself. He closed in on her and Hermione gasped as her back hit the wall. He reached out to cup her cheek and a snake slithered down his arm towards her face and she flinched. Eyes wide with terror, she tried to hold herself still, hoping it wouldn’t come any closer.

His thumb was soft against her skin, and he caressed her cheek, oh so tenderly.

“Draco,” she pleaded with a whisper. “Keep it away.”

“They won’t bite you.” She dragged her eyes back up to his face, towering over her. “Unless I tell them too,” he taunted. The snake was only inches away from her cheek, hovering above his arm.

 

“You’d… hurt me?”

Draco always promised that he wouldn’t. And he hadn’t. But this was different. Hermione had no idea what was going on inside his head. The Draco she knew and loved was completely gone.

“Do you want me to?” His smile was sinister and he dragged his lips back and forth against hers.

“No,” she whispered.

As he loomed over, there was hardly any space between her and the snakes. She could feel their movements across his body and she sucked in her stomach, trying not to touch them. Hermione tried to still her shaking limbs, but she couldn’t as the adrenaline raced through her. She had to get away, but didn’t know how.

Draco laughed softly. “That’s not true, Hermione. You enjoy a little pain.” His eyes were hooded as the snake on his leg slid underneath his boxers again. “It feels good.” He flashed his teeth at her. “Watch.”

His eyes opened, dark and dangerous, and Hermione gasped as the snake around his neck reared back and bit the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Draco bucked into her with a groan while a tiny rivulet of blood dripped over his chest.

“I don’t want the snakes to bite me.”

“The snakes are me,” he said, rubbing his length against her. One of the snakes moved against her thigh and she whimpered. “And you like it when I bite you.”

He pressed his body into her and the snake on his leg curled around her ankle.

Hermione’s blood ran cold at the touch.

“Draco,” she pleaded. “Please. Get it off me.”

While she was completely paralyzed in terror, it coiled up her calf and upper thigh. She didn’t know whether to attempt cursing it off again, or stay still lest it bite her. But it didn’t matter what she did. Draco was controlling it, and her wand didn’t work.

“They feel good.” He rolled his neck and watched her with a wicked gleam in his eye.

Goosebumps spread up and down her limbs as the smooth, dry skin of the snake inched up her thigh, in between her legs, and around her waist. Hermione sucked in a breath as it creeped around her. Her hands shook with the need to shove it off, but she was terrified it would strike.

“Please, Draco.” She tried to suppress her shivers of terror as the snake dipped down the middle of her arse, tickling her in a sensual way. “I don’t want the snakes.”

He raised an eyebrow as it slid down towards the apex between her thighs. She fought the instinct to squeeze her legs together, terrified the snake would bite her. Or bite her there.

“Not this,” she begged.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and sultry.

The snake dipped lower.

“Oh fuck,” she exhaled.

Hermione whimpered as the snake pushed against her folds, slithered against her clit and up her belly. The tiny vibrations from its passage spread heat throughout her core, and Draco gazed down at her in triumph.

She shook her head, trembling in fear, desire, she couldn’t tell anymore as the tears spilled down her cheeks. “I just want you. Draco, you’re not yourself.”

“You can’t have him.”

Her heart stopped at the sound of Bellatrix’s voice.

She had been here the whole time, hadn’t she? Hermione would never escape her!

Hermione nearly choked, momentarily forgetting the snake circling around her breast. She looked up at Draco. He didn’t seem surprised at the presence of his aunt either. Ignoring the snake inching towards her throat, Hermione cast a few curses around his body at Bellatrix’s form as she emerged from the shadows in the bedroom door.

Nothing worked. She stared at the useless stick of wood as her stomach twisted in dread. Why wasn’t it functioning? Why didn’t she have any magic? What was happening?

Why didn’t he care?

“Awwwww, little Mudblood,” Bellatrix crooned, sauntering over to them. “Did you think he belonged to you?” She paused next to Draco and walked her fingers up his arm and over the hard curve of his shoulder. The snake that was coiled around his neck turned in Bellatrix’s direction and she tickled its chin. “He was always one of us.”

Draco dropped his hand from Hermione’s cheek to her breast, thumbing her nipple. She turned back to him, confused, betrayed, terrified and aroused.

“Draco,” her lip trembled, “Why are you doing this?”

A flickering tickle on her breast made her gasp, and she looked down to see the snake’s tongue feathering against her areola. Draco pinched her other nipple and she couldn’t contain her groan.

His dark eyes flashed and the snake moved down her stomach again. Bellatrix licked her lips, silently watching.

As dread stole the breath from her lungs, Hermione wondered if she was going to die, and if Draco would let that happen after everything he had done. Would he just stand by and watch while Bellatrix killed her? Why else would she be here?

Without a functioning wand, she was trapped, and utterly defenseless.

“Why?” she asked again, sobbing. “You changed!” she cried out, giving up all pretense despite Bellatrix’s presence. “I thought you loved me!”

The snake slid between her legs, its head pushed against her folds and a jolt of pleasure jerked her hips forward. Her lips parted, horrified. It couldn’t… Draco wouldn’t… She didn’t know what he was capable of anymore.

The snake’s length rubbed against her clit as it coiled around her waist and up between her breasts. She trembled as it’s tongue flicked against her, feather-light touches on her skin. Her arousal trailed along with its body, leaving a warm, wet path.

“You abandoned me to Azkaban, Hermione.” He raised an eyebrow, rubbing the flesh of her breast with his fingers. “You let the dark take me.”

“I didn’t! I never wanted that!” She shook her head violently. “I’m trying to figure out – I’m trying to fix it! And Tonks can get you help after the war!”

“It’s too late now, Mudblood. He was never yours.” Bellatrix scrunched her nose at the snake affectionately, tickling its chin again with her finger. “Enough teasing, Draco.”

He turned to face his aunt with a sinister smile and she looked fondly up at him. “One more roll in the mud, Auntie Bella?”

Bellatrix turned back to her and her red lips spread in an evil smile, dark eyes dancing with delight. “If you insist.”

The snake slid up from between her breasts and coiled around her neck. Draco leered and reached down between her legs, his finger easily sliding up her passage.

“You’re as fucked up as I am, Hermione,” he said with a knowing smirk. Leaning down, he spoke against her mouth. “You like it, too.”

With a quirk of his lips, he slid his finger in and out a few more times. She moaned as his finger stretched her and the snake rubbed against her nipples and circled her breasts.

“No, I want you. Just you!

“This is me, Hermione.” She didn’t recognize his smirk anymore. It was evil, and his eyes were hooded as the snakes coiled around his limbs. Draco shucked off his boxers, kicking them to the side. Hiking up her leg, he wrapped it around his hips and thrust up and into her.

She cried out as he filled her to the hilt, hitting the back of her head against the wall while the snake slid around her neck. Draco pumped in and out of her, watching her gasp.

Hermione whimpered as he pushed into her again. The snake coiled tighter around her neck and tears streamed down her face. Bellatrix’s black eyes gleamed. He was going to kill her while she watched.

“Please, Draco!” She looked up and he was wearing his Death Eater mask.

You let this happen,” he replied emotionlessly.

“No,” she cried, trying to pry the snake from around her throat without angering it. “Draco, you don’t understand! I’m trying to help y–” 

He snapped his pelvis into her, cutting off her explanation and she threw her head back with a cry, hitting her head against the wall. When she looked back at him, he was wearing his Death Eater robes, still fucking her against the wall.

She tightened around him. He was going to make her come like this. While his aunt watched, and then they’d kill her. Bellatrix flashed her teeth in anticipation.

“Would you like something else to play with, Ickle Draco?”

He paused in his movements and glanced down at the knife in Bellatrix’s palm.

“No!” Hermione pleaded, shaking her head violently, tears streaming down her face. “No! Please not that!”

Ignoring her protests, Draco released his grip on her leg and took the knife, deftly spinning it in a circle on his gloved hand. The merciless mask turned back to face her and he pressed the point of the blade into her breast, making a small incision. Instantly, all the words that Bellatrix had carved up and down her body appeared as if never healed.

Hermione screamed as her skin ripped open all at once.

Dirty.

Filthy.

Vermin.

Scum.

Disgusting.

Mudblood.

Bellatrix cackled and pointed her wand at her. No!

“Crucio!”

She screamed again as pain wracked her body. She would have fallen but Draco pinned her shoulders to the wall. Why wouldn’t he help?

“Hermione.”

Crucio!”

She yelled again. Draco just stood, watching from behind his mask as if nothing was happening.

“Draco! Please help me!”

“Hermione.”

“Crucio!”

She pleaded with him, but he remained impassive, gazing down through his mask while Bellatrix cackled.

“Hermione!”

She opened her eyes, gasping for air, to see Ginny’s worried face above her in the dark.

“Hermione, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Her chest heaved and she unfisted her quilt. Frantically, she turned to the side, searching her poorly lit bedroom, and then behind Ginny. Draco wasn’t there. Bellatrix wasn’t there. She was in her tent with Ginny and Lavender.

“You’re here with me.” Ginny’s warm brown eyes studied hers and she brushed Hermione’s damp hair off her forehead. “With your friends. You’re safe. You were having a nightmare again.”

Heart still thundering in her chest, Hermione inhaled a shuddering breath as Ginny tenderly wiped her tears off her cheek.

A nightmare. It was a nightmare.

“You’re safe. Here, breathe with me.”

Ginny stroked her fingers and counted to four while Hermione inhaled, and then counted to four while she exhaled.

“Mary said you could Occlude, right?”

Hermione nodded wordlessly, breathing in time with Ginny, and picturing snowflakes hitting a frozen pond. Mary had weaned her off of the pain potions and mind-calming charms, but the downside was frequent nightmares, and chronic aches and pains that were taking time to recede.

Ginny held her securely for about ten minutes, until her heart slowed to a steady beat and her breathing was calm.

“Was I screaming again?” Hermione asked in a small voice.

“Mmm,” Ginny nodded. “I don’t know how Lavender can sleep through it. I swear that woman would sleep right through one of her own explosions.”

Hermione pulled her blanket up and dried the remainder of her tears on the fabric. “I should silence myself.”

“Don’t you dare,” Ginny’s voice took on a protective tone. “Do you want me to sleep with you again tonight?”

Hermione’s tone was soft when she replied. “Would you mind? It helps a lot.”

“Of course not, scooch.”

Hermione slid over towards the edge of her bed, wincing from the residual pain. Ginny climbed underneath the covers with her. “Big spoon or little spoon?”

“You be the big spoon.”

Ginny wrapped her arms around her, pulling Hermione close against her body, and kissed the back of her head. “It’ll pass, I promise. Right now it doesn’t seem like it’ll end, but it will. It will end.”

“How long did it take for your nightmares to stop after he possessed you?” she whispered.

“A few months. I slept in Mum and Dad’s bed that entire summer. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You were eleven.”

She heard Ginny’s throat swallow behind her. “And I wet the bed for a while.”

Hermione turned back to face her. “I never knew that.”

“Harry’s the only one that knows. Tell anyone and you die.”

Despite it all, Ginny brought a smile to her face, even though her brothers were missing. She was a wonderful friend, and once again, Hermione could see why Harry loved her so much.

“We’re going to get them back, Ginny.” Hermione wasn’t sure if that was true. Could the Order mount an attack on Azkaban?

Ginny didn’t speak for a few moments. “I don’t know,” she said. Hermione could hear the strain in her reply. “This time feels different. I don’t want to think about it right now.”

Maybe she was right.

“Hermione.”

“Mmmm.”

“Not that I don’t want to help you, but… your criminal.”

Hermione tensed.

“He should be here for you. I don’t care if he wants to keep your relationship a secret. He’s a right piece of shit if he isn’t here for you when it counts.”

Hermione swallowed. She was so worried for Draco, and missed him terribly. He had risked his life to save her, and she didn’t know if he had been caught, or paid in some other way. On top of that, he had now performed all three Unforgivable Curses. He needed help, but she didn’t know how to give it to him.

“He is, Ginny. He’s always here for me. I’m the one that isn’t there for him.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

TW: About as close to non-con as this story gets. Hermione has a PTSD induced fever dream – where she has sex with Draco while snakes are slithering over them, Bellatrix Crucio’s her and he doesn’t help.

Also: @goodnight-fraublucher is such a badass with her colored pencils. LOOK AT THAT FRIGGIN PICTURE! Please check out her tumblr, or her Instagram
leave some love in the comment section here so she’ll see!

She drew it 30 chapters ago when Hermione and Draco were still exploring the Muggle world. Happier times - we'll get back to that, starting with the very next chapter. Which by the way, is another Girls Night Out.

Art with Draco and Hermione done by Pir_Piromanka, she has developed her skill so much over the course of translating and drawing for this story, it's amazing. Check out her instagram!

And another painting done by the lovely Shampoo_ish!

And Shana Tova to all the members of the tribe. 🍎

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

reddit: /u/PrincessRapBattles
Facebook: Lynn Dramione
Discord: mistresslynn#1535

Chapter 73: Chapter 73

Notes:

Glad I could get a fun chapter out before the Jewish New Year started. Hope you all enjoy it! You certainly deserve it after all the suffering this story put you through.

So, no more pain for the remainder of this story (at least, not to the extent that these chapters have been painful, just a bit here and there). Congrats to you all on making it through the horrors of war.

It's time for the heroes to regroup and kick some ass.

Are you ready for some ass kicking?

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

I love you.

Hermione sat on her cot, staring at the warm Galleon in her hand in relief, and closed her eyes for a moment. Draco was okay, no one knew it was him that broke her out of Azkaban.

She thumbed the Galleon in reply.

I know.

She stared at the glowing letters. For all Draco was doing for her, loving him wasn’t enough. Her nightmare was a visceral and terrifying reminder of what his role as spy was costing him. It was her turn to fight for him.

She thumbed the Galleon again and shoved it in her pocket.

I’m not letting you go.

Draco didn’t understand the details of what she was facing by trying to secure a pardon for him, but he understood corruption. And so did she. Corrupt politicians all had weaknesses, by definition. Hermione just had to find Kingsley’s.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to utilize the knowledge she gained from staking out Kingsley’s home prior to the raid because of the need to make Portkeys.

But now she could.

Draco would be coming this week to lay all his cards on the table before Order leadership. But he needed ammunition, and Hermione was going to fucking get it for him.

She clenched her jaw in determination and peered at the nail she held between her thumb and index finger. Charmed to absorb liquid, it now contained a small amount of Kingsley’s blood. Not a lot, but it would suffice. After much cursing at the errant nail protruding from the kitchen chair, which Hermione kindly removed for him, Kingsley returned to discussing with Minerva and Tonks how the Order would recuperate and go on the offensive. Hermione explained that the Trio’s quest was nearly at an end, and Voldemort could soon be killed like any other mortal wizard.

In the meantime, they needed to devise a plan for retaking the Ministry and other wizarding institutions in the wake of the chaos Voldemort’s death would cause.

Hermione was incredibly grateful for the lessons in Occlumency Kingsley had given her access to. Ironically, she was using the skill against him now. Every time he spoke, she suppressed the urge to claw his eyes out. He was prioritizing his post-war political ambitions over the future of a spy who was critical to any victory the Order could hope to achieve.

All Draco wanted in exchange was an Unbreakable Vow for a pardon, which Kingsley should have no trouble giving. Hermione would ensure he did. She smiled sweetly at the sodding bastard while he relayed the individuals that could be relied upon in the Ministry.

No, the smile was overdoing it. Instead, she schooled her expression into one of interest and nodded in agreement while he spoke.

Using lingering pain as an excuse to return to her tent to rest, Hermione left the meeting after twenty minutes. She was still in a lot of pain anyway, and didn’t have to try very hard to be convincing. No one batted an eye. She didn’t know exactly how long Kingsley would be held up, but had no doubt she’d have a decent amount of time to search his house while he wasn’t present.

Hermione dropped the nail into a glass jar with a clink and cast a charm to extract Kingsley’s blood. It wasn’t much, but diluting it with water would provide enough for what she needed, and she watched the liquid level rise slowly upon prodding it with a gentle Aguamenti.

After she swirled the liquid around, Ginny walked into the tent with an expression of concern on her face. “How are you feeling?”

Everything hurt. Absolutely everything. Her muscles, her bones, her joints. The pain potions helped somewhat but they made Hermione drowsy, and she needed to be aware for what she was about to do.

Previously, she assumed she’d be breaking into Kingsley’s house by herself, but now she worried she was too weakened, only having just been given clearance to leave the Infirmary a few days ago. She didn’t know if she could Apparate and was scared of trying.

But she had to go. She would not abandon Draco to Azkaban. Maybe Ginny could take her.

Hermione hated how helpless and useless she had been lately, not being able to function and left to her nightmares of Bellatrix and her knife. Recalling her short stay in Azkaban, her heart began to race and her breaths came in short pants. Soon she felt dizzy and squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself on the mattress.

“Hermione?” Ginny called her warily.

Mary explained that Occlumency would help until she could seek out a Mind Healer. It wasn’t a long-term solution by any means, but would help her function on a day to day basis. Hermione compartmentalized her thoughts, bound the memories of Bellatrix away in a terrible blood red book and kicked it under the bookshelf of her mind.

To calm herself, she pictured snowflakes. Falling slowly on a frozen pond and melting into the ice. Gradually, her breathing steadied and her heartbeat slowed down.

She could do this.

Fucking Bellatrix wasn’t going to stop her.

She opened her eyes and looked up at Ginny, hopeful at her presence. Ginny needed a distraction from Fred and Charlie's unknown fate. The youngest of seven siblings put on a brave face when around other people, but just as Ginny heard Hermione scream during her nightmares, Hermione could hear Ginny crying at night when she thought no one was listening.

“How about another girls’ night out?”

Ginny furrowed her brows in worry but Hermione didn’t miss the twitch of a smile. “You're barking. Look what just happened now! You're still recovering. Mentally and physically.”

“I have to do this.” With a groan, she pushed herself up from her bed. “And there isn’t time. I hate being useless. Can you Apparate me?”

Ginny eyed her up and down and Hermione grimaced. “Whatever ‘this’ is, it’s not a good idea. You’re not in any condition to go anywhere.”

Hermione limped towards the tent flap, knowing Ginny wouldn’t let her leave alone. “Then I guess I’ll have to go myself.”

“Are you serious?”

“I always take girls’ night outs seriously.”

Ginny sighed in resignation. “Can you at least explain what we’re doing? Please tell me it’s not dangerous. You’re in no shape to fight.”

“It’s not,” Hermione replied with a wince as she hobbled out of the tent, Ginny at her heels. “The only thing we’ll face if we get caught is Kingsley’s wrath.”

“Shacklebolt?” Ginny gazed down at her warily. “Isn’t he on their side now?”

“We’re going to break into his house,” she replied, summoning her beaded bag from under her cot.

“He’ll have us arrested if we’re caught!” Ginny protested, eyes wide. “I told you, this isn’t a good idea if you’re injured. You can’t fight.”

“No,” Hermione replied curtly. “He won’t. And don’t ask why.”

Ginny stared at her for a moment in shock, and then her lips formed a small smile. “I’ll figure it out eventually.” She glanced down at her jar. “Is that his blood? How’d you get it?”

“Yep,” Hermione replied without answering her second question. “Pure-bloods are so predictable sometimes.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry.” Hermione gave her an apologetic half-smile and took Ginny’s arm. “His house is Twenty-eight Brownstone Lane, Woking. We’ve got at least another hour.”

“Harry and Ron will kill me for this.”

Hermione’s lips quirked. “Since when do you worry about that?”

“For the record, I don’t approve.” Ginny glared down at her. “I’m only doing this because you threatened to go by yourself.”

“Oh is that all?” She couldn’t suppress her grin and Ginny narrowed her eyes.

“I might have an interest in seeing what other illegal activities you’re up to.”

Hermione scoffed, offended. “They’re not illegal.”

“Breaking and entering,” Ginny retorted.

“I’m not breaking anything. We’ll leave everything exactly as it was.”

Ginny snorted. “Why do I get the feeling that huge things will happen because of these little excursions of yours?”

Hermione smiled wider and then cried out as Ginny Apparated them. She staggered forward, nearly falling on the sidewalk, but Ginny pulled her upright. Her whole body hurt, and she couldn’t move well.

“Are you okay?” Ginny held her arm while Hermione clutched her side.

“Eh,” she said with a grimace. “I’ll live. Hold out your arm.”

Ginny extended her arm and Hermione drew the rune for ‘Home and Hearth’ on Ginny’s skin with Kingsley’s blood. She muttered an incantation with her wand and the blood solidified. She repeated the action on herself and then unlocked Kingsley’s front door.

“What are we doing here exactly?” Ginny asked as they crossed the threshold in trepidation.

Hermione exhaled in relief when nothing happened upon their entry into his house, and she shut the door behind her, glancing around.

“Getting information. Kingsley’s hiding something. Probably several somethings.”

Ginny turned to face her, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry. For a minute there, it sounded like we were going to blackmail Kingsley fucking Shacklebolt. Who for some reason won’t arrest us and will only get a bit mad if we’re caught. Is he secretly working for the Order?”

Hermione blinked at Ginny. It didn’t take her long to catch on at all. “I’m going to blackmail him. You’re just making sure I don’t hurt myself Apparating. You have no idea why we’re here. You don’t even know whose house this is.” She put her hand on her hip and tilted her chin up. “In fact, you didn’t even come here of our own free will. I kidnapped you. Stop asking questions.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “In for a Knut, in for a Galleon,” she muttered with irritation. “Let me guess. Shacklebolt won’t give your criminal the pardon. You’re going to force his hand, Order leader or not.”

Hermione turned slowly towards her friend and blinked. Ginny’s mouth spread into a shit-eating grin.

Un-fucking-believable.

They were so close to the end, she supposed it didn’t matter anymore and didn’t bother denying anything.

“Let’s search his house together,” Hermione said, scanning her surroundings. “If he comes home, we’ll be able to get under the invisibility cloak and leave undetected through the front door while he’s in another room. Hopefully we’ll find what we need before then.”

“I changed my mind,” Ginny replied, rubbing her hands together with glee. “I’m glad I came. I can’t wait to see what kind of dirt you’re getting on Shacklebolt.”

Hermione sent her a conspiratorial smile back. It was good to see Ginny happy. She hadn’t been since her brothers went missing.

Kingsley’s house was clean and sparse, but with modern furniture. It was apparent that he led a Bachelor’s lifestyle. Hermione scanned the books on his coffee table in the living room and surveyed for concealment charms but there was nothing. Some pictures on walls showed happy family members. Siblings, nephews and nieces perhaps.

Hermione peered more closely at one of them and then winced as she strained something in her back. A small boy holding the hand of a young woman. Kingsley as a child maybe? With his mother?

Nothing unusual. She had no idea what she was looking for.

“Bedroom?” Ginny offered.

Hermione nodded and the two wandered down a hallway, peeking through until they found the room he slept in. Ginny pointed at the nightstand.

“Kingsley doesn’t seem the type to wear necklaces.”

Hermione hobbled over to the nightstand and bent over to get a better look. The gold necklace with a ruby pendant was familiar. Hermione tried to remember where she had seen it but came up short.

She stood up and glanced at Ginny.

“So, he has a lady friend.”

“A rich lady friend,” Ginny clarified, motioning her chin to the necklace. “She’s more loaded than he is.”

“Good for her.”

“Did you know he was seeing someone?” Ginny asked. “He may have mentioned someone at your super-secret Order meetings.”

Hermione glared at her but then shook her head. “No, he never talks about himself. Minerva could have some hot, young thing stashed away somewhere, what do I know?”

Ginny shrugged. “Go Minerva.”

Remus and Tonks had always been open with her. Hermione bit back a sob at the thought of how their young family was recently torn apart. Teddy would grow up fatherless. She wiped an errant tear and Occluded so she could focus on the task at hand.

That necklace… Hermione knew she had seen it somewhere. She began rummaging absently through the dresser drawers while Ginny went through his closet. Nothing interesting, but there was plenty of female clothing. Dresses, blouses, skirts, lingerie… Whoever his lady friend was, it appeared to be a serious relationship. She dressed well, too.

No concealed drawers, cabinets, or cubbyholes that Hermione could detect. She glanced back to Ginny as she paged through a notepad on his nightstand. “Did you see a study? That would probably give us something better to work with.”

Ginny turned around, red braid whipping back behind her. “Yeah, we passed one on the left.”

They exited Kingsley’s bedroom and entered his study. Hermione grimaced as she walked.

Lots of books, a desk with a quill and some parchments but otherwise bare, minimalist, boring. Like the rest of his house. They rifled through his parchments but found nothing of interest, some bank account information which Hermione was positive was on the up and up.

She exhaled in frustration. She couldn’t even find evidence that he was leading the Order here.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Maybe there were some magically concealed drawers in the desk, or cubby holes in the wall. But not likely. Hermione performed a cursory scan which revealed nothing. She should have known better. If Kingsley was up to something, he wouldn’t keep proof of it in his own house. He was too devious.

She sighed again. She wished she knew what she was looking for.

Ginny continued rifling through his papers while she pulled a photo album down from a shelf. Paging through, she saw the first few photos appeared to be from the Middle East. Squinting at his scrawl, she read the label.

‘Beirut, 1982.’

Hermione would have been three years old back then. She saw Kingsley waving at the camera with a few other people she didn’t recognize. The rubble of what appeared to be a mosque lay behind him. This would have been during the Lebanese Civil War, during the rise of Hezbollah and the Israeli invasion. No wonder he was so familiar with Muggle terrorism.

But why go to Beirut during a war? This didn’t look like vacation travel.

Curious now, she flipped through the album, revealing more exotic locations. Greece, China, the United States, Russia, Japan, Italy. Kingsley travelled all over the world. But it was clear that every single site was Muggle. Although the pictures moved, she wondered if she was seeing wizards and Muggles together. Hermione remembered that he built his career as an Auror working internationally. The pictures showed a mixture of tourist attractions, war torn sites, areas targeted by terrorism.

Perhaps she was seeing Kingsley pictured with those he worked with while on assignment.

“Ginny?”

Ginny finished casting a few detection spells and glared at the blank wall in frustration. “There’s nothing suspicious here, Hermione. Which means that he’s definitely up to something. No one is this clean. Or this boring.

Hermione agreed. “Are wizards involved in Muggle crime?”

The ginger witch turned to face her. “Of course. That’s why we have the Obliviation Department at the Ministry.”

“No,” Hermione shook her head. “Not crimes against Muggles, crimes with Muggles. Working with Muggle terrorist groups, Muggle mafias, arms dealers… that sort of thing.”

Ginny chewed on her tongue in thought. “Not that I know of… but maybe we’re not supposed to. What did you find?”

Hermione flipped back to the beginning to show Ginny the pictures of Beirut.

“Have you heard of Hezbollah?” she asked as Ginny leaned over her shoulder.

“No,” she pointed at the photo of Kingsley standing with some other official looking people. “Oh look, he’s a cutie.”

Hermione squinted her eyes at a little boy tugging his mother’s hand off to the side of the picture. The woman turned around and for a fraction of a second her face was in view of the camera.

Hermione gasped.

“Oh my god,” she whispered softly.

It was Yasmine Zabini. A teenage Yasmine Zabini.

That little boy must have been Blaise.

“What? What’d you figure out?” Ginny asked, not even trying to contain the excitement in her voice.

Hermione paged through all the locations again. Greece, China, the United States, Russia, Japan, Italy.

Six locations. Yasmine Zabini had seven husbands. She had no doubt that her previous married names aligned with the places Kingsley had been stationed. Her first husband must have been Lebanese. The seventh, given her current name, was Italian.

And she had killed him. She had killed them all.

With… Kingsley

But wouldn’t Kingsley have arrested Yasmine for murdering her husbands? Hermione’s mind raced for an explanation. That didn’t make any sense. Unless… she was working for him? Given Yasmine’s singular talent, she must have helped him bring in criminals, unbeknownst to the Auror office. That would certainly explain why he trusted someone who murdered for financial gain so implicitly. If Beirut was when they first met, that meant they had been working together abroad for over a decade.

Maybe Yasmine decided Auror pay was too meager for her, and decided to amass her own wealth by becoming a black widow. Or maybe she was marrying criminals in whatever network Kingsley was investigating.

Either way, Rita Skeeter would have a field day with this. Hermione wouldn’t have to blackmail her into publishing this time. A scandal around election season would be devastating for Kingsley’s career.

That bastard was going down.

“Hermione!” Ginny elbowed her in the ribs.

“Ow!” she grimaced. “I’m recovering from torture here!”

“Stop holding out on me! What did you find?”

But Yasmine wasn’t married now, was she? She and Blaise still carried the name of the previous husband she had murdered. And Kingsley had recently returned from his international assignments since the return of Voldemort. Which meant…

Suddenly, they heard the whoosh of the Floo.

Alarmed, Ginny turned to her wide-eyed and Hermione quickly cast a Silencing Charm on each of them. Hearts racing, they covered themselves with Harry’s invisibility cloak, and scurried into the corner where they wouldn’t accidentally bump into anyone should they enter the study. Heels clacked through the living room into the kitchen.

“Sounds like his lady friend,” Ginny whispered.

Hermione snapped the photo album closed and hugged the evidence to her body.

Please don’t let it be her.

They heard her rummaging about in the kitchen and the clinking of glasses on the counter.

“Let’s go see who it is!” Ginny whispered, despite the silencing charm. She stepped forward but Hermione grabbed her hand, suddenly remembering exactly where she had seen that necklace. Fuck. It was her. They’d be lucky to get out of here in one piece.

“Wait,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. 

“But don’t you think–”

A crack of Apparition cut Ginny off and both witches froze in their tracks.

“Kingsley, ya habibi! You finished early, how was the meeting?”

Hermione would recognize that velvety, sultry voice anywhere.

If Hermione and Ginny were caught now, Yasmine would know exactly what they were up to with one glance into Ginny’s eyes. And then what would she do? Blaise’s mother didn’t want Voldemort to win but she wasn’t beyond murder. How far would she go to protect Kingsley? Hermione had never been on the end of the other woman’s wrath and had no desire to start now.

Hermione motioned to Ginny that they should back up to the corner of the study again. Slowly, the two witches grasped hands and cautiously walked backwards while Kingsley and Yasmine exchanged pleasantries and an affectionate kiss.

Their backs hit the wall.

“Ginny,” Hermione whispered, even though they were silenced. “If that woman catches us, she’ll know exactly what we’re up to. I have what I came for. We need to wait until we can leave without being noticed.”

They listened as someone poured the wine and the two clinked glasses.

“Who is it?” Ginny asked, even more intrigued.

“Not yet, Ginny. But I will tell you everything. Okay?”

“You owe me for life if I have to listen to Shacklebolt doing the nasty.”

“Let’s hope we can leave before that happens.”

“I hope your criminal appreciates you.”

Hermione swallowed and she felt a pull on her heart. She thought of Draco’s panicked grey eyes while he tried to heal her, and then his impassive, sinister expression from her nightmare.

“He does.”

They heard soft murmuring and Yasmine’s throaty laugh.

“Penis,” Ginny whispered.

“Don’t you dare.”

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Next chapter: Draco and Hermione face the Order leadership. They have a few questions for Kingsley.

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Chapter 74: Chapter 74

Notes:

Okay - mea culpa. I thought Blaise was mentioned for the first time in Book 5, and then fleshed out more in Book 6. This aligned really well with the plot I constructed - Kingsley returns to England when Voldemort returns to work domestically as an Auror, and the Zabinis do as well, so Yasmine can infiltrate pure blood society. Upon doing some research I discovered that Blaise actually is mentioned for the first time in Book 1 when he's sorted, and then there's no mention of him ever again until Book 6.

I tried to make it work so that my story could align with canon but it was too late.

So! For the purposes of FWWL, Blaise Zabini came to Hogwarts in Book 5 from Italy. His last name is Zabini because that's the latest husband Yasmine killed for profit.

Also! If you are reading in 1.5-2 hour reading blocks, it is suggested that this be your next stopping point to eat/sleep/breathe/go to work :). Chapters 75 and on you can just go to the end.

Onward! You guys don't care about any of this anyway because Hermione has a few things to say to Kingsley. ;)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Crack!

Hermione whirled around to see Draco appear six feet away in the forest clearing. His blond hair was a mess, and there was a few days’ scruff covering his jaw. Lip quivering, she sucked in a breath as his bright eyes immediately focused on her.

“You’re okay.” His voice cracked over the words.

She lurched forward and quickly closed the gap between them. Tears streaming down her face, she threw herself into his arms.

“Draco, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, uncaring that she was wetting his shirt. He held her tight against his chest, and cradled the back of her head.

Limbs shaking, he squeezed her into his body. Hermione's muscles and joints still hurt and the pressure from his arms made it worse. But she didn’t care, and hugged him tighter as he pressed his cheek atop her head. They held each other in anguished relief, listening to the birds chirping around them. His shoulders heaved once, twice and then a third time as he released a guttural cry. She sniffed and squeezed her eyes shut, trembling as she wept. After a few moments, he sucked in a shuddering breath and she felt a cold trail on her scalp from his tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she croaked, fisting the fabric at his lower back. “I betrayed you in the worst way. I knew–” she choked on another sob, “I knew you wanted to be free. And I used that against you. I knew what it was costing you. It’s–it’s–” she broke down crying again, unable to get anymore words out.

“You’re alive.” His throat sounded raw, and he pressed several closed mouthed kisses on the top of her head. “That’s the only thing that matters.”

She gazed up at him, resting her chin on his chest. Draco's eyes were glassy and bloodshot from crying. “I knew I had to tell you. I didn’t want you to find out when this all ends. But I didn’t know when, and I thought I could fix everything first.”

“I know,” he said with a sigh, and cupped her cheek. “I understand why you did it.”

Hermione slid her hands up his back, and dug her fingers into the fabric again. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you, Draco,” she couldn’t stop trembling. “I didn’t want to.”

“You did what you had to do to win, I might have done the same.” Draco rubbed her cheek with his thumb, wiping her tears away.

She shook her head and smiled sadly. “You wouldn’t have.”

The corner of his mouth lifted upwards. “You sound so sure.”

“Of this I am.”

Draco pressed his fingers into her side and she grimaced. Abruptly he loosened his grip on her. His gaze roamed her face in concern and he asked, “Are you still in pain?”

Hermione sniffed, and wiped some of the tears off his cheek with her sleeve. “It’s getting better every day.”

“I keep seeing memories of you like...” His eyes were haunted as he stared at her, agonized and stroking her hair, searching for something. “I can’t believe you survived.”

“I wouldn’t have if not for you.” She swallowed, enjoying his caresses and the way his fingers tangled in her hair. Her entire body still hurt, but the pain was manageable. “Did you lose anyone?” His eyes snapped to hers. “In the blasts?”

His face fell. “Yeah.”

“Pansy?” She furrowed her brows in concern. “Your... your father?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head but didn’t elaborate.

She pulled his head down and he pressed his forehead against hers. Exhaling a quivering breath, he said, “Hermione,” and opened his eyes.

“Mmm?”

“I want to end this. The longer it goes on, the worse it is.”

Blotches of reds, yellows and oranges swirled around them as the wind picked up the autumn leaves. The changing color reminded her of the start of the school year. Looking back, she couldn’t believe all that had transpired over what should have been her seventh and final year. The time that should have been spent on NEWT preparation and job searches, had morphed into helping to lead an underground insurrection to overthrow Voldemort’s regime.

And she had Draco Malfoy of all people by her side.

She’d never let him go.

Wiping the tears from her face one last time, she kissed a fresh tear making its way down his cheek. “Let’s go.”

 

~

 

“Ready?”

Hermione glanced back at the diffracted panes of Draco’s Disillusioned form. No one had noticed him walking behind Hermione as she led him through the maze of tents where the Order had regrouped. He squeezed her hand.

“Yeah.”

She squeezed his fingers back in support. Draco sounded tired, almost defeated. But that was okay, she had enough rage for the both of them. Despite the aches and pains in her body, she was rearing for a fight, and patted the replicated photo in her back pocket.

Turning towards the tent, she pushed the flap aside and to see Tonks and Minerva sitting at the table where the senior Order leadership spent their days in recovery, planning the next move.

Kingsley hadn’t arrived yet.

Their next move depended on Draco. They didn’t know it yet, but he had them in the palm of his hand. And Hermione was going to squeeze until they relented.

At their entry, both women stood up and Hermione removed the Disillusionment Charm.

“Welcome, Mr. Malfoy.” Standing eye to eye, Minerva studied him and extended her hand. “We are all deeply indebted to you. You saved us from certain destruction and, thanks to you, we still have a chance at liberating Wizarding Britain.”

Draco glanced down at the offered hand and warily reached out to grasp it. Minerva brought her other hand atop his, gazing at him earnestly. “And you have my sincere gratitude for bringing Miss Granger back to us.”

Hermione watched as he flicked his eyes down to their joined hands, leery of saying anything at all. But he gave a curt nod and shook her hand before releasing it. She didn’t blame him for not trusting her teacher’s sincerity. Hermione wondered if Minerva would still be singing the same tune if she heard Draco’s crimes.

But it didn’t matter. Kingsley would do as he was fucking told, regardless of how the Order voted.

Hermione shifted her gaze to Tonks. Her hair was black, and shoulder length. It had been that way since Hermione saw her in the infirmary. The gash across her face left a red scar, and the iris of the eye not covered by the patch was black, like Bellatrix’s. Hermione wondered if it was because that was her chosen color of late, as with her hair, or if she too was affected by Unforgivable use. Hermione could sense Tonks' suppressed anger contained by the hard line of her mouth.

While recovering in the infirmary, she vaguely recalled Tonks telling Mary that she didn’t have time to mourn Remus’ death. Instead of breaking down, Tonks was ready to unleash her rage. Hermione glanced apprehensively at her, ready to defend Draco, but when Tonks spoke to him, she expressed nothing but pure gratitude.

“Cousin.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Andromeda is my mother,” Tonks clarified.

“Oh,” Draco spoke for the first time. Slowly, he reached out to her extended hand, and shook it.

“There are several in the Black family that came to the right side of this war. You’re not alone.”

His eyes brightened and Hermione thought she saw the corner of his mouth rise. If she hadn’t been so familiar with how expressive his eyes could be, she would have missed it.

“We’d all be dead without you,” Tonks said, reiterating Minerva’s sentiments. “Several times over. As would Hermione.”

Hermione glanced back at Draco’s face, but he returned to his impassive expression, revealing nothing. Clearly, he didn’t know what to make of the appreciation proffered towards him, nor the acknowledgement of kinship, no matter how sincere.

“Have a seat, Draco,” Tonks said, sinking into a chair. “We’re just waiting for one more.”

Hermione sat down across the table from Tonks, and pulled Draco by his hand to sit beside her. No one said anything more. The atmosphere was heavy, both with the subject matter to be discussed, the weight of the loss of Remus, and the unknown fate of the others. Hermione eyed the empty chair where Remus usually sat. She wondered how he would have handled Draco’s situation, how he would have voted. Remus wasn’t as brutal as Tonks.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Hermione leaned against his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her, tenderly cradling her body into him. She looked across the table at Tonks. Her hand lay on the table, open and empty. Normally, she held Remus’ hand during the meetings, playing with his fingers. She felt guilty for having Draco when Remus wasn’t here with them and wondered if Teddy was old enough to feel the loss of his father.

A few moments later, Kingsley appeared in the tent and removed his Disillusionment charm, pulling her from her thoughts. Draco glanced up from drawing patterns on Hermione’s palm and almost fell off his chair, jostling Hermione forward.

“Shacklebolt?” he blurted out in amazement.

Kingsley sat down calmly and crossed one leg over the other, appraising him. “We can finally speak openly, Draco. What do you have to tell us?”

Draco turned to her, eyes still wide. She nodded and squeezed his hand in encouragement. He faced the Order leadership and set his jaw, eyeing each one of them. His fingers closed around her hand more tightly.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.” He leaned forward, gaining confidence. “I know where the Dark Lord is staying and can give you access. You have to kill Nagini in order to kill the Dark Lord and I’ll do that too. But in exchange,” he cleared his throat. “I want an Unbreakable Vow to ensure a pardon for my mother, my father and myself after the war. That’s it.”

He stared at the Order leaders. Minerva nodded approvingly, Tonks' expression was blank, but it was Kingsley that spoke.

“You could give me You-Know-Who’s head on a platter and it wouldn’t matter," he explained. "The Ministry of Magic isn’t an autocracy. At least, it isn’t when not under You-Know-Who’s rule. I can make the vow for your mother, guilt by association isn’t difficult to manage. But your father will be sent to Azkaban no matter what I do.”

Draco looked down at his hands, dejected even though Hermione warned him this would be the response. But she knew that, per usual, Kingsley was lying by omission. He could pardon whomever he wanted if he became Minister. The Ministry of Magic wasn’t an autocracy but the Minister had the authority to act independently regarding pardons. Hermione had volumes of research to prove it. And as highly placed as he was now in the Office of the Deputy, Kingsley had considerable oversight over pardons with power nearly at the level of the Minister himself.

Hermione waited to see if he would dig his grave even deeper, and smiled inwardly. There wasn’t a sodding thing he could say in protest, and she eagerly awaited to shoot him down if he did. She jiggled her leg in anticipation.

Come on, Kingsley. Try me.

He obliged, and sat up straighter, speaking in an authoritative tone. “The length of your father’s sentence depends on the level of his involvement and what he’s done. Lucius’ list of crimes was extensive even before the war started. And from what my sources have told me, they’ve only grown in severity during this one. For your sake, I will intervene on your father’s behalf to lessen the sentence as much as I can, but a pardon is impossible.”

Draco clenched his jaw. Hermione wasn’t sorry Lucius wouldn’t evade Azkaban. He deserved every year he served there. But she hurt for Draco, and didn’t want to see him suffer any more.

“And what of Draco?” Hermione asked, repressing her desire to throttle Kingsley on the spot.

He eyed her cautiously. “As for you Draco,” Kingsley paused and shifted his gaze back to him. “I will do my utmost to advocate for you. I am well aware that you aided the Order at great personal cost, and this war would have been lost back in March if not for your actions. I will intervene in both of your trials to the best of my knowledge, ability and power, which is not insignificant as you are well aware. I don’t doubt many will be swayed by the critical role you played as a spy. That is what I have to offer. Your chances of being cleared of all charges by the Wizengamot, and my ability to secure a pardon for you, would depend on the severity of your crimes and their circumstances as a Death Eater.”

Draco’s eyes closed and she felt his body deflate. “What I’ve done is unforgivable,” he muttered.

Hermione sat up straighter and Draco’s arm fell from her. Hermione knew Draco struggled with self-loathing but she wasn’t giving up. What Kingsley said wasn’t true, and it wasn’t right. She didn’t care about Lucius, but Draco didn’t deserve Azkaban. Kingsley was still stringing them along, after all this time. First over trust, and now over his crimes.

It was all bollocks.

“He was a spy. He had to,” Hermione retorted. She tightened her fingers around Draco’s hand. “If he hadn’t, he would have been killed, the crimes would have been committed by someone else, he wouldn’t have been able to spy and we wouldn’t be in the position we are now,” she continued, voice shaking. “We’d all be dead or sitting in a dungeon waiting to die without him.”

“I understand that, Hermione,” Kingsley explained to her patiently. Patronizingly. Her blood started to boil. If he said anything about her not being objective she was going to launch herself across the table and gouge his eyes out. “I know Draco had to commit crimes to ensure he wasn't compromised. And I know that even if he had refused, the result would have been the same. I will work hard to convince others of his case. But I can only do what is within my power.”

That wasn’t good enough. The wind was blowing outside, causing the entrance of the tent to flap back and forth. Hermione leaned forward. She felt her rage bubbling up inside and smacked her hand on the table, causing everyone to jump. Her joints screamed in protest but she didn’t care.

“You’re lying,” she hissed, furious at Kingsley. Everyone’s eyes widened in shock, never having seen her speak to any of the leaders that way. She was younger, and always spoke respectfully when disagreeing, sometimes deferring to their age and experience. He leaned back slightly at her accusation and she pointed at him. “You’re lying!” she repeated, raising her voice for effect. You want to be Minister, Kingsley. The Minister of Magic can pardon whomever they damn well please, and you know it.”

Kingsley’s brow creased in anger. “That’s not–”

“Not what?” she cut him off. “Not written in the Articles of the Wizards’ Council from 1707? You can make an Unbreakable Vow on the condition that you become Minister. As Minister, you could bloody well pardon You-Know-Who if you wanted, it just wouldn’t be politically convenient.”

Kingsley was about to retort but she clenched her jaw, turning to Tonks and Minerva. “Even as a mere deputy as he is now, he could pardon Draco for his role as a spy. He could write it at this very table,” she smacked the wood for emphasis and ignored the pain shooting up her arm.

Draco leaned forward in interest.

Uncharacteristically flustered, Kingsley began to retort. “That’s ridi–”

Hermione waved her hand, brushing off his denial. “That’s listed in the revisions of 1893 under the clause regarding services rendered to the common good.” She spat the words at Kingsley and he narrowed his eyes. “You’re just worried that if you pardon Draco you’ll have to pardon Lucius. And then you’d be perceived as committing the sins of the Ministry of Magic after the First Wizarding War all over again. You’d be finished politically before you even started!”

Minerva stared incredulously at them. “Is that true, Kingsley?”

Recovering his composure, Kingsley began to explain in mild irritation, “Post-war governments don’t follow–”

Bollocks!” She cut him off angrily and stood up, wincing at the pain in her body.

“Miss Granger!” Minerva gasped. “I insist you make your point without foul language! And sit down!

Tonks watched the interaction with an upturned quirk of her lips. Draco did the same.

“Sorry, Minerva,” Hermione managed to sound somewhat contrite before rearing on Kingsley again, ignoring the request to sit down. “It’s precisely post-war governments that make use of pardons! There’s already precedent. Multiple precedents.” Her voice rose louder. “And you know it. In 1946 Leonard Spencer-Moon alone pardoned over thirty-three–”

“Are you su–” Minerva started to ask.

“Of course I'm sure!” Hermione continued her tirade at Kingsley. He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, glaring at her. “It’s all there in the archives! I worked my arse off to make Portkeys common as Cornish Pixies for us. You think I couldn’t look up a few measly Wizarding laws after I saw that you lied to Tonks?

Tonks snorted, but said nothing. Did she support what Hermione was saying or not? She wasn’t vocal like Minerva.

“I didn’t lie,” Kingsley replied smoothly.

“Omissions are lies!” she hissed back. “Spencer-Moon lost the elections of 1948 to Wilhelmina Tuft,” she nearly yelled, pointing at Kingsley, who sat fuming in silence. “Why? Because all the pardons he granted to help form the post-war government coalition became unpopular in the following years. It ruined him politically!”

Draco watched the interaction between them intently, wisely choosing to remain quiet.

Kingsley’s jaw clenched. “I promise to do my best to help Draco. I agree that he doesn’t deserve Azkaban and I’m optimistic that the trial will work in his favor. But I won’t make the vow.”

More empty promises. He was still stringing them along like the corrupt official he was. His words were completely useless without the vow.

“This is an Order matter, Kingsley,” Minerva chastised him. “Post-war politics have no bearing on our strategy towards winning the war. Mr. Malfoy has gone far and above the call of duty and its clear he could be trusted for many months now. Miss Granger has proven that there are no legal obstacles to granting him a pardon. So do it. We’ll deal with politics later.”

“Post-war politics are everything, Minerva.” Kingsley replied. “Unless you want to sit around this table in another ten years after I’m overthrown.”

What?

She narrowed her eyes at Kingsley, nearly panting with rage. Time to bring out the big guns. “You think you’re innocent, Kingsley? You think your political career is more important? I know how you succeeded as an Auror.”

Hermione saw a flash of fear in Kingsley’s eyes as everyone turned to him in surprise. Draco raised his eyebrows, duly impressed.

“What do you mean?” Minerva asked.

“Not. Here.” He levelled his gaze at her but she could see he was afraid.

Good. He should be.

“Yes. Here.”

Hermione took out the photo of Beirut with a much younger Yasmine and Blaise unintentionally caught in the background, and slammed it down on the table, remembering how she had pulled the same maneuver over a year ago with the picture of the original Order of the Phoenix.

Minerva, Tonks and Draco leaned forward in curiosity but Kingsley swiped it deftly from the tabletop before they could see what it was.

“That’s not the original,” she spat at him.

Upon holding it up to scrutinize, all the blood drained from his face. Despite his fear, Kingsley set his jaw and spoke in a low, calm voice. “I won’t be blackmailed into a vow, Hermione.”

Did he think she was bluffing?

“Then you’re finished!” she ground out. A vein on her forehead pulsed.

“You’re corrupt?” Minerva asked, shocked. “How could Albus ever support you?”

Glad that Minerva understood and agreed with her, but ignoring her question, she steamrolled ahead. It wouldn’t be politically convenient if your love life became public during election time either, would it?” Kingsley’s face became ashen. “When this war is done, I’ll–”

“Are you really prepared to drag her through the mud?” he shifted his gaze from the photo to her. “A young, single mother with nothing; escaping an arranged, abusive marriage with her son in tow?”

Forced to marry underage and then trapped with a son. So she killed her first husband to escape abuse? That did make Yasmine more sympathetic, but she could take care of herself, and then some. Hermione waved away his attempt to appeal to mercy.

“She’s not helpless anymore,” Hermione retorted.

“She never was,” Kingsley agreed. “But she ensured you could protect Draco and Harry. Is this your gratitude?”

Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. Hermione watched Tonks’ narrow her eye in thought as she pieced some of the story together.

Hermione had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but if he was calling her bluff, she’d have to. Betraying Yasmine was the lesser of two evils, wasn’t it? This entire war she’d been forced to choose the lesser of two evils. Draco in Azkaban or Yasmine disappearing for a time. It wasn’t so difficult to make that choice anymore.

Blood pumping loudly in her head, Hermione glowered down at him. “Yes.” 

Kingsley raised his eyebrows, floored that she called his bluff.

“She’ll figure out a way to evade punishment. She’s been doing it for years. That’s better than being at the mercy of Dementors.” She leaned over the table, breathing in Kingsley’s face. “Draco will go to Azkaban over my dead body.”

Kingsley wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on his brow and stared at her for a few moments, finally tucking the photo in his chest pocket.

There it was. Give Draco the pardon or forego his career and send Yasmine packing. She eyed Draco over her shoulder to see him staring at her in disbelief.

For you, she thought, and turned back to Kingsley.

“So be it. Then I’ll resign.”

“You’ll– I’ll– You’ll what?” Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’d sacrifice your political career? Just like that?”

Minerva’s jaw dropped, but Tonks remained unfazed by the entire conversation. She seemed to know more about all this.

“Why not?” he shrugged, partially regaining his calm composure. “There are a few other competent politicians that are honest and would do well. Draco knows a few of them.”

She turned to Draco, who had been silent through her tirade, and his face paled.

“You’re an idealist,” Draco whispered in disbelief. 

“Alexandra Wexler would make a good Minister if I wasn’t running,” Kingsley replied with a nod towards Draco. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Draco’s jaw went slack, looking completely unnerved at the turn of conversation.

“He’s not an idealist,” Hermione shot back, worried that Kingsley was trying to stop her by attacking Draco now. “I'm not bluffing Kingsley; I'll take you down.”

“You may not believe it, Hermione,” Kingsley seemed to have calmed himself, but she detected a faint tremor in his voice. “But I’ve always taken you seriously.”

Did he?

It was Kingsley who had once asked her what she would have done in place of the Order leadership last year. He supported her bid for Portkeys. More often than not, they agreed – as with Wembley Stadium. The only bone of contention between them was Draco.

But why did that matter now? He was trying to distract her.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts.

No. Kingsley was trying to flatter her. That’s why he was able to switch sides so effectively. He was a convincing liar, and he played people.

“You’re completely corrupt,” Hermione repeated. “Your Auror career–”

“Was entirely legal,” Kingsley cut her off. “Although I did turn a blind eye to the extracurricular activities of the informants I paid. Including the one you know of. It’s common practice, hardly out of the ordinary.”

Hermione glanced towards Tonks and she nodded. “He’s right.”

“But your personal life–”

“Is where you have me,” Kingsley interrupted. “My current association would cast doubt on the integrity of the Ministry, and would cause upheaval. If I cease being useful, I’ll step down and go back to being an Auror. Do you really think I care about my political career?”

“Yes!” she repeated, stubbornly. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

He held his palms out. “Why? I was willing to sacrifice my life for a – what you pointed out last year – poorly conceived plan to get Harry to safety from 12 Grimmauld Place. How many times did we almost die on the back of that thestral?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. He was right.

“Several,” she replied, her stomach sank in dread. If Kingsley didn’t care whether he lived or died, it seemed silly to care about a political career. And like her, he knew Yasmine could take care of herself. If that was the case, she couldn’t force him to do anything.

Unless… unless she quite literally forced him. Yes. She would have to force him. Hermione dug her fingers into her palms as Kingsley continued speaking.

“I do what needs to be done to ensure the safety of the wizarding world. I always have. Not everyone agrees with my methods, but I’m not corrupt,” he glared at Minerva. “That’s why Albus trusted me.”

“So why not just give Draco the pardon right now?” Hermione demanded. “Stop lying to me. You can.

“You should,” Minerva added crossly. “We’ll hold a vote.”

Kingsley held his hands out. “Stability. No one person is that important, Hermione. Not me, not you and not Draco.” He levelled her with his gaze. “You seem to have forgotten, but his crimes are terrible.”

Hermione heard the implicit threat. Minerva likely wouldn’t vote for the pardon after hearing Draco murdered children. She saw Draco’s shoulders sag out of the corner of her eye.

“But the circumstances–” her voice rose to defend him.

“Are in his favor,” Kingsley finished her sentence. “But he has to go through the Wizengamot like everyone else. Opening the door to pardons for active Death Eaters would undermine what little faith people have in the Ministry and its judicial system, just like what happened with Spencer-Moon. And what’s worse, that’s precisely how we landed here with another war in the first place.” Hermione flared her nostrils. “You were absolutely right. Society will collapse if we have a third war and I will not let that happen. My political career will exist only as it is useful to that end.”

Hot, angry tears formed in her eyes as she watched her plan backfire. She had completely misjudged Kingsley and his motivations. The only way to ensure Draco had a future after this war was to make him sign a pardon.

Forget the vow. She would Imperius him.

“Hermione,” Draco’s voice was quiet and he placed his hand over hers.  

“But he fought on our side!” she protested, absolutely seething in anger. “He’s one of us!” 

“Hermione.” Draco gently squeezed her fingers, his voice was so soft and defeated.

No, no, NO!

“And I’m confident he’ll be cleared of all charges because of that. In order for the system to work–”

Fuck the system!” she cried out in a rage.

Miss Granger!”

“It’s easy for you to say that here and now, but someone has to rebuild society,” Kingsley replied, still somewhat unsteady. “And like it or not, systems are the only way. You know as well as I do that anarchy doesn’t work, and we won’t survive it. Just like we won’t survive another war.”

“Hermione,” Draco repeated, utterly dejected. “Hermione, he's right.”

“He's not!” Kingsley’s reasoning made sense but she couldn’t give Draco up like that. She wouldn't.

“Do you want your children fighting in a third war?” Kingsley asked. Her eyes met Draco’s for a brief moment.

Children? She couldn’t think past Draco going to Azkaban.

Minerva exhaled sharply through her nose. “One pardon won’t cause a third war and certainly not for someone responsible for saving so many!”

“It could very well be the spark that ignites the fire,” Kingsley said, shifting his gaze to Draco. “Let Draco face the court system. An honest path forward that society can believe in. No shortcuts, no back alley deals, no greased palms. Go through the Wizengamot, get cleared properly. It will be a fair trial. Do it clean.”

“Kingsley I must insist–” Minerva began but Hermione cut her off, smacking the table again.

“This isn’t a back alley deal! Not like whatever arrangement you had with your spy!” Hermione leaned over the table, pointing her finger in his face. “Unlike her, Draco deserves this!”

“No, I don’t,” Draco shook his head. “And I don’t want to carry my sins with me. I want to be free of them.”

She turned back to face him in horror. His face had drained of all color during her tirade. “Draco, a bunch of cowards playing Monday night Quidditch captain aren’t fit to judge. They have no right to condemn you, and they can’t absolve you either. That’s only something you can do yourself. And. You. Have.”

He shook his head again. “I haven’t. Not for what I’ve done. But my trial will build that better future. That’s what I want. Don’t you see?”

Draco was pleading with her. Not with Kingsley. What had just happened?

Hermione reared on Kingsley again. “So why doesn’t she face her crimes, Kingsley? You only make martyrs when convenient?”

“No proof, no evidence, no witnesses,” he held his hands out. “It will be sensational gossip in the papers but ultimately amount to nothing. However, all three exist against Draco in abundance.”

“But none of us are innocent, Kingsley!” she yelled. “Except perhaps Minerva! Do we go under trial too?”

“Please, Hermione.” She felt a gentle tug on her arm and turned to Draco, still breathing heavily as much from her outburst as the muscle and joint pains leftover from the Cruciatus Curse. His grey eyes were sad and tired.

Minerva countered in angry disbelief, “I don’t agree with everything we have done but are you truly equating the actions of the Order with those of Death Eaters?” 

“Of course not!” Hermione replied, exasperated and desperate now. Kingsley wasn’t able to sway her or Minerva, so he was targeting Draco. And why wasn’t Tonks saying anything? “We’re not the same at all! Not in purpose and not in tactics! But we’re not innocent either! Do our deeds get shoved under the rug when Draco’s don’t? He’s not a Death Eater, he’s one of us!” Hermione choked back a sob as she remembered her own sin. Dedalus smiling, inviting her to kill him. He knew that she would because there was something wrong with her. But no one was forcing her to face the Wizengamot, were they? “And even at Malfoy Manor when I–”

“Stop.” Tonks spoke for the first time since she began her tirade. 

Hermione glanced down at Minerva and Kingsley, breathing heavily. They didn’t know she had killed Dedalus. She sucked in a breath and her gaze flicked back to Tonks, hoping gratitude wasn’t written all over her face. In her fervor to defend Draco, she had almost given everyone evidence to put her on these theoretical post-war trials. Or else they’d have to lie for her. She wasn’t sure what any of them would do anymore.

Except Tonks, apparently.

“You’re right. None of us are innocent.” Tonks finished for her. “Before You-Know-Who took over, the DMLE had an independent oversight committee to prevent brutality, in particular from the Aurors since our work was more dangerous, and we were permitted to use Unforgivable Curses. I imagine we’ll be subjected to the same scrutiny when this is over, and myself in particular, seeing as it was my idea and my decision to bomb the safe houses.”

Hermione blinked at Tonks in disbelief. She had just removed all of Hermione’s culpability during the war in one brief speech. Dedalus’ murder, which no one knew about except her, and the indiscriminate bombing of Voldemort’s army, replete with many unwilling new recruits.

“I would rather squabble over war ethics and do a stint in Azkaban than be dead, and subject my son to an oppressive, autocratic rule should he be lucky enough to live through this. I made peace with that decision a long time ago.”

Draco stared wide-eyed at Tonks in amazement.

Tonks shifted her gaze to Draco. “For what it’s worth cousin, I’ll do my best to see you have a bright future when this ends.”

“This isn’t right,” Minerva added, and narrowed her eyes at Kingsley. “You’re throwing him to the wolves to prove a point.”

Hermione’s blood rushed to her head. She was so angry she saw red. “There are plenty of people to make an example of. People that deserve it. Draco doesn’t.”

“I’m confident his name will be cleared,” Kingsley repeated.

Hermione glared daggers down at him. None of this mattered. There were no guarantees, only empty promises. She ground her teeth and curled her fingers around her wand, absolutely livid. If Kingsley wouldn’t do it of his own volition, then she would have to–

Miss Granger!”

Teeth bared, she glanced over to see Tonks and Minerva pointing their wands at her. She stared down at her wand, now angled towards Kingsley and shaking in her grip. Draco’s long fingers gently pried it out of her hand.

“Let it be,” he said in that soft, defeated voice she had never heard him use before. “Please, Hermione. Sit down.” Her body hurt so much, and she was so angry. This was all wrong.

“I won’t let him do this to you!” she ground out, heart thundering in her chest.

“I agree with Shacklebolt,” Draco implored her. “This is what I want.”

She stared at him in anguish. What could she say to that?

“You’re absolutely certain of this, Mr. Malfoy?” Minerva asked incredulously. “What Kingsley is doing to you is reprehensible.” At the word ‘reprehensible’ she glowered in his direction.

Draco nodded. “I’m sure.”

Hermione blinked down at him, tears now forming in her eyes. She let him pull her gently into her chair, and winced when her bum hit the wood. He cupped her face with his hands and turned her to face him. He just looked exhausted, resigned to his fate, and accepting that he should eventually go to Azkaban.

“Let’s finish this, yeah?” he whispered.

“I’m not letting this go,” she insisted, wiping her tears away.

His mouth quirked upwards and he rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I’ve been too naïve. I deserve Azkaban.”

“Like hell you do.” The upturn of his lips spread into a sad smile.

“I want it all to end,” his voice sounded raw. “Don’t you?”

“It doesn’t have to end like this,” she said, bottom lip trembling.

“It does. Please. Let me have this.”

Draco turned back to Kingsley, who still appeared somewhat shaken from the confrontation. Hermione wasn’t going to forget this. She’d find a way, just not here. She glanced over at Minerva, who looked as if she had never seen Hermione before.

“My mother,” Draco spoke with more confidence in his tone. “You’ll take care of my mother?”

Kingsley slid his gaze to Hermione, glowering back at him and, satisfied that she had ceased her threats, nodded towards Draco. “I can take care of your mother.”

Draco let out a slow exhale and Hermione flared her nostrils furiously. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, bringing her hand up to rest on the table with his. She relaxed her posture and after a moment he spoke.

“All the Lestranges, Jugson, Mulciber, Crabbe Senior, Goyle Senior, Rookwood, Avery, both Snydes, both Lees, Selwyn, the Carrows, my father and now myself. Those are who remain of the Inner Circle.”

“Severus Snape?” Minerva asked him the question, eager to return to the war, but also weary from the fight.

“I…” He swallowed, looked down at Hermione’s hand and slowly rubbed her fingers. “He’s…” Draco seemed to be unable to find the right words. “He’s working against the Dark Lord from within.”

Everyone shifted in their chairs, clearly disturbed by this news. Draco looked up.

“He killed Albus,” Minerva stated, blinking at him.

“I know,” Draco replied, confused. “I don’t understand that part of it. But he found out I was behind the disappearances of the Inner Circle members and warned me.” His fingers encircled Hermione’s wrist and he began stroking a vein on the underside of her forearm with his thumb. “Then he hinted that the safe houses would be attacked soon and suspected Order members like yourself kidnapped without evidence, trial or prison.” He glanced at his ex-professor. “It’s because of him that you and the gamekeeper are still alive. He’s warned me about every raid, knowing I would pass the information along.” Draco shifted his gaze to the rest of the Order leaders. “It’s because of Severus that the Order still exists. He knew about the raids. I just passed that information along.”

Minerva sat back straighter in her chair. Draco continued. “He also saw me when I brought the…” he glanced over at Hermione. “that object from Hogwarts. I think he knew what it was.”

Momentarily setting aside her fury towards Kingsley, Hermione started to piece her unanswered questions together. “The sword of Gryffindor appeared after you gave it to me, when Harry, Ron and I went to destroy it. That sword was in Dumbledore’s office. We had no idea how or why it appeared. He must have sent it.”

Draco offered her a wry, tired smile. “I’ll never understand him.”

“What else, Draco?” Tonks prodded him.

“The Dark Lord,” he continued and cleared his throat. “He’s been at my home this whole time.”

“You…” Hermione turned to him in horror. “You’ve been living with him?”

“For over two years now,” Draco nodded, looking exhausted. Hermione laid a shaking hand on his back and glared at Kingsley again. “If you want to attack him there, I have more information about his comings and goings now that I’m in the Inner Circle. I can tell you when he’ll be back at the Manor. I can get you in whenever you want.”

Tonks was about to speak but he continued.

“And the Dark Lord is weaker.”

Everyone sat back in surprise. “Weaker?” Tonks repeated.

Draco nodded. “Magically.”

They had been destroying his Horcruxes. Pieces of his soul completely gone. It made sense.

“Do you know why?” Minerva asked.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, and Draco turned to her. “I’ll explain soon.”

“There will be a prisoner exchange offered through the Daily Prophet.”

Everyone at the table raised their heads, rapt with attention, hopeful now, despite their recent blow. They could get all the captured Order members back.

“They–” Draco paused and inhaled slowly with a shudder. They waited for him to speak, but he dropped his head into his hands, fisting his hair. “It’s a trap. We killed everyone,” he choked out.

“No!” Minerva clutched at her collar.

Hermione’s stomach twisted and more tears left her eyes. She glanced over at Tonks to see her face harden. It wasn’t just Remus. Luna. Fred. Padma. Charlie. Terry. Justin. All the others. They wouldn’t see any of them anymore. The Death Eaters, and Draco, had already tortured and killed them.

“You can,” he heaved a sob, still holding his head, looking down at the table. “You can get into the Manor with my blood.” He summoned an empty glass from the table and stood up. Hermione’s hand dropped to the table with a thud. “You can end this; you can kill him.” He sliced down the length of his forearm, through his Dark Mark and into his flesh with his wand and made a fist, gritting his teeth.

Minerva gasped. Tonks curled her lip and wordlessly watched his blood flow.

“Draco, don’t!” Hermione stood up, horrified as he squeezed his arm above the slice, bleeding into the glass and over the table. He was too strong and she couldn’t pry his hand away.

“Take it!” Draco ground out. “Just take it all!”

“Mr. Malfoy! Please!” Minerva stood up, unsure how to intervene.

“You’re hurting yourself, don’t!” Hermione pleaded with him, trying to peel his fingers off to stem the blood flow. “We shouldn’t fight at Malfoy Manor anyway.”

That got Draco’s attention and he turned to gaze down at her, breathing heavily and eyes bloodshot. “Why not?”

Gently, she pulled his arm towards her, and healed the slice he just made in his flesh.

“She’s right,” Tonks spoke up. “There’s no way to prepare the grounds and despite the bombs, we’re still significantly outnumbered.” Hermione sat down and he sunk into his chair as well. She pulled his arm into her lap and stroked it with her fingers. “You’re on your own there with no help. You have to kill Nagini, and he’ll kill you and your parents once he finds out what you’ve done. One touch on the Dark Mark and they all appear at his side.”

“Can we lure him to Hogwarts?” Minerva asked. “Severus is on our side. Since he’s Headmaster, the castle will fight for us.”

Tonks shifted her gaze to Minerva. Her black eye was incredibly unsettling, and Hermione felt a jolt of fear at the mixture of anger and grief emanating from her. She looked dangerous, somewhat like Draco when affected by the use of Unforgivable Curses, but even more terrifying.

“Leveraging the castle’s defense will more than make up for the numerical disadvantage.” Her voice was hard, determined.

Hermione watched Tonks, the thought of planning an attack was buoying her as well. “Lavender and Dean,” Hermione added. The investment would pay off again.

Tonks nodded wordlessly. “If we can get him, get all of them to Hogwarts, we can crush them completely. We’ll turn that castle into a death trap.”

Draco flicked his eyes across the table to Tonks, clearly doubtful. “The Dark Lord’s army was roughly one hundred strong after you blew up the safe houses. More with the new recruits, I can get you exact numbers in a week. And he’ll bring the Dementors. There are fifty of them.”

A feeling of dread slowly filled Hermione. The odds were terrible, even before the raid where at least twenty-five Death Eaters had died. But Tonks didn’t seem fazed by Draco’s news.

“After the raid we’re forty now,” Tonks nodded, “Plus the professors that will fight. So roughly forty-seven. But at Hogwarts we can do it. You-Know-Who’s weakness is his overconfidence. He’ll expect to defeat us easily with those numbers.”

Draco rested his hand on Hermione’s, still skeptical. “There are others that don’t want the Dark Lord to win despite their support of pure-blood politics. They’ll turn if they know he can be killed.”

Tonks raised her eyebrows. “How many?”

Hermione watched Draco look absently into space, running through names in his head. “I can’t be sure yet.”

Tonks clasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward. “Best get to work then, cousin.”

“Try the Zabinis first,” Kingsley suggested.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him but agreed with his suggestion. Yasmine would be able to help Draco figure out who would turn.

Draco turned to him in surprise. “I hoped Blaise might turn.”

Kingsley nodded but said no more. Perhaps wary of stoking Hermione’s wrath again regarding his mother.

“How do you propose to lure them, Nymphadora?” Minerva asked, looking down her nose through her glasses. “So much is dependent on ensuring You-Know-Who will come to Hogwarts.”

Tonks lifted the corner of her mouth slightly and Hermione felt a thrill of anticipation. She already had a plan to focus her rage. “We’re having a prisoner exchange. Aren’t we? They won’t know what hit them.”

“There’s something else I have to tell you.” Hermione took a deep breath and looked around the table. “About Harry.”

“Does this have to do with your mission from Albus?” Minerva asked.

Utterly spent from the events of the meeting, and body aching with the exertion of her standing tirade, she sagged against Draco. She couldn’t hold her tears back anymore, and let them fall. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his chest.

 

~

 

Draco and Hermione walked out of the tent holding hands, Draco Disillusioned once again. She was wiped out by the warring emotions within her. Nervous about the impending battle, grief stricken over the loss of so many, dread at Harry’s impending death, pure blinding rage at Kingsley and yet hopeful that they might actually win. The wind picked up a few leaves, lifting them up in a swirl of reds, oranges and yellows.

The scattering of tents in the forest reminded Hermione of the World Quidditch Cup. The two meandered over to Hermione’s tent and she hobbled slightly with unexpected pains to her muscles and joints. 

“I think Shacklebolt renewed my faith in government.”

Completely exhausted from the confrontation, Hermione rubbed her forehead. “I’m going to murder him, Draco. Find someone else to admire.” And yet… Draco sounded hopeful, didn’t he?

He huffed a laugh, and called her name softly, “Hermione?”

She turned around, wishing she could see his face.

“I want my judgement to be a part of what heals Wizarding Britain. I feel good about myself now.”

Hermione knew Draco couldn’t handle the sins he was committing. She didn’t think she would have been able to either in his place and didn’t interfere with his epiphany. And so she swallowed her ire at Kingsley, and her grief for the dead Order members. “I’m glad.”

She could tell he was looking at her, but couldn’t determine what his expression was with the charm. After a few moments he spoke. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Can you?” She wanted nothing more, but she didn’t know what situation he was dealing with at home.

Voldemort was there. This whole time. She still couldn’t believe it. No wonder he had been holding that information to himself.

And even if he could stay, she had no idea if they would even be alone in her tent. Sometimes people paired off at night, beds were swapped. She assumed Draco wouldn’t want to spend his time answering awkward questions or dealing with people who were used to thinking of him as an enemy.

“Tell me what you want,” he said.

She opened the flap to her tent, thankfully it was empty. It was still evening. Everyone was having dinner or discussing the Order's recent losses and the future. The two entered, she closed the flap behind her and turned to his Disillusioned form.

“Can you just hold me for a little while? Before you leave?”

“Anything,” his deep voice replied.

The two climbed into her bed with Draco lying down back to the wall, easily hidden, and he wrapped his arms around her to hold her close. Hermione melted into his body and closed her eyes.

It was silent inside, but they heard the occasional talk of Order members passing by. Draco waved his wand to extinguish all the lights. She felt his chest expand and contract against her back and listened to him breathe behind her. 

She could fix this.

She knew where Kingsley lived. She knew where he slept. She’d break into his house and Imperius him to write Draco’s pardon. It wouldn’t be difficult, and it was necessary. Harry had Imperiused a goblin when they broke into Gringotts and the Aurors were given license to use Unforgivables. Saving a spy crucial to any Order victory from Azkaban was a completely justifiable reason.

Kingsley would probably adjust his wards though. He knew she had entered his house, and who knows if Yasmine would be there. Maybe she could Polyjuice herself into Draco, confront Kingsley in his office at the Ministry and Imperius him there. The two of them were practically best mates now. She could probably walk right in for an unannounced chat. Have a drink of his sodding expensive Firewhisky and Imperius the bastard. Either way, it wouldn’t be too diff–

“Hermione.”

“Mmmm?” she asked, pulled from her thoughts.

“I want you to let it go. I deserve to be judged, I deserve what I get.”

Hermione felt her fury build up inside her again. “No,” she spat. “You don’t deserve that place.”

Of that she was certain.

Draco's leg wrapped around hers, bringing her even closer into his embrace.

“If Hermione Granger says so, it must be true.”

He didn’t have faith in himself like she did. She felt his arm muscles flex as he tightened them around her, and she closed her eyes.

“But you don’t believe that.” Her voice came out small, unsure. She wanted him to believe that Azkaban was not inevitable. That he didn’t deserve it.

His lips spread into a smile against the back of her head. She wished she could see him.

“I believe that you believe that. Kingsley certainly knows you believe that.” He chuckled softly. “Fuck Hermione. I’ve never even seen him lose his composure before and you nearly made him piss his trousers.”

“I love you,” she whispered. “I’ll fight for you.”

“I know; it was impressive to watch.” A satisfied, rumbling groan came from his chest as he folded her into his body. “You were going to attack him, weren’t you?” Hermione’s eyes snapped open at his question. “I swear you were gearing up to Imperius him on the spot.”

“No, of course not,” she mumbled. “I would never do something like that.”

At least… not there. Too many witnesses.

His voice lilted in disbelief. “I’m not so sure,” he said, pressing kisses to the back of her head. He held her in silence for a few moments and, completely exhausted, she began to drift off to sleep. He called her name, voice trembling. "Hermione?"

"Mmm?"

“Don’t take this from me.” She heard him swallow. “Please? I want to be clean.”

Her heart ached for him. But what could she say against a request like that?

Hermione didn’t want him to go to Azkaban, but didn’t want to go against his wishes either. She hadn’t seen him so happy with himself in months, and hated Kingsley even more for using Draco against her in that way.

But even if Kingsley was using him, did it matter? All Draco wanted was to be free from Voldemort, and this was how he chose to use his freedom.

Her voice was thick when she answered him, tears forming in her eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

Draco sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

Basking in his warmth, comfort and security, she fell asleep to the cadence of his breathing against the nape of her neck and the beat of his heart against her back. It was the first night that she didn’t dream of Bellatrix’s knife slicing into her skin. But when she woke up the following morning, he was gone.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

In Slowly Towards Desire by phlox, Draco had expressed a desire to be ‘clean’. That story and that phrasing in particular has always stuck with me. I love the redemption arc in that one shot.

Next chapter: Draco and the Zabinis.

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Chapter 75: Chapter 75

Notes:

After a day of fasting and atoning for my sins, I'm glad to get this chapter out.

#1 sin this year? Pissing you all of with that previous chapter. :P

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“What do you want Draco?” Blaise was faintly annoyed as Draco stepped out of the Floo. Snapping shut the book he was reading, he walked over to the fireplace from the couch he had been lounging on. “I’m meeting Daphne soon.”

Shacklebolt had told him to go to Blaise first, but Draco wasn’t sure how his friend would react. Instead, he had talked with Pansy and Millie before coming to the Zabini household, feeling more confident his two long-time friends would turn if they knew a different life was possible. At the very least, they wouldn’t rat him out.

Draco wasn’t sure about Daphne, and he had no intention of going to Greg and Vince. The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were better bets, considering how some of them reacted during the prisoner execution, but it was all dangerous.

Luna’s defiant blue eyes flashed before him and, clenching his jaw to quell his rising bile, he Occluded the memory of her murder to focus on the task at hand. Seeking out defectors was part of achieving absolution. Danger didn’t matter.

Draco closed in on Blaise, closer than was normal for a friendly conversation. His friend tensed, at once sensing that Draco wasn’t there for a social call. Draco whispered softly. “If you knew that the Dark Lord could die, would you fight against him?”

Blaise was a wild card. Impossible to read on a good day, and Draco wasn’t as close to him since the Zabinis only arrived at Hogwarts from Italy in fifth year.

Blaise dropped all pretense of disinterest and whispered back, brown eyes locked on his. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

Silently, Draco turned his head back and forth.

Blaise’s eyes widened slightly and he exhaled a short breath in surprise. “You’re serious.

Draco kept his voice low. “He can die. His power has been weakening. We need help.”

“We?” Blaise dropped book he was holding. It thudded on the floor, completely forgotten. “You’re a spy?”

Draco didn’t answer, but stared right back at Blaise, trying to determine what his friend was thinking. If only he had an ounce of ability as a Legilimens. Shacklebolt better be right because Blaise was unreadable. His heart thudded rapidly in the tense silence between them.

Draco leaned in more closely, and Blaise backed up an inch. Draco whispered again. “Your mum won’t be able to protect you anymore. He’ll make you take the mark so you’ll have to fight at Hogwarts regardless. Which side do you want to be on?”

Blaise’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He was scared, which was encouraging. He didn’t want to be a Death Eater, but how loyal was he to the Dark Lord’s cause? Draco needed to get Blaise away from his mother for the rest of this conversation. He didn’t know where her loyalties lay and she scared the fuck out of him.

As if on cue, the heels of Yasmine Zabini clacked loudly as she stalked into the parlour. Before he could turn to face her, Draco was blasted across the room in a flash of orange light. Yasmine’s spell knocked him off his feet, before he crashed on the ground and slid across the hard wood floor. Stars clouded his vision when he collided with the far wall and his wand whipped out of his grasp before he could blink.

“Mum!” Draco heard Blaise’s cry of surprise.

Pain shot through his shoulder and back and Draco cried out, grimacing as he gingerly moved his limbs. His friend ran over to where Draco struggled to raise his head while Yasmine cautiously approached him. Mother and son appeared in his vision above him, standing on either side of his body. Blaise gaped at his mother in shock, Yasmine’s eyes flashed with deadly anger.

“Get the hell away from my son, Draco,” she growled.

Draco’s stomach churned in fear. He had never heard her voice so menacing before.

He was fucked.

“What are you doing?” Blaise exclaimed, not knowing what to make of his mother’s behavior.

Draco groaned and pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing in pain from his neck and shoulders. Yasmine pointed both wands at his chest and his eyes widened in horror. Would she really kill him in front of her son? Maybe he could talk his way out of this? How much had she heard?

Yasmine ignored Blaise’s question and took a step back as Draco slowly stood up, shifting his gaze between the two of them.

“Out!” she hissed at him.

Draco exhaled. She wouldn’t murder him. At least, not here and now. Did she know Blaise might defect?

“Sometimes,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, not doubting she would kill him if he continued speaking with Blaise. “You need to do more than protect your loved ones.”

Her lips pulled up into a knowing smile, having had her own words thrown right back at her, but the deadly anger was still there. She shook her head. “I will be at Hogwarts, not Blaise.”

“What?” Blaise looked at her, horrified.

“I could only do so much. The Dark Lord will demand you soon,” she said without tearing her eyes from Draco. “I will go in your stead.” She redirected her ire towards Draco. “Get out!” she spat, tilting her head towards the fireplace.

Blaise clenched his fists. “You can’t fight for a maniac that had me torture children all year!”

Draco exhaled in relief. Blaise had no loyalty to the Dark Lord or his cause. He was scared like Millie and Pansy. Yasmine was another matter.

“You’re going to fight for the Dark Lord?” Draco asked warily, shifting his gaze between the two.

“No,” she shot back, still holding the wands to his chest. “Once Harry Potter is dead, the Dark Lord can be killed. I can get close enough to do it without rousing suspicion. You’re not dragging Blaise into this.”

Draco staggered and almost fell over in relief. She was working undercover too! And yet - the Order hadn’t even known what Hermione was doing until she explained it that night. How did Blaise's mother know? Blaise watched the interaction between them with ever widening eyes, having no clue what was going on.   

“How did–” Draco began.

Yasmine cut him off. “Coming here was too dangerous. What did you think you were trying to do?” she hissed. “Never mind. Stop Occluding.”

Draco stared dumbly at her but kept his barriers in place. She raised an eyebrow expectantly and he slowly stopped Occluding, gazing into her probing brown eyes. If she knew about the Horcruxes, she could be trusted. Just then he recalled Kingsley’s instructions to come to the Zabini household first. But Draco thought he was referring to Blaise. Apparently his mother could be trusted too. After a moment Yasmine nodded in approval.

“Ah,” she smirked. “Kingsley sent you.” Draco’s eyes bulged in amazement. He didn’t even feel her enter his mind. And then it clicked. She was the one who had taught Hermione. Her red lips smirked even wider at his realization and she spoke. “Pansy and Millicent? You can do better than that. The Bulstrodes will turn. All of them. Not just Millicent.”

“What?” How did she know? She must have been reading people’s minds this whole time.

“The MacMillans also.”

“But–” Draco couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was why Kingsley wanted him to come to the Zabini’s. It wasn’t for Blaise; it was for his mother. Yasmine was an even better Legilimens than the Dark Lord. She could do it nonverbally and undetected. Draco had never heard of such a thing.

Thoughts of Kingsley reminded him of Hermione’s frightening and impassioned defense of his character. She was more brutal than she let on and his heart swelled in perverse satisfaction as he remembered how she threatened Shacklebolt. Maybe he could sneak in some time to see her in between his visits to potential defectors.

Yasmine cocked her head in interest.

“The Flints. The parents, not the son.”

“No, I wouldn’t have thought Marcus,” he agreed.

Blaise stood still, clenching and unclenching his fists, watching the two of them go back and forth.

Yasmine shook head and waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind, don’t bother with them, they’ll try to convince Marcus and he’ll betray the Order.”

“Oh.”

“Go to the Puceys instead. And the Turpins. And of course, your mother.”

“Will my–”

“No, your father will not.”

Draco’s gut twisted nervously. This would get complicated. He had to get his mother away. What could he do with his father? He wondered if she knew what was going on with Severus.

“Snape.”

Blaise’s mother turned to him, scrutinizing the expression on his face. “I can’t read that man, but from your memories he’s clearly on the Order’s side. Oh and Draco?” He raised his eyebrows at her light tone. Yasmine’s lips spread in a sweet smile that revealed none of the deadly anger of the previous moment. “Tighten that collar on your lioness. I don’t want to hurt her, but I will.

Goosebumps spread up and down his arms as he felt the blood drain from his face. Yasmine was the one Hermione had threatened to blackmail Kingsley over.

Bloody buggering hell. Hermione was insane. Didn’t she know who she was dealing with?

“She won’t.” His words came out in a rush as he tried to reassure her. “I didn’t want her to.”

Yasmine pointed his wand at his heart. “You better ensure she listens.”

He nodded wordlessly, realizing that in addition to reducing the risk of finding defectors by sending Draco to the Zabini’s, Kingsley had completely neutralized Hermione as a threat, without implicating himself in the slightest.

Fucking snake. Yasmine flashed her teeth at him.

“What’s. Going. On?” Blaise ground out.

She turned to her son with that same sweet smile. “Blaise, be a dear and get a quill and parchment for your friend. There are several more.”

Blaise glared at her mutinously. “I’m fighting, Eimmy. You’re not going in my stead.”

Flaring her nostrils in irritation, she brushed a lock of long dark hair over her shoulder. “We’ll discuss this later. Draco and I have some work to do.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, both relieved and… utterly terrified. “You’re coming with me?”

“Yes,” her brown eyes bored into his. “You were lucky coming here. Your luck will run out.”

Blaise stared at his mother and her expression slowly saddened. She already knew what he was going to ask. “Not the Greengrasses. Daphne worked for them long before getting her Dark Mark. I read her thoughts at the Malfoy summer party. She spiked your friends’ drinks to see if they were loyal to the Dark Lord. She’ll betray you.”

Draco’s lips parted in hurt surprise. Daphne did that to them? He taught her how to ride a broom properly when she had trouble first year. No wonder Yasmine hated her. Immediately Draco felt sorry for Blaise.

Blaise’s face crumpled. “But I love her.”

“I’m sorry, habib,” Yasmine reached up and stroked his hair. “She’ll betray you.”

 

~

 

Hermione raised the flap of her tent and let it drop behind her. She was feeling much better physically but needed an afternoon nap after going over the Hogwarts battle plans. Lavender and Dean were excited to be effectively using their months of training again and thrilled to show off their talents to the awe of the remainder of the Order. Morale was gradually getting better.

Hermione left while Tonks broke everyone up into groups, drilling them on the role they would play the day of the prisoner exchange. The daily muscle relaxant charms helped her function nearly at the capacity she was used to, although Mary still hadn’t given her clearance for combat.

Despite her efforts to Occlude during the day, she was still haunted by nightmares of Bellatrix and her knife, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how Remus, Fred, Luna, Charlie, Parvati, Terry and the others; now gone forever.

She had asked Ginny to hold her a few times while she slept. It wasn’t the same feeling of security and comfort that she had in Draco’s arms, but it did help. She didn’t wake up screaming, and Ginny also took comfort by sleeping with her.

Harry had been moody and distant since Hermione had confessed that he was the final Horcrux. It was awkward to be with him now. The way he acted around her, Ron and Ginny cemented her opinion that she had done the right thing in not telling him the previous year. Leadership resolved not to tell the rest of the Order about his death until closer to the date of the final battle, to keep morale up. They also hadn’t mentioned that the prisoners were executed yet.

Hermione had trouble looking Ron and Ginny in the eyes, knowing that two of their brothers were dead. And her voice sounded hollow when she tried to cheer them up, saying she hoped the Order would figure out how to bring them back soon. Hermione was glad she didn’t have the responsibility of telling everyone the truth. She hadn’t involved herself in the discussions with leadership on that topic. Sometimes, she felt lucky to be younger. None of them expected her to relay the bad news, or decide what the best strategy was in that regard.

Hermione bit her lip to try and stem her tears. She missed Luna. She missed Remus. She missed Charlie, Fred, Parvati and Terry. And she missed Draco so much, worrying about him searching for defectors, and wanted nothing more than to be with him. He was doing so much for the Order and fucking Kingsley was martyring him to demonstrate the system worked, playing on his need for absolution. There had to be another way. Maybe Draco would change his mind. One hint that he wanted that pardon and Kingsley would see the business end of her wand. And she’d punch him for good measure.

Hermione ran her hand angrily through her curls, dragging her feet towards her cot when she stopped. There was clearly a Disillusioned figure sitting on her bedspread. Grin spreading from ear to ear, she ran into Draco’s arms, tackling him onto the covers. He grunted at the impact and then chuckled as she peppered his face with kisses, landing them in odd places since she couldn’t quite see what she was doing. He wrapped his arms around her, gently kissing her lips, face and neck.

“I missed you so much,” she whimpered against his mouth. She had almost forgotten how soft his hair and lips were.

“Careful,” Draco murmured into her throat. She yearned for his warmth and the feel of his body. Hermione wanted nothing more than to melt into him.

“This is so weird,” she said, her voice muffled between her kisses. If felt like she was kissing his cheek and jaw. “I can’t really see you.”

“Are you cleared for strenuous activity?” he asked while threading his fingers into her hair from her neck, up and around the base of her skull.

“Not yet,” she replied, remembering the night Mary had taken out his implant and her detached, technical instructions. “But there are some positions that aren’t so strenuous for the female.”

“And I doubt this is one of them,” Draco spoke into the skin of her cheek and rolled her over to his side. She watched, fascinated, the way the light diffracted over his Disillusioned form. “Get under the covers,” he said in a husky voice.

A thrill of excitement shot through her. Anyone could come in and catch them, but it would be fine. Tonks was drilling the different groups on sweeping Hogwarts after the first and second strikes.

She lifted her blanket and climbed underneath, facing the tent opening, and he got under the blankets behind her. Noxxing the lights for good measure, she pressed herself into him while he spooned her, wrapping his arms around her tightly so she could rest her head on his upper arm.

“Where does it hurt?” Draco’s hot breath tickled her ear from behind while his hand made its way under her jumper and across her midriff.

“I’m okay actually,” Hermione replied with a smile and a quick exhalation of breath. His other hand crept under the fabric of her bra, pushing it up and over her breast. “I just shouldn’t overdo – aaah,” she gasped as he tugged her nipple gently. “Overdo it.”

“Mmmm,” he sucked her earlobe into his mouth and she pressed her bum into his erection, reaching back to grab his arse and hold him closer to her. “So there’s nothing bothering you...” his voice trailed off as hand reached down to rub her between her legs. “In this area?” A hot ache spread through her core and he ground his length into her rear.

“It could use some attention,” Hermione panted while he gently fondled her breast. His other hand deftly worked the button and zipper of her jeans open.

Draco shoved her jeans down past her bum and Hermione squirmed against him, trying to shuck her jeans off while his fingers made their way to her curls. She desperately tried to open his zipper from behind but couldn’t with the way he was grinding into her rear.

“Some stimulation?” he offered, his fingers already entering her passageway and slicking her clit with her arousal.

“Some stimulation might be in order – aaah!” she moaned while his fingers circled her clit and she bucked into his hand. Finally, she managed to get his fly open, but couldn’t push down his trousers. Frustrated, she turned around to face him. With the lights off, she could barely even see his outline. Hermione felt around his abdomen, took ahold of the waist and pulled them down to his knees.

“Put your cock inside me, Malfoy.” She turned back around, shoved her rear against his erection and brought his hand back between her legs. “Then get me off.”

“You think you can tell me what to do?” Draco growled in her ear.  But he did as she asked, positioned himself from behind and entered her with a moan.

She gasped at the hot, hard intrusion. “Of course I can!”

“Bossy,” he chuckled, circling her clit with his fingers. “Swot.” He massaged her breast and rocked his body into her.

“Quit talking, Malfoy. You’re not–” She groaned, breathless, nearly there. “–paying attention.”

He rubbed her clit and thrust into her when suddenly the lights flicked on.

Ginny walked into the tent.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: The other, other Golden Trio. Draco, Hermione and Ginny.

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Chapter 76: Chapter 76

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Oh sorry, Hermione were you resting? I’ll put the lights out.” Ginny glanced in her direction but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. She went about noxxing the lights without a second look.

Draco tensed, his cock rammed all the way up inside her and his fingers right there on her clit. Breathing in shallow puffs by her ear, his heart thudded against her back while they struggled to hold themselves still.

“Thanks,” Hermione squeaked. She wasn’t sure if Ginny was going to pop in and out or stay longer.

Ginny left the small lamp by her bedside lit. “I’ll keep this one on if that’s okay. Tonks told our group to come back in an hour while she drills the others. I just…” she wrung her hands as if trying to find the right words to describe her distress. “I don’t feel like being around anyone, it’s draining.” Her long red hair was tied back in the braid she usually wore for combat training. Continuing on as if nothing was amiss, she busied herself with clearing some items off her cot with her back facing Hermione.

Hermione froze in panic. Was Ginny going to stay?

To her horror, Ginny threw herself down onto her mattress with an exasperated sigh, rolled onto her back and stared at the top of the tent. After a few seconds, Ginny grabbed a book and started to read. Then she sighed again in agitation, throwing it to the ground.

Draco’s arm tightened across her torso, but he remained immobile. She felt his cock twitch inside her.

“I just don’t know what’s wrong with him,” Ginny said, clearly upset about Harry. She didn’t know he was the last Horcrux yet. “One of the reasons I love him so much is that he actually communicates like an adult. Not like some emotionally constipated caveman expecting me to be his laxative–”  

Hermione snorted a laugh and Draco moved his fingers. She thought he would remove his hand entirely, but he continued rubbing her the way he had been right before Ginny had come in, when she was about to climax.

Was he crazy?

Draco’s other hand resumed fondling her breast.

He was crazy.

Her breath hitched and slowly, she brought her arm down to his wrist under the covers, circling it with her fingers to try and pull it away. He grinned against the back of her head and despite her efforts, she couldn’t budge his hand; he was too strong.

Absolutely mortified, she dug her nails into his wrist, eliciting a soft chuckle from behind.

Did he think this was a game?

Prat!    

“–thought that maybe it was because this is the end and he’s finally having to face You-Know-Who and I get that, I really do. Or maybe he’s upset about so many being taken. I am too. I’m sick with worry about Fred and Charlie. And I want to be there for him–”

After trying and failing a few times to discreetly tug his hand away, she bunched out the covers in front so Ginny wouldn’t see anything moving between Hermione’s legs. She couldn’t believe Draco was fucking her while Ginny was in the room watching! His forearm muscles flexed across her breast as he tweaked her nipple.

Hermione bit back a moan.

“–can’t support each other if he shuts me out like this. Even Ron is more communicative than him right now. Ron!

Draco snorted lightly into her ear but Ginny didn’t notice. Or she thought Hermione had made the sound. He rubbed her clit mercilessly and she bucked into his hand, trying and failing not to make any noise. Ginny stopped talking and turned her head to look over. Draco’s hand paused in fondling her breast, but he continued working on her clit and even chanced a shallow thrust.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. Were you crying?”

“No! I’m fine!” Her words came out in a whiny rush; she was getting close to coming again.

“Okay, if you’re sure. I just don’t know what to do. But I guess the battle is soon anyway. It all seems so petty. Who even knows if we’ll live–”

Ginny turned back to stare at the ceiling and crossed her arms behind her head, propping her head up on her pillow. Draco continued pushing into her from behind and he moved his hand from her breast to her mouth, muffling the soft sounds she made.

They were going to get caught.

Hermione bit his finger to show her displeasure and he gave small grunt from behind, but rubbed her faster until she finally arched against him, rutting against his fingers. He jerked erratically from behind, clamping her to him as he thrust once, twice and a third time. Draco’s body shook as he emptied himself inside her with a soft, strained groan.

“Did you say something?” Ginny asked, turning her head to Hermione.

His hand still covered her mouth but Ginny didn’t see it in the poor lighting. He moved his fingers away slightly so she could speak. Bit by bit, his muscles relaxed and his body sagged around her.

“No,” Hermione replied, breathless, heart beating furiously. She couldn’t believe Draco had just fucked her with Ginny in the tent. And apparently gotten away with it. “I just yawned.”

Ginny returned her gaze to the ceiling and he pulled his hand back under the covers.

“I’m not sure if I should give him more space or keep pestering him. I know facing You-Know-Who is terrifying, but he’s not alone. And I want to give him what he needs.”

Draco started to soften and slide out of her, but other than that, he kept still. One of his hands remained between her legs, and the other rested on her breast.

“Ginny?” Hermione called out. She felt badly for not being able to adequately support her friend, given the present situation. Ginny turned her head to look in Hermione’s direction again. “He’s under a lot of pressure and is more nervous than he lets on. Everyone is expecting him to face You-Know-Who and he can’t show fear because it would impact morale. He needs you, and is grateful you’re there for him. Even if he’s avoiding you. Your presence alone is enough comfort and support. He knows you love him. And I know he appreciates you being there even if he doesn’t say so.”

Draco’s arms tightened around her at her words, knowing she spoke them to him as well.

“Love you,” he whispered softly from behind.

Ginny studied her for a moment and then looked up at the ceiling again. “Yeah, I know you’re right. It just hurts.” She crossed one long leg over the other and then looked back at Hermione. “But thanks anyway.”

A few silent moments passed while Draco’s fingers lazily traced patterns on her breast and Ginny stared at the tent roof until she spoke again.

“Speaking of which, where is your bloke?” At her words, Draco stiffened behind her, and cupped her mound. She wondered for a brief moment if Draco thought she was referring to someone else here within the Order. “I know you said he wanted to keep your relationship a secret, but he should be here for you after what you’ve gone through.”

“He is,” Hermione assured her. “You just haven’t… seen him.”

Draco’s body shook with suppressed laughter. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs but he was still shaking.

“So long as he’s treating you well,” Ginny continued, oblivious to his silent mirth. “I’ve seen your face before you sneak off to shag and I’ve seen you when you come back. Obviously that part is going well.”

The shaking abruptly stopped. She didn’t need to see Draco to know he had a shit-eating grin plastered across his smug face.

“We’d all like to meet him, Hermione.”

“You will,” she assured her. “When this is over.”

Ginny flipped onto her side, facing Hermione, and smelled her pillow, scrunching her nose. “Who sleeps here when I’m with Harry at night?”

“Usually Colin. Every so often Dean ends up there depending on whether or not Lavender’s with Oliver.”

Still cupping her mound, Draco slid his finger inside her. She was still wet. Was he going to start all over again? He was absolutely terrible. He inserted his digit in and out, slowly, methodically. Hermione squeezed her thighs together but couldn’t stop him, and so tried not to move or react lest she encourage him further. She had no idea what he would do in front of Ginny. Especially with what he’d just pulled. He seemed to be in an unusually good mood.

“Mum has a decent odor removing charm. One of them clearly doesn’t shampoo enough.”

Ginny sat up on her cot, cross-legged, and experimentally cast a few charms on her pillow, leaning over to sniff. She shook her head. “No, I’ll just have to ask Mum. She’s a pro. Ron was the worst.”

Draco snorted behind her and Ginny looked up, alarmed. “Do you have a cold? You sound different.”

“No, I’m fine,” Hermione replied. Draco kept moving his finger in and out of her at the same slow, languid pace. She wondered when Ginny would leave. If Draco kept this up she would figure out Hermione wasn’t alone in her cot.

Ginny waved her wand a few more times and leaned over, muttering about smelly males and disgusting grooming habits. “You know what I heard?” Ginny said, leaning over to sniff her pillow again.

“What’s that?”

“I heard a rumor that Draco Malfoy and Snape have been spying for us this whole time. And that several Death Eaters are going to join our side during the battle.”

His finger paused, and Draco raised his head from behind her. But Ginny didn’t see because she was concentrating on her pillow, still casting charms.

“Who told you that?”

The final battle would be any day now. As soon as Draco killed Nagini. To boost morale, Tonks leaked the fact that some Death Eaters were going to mutiny and fight with them, and that Snape and Draco had been spying for them all along.

“I heard it from Alicia this morning when we were out for a run,” Ginny eyed Hermione suspiciously. “If that were true, wouldn’t you know already?”

Hermione cleared her throat, and Draco waited, unmoving, to see how she would answer. Denying it would serve no purpose.

“Yes, they have been.”

Ginny furrowed her brow. “For how long?”

Hermione adjusted her covers so Ginny wouldn’t see the outline of Draco’s arms across her body under the blanket. She was looking right at them now.

“Snape for a while, I’m not sure for how long but I think he turned during the First Wizarding War. Draco for over a year.”

Ginny’s eyebrows rose. “Draco?”

“Malfoy,” Hermione corrected.

Bollocks.

“Huh,” Ginny said, appraising her. “What do they do for us?”

Hermione swallowed. “I’m not sure I should say at this point. But without them we wouldn’t have survived the last raid. And we’re coordinating the final battle at Hogwarts with them.” Ginny, Harry and Ron had long since accepted that she couldn’t discuss everything she knew from Order leadership.

“Do you work with them directly?” Ginny asked curiously.

“With Snape, no.” She found it extremely hard to lie to her friends outright. Especially since Ginny had just accompanied her to Kingsley’s house.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at her. “But you do with… Draco.” Ginny was sharp. She had to be careful.

“Malfoy goes to the Order meetings.” Not exactly a lie. He attended… one.

“Oh,” was Ginny’s reply as she studied her.

Draco’s finger started moving in and out of her again and he went back to fondling her breast. The sodding arse. They were going to get caught with Ginny staring directly at them like this. If the lights were on, Hermione had no doubt she would see his Disillusioned form.

“But Snape killed Dumbledore. That makes no sense.”

Hermione wasn’t sure how to answer in a way which wouldn't counteract the boost to morale Tonks obviously intended. If she replied that she didn’t know, it would leave his motivations ambiguous and suspect. Folks wouldn’t trust the decisions the leadership made, and they didn’t have all the details. She couldn’t chance that before the battle.

“Minerva wouldn’t tell me the reason. Something to do with You-Know-Who being killed. She said it’ll be explained after the battle.”

“Nice save,” Draco whispered in her ear, swiping her clit again.

“All these secrets grate on my nerves.” Ginny jutted her jaw out in irritation. “So Malfoy’s past all that blood purity shite now?”

“Yep.” Hermione hoped Ginny would just get bored and leave, but now that she was getting prime information there wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening.

Crossing her arms, Ginny’s face morphed into a self-satisfied smirk. “It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?”

Fuck.

Draco stopped fingering her.

“What’s Malfoy?” The nonchalance was wasted. It was too late.

Ginny’s smile widened in victory. “It’s that ferret-y ponce Draco Malfoy!” her voice rose. “He’s Mr. Wonder Cock!”

Giving up all pretense, Draco burst out laughing at her nickname. That sodding, buggering arsehole! Hermione clutched the blanket tighter, eyes wide, heart racing.

Ginny jumped up off her cot, pointed at her and shrieked. “He’s in your bed!” Ginny frantically padded down her blanket, looking for her wand. “I cannot believe he was here the whole time!” She grabbed her wand and pointed it at Draco’s Disillusioned figure. “Finite Incantatum!

Her jaw dropped.

“No. Fucking. Way.” Hermione watched as Ginny processed the two of them under the covers. “You are one sneaky little shit, Hermione.”

“She is,” Draco agreed.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, and he grunted, removing his hand from in between her legs.

“So you dropped Ron for him?”  

Hermione blushed. That wasn’t exactly how it happened. “Well, see, Ron and I–”

“She did,” Draco interrupted her, clearly pleased with himself.

Ginny slowly sat back down on her cot and crossed her legs, tapping her wand against her calf. She studied them, her eyes moving back and forth between Hermione and Draco.

“Do they know?”

“Yes, they–”

Pissed off, Ginny smacked her hand on her covers. “You told Harry and Ron and didn’t tell me?

Hermione adjusted her bra and brought her jumper back down so she didn’t have to cover her upper body with the blanket. “I didn’t tell them, they figured it out.”

Ginny gave her a withering glance. “Ron figured it out?”

Draco sniggered. “I like this Weasel iteration the best,” he whispered loudly into Hermione’s ear, so Ginny could hear. Ginny’s lips twitched.

“No,” Hermione replied. “Harry did.”

“So you broke into the Ministry archives four times and then Kingsley’s house for Ferret-boy, here?”

He pushed himself up on his elbow and leaned over Hermione, a silly grin on his face. “You committed larceny for me? I wondered how–”

“It wasn’t larceny,” Hermione explained, feeling slightly embarrassed. Draco’s lips turned down in disappointment. “We didn’t take anything. Everything was put back exactly the way it was. Well, except for Kingsley’s photo album. You’d never know we were there.”

“We?” Draco asked curiously.

“Ginny came too,” Hermione replied.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Hermione in annoyance.

Serves her right.

Draco glanced up at the red head appreciatively. “Definitely the best Weasel iteration.”

“I certainly wouldn’t have done it if I had known it was for you,” Ginny scowled, addressing him directly now. “And that wasn’t even the hard part. She’s absolutely nutters. You know what a swot she is,” Ginny continued, still half shocked, half amused. Draco snorted a laugh behind her. “Hermione spent night after night for months poring over the most boring shite at her parents’ house. I’d sooner Avada myself then go through all those trial proceedings and legalese.”

Draco lowered his lips to her temple, chuckling behind her.

“It wasn’t so–” Hermione protested but Ginny cut her off.

“I hope all that effort was worth it. Did you talk to Shacklebolt?”

“Well, we had–”

“Made him shit his pants is more like it,” Draco cut Hermione off now.

“Sneaky. Little. Shit,” Ginny exclaimed with a grin.

“She absolutely is,” Draco agreed with a smirk.

Hermione could feel him getting hard again behind her. She was mortified. He was getting turned on by all this talk.

“Don’t I know it. You wouldn’t believe the stuff she pulled in school,” Ginny continued with a roll of her eyes and stared down at Hermione accusingly. “Did you know mum actually thought you’d be a good influence on Ron? Help him get his grades up and keep him out of trouble?”

Hermione could feel her cheeks heating up. It was positively horrible how the two of them were talking about her. “Well I did make him study guides–”

“Psh.” Ginny waved her hand dismissively. “See,” she continued, pointing at Hermione. “That’s why you’re so dangerous. No one suspects a swot and by then it’s too late. Everyone thinks you’re off doing homework or happily knitting hats for house elves until they’re being held captive in a jar. Or blackmailed into publishing an expose on the return of You-Know-Who in the Quibbler. Or having their face permanently scarred by boils. Or carried off by centaurs and found two days later dehydrated and tied to a tree.”

“You did what?” Draco chuckled in disbelief.

Draco’s arms tightened around her and he pressed a light kiss to her cheek, dragging his lips along her skin, and nipping her ear lobe.

“Well we had to because we thought Sirius–”

“Gross, Malfoy,” Ginny cut her off again.

Honestly. Would the two of them let her get a word in?

“I’m beginning to think Kingsley got off easy,” Draco chuckled. “You only blackmailed him into foregoing all hope of being the future Minister of Magic and sending his girlfriend into exile.”

“Oh my god!” Ginny burst out in laughter. “I would have paid to see that.”

“She would have Imperiused him if I didn’t stop her.”

“No I wouldn’t!” Hermione protested.

At least, not where she’d be caught.

There would be a lot of confusion during the battle though. Hermione smiled inwardly. Perfect. If she could get Draco to drop his sodding martyr complex, she could make Kingsley claim he’d had an epiphany due to–

Ginny laughed even harder, pulling her from her thoughts. “I wouldn’t put it past her.” Why were they talking about her as if she weren’t even here?

Rude.

Ginny’s laughter died down and she stared at Draco. “You better appreciate what she did for you.”

He lifted his head and replied sincerely, “I do.”

Hermione clenched her jaw. If fucking Kingsley lived through this battle, he was a dead man.

“When did Harry figure it out?” Ginny asked.

“When Draco brought me back.”

Ginny stared at Draco in silence, eyes tearing up. “You can’t get anyone else? Are you helping to get the other prisoners back?” Poor Ginny. She didn’t know Fred and Charlie were dead. Draco had seen both her brothers killed. Maybe he had even killed them. Hermione hadn’t asked, and didn’t want to know.

“It’s too dangerous,” Hermione cut in so Draco wouldn’t have to answer. “He barely got me out alive.”

Hermione bit her trembling lip and tried not to think of Remus, Luna, Fred and the rest. She couldn’t tell Ginny about her brothers. Ginny would tell her family, their deaths would leak, and morale would tank. It would be better for Tonks, Minerva and Kingsley to handle the bad news; Hermione didn’t know how, and didn’t know what their plans were for telling everyone anyway.

Sometimes it was good to be the youngest of the Order leadership. Telling everyone about the prisoners being executed was one responsibility she was glad she didn’t have.

Ginny wiped a few tears from her face, but accepted her answer and Hermione relaxed. She looked up at them again, and her eyes were red.

“Did you two want to be alone?”

Hermione felt terrible. Ginny was upset about her brothers and Harry was distant. It was a lot to deal with.

“No, you can st–”

“Yes,” Draco cut her off.

Ginny smirked at him, and despite her sadness, took her wand and got up to leave. “It’s okay, I don’t want to know what’s going on under that blanket. Lavender is still with Dean drilling the first and second explosive strikes, so you should have at least another thirty minutes before she comes back.”

Draco’s hands were already creeping a tantalizing path back between her legs and he pressed his erection into her rear. “We’ll talk later, okay Ginny?” Hermione owed it to her friend. She needed her.

Ginny nodded, lifted the tent flap and turned back to them. “Thanks for bringing her back, Ferret-boy.”

“You’re welcome, She-Weasel.”

As soon as Ginny left, Draco pulled her onto her back and leaned over her body, balancing himself with his forearms on either side of her head. He was hard, his length pressed against her curls and she spread her legs for him but he didn’t move. Lying still atop her, he silently appraised her with a small smile.

“What?” she asked, starting to feel uncomfortable under his quiet scrutiny. He didn’t answer right away. She shifted uncomfortably underneath him, but he brushed a curl off of her forehead.

“So you kept Rita Skeeter in a jar, I know about Edgecombe, but who was found tied to a tree?”

Still somewhat embarrassed, she felt a blush creeping up her neck again. “Umbridge.”

His grin widened, exposing a sliver of teeth. “They found her bound and unconscious in Knockturn Alley earlier this year. Her house was razed to the ground. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Hermione slid her hands up the sides of his torso, under his shirt. “Fiendfyre can destroy Horcruxes,” she explained, enjoying the feel of his warm skin. “We had to use it.”

His eyebrows rose in appreciation. “She was high placed in the Ministry, Hermione. The DMLE was all over the arson case and couldn’t find anything. It was a huge scandal.”

“Fiendfyre also covered our tracks. So they didn’t see that we smashed all her kitten themed flatware.” Draco grinned even wider. “See?” she said, pushing his trousers down with her foot. “I do keep Ron out of trouble.”

Nestling himself between her thighs, he lowered his face to hers, biting her bottom lip as he thrust up and into her. Immediately upon his slick, hard entry, something hot twisted in her core and she gasped onto the bridge of his nose. His eyes fluttered closed and he grunted softly, shuddering before releasing her lip.

“Don’t talk about the Weasel,” he groaned into her mouth as she rolled her hips, wanting nothing more than to be filled by him. He lifted his hips and thrust into her again with a devilish smile. “Tell me more about the shit you pulled in school.”

She gazed up innocently at him. “I set fire to Snape once.”

He blinked, staring down at her through his fringe. “I’m going to come so hard, you have no idea.”

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Next chapter: Draco has a chat with his parents about his extra curricular activities.

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Chapter 77: Chapter 77

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Draco eyed his mother reading peacefully in the library. Flexing his fingers nervously, he peered down the foyer to where his father sat engrossed over some parchments in his study. The Dark Lord was away and the offer of a prisoner exchange had been answered through an announcement in the Daily Prophet.

Events were coalescing.

Draco wouldn’t get a better chance than right now. The sooner he killed Nagini, the sooner the war would end. He had no idea what fresh hell would be unleashed once he finished off the snake and knew he needed to get his parents out before doing anything irreversible.

Inhaling a steadying breath, he walked over to his mother.

“Mother,” he called, and she glanced up from her book. “Will you join me outside?”

Pursing her lips, she studied him suspiciously, to which he returned his most winning smile. That made her narrow her eyes, a sure sign he was up to something. He’d been giving her that smile to cover up mischief for as long as he could remember.

It worked… once.

Walking outside was an unusual request with how busy he’d been of late, but she placed her book on the side table and approached him, inserting her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“I’ve wanted to check the rose bushes,” she suggested, raising a conspiratorial eyebrow.

Draco smirked down at her in appreciation. The density of the growth and presence of thorns would make it nigh impossible for Nagini to follow. “An excellent idea, mother.”

They exited the Manor into the balmy autumn weather and strolled down one of the garden paths together. He watched his mother’s pale blond hair pick up slightly in the breeze as they meandered down the stone path. A flock of geese flew overhead, their honking was loud and then faded into the distance. Finally, they reached the rose garden.

The path was wide enough for two people, but too convoluted for Nagini to enter. Bright reds and pinks interspersed throughout the dark green bushes. Draco flared his nostrils, nervous, and yet enjoying the fragrance. His mother turned to him expectantly, blue eyes bright and wary. He didn’t have time for games and hidden meanings, and decided to lay all the cards on the table. Casting a Muffliato for good measure, he peered around them and then fixed his gaze on his mother’s face.

“If the Order could kill the Dark Lord, would you switch sides?”

Whatever she expected him to say, this was not it. She opened her mouth to reply, swallowed and then cleared her throat.

“Can they?” Her tone was hopeful and Draco released the tension in his shoulders. His mother would come with him; Yasmine was right again.

“Yes. They’ve known how to for a while now, but it’ll happen when the prisoners are exchanged.”

Her eyes widened in amazement and she grabbed his wrist. “You’re the spy,” she whispered incredulously. “Not Travers.”

“I’m not the only one.”

“Who else?” her voice rose in surprise.

“Severus.”

Her lips parted. “No.”

“Yasmine.”

Merlin.

“Kingsley.”

“I can’t believe it,” she gasped. “How long have you been helping them?”

“Since last summer.”

She studied his face in shock, mulling over the implications. “I’m so sorry, Draco.” Her eyes watered and she tightened her grip on his wrist. “I'm your mother, I should have known.”

He smiled sadly down at her. “It’s better that you didn’t.”

Nodding silently, she was still processing everything he said. “So they’re going to kill him? But how? They’re outnumbered and the Dark Lord lured them into a trap.”

“They’re positioned to win. The Order knows the prisoner exchange is a ruse and planned an offensive at Hogwarts. That’s why I’m telling you everything now.”

He waited for her reply while she studied him, considering their next move.

“Lucius,” she said, furrowing her brows in worry.

He craned his neck to gaze at the rear entrance of their home. Draco didn’t know what to do about his father, but he had to get him out of the Manor. It seemed his mother agreed with Yasmine, his father wouldn’t switch sides.

But with Narcissa backing Draco, they could get him away to safety. Willingly or not.

He turned to his mother. “I have to kill Nagini.” She raised her eyebrows curiously. “Today. Once I do, the Dark Lord can be killed. But none of us can be here once it’s done, so I want to take you both into hiding now.”

Her lips quirked upward. “And you’ll fight him while we’re in hiding?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

His heart skipped a beat. Did he miscalculate? He thought she’d switch sides. Blaise’s mum thought she would as well. His mother hated the war and hated serving the Dark Lord.

“But–”   

She stared down her nose at him. “I’ll fight with you. Let’s go talk to your father.”

He exhaled in relief. Draco was prepared to incapacitate his father and confine him to Hermione’s house if necessary. But he didn’t want his mother at Hogwarts. He wanted his parents safe and far away from what would surely be a bloody battle, despite the Order’s tactical advantage. 

“I don’t want you to fi–”

She silenced him with a warning glance and he closed his mouth.

“I’ve failed protect to you from them, Draco.”

He felt comforted by her words, despite everything. “You did your best.”

“Perhaps.” She gazed up at him, and a tear threatened to make its way down her face. “But it won't happen again, Draco. Let’s go inside.”

“He won’t agree,” Draco warned, unable to keep the smile off his face. His mother's protectiveness gave him strength.

His mother stopped and turned to face him, jaw set and her eyes blue steel. “Watch.”

Blaise’s mum had told him that his father wouldn’t defect, and she had been right about everyone else he contacted. Of course, reading minds wasn’t the same as predicting the interaction between two people.

Mother and son strolled leisurely up the path, back towards the Manor. She was still holding onto his arm as if they were enjoying a sunny autumn afternoon walk, and not planning to overthrow the deadliest wizard in history.

The two of them entered his father’s study and his mother approached Lucius while Draco closed the doors, silenced and warded them. Immediately wary, his father leaned back in his chair and placed his quill down.

Draco started to speak but his mother silenced him with a look. She was good at that.

“Lucius, we need to leave. Our family will not survive the year.”

His father crossed his arms over his chest and flicked his eyes back and forth between the two of them.

“And how to do you propose to do that, Cissy?” Draco noticed that his father didn’t argue with her assessment. She knew exactly which buttons she needed to push. He felt like he was watching a verbal chess match, and they were tentatively advancing their pawns in the opening moves.

“We’ll go into hiding.”

“Karkaroff attempted the same. They killed him,” his father replied without pause.

“Karkaroff was an idiot,” his mother retorted calmly. “Furthermore, we only need to hide for a month. It took five months to track him down.”

“One month is awfully specific.” His father was eyeing Draco, as if contemplating how to take his mother’s rook.

“The Order will win by then,” his mother continued.

“And just how do you know that?” His question was directed at Draco now, despite his mother’s attempts to keep the focus on her. “Regardless of the explosions, the Order suffered irreparable losses. They’ve fallen for the prisoner exchange ruse and will be finished off.”

He glanced at his mother to see if he should answer. She held up her index finger, putting her game pieces into place.

“Draco has been playing both sides, as you should have been, Lucius.”

If Draco wasn’t such a good Occlumens, his jaw would have dropped to the floor. He had never heard his mother speak to his father in such a manner. He pictured his mother calmly removing his father’s knight from the chess board with a smile.

“I’m not an Occlumens, Cissy. As you well know.”

“Fortunately, we have that skill set in the family and should have been leveraging the benefits this entire time.”

Draco watched his father mull this new information over. Never a good sign. He turned towards Draco and narrowed his eyes at him, cold and calculating, and then shifted his gaze back to his mother.

Lucius leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “He’s not playing the Order, Cissy; he’s being used by them. They’ve led him around with a trollop for some time now.” Draco’s stomach lurched. His father had certainly connected the dots quickly enough. “The results of which have led to all three of us being tortured within an inch of our lives.”

Draco winced at the memory of his mother shrieking on the floor while the Dark Lord Crucio’d her the day following the Malfoy summer gala. He knew she was blindsided by this information, a sneak attack on her knight. His father must not have told her about Draco’s affair.

He held his breath. Would she change her mind?

“If not for that than for something else,” his mother countered. “There’s always a reason.”

Draco released a small sigh in relief. Good. She was still on his side, and took a pawn.

His father laced his fingers together to rest his chin upon them and shifted his icy gaze to Draco. “I suppose it was you who stole our Portkey to rescue the Mudblood. So she’s the trollop. Poor move, Draco. I taught you better than that.”

“I destroyed it,” he replied defensively, despite his mother’s warning look to remain silent. “I didn’t leave any evidence. I’m not daft.”

His father raised his eyebrows. “Your actions this year tell me otherwise.”

Lucius was goading him into answering, but he stayed silent, afraid he would lose this game his mother was playing.

“And just what, pray tell, has the Order done for you?” His father’s voice lilted dangerously. “You’ve been tortured for helping them at least once that I know of. Were you the cause of your own failed raids? Of the death of your childhood friends? Is the trollop worth that much to you?”

Draco clenched his jaw as his father continued to insult Hermione. He should have let his mother answer, but Lucius kept trying to draw him in to the conversation. Before he could help himself he answered, “They removed Macnair.”

“They removed Macnair for you? Or did you give them information selectively?” his father shot back icily. “I suppose they took out Dolohov, Nott and Rowle at your instigation. Why not have them take Alecto out as well?” Bollocks. He sensed he was losing his mother’s pieces one by one. His father stood up and walked around his desk, closing in on his prey. “Alright, Draco. You played the Order. Bravo. But Dolohov was taken almost a year and a half ago and the others soon after. What about now? What are they doing for you?”

“They took out my implant.”

His father scoffed, unimpressed. “Is that all?”

More pawns gone, he really needed to shut up.

“They hid Theo.”

Her bishop.

Lucius shot him a cold stare, uncaring.

Draco sighed. His father wouldn’t be happy with the arrangement, but it was all he had. “I secured an Unbreakable Vow.”

“For what?” His father hissed.

“A pardon for mother.”

His father stood eye to eye with him. “Is that all?”

Draco stared his father down and lied. “My circumstances will clear me of all charges.” He couldn’t get away with lying about a vow, but his parents would never agree if they thought there was a chance he’d end up in Azkaban. “And Kingsley will do his best to reduce your sentence for my sake.”

Another bishop and knight.

The look of disdain on his father’s face told him all he needed to know about where this conversation was headed. He should have let his mother handle it, he was ruining everything. She was blindsided now for the second time. How would she respond?

“We’ve murdered people,” Draco replied in resignation. He stared at his feet, and then met his father’s cold grey stare, recalling Luna’s defiant blue eyes. “Children even,” his struggled to control the tone of his voice at the memory of carrying tiny bodies to early graves. “She hasn’t.”

Exhausted, he glanced at his mother. She was horrified at the thought Lucius would go to Azkaban, but what was the alternative? “It has to end,” he continued. “This is our chance to get out, even if it’s less than ideal.”

“Less than ideal,” his father spat. “I’d sooner take my chances with the Dark Lord.”

“Azkaban for you for several years or eventual torture and death for all of us,” his mother countered, rallying to Draco’s side after seeing his father push for the alternative. “It’s inevitable with that madman. What would you have for yourself, Lucius? What would you have for Draco? Or me? Do you want your son to murder children in order to survive? And that’s assuming the Dark Lord won’t kill us on a whim. I can’t even trust my sister anymore. Less than ideal, yes. But better than what we have now.”

Draco exhaled in relief as his mother regained ground on the chessboard. His father’s nostrils flared as he studied Narcissa, clearly torn by her words. Draco needed to keep his mouth shut. His mother knew how to handle his father.

“Thirty-four times, Lucius.”

“What?”

“Your son was tortured by the Dark Lord, Dolohov, Macnair and now my sister thirty-four times since he took the Dark Mark. And he’s only eighteen.”

Draco’s stared at her in amazement. His mother was far better at verbal chess than anyone he’d ever seen.

His father’s eyes widened slightly. “You… counted.”

She calmly took his remaining knight.

“I did,” she tilted her chin up defiantly. “I wasn’t always there to see it but I knew when it was happening. And then there’s Alecto.”

His father looked taken aback. “I… took care of that.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

She swiped his rook.

Draco was floored by how perceptive his mother was.

“I see no reason why we should put our faith in a deal which was made between the thighs of some filthy bint,” his father swiveled to face him. Draco clenched his fists, struggling not to respond to his father’s baiting. “She’s fed our son a fairytale.” Sending a mocking glance to Draco, he continued, “The Dark Lord cannot be defeated. Our numbers far exceed the Order’s and we control every aspect of government and society. It’s only a matter of time before the Order is quashed at the prisoner exchange and everything will calm down.” He squared his shoulders, staring down his wife. “Pure-bloods will resume their rightful place in society. We will wait the war out and we will survive. Things will get better, Cissy.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” his mother countered.

“He can be defeated,” Draco added.

“I assume your trollop told you this,” his father sneered.

Clearly his father put little stock in any information Draco received from the Order, knowing Hermione was the source. Draco clenched his fists, pushing down the desire to defend her so he could stay on topic. He set his jaw and stared his father directly in the eyes. Best to let it all out. Lucius would get the details later anyway.

“The Dark Lord made Horcruxes to achieve his supposed immortality. The Order has destroyed all but two. Nagini is one, and I’ll kill it today. Harry Potter is the last Horcrux, and the Dark Lord will kill him at the exchange. After that, the Order will kill the Dark Lord. I could do it. Mother could do it. You could do it. Anyone could.” His father’s eye twitched and Draco pressed on. Finally, he didn’t feel like a liability to his mother anymore. “The Order will exploit Hogwarts’ defensive benefits once they take the castle. That’s how they’ll overcome their numerical disadvantage. The signal for the other Death Eaters that have switched sides–” His father’s eyebrows rose slightly at the information. Draco smirked, that was at least worth a bishop. “–will be an explosion. You can either go into hiding before I set things in motion or help me fight. But it’s happening.”

“Your son has helped engineer a coup right under our noses,” his mother stated, not even bothering to conceal the pride in her voice. “I will be there fighting by his side.”   

Lucius eyed the two of them, considering his options, trying to determine how best to use his remaining pieces on the chessboard. He abhorred being cornered with new information sprung on him, and having to make choices without fully understanding their ramifications.

If I agree to go to Azkaban on the off chance that I can save my son and my wife from the Dark Lord, then what guarantee do you have? What if you’ve been lied to?” His voice was soft and menacing. “Or the Order loses because this silly wisp of a plan doesn’t work? How about I incapacitate the two of you right now to prevent you from doing something irreversibly idiotic to the chances of survival of this family?” 

Draco gripped his wand but his mother intervened, moving her queen into position.

“Lucius, I love you dearly,” she said, laying a gentle hand on his father’s face. “I would do anything for you and Draco, as you would for us. But the Dark Lord will kill you once he’s found out you’ve had this conversation. As you stated yourself, Occlumency is not something you were able to master. Unless you plan on turning in your wife and son for treachery to save your own skin, you must fight with the Order or hide. Which will it be?”

Checkmate.

 

 

~

 

I’m ready.

“Is that Galleon how you’ve been communicating with your little Mudblood slut?”

“Lucius!” his mother scolded him.

His father was absolutely irate, and Draco was fuming as well.

She’s not the one who’s been whoring herself out–” Draco countered.

“Draco!” his mother’s voice was low and threatening. He should really keep his mouth shut. He got what he wanted.

“Sorry, mother,” he replied without breaking eye contact with his father’s angry stare.

“Enough. Both of you.”

It’s on my bed.

“I’ll be back shortly; I need the weapon.”

His father started pacing his study, muttering about half-baked plans, Azkaban and the consequences of thinking with certain parts of the male anatomy. The elves were busy packing clothing and other necessities so they could leave.

Draco Apparated to Hermione’s bedroom, she was sitting on her bed with the Sword of Gryffindor. Her hazel eyes lit up when she saw him and his chest expanded in warmth.

“How did it go?” she asked, her tone lilting with apprehension.

“They’ll both fight,” he replied, smiling.

With a whoop, Hermione jumped up, wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek. She knew how much his parents siding with the Order meant to him. Holding her close, he inhaled the scent of her hair and skin, rubbing his nose against the top of her head.

Draco was so relieved. She wasn’t showing residual effects of torture anymore. On the other hand, that meant she was cleared to fight. He knew there was no force in nature that would prevent her from doing so.

But at least they’d be fighting side by side this time. He embraced her, crushing her into his body.

“You’re incredible,” she whispered in his ear, and pressed another kiss to his cheek. His heart sung from her praise.

“Thank my mother,” he replied, positively beaming, and then reluctantly released her.

Draco stood back and picked up the Sword of Gryffindor, testing its weight and the feel of it in his hand. He readied himself to Apparate home when Hermione suddenly grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him down into a searing kiss. He grinned against her mouth and closed his eyes, pressing her against him again. She moved her lips over his, parting his mouth with her tongue, and made tiny sounds of satisfaction that had his whole body wanting more. Fisting his hair, she deepened the kiss and ground herself against his thigh. He was about to drop the sword in lieu of her pliant body, but she slowly pulled away and raised an eyebrow saucily.

Now you can go back.”

Grinning like an idiot, Draco Apparated back into his father’s study, completely forgetting to school his expression. His mother took one look at his appearance and her eyebrows rose clear to the top of her forehead. His father glanced at the sword, his tousled hair, his happy grin and rolled his eyes.

Please tell me you’re not going decapitate that vile reptile in our ancestral home with the Sword of Gryffindor,” he drawled.

Draco hefted the sword in his hand and took a practice swing. He could see the appeal Muggles had for such weaponry. Fucking snake.

“Where’s Nagini?” he asked, more than ready to whack its head off.

His father snapped his fingers and one of their house elves appeared, bowing until its head hit the floor. Lucius raised an eyebrow. “Is everything packed?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Where is the snake?”

The house elf rose partway and replied in a shaky voice. “Down by the swan pond, Master.” The elves were all terrified of Nagini as well.

His mother sneered, knowing she’d lost a couple more swans. His father waved his hand, and the elf disappeared.

“And where are we going once you’ve beheaded it?” his father asked scornfully. “I’m assuming you’ve thought this through?”

“Hogwarts. We’ll wait for the Order to regroup there for the prisoner exchange.” He thought of Hermione’s obsession with house elf liberation. “And we should bring the elves.”

“Brilliant,” his father replied, throwing his son a withering glare. “The Dark Lord controls Hogwarts.”

“No he doesn’t,” Draco retorted with a smirk. “Severus does. And he’s waiting for us.”

 

~

 

The Malfoys strode through the entrance of Hogwarts and down the hallway with their tailored wizarding robes billowing behind them. Draco was positively euphoric to finally be acting in a way which aligned with his beliefs. And to do so openly. He didn’t have to choose anymore. Laid bare, with nothing to hide, he was helping to end this war.

Enjoying the taste of freedom after convincing his parents to leave, Draco twirled the Sword of Gryffindor and occasionally swung it through the air with a smile, remembering how cleanly it sliced through Nagini’s neck. The snake had known something was wrong when the three Malfoys cornered it by the water. It had reared back and hissed. Draco had tightened his grip on the hilt and bared his teeth, but just before Nagini was about to strike, his mother Petrified it.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Why make it difficult?”

Why indeed? It was an easy kill. When she released the charm, the body and head fell separately to the ground with sickening splats, leaking blood into the dirt.

The three Malfoys stared down at the corpse in disgust.

“It’ll attract flies,” his mother observed with a curl of her lip.

His father cast an Incendio, quickly burning it to a crisp. “Better, Cissy?” he asked as the flames died down.

“Much.”

Draco swung the sword again and twirled it around in his hand. As they passed a knight in one of the Hogwarts’ corridors, Draco made a mock swing against the sword it held aloft.

“Stop playing with that infernal piece of metal,” his father scoffed. “It’s positively barbaric.”

“I like it,” Draco retorted, unabashed. He swung once more and extended the sword to his father, hilt first. “Want to try?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

His father’s jaw clicked in irritation.

They rounded a corner on the way to Severus’ office and saw Alecto Carrow exit one of the classrooms. Draco’s heart stopped and he nearly choked on the bile rising in his throat.

She smiled widely and flipped her long red hair behind her shoulders. “Lucius! Narcissa! It is so good to see the three of you here! If only you would have–”

Alecto flew back, hit the floor of the corridor and slid twenty feet until she crashed into the far wall with a thud. Draco glanced over to see his mother lower her wand without breaking stride. He quickly caught up with her until all three Malfoys stood over Alecto’s body at the end of the hallway.

She lay paralyzed on the ground, limbs splayed and robes spread out around her, body twitching. Draco watched, fascinated, as a dark blue color spread throughout the veins under her skin while her body quivered with the occasional spasm. Alecto gazed up at them in fear, and her eyes were wide and glassy with agony. Draco smiled down at her, his lips twisted in sinister satisfaction while he watched her convulse in pain.

His mother glanced up at Lucius with a smug smile. “I’ve had some time to consider what I’d do to her once given the opportunity. She won’t be able to move or speak for at least two weeks,” she said, looking extremely pleased with herself. “The pain is excruciating and she can’t even cry for help. There’s no known treatment, and numbing potions aren’t effective like they are with the Cruciatus. The pain won’t stop until the curse leaves her body on its own. She’ll just have to wait it out. Pity.” She raised an eyebrow at Draco. “Do tell Kingsley his pardon is appreciated. How long until the Order comes?”

Draco gazed down at Alecto with a sneer and cracked his knuckles. He wanted to stomp on her face and crush it. If his mother weren’t standing next to him, he would. “Today. As soon as Severus leaves to tell the Dark Lord that Hogwarts was overthrown. I have to visit their camp site now to–”

Avada Kedavra.”

Draco and his mother’s conversation was cut off by a flash of green light thudding into Alecto’s chest. His father’s voice was cold as he stood over Alecto’s body, wand pointed down at her.

“Much as I’d love to see her tortured, I don’t want her alive when this is done.” Lucius glanced up to meet Draco’s eyes, and then shifted his gaze to his mother. “I’m already going to Azkaban for murder, what’s the harm in one more?”

 

 

 

 

Notes:

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Next chapter: Hannah has a few things to say to Draco.

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Chapter 78: Chapter 78

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione accompanied Draco towards the border of the wards of the campsite. It was the last meeting between him and Order leadership before the prisoner exchange. Draco removed his Disillusionment charm and they walked hand in hand through the autumn leaves. Hermione turned to face him. He had changed since he had laid himself bare for the Order. Still motivated, snarky and passionate, but something else.

She eyed him. He seemed resigned, and yet hopeful. She felt nervous and giddy, not quite able to internalize the impact of the following day's events. “So I’ll see you at Hogwarts tomorrow morning?”

“In the Astronomy Tower. No one will go there.” She stood on her tiptoes for a kiss and he spoke against her lips. “Have fun storming the castle.”

Hermione wanted to re-introduce Draco to everyone, but he insisted on remaining Disillusioned to avoid any interactions.

“Thanks for understanding,” he said, rubbing her arms. She wasn’t sure she did. Knowing how much he was suffering, she was simply accommodating his wishes, unwilling to fight with him. “It’s hard to look anyone directly in the eye,” he explained, “Knowing what I’ve done to your friends.”

“But it’s because of you we’re all still alive,” she insisted fervently. “It’s because of you we still have a chance of winning – and a good one!”

He huffed a mirthless laugh and glanced to the side. “Honestly, I don’t know what would be worse. Facing their gratitude, or their anger. I don’t deserve their gratitude–”

“Yes you d–”

Draco sighed loudly at her protest and she closed her mouth, muttering sorry for interrupting him. His lips quirked and he gently tucked a curl behind her ear. His self-flagellating unnerved her. Prior to that first meeting with the Order he would have advocated for himself, knowing exactly how valuable his contributions had been.

Fucking Kingsley.

“I don’t deserve their gratitude,” he repeated in earnest, “and I’m afraid of their anger. I may have joked around with the Weaselette, but…” he paused, perhaps to underscore the importance of what he was saying, “But I stood by while her brothers were murdered.” Hermione flinched, not wanting to hear his role put so bluntly, but he continued. “She-Weasel wouldn’t be so forgiving if she knew. I can’t look her in the eye without seeing her brothers on their knees in front of me. Don’t you see, Hermione? This trial means everything. It would give me closure, it would give others closure, and it would help build a future everyone can believe in. I can’t live with myself otherwise.”

Hermione blinked up at him. She couldn’t go a day without hearing Eloise’s screams, or seeing Dedalus’ smile. And now she was responsible for the indiscriminate killing of recruits – forced into battle – by suggesting the Order bomb their own safe houses. She knew exactly what it was to live with terrible deeds. But there was no way in hell a bunch of cowards who watched Muggles get hunted down and sat by while the Ministry was overthrown were going to judge her actions.

“No! I do understand! I do! But…” her lip trembled. “But I want to be with you when this ends! What if you go to Azkaban?”

“Kingsley said I wouldn’t.” She couldn’t tell if Draco believed that. Hermione didn’t. She didn’t believe a sodding thing that came out of that snake’s mouth. Staring down at her in thought, he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s eating away at me and I can’t take it. It has to stop.”

Tears pricked her eyes. “But you’ve redeemed yourself already!”

His cheeks flushed at her fervor. “It means a lot to me that you think so.”

“And that’s not enough?” She didn’t care how desperate she sounded. She wanted him to tell her that he didn’t give a fuck what she did to Kingsley or how he got the pardon, just so long as it was in his hand.

He studied her before replying. “I wish it were.”

Hermione wanted to Imperious Kingsley more than anything. She already knew how she could get away with it. It would be easy. Much easier than her complicated scheme of research and blackmail. But Draco didn’t want her to, so again, she respected his wishes. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? She wasn’t sure.

Maybe there was a solution she was overlooking?

Murdering Kingsley wouldn’t solve anything but her fingers twitched at the satisfying image of her hands wringing his neck. Burying her thoughts of homicide, she fisted Draco’s shirt, feeling an urgent need to hold onto him lest he slip away.

He was about to reply when an angry voice cut through the relative calm of the forest.

“How could you?”

Hermione and Draco whipped around to see Hannah and Neville, perhaps also stealing away for a quiet moment of their own before the battle. Hermione caught her breath at the sight of Hannah’s pretty face contorted in rage and Neville’s in shock.

“I heard he was spying for us,” Hannah’s voice shook with anger. “I didn’t quite believe it.”

She broke away from Neville. He pulled on her arm but she shrugged his hand off and stalked over to them. Hermione quickly cast a Silencing Spell, not wanting to draw anyone else’s attention. Worried, she gripped her wand in case Hannah attacked him and glanced back to see Draco’s face had drained of all color.

Neville apprehensively followed Hannah towards the couple.

“I don’t know who I’m angrier at,” she growled, pointing her finger at Draco. “Him, for torturing me, or you,” she spat, now pointing her finger at Hermione, “for looking at him like that.” 

“Hannah,” Hermione tried to explain, “You don’t understand–”

“Oh, I understand alright. It’s just like the first war.” Her eyes flashed with rage. “The Malfoys were all Imperiused, is that it? Like father, like son. He’s using you to prove he changed, aren’t you Malfoy?”

Hermione gently reached a hand out to her but Hannah recoiled in disgust. “No. Hannah he’s been working with us–”

“You didn’t see what he did to Dedalus,” Hannah interrupted, trembling with rage. “You don’t understand, Hermione. You don’t know how Dedalus protected us.”

Hermione shivered, remembering Dedalus’ smile, and the blood spurting up and out of his neck. “But Hannah–” Draco put a tentative hand on her arm and she glanced up.

“Go on,” Draco was gazing at Hannah now, his voice soft.

Hannah shifted her angry gaze to him and sucked in a breath, rearing back. Hermione braced herself for the onslaught and Draco stiffened next to her.

“You hurt me!” she burst out, her cry echoing in the woods. “You just stood there, and hurt me! And Oliver! And Eloise! All of us! And you knew! You knew that we didn’t know anything!” Hannah was panting now. Some hair had come out of the long blond ponytail she wore for combat training, and tears spilled from her eyes. “The sounds Dedalus made,” she gulped a sob. “They were inhuman!” She shuddered at the memory. “You did that to him!”

“Hannah–” Hermione protested, but Draco squeezed her arm to silence her. Her stomach churned in horror at her memory of Dedalus’ broken body, now knowing it was Draco who had reduced him to such a state.

Hannah lowered her gaze to Hermione’s face. “How can you touch him?” She eyed Draco’s hand clutching Hermione’s forearm in revulsion. “How can you let him touch you? He’s a monster!” Hannah screamed.

“Draco’s been spying for over a year now,” Hermione explained, trying to keep her voice steady. “He warned us about the raids, Hannah. He’s helping us defeat them. He saved your life. All of our lives.” Hermione shifted her gaze to Neville, who appeared distraught and unsure how to intervene.

“He tortured me!” she yelled.

“I did,” Draco said, again with that soft, broken voice. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” she hissed, stepping directly in front of him. “You’re sorry?” Hannah screamed directly into his face. “You don’t get to apologize, Malfoy!” She shoved him in the chest with both hands and Hermione blocked Hannah’s arms before she could push him again.

“Stop it!” Hermione cried, struggling with her.

Draco took a step back to steady himself, but otherwise did nothing.

“Hannah,” Neville called, tugging her back by the shoulder.

“Torture someone else or be killed and watch his parents die?” Hermione asked, stepping in between them. “That was his choice.” She could sense Draco crumpling under the weight of Hannah’s accusations, and reached behind her to grab his hand. It was warm, and he squeezed hers back weakly.

Hannah’s blue eyes shifted between her face and Draco’s. She gritted her teeth and rasped, “You didn’t see him, Hermione. You didn’t see him break Dedalus’ body. I don’t care if he’s spying,” her voice was a low tremble. “Normal people can’t just do what he did! He’s evil!

She could feel Draco shaking behind her, but he didn’t say anything. Hermione knew he wouldn’t defend himself. He agreed with what Hannah was saying.

Hermione couldn’t fault Hannah for feeling the way she did, and she didn’t expect her to understand. Hannah’s rage was a preamble to what Draco would face in the Wizengamot. She could only imagine the sense of injustice the victims and families of victims would feel.

And this was what Draco wanted. That’s why he stood here, listening to Hannah’s fury.

Hermione drew in a deep breath. The Hufflepuff, once so gentle and warm, sneered down at Hermione coldly. “If Draco didn’t do it, he’d be dead, and you’d be tortured anyway. What’s more, we’d all be dead or waiting to die. It’s terrible what he did to you, Hannah,” She squared her jaw. “But he’s on our side. He’s fighting with us tomorrow.”

Hannah’s eyes snapped to hers again, ice cold. Hermione glanced between her and Neville. Hannah was still furious, but had no outlet for her anger. Draco wouldn’t fight with her. Hannah glowered at Draco again, seething.

“He wasn’t spying when he let them into Hogwarts, was he?” she hissed. “Letting his aunt and that cannibal werewolf loose on first years? I don’t care who he’s fighting with now. He started this fucking war, Hermione.”    

“That’s not–” Her words were abruptly cut off by Hannah’s Silencing spell.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Hannah ground out.

Hermione removed the Silencing spell and was about to fire a retort but Draco pulled her wand arm down.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Let her speak.”

With a flare of her nostrils, Hannah shot a death glare at Draco and pointed at him. “You don’t fucking deserve my words, Malfoy,” she ground out before storming back to the camp site.

Hermione held on tight to Draco’s hand. Hannah's rage worried her. 

“Neville, you have to talk to her. If she were to... try and hurt him, tomorrow would give her the opportunity.” Indeed, Hermione wanted to leverage the chaos of battle to attack Kingsley. “Draco is critical to us winning.”

That was reasoning that would resonate with Hannah if she was tempted to attack him. As they had just witnessed, it was one thing to hear rumors, it was quite another to come face to face with your own torturer, and to have him fighting alongside you.

“Hannah would never–” Neville’s voice trailed off and then he nodded. “Alright. You should probably talk with Oliver then. We don’t want any surprises tomorrow.”

“I’ll do that.” Her shoulders sagged, relieved that Neville agreed.

“Do Harry and Ron know?” he asked, eyeing Draco.

“Of course.”

“Thought so.” Neville sighed and shifted his gaze to Draco. “You’re the one who rescued Hermione?”

Draco cleared his throat and rested his hand on her waist. “Yes.”

Neville glanced down to Draco’s fingers and they reflexively tightened around her. Hermione knew that Harry and Ron’s acceptance went a long way with Neville, as did the fact that Draco had brought her back. But she could see in his expression that Neville was torn by the knowledge that Draco tortured Hannah in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. No doubt she had discussed her experiences with him.

“I’ll see you around, Hermione.” He nodded at her and jogged to catch up with Hannah.

Visibly shaken from the encounter, Draco’s haunted eyes gazed after him. Slowly, he turned his stare down to her. When he saw the expression on her face, the empty look in his eyes morphed to its familiar intensity and his lips spread in a small knowing smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

She was about to launch into a fervent denial of everything that Hannah said. But before she could, he lowered his face to hers, and swallowed the fiery defense of his character bursting from her chest. Draco cupped her cheeks and his tongue entered her mouth, swiping against hers. His tongue entered again, and again, and again and he made soft grunting noises as if he couldn’t get in deep enough. Hermione released a sighing whine into his mouth and reached up to lace her fingers in his hair, just as hungry for him. His lips were hot and desperate as she worked her mouth over his, needing to keep him near. She loved him so much and wanted him with her.

Always.

She whimpered as she grabbed at him. Draco had torn himself apart to make their world one they could both believe in. He brought them intelligence, helped them destroy Horcruxes, warned them about raids, found a group of defectors and for over a year he’d been tortured and living in secretive terror.

And now he wanted forgiveness from the society he believed he had wronged.

It wasn’t right.

The Wizengamot wasn’t in the moral position to redeem him. Only Draco could redeem himself, and he had. She pulled him tight against her body, gasping into his mouth as heat spread between her legs. She trembled, breathing him in with a harsh intake through her nose. She didn’t want to ever let him go, and his arms tightened around her like a vise.

Please, don’t take this from me.

Her heart ached when she recalled his words, wanting – no, needing – a trial. She didn’t want to go against his wishes. She remembered his derision when he accused her of manipulating him like his parents. Hermione didn’t want to be another person in his life taking away his freedom to choose and yet…

It was all wrong.

There had to be another way to save him.

She squeezed her eyes shut as hot tears formed, falling down her cheeks and entering her mouth. Trembling, she fisted his hair and he groaned. His hand slid down to cup her rear and press her close. Just when she thought the kiss might lead into something else he broke away, breathless and eyes hooded. She stood up on her tiptoes to reach for him again but he leaned away with a smirk.

Their kiss made his voice husky. “I’m lucky you’re mine.”

“Draco,” she panted, reaching up for him again. “I won’t let–”

He shushed her, placing a finger on her lips. “I know.” He slid his finger down under her chin and pushed upward, tilting her head slightly. “And that’s enough for me. I have to go now.”

Draco pressed his mouth lightly to hers and before she could latch onto him again he backed away, smirk still planted firmly on his face.

“Cousin’s orders.”

He Disapparated.

 

~

 

The day before the battle was an emotional roller coaster, and it didn’t get any easier.

Hermione watched as Molly hugged Harry tightly to her chest. She was sobbing, tears streaming down her face, crying with small panting wheezes. All the Weasleys, with the exception of Fred and Charlie, sat in the tent as Harry told them what he must do in order to finally defeat Voldemort.

“You’re our son,” Molly cried, kissing him. “You always have been.”

“I know, Molly.” Harry’s voice came out as a choked sob as he clung to her. “You've been a mother to me.”

Hermione bit her lip as tears spilled down her cheeks.

“So brave,” Molly whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “You’re my brave boy. I have so many brave children.” Her shoulders shook as they cried, clinging to each other. “Just like Fred and Charlie!”

Tonks was going to deliver the news of the executions tomorrow during a pre-battle rally, intending to channel everyone’s grief into rage. But Harry’s impending death was spread by word of mouth, not announced formally, so as to prevent large gatherings with him at the center of attention.

But he wanted to go to the Weasleys and deliver the news himself. They were his family.

Ron squeezed Hermione’s hand and croaked, “I can’t believe it’s tomorrow.”

“I know,” she wiped her cheek with her sleeve. They watched as Ginny pulled him into a hug, crying on his shoulder.

“But I only just got you now!” she protested, her face wet with tears. “We didn’t have enough time!”

Hermione’s shoulders trembled, and she covered her mouth with her hand, trying to suppress her sobs.    

“I’m sorry, Gin. If I had known, I never would have–”

“No!” Ginny clutched him tighter, and pressed her fists into his back. “No! Don’t say that! I wouldn’t trade it for anything!”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, and fresh tears spilled out, down over her fingers.

“It’s just not fair,” Ron continued in an agonized whisper. “It shouldn’t have to end for him like this. Parents murdered, Sirius murdered, he’s had a shit life until Hogwarts and just when the war is about to end… he has to die?” Ron’s voice cracked and he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered, more tears streaming down her face. The salt was bitter on her tongue and her throat was raw from sobbing. She turned her face into Ron’s chest and he wrapped a steadying arm around her.

George’s face was contorted, foreign lines and unfamiliar grooves appearing in places where humor was so often found. Every so often, she’d see him turn his face slightly to the side – almost like a tic – before returning his gaze forward. Her heart crumpled when she realized he was turning to say something to Fred, only to realize he wasn’t there.

“Hermione,” Arthur whispered with imploring, sad, brown eyes. “Hermione, there must be another way.”

She wiped her tears away and shook her head. “I wish there was,” her voice cracked when she answered.

One by one, Arthur, Ron, Bill, Ginny, George and Percy got up and joined the hug. Ginny glanced back at Hermione, face streaked with tears, and waved her over. Hermione heaved a sob and ambled over to the crowd of Weasleys. Someone’s arm extended, she didn’t know whose, and folded her inside the tangle of red hair and freckled limbs.

“Harry?” she called out weakly, not really knowing where he was.

She felt, rather than saw his arm wrap around her waist and pull her in tight. Inhaling a shuddering sigh, her tears fell to the floor, joining the wet puddle as it grew larger.

 

~

 

“Wow,” Harry breathed, taking the bottle of Firewhisky from Ron and smacking his lips appreciatively. “I’ve never had anything this good! Where’d you get it?”

“Minerva,” Hermione answered, roughly wiping away her tears with the ball of her hand. She thought she didn’t have any tears left to cry, but she was wrong.

Feeling pins and needles in her leg, she shifted her position on the ground where the three of them sat cross-legged outside the boundary of the campsite, well hidden from everyone else. Glancing up at Ron, he gave her a sympathetic smile which didn’t reach his eyes. Harry was determined to keep their last night together lighthearted but she and Ron were struggling.

“No kidding!” Harry turned to her in surprise. “Who’d of thought McGonagall was such a whisky pounding fiend?” His eyes widened in appreciation after taking another large gulp. Hermione watched his cheeks flush.

“We should be careful,” Ron cautioned, trying out some levity for Harry’s sake. “Can’t be heading into battle with hangovers.”

“Says you,” Harry scoffed, passing the bottle to Hermione. “I don’t have to fight. Maybe I’ll vomit on You-Know-Who’s shoes before pleading for him to put me out of my misery.”

She winced, and then stared into Ron’s eyes. He wasn’t laughing either. It hurt too much. Seamus, Luna, Fred, Charlie, Terry, Remus, Parvati, Dedalus… and now Harry.

Ron didn’t even know about his brothers yet. Hermione stared down at the bottle of Firewhisky. She didn’t want to drink. She didn’t want to laugh. She didn’t want to smile. She couldn’t do this.

“Come on,” Harry elbowed her. “Haven’t we cried enough? I don’t want my last night to be sad.”

“I’m sorry, Harry” Hermione sniffed, and swallowed her tears. He was right. She had to pull it together for him. “I’m trying, I just–”

“Can’t you,” he waved his hand in the air, “Occlude or something? You’ve been doing it all year.”

“I’m tired of Occluding.” She could though, if that’s what he wanted. She’d do it for him. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and took a swig of the Firewhisky before handing it off to Ron. The burn in her throat felt good.

“You know she Occluded when she dumped me?”

Hermione eyed Ron warily, but his grief stricken face had a smile.

Harry turned to him. “That’s rude.

“Bloody weird is what it was,” Ron continued. “Like all the emotion was sucked out of her.”

“But–” She wasn’t that bad at it. Was she? Her knee jerk response was to defend herself. Maybe that’s what Ron intended, to bring her out of her sorrow. She smiled back at him.

“Oh yeah, I know what you mean.” Harry jumped in, happy with the change the subject. “Like she’s a sodding pod person.” He faced her with a grin. “You thought we couldn’t tell, didn’t you?”

Hermione huffed a laugh, and wiped her eyes.

“A what?” Ron asked after drinking and passing the bottle back to Harry.

“A pod person,” Harry repeated without explanation. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one morning we found pod Hermione wiping real Hermione’s ashy remains into the dustbin.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Hermione grinned back at Harry, but it was fake. “We really need give Ron a crash course in science fiction.”

“Zy-enz fiction?”

Harry and Hermione chuckled at his confusion, but it still felt forced. Harry drank again and passed the bottle to her.

“Best Harry moment.” Ron interrupted her fake laughter. Hermione glanced up at him in surprise. His blue eyes were red rimmed from crying, or the Firewhisky, or both, but he nodded his head at her encouragingly.

Brilliant.

Yes. This she could do.

She smiled her first genuine smile of the evening, grateful for Ron’s suggestion. Thinking a moment, she lifted the bottle to her lips, enjoying the warm tingle as the whisky made its way down to her belly.

“Casting his Patronus for the first time.”

Harry turned to her in surprise. “Yeah?”

Hermione’s eyes were puffy, and burnt from the tears she shed, but her smile was true. “Absolutely. You hadn’t been able to do it, I kept telling you your dad wasn’t there to save you and Sirius. And just watching your eyes as the pieces clicked into place…” The corners of Harry’s mouth lifted at the memory. “I think that was the moment when I really saw you were – are – someone special, Harry.”

“Hey!” Ron piped up. “I wasn’t there!”

“Exactly!” she retorted, rubbing Harry’s thigh. “That’s what makes it the best. I got some quality time with him!”

Harry chuckled as Ron grabbed the bottle from her.

“Well my favorite Harry moment is rescuing Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets.” Ron clapped Harry loudly on the shoulder. “Saved my sister and we got to see Lockhart Obliviate himself. You’d gone and gotten yourself petrified by an overgrown snake. Weak, Hermione.”

Hermione grinned back at him. “Well if it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have even known where to go! You two would still be out in the Forbidden Forest screeching about spiders.”

“Psh!” Ron waved away her protestation. “Details.”

“Oh!” Hermione rubbed her face with her sleeve and sniggered. “Do you remember the look on Toad Woman’s face when Harry kept saying that You-Know-Who was back?”

Ron chuckled as Harry performed a series of throat clearing ‘Ahem’s the way Umbridge used to.

“That’s nothing compared to trashing her house,” Harry said with a wide grin. “I never thought I’d have so much fun breaking porcelain plates.”

Hermione smiled at the memory. “Nothing brightens my day like vandalism and arson.”

“Durmstrang was pretty fun,” Ron added.

“For you two maybe,” Hermione scowled and they laughed at the memory. “Remind me to check the breast size of the next woman I Polyjuice into.”

“Speaking of Polyjuice,” Harry added, “You missed out on seeing the Slytherin common room. They’ve got a great view underneath the Black Lake”

“No actually, I saw it when we rescued the stud–”

“Oh yeah!” Ron laughed, cutting her off. “When we thought Malfoy was–” Abruptly he stopped and turned to Hermione. “Are we still allowed to make fun of Malfoy?”

She glanced at Harry’s pleading expression and flared her nostrils. Slowly, he stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout and Ron laughed again. She rolled her eyes and Harry’s mouth morphed into a grin.

“Remember how scared he was going into the Forbidden Forest first year?” Ron’s eyebrows lifted in mirth.

“Wait until my father hears about this!” Harry mimicked Draco’s drawl in a high pitched voice.

“Pottah has a Nimbus 2000, father,” Ron sat up straighter and tried to sneer through his snickering. “Why can’t I have a Nimbus 2000?”

Harry barked a laugh. “Oh, my arm! It’s killed me! It’s killed me!”

“FERRET!” Ron and Harry crowed, clutching their stomachs with loud guffaws. Hermione watched them silently through narrowed eyes, holding her chin in her hand.

Harry and Ron were each crying, but with tears of laughter now. “I mean,” Harry gasped in between laughs, glancing apologetically at Hermione. “I’m sure he’s a wonderful bloke and all that.”

“Yeah,” Ron snickered. “A whiny, spoiled, wonderful bloke.”

Hermione eyed the twin flat lines of their mouths, twitching with barely suppressed mirth. “I’m surprised neither one of you mentioned riding the dragon,” Hermione replied after taking a swig.

"Oh yeah!" Ron’s eyes widened. “Riding the dragon!”

“Never mind,” Harry exclaimed, momentarily forgetting Draco. “Riding the dragon was definitely the best experience.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione shot them a devious smile, “I got to ride two dragons.”

They both turned to her slack-jawed.  

“Fucking hell, Hermione,” Ron complained after a series of fake gagging noises. “I thought I’d get out of this war without needing a Mind Healer. You’ve just scarred me for life.”

“I need to be comforted with something safe and familiar now,” Harry pleaded, and then he laughed. “Take me back to Umbridge’s kitten room.” Ron sniggered loudly, nearly falling over. “You think I’m kidding.”

“Oh no,” Ron replied, “I’d much prefer to think of dead kittens than–”

“And I've ridden that dragon multiple times. Do you know what Draco and I did the last time we–”

Don’t finish that sentence,” Ron said. “This Firewhisky is too expensive to vomit up.”

The three of them laughed louder until their giggles died down. Hermione passed the bottle of Firewhisky to Ron and she leaned on Harry.

He wrapped his arm around her while Ron took a final swig for himself.

“You know,” Ron said, “It’s not so bad here in the woods. We should have ditched the war completely and just gone camping for the year.”

“Right,” Hermione snorted. “You probably would have abandoned us after too long without your mum’s bread pudding.”

The three sat in contemplative silence.

“Troll,” Harry said.

“What?” Hermione turned to look up at him curiously.

“My best memory,” he said, his smile reaching towards his green eyes. “It was the troll.”

A warm grin spread on Ron’s face which she mirrored. The first of their many adventures, and the beginning of their friendship. Maybe Harry used that memory for his Patronus as well. It was one of her happiest memories from their shared childhood. A childhood that was ages away, and yet bound them so closely.

She rested her hand atop Harry’s and repeated, “The troll.”

“The troll,” Ron said, resting his hand atop theirs.

She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the warmth from the whisky in her belly and the friendship of the two men with her right now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Next chapter: the dawn of the Final Battle. And Harry and Draco exchange some words.

Also yes, there was a Princess Bride reference (I can't help myself) and a reference to Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

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Chapter 79: Chapter 79

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Hermione hadn’t been back to Hogwarts since they rescued the students. It was quiet now as she ascended the spiral staircase to the Astronomy Tower, recalling the chatter of classmates echoing off the walls. She’d never been up there in the morning, and the silence coupled with the pinkish light of dawn gave the tower a strange, foreign feeling despite her nostalgia.

In just a few hours, the castle wouldn’t be quiet anymore. There would be screaming, explosions and death.

It was the end, for better or for worse.

Hermione knew her part. Hold the line, get Minerva, Snape, Lavender and any stragglers out of the way. Join a group sweeping the castle. Incapacitate, break wands, kill if necessary.

She felt unprepared.

And yet here she was.

She reached the top floor, wondering why Draco chose the Astronomy Tower of all places. Perhaps because it signified the start of the war, which he blamed himself for, and a time period when he felt completely helpless. Or maybe he chose this location precisely because he had taken control over his life, and fought to mold his future into something he wanted.

Hermione approached the turrets where the telescopes were aimed in different directions around the tower, and watched the sun rise in the distance. It was quiet and peaceful now. The autumn leaves were a brilliant shade of red, resembling spilled blood.

“Hermione.”

She jumped and whirled around. Draco was slouched on a chair, legs sprawled, in a darkened corner of the tower. Her heart fluttered at the sight of his blond head and grey eyes flashing back at her. He was wearing his Death Eater robes and gloves, and balancing the sword of Gryffindor by its hilt between his legs. His mask rested on his knee.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “You’re going to fight with the sword?”

He spun it around on its tip, holding the sword in place with his finger. Light glinted off of the blade, scattering throughout the tower. After watching it slowly spin to a halt he placed his palm atop the hilt and shrugged. “Maybe. It’s a good secondary weapon, and I can hide it in my cloak.” He grinned boyishly. “Beheading Nagini was fun. You should have a go with it.”

“I prefer my wand, thanks.”

“You’d sing a different tune once you’ve taken something’s head off.”

She scrunched her nose in disgust. “Doubtful.”

 

 

He chuckled, and his dragon hide boots scraped against the floor as he approached her. Tall, imposing, and clad entirely in black. Her stomach twisted nervously as she remembered they were only hours away from the battle, but she smiled up affectionately at him.

“That’s how you were dressed when I first gave you the Galleon.”

Draco looked down at himself, holding out the fabric. “The robes are ridiculous. They may be scary but you can’t run and they snag on everything.”

“Well,” Hermione replied. “You-Know-Who may be a brilliant, powerful wizard, but he doesn’t seem very pragmatic.”

“Must be all that virgin baby unicorn blood he drinks,” Draco deadpanned.

He approached her and she watched the orange and pink light of the sunrise play across his features, illuminating his eyes with fire. He put his hand on the small of her back and Hermione leaned into him, inhaling his scent, warm and familiar.

Hermione wrapped her arm around his waist and Draco tugged her closer to him as they gazed at the coming dawn together. Draco fingered the eyepiece of the telescope next to them and swiveled it around so he could peer into it.

“These telescopes don’t do much in comparison to the Hubble.”

Hermione didn’t bring his impending trial up and neither did Draco. By unspoken agreement, they resolved to enjoy the remaining time they had together. Harry and Ginny had done the same, disappearing into the night after the Trio had reminisced over Firewhisky.

She didn’t know what this day would bring, but if they both survived it, there was no way in hell she would let him go to Azkaban.

She swallowed her rage, watching him squint so he could see better. “No, they don’t. But the Hubble doesn’t have to view through the atmosphere. And the lenses are so much larger.”

“And to think, all this will be vaporized in five billion years.”

How silly and pointless war was.

Hermione glanced up at him, he seemed wistful in the early morning light. “You can have another twenty-three generations of insufferable blond prats well before that happens.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Insufferable and well-endowed blond prats.”

They heard shuffling from below and turned around to see Harry’s disheveled black hair appear as he made his way up the stairs. He paused when he saw them and Draco stiffened against her. The Astronomy Tower held significance as a turning point in Harry’s life as well as Draco’s. No wonder he was drawn there. 

“Sorry,” he apologized and began to descend again. “I’ll just–”

“No, Harry. Come here.”

She extended her arm and he cautiously walked over to watch the sunrise with them, grasping her outstretched hand to stand next to her. Hermione didn’t know how Harry would react to being in Draco’s presence for the first time since school. They hadn’t exactly found closure the night Draco rescued her from Azkaban.

Both men were tense on either side of her, wary of each other. But she wanted them both here with her now, in this moment before the war ended for better or for worse.

Harry had five hours to live. Five hours and she would never see him again. Hermione wasn’t going to cry. She would hold it in for him. The last thing he needed now was her blubbering over the remaining time he had left on this Earth.

“Is Ron still sleeping?” she asked.

“Dunno. Probably.” Harry leaned over the wall, gazing down at the ground below. It was where Dumbledore had fallen. “Ginny is, though.”

“Fucked her that hard, Potter?” Draco quipped.

Harry straightened, slowly raised an eyebrow and replied, “Of course. ‘Chosen One’ and all that.”

Draco snorted.

Just like that, the two of them dissolved the tension from their six-year rivalry at school. Hermione gazed up at Draco gratefully. He glanced down and winked in understanding. She loved him so much, and clutched his and Harry’s hands, pulling them in closer.

The three gazed out over the miles of tree covered hills of Scotland. The autumn colors were brilliantly highlighted by the pink and orange tones of the sunrise.

“Do you think Dumbledore knew?” Harry asked. “About me?”

He was well past the anger, the denial, the grief, the reluctant resignation. He had accepted his fate, marching towards it like the hero he was. Harry would die so that his friends would live, and he was able to talk about his death now as if it were any other benign topic.

Hermione hadn’t reached that point yet, despite having had over a year to deal with it. And she struggled to discuss his impending death so dispassionately, so she started to Occlude. Draco noticed and gave her shoulder another squeeze.

“I’m sure he did,” Hermione answered, her throat constricting. “If I could figure it out, Dumbledore must have known a long time ago.”

Dumbledore had known a lot of things, and he had kept them to himself. She wondered if he had known about Snape. She, Draco and Harry were still flummoxed by the events that took place in this very spot. No one had an explanation, and Minerva said it was Snape’s secret to tell while vouching for his integrity.

Harry seemed to have expected her answer. She watched as he traced the lines of the mortar in between the stones of the tower wall.

“I think I always knew I had to die.” He squinted into the sun, the light made his green eyes luminous. “But… I’m glad. I really am. I know my life and my death will serve a higher purpose.” Draco watched Harry intently, but said nothing, and Harry continued speaking. “That’s all anyone can ask for, isn’t it? And it’s a true gift to my friends. They’re the only family I’ve ever had. They’ve all done so much for me, and so many have died already.”

Hermione bit her lip and stared down at the hands she held against her breast. Draco’s thumb stroked her knuckle and as she blinked up at him, a tear ran down her cheek. She couldn’t keep it in, even with Occlumency. Draco shifted his gaze to Harry.

“Don’t you get tired of walking around with that martyr complex, Potter?” Harry cracked a grin when he saw Draco’s playful expression. “It must be exhausting with everyone wanking to your every move.”

Hermione glanced up at Draco curiously. Despite his teasing tone, he’d developed quite the martyr complex of his own of late.

Harry studied Draco for a moment and shifted his posture to face him. “No, no I don’t. I used to hate the attention but frankly your reaction makes it all worthwhile.” He glanced down at her. “Hermione, on my gravestone, make sure it says ‘Boy Who Lived to Piss Off Draco Sodding Malfoy.’”

Hermione smiled, despite herself, and wiped her tear away. She couldn’t face his gallows humor. “First thing after the battle,” she choked out.

It warmed Hermione’s heart to hear the two of them talking to each other so informally. She supposed that impending death had that effect on people. There was no need for pretense. But she couldn’t keep her tears in.

“Well I must say, you’ve excelled at that. Your grave will likely be worshipped and continue to piss me off long after you’re gone.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, taunting him. “Then I have indeed lived my best life.”

Draco barked a laugh.

“Who’s going to kill him?” Harry asked, losing the snarky tone. “When I’m gone?”

Draco shifted his gaze to the sunrise. “There’s no shortage of volunteers. I wouldn’t mind doing it myself. Severus planned to. My mother really wants to kill him.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No kidding.”

“Blaise’s mum wanted to do it,” Draco continued.

Harry turned to Hermione with a smirk. “Is she the one we saw at Malfoy’s party when we were waiting for you outside?”

Draco smiled conspiratorially at Harry. “You’d know if you saw Blaise’s mum.”

Harry returned his grin. “I can die happy thinking she’s the one to take You-Know-Who out. I can die happy just thinking about her. Period.” 

“We used to bribe Blaise into inviting us to sleep over just so we could–”

“Still here,” Hermione interrupted with annoyance. Harry chuckled. But she was grateful to Draco, making Harry laugh on today of all days. She couldn’t discuss his death so flippantly; it was too close to her heart. But it seemed that’s just what Harry needed.

“She’s got nothing on you,” Draco reassured her with a patronizing kiss to the top of her head.

“She’s a Legilimens, you know,” Hermione retorted. “Taught me Occlumency.”

“Yeah, I figured that out when–” Draco froze. Hermione looked up with a sly smile to see his panicked expression as he quickly realized the ramifications of Yasmine’s singular skill. “Ooooooh fuck.

Harry burst out laughing.

“I’m never going to be able to look her in the face again.”

Hermione joined Harry in his laughter.

“No, you don’t understand,” Draco said, turning to them in horror. “I wanked to everything when I was fifteen.”

“We all did,” Harry said, chuckling. “I used to have a thing for Madame Hooch.”

Draco looked at him in disbelief. “Hooch?”

“Something about the way she held broomsticks,” Harry explained.

“I always knew there was something wrong with you, Potter.”

“Well, Malfoy, being scarred by You-Know-Who tends to do that to a person.”

“Oh yeah?” Draco raised his left arm, baring his Dark Mark. “Pick another excuse for being a sick fuck.”

“Being possessed by him,” Harry retorted without missing a beat.

Draco raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s fucked up.”

Harry chuckled and then the three stood in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the sunrise.

“You’re alright, Malfoy,” Harry commented.

You’re not.”

Harry snorted in reply, and Hermione drew each of their hands in tighter, crossing their arms across her chest.

“You know what I still don’t understand?” Harry said, his voice soft as he stared into the morning rays of the sun.

“Snape?” Draco guessed, seemingly thinking about the same thing.

“Snape.” Harry agreed.

“Cocksucker never explained anything.”

“Neither did Dumbledore.”

“Maybe they were having a lovers’ quarrel.”

Harry and Hermione burst out laughing.

The wind blew, ruffling her hair. They heard an animal cry in the distance. The sun rose higher over the trees, seemingly heralding a bright future ahead of them. It mocked her. Hermione squeezed their hands harder, biting back her tears. She would never have both of them with her again. Harry would be dead. Draco would be…

She didn’t know what would happen, but she’d raise hell to keep him out of Azkaban.

“Fuck. Hermione I’m losing circulation here,” Harry complained.

“I think your nails have made permanent indentations in my skin,” Draco said. After a pause he continued, “Not that I don’t enjoy that kind of thing.”

“I didn’t need to hear that, Malfoy.”

“You’re awfully sensitive for someone who’s supposed to save all of Wizarding Britain. Are you sure you’re the Chosen One?”

Hermione smiled as another tear ran down her cheek.

 

~

 

Harry left to wander the halls of Hogwarts. He wore his invisibility cloak and wanted to say good-bye to what had essentially been the only true home he had aside from the Burrow. But he insisted on doing so on his own.

Hermione glanced up at Draco. They still had a couple hours until Voldemort showed up. He swept the hair out of his eyes and watched a bird fly past and into the distance. He was pensive, gazing out at the autumn colors surrounding the castle. Pretty soon, he'd be joining the other prisoners and then fighting his friends. He didn’t have the luxury to fight with everyone he cared about on the same side. She gnawed on her lip, wanting to ask him about it, but unsure if he’d want to discuss such a weighty subject in the remaining quiet that they had left.

Feeling her eyes on him, he turned to meet her gaze. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

He huffed a laugh. “Impossible.”

She blinked up at him earnestly. “You’ll be fighting against your friends.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, but his answer was firm. “Yes.”

Draco had already chosen. Of course he had, he was here. He’d given the Order as many details as he could about the composition of Voldemort’s Army, he’d found the defectors and made peace with the fact that he’d be fighting those that hadn’t turned.

And then what? What would his future be? Draco didn’t want her to Imperius Kingsley, but what if he wasn’t cleared?

“Draco?”

“Mmm?”

Her heart was beating so loudly in her chest that Hermione wondered if he could hear it. “I love you. And I want to be with you.” She fingered his robes, and then tugged him close. “Tomorrow.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Tomorrow ‘eh?” Draco stared out over the horizon again, but allowed himself to be pulled into her. “We don’t even know if we’ll live past today.”

He was avoiding her statement. “Let’s assume we will.”

Draco looked down at her from the corner of his eye. “And what if tomorrow is in five to ten years, Hermione? Or longer?”

She furrowed her brow. “I thought you believed Kingsley. That you’d get a fair trial.”

He continued gazing out at the horizon, perhaps uncomfortable from her accusatory stare. “I do,” his voice trailed off. “But it’s not a guarantee.”

That wasn’t the impression he left her with the day he confronted the Order. “Draco, you don’t owe anyone anything.”

His eyes met hers and she was startled by how haunted they were. “That’s not true.”

“But it is. Don’t you see how much you’ve done?” Her voice rose and she could feel herself getting worked up. “We never would have gotten this far without you. I thought you wanted to be free more than anything else.”

Puzzled at her confusion, he replied, “I do.”

“But then why won’t you let me fight for you?” Tears started to burn her eyes.

“Hermione,” he replied softly in understanding. Cupping her jaw, he ran his thumb across her lips, and smeared the tear leaking down her cheek. “You have, but…” After a few moments of her heavy breathing, his face paled. “I murdered children.”

“Yes, I know what you did,” she choked back a sob, trying not to cry. “But they would have been killed anyway and you had to! And I did terrible things, as well! We all did! You’re no different!”

He furrowed his brows and shook his head. “I am different. That’s why I have to face the Wizengamot.”

“Draco, it’s one thing to repent for sins, and something else entirely to punish yourself for them. They're not the same thing!” Her voice echoed out over the forest and she pulled his hand down from her face, holding it tight against her breast. Lowering her voice, she continued, “You can repent your entire life without ever having a trial. There is so much you can do in the world if that’s what you want. What does going before the Wizengamot even achieve?”

“I want to be forgiven by the society I’ve wronged. That is repentance,” he replied, pleading with her to understand him. “But only part of it. I want my trial to solve problems, not cause another war. I want to rebuild, like Kingsley says. And more than anything else…” his voice became hollow. “I don’t want to carry these sins anymore, Hermione. They’re eating away at me; I want to be free.”

“But you are!” Her lip trembled. “Right here and now! Why are you risking the very thing you fought for? You thought you had no control, no freedom and look!” Dropping his hand, she threw her arms out wide and he watched her, eyes glittering, as the wind blew the hair back from her face. “You’ve taken control of a situation in which you had none. You have a future and you can do whatever you want with it. You don’t have to answer to anyone anymore.” She tugged on the fabric of his clothes, practically panting in her fervor. “Your body is your own. Your mind is your own. Your actions are your own.” 

“Yes!” his replied thickly, “And that’s precisely why I’m making the choice to go to Az–” He paused and widened his eyes in surprise.

“You want to go to Azkaban?” she whispered in disbelief.

“No,” he blinked down at her and ran a hand through his hair, just as incredulous as she was. “No, of course not.”

Her lips parted in realization. For a brief moment, she recalled the night he gave her the plans to his mother’s summer party and his wild, frantic expression when he screamed at her to hurt him. It all made sense now.

“No!” he repeated more forcefully after watching the expression change on her face. “I don’t! I’d have to be sick in the head to want that.

He’d been repressing the effects of using self-hatred to cast the Cruciatus and Killing Curses this whole time. Hermione had refused to hurt him, so he found another outlet to punish himself, albeit subconsciously.

“Draco, have you ever heard of anyone willingly submitting themselves to the Dementors?”

“My father,” he replied with a shake of his head. “But that’s different. He’s doing it to save my mother and me. I’m not…” He stared down at her and frowned, disturbed at her conclusion. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

He was.

“Hermione,” he leaned into her and cupped her face with both hands. “Hermione, listen to me. Please. We don’t have much longer. Let’s just get through today, alright?”

She sniffed and gazed into his eyes, always so bright and passionate.

What choice did she have but to agree? She didn’t know if she would live, she didn't know if Draco would live, or if any of her friends would, and so she nodded. But it was clear now. Draco wasn’t himself. He was succumbing to the effects of dark magic. Hermione felt like a dam had been blasted open, and she was finally free to act. 

“Alright,” She rested her hands on his forearms, stroking the underside of his wrists. “But I’m not giving up.”

He lifted the corner of his mouth and murmured, “If you gave up, the world would implode.”

It would indeed.

Hermione leaned up into him, and pressed her lips to his mouth – hungry, desirous and loving. She wasn’t going to let him go. He responded instantly, and tangled his fingers in her hair.

Breathless, she pulled him closer, desperately needing to keep him molded against her. As she removed his robes, his tongue entered her mouth and her core temperature rose; heating her blood, her limbs, her skin.

Piece by piece, they shed their clothing into a pile on the stone floor and tangled their limbs together. She kissed him everywhere. Her mouth was firm, forceful and then lingered on his skin before searching for another place. Draco needed her, and she wouldn’t fail him. They clung to each other, desperately grabbing, holding, clutching; not knowing what the next few hours would bring.

Sitting on his lap, Hermione dug her heels into his back and their sweaty bodies slid against one another. He pulled away from a kiss and watched her, cheeks reddened and lips swollen. It seemed like she was losing him already, and she clung to his shoulders, bracing herself against him. Brushing the damp hair out of his eyes, she whimpered as he thrust up and into her.

Holding each other tight and panting for breath, their naked limbs quaked together, bathed in morning sunlight. Draco watched her, almost as if he was in pain, and Hermione's heart ached. He was hers. She’d do anything for him. Breathing heavily, she took his head and cradled it in the nape of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her, and his hot breath grazed her nipple. His heart thudded powerfully in his chest, mirroring her own. She held him there quietly on the stone floor, nervous about the battle, but more hopeful for the future.

Resting her cheek on top of his head, she squeezed Draco tighter.

Not wanting to let him go, Hermione rubbed the top of his head with her cheek and he released a slow exhale against her skin. 

She couldn't save Harry, but she could save Draco.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: LET THE BAD ASSERY BEGIN!

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Chapter 80: Chapter 80

Notes:

TW: Violence, death, mayhem, some gore. The good stuff.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Bring forth the prisoners!”

Like shards of glass, Voldemort’s voice cut through the air. Underneath the grand arch of the Hogwarts entrance, Hermione watched him from across the courtyard, flanked by his supporters and the giant stone statues on either side. Despite the distance between the Order and Voldemort’s army, the tenor of his voice made her blood run cold, and she shivered. Gripping her wand tighter, the crowd of Order members shifted in front of the large castle entry way, parting so the captured Death Eaters could exit Hogwarts. Voldemort’s Army lay in wait across the courtyard, having arrived on foot by crossing the stone bridge. With the exception of height and girth differences, they all looked like Grim Reapers.

One by one, the prisoners appeared in full Death Eater regalia. She watched as they took in the rag-tag bunch of Order members and the sea of black cloaks. 

Dementors circled above. Hermione’s teeth chattered and despite knowing what was going to happen next, she worried they’d be wiped out. Harry was sacrificing himself and what next? Ron could die, Draco could die, the Order was outnumbered three to one by the Death Eaters alone and there were upwards of fifty Dementors swirling above them.

The courtyard felt like a graveyard, waiting for their corpses.

She had to remind herself that this was exactly what Tonks wanted. Snape was hidden amongst the Death Eaters; Voldemort thought Hogwarts was under his control. They were waiting.

“What’s going on?” she heard one of the prisoners ask warily.

“If I didn’t know better,” another prisoner replied, “I’d say everyone’s ready to fight.”

“They’ll lose,” a third growled.

Their voices trailed off as the group of prisoners ambled over to rejoin Voldemort. Some of them gazed in her general direction, trying to get a glimpse of the legendary Harry Potter. A tall one looked directly at her as he passed through. Her heart skipped a beat and she stared at the ground, not wanting to give Draco away.

Hermione and Ron stood on either side Harry, each holding one of his hands. She squeezed Harry’s hand as tears formed in her eyes.

This was it.

Hermione watched as the wandless prisoners ambled over to join the ranks and surveyed the intimidating mass of black cloaks standing at the other end of the courtyard. She and Draco were standing on opposite sides now, but they were fighting together.

Finally.

As she brought her gaze towards Voldemort, her eyes landed on Bellatrix, the only one without a mask. The older witch’s dark stare met Hermione’s, and Bellatrix licked her lips in anticipation and smiled.

Images of eyes and teeth reflecting the dim light cast from a knife blade returned to her and she squeezed Harry’s hand, drawing strength from the presence of her friends.  No longer tied down and wandless, and most importantly – not alone – Hermione sneered through her tears, and glared right back at her.

“Now you must bring ours, Tom!” McGonagall’s voice was amplified across the courtyard.

Tonks relayed earlier in the morning during a pre-battle rally that the prisoners had been executed, and then turned everyone’s grief into a desire for revenge. But they had to keep up the ruse of not knowing.

Voldemort’s loud, terrible hiss echoed everywhere. “I am very sorry, Minerva. But we do not have your prisoners today.” He walked slowly back and forth in front of his army. “Your Order is finished. Join our new regime. Help rebuild the Wizarding world, as it was always meant to be.”

Hermione looked up at Harry and saw him swallow. He glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye and gave a curt nod. The Trio stepped forward a few paces, defiant and holding hands. A low rumble from Voldemort’s army increased in volume as they watched Harry present himself. Voldemort turned to them, fixing his red gaze on her best friend. Voldemort studied his nemesis, and a tremor of fear vibrated down Hermione’s spine even though his sinister appraisal wasn’t directed at her. She felt weightless, with only Harry’s hand to ground her. 

“Come forward Harry Potter,” he cajoled, his voice an unsettling caress. “I promise no magical blood will be spilled today if you give yourself up now. Your friends will surrender and live,” he extended his palm out to the Order. “I will reunite them with their loved ones to rebuild our world.”

Hermione gazed up into Harry’s emerald eyes. “I love you,” she whispered. “If I could, I’d go in your place.”

“I know,” he replied with a smile. “His magic is weak and unstable; I can feel it. It’ll work.”

Ron pulled Harry into a tight hug, pressed his fist into his upper back and then heaved a sob, having also just begun to process the death of his brothers. Ron released him and, after squaring his shoulders, Harry turned to face Voldemort. He walked forward and Hermione let his fingers slip out of her grasp with a whimper.

Everyone was silent as Harry approached the middle ground of the courtyard. Good behind him, evil in front. The Dementors swirled above and Voldemort stepped forward with a grin.

“The Boy Who Lived has come to die,” Voldemort taunted softly.

Bellatrix’s cackle echoed off the stones, followed by the confident chuckling of his army as the Dementors floated lower.

“Yes,” Harry called out, raising his chin. “I’m ready.”

Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand and he squeezed hers back. She didn’t know if she could watch, and silent tears trailed down her cheek.

“No one is shielding you then?” Voldemort hissed. “No more hiding behind anyone?”

Impervious to Voldemort’s jeering, Harry calmly replied, “It was never about that, Tom.”

Hermione sucked in a sob. “Ron!” her voice trembled, and he wrapped his arm around her, cradling her into his chest.

A wind blasted through the courtyard, ruffling Harry’s black hair.

Memories of Harry flashed in front of her eyes. Laughing with him over meals in the Great Hall, triumphant after catching the snitch during his first game, watching him lecture Dumbledore’s Army with a mixture of humble determination, and waiting for Ron in the infirmary, ensuring her he’d be there when the time came to return her parents’ memories.

She treasured every memory of him. But if Hermione survived this battle, she would never forget seeing Harry like this. He holstered his wand, spread his arms wide and looked up to the sky offering himself up as a sacrifice.

Voldemort raised his wand and cried out, “Avada Kedavra!”

For a brief moment Hermione hoped it wouldn’t work. Draco and Harry both said his magic was weak. But the flash of green light shot out, hit Harry in the chest and he collapsed to the ground.

Lifeless. Gone.

Hermione knew what had to happen but she wasn’t prepared; it was too soon. She couldn’t comprehend his death, and stared at his corpse, not willing to believe the evidence in front of her. Others begin to cry, and her legs felt weak. She wasn’t ready, and clung to Ron as she swayed off balance.

“Hermione,” Ron choked out, pulling her from her sorrow, “Look!”

She cast her gaze across the courtyard to where he was pointing and gasped. Voldemort lay motionless on the ground.

What did that mean?

NOW!

 

~

 

He couldn’t believe it. Potter was dead, and Aunt Bella was crouched over the Dark Lord’s body. Before he could process what just happened, Draco’s incredulous stare was torn from the two bodies on the ground by his cousin’s scream bursting through the silence.

He saw Hermione’s surprised face, streaked with tears, and felt a surge of adrenaline as he prepared to battle his way over to her.

Tightening the grip on his wand, he thought of the grit in his aristocratic mother’s voice when she put complete faith in him, and said she would fight by his side. Then he recalled the fire in Hermione’s eyes as she recounted how he’d taken back control over his life this morning, and the tremble in her voice when she said she loved him.

This was it, he wouldn’t have to wear a mask ever again. His skin prickled with energy as he wrenched his mask off, tossed it to the ground and stomped on it with his boot. Two Death Eaters next to him turned in surprise. He grinned in satisfaction as the thin metal shattered and the pieces crunched under his sole with a twist of his foot.

He was free, and they were going to win.

In one furious motion, he ripped off his robes, and thrust his wand into the air. With a loud battle cry echoing clear across the courtyard, he called out in pure elation, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

The Dark Lord’s army faced him in surprise, already confused from the Dark Lord collapsing. Draco’s silvery fox burst forth from his wand and streamed, glittery magic crackling through the air to chase off several Dementors encroaching on the Order. Out of the corner of his eye to his right, he saw Severus throw off his robes as a shimmering doe charged forward to join his fox. Cries of ‘Expecto Patronum!’ resonated across the courtyard and Hermione’s otter shot into the air among an army of silvery animals.

Not waiting to see the fallout, he threw himself to the ground with the other defectors, while the rest of Voldemort’s Army stared in confused awe at the vibrant light display of the Patronus attack.

Covering his head with his hands, he glanced back to see his mother and father behind him, already casting Shield charms to cover the three of them just as a series of explosions rocked the courtyard.

Pressing his forehead against the cold stones, Draco dug his fingers into his skull as the ground quaked from the destruction of the very bridge the Dark Lord and his army had arrived upon. Gasps of astonishment turned to screams of pain as stone and mortar pummeled the unsuspecting members of the Dark Lord’s army. At the same time, the cold wave of despair completely evaporated, signaling that the last of Dementors had been destroyed or chased away.

Draco flinched as a large boulder torpedoed directly towards his head only to bounce off his shield and careen out, exploding to smithereens as it hit the ground. Gritting his teeth while debris rained down around him, he saw someone had seen fit to protect Potter’s corpse, and watched as several stones flew away, repelled by his dead body. Part of an archway bounced off his mother’s charm, taking out two Death Eaters standing above Draco in a sickening squelch of bones and flesh.

The last of the major stones and parts of the bridge pummeled the ground, bursting on impact. As the remainders of the bridge lay strewn across the pockmarked courtyard, Draco peeked through the settling dust to see a few dozen bloodied and broken Death Eaters lying dead or injured on the ground.

McGonagall’s voice projected over the haze of bombs’ aftermath. “Retreat!”

The thirty defectors removed their Death Eater uniforms, and scrambled to their feet in a mad dash to fight their way to the castle with the Order. He saw McGonagall herding them all in while Severus directed the knights and stone gargoyles to attack, protecting his former students clamoring for safety.

“Kill the blood traitors! Kill them now!” He heard Avery’s command ring out among the chaos. “For the Dark Lord!”

Just as the Death Eaters started to get their bearings, the Hogwarts professors aligned with the Order appeared on the balconies, windows and turrets overlooking the courtyard and opened fire. With no place to take cover, it was like shooting fish in a barrel as they picked off Death Eaters one by one.

Voldemort’s army couldn’t Apparate away and the bridge was destroyed, so there was no place to turn. They were leaderless, had no direction, and the entrance to the castle was blocked to them. At this rate, they soon wouldn’t even have a numerical advantage either.

It was absolute mayhem in the courtyard.

Bright flashes of light collided into the ground, causing the earth to rumble under his feet. Curses struck down Death Eaters when hitting their mark. Draco met his mother’s frantic eyes just as a black cloaked body crashed into him, nearly knocking him over. A dark red spell shot out from his father’s wand, felling the unknown Death Eater but more surged forward. The Dark Lord’s army was struggling to escape the fire from above, and attack the Order as they retreated into the castle.

It was too cramped for wands and the fight quickly turned physical in the haze and confusion.

“Run!” he yelled at his parents.

Guarding his mother with his body so she could make it into the castle, Draco unsheathed the Sword of Gryffindor and sliced off the arm of someone just about to attack her. Blood spurt from the wound, splashing Draco’s front in a hot liquid mess and painting the ground with dark red splatters. The Death Eater fell to his knees with an agonized yell. It sounded like Rudolphus.

Draco pressed his boot into the stump and pushed him back violently, causing another Death Eater to trip over Rudolphus' body and fall face first to the ground. Draco thrust with the sword, stabbing him in the back, and grunting as he shoved it through muscle, bone and flesh. The rattling death cry was lost in the pandemonium of hexes and shouting around them. Draco grabbed the handle with two hands and wrenched it out of his body, staggering backwards.

He winced as three hexes fizzled with a crackle after hitting the shield his mother cast over him.

The large giant statues charmed by Severus provided cover as the Order and defectors made their way inside. The knights lined up defensively, guarding the castle entrance. Severus and McGonagall, swift and merciless, fired at the Death Eaters chasing after the defectors.

His mother and father were at his back, cursing those that came too close as they made their way towards the castle. Someone else charged toward him. Draco lashed out with the sword again, swinging it in a graceful arc and slicing the Death Eater clear across the torso from shoulder to waist.

“Draco…” The gurgling voice sounded like Vince.

He ground his teeth to stop the bile rising in his throat. Draco knew something like this could happen. But there was no time to think. They had to fight their way to the castle or they’d die here. Most of the defectors had already made it inside thanks to his old professors.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Millie struggling with two Death Eaters. He cursed one just as she elbowed the other upside the jaw to snap his neck. Hefting the limp body over her head, she heaved him bodily into another Death Eater, knocking them both to the ground before jinxing them both for good measure. Then she charged into the castle, running with impossibly long legs, long blond hair flying behind her.

“Be ready to fall back!” he heard Tonks’ distant cry.

Fuck.

They’d miss the cut off if they didn’t hurry.

Back to back, the Malfoys slowly made their way over to the castle entrance, casting and parrying together. Someone else charged and Draco thrust, impaling the Death Eater in the chest. After the body fell to the ground, he stomped on the torso, pushing with his boot to yank out the sword.

Finally making a wide enough swath around them, his father yelled, “Now! Draco, move!

Hexes were flying from the castle, providing them cover, and the three Malfoys ran while his mother maintained their Shield charms. The Order was already lying in wait inside. Severus and McGonagall stood at the castle entrance with their arms up, wands at the ready to make the separation.

Draco’s heart sung as saw Hermione taking cover behind the arch frame, eyes fierce, attacking whoever was chasing after him. A rush of adrenaline propelled him forward as he ducked and dodged the bright flashes of light flying around him, trying to make it to her. His muscles burned as he took a running leap over a boulder and crashed to the ground. Pain shot through his knees at the impact and he released a sharp exhale through his teeth. Not wasting any time, he jumped up to sprint the last 20 yards but Hermione pointed her wand at him, and he ducked. After a purple light streaked over his head, he shot forward while the person she hit shrieked in pain behind him. 

He just needed to get to her.

Severus and Minerva stood chanting, arms raised, and the courtyard trembled at their command. Turning one last time to jinx someone to his left, he launched himself into the air, trying to get past the knights and to Hermione just as he was yanked back by his shirt.

“Oh no you don’t.”

His stomach twisted in dread at the sound of Jugson’s low growl.

Before Draco had a chance to react, he was whirled around and his head snapped back. Stumbling to the side, Draco’s vision swam from the punch to his head. He blinked, trying to see where Jugson was as the ground shook under his feet. He staggered and turned back to the castle, watching in panicked desperation as one by one the rows of stones in the courtyard behind the knights guarding the castle entrance rippled and folded in on themselves. There was another rumble and everyone stumbled, trying to regain their footing as a huge chasm formed between the castle entrance and the knights guarding it.

Horror struck, he knew the divide was much too wide to leap across but he fumbled towards it anyway, hoping someone would be there to help him.

“Blood traitor!”

He screamed and his knee buckled from a sharp incision in his right leg. A hot burning sensation spread out from his upper thigh and he dropped the sword to the ground with a clank, clutching his leg in pain.

Jugson stalked over to him and he raised his wand to strike. Draco ducked when he saw Jugson rear back for another punch but the dizziness made it difficult to see the trajectory. His head snapped back again as Jugson’s fist collided with his jaw, and he collapsed to the ground.

Ears ringing from the pain spreading out from his eye, he tried to attack Jugson from below but the Death Eater stepped on his wrist, grinding his boot into Draco’s bones until he released his wand in agony. Draco gazed up in terror to see Jugson’s mask gleaming above him. He didn’t know what was wrong with his leg but he couldn’t move it anymore. It burned as if seared by a hot iron.

Panting in fear, Draco struggled to get up but Jugson stomped on his chest and he yelled as the breath was pushed out of him.

“I should have known your spoiled, entitled arse wasn’t worth the Dark Lord’s piss.”

He grabbed at Jugson’s calf, struggling to pry it off him, and cried out again as Jugson leaned on his knee, crushing his chest with his bodyweight.

“Making Travers pay so some twat will suck your dick?”

The burning sting from his leg was unbearable – he saw several bursts of light blast into the Shield charm Jugson cast over them. It was too strong. He was going to die.

“You fucking cunt!” he spat.

Jugson leaned down, kneeled on Draco’s chest and shoved his knee into his throat. Draco struggled violently on the ground, clawing at his leg. He needed air. His mouth made a soundless gasp as he struggled to breathe. His lungs were bursting, ready to explode in his rib cage.

“You bloody rich boys are all the same,” Jugson jeered. “Look at you. Didn’t learn shit. You can fucking die here like the lazy prick that you are.”

Jugson pressed his knee into Draco’s jaw, pushing his head back so it scraped against the stone ground. Draco’s vision started to go red at the edges, and he saw Hermione through the gaps in the knights, upside down, standing next to his parents with desperate rage contorting her features. He gasped for air again, clawing at Jugson’s thigh with rapidly weakening limbs.

Suddenly, he heard the crackling static indicating Jugson’s Shield charm fizzled out. A silver flash shot out from Hermione’s wand and the pressure on his neck lessened just as Draco was splattered with warm liquid.

Gasping for breath, Draco glanced up to see Jugson clutching his face, blood spurting out of the eyeholes of his mask, right before an orange blast knocked him off his feet.

 

~

 

Hermione turned to see the blue eyes of Narcissa Malfoy, glassy with tears. Lucius was at her side, wiping the sweat from his forehead after all three destroyed that Death Eater's Shield charm.

“Vicious,” the older woman commented, face slack with gratitude.

“Efficient!” Hermione panted in surprise.

Not having the time to think about the awkwardness of saving Draco’s life together, all three turned back, firing curses to cover him as he rolled over onto his stomach, pushed himself up and limped awkwardly towards the opening of the castle as quickly as he could, dragging the Sword of Gryffindor behind him.

Goosebumps spread up and down her limbs. He was injured and covered in blood. But he was alive, and making his way towards her.

“Where’s Lavender?” Ron yelled to her from across the entrance, cursing Death Eaters through the knights.

“I didn’t see her!” Hermione yelled back over the cacophony of jinxes pummeling the castle entrance.

Draco looked around wildly when he reached the edge of the chasm between the knights and pinwheeled his arms in the air, struggling for balance as Lucius levitated him across while Narcissa shielded him. Draco flew through the air, crashed into his father, and smeared him with blood.

Lucius helped him stand and Hermione met his eyes, gleaming bright amidst the blood on his face. Her heart leapt inside her chest now that he was next to her.

Safe.

She pulled him against the wall behind her in case the impenetrable Shield their professors were maintaining faltered.

“Draco!” His mother cried turning him to face her. Tears streamed down his mother’s face as she hugged him, not noticing he smeared her with blood.

Hermione turned back to scan the chaos and saw Lavender, running frantically to the entrance, leaping over debris and stone, blond, curly-haired ponytail flying behind her.

“There!” she screamed at Ron, pointing straight ahead. Ron jogged over to see Greyback and a few other Death Eaters at Lavender’s heels. Hermione fired slicing hexes at them, while Ron shot a series of Reductos at their feet, tripping them up so Lavender could escape. She reached the edge of the chasm and stared at them, wide-eyed in panic.

Wingardium LeviOsa!” Ron cried out just as Hermione – despite the mayhem of the battle – couldn’t help but note his pronunciation was dead accurate.

Ron levitated Lavender over the chasm while Hermione shielded her and the busty blond collided into her, knocking her to the ground with the force of Ron’s levitating spell.

Hermione’s head hit the stone floor just as Lavender breathed a ‘Sorry!’ into her face, immediately rolling off. Hermione clutched the back of her head and despite her vision swimming, she could see more and more Death Eaters lining up near the edge of the chasm, fighting the knights and dismantling her professors’ Shield.

The concave shape of the Heads’ protection spell became clear as the colorful bursts of magic dissolved into white flashes which spread and diffused outward. The combined force of Minerva and Severus shielding the entrance was strong, but it was only matter of time before it fell as more and more of Voldemort’s Army attacked.

A few attempted to levitate each other over the chasm but were immediately shot down by Ron and Draco’s parents. Their screams echoed downward as they dropped into the abyss.

Lavender pushed herself up, indiscriminately sending a series of balls of flame at the Death Eaters trying to get past the statues and knights. A few caught fire and flailed their arms helplessly, but Greyback took a running jump and leapt clear across.

“We can’t stop him!” Minerva called back as Greyback flew by her.

Still slightly dizzy, Hermione blinked as her vision cleared and watched from her prone position on the ground as Lavender screeched, “Incendio!

A huge fireball exploded from her wand, engulfing Greyback with a whoosh just as he landed with a thud on the ground in front of them. Ron and Hermione winced from the sudden wall of heat and Lavender turned back, covering her head as the flames imploded towards his body. His shrieks of agony sounded down the corridor as Lavender slowly stood up to watch him burn, her body a silhouette in front of the flaming pyre.

 

“Go!” Hermione screamed at her, no longer dizzy.

Lavender jumped and turned around, mouth agape in a deranged smile, and raced down the hallway, completely in her element.

Snape and Minerva stood strong, shielding them from the hexes pummeling the entrance.

Ron yanked Hermione up and she quickly assessed the stragglers while her professors held the remainder of Voldemort’s army at bay. Draco could barely walk, while his father didn’t look in any shape to run either. Snape and Minerva would have to sprint to the one-eyed witch. It would be close.

“You’re wasting time!” Snape called back to them. Their shield was flickering as streaks of light pummeled it relentlessly. “Move!”

Eyes wide, Ron tugged her in the direction of the hidden passageway but she looked back, waiting for her professors.

Minerva stood in the middle of the entrance, eyeing Snape with a sad smile. “They’re yours to protect now.”

He nodded sagely.

What?

Minerva glanced pointedly at Hermione and called back, “Miss Granger, it’s been a pleasure.”

Her professor stepped in front of Snape, directly in the line of fire and drew a white blazing circle with her wand. Hermione’s eyes widened as Snape quickly strode away from the entrance, turning his dark gaze to her and Ron.

“It’s a gift. Don’t waste it.”

Hermione nodded with a trembling lip.

Glancing back towards Minerva, Ron ran down the entrance hallway, and turned a corner to open a hidden door behind a tapestry, waving everyone through as they struggled to catch up. Hermione anxiously walked with the Malfoys, wanting to grab Draco to hurry them along but his parents were at his side, helping him limp.

She turned back in apprehension, heart thudding loudly in her ears. The white circle in front of Minerva enlarged and flickered as it held the combined attack at bay.

“Quickly,” Snape warned, eyeing his colleague from around the corner.

They were running out of time.

Narcissa and Lucius pulled Draco around the corner, and helped him limp through the passageway. Snape swiftly entered and Draco grabbed her arm, yanking her inside the cramped quarters. She collided into his body and glanced up into his frantic eyes, shining brightly down at her through the blood on his face.

Ron slammed the hidden door shut and plunged them into darkness. Snape illuminated his wand.

Hermione protested softly. “She can still make it. We can open the–”  

“No,” Snape cut her off with a harsh whisper. “Minerva knew it would happen this way. If you value your lives, you’ll leave it shut. Believe me, I tried.”

Without another word, he stalked off down the corridor to join the rest of the Order. She watched the small glow of his Lumos Charm recede in the distance with echoes of his footfalls. All was silent except for their heavy breathing. Draco still had a death grip on her arm.

Hermione held back a sob, picturing her teacher holding off an army of Death Eaters all on her own. Suddenly they heard a blast and she jumped. The Death Eaters must have broken through the shield. Their yelling got louder as they made their way across the chasm, quickly approaching as they searched for stray Order members.

Dead.

Minerva had just given her life for her students and the rest of the Order.

“Where does this go?” Narcissa whispered, listening the pounding footfalls of Voldemort’s army in the darkness.

Everyone held their breath as the slaps of boots against stone got louder. But no one stopped, no one knew of the passageway, and Hermione’s shoulders sagged in relief as Voldemort's army continued on down the hallway

“To the kitchens,” she and Ron whispered back at the same time. The Marauder’s Map had them well acquainted with nearly all of the secret passageways in the castle.

“Oh god.” Hermione stifled another sob.

Draco held her close. “Grieve later,” he whispered. 

He was right, there was no time. Just like there was no time to grieve for Harry. She sniffed, pulling herself together. Yelling echoed from outside as the Death Eaters continued breaching the chasm, heading on deeper into the castle, not knowing what awaited them.

“You can all follow Snape through to the kitchens,” she explained in a choked voice. “Take the south staircase upstairs so you don’t get hit by the second and third strikes. Ron can–”

Her words were cut off by another explosion as screams sliced through the air. They huddled together, bracing themselves against the walls as the floor rocked and pebbles loosened from the ceiling, falling down upon their heads. Draco tightened his grip on her. She wondered how he was still able to stand with the way he had been limping.

After the rumbling ceased, Narcissa whispered, “What was that?”

“The Great Hall,” Ron answered. She felt him wipe his tears away.

Some Death Eaters would be trapped there now. Their force would be systematically separated, trapped and broken apart as they ventured deeper into the castle, making their numbers useless. If they even had the numerical advantage anymore. The remainder would be picked off by roving groups of the Order sweeping the castle.

Hit, incapacitate, kill if necessary, and always break their wands before moving on.

Tonks was brilliant.

“Ron can show you where to go,” she continued. “I want to heal Draco’s leg while we’re safe from the fighting.”

“Yes,” his mother agreed with her. “I’ll help.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with them,” Ron’s voice was low and threatening in the dark.

“I won’t let anything happen to her, Weasel,” Draco growled back.

“As if we–” She heard Lucius begin to drawl but Narcissa cut him off.

“We’re grateful to have your protection and will do as you see fit.”

“I need a light,” Hermione spoke. They didn’t have time for bickering. She wanted to heal Draco so they could all return to the battle.

Three wands instantly illuminated in the passageway and she looked up at Draco. His face, hair and torso were saturated with blood and his grey eyes glittered in the wand light. His mother Scourgified the blood immediately. making him wince, but she saw no source of blood on his face. However, his temple, neck, jaw and cheek were red and bruising quickly.

Hermione dug her fingers into her palms as she recalled watching that larger Death Eater squeezing the life out of him. She felt utterly helpless when it seemed she’d watch him die, unable to reach him.

“Did you get hit in the head?” Narcissa asked tilting his head to the side and running her hand through his hair, looking for a wound.

“No, that’s Rudolphus’ blood,” he replied with distaste, allowing his mother to poke and prod as she checked him for injuries. “Or Jugson’s,” he held his arm out, also dripping with someone’s blood. “Maybe both.”

Narcissa Scourgified the rest of him.

“I…” his voice faltered, and they all looked up at him while his mother healed his cheek and temple. “I killed Vince,” his voice cracked.

Ron wisely stayed silent. They were all losing people today.

Hermione saw Narcissa’s eyes flick to Draco’s and they shared a knowing glance. She squeezed his upper arm tenderly. “It can’t be helped.”

Hermione eyed the interaction and didn’t interfere as his mother attended to the remaining bruises on his face and neck. She backed away to see why Draco was limping. “Can you sit on the floor and pull up your trouser leg?”

He lowered himself and winced. “Fucking Jugson,” he muttered.

“Language,” Narcissa scolded him, studying his movements as he lowered himself.

“Sorry, mother.” He didn’t sound sorry.

There was only enough width for two people across so they were careful when crowding around him.

Hermione lifted Draco’s pant leg to reveal an angry black slice up his shin and past his knee. Drawing her wand along his trousers, she sliced up the fabric revealing a black injury on his thigh. The veins surrounding the wound spidered out, and were also black. His mother hissed. It was a nasty blood curse. Clearly painful and inhibiting his ability to walk, but it wasn’t deadly. Not in the near term anyway – it only hit his leg.

But he was out of commission.

“I don’t know how to heal this,” Hermione said, looking into his eyes apologetically.

Draco’s expression changed from distaste to anger and he glared back at her. He knew she was going to leave him to rejoin the battle.

His jaw clenched. “Don’t.”

“You can barely walk,” she explained, motioning to his leg. “But you’ll be safe here in the meantime. I’ll come back for you or send someone. I promise.”

She turned to go but he grabbed her hand and yanked her back, she toppled forward onto him and he caught her with his other hand, holding her tight to his chest. His eyes were dark and dangerous, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Ron whipped his wand out. “Let her go, Malfoy.”

Lucius pointed his wand at Ron’s head. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Lucius,” Narcissa chastised. “Mr. Weasley. This is unnecessary. Please lower your wands.”

Hermione stared into his dark, angry eyes.

“Draco,” she whispered against his lips. “Draco, you can’t do this now. I have to go. You know that, don’t you? I'll come back, or send for help if I can't. I won't leave you.”

Before she could protest more, he pulled her in and kissed her deeply, oblivious to his parents and to Ron and she responded passionately, knowing he had relented. Draco didn’t care who saw, and didn’t care about the sounds of the battle echoing down the corridors. His fingers tightened around the back of her neck and he held her tight. After another moment he bit lightly on her lip and then released her, holding her forehead against his own.

“I love you,” Draco whispered. His voice was raw, and he was uncaring that his parents heard. Perhaps he said it on purpose, in front of them.

“I know, and I’ll be back,” she promised. “I’m not leaving you. Now or ever.”

His eyes were still dark, but he loosened his grip, and she sighed in relief. Pushing herself up, she backed away and he slowly unfisted her hair, allowing her tendrils to untangle from his fingers.

Hermione stood up and his arm fell limply to his thigh. Backing away, she was unable to tear her eyes away from his piercing gaze as he sat injured on the floor in the dim wand light. She passed Narcissa, who gave her something between a grateful nod and a sneer.

“Avoid the third floor,” she cautioned his mother.

“Why?”

They heard another explosion in the distance and the corridor rumbled. Hermione braced herself against the wall and turned back to his mother. “Never mind, it’s safe now.”

Lucius didn’t even try to conceal the hatred on his face as she and Ron shuffled past him. She met his icy stare without the barest flicker of an eyelid before she broke into a jog with Ron to rejoin the fight.

Harry was dead, Minerva was dead, and although Draco was safe in the passageway, he was already badly injured.

And the battle had just begun.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

I wanted Draco hacking off limbs with a sword and Lavender burning people to death. Especially Greyback. So sue me.

Next up: MORE BAD-ASSERY!

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

Efinna's bad ass self drew our BAMF protagonists amidst explosions. LOVE IT.

And Vukidelika
drew Lavender burning the fuck out of Greyback. AMAZING!!!!!

 

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Chapter 81: Chapter 81

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Can you heal this?” Draco grunted in pain, eyeing his mother skeptically as she widened the cut of his trouser leg, revealing the entirety of the blackened wound. It burned even more when exposed to air, and he whimpered.

“Not entirely,” she pursed her lips in concentration and cast charms on his thigh where it was the worst. “But I can make it less painful.”

He groaned in relief as she set a numbing charm over the open gash on his thigh where a black viscous liquid had congealed. Glancing up at him, his mother ran her hand through his hair and cupped his jaw tenderly.

“Better?”

He nodded, and she leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“So that was the trollop?” His father raised an eyebrow and looked down at them in disdain. “That Mudblood you tortured at the Manor?”

Draco glared back. “Obviously it wasn’t a very effective Cruciatus.”

“So that’s the way of things then?” Lucius’ sneer was on full display in the dim wand light. “You’ll end centuries of ancestral blood purity on a whim?”

The gentle hand his mother placed on his chest stilled the retort on his tongue.

“That trollop just saved your son’s life,” Narcissa explained patiently. “We’re on the winning side and hidden safely while she’s out there fighting. I don’t doubt she’d pass through the Veil and back for him. Draco could do much worse.”

“You can’t be serious,” his father’s face creased in anger. “They’ll have Squibs, Cissy. Diseased and wretched.”

Draco clenched his fists, struggling to follow his mother’s lead and not respond to his father’s baiting. How could he think about grandchildren at a time like this? Let alone the state of them? But as Hermione explained, that was the whole point of pure-blood supremacy.

Children. Inheritance.

“Would you prefer to be lying on your back on our ballroom floor?" she retorted. "Screaming while Nagini threatens to eat you? After these past two years, I’d consider myself lucky to have Squibs for grandch–”  

“You don’t mean that,” his father cut her off in horror.

Draco was shocked his mother was so accepting of Hermione despite her bigotry. Or perhaps she saw the futility of trying to come in between them. He had been defying Voldemort for over a year. Defying his parents was nothing in comparison.

Regardless of her reasoning, his mother's jaw was set and defiant in the dim light.

“I do, Lucius. A witch of pure breeding would be preferable, but we can…” she drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. “There are good Healers. It will be a struggle but we can work through the difficulties. One thing at a time.”

Lucius was incredulous. “You can’t heal a diseased Squib.”

“Squibs aren’t a certainty,” Narcissa countered, raising her voice. “Andromeda’s little girl went to Hogwarts.”

“Oh?” he sounded skeptical. “What house?”

His mother wouldn’t know.

“Hufflepuff,” Draco answered for her.

His father scoffed in derision. “I’d prefer a Squib.” 

“She became an Auror,” Draco pressed.

That was an understatement.

“Yes, the Auror Department lowered its standards before it disbanded,” his father waved his hand dismissively and turned to him in anger. “This is madness. She’ll destroy our bloodline.”

“I want the terror to end, Lucius. And I want us all to be alive when it does.” Narcissa tilted her chin up. “And so do you.”

His father exhaled harshly through his nostrils, not mollified at all.

“What I want is the best for you both,” he ground out.

“I know that,” she lowered her voice in gratitude. “You’ve sacrificed yourself to keep us safe. You always have, and I love you for it.”

His father’s cheeks reddened at her praise, but his words came out in a firm warning. “This conversation isn’t over, Cissy.”

“So be it.”

His mother knew when to strategically disengage, and his parents eyed each other in the wand light. 

“Draco?” A wary female voice carried down the passageway. “Draco Malfoy?”

Anxiously, he met his mother’s worried blue eyes. She immediately extinguished her wand and his father turned, poised to attack after noxxing his light as well.

A faint glow appeared in the distance, bobbing up and down as the person neared, walking carefully down the corridor. They couldn’t see who it was, and the glow became larger as it came closer, obstructing their view of the unknown face.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

“Cho Chang. Hermione sent me to heal your leg.”

Draco lit his wand and his mother turned to him in question.

“It’s okay,” he whispered as a nervous warmth settled in his stomach. He was heartened that Hermione sent him a Healer so quickly, and wanted to rejoin the battle as soon as possible so he could find her.

His mother exhaled an ‘Oh’ in relieved gratitude, already quite taken with Hermione’s devotion to him.

Cho approached, nervously walking around his father without meeting his stare, and knelt beside Draco. She set her medi-kit on the ground, opened it, and extracted a few vials, setting them down around her.

His mother raised her wand above his leg so she could see while she worked. After scanning the injury, Cho placed a few of the vials back inside her bag. “Who attempted to heal it?”

“I did,” his mother answered.

“Using what?” Cho asked, immediately casting a diagnostic and glancing at the readings. His father observed her calm, competent bedside manner in silence.

“Sealant charm on the thigh muscle and the skin at the bone along the shin.”

Cho peered at his wound and pointed. “You did well here where the cut isn’t deep.”

“Thank you,” his mother replied in surprise.

Cho flicked her eyes to the diagnostic flashing above his leg. “Numbing charm?”

“Yes,” his mother affirmed. “He was in a lot of pain, I cast on the exposed thigh muscle.”

Cho met Draco’s gaze and warned him warily, “I have to remove the charm in order to treat it, but I’m all out of anti-pain potion. It won’t take long and you’ll be as good as new. Ready?”

He nodded and she silenced him so they wouldn’t be heard. His mother held his hand like when was a child at Healer visits and he smiled at her appreciatively. Some things never changed.

Not wasting any time, Cho opened a vial with a green liquid, and dipped her wand inside after removing the numbing charm. He jerked at the sudden onset of pain and squeezed his mother’s hand as the burn of the open wound hit his nerve endings full force.

Working quickly and efficiently, Cho spread the substance out across the blackened injury. The green liquid tingled, and his leg trembled as he fought to stay still. Silently whimpering, he flexed and unflexed his muscles while watching the black coagulate liquefy as the green fluid permeated down the length of the slice and outward to where his veins were discolored.

There was a pressure in his arteries as Cho focused her wand on his thigh, guiding the liquid inside. Cho waved her wand at his leg and everyone watched as the black veins underneath his skin slowly turned red. Draco gritted his teeth as the burning spread deeper into his muscle.

His mother rubbed his knuckles with her thumb. “You’re doing well,” she offered in encouragement.

“Iron blood curse,” Cho spoke while digging in her bag to bring out a jar with blueish gel. “First we detach the iron from your blood, then bind it to a simulant and siphon it out. The treatment works for most blood curses actually.” She flicked her dark brown eyes up to Draco’s face. “This will sting.”

He nodded and braced himself. The burning hurt like hell, but it was nothing in comparison to the Cruciatus.

Cho waved her wand and began extracting the red liquid. It stung a great deal and he exhaled sharply. They watched as small red rivulets rose into the air, leaving his thigh to pool together into a long stream which arced above them and deposited into a container Cho set aside for collection. His mother tightened her grip on his fingers and he glanced up to meet her small smile. He clenched his stomach muscles as the pain intensified but before he knew it, the stinging was gone, leaving only a mild burning from the raw open wound, which was now clean.

“Ready?” Cho asked.

He nodded and squeezed his mother’s hand again. They watched as Cho capped the jar of red liquid and expertly set to healing his leg as if it were a regular laceration. He winced while the open gash stitched itself together on his thigh. Tiny pricks pulled on his muscle and then on his skin until a jagged pink line was all that remained.

Draco sighed in relief and she removed the silencing charm.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

She uncapped the jar of blueish gel and rubbed it over his leg, explaining, “Iron supplement. I depleted your stores while removing the curse.”

She shone her light over his skin and nodded, looking pleased with her work.

“Well done,” his mother complimented her, and Cho returned a small grin at his mother’s praise.

“Bend your knee?” Cho asked, packing the used items into her bag.

Draco bent his knee.

“Lift your leg, and point and flex your foot,” she requested, vanishing the used jar of blood simulant.

He did as he was told.

“Try to stand.” Cho rose to a crouch, studying his leg as he stood up.

His mother gave him her hand and helped him to a standing position.

Cho put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing his leg one last time. “Any pain?”

He shook his head and repaired his trousers. “Thanks.”

“Chang, you say?” His father had watched, clearly impressed with her work. “Are you by any chance related to Changs of Shanghai, the parchment and quill distributors?”

She turned to him and blinked. “No. Chang is a common Muggle name as well. Mum’s a software engineer. Dad’s a professor at the University of Leicester.”

His father curled his lip in disgust. Warring between having just openly admired her work, and repulsed by the fact that not one, but two Muggle-born women had manhandled his only son.

Cho continued talking, organizing a few things in her bag, and missed his father’s open hatred. “Your blood pressure is on the low side and that should be fine for now, but if you sustain another injury causing blood loss you’ll need a replenishing potion.”

“Why not just give him one now?” his mother interrupted, irritated by this information.

Cho’s eyes snapped up to Draco’s, then to his mother’s, realizing she spoke too much. “I don’t have any on me,” was Cho’s blatantly untruthful reply. She had probably lied about the numbing potion as well, being used to people begging for it. Possibly she had to allocate frequently used items like blood replenishing potions and pain medications for more extreme cases, and Draco’s was not.

His father, no stranger to deceit, approached her. “I think you should give my son one now.” The threat in his voice was apparent, and Cho’s eyes widened in fear.

Draco eyed the interaction and anger overtook him. His father was perfectly willing to attack Cho, despite the fact that she had just come to heal him, and all for an unnecessary blood replenishing potion.

Expelliarmus!

Not expecting his own son to strike, his father’s wand zipped into Draco’s hand. The Weasel was right not to leave Hermione alone with his parents. Hermione had sent Cho, trusting that she would be safe while she healed him. It probably hadn’t even crossed her mind that his father would Imperius someone who had just healed his son.

Hermione didn’t know his father.

“Insolent!” his father hissed at him.

“Run Cho,” Draco directed her, his eyes not leaving his father. “I’ve got your back.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, and raced down the corridor.

“She’s a Mudblood,” his father chastised him as Cho’s receding footfalls echoed in the distance.

“Mother,” he asked, eyes still locked on his father’s icy glower. “Are you going to attack the person who just healed your son? Even if she’s Muggle-born?”

“Of course not,” she replied, glaring at his father. “Lucius, do you want to spend the rest of your life in Azkaban? Because not even Kingsley will be able to help if you continue on this way.” His father flared his nostrils but said nothing, knowing she was right. His mother pressed on. “You acquitted yourself well in the courtyard; this battle could knock years off your sentence. Should we all survive this day, I prefer you spend as much time as you can at home with me, your son and whatever grandchildren we’d be lucky enough to have.”

Draco gazed down at his father’s wand, laying in his open palm.

His mother was getting through to his father. Slowly.

“Alright then,” Draco said, handing the wand to his mother. He started jogging down the corridor after Cho, grateful that he was fully healed and could run now.

“Where are you going?” his father called after him angrily.

Without pausing, Draco jogged backward as he retorted, “To find my trollop.”

“Draco,” his mother called out, scolding. “Stop right where you are.”

He paused in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you know where you’re headed?” 

“No! But I have to–”

“Charge out into the middle of a raging battle alone?” his mother asked, incredulous. “Without knowing where she is or how to find her? Lucius can’t run, but our chances of making it out alive are infinitely better if we stick together.”

Draco’s fingers twitched around his wand, and he could barely contain himself for all his nervous energy. Hermione was somewhere in the castle and he had to find her. But ultimately, his parents were right. 

“Idiot,” his father muttered under his breath.

 

 ~

 

Led by Draco, the Malfoys walked silently through the maze of Hogwarts’ corridors, pausing when they heard the rapid footfalls of approaching fighters, or the blasts of errant hexes. Passing the Great Hall, they glimpsed the carnage left behind by Lavender and Dean’s bombs. Draco wondered who was amongst the bodies, and decided it would be better not to know right now.

Although they heard the occasional shout or crash, they didn’t encounter any major skirmishes. As Draco and his parents searched for one of the larger groups of the Order sweeping the castle, they easily picked off lone fighters with a few quick and efficient wand strokes. 

His mother bent over each one, checking under their masks.

“Ooh.” She clucked her tongue. “It’s Marcus. Levitate him into a classroom so he doesn’t get injured.”

He and his father grudgingly obeyed. Much as he wanted to find Hermione, there had been so much death already. He had no desire to see any more of his childhood friends killed if he could help it.

After incapacitating someone else, she lifted the mask and cursed the body with a swish of her wand, looking up with a smirk as a light blue glow dissipated into the prone form behind her.

“Leave that one. And it’ll be painful when they wake.”

His father lifted an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Shunpike,” Narcissa answered.

Draco took no issues with his mother’s vigilante justice.

The Malfoys left a trail of incapacitated Death Eaters and broken wands in their wake, and after checking underneath each mask, his mother would tell them whether to hide the body or jinx it. Five hexes later, he realized she had quite the shit list.

Mildly amused, his father commented, “Taking advantage of Kingsley’s pardon?” as a flash of purple left her wand.

She looked up smugly. “Quite possibly.”

“I must say I’m enjoying your vindictiveness,” his father said with a fond smile. “And here I thought your creativity was best applied to hosting dinners and galas. I couldn’t identify half of those charms.”

His mother blinked at him, lip trembling.

“I’ll miss you, Lucius,” she said with a tremor in her voice.

Draco watched his parents share a glance and then turned his head to the side, feeling like he was intruding on their moment. His father made his share of mistakes over the years but he always put his family first. It was no small sacrifice what he had done for them. Draco wondered if they’d be allowed to share a cell in Azkaban.

His mother would be alone for awhile. Maybe she’d reach out to her estranged sister.

The Malfoys continued on, more somber now at the reminder of his father’s sad, yet voluntary fate.

The battle appeared deceptively safe until they heard a larger roving band. Due to the sound of boots, and the fact that the voices were mostly male, it was likely remnants of the Dark Lord’s army.

Draco plastered his back against the wall, and made to lean around the corner to peek but his father pulled him back and silently shook his head. Lucius was wise to stay hidden and not chance a meeting when they were numerically disadvantaged. They’d catch up with one of the groups of the Order sweeping the castle soon enough.

After the fighters were long gone, a straggler ran limping across their path. Draco silently disarmed him just as his mother jinxed his legs and his father bound him. The three Malfoys approached the lone Death Eater, now tied up and lying on the ground while cautiously checking the corridors for more fighters.

“Draco?”

Greg.

Draco froze in his tracks, and slowly turned to face the struggling form on the ground.

“Why did you betray us?” he croaked.

Draco swallowed thickly and lowered himself to squat in front of his friend. Greg wrangled with the ropes binding him and Draco hefted him up to sit against the wall. He reached out and removed the shiny, metal mask so he could look his friend in the eye. Greg was bleeding from the temple.

“There was never any ‘us’ to betray,” Draco answered. “We were just his pawns; don’t you see?”  

Greg searched his face. “That’s not true. The Dark Lord rewards his follow–”

“Have you been rewarded?” Draco cut him off. “What would have happened to you and your parents if you’d failed to kill that Muggle-born family?”

Greg furrowed his brow and shook his head, not wanting to accept the truth. Draco’s mother approached from behind and Scourgified the blood running down his face.

“Draco, pull his hood back.”

He did, revealing a long cut running through Greg’s scalp under his crew cut. His mother leaned over, quickly healing it.

“Thank you, Madame Malfoy,” Greg looked up at her, grateful, and then shifted his gaze back to Draco. “I saw Millie run out.”

Draco nodded. “Can you blame her? You said yourself you didn’t want her to have to murder children, and she nearly died attacking the safe houses.”

Greg turned away, his face pained. “It was supposed to end. We make the sacrifices now and when it’s done, it’ll be worth it. Mudbloods are destroying our–”

“And who will be left?” Draco cut him off. “Tracey died attacking the safe houses. She didn’t want to be in his army. Vince nearly died then. They torture us when we fail, threaten our families so we comply and kill us if we refuse orders. You've seen it.”

Draco watched Greg struggle with being confronted with the truth.

“Blaise defected.” Greg looked up as Draco continued. “And Pansy. Theo. Adrian. They were scared. None of them wanted to fight for him. They’d rather fight against pure-blood supremacy if it requires living with the constant threat to themselves and their families.”

“Did you ask them to turn?”

Draco nodded silently.

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

Draco winced and his stomach twisted in guilt. Greg followed in Draco's footsteps like always, taking the mark before the rest of them were forced into it. After a painful moment Draco turned back to his childhood friend.

“Would you have come?”

The silence was answer enough.

“Will you defect now?” he continued, his voice lifting in hope.

In reply, Greg glanced at Draco’s parents. “So you’re suddenly abandoning our way of life? You’re not just allowing the magical world to be corrupted, you’re part of its destruction now.”

Draco's father clenched and unclenched his fists. “What is going on is unsustainable, Gregory. We followed the wrong leader.”

“But the Mudbloods and blood traitors will lose!” Greg protested. “If not today, then tomorrow! There is strength in purity! You still believe that, I know you do!”

Draco picked up Greg's wand from the floor and made to break it, hesitating at his friend’s sudden desperate cry.

“Draco! No! We’ve been friends for years!”

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Draco replied in earnest.

His longtime friend flinched at the sound of snapping wood. But at least he was alive. That was more than Draco could say of Vince.

He was about to stand when he heard his aunt’s cackle in the distance.

“Bella?” His mother whirled in the direction it came from, but her cackle softened as she ran off, in pursuit of her quarry.

“Mudblood…” The faint echo of her voice made his blood run cold.

Without pausing to think, Draco launched himself up and shot forward, feet pounding heavily on the ground as he sprinted down the corridor.

“Draco! Wait! You’ll get yourself killed!”

He ignored his parents' rapidly receding cries as he ran, skidding around the bend.

Draco!”

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter:

Bellatrix, Draco, Gun, Hermione, Ron, Sword of Gryffindor, Tonks…

Not necessarily in that order.

And some fucking awesome fanart by Frau Blucher.

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Chapter 82: Chapter 82

Notes:

TW: It's a battle scene: violence, death, gore.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Terrified, Hermione and Ron raced down the corridors towards the Great Hall. After methodically isolating and disarming dozens within Voldemort’s army, they became separated from Hannah’s group sweeping the castle. Now Bellatrix was at their heels and she didn’t fuck around. Red and green streaks of light from Killing and Cruciatus Curses flashed around them from behind. They pummeled the floor, pounded into the walls and hit the ceiling – cracking stones, pictures and tearing tapestries on impact.

One curse narrowly missed Ron’s leg. The two leapt over fallen bodies and nearly tripped on broken paintings lying strewn across the floor in their mad dash for safety.

The only reason they weren’t dead now was because Bellatrix came to the fight wearing heels. And even then they could barely outrun her while dodging her curses. Every time they cast shields, a curse would obliterate them with a crackle of static and glittering gold light.

Thighs burning from running so hard, Hermione wildly looked around, trying to figure out where to hide and recuperate. Suddenly Ron yanked on her hand, pulling her bodily towards a pile of rubble blocking the broken entrance to the Great Hall. They quickly scrambled over the sharp rocks of the destroyed arch, trying to squeeze through a small opening in the pile where the large door used to be.

“Come on!” he egged her on anxiously. “Hurry!

With one last glance down the corridor to ensure Bellatrix hadn’t turned the corner yet, Hermione struggled behind Ron. Not wanting to waste any time, he grabbed her wrists from the other side, straining to pull her through. The hard rocks scraped her stomach and she fell forward, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she pushed herself up after Ron and they plastered their bodies against the wall inside the blocked doorway. They made it. Bellatrix hadn’t seen them. Maybe they could hide here. Her lungs felt like they would burst after sprinting for so long.

Breathing heavily, Ron’s eyes were wide with terror after racing for his life through the castle. “She hates you!”

“She hates everybody!”

Hermione searched the Great Hall, gasping for breath as she took in the carnage of the second strike. Over two dozen dead and injured Death Eaters were strewn about the floor in the room they once dined in as children. If the Death Eaters weren’t dead, they were incapacitated, restrained, and had their wands broken. Blood was splattered on the walls and she watched a small dark red rivulet flow between the stones under her feet.

The room stank of copper, and she fought the compulsion to retch.

“I don’t know if she’ll find us in here,” Ron’s voice rose in panic. “But she’ll get us in the hallways. What now?” he asked, wheezing for breath.

“Harry gave me his invisibility cloak,” she panted while digging inside her shirt for the fabric. “I didn’t have a chance to use it before!”

Tugging furiously on the fabric, her heart pounded in her ears and they heard the echo of Bellatrix’s cackle slowly approach the Great Hall.

She’s coming.

“Quick! Give it here!” Ron whispered frantically.

Hermione’s hands started to shake and she fumbled with the cloak. “Maybe she’ll pass by?”

Stiletto heels clacked on stones in the corridor and she froze as she remembered a dark cell, screaming for help as her body was carved up.

“Come on, Hermione! We’ve come this far!” Ron yanked the cloak out of her hands and huddled next to her, trying to pull it atop their heads.

The heels stopped in front of the entrance.

Oh god.

Her mouth went dry.

As she brought the fabric in, tighter around her body, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to Occlude, praying that Bellatrix wouldn’t enter.

The little Mudblood that knows too much…

She trembled at the memories and Ron pulled her into his chest. He was hot and sweaty from their panicked rush to escape and his heart beat like a drum against her back. The two waited in silence, while Bellatrix stood outside the rubble. She reached back for his hand.

Cackling… knife slicing into flesh…

“I can’t face her again,” Hermione whispered. It felt too much like being trapped again.

He squeezed her fingers.

“You’re with me.”

Skin peeling away….

Hermione pictured snowflakes melting on a pond to repress the memories. She dug her fingers into Ron’s palm and tried to control her breathing.

“We’re going to make it, Hermione,” he whispered. “Breathe.”

Her dark cell in Azkaban dissolved into the bright white of individual snowflakes. Ron counted softly in her ear to help pace her breathing. Slowly, she released her grip on his hand as her head cleared.

“Babiiiieeeeessssss!” a mocking call pierced through the opening of the rubble. “Come out to playyyyyy!

Fuck.

Hermione glanced around the hall. If Bellatrix knew they were here, an invisibility cloak wouldn’t stop her.

“Ron, she’ll find us. Can we make it to the kitchens? There’s the passageway where we left the Malfoys. They might still be there.”

“Atta girl.” Ron rubbed her arm, relieved she was back to her problem-solving self. “Stick to the wall.”

Just as they started inching around the perimeter of the room, a blast from her left threw them to the ground. She broke her fall with her hands and knees, scraping her palms on small stones and pebbles that had once been blocking the entrance. Hermione and Ron struggled to get to their feet, tripping on the cloak and half exposed.

Dust burned her eyes and she couldn’t see clearly, there was so much smoke and debris in the air. But if she couldn’t see, then Bellatrix couldn’t either. Ron seemed to have the same idea.

“Run!” he whispered urgently. “Before she figures out where we are!”

Balling up the cloak in her hand, they ducked, staying low, and ran as fast as they could when something hard slammed into her, tackling her to the ground as another explosion rattled her ears. Arms locked around her torso, pinning her hands across her chest as she and her attacker rolled on the floor three times in a tangle of limbs.

Vision swimming from the violent tumble on the floor, Hermione blinked her eyes open.

“Draco!” she gasped.

He stared down at her, eyes dark with violence and gasping for breath.

He was healed. He was here.

Lifting her head off the floor, she saw that the wall where she had just stood had a gigantic gaping hole.

Bellatrix sauntered into the Great Hall, laughing as she approached them. Her wand emitted sparks as the dust and debris settled around her, framing her wild black curls like a halo. Draco stiffened and Hermione clutched his shoulders.

“How fitting,” Bellatrix smiled evilly down at them. She pointed her wand at Ron, standing poised to attack where her curse nearly took off Hermione’s head. “The blood traitor that got away,” she moved her wand down to Hermione, “the Mudblood that got away,” she shifted the aim of her wand slightly upward to where Draco was laying protectively atop her. “And my baby nephew defiling himself.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just as disgusting as my sister.”

Draco jumped lithely to his feet, grabbing Hermione’s hand and yanking her upward with him. Hermione readied herself to duel and eyed Ron, unsure how they would attack when Draco’s deep voice thundered out.

Crucio!”

Bellatrix raised her eyebrows in amusement as she deflected the red light with a flick of her wrist. Draco shot the curse again, and again, and she deflected each time with a swish and a flash of her teeth.

“Oooooh,” she cackled. “It tickles!

Avada Kedavra!”

She twirled, dodging the green light in maniacal delight. “A shame you couldn’t put your talents to better use.”

Hermione gasped when she saw Draco’s face so contorted in hatred. Before he could cast again she pulled on his arm. “Stop it! She’s not worth it!” He gazed down at her, eyes dark and sinister while his aunt twirled her wand, laughing.

“Ickle Draco, you have so much potential!” Bellatrix taunted. “If your Mudblood is dead, perhaps you’ll return to us.”

Jolted into action by the threat, Hermione quickly cast several jinxes at Bellatrix’s hands and feet which the older witch easily deflected, while Ron added a few curses of his own. Draco must have realized he wouldn’t get very far casting Unforgivables. They required too much concentration for fast paced dueling, and he set to fighting his aunt properly.

The three gave it their all, hexing in between grunts and yells. Bellatrix didn’t appear to be putting in much effort. With horror, Hermione realized she was entertained. At first Bellatrix swatted their curses away as if merely flies, not worth her effort. But when she started deflecting their curses back at them, the three quickly became overwhelmed, barely able to react fast enough. Ron breathed a loud curse after they sustained several close calls as flashes of light streaked by them, mere inches away.

She had a feeling Bellatrix was missing them on purpose. That she was toying with them.

Hermione covered them with a shield as they threw themselves to the floor, eyeing the blasts of light zooming over their heads in terror.

Bellatrix pointed her wand at them, curling her wrist with a lift of her red lips.

“Play time’s over, kiddies.”

Hermione’s arm trembled with the effort of strengthening the shield covering them. What now? The three of them were no match for her.

“Surround her!” Ron yelled from the ground. “Different angles!”

Not waiting for them to react, Ron jumped up and ran across the hall, leaping and dodging the hexes Bellatrix shot after him. He dove behind a pile of broken chairs and half an overturned table before popping up and shooting off several rapid-fire hexes.

With a panicked look in her direction, Draco gasped, “The Weasel’s right. Back up!” before sprinting perpendicular to Ron, forcing Bellatrix to alternate her attack at ninety-degree angles. Hermione pushed herself up and backed away, avoiding a tangle of chairs so Bellatrix had to fight all three in a semi-circle. Their bodies contorted with the rough, angular motions of spell casting while parrying her return fire. Slowly, the three shifted their stances, side stepping to form a triangle around the older witch.

Bellatrix swiveled and twirled around, dancing through the blasts of colored light, black curls swinging. Completely manic and unpredictable, Hermione had never seen anyone fight like her before. Barely able to keep up, she couldn’t tell which hexes were being cast by Bellatrix, and which were being deflected back at her.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline, she ducked to the side, just missing an orange colored curse. Something exploded behind her on its impact. Hermione grit her teeth in frustration after watching her hexes fizzle out in small bursts of static on Bellatrix’s shield. Meanwhile, the older witch curved her arm to catch Draco’s hex, and diverted its path to hit Ron’s legs.

“Ron!” Hermione screamed in terror when she saw him fly back.

Bellatrix swiveled back to her with a deranged smile. Hermione couldn’t tell what hit him amidst the streams of bright light between her, Draco and Bellatrix. After something singed her hair, she saw Ron wincing behind an overturned table, struggling to lift himself. Her heart leapt as she breathed in the rancid smell of burnt hair. He was alive, and still attacking from the ground as he pulled himself up, using the table as leverage.

Bellatrix was fast and wild. She whirled around, difficult to catch, shrieking and cackling with each jinx that she cast. Hermione, Draco and Ron could hardly stay alive, let alone gain the upper hand. She didn’t know how much longer they would last. They continued to hex and parry when she was suddenly knocked to the floor from an explosion caused by an errant hex.

Hermione hit the ground hard, and slid backwards, bruising her shoulder and cracking her head on the stone. She heard her ankle snap, and shrieked as pain shot up her leg.

“No!” She screamed as her wand whipped out of her grip and into Bellatrix’s waiting fingers.

Terror clawed at her lungs as she realized she had nothing to defend herself with and was now crippled. She pushed her body up with a grimace to see the damage to her foot, but couldn’t see anything underneath her boot. The pain was unbearable and tears quickly clouded her vision.

Felling helpless, she blinked through the blur of her tears to see that felling her and Ron came at a cost. Draco managed to hit Bellatrix with a curse which slowed her movements.

But it wasn’t enough. Bellatrix now had two wands and was dueling Ron, who had managed to return to the battle despite his injury, and Draco at the same time.

Hermione released an agonized cry and wiped her tears away. She looked around wildly for something, anything she could use as a weapon and struggled to ignore the throbbing nerve endings in her ankle. Her eyes landed on the Sword of Gryffindor, abandoned where Draco had tackled her to the ground a few minutes ago. She glanced up, Ron and Draco were still fighting Bellatrix, yelling directives to each other in between curses.

Hoping Bellatrix wouldn’t notice she wasn’t quite out of commission yet, she crawled as fast as she could on her elbows, wincing with every movement. She ground her teeth, pushing with the knee of her good leg, over to the sword. A spate of shivers overtook her as something shifted in her ankle and she contracted her body, nearly gagging from the pain.

Gasping for breath, she focused on her target and lurched forward again. Ron saw what she was trying to do and adjusted his stance over to his right to draw Bellatrix’s attention away from her. Throwing her hand out to grab the sword, she grasped the hilt, and crawled over to Bellatrix from behind. Biting her tongue held in the scream of agony as she put pressure on her bad leg.

If Bellatrix saw her, she was dead.

As she clawed at the ground, dragging herself closer, she met Draco’s eyes over Bellatrix’s shoulder and knew he was going to do something stupid. Not wanting to miss the chance he was giving her, she pushed herself to a standing position and limped towards Bellatrix, using the sword as a crutch. Draco charged forward, hexing at Bellatrix’s feet now that Hermione was standing. Ron caught on and aimed towards Bellatrix’s torso. She parried Ron’s assault easily but Draco’s open sprint made him vulnerable to attack.

Hermione watched in horror as a blue light hit Draco square in the chest. He flew back with a heart rending cry while Bellatrix blasted Ron off his feet again. Looking on in horror, she lurched forward. It was now or never. The older witch cackled and, ignoring the pain in her ankle, Hermione tightened her grip on the handle with both hands, reared back, and swung as hard as she could.

Toujours Pur,” Bellatrix released a throaty laugh, taunting Ron and Draco in her victory. “You should know better, Ickle Draco. It’s in your blood. Sanctimonia Vinc–”  

Her words were cut off abruptly as Goblin steel sliced through her neck. The force of the blow knocked Bellatrix’s head clean off her body. Hermione watched the mass of black curls spin four times, arcing up into the air before landing with a thud on the ground. Bellatrix's body collapsed into a lifeless heap of black fabric and pale limbs on the floor soon after.

Draco and Ron gaped at Hermione from the floor, wide-eyed.

They were injured, but alive.

 

 

Holding the sword now dripping with Bellatrix’s blood, Hermione stared down at the lifeless body. Her head pounded as she gazed in shock at the severed head. She shifted her stare to the gleaming metal of the blade reflecting the torch light of the Great Hall, and she saw another blade, reflecting the poor light of a darkened cell.

It looked the same.

Somewhat in shock, she bent over to take a fistful of Bellatrix’s hair, lifting the severed head. It swiveled around in front of her, spinning, twisting the hair into a tight spiral until it slowed, finally coming to a stop. After a pause where Hermione could hear the blood dripping from the severed neck onto the floor, the hair untwisted, making the head spin in the opposite direction.

Bellatrix was still smiling, and her eyes sparkled from the flickering light of the Great Hall, sparkling with glee while she carved up Hermione’s body. Everything around her seemed to get fuzzy. All she could see was Bellatrix’s face. Separated from her body but still smiling at her. The older witch smiled wider and Hermione unfurled her fingers in horror, releasing the tangle of curls to let the head drop to the floor. It rolled over and Bellatrix stared back at her, and blinked.

No!

Her red lips lifted in a sinister grin, and more blood oozed from her neck. “The little Mudblood that knows far too much,” she crooned.

Petrified, Hermione recoiled, and toppled over with an agonized yell after putting weight on her damaged ankle.

Oh god!

“Hermione!”

“There’s no one to save you now,” Bellatrix taunted with a flash of her gleaming teeth.

“You’re wrong!” Hermione shrieked back.

Not alone.

She wasn’t alone.

She didn’t have to keep secrets alone, she didn’t have to fight alone, she didn’t have to return her parents memories alone, and she didn’t have to face her nightmares alone.

“Hermione!”

Bellatrix cackled. “Are you ready to tell me what you did with my sword?”

The sword.

She was the one with the fucking sword.

Taking it in both hands, Hermione rose up on her knees, hefted the weapon above her and swung down with a cry of rage, slicing Bellatrix’s head in half. She lifted again and swung down with another scream, severing her wand arm from the body. She lifted again and shattered Bellatrix’s wand.

“Hermione!”

Her throat hurt from yelling but she didn’t care, and hacked at the head again, slicing right through the eye. And then the shoulder. And then the torso. Grunting another shriek, she yanked the sword out of Bellatrix’s chest and severed her leg at the calf. She lifted and swung again, nearly falling over again with the force of the effort.

“Hermione!”

Someone’s arms wrapped around her before she could raise the sword again, and hands clasped her forearms. Someone else pried the sword out of her hands.

“No!” she cried out, desperately clawing at the air as she eyed the mutilated body in front of her. She’d be defenseless!

“Malfoy! Careful with her leg!”

“Hermione,” Draco’s voice sounded in her ear. They stumbled back and he pulled her into his body, holding her in his lap.

“My wand!” she yelled. Pain returned to her leg and she whimpered, tears streaming down her face.

Ron tossed the sword to the ground with a loud clank and retrieved her wand from Bellatrix’s left hand. She looked up into his worried blue eyes and he struggled to sit in front of her, blocking Bellatrix’s mangled corpse from her view.

“Hermione?”

She blinked, staring at Ron in confusion. The fuzziness around him cleared. She was at Hogwarts. They had just beaten Bellatrix. She, Ron and Draco did.

Ron.

Draco.

They were here, they were safe. And so was she.

Harry died so they would be. She remembered his arms outstretched in sacrifice and squeezed her eyes shut as more tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Shhhhhhh,” Draco whispered into her ear and tightened his arms around her. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

They swayed as he rocked her back and forth and she could feel him tensing and relaxing his muscles behind her. What was wrong?

“Hermione, are you still with us?”

She focused on Ron’s blue eyes and on Draco’s warmth cradling her from behind, and tried to breathe more slowly. Draco shifted his weight so he could cradle her against his chest.

Panting for a few moments, she swallowed and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “What? With who?”

Hermione looked down at Ron’s wand arm. His sleeve was soaked with blood and two fingers on his wand hand looked broken. He couldn’t cast, but was holding her wand out to her.

They needed help. They were injured.

Not knowing how to heal him – much less herself – she took her wand, and remembered the squeals of joy when hugging Ron and Harry after defeating the troll in the bathroom. She sighed in relief as her Patronus shot off to find Mary and Cho. Hopefully one of them would be able to make it to the Great Hall.

Ron smiled while watching her otter race out the entryway in a silvery display of light. “Still with us then.”

“Are you okay, Ron?” Hermione’s ankle was killing her, and she grimaced as more pain ran through her leg.

“Aside from my knee and hand, yeah.” He shifted his gaze behind her to Draco. “You look pale, Malfoy. More than usual. What’d you get hit with?”

Draco contracted his muscles behind her with increasing frequency. He must have been really hurt from whatever Bellatrix hit him with, but hadn’t said anything. She turned around abruptly when she felt him shaking. To her horror, his eyes rolled and he pitched backwards onto the floor, clutching his arms around his body.

“Draco!” she cried out as he moaned and rolled over on his side. Repressing her panic, Hermione crawled over his body, trying to figure out what was wrong with him.

Ron leaned over, eyes wide in shock. “What is it?”

“I don’t know!”

Heart rate kicking back into high gear, Hermione frantically pulled Draco over so she could see what was wrong. Searching his body for something she could heal, she released a cry of frustration. There weren’t any visible signs of damage, but he squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth together, hugging his body and shaking.

Her stomach twisted at the sight of him in such pain.

“Draco! Draco! Where does it hurt?” She tried to keep the panic out of her voice. He didn’t answer. “Can you hear me?”

He grunted, but couldn’t unclench his teeth. Hermione tried to move his arms from where they hugged his torso but she didn’t have the strength.

“Ron,” her voice shook. “Ron, can you help me move his arms? I can’t.”

She had trouble getting leverage with her broken ankle, and Ron only had his left arm, but together, they pried Draco’s arm off his chest. Hermione immediately sliced through his shirt to reveal a dark purplish bruise about the size of her fist. Tendrils leached out and discolored his skin as the bruise got larger.

Ron gazed down in horror. “The fuck is that?”

Her lip trembled. “I don’t know.” She hoped Mary or Cho was able to get here soon.

A loud female voice sounded from the entrance to the Great Hall. “In here! And they’re helpless!”

Hermione and Ron turned around in dread to see three Death Eaters stalk inside, blasting bits of rock and stone to the side to clear a path. Smoke and dust kicked up in their wake and Hermione coughed as the debris burned her throat.

Their situation was dire. Ron couldn’t fight. She had no idea what was wrong with Draco, but he was deteriorating rapidly. She was crippled and couldn’t take on three even if her ankle wasn’t broken.

The sword was of no help to her now.

The woman sounded relative young, perhaps only a few years older than they were. Maybe she could talk their way out of it.

“You’ve already lost!” she called out to them with more confidence than she felt. “Voldemort is dead, Bellatrix is dead,” she motioned to the mangled corpse next to them and one of the Death Eaters recoiled, “and your army is decimated.”

Not daring to interrupt, Ron gave her a nudge of encouragement.

The three faltered. Panicked, she glanced down at the bruise on Draco’s torso out of the side of her eye. It was getting larger; the size of her foot now. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where were Mary and Cho? She brought her terrified gaze back up to the Death Eaters.

Raising her voice and doing her best to sound intimidating, she tried again, taking a page from Voldemort’s book. “If you surrender, you could avoid Azkaban. The battle is lost! Come help us rebuild instead! Don’t you have parents you want to go home to? Brothers and sisters? Families?

They turned to each other in confusion, seemingly at a loss at what to do. Just when she thought they might yield, one of them growled in retort, “Or we could kill you now and escape.”

The black robed figures advanced in their direction. Draco’s shaking worsened and he started making low pitched whines. Hermione’s fingers tightened around her wand. She wanted to cast a shield but was afraid any sudden movements would incite them to attack, and they’d lose.

“Hermione,” Ron whispered under his breath. “I can cast a bit with my left. They won’t expect it.”

It wasn’t enough.

They couldn’t die like this! Not after defeating Bellatrix! Not after having made it so far!

Trying to ignore the agony of her broken ankle and the unknown curse making its way through Draco’s body, she sat up straighter and set her jaw.

She would negotiate. She knew how they could exit safely to Hogsmeade, and use that as leverage.

But just as she was about to speak, she heard another voice.

“Kill them and escape?”

Thank god.

“Not bloody likely.”

The smoke parted behind the Death Eaters as Tonks stepped through entrance of the Great Hall, white teeth gleaming with menace. She was completely covered in blood, and her good eye carried the pitch black of frequent Unforgivable use.

The three Death Eaters whirled around to attack just as Tonks drew a semi-circle of crackling silver sparks with her wand, summoning the power of a spell Hermione had never seen before, and pushed. The air pressure dropped and Hermione’s ears popped as a boom rocked the Great Hall. The Death Eaters flew backwards, smacking against the far wall as dust and pebbles from the ceiling pelted her head.

Hermione and Ron swallowed to clear their ears.

“Tonks!” Hermione cried, hoping the Auror could help.

The purplish bruise on Draco’s chest was darker and had grown to the size of a basketball. Draco was shivering, screaming through clenched teeth. She was at a loss, helpless in the face of his pain. But the Death Eaters were still trying to fight and Tonks closed in on them with a snarl. Hermione had seen Tonks teach, she had seen Tonks duel in practice, but she had never seen Tonks on a real battlefield. As the three Death Eaters recouped, Tonks stalked across the hall, combat boots clomping loudly, flinging hex after hex after hex without pausing to think or recover.

She was methodical. Precise. Strong. Quiet. Her arm movements were purposeful, never wasted, and her body brutally efficient. She never moved more than an inch from what was necessary to curse, block or evade. While the three Death Eaters struggled to cast, deflect and parry, Tonks didn’t waver as she closed in on them like a predator, silent and terrifying in her fury.

One Death Eater went down with a scream and Tonks kept walking forward. Hermione did her best to cast from her position on the floor, but her attempts were nothing in comparison to the large, powerful bursts of power coming from Tonks. A second Death Eater shrieked as Tonks' Diffindo sliced diagonally through her torso, and the top half of her body slid off, falling atop the bottom shortly after. Finally, Tonks ducked to evade the green streak of a Killing Curse and shot a well-placed Bombarda Maxima towards the third’s midsection, making them explode with a sickening splat. Blood and viscera rained down on Hermione and Ron and they covered their heads with their hands.

It was suddenly quiet in the hall, save for distant yelling echoing in the distance.

Hermione and Ron stared at Tonks in shock. She stood up, breathing heavily and turned to face them. Her menacing grin fell. “Is that my little cousin?”

“Yes!” Hermione cried, prying Draco’s arms up with Ron’s help to show the bruise, gradually increasing in size. “We signaled for Healers. Do you know what this is?”

Tonks approached and tilted her head, watching the darkening purple overtake Draco’s torso while his body quaked. She pointed her wand at the center of the bruise and muttered an incantation Hermione never heard before. The dark purple gradually lightened to a faint tint until the discoloration disappeared completely. Draco’s limbs spasmed one last time and relaxed.

Hermione released his wrist, not realizing she drew blood. He gasped for air and opened his eyes; they were bloodshot. He shifted his gaze to Ron, Hermione and Tonks all peering down at him in apprehension.

“Alright there, cousin?” Draco blinked up wordlessly at Tonks. “The curse slowly crushes your blood vessels. Easy to reverse if you don’t die first.” Tonks gave Draco a wry grin. “Hurts a bit, ‘eh?”  

Draco pushed himself to a sitting position and rolled his neck. “Fucking–” he leaned over and spat blood out of his mouth. “I bit my tongue.”

Tonks crouched down, trench coat splaying out as she sat on her haunches. The black of her eye made Hermione feel uneasy, reminding her of how terrified she was of Draco in his worst moments. “Where else are you three injured?”

Sitting on the floor, Ron extended his right hand and left knee to Tonks. Hermione shifted to show her useless ankle, whimpering as it dragged on the floor.

Draco tried to twist and winced. “I think my rib cracked when I fell.”

After a cursory glance at Ron’s wand hand Tonks shook her head.

“Too complicated; I might damage you more by attempting to heal you.”

Ron grimaced as she gently poked his hand and then glanced up in open admiration. “What was that hex you did in the beginning?”

Tonks shot him a stern glance. “Don’t you dare try it alone, Weasley. You’ll implode your face.”

Draco sniggered and Ron glared at him.

Tonks eyed Bellatrix’s mangled corpse. “Who made mincemeat from Auntie Bella?”

Wordlessly, Draco and Ron each pointed to Hermione.

“It was a team effort,” Hermione corrected, wanting to give them credit for their incredible wand work, but also slightly ashamed of her temporary insanity. She grimaced from the pain in her ankle.

Just then Mary came jogging in, accompanied by Angelina Johnson to provide her cover. Her eyes landed on Ron, Hermione and Draco and immediately she opened her bag, digging around as she approached them. Kneeling down next to Ron’s hand, she took one look at Draco, extracted a dark blue vial and shoved it in his hand.

“Drink, if you don’t want to pass out.”

He downed it while she cast a diagnostic on Ron’s hand, peered up at the diagrams muttering to herself, and then performed several incantations. Tracing her wand along his forearm, wrist, back of the hand and fingers they jumped when Ron suddenly screamed as his bones realigned.

“Wuss,” Malfoy muttered.

“Go bugger – Aaaaaaah! MARY!” Ron jerked as Mary healed his knee and Draco chuckled again.

“Speed over bedside manner,” she explained without a hint of contrition, already casting a diagnostic on Hermione’s ankle and somehow reading it while slicing Hermione’s boot and sock open.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut to prepare for the pain of a rapid heal. She felt Mary’s wand trace her calf, throbbing ankle and foot when a painful squeeze snapped her bones into place. “Yaaaah!” she shrieked.

“Why didn’t you call Hermione a wuss?” Ron accused Draco.

“Because she’s not,” Draco smirked while Mary cast a diagnostic over him. “At least she- Bloody FUCK!” His body spasmed as Mary healed his rib.

Ron laughed. “Sodding ponce.”

“Fuck you, Weasley,” Draco retorted, without any animosity. Fighting together was as much of a bonding experience as any.

“This was a quick and dirty heal,” Mary explained, standing up and rummaging in her medi-kit and snapping it shut. “Come see me after the battle; I want to re-set the bones. You’re all at risk for more fractures if you don’t.”

“Thank you–” Hermione’s voice trailed off as Mary and Angelina quickly left the hall. The four slowly stood up and the throbbing pain in Hermione’s ankle quickly subsided.

“Wotcher,” Tonks replied tonelessly, and walked out of the Great Hall without another word, combat boots thudding heavily on the stone floor.

Ron glanced at her and Draco. “I say we follow her.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “She’s as scary as my aunt.”

After darting across the hall to snag Harry’s invisibility cloak, Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand. They followed Tonks as she stalked down the hall, watching as she occasionally zapped random Death Eaters without even breaking stride while Ron, Draco and Hermione ensured their wands were broken.

After a few minutes they rounded a corner to see Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini fighting alongside Alicia Spinnet, Dean Thomas and Ernie MacMillian.

The seven were holding off several Death Eaters from behind some rubble. One large Death Eater climbed over the rocks and Millicent immediately grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, dragged him bodily over the wall of rubble, down to the ground, lifted his head and slammed his face into the stone floor. His mask shattered and he lay limp.

Tonks smiled. “I like her.”

“Pans!” Draco cried.

Pansy turned around, gasped and threw herself into his large frame. Draco squeezed her and nodded at his friends. 

Hermione was about to join the fight but noticed Theo wearing a holster. For a gun.

Yanking on his shoulder, she turned him around and away from the crossfire.

“You brought a gun.”

His blue eyes widened in surprise. “Hi, Hermione!”

Pansy eyed him in distaste. “You’re friends with her?”

Ignoring the barb, Hermione glared at him. “You have a gun.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

Gun,” she ground out.

“I don’t even know what that is,” he retorted.

Hermione stomped her good foot in exasperation and pulled the gun out of his holster.

“This here! This sodding gun right here! What are you going to do with a gun?” she yelled, shaking it in front of his face by the barrel.

He shrugged his shoulders, completely shameless about his blatant lie. “Yeah, alright. I was going to fight with it but it doesn’t work.

Tonks suddenly appeared next to them and pulled the gun out of her hand.

“That’s because it has the safety on so idiots like you don’t kill yourselves.” She cocked it, checked the ammunition, and released the safety with a click. “Like so,” her voice trailed off as she palmed the gun in her left hand and made a circle with her wand muttering, “Offendens capita!”

She, Draco, Pansy and Theo watched in curiosity as the gun emitted a yellow glow and returned to normal. Before they could ask what she had done, Tonks elbowed her way through the fighters and plastered her back against the rubble. She inhaled, turned around and opened fire on the remaining Death Eaters.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Everyone jumped to watch as she adjusted the angle of her outstretched arm in sharp movements, without blinking or pausing to breathe. One by one, metal masks shattered and the Death Eaters collapsed from perfect shots to the head. There was one last Death Eater standing, staring down at the bodies around him, perhaps in shock from what just happened. Tonks reared back and threw the empty gun with a grunt. It soared over the corpses and clocked him in the side of the head. He faltered, and then collapsed with the rest.

 

She turned around and surveyed their gawking faces. All of a sudden a loud, powerful voice projected throughout the castle.

COURTYAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRD!”

Tonks looked questioningly at the crew she was fighting with; her eye was still the unsettling black that Hermione remembered after Remus was taken. “Anyone recognize that voice?”

Most shook their heads to the negative, still in shock.

“Avery,” Draco answered, after clearing his throat.

Pansy nodded in agreement. “Definitely.”

Tonks glanced between Draco and Pansy. “After Bellatrix and Snape, who would be next in line?”

Draco furrowed his brows. “We never had a command structure like that. It was the Dark Lord or no one.”

Tonks pressed on. “They’d look to someone if they wanted to surrender. Who would it be? Rudolphus?”

“I killed him,” Draco answered, still eyeing her in awe.

“Jugson?” Tonks asked, undeterred.

Draco placed his hand affectionately on Hermione’s shoulder. “She killed him.”

“Macnair? Nott? Mulciber?”

Pansy shook her head. “No, they were captured. They wouldn’t have the clout anymore.”

“My dad’s not nearly as important as he’d like to think,” Theo added.

Draco glanced harshly at Pansy. “Wasn’t he supposed to be in hiding?”

She glared back at him. “Does that wanker ever listen?”

“So Avery?” Tonks asked, cutting off their conversation.

“Perhaps,” Draco answered.

“Are we all going to the courtyard so they can surrender?” Millicent Bulstrode asked, wiping the blood from her hands on her jumper.

Tonks gave her a disappointed look. “And cede the high ground? You’re an excellent fighter but you need to learn strategy.” Millicent raised her eyebrows in interest.

“Were you a Gryffindor?” Millicent asked curiously.

Tonks turned to her with a disparaging look, as if she couldn’t imagine anything worse.

Hufflepuff.

As she pointed her wand at her throat and cast a Sonorus, everyone backed away and covered their ears. “Order proceed to the second floor balcony. SECOND FLOOR BALCONY!”

Without another word, Tonks stalked off, trench coat billowing behind her.

Theo gazed after her. “I think I’m in love.” After seeing Pansy glowering at him, he amended, “But only in a purely platonic, want her to smack my arse and bollocks kind of way.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “If you need to be smacked around, Theodore, that can be arranged.”

He smirked down at her. “Promise?”

Millicent surveyed Hermione, Ron, Dean and Alicia, somewhat awestruck. “Is she leading the Order?”

They all glanced towards Hermione for the answer. “I don’t know,” she replied, remembering how Minerva single handedly held off Voldemort’s army to give them time to escape. “It’s either her or,” she fought down her rage, “Kingsley Shacklebolt.” She looked at Tonks’ receding figure in the corridor. “After today, it won’t matter anyway. Are you all coming?”

Hermione took off in a jog after Tonks and everyone followed. But a shriek from behind stopped them in their tracks.

Traitor!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

OMG WILL YOU LOOK AT THAT FANART! Frau Blucher is a bad ass. Please follow her on instagram and
tumblr!

Frau that extra scene with Mary was for you. :)

BAMF Tonks was drawn exactly as I pictured her by Shampoo-ish on instagram!

Bellatrix’s post death mutilation was inspired by Buffy crushing the bones of the Master into talcum powder at the beginning of season 2. It’s a good way to deal with PTSD, no?

I completely changed the scene with Bellatrix after a recommendation by canttouchthis. She pointed out that final battle scenes are better when they help resolve character arcs. First I had Molly kill her like in canon, then I had Tonks kill her, this version was what I came up with after her wonderful advice. Apparently, the first thing that pops in my brain with ‘resolve character arc’ is ‘Hermione has to behead Bellatrix with the sword of gryffindor’.

Thanks to vesper for the help with Latin!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

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Chapter 83: Chapter 83

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Daphne.

Draco’s heart skipped a beat.

He knew that whatever was coming would be directed at him. Just as he turned around to shield himself, Hermione barreled into him, slamming him back against the wall as a yellow streak of light shot by. Her hazel eyes gazed up at him in horror as the curse zoomed past and towards Tonks’ exposed back. Before either of them could shout a warning, his cousin turned around and swatted the hex right back at Daphne. The blast of light careened through the air, landing right in the center of her mask.

Daphne clutched at her throat and made gurgling noises. After staggering around, she dropped to her knees and fell over.

Tonks sneered and disappeared around the corner.

“Daphne!” Blaise cried and raced down the hallway after her.

“What did she do!” Pansy gasped while covering her mouth, and ran after him with Millie and Theo.

Draco blinked down at Hermione and swallowed, knowing that Daphne’s hex was meant for him and he just narrowly avoided death.

“That could have been you,” Hermione whispered in a trembling voice. Still in shock, she leaned her head on his chest and fisted his jumper with a shaky exhale. Thinking how close it had been, his heart thundered against his ribcage, as did hers.

“She’s dead!” Pansy sobbed. She bent over Daphne’s body and pressed her forehead into her stomach. “She fucking killed her!”

Confused, Hermione creased her brow as she watched his friends kneel down and remove Daphne’s mask. She turned up to him, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “But she tried to kill you.”

Hermione didn’t understand.

Draco sighed and closed his eyes as he thought of the friendships crumbling around him. He killed Vince, he turned on Greg, and he may as well have killed Daphne. Thinking back on happier times, he remembered her devious smile after successfully guilting his mum into serving them ice cream when they locked themselves in the Manor dungeons.

He released a wry laugh at the memory. “She’s still our friend. And Blaise still loves her.”

They turned to watch Blaise take Daphne's limp hand and raise it to his lips. Draco was reminded of Yasmine’s warning that Daphne would betray them, and wondered where she was.

Heart still pounding furiously in his chest, Draco stared at the petite brunette who just saved his life for the third time that day. He tightened his arms around her. The protective fire in Hermione’s eyes warmed his heart and spread throughout his limbs. He would keep that memory of her with him, always.

“Are you two coming?” the Weasel called, ready to jog off with the other Order members. Draco warred with himself, wanting Hermione to stay with him here for a few more moments, but knowing he should let her go off with Weaselbee. If Voldemort’s Army was surrendering in the courtyard, she wouldn’t want to miss it.

After wiping away some of the blood and grime streaked across her face, he leaned down to press a light kiss on her forehead, and let his lips linger. “Go on,” he whispered against her skin. “I need to be here.”

They would have to part paths soon enough. There wasn’t a future for them together, and it was best she head off with the Order. Hermione glanced forlornly after her friends running in the same direction as Tonks down the corridor. She creased her forehead in concern when turning back to him.

“We should stay together,” she insisted. “We don’t know for sure if they’re surrendering, and look what just happened.”

“I’m going with Tonks, Hermione,” the Weasel said, warily backing up a few steps.

Panic contorted Hermione's face as she realized she’d have to choose which of them to follow. Draco didn’t want to put her in that situation, and chose for her. Blocking out his friends’ anguished cries, he forced out the words, “You’ll be safe with them, and I’m not by myself.”

Draco released her, and smacked her arse lightly to liven the mood so she wouldn’t feel compelled to stay. Knowing he did the right thing, Draco climbed across the rubble over to Daphne’s body before crouching down beside Pansy and Millie. Theo and Blaise knelt on the other side of her.

Not wanting to see Hermione leave, he didn’t look back, and focused on his broken friends. The death was gruesome. Blood was still leaking out of Daphne’s eyes, nose, mouth and ears. She would have cursed him with a horribly painful death. Vince had tried to kill him too. So had his aunt.

And yet... guilt gnawed at his gut. Draco missed them and their childhood antics. Daphne had been so happy when he helped her to finally get her broom in the air. Tears burned his eyes, threatening to spill over.

Why couldn’t they grow up and grow old together too? Why couldn’t their friendships survive? What was so compelling about the Dark Lord that Daphne and Vince would try to kill someone they grew up with? Shouldn’t their friendships matter more?

He pressed his forehead into his palms, fisted his hair, and heaved a broken sob.

Tracey. Vince. Daphne. They were all gone.

He rubbed his face and a small, warm hand rested on the nape of his neck. Turning around, he saw Hermione standing behind him and his heart swelled with warmth.

She stayed.

She stayed just for him, and her eyes brimmed with tears as well. His friends glanced up at the intruder on their grief and she bit her lip, not knowing what to say in the awkward situation.

But she didn’t have to say anything. She came to mourn with him, and that was enough. He pulled Hermione down to kneel beside him while his friends cried.

“Why?” Millie wailed. “Why did she do that?”

Hermione silently surveyed the anguished Slytherins before her. He drew Pansy into his chest and she sobbed, wetting the fabric of his shirt. Millie wrapped her arm around the both of them, but her broad shoulders shook with anguish.

Blaise pressed Daphne’s hand against his cheek again. Her nails were perfectly manicured and painted pink. Well-groomed and delicate, like any pure-blood debutante should be. Draco drew his gaze to her bloodied face and grimaced at what must have been an agonizing death.

“You should–”

Everyone looked at Hermione. Not unaffected by their sorrow, she had tears falling from her eyes too. And then Draco remembered, she also lost her best friend today.

“I’m sorry,” she amended gently, struggling to speak. “We’ve all lost people we care about, but you have to grieve later.” She wiped her cheeks and cleared her throat nervously. “It may be almost over, but we don’t know for sure; you don’t want to lose anyone else. Please come.”

Draco searched the faces of his grief-stricken friends for hints of protest. But none of them had it in them to argue.

Theo released an exhausted sigh. “Cover her face first.”

“Not with the mask,” Blaise added, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist.

Draco surveyed the corpses strewn about the corridor. “Let’s move her to the side.”

Millie Scourgified the blood from Daphne’s face, although small rivulets continued to flow out her ears. Silently dragging each other to their feet, they gently lifted Daphne’s body and carried her to the side of the corridor. It was the best they could do. Daphne’s body was tall and lithe, the group of friends didn’t have any difficulty moving her aside, and laid her down in a relatively clean, out of the way area.

He wondered if Astoria knew how far gone her sister was.

After Pansy extended the fabric of Daphne’s robe, she pulled it up over her face and turned to Theo. He wiped the tears from Pansy’s eyes with his thumb and Pansy leaned into his touch, squeezing her eyes shut in a failed attempt to stem more tears.

“Did…” Millie sniffed, and her voice lilted upwards. “Did anyone see Greg?”

They looked around at each other in question and Draco spoke to the ground, ashamed. “I did.” Everyone turned to him. He felt guilty, even though he knew he didn’t do anything wrong. “He’s safe near Binns’ old classroom.”

“What about Vince?” Pansy asked with a pleading expression.

Hermione laced her fingers in his and rubbed his knuckles with her thumb. Tiny, warm, comforting. Draco's throat constricted, and his lungs burned with sorrow and shame. He couldn’t speak.

“He was killed in the courtyard,” Hermione replied for him. Draco squeezed her hand in gratitude while his friends whimpered more, and wiped their faces with their sleeves. “Let’s go,” she prodded them gently. “It might not be safe here.”

Allowing her to pull him along, the group of Slytherins, and one Gryffindor, shuffled down the corridor towards the second floor balcony overlooking the courtyard.

“Draco!”

He turned around to see his mother running towards him, white-blond hair streaming behind her and his father at her heels. He drew her into a one-armed hug.

“I was so worried!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him on his cheek. “We couldn’t find you after you ran off!”

She pushed herself away, holding onto his shoulders and surveyed the somber expressions of his friends. Her eyes landed on Hermione and then down to where they held hands, but said nothing. His father noticed as well, and curled his lip.

“Daphne died,” he explained.

“Not Daphne! She was such a sweet little girl!” her face crumpled. “Her and her sister!”

Draco didn’t have the heart to correct his mother’s assumption, and no one else did either.

They approached the large opening of he balcony and Draco held his hand out to block the sun from his eyes. Hermione perked up, visibly heartened to see so many of the Order, those that defected and her former professors from Hogwarts left standing. If she lost anyone else she was close to, he couldn’t tell.

Once again, he had to appreciate his cousin’s strategy.

As they joined the crowd, Draco stood on his tiptoes to try and see what was going on below, but too many people were blocking his view.

“Can you see?” Hermione glanced at him nervously and he shook his head. All of a sudden, the Dark Lord’s voice projected throughout the castle.

I’VE DEFEATED HARRY POTTER! AND I CAN NOT BE KILLED!

Draco’s blood ran cold.

It wasn’t possible! They destroyed all the Horcruxes! This was supposed to work!

Nervous rumblings amongst the Order slowly grew in volume but Tonks spoke out, “It doesn’t matter. They’re finished.” The chatter quieted somewhat but everyone was still anxious.

Hermione looked perturbed, but not scared, and pushed through the crowd so she could see what was going on. He followed behind. The Dark Lord stood below among the ruins of the courtyard, a shell of his former, terrifying self. He was bent over and even from up above Draco could see his pallor was no longer pearly white, but a sickening grey. There were only two dozen Death Eaters left standing. All of them looked bloodied, beaten and demoralized. Some didn’t even have wands thanks to the Order’s wand-breaking guidance.

Draco exhaled. The Dark Lord was finished. Even if he was still alive, his army had gotten trounced. But he had already been beaten once and came back and raised an army. The Dark Lord always comes back. Draco’s heart jumped into his throat and he looked down at Hermione, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. “I thought you said he could die now!”

“He can!” Hermione insisted, and several members of the Order turned to listen. “No one attacked him! He just collapsed! Remember? He can die now; someone just has to do it. It doesn’t even have to be the Killing Curse. Slice his sodding throat!”

She turned and pushed past him to descend the stairs, but Draco launched after her with surge of adrenaline that made his entire body tingle. He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back. 

“Not. You,” he glowered down at her. “There’s at least twenty of them down there and the Dark Lord, despite being weakened, is still a powerful wizard.”

She glared back up at him and tried ineffectually to wriggle out of his iron grip. “It doesn’t matter who it is, Draco. But someone has to.”

“I’ll do it.”

Draco swiveled around to meet his father’s icy stare and Hermione looked up in surprise. After a few tense moments, his father turned and walked swiftly down the steps towards the courtyard with his mother right behind him.

“Lucius, don’t!” she pleaded.

“Wait!” Draco called out, “Father!” But Lucius ignored his cry and kept going.

Draco released Hermione’s arm to follow his parents, and he heard her running after him.

“There’s no reason to do it by yourself!” He reached out to take his father’s elbow, but he pulled it away and proceeded towards the castle entrance.

Lucius stepped forward towards the edge of the chasm and abruptly stopped. The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters were staring in horror at Potter’s corpse and conversing amongst themselves. Draco scanned the area. Potter’s body lay amidst the rubble in the middle of the courtyard where he was killed. Draco couldn’t understand what they were so afraid of.

He and his mother joined his father to see what the remainder of the Dark Lord’s army were so bothered by and Hermione slowly approached, taking Draco’s hand.

Potter moved.

No, he was moving. His mother gasped when she saw.

“Oh my god,” Hermione whispered, and she squeezed his hand, straining to get a better look. “Harry!” she cried out.

Suddenly Potter rolled over, grabbed his wand and pushed himself up to a standing position.

The Weasel give a whoop from somewhere up above and the entire Order released a deafening cry, screaming out Potter’s name, clapping and stomping their feet, producing a thunder that shook the entire balcony above the entrance. Potter stood with a triumphant smile on his face, as if he knew something the rest of them didn’t.

As if he already won.

Visibly weakened, the Dark Lord’s mouth was agape as he stared back at Potter. He gazed up at the Order, taking in their superior numbers and the fact that they were still armed and capable of fighting. He surveyed the destroyed Courtyard in front of him, strewn with disembodied limbs and mangled corpses, crushed and torn apart from Brown’s bombs.

“You’re finished, Tom!” Potter called out, brandishing his wand. The Dark Lord looked back at him in a stupor. “Your Horcruxes are destroyed, that’s why your magic is weak! Give up! Your army is defeated!”

Pushing Avery away who, up until now had helped him stand, the Dark Lord turned back to the remaining Death Eaters idling around him, unsure what do. Draco had never seen the Dark Lord appear confused before. Or dare he say, helpless. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt nearly weightless at the thrill of the unknown.

The Dark Lord lost. He was defeated. But would he surrender?

Against all reason, the Dark Lord reared on Potter and raised his wand. “You can’t defeat me!”   

“No!” Hermione gasped and squeezed his hand. “We have to–”

“Leave it,” Draco whispered back. “He’s done.”

The two wizards prepared to cry out their spells of choice, and he knew the Dark Lord was going to lose. Right here, right now. He could feel it in the air.

Avada Kedavra!”

Hermione lurched forward but he pulled her back.

Expelliarmus!”

Everyone gasped as the green of the Dark Lord’s Killing Curse collided with the bright yellow of Potter’s disarming spell in an explosion of energy. With a flash of light, the green curse backfired and pummeled the older wizard’s chest. Instead of falling over lifeless, everyone watched in fascinated silence as his broken body froze while dried parchment-like pieces of his skin rippled in the breeze, slowly flaking off as his remains disintegrated into the wind.

The sun shone down on the mess of blood and mangled bodies in the destroyed courtyard.

It was over. It was finally over.

Draco barely heard the triumphant screams of the Order because some curly haired Gryffindor pulled his face down, snogging him as if her life depended on it.

 

 

 

~

 

Draco and Hermione wandered towards the direction of the Great Hall, hanging back from the crowd with their fingers loosely intertwined. He was nervous, wondering which of his friends were injured. Or worse, like Vince and Daphne. He had been able to account for most of them though, and his parents came out unscathed as well. Thanks to Severus and McGonagall, all the Slytherin defectors had made it to safety and joined the Order sweeping the castle.

Hermione's face was radiant despite the tears and exhausted slouch of her body. Potter was alive, Bellatrix and the Dark Lord were dead, and like Draco, she had been critical to ensuring the Order won right from the beginning. The victory was hers as much as Potter’s or any of the other Order leaders, and she knew it.

Hermione hadn’t really gotten a chance to speak with the savior-of-the-hour yet. All the tosser did was take a piece of fabric from her and run off. She had been elated and distracted, nervously searching for the Weasleys.

Just then, Draco saw Severus’s figure receding quickly down the hallway and turn a corner. He knew it was unreasonable, but he couldn’t help but feel betrayed by his godfather. He had so many questions, and as they bubbled to the surface one by one, he clenched his teeth and flexed his muscles until the pressure in his head made his skull ready to burst.

He couldn't wait anymore, and paused, turning to Hermione.

“I’ll meet you in the Great Hall, I have to do something.”

Her hand jerked reflexively, tightening around his, and he smiled from the knowledge that she didn’t want to let him go.

“Just a few minutes, I’ll come back.”

Her brows furrowed in question. “Where are you going?”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek, inhaling the scent of her skin. Warm and feminine like herself, but also of smoke, blood and the war they won. “I’ll tell you later,” he said, twirling his fingers in the tendrils coming out of her braid.

“But–” 

“I promise. Just a few minutes. I’ll come right back. Go find Potter and your friends.”

He strode off after Severus and glanced behind to see her gazing after him in puzzlement. Ignoring the happy cries and anguished moans as family and friends were reunited – or not – he quickly followed his godfather at a distance after silencing his footsteps. Within a few turns, Draco realized that Severus was walking in the direction of the Headmaster’s office. When they arrived in the hallway, Severus stopped.

Potter suddenly appeared after removing the shimmering blanket he took from Hermione, standing defiantly in front of the gargoyle staircase. He shifted his gaze over Severus’ shoulder to Draco, and his ex-Potions professor turned around to meet his eyes. The two had unwittingly trapped him.

The sodding hero of the hour lifted his lips in a smirk.

Severus exhaled a long-suffering sigh as if the mere thought of being in their presence exhausted him.

“Very well,” he drawled. “Come along.”

He muttered the password and the two followed him up the staircase in silence. Draco met Potter’s eyes and he lifted his eyebrows playfully as the sound of cement sliding along cement reverberated around them. Draco supposed coming back from the dead – again – would make anyone insufferable.

He was starting to empathize with Severus.

But even so, Potter was too happy. He must not have known that McGonagall died. Draco wondered who else the Order lost. He had been separated from everyone for most of the battle, and his stomach twisted in grief as he recalled slicing Vince’s torso again.

Tonks had killed Daphne, but Vince had died by his hand. How could he face his friends? Would they understand?

The three men reached the top of the staircase and he and Potter watched the Headmaster walk around his desk to sit. He waved a wand and two chairs skidded to a halt behind them, knocking their legs out and forcing them to sit.

After a few moments where no one said anything, Severus leaned back and clasped his hands on his chest. “Well?” he lifted an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Potter shrugged at Draco in question, and Draco turned back to Severus, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice, but they both started talking at once.

“Why did you kill Dumble–”

“–knew about the Horcruxes–”  

 “–used me to warn the Order–”

“–Patronus is a doe–”

“–sat by while Burbage–”

“–don’t understand–”

“–torturing children at Hogwarts–”

“–killed Dumbledore and abandoned the Order–”

“–could’ve stopped the Carr–”

“–why didn’t you–”

“–while I murdered them.”

Severus lazily pointed his wand at the two of them and cast a Silencing Charm. Having heard Draco’s last sentence, Potter turned his green eyes to him in shock and Draco sneered back. It’s easier to openly defy the Dark Lord. Potter would have statues erected in his honor while Draco and Severus sat in Azkaban.

Severus massaged his temples in annoyance.

“Now I remember why using the Killing Curse on myself was infinitely preferable than teaching one more Potions class with your two houses.” He sighed and glanced above them in irritation. They turned around to see Dumbledore raise an eyebrow in his portrait.

Snape stared at the two of them, narrowing his eyes while he considered his next words. “I’ve always been a spy for the Order, even back during the First Wizarding War. If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to use Hogwarts from which to attack, had the Sword of Gryffindor at your disposal, or been warned of each impending raid. I should think that would have been obvious,” he drawled at Potter.

At Severus’ explanation, Potter started waving his hands, yelling a rebuttal but unable to make a sound thanks to the Silencing Charm. Draco smirked at the ineffectual outburst. His godfather rolled his eyes and Potter finally stopped.

“As you well know,” his gaze shifted to Draco. “Surviving as a spy within the Dark Lord’s army forces one to do terrible things.” Draco felt Potter’s stare on him and he dropped his eyes to the ground, recalling the tiny bodies of the children he murdered. “You must play along and even contaminate your own soul, waiting for the moment to strike.”

Potter cracked his knuckles, impatient with this preamble, and Severus directed his next statement at him. “Few can appreciate the difficulties of that position. The Order and all Muggle-borns would be dead if we hadn’t.”

Draco sneaked a side glance at Potter, and this time he cast his eyes to the ground.

“I killed Albus because he was already dying. Typical, idiotic Gryffindor,” Snape glared up at the portrait. “He nearly died destroying the Gaunt ring. I couldn’t save him and only succeeded in delaying the inevitable. So he asked me to murder him so Draco wouldn't have to. By doing so, I solidified myself as the most trusted supporter of the Dark Lord, enabling me to aid the Order when it was critical.”

Potter’s shoulders sagged and he slouched in his chair.

Severus shifted his gaze back to Draco and he paused, almost looking nervous. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you from having to murder others, Draco. I know what it cost you."

Draco appreciated the apology, but couldn't meet Severus' eyes for fear he'd start crying again. Instead, Draco responded with a curt nod as the guilt from his sins closed around and thickened the air, choking him. He wished he didn't have to live with their weight on his chest.

“My Patronus,” Severus extended his wand and Draco watched a graceful doe leap out and trot a circular path around them. After the three stared at the silvery display of magic until it dissolved, Severus glared back at Potter. “Was your mother’s.”

Potter sat up ramrod straight. Draco eyed him but didn’t understand Severus’ explanation. He thought a Patronus was singular and unique to the person who cast it.

The Headmaster shifted his black eyes back to Draco. “You’re not the only Death Eater to fall in love with a Muggle-born witch.”

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: Kingsley and Tonks.

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Chapter 84: Chapter 84

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Potter walked next to Draco as they proceeded slowly and silently down the corridor, returning to the Great Hall where the injured were being treated and the dead bodies collected.

Neither one of them spoke. Both mulling over Severus’ revelations and the tragedy they would be confronting in a few moments. The two reached the entrance of the Great Hall together, each taking a deep, steadying breath.

Potter gave him a side glance.

“Ready, Malfoy?”

He felt sorry for the git. Draco already knew who had survived and who hadn’t from his side. At least, he knew of those he most cared about. Potter was in for a rude awakening.

“No.”

Apprehensive of who else he would find dead, Draco turned and scanned the expanse of the room. Potter was doing the same. All the rubble and broken overturned chairs and tables had been cleared and rows of bodies, dead and injured, were laid out on the floor. Cho Chang, Pomfrey and Mary were running back and forth. Some Healers in St. Mungo’s robes had arrived and were also treating the injured.

He saw people hugging, some crying in relief, others sobbing from gut wrenching loss. Draco noticed the remaining Death Eaters had their wands confiscated and were warily eyeing the patrolling Aurors. Everyone looked exhausted.

All of a sudden someone plowed into him, nearly knocking him over as an arm clamped around his torso. He looked down to see Hermione with one arm around him and the other around Potter. She was sobbing and must have lost somebody else close to her, which meant Potter did too. Everyone lost someone; family and friends.

Draco recalled the smell of burnt flesh when Tracey was caught in the safe house explosions, and the blood leaking out of Daphne’s ears. His eyes filled with tears at the memories.

Reaching around, he rubbed Hermione’s back as she cried, but she let go of him to cling to Potter. Draco leaned down to kiss the top of her head, nodded at the Chosen One, and walked away to find his parents.

She’d want to grieve with her friends, and he could be in Azkaban for all he knew. Hermione was safe; he’d remember the moments they shared together always. But it was time to let her go. He glanced back to see her dragging Potter around the periphery of the hall, and his heart ached from the loss of her presence. But he didn’t deserve her. He was tainted and always would be. He was doing the right thing.

Steeling himself for a future without Hermione, he went to find comfort in the familiarity of his parents and friends and wandered around, pausing when he found a cluster of them crying over the dead. Pansy knelt next to Daphne’s and Vince’s prone bodies, sobbing and pleading, “Why did you do it?” while Theo held her.

Greg and Millie huddled next to Greg’s father, who was grimacing from an injury he sustained in his leg. Millie was bleeding from her nose and knuckles. Greg glanced up, met Draco’s eyes, and then looked at his feet.

Would Greg understand one day? Would he ever forgive him?

Draco stared at Vince’s body, noticing how pale and bloodless his friend’s thick face was. A large laceration from the Sword of Gryffindor tore across his chest, and his father lay dead next to him. Vince’s mother sat by their heads, weeping silently. Entire families had been destroyed in this insane quest for pure-blood supremacy.

Draco’s throat constricted as he tried to swallow his tears. Madam Crabbe had healed many of his bruises after romping across their estate grounds with Vince and Greg. And she had spoiled them rotten with cookies, cakes and other treats.

Draco looked back at Greg, unsure if his friend knew that he had been the one to kill Vince. He hadn’t said anything earlier. It had been absolute chaos in those first few minutes. Even though Vince died by Draco’s hand, he wanted to console his friend’s mother. But it all felt wrong. He had betrayed this woman who was in his life as a child, and as he grew up. Even so, he couldn’t repress the feeling that consoling her was something he should do anyway.

Bending over, Draco held out his hand to Madam Crabbe. She stared with bloodshot eyes at his palm, and placed her fingers inside. Gently, he lifted her up and wrapped his arms around her frail body to mourn the loss of his childhood friend and their youth, together.

“Oh, Draco!” Her shoulders shook as she sobbed into his chest. “He fought so bravely!”

Draco felt terrible, like an impostor that had no right to console her over her son's death, but he tightened his arms around her anyway. They stood in an embrace for several moments, shedding tears together. He sensed more than saw his own mother approach from behind and take Vince’s mother into a hug, letting her sob onto her shoulder next.

Draco met his mother’s eyes, now red with tears, and they shared a moment to acknowledge how lucky they were. He was about to turn away but she grabbed his hand, fixing him with an intense gaze over Madam Crabbe’s shoulder and mouthed, “Proud of you.”

She rubbed his knuckles with her thumb and squeezed her eyes shut before crying some more. His chest hurt with the guilt upon seeing so many torn families, and his own intact. His mother released his hand to make soothing circles on Madam Crabbe’s back.

Draco searched for Blaise, leaving his mother to console the poor woman who was now left alone in the world, and saw him next to Kingsley Shacklebolt. With a start, he realized the two were standing over Yasmine’s body. Draco hadn’t seen Yasmine at all in the battle, and he hurried over. Blaise and Kingsley were speaking with Mary as she worked furiously on Madam Zabini’s prone form on the floor.

As he approached, Draco nearly vomited when he saw the state of Yasmine’s body. Half of her face and scalp were burned. The exposed and mottled flesh continued on down her neck, over her shoulder and arm. Her clothing melded into her skin in several areas, and Mary was in the process of extracting the pieces.

“What happened?” he asked, keeping the revulsion out of his voice.

Blaise and Kingsley glanced up at him, he didn’t know which one looked more distraught.

“Rabastan,” was Kingsley’s one-word answer.

“Where is he?” Draco asked.

“Dead,” they answered, tonelessly.

Mary glanced up at Blaise. “She’s stable, but she’ll be out for the next twelve hours. Keep her here. I don’t want to move her any time soon.” She reached in her bag and handed Blaise a dark orange vial and a green vial. “Give her the green vial as soon as she wakes up. The pain will be intolerable.” She looked sharply at Blaise and Kingsley. “Do either of you know how to cast cleansing charms?” Both shook their heads to the negative. “I’ll show you how, and then you must perform them every thirty minutes over the next five hours while the accelerated skin growth potion works through her system. At the fifth hour, get a Healer to administer the dark orange vial and we’ll see if there’s any infection. Don’t do it yourselves. Fifth hour.”

They nodded at her directives.

Draco put a hand on his friend’s back, but Blaise didn’t pay attention. Draco watched while Blaise and Kingsley followed Mary’s movements, rapt with attention so as to get the form correct. When Mary was satisfied with their competency, she left without another word and set to work on someone else.

Silent tears wet Blaise’s cheeks. Kingsley raised his hand for a moment, paused, and then rested it awkwardly on his friend’s shoulder. Both were completely oblivious to Draco’s presence.

“Are you,” Blaise’s voice cracked. Draco had never seen his friend so overcome with emotion, and remained silent off to the side. “Are you my father?”

Draco was intruding on his friend’s privacy, but fascination with Blaise’s mysterious background kept him rooted in place.

Kingsley raised his eyebrows in surprise. “No. She never told you?”

Blaise shook his head. “She wouldn’t tell me anything about him. I’m not stupid. I know she made the others kill themselves.” Kingsley didn’t acknowledge the accusation, but Blaise turned to face him. “And I know you’re different.”

Kingsley knelt down and placed a tender hand on Yasmine’s uninjured shoulder. Blaise knelt down next to him. “I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

Blaise replied in anger. “It’s over now and I’m not a child. There’s nothing more to protect me from.” When Kingsley remained quiet, Blaise added softly, “She’d tell me if she could.”

They stared down at Yasmine’s body in silence. Draco watched while Kingsley mulled over his friend’s request. “Very well,” Kingsley relented. “Her family arranged the marriage when she was fifteen.”

“That much I know.”

“He,” Kingsley cleared his throat, “He treated her poorly.”

Draco saw Blaise clench his fists. “How poorly?”

Kingsley stared down at Yasmine’s slowly healing skin, and flared his nostrils as smooth, pale tissue grew over the dark red dermal layer. “Poorly enough that I didn’t feel sorry for what she did to him.” He paused and wiped his hands on his trousers. “He was part of the beginnings of Hizbollah.”

Blaise’s eyes widened. “My father.”

Kingsley nodded. “I was fresh out of Auror training. We were investigating wizards selling magical artifacts to terrorists, organized crime and the like. Your mother had a lot of useful connections back then.”

“So you reached out to her?”

A sliver of Kingsley’s teeth appeared between his lips as he smiled. “You really have no idea how we met.”

Blaise shook his head, while Draco listened in interest, and Kingsley continued, “She was your age at the time, and assumed I was just another foreign Muggle in Beirut covering the war.” Kingsley’s smile widened at the memory, “She tried to pickpocket me while you showed off a lollie to distract me.”

Blaise huffed a laugh and wiped his eyes. “I don’t remember a career as a pickpocket.”

“I’m sure it was an effective tactic,” he squeezed Blaise’s shoulder. “When I caught your mother red handed, she tried to get away using Legilimency, not knowing I could block her.”

“You could block her?” Blaise asked in disbelief.

“Back then, yes. Now?

The two chuckled in solidarity.

“I offered her a job as an informant, and brought her books to refine her skill. She told me the pay was shit for a single mother with no support system, having to keep you sheltered from the dangerous nature of her work. And she was right, but our budget was sparse. So she found a way to make money on the side leveraging the work we gave her.” Kingsley rubbed his face in amazement at the memory. “Quite a lot of money.”

Blaise cast a Cleansing Charm over his mother while Kingsley inspected the damaged areas. “Redo the area on her forehead.”

Blaise bent over to refine his technique while Kingsley watched. Blaise sat upright again and Kingsley sighed. “She’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” Blaise croaked.

“Would you like to hear some stories from the field?”

Blaise glanced up eagerly at the older wizard. “Please.”

“Draco,” Kingsley spoke.

Draco stiffened and the two turned around to see him standing behind them.

“Sorry,” he apologized, and shifted his feet. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. She’ll recover?”

“Yes,” Blaise nodded and more tears leaked out of his eyes. “But she’ll be scarred.”

So will we all.

“You did well, Draco,” Kingsley said with an appraising glance. “Go find your cousin. She has something for you.”

Curious, Draco cast his eyes about the Great Hall for the one-eyed Auror, but instead found Hermione kneeling on the floor with Potter amongst a crowd of red hair. It looked like the father and She-Weasel were badly injured, but alive. They were all crying, attending to the injuries.

Draco instinctively started walking over to comfort Hermione, just as she did for him, but reminded himself that she had family – biological or not – and she had friends. She didn’t need him. It would be hard for her at first with him locked up, but she’d eventually move on and find someone else.

Draco’s heart hurt when he thought of Hermione finding someone else, but he knew it would be better that way. She had done so much for him, and he had been lucky enough to know what it was to be loved by her. She believed in him, and believed he was a good person worth fighting for.

Maybe after Azkaban he could be free of the crushing weight of his sins. Maybe then he would deserve to be happy.

Someone approached from behind and he turned around. Exhausted, his cousin looked up at him, now cleaned from blood, and her eye was dark blue, no longer the deadly black from the battle.

“What are you doing after this?” she asked, her voice was strained.

“Azkaban,” he replied drily, resigned to his fate.

She scoffed. “No.”

“No?” he raised an eyebrow, remembering that Kingsley told him that she had something for him. “But the Wizengamot–”

“You won’t face the Wizengamot.”

His lips parted, and she smirked. “What?”

“You’ll face the Independent Oversight Commission for the DMLE,” she chuckled mirthlessly. “Along with me.”

“With y–”

“Kingsley told you, we’re doing this right,” she cut him off with a rueful smile. “Wizarding Britain won’t survive another civil war.”

“But I’m a Death Ea–”

“You’re a member of the Order, Draco,” Tonks interrupted him again. “Working undercover. The Wizengamot aren’t qualified to judge law enforcement officers. Never have been. They’re not qualified to judge the Order either.”

“An Order member.” Draco’s mind reeled with how she reframed his reality. “But how many sit on the commission?”

“Five members.”

He blinked. “That’s all?”

“You were hoping for more?”

Draco felt all the air deflate from his lungs. He had wronged so many people. Even if he was cleared, it wouldn’t be done properly. They weren’t elected officials like the Wizengamot, they were appointed. And some were prior officers. They didn’t make up a cross section of society, they weren’t a governing, representative body.

“But what if–”

“What if you’re convicted?”

What if I’m acquitted. But he was afraid to speak.

She placed her hand in his and a small, cold metal object touched his palm. “That’s what this is for.”

Draco opened his palm to see a small brass key with the Gringotts emblem.

His heart skipped a beat. “What’s in the vault, Tonks?”

“Your pardon.”

“My pardon,” Draco repeated as his hand trembled with rising panic. 

He’d be cleared, but he’d have to live with himself. He’d never escape Dedalus’ inhuman shrieks as Draco broke his body. Lovegood’s blue eyes would haunt him forever, and he’d carry those dead children with him everywhere.

The thought was unbearable. He couldn’t take it, and clenched his stomach muscles, feeling like his body was caving in on itself.

“Kingsley wrote it several months ago after an Order meeting when Hermione demanded it. We initially refused, but changed our minds. She was right, you proved yourself long ago. Kingsley wrote one for Snape as well after you came to us.”

Draco’s heart pounded in his ears. This whole time. This whole fucking time he was going to be pardoned. “But he said that pardons would undermine the government.”

“And there’s truth to that,” Tonks agreed, studying his expression with concern. He turned his face to the side. “But because you didn’t have a deal with us, the IOC won’t be able to question your motivations. It’s highly unlikely you’ll even need the pardon. You’ll be acquitted, because you were never getting anything out of working for us, and you’ll be acquitted honestly. Every crime you committed was necessary to retain your cover as a member of the Order. If you wouldn’t have done it, you’d be killed, and someone else would have in your place. Kingsley was right about your circumstances.”

His head was swimming. An Order member. She was calling him an undercover Order member.

So Draco wouldn’t have a formal trial under the Wizengamot, but wasn’t it all a sham? Weren’t the five committee members pre-disposed to let law officers off the hook? They were allowing him get away with murder. They were letting him get away with everything. And if they didn’t, he could use his pardon.

There would be no penance. 

“I don’t want it.” He didn’t realize that he spoke the words out loud, but there they were, and he couldn’t take them back.

“You don’t want the pardon.” Her voice was flat despite the shock on her face.

He swallowed and stared down at the key before returning it to her. “I want to be tried by the Wizengamot.” His chest muscles constricted and he tried to keep his breathing steady. “You don’t understand. I’ve wronged so many people, I can’t possibly make things right. The Wizengamot represents–”

“Draco.”

He stared down at her.

“It doesn’t matter what they represent. They’ll put you in Azkaban. You know that, don’t you?”

He balled his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut. Would they? Maybe? Maybe. Yes. His breaths became fast and shallow.

Tonks’s voice danced around him as dizziness overtook him. “Many of them hate you for the tactics you and your father used to force the passage of the DIWM Act. Spying or not, you won’t get a fair trial with them.”

Yes. Yes, he knew that. But he had wronged so many of them too. He stumbled backwards and she caught his arm, pushing him against the wall to brace his weight.

“Draco?”

“But… what if…” He swallowed the bile rapidly accumulating in his mouth. “What if I deserve Azkaban?”

“Draco, look at me.”

He opened his eyes and the dead, injured and mourning swam in his vision. The cries of suffering rang throughout the hall; he was going to fall over.

It was all because of him. Blood pounded in his ears. It was too much.

“Tonks. I started this war when I let them into Hogwarts,” he rasped, the acrid taste of bile rising in his mouth. “It’s because of me they’re all dead. It’s because of me your husband is gone. I can’t–”

Staggering on his feet, she pressed her hands into his shoulders to stabilize him. He tried to focus on her face but couldn’t, and his eyes rolled back. The chaos of the Great Hall faded to black and he felt like he was going to vomit.

“You have to sit, Draco. Come on.” His head lolled. She pushed him to sit on a chair off to the side and he collapsed onto something hard. He felt himself being bent over and couldn’t tell which way was up. His stomach heaved as she shoved his head between his knees.

“Breathe.”

He did as he was told, and slowly, the nausea subsided. After removing her hand from the back of his head, he sat up and gazed at her crouched down in front of him.

She studied his expression.

“Your eyes went dark.”

“It happens sometimes.” He turned and spat the foul tasting saliva from his mouth. “Yours were too when you saved us,” he added defensively.

She didn’t deny it, but her gaze didn’t waver from him.

“You summon self-hatred for your Cruciatus and Killing Curses. Hermione told me.”

How much did his cousin know about him? He rubbed his arm and averted his gaze, ashamed to look at her directly.

“Not all the time.”

“But enough to want to torture yourself in Azkaban, apparently.”

He swallowed the remainder of the sour taste. “That’s what Hermione thought.”

But his sins were real, and his need for absolution was real.

“She’s right.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he panted, still trying to breathe steadily. “I can’t live like this anymore. I want to be forgiven.”

She furrowed her brows. “By whom?”

Bile rose in his throat again and he grimaced, knowing she’d get the answer out of him anyway. “Everyone.”

She shrugged. “Impossible.”

Yes. It was impossible. A vise closed around his lungs, it was getting hard to breathe again.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s possible or not. I hurt everyone.”

She laid her hand on his thigh and he eyed a scar running from her finger up her forearm and underneath the sleeve of her trench coat. “How does going to Azkaban guarantee their forgiveness?”

He recalled the hatred in Hannah Abbot’s accusations as she screamed at him. She’d never forgive him, ever. Would she?

“I don’t…” He gazed down at her. “I don’t know.”

“Azkaban only does one thing.”

His throat felt thick under her scrutiny but he couldn’t drag his eyes from her hard stare.

“Punishment. You’re not stupid, Draco. You can try your best your entire life but you won’t get forgiveness from everyone.”

He had no answer to that, but her words cut him deeply.

“Subjugating yourself to the horrors of Azkaban won’t give you anything but more pain,” she squeezed his thigh. “There are better ways of repenting and being forgiven.”

Some of the pressure in his chest relented. “What do you mean?”

“Be part of the society you want to build. Lead by example. What does self-flagellation achieve?”

He shifted his gaze to watch the grieving, the dead and the injured while Tonks’ watched him.

“It… just… feels right.”

“That’s the Unforgivables talking. You want to hurt yourself.”

His mouth went dry. “Yes.”

Draco still didn’t quite believe his desire to be forgiven was wrong. That was part of repentance, wasn’t it? But forgiveness wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted to hurt, and needlessly harming himself wasn’t penance. Working to correct the wrongs of his past was. Logically, he knew what Tonks was saying was correct. But it still felt wrong.

“You’d be useless in Azkaban. You know that, don’t you?”

He curled his shoulders inward and exhaled. “But I can’t go on feeling like this. They’re all here because of me.”

“You brought back Voldemort then, did you?” she retorted with a raised eyebrow. “You’re more competent than I thought.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “No, but Dumbledore could have prevented–”

“Draco,” she continued. “I know you blame yourself for starting the war, and there’s some truth to that.” He clenched his jaw. “But you also ended it.”

“No, I didn’t,” he protested. “Potter killed the Dark Lord.”

“You made the opening strike to start the war, yes. But who made the opening strike to end it?”

“Oh.” His lips lifted, appreciating the symmetry of his Patronus starting the battle. “So I did.”

“And we wouldn’t have won without you. You know that, don’t you?”

Wordlessly, he nodded, and his chest expanded in pride from her acknowledgement of his actions over the past year.

“Your redemption was hard earned.”

Maybe repentance was a lifelong process, leading by example. Working to better society by living in it, not cloistering himself away. He tried to focus on her words and the fact that he was free. Truly free. Not free to subject himself to the Wizengamot, like he told Hermione, but free to do… anything.

Part of him did still want to go to Azkaban, and part of him wanted to face the Wizengamot in the hopes that he’d be forgiven by the very society he’d wronged. They could give him something he was incapable of giving himself.

Couldn’t they?

Tonks laid a hand on his left forearm, over the Dark Mark, and curled her fingers. “I know someone that can help you. She’s very good.”

Hermione had alluded to the Aurors knowing how to treat the effects of Unforgivable Curse usage. Draco remembered the hatred contorting his cousin’s face when she entered the Great Hall and killed their attackers. He met her gaze in question.

“I’ll Floo her for you,” she pressed. “And I’ll go with you to your first meeting.” She paused. “If you want.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’d do that for me?”

She nodded. “For as long as you need. It’ll take some time before the IOC gets its act together to review our cases anyway. You can get started.”

He stared at this strange woman who treated him like family, even though he just met her a few weeks ago.

She seemed to know what he was thinking, and rubbed his forearm. “My mum is tired of babysitting Teddy.”

Confused, Draco shifted his posture. “Teddy?”

“My baby. Your…” she scrunched her forehead in thought, almost looking young and girlish despite the eyepatch and angry scar across her face. “Second cousin once removed?”

A baby. Hope.

He surveyed the death and carnage of the Great Hall. In the middle of the war, a fresh new life had been created. Maybe the next generation would truly be living in a healthier society thanks to their actions. Thanks to his actions.

His lips lifted in a half smile, pleasantly surprised with the sudden appearance of more family members. And a little baby at that. “I could never keep track of family relations.”

“Regardless, if you owe me, I’ll be able to guilt you and Hermione into babysitting whenever I need.”

Draco snorted, and then glanced over at Hermione. She was wiping tears off her face while she held the She-Weasel’s hand. Pomfrey was performing what looked like a painful procedure on the red-head’s leg.

Tonks motioned to the corner where his mother and some of his Slytherin friends were kneeling over Daphne’s and Vince’s bodies. “Maybe your mum would like to meet him too?”

He drew his gaze to his mother as she hugged and comforted his friends’ parents. She met his eyes and, after noticing Tonks crouching next to him, raised her eyebrows in interest.

Their family would be very different in the future. His father would be in Azkaban for an unknown amount of time and up until now, Draco thought his mother would be alone in the manor until his sentence was up. She was excited for grandchildren, but hadn’t really considered it a possibility for the near term.

The Malfoys were so used to their lives balancing precariously on the edge of a knife. He wondered if his mother even knew there was a new baby in the family. Draco looked down at his cousin with a genuine smile.

“I think my mother would enjoy that.”

“We’ll reacquaint our families.”

“That means more presents at Christmas.”

She pointed at him. “I like how you think.”

His smile fell. Christmases that his father wouldn’t be present at.

Draco shifted his gaze back to Kingsley and Blaise, still uncomprehending of the possibilities suddenly open to him, despite the fact that his father would be locked away.

A pardon. He couldn’t believe it. This whole time, and Hermione didn’t know either.

“So Kingsley played me?”

Tonks nodded. “For your own good. Handing out pardons to Death Eaters – especially your father’s generation – would destabilize the post-war government just like in 1946. He didn’t want the country to descend into chaos again. We wouldn't survive it. Hermione was absolutely right about Kingsley.” She smiled. “You’re lucky she loves you.”

“I am.” The memory of Hermione unleashing her wrath on Shacklebolt warmed his heart like nothing else.

He couldn’t believe he had a pardon for so long, and then remembered Hermione’s tearful confession when she finally told him what she believed was the truth. He had abandoned her then, unable to reconcile her love for him with her betrayal.

“Fucking Shacklebolt,” he muttered.

“I curse his existence at least twice a week,” Tonks replied dryly.

“I think I could murder him.”

“Believe me, it's a shared sentiment.”

“Slowly.”

“I specialize in many curses we could use.”

Draco smiled sardonically, but the smile froze on his face.

“My father will face that Wizengamot.” Draco wondered if his father’s sentence would be worse that what was deserved. “Did Kingsley lie about helping him?”

“No,” Tonks replied. “But there’s only so much he can do aside from a pardon. You two made several enemies this past year.”

That was the answer he expected, but he shivered at the thought of his father sitting alone in a cold cell surrounded by Dementors.

Draco returned his gaze to Hermione, crouched over in the midst of the Weasleys. She had a deadly expression on her face and was glaring in the direction of Kingsley and Blaise. Hermione promised him she wouldn’t attack Kingsley, but the rage contorting her features said otherwise.

“I understand why you kept this all from me, but why not tell her?”

“She was falling in love. We didn’t think she’d be able to keep lying to you. And she couldn’t.”

Her death glare focused on Kingsley, Hermione stood up and ran a fist under nose, wiping away tears, snot and blood.

“I don’t deserve her.”

Tonks followed his gaze, and they watched as Hermione clenched and unclenched her fists. She narrowed her eyes, looking like she was ready to snap.

“If she forgave you, you should make an effort to forgive yourself. Life’s too short, Draco.”

Draco glanced down at Tonks’ face, suddenly ashen, and he wondered why. “I’m tainted, she’s not. I’ve done terrible things and they changed me.”

“I have too, and you’re right. Using Unforgivables impacts your relationships with others. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve those relationships. I didn’t,” her voice broke. “I didn’t have enough time with Remus.”

"I'm sorry."

She nodded wordlessly and they stood in silence for a few moments.

Draco turned to her. “He understood?”

Tears formed in her eye. “He did.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed before the tears spilled. “Some people sacrifice their lives for those they loved. This room is full of them. But you and I, we’ve also sacrificed part of our souls. And we’ve done it so others don’t have to.”

He thought back to the night of the Astronomy Tower. Severus had done that for him. So had his father, until neither of them could protect him anymore.

Tonks continued, “The acts themselves may be evil, but they’re done out of love. If you find someone that understands that, and still accepts you, don’t let them go.”

Draco's eyes burnt with tears again. He couldn't believe how lucky he was. “I won’t.”

They watched Hermione together as she sized up the room before glowering at Kingsley.

“She looks like she’s getting ready to attack him.”

“No, I made her promise that she wouldn’t…” his voice trailed off as Hermione redid the braid in her hair with purposeful motions, eyes never leaving her prey. Hermione grabbed her wand.

“Are you sure about that?”

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione surveyed the Great Hall to see what everyone was doing.

“Yes. She wasn’t happy about it, but she said she wouldn’t go against my wishes.” At that moment Hermione met Draco’s gaze and startled upon noticing they’d been watching her. She smiled back at him and Tonks, and gave them a shy wave. “She seems harmless.”

“‘Seems’ being the operative word,” Tonks replied suspiciously.

“I don’t disagree.” Hermione knelt again next to Potter and Draco exhaled. She was listening to him. “You protected her.” Tonks looked up at him in question. “From the IOC,” he clarified.

“Yes, I did.”

“Thank you.”

“She’d be cleared, but she shouldn’t have to go through it. Neither should you.”

They turned back to Hermione and saw she was gone.

“She’s not–” With a start, Draco craned his neck, searching the Great Hall. “Do you see her?”

Tonks searched the room. “No. But she has to be in the Great Hall. She can’t just disappear into thin air.”

Draco grabbed his cousin’s arm and turned her to face him. “Yes, she can. Potter has an invisibility cloak.”

Her eye widened. “Quick, you go that way towards Kingsley. I’ll head around the back. Wait!

Draco paused mid-stride and she pressed the key in his palm. “Show her this. Oh, and Draco?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you’re lucky to have her,” she squeezed his hand, “But she’s lucky to have you, too.”

Despite the horrors of the day, he smiled.

 

 

 

Notes:

Next up: Epilogue, part 1

We're nearly there!

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Chapter 85: Epilogue - Part 1

Notes:

Just a word of caution. This story has two epilogues.

You can read this first epilogue and be happy with the completion of the fic.

I've noticed that my second epilogue is polarizing. Some love it, some hate it. It's a huge inside joke for my readers with the ensemble cast coming out for a bow. It hits all the emotional beats and complexities of a post-war society still struggling with bigotry and trying to heal - but if you're not a fan of the 90's pop culture references I've been dropping throughout, it may not work for you. So keep that in mind.

You've made it this far, congrats!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

October/November 1998

 

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Department of Mind Healing

 

Tonks motioned to the office entrance.

“After you.”

Draco eyed the beige door in front of him. The Mind Healer’s name and credentials were carved on a brass plate attached at eye level. He placed his hand on the doorknob but couldn’t make himself turn it. At his hesitancy, Tonks continued, “For obvious reasons, I haven’t been able to see her this year when I would have needed her the most. But she helped me quite a lot when I was first sent into the field. She understands.”

Draco’s mouth went dry and his hand started to tremble. He knew he had to open the door. He knew he wouldn’t get better if he didn’t start seeing someone regularly. But the Mind Healer was a complete stranger. He could barely talk about the depths of his guilt and self-loathing with Hermione and Tonks.

“No judgement,” Tonks whispered and laid a hand on his wrist, stilling his movements. “I promise.”

Her gentle, encouraging touch gave him strength. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Draco pushed the door open to reveal an old woman with white hair in a bun, sitting at a desk. She was short with thick glasses perched on the edge of her nose, and reminded Draco of the museum docent at the National Gallery.

“Hello, Draco. And welcome.” Unlike the museum docent’s authoritative voice, hers was kinder and more patient. “Nymphadora has given me a brief explanation of what we may be dealing with. Have a seat.”

She motioned to the chairs in front of her desk and they both sat down. “Thank you.”

“You prefer to have Nymphadora sit with you? At least in the beginning?”

He eyed his cousin, who sent him a smile of encouragement, and he nodded wordlessly.

“So,” she placed a parchment and quill on the desk in front of her. “How are you feeling today?”

It was a simple enough question, but his chest tightened and his throat closed around tears he didn’t want to shed. ‘Fine’ was the expected answer. That’s what people usually wanted to hear when they asked. Troubles were supposed to be easily solved with a hug, warm meal and a good night’s sleep.

Despite the overwhelming compulsion making him want to crawl out of his skin, he didn’t Occlude. Tonks told Draco he must immediately stop using Occlumency as a coping mechanism, so he forced an easy smile and replied, “I’m alright.”

He didn’t know this woman, and didn’t trust her. Old habits die hard.

The Mind Healer tilted her head and, uneasily, he watched a Quick Quotes Quill make some notes on the parchment. She didn’t buy it. Even he heard the shakiness in his voice, but she didn’t press him, and Tonks said nothing.

After the scratching on the parchment stopped, the Mind Healer gave him a warm smile and asked, “I assume Nymphadora already discussed with you what treatment usually entails?”

Her eyes were encouraging but searching, and he felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Averting his gaze to his hands in his lap, he hummed to the affirmative.

“Excellent. I’ll review what we try to achieve in these sessions anyway, and we’ll need to perform some assessments…”

Her voice dissolved into the background as Draco remembered the tiny bodies of dead children that haunted his dreams at night, and the accusatory eyes of Fred Weasley and Luna Lovegood following him during the day.  

He tried to swallow, but his throat was thick with tears threatening to burst forth.

“Does that sound alright, Draco?”

He looked up and cleared his throat. Her quill was still working furiously across the parchment.

“Yes.”

“Does my quill make you nervous?”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “A bit.”

Her quill also reminded him of Rita Skeeter, and how he’d always been such a prick.

“Would you prefer if I didn’t use a Quick Quotes Quill? We won’t cover as much ground in a session but I’d much rather you feel comfortable.”

He raised his eyebrows gratefully. “Yes, thank you.”

She placed it aside and continued writing on her own. While she worked, Draco recalled the nausea of indecision the night of the Paddington safe house raid, standing above Dedalus Diggle’s unconscious body. Back then, he didn’t know if his family would be tortured and killed for failure to capture a prisoner.

Even with the benefit of hindsight, he wasn’t any wiser regarding what would have happened. But the result of that night had essentially been Draco slowly beating an Auror to death. He didn’t know when Dedalus finally died from his wounds, but the inhuman shrieks from the end of Draco’s wand, boot or fist lived on in Draco’s memories.

The nausea from that night of the safe house raid returned full force. He swallowed bile, and then swallowed again, wincing at the sour taste in his mouth. His eyes burned from the beginnings of tears and he dug his fingers into his palms, trying to stop himself from vomiting, crying, or both.

“Draco. Nymphadora.” He blinked and glanced up as his cousin turned to the Mind Healer in surprise. “I want you both to know that people like you are why I first chose to specialize in the effects of dark magic on the mind.”

“What?” Draco asked, taken aback from the shift in subject.

“What?” Tonks repeated.

“The two of you sinned so that we may be free.” She paused and bowed her head slightly, “Thank you for your service.”

Draco’s sucked in a breath. He couldn’t bear being treated like a hero, but her gratitude soothed the stiff ache in his limbs like Hermione’s comforting hands. Unable to contain his contradictory emotions any longer, he dropped his head into his hands, and sobbed until he had no more tears.

 

Courtroom Number Seven, Ministry of Magic

 

Draco sat in the defendant’s chair for three days. The trial wasn’t easy, but he needed it. Hearing the long list of his sins debated as if he weren’t even present made him feel like his body was scrubbed raw. Harsh and rough, but new skin exposed underneath.

He shifted to ease the pain in his back from sitting on the hard wood for so long. The Independent Oversight Committee made no attempt to make him comfortable, and he supposed he preferred it that way.

It was a long, exhausting three days in which a string of witnesses attested to his selflessness and the purity of his motivations. Kingsley, Tonks (whose trial would start shortly after his concluded), Cho Chang, Severus (who had been acquitted the previous week, just like he had been during the First Wizarding War), the Chosen One and his Weasel.

And Hermione.

The trial was closed door, and his mother not permitted entry. It was for the best. She had enough worries with his father sitting in Azkaban awaiting his own trial. But as the main witness, Hermione was present throughout, and he suspected she was informing his mother of each day’s events.

Draco’s heart swelled as he listened to Hermione defend his actions over the war with a loud, clear voice that echoed throughout the chamber. Any attempt by the prosecutor to undermine her testimony was met with a clipped, authoritative tone that reminded Draco of McGonagall. With grief twisting his stomach, he remembered his ex-Transfiguration teacher with her arms held up, single handedly shielding the castle entrance as they scrambled to safety.

“And where was the IOC during that battle? Throughout the entire damn war?” He recalled Hermione’s righteous indignation in the days leading up to his trial. Unlike Draco, she disagreed vehemently with everything going on here, but played her part to ensure his freedom.

The prosecutor, nearly three times Hermione’s age, raised a skeptical eyebrow after she finished speaking. “Your relationship with the defendant would compromise your testimony, wouldn’t it?”

Before Draco’s solicitor could object, Hermione replied calmly, “On the contrary. It’s solid evidence he’s abandoned blood supremacist beliefs long ago. Is this a trial or fodder for Witch Weekly?”

The titters in the courtroom and blush creeping across the older man’s face shut down that line of questioning immediately. Draco smiled in pride as he watched Hermione pull a classic Shacklebolt move, using her opponent’s argument against him.

Clearly put off his game, the prosecutor asked a few more innocuous questions before Hermione returned to her seat and the next witness was called up.  

Sitting as an observer while others spoke, she held Draco’s gaze, silently conveying her love and support through her eyes as his sins were hung out like dirty laundry for others to inspect. But when Hermione heard the retelling of Dedalus’ capture, torture and death, she looked like she’d been slapped. Draco knew that she understood his moral and ethical quandaries, and how terrified he’d been. It was the same situation as sixth year. But something about the incident with Dedalus momentarily contorted her face with shock and horror.

He didn’t know why.

Everyone was sent out while the IOC discussed his case, and after an hour Draco was brought back alone to stand before them and receive their judgement.

“Sentenced to three years without magic. The Ministry will safe guard your wand until such time has passed.”

Draco was awash in such a confusing mixture of relief and disappointment. Despite his recent sessions with the Mind Healer, part of him still wanted to be sent to Azkaban. He was learning to identify the lingering effects of Unforgivable usage, and tried to focus on the relief.

His Mind Healer repeated some of what Tonks told him after the battle. There were other ways to repent and seek forgiveness. He would be useless in Azkaban. There was so much good he could do in the world to atone, if that’s what he truly wanted.

It certainly helped that he had so many sharing in his relief with him. Between Hermione and his mother, the tangle of female arms grabbing at his face and shoulders, tears wetting his shirt, and lips pressing against his cheeks, his disappointment was easily overcome. Their happiness was so infectious; he’d completely forgotten to ask Hermione what bothered her so much about Dedalus Diggle.

 

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Janus Thickey Ward

 

“Oh! Hermione! There you are!” her father called out. “We’ve been so worried!”

Draco wasn’t prepared, and he stood helpless, heart aching while he watched the Granger family reunion. He hadn’t been allowed to leave the country prior to his trial with the IOC, and so Potter and the Weasleys went to Australia with her to bring Hermione’s parents back. He felt awful for not being able to go, but Draco had accompanied her to St. Mungo’s every day since as the Healers slowly returned her parents’ memories under sedation. It would be a several month long road to recovery. Today was the first day they were awake.

“Mum! Dad!” were the broken cries that left her lips as her face crumpled.

Hermione threw herself into their arms, almost immediately dissolving into gut wrenching sobs. Hot tears pricked his eyes as she clung to her parents, and he stood in the doorway, awkwardly watching them. Both Draco and Hermione lost the safety and security of their childhood that came from familial structure. He was grateful she was getting hers back.

“It’s alright!” her mother soothed her, rubbing her back. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and pushed harsh wheezing sounds through her teeth. “Hermione, love, it’s alright!” She repeated, surprised by the intensity of Hermione’s anguish. “The doctor explained there would be memory lapses from our concussions, but we’ll be alright!”

It wasn’t recommended that Hermione tell them the truth of their condition until they were fully recovered. An automobile accident was the story for now. But Draco would be with Hermione when she told them the truth.

If she wanted.

Her father stroked her hair while her shoulders shook, heaving with each sob.

Draco hadn’t internalized just how much Hermione was holding inside throughout the war until that day, and how much it depleted from her. When she and Draco returned to one of the Order safe houses later that afternoon, she slept clear until mid-morning the next day while he held her.

In the weeks that followed, Draco’s heart broke to see the agonizing struggle with her parents. Sometimes they remembered their daughter, but more often than not, they didn’t. Not like the first day when woken from sedation. Occasionally one of her parents would recognize her and the other not, making for a heartbreakingly awkward conversation. Sometimes they’d have vague recollections of memories of her childhood, and that often hurt Hermione more than when they didn’t remember anything.

It was a long process fraught with ups and downs, not a linear recovery. Sometimes Potter came with them. Sometimes the Weasel, or his parents, sometimes his sister, who now had a permanent limp.

Draco didn’t know what he dreaded more. The hopeful expression on Hermione’s face before entering their room, or the utter defeat crippling her body on a day when she was on the receiving end of a polite smile for the lovely young man and woman who came to visit them daily.

“It’s alright, love,” her father reassured her, giving the back of her neck a squeeze. “It’ll be okay.” Looking up, he met Draco’s eyes and smiled. “Is this a friend of yours from…” he craned his neck to peep around Draco’s form blocking the hallway, “from Hogwarts?” he finished with a whisper.

Hermione released a shuddering sigh and turned around. She wiped the tears and snot from her face, wetting her curls and blinked, perhaps having forgotten he was there. With red cheeks and puffy eyes, she explained in a trembling voice, “That’s Draco Malfoy. He’s much more than a friend.”

Her mother reached out a warm hand and Draco clasped it. Her lips spread in a smile that instantly made him feel close to them. “He must be if he came with you here.”

 

Azkaban

 

Draco was completely taken aback by Hermione’s insistence that she accompany him on his bi-weekly visits to Azkaban where his father awaited trial. He went with her every afternoon to St. Mungo’s, but coming to Azkaban wasn’t the same. She was walking directly into her nightmares, and reliving her torture every single time.

Just like him, Hermione was supposed to stop Occluding, and to train her mind and body to rely on physical means to ground herself if a panic attack ensued. Draco feared their visits to his father would set her recovery backwards, but she explained that facing her fears in a controlled environment would actually help.

And she’d be damned if his aunt prevented her from standing by his side.

Draco wondered what could possibly withstand the sheer force of her will.

He smiled. Probably nothing.

The magnitude of her gesture did not go unnoticed, nor unappreciated by his mother.

Draco and Narcissa took turns entering the controlled visiting area to talk with his father while the other sat with Hermione in the waiting area. Each time his mother exited so Draco could take his turn, she appeared to age slightly. White strands appeared in her blond hair, and the small lines of her face began to deepen into wrinkles. He didn’t think it was possible to feel any guiltier about his actions during the war, but watching his father deteriorate in a solitary cell, knowing Lucius chose to do so to protect Draco and his mother, brought on a fresh wave of grief.

He asked Hermione what she and his mother spoke about while waiting for him, and she explained that even though things were awkward at first, they gradually warmed up to each other. She didn’t elaborate further.

His mother still said repugnant things about Hermione’s heritage out of habit, but Hermione knew she was trying. Much like Draco had over a year ago, she viewed Hermione as one of the ‘proper ones’. An exception to Muggle-born inferiority just like her brother-in-law and Potter’s mother. Ingrained prejudice didn’t go away easily, and Hermione knew it would be a struggle. But it was a struggle she was willing to go through with him.

One day, he exited his father’s cell to see his mother sitting next to Hermione in the visitor’s area with the color returned to her sallow cheeks. Every visit since, he noticed the same pattern. His mother would exit the area where she spoke with Lucius, unnaturally pale and a haunted look in her blue eyes. But when Draco rejoined her and Hermione, she’d returned to herself, despite the overarching presence of Dementors in the building.

He loved Hermione, she was a wonderful woman, but even she couldn’t have that kind of effect on his mother. Draco wondered what they were doing.

One day the three stood on the shore of Azkaban ready to Apparate home. It was cold, biting mid-November weather but his mother’s eyes were bright with mischief. She raised a conspiratorial eyebrow towards Hermione, who smirked in return.

Draco eyed the two of them, suddenly feeling uneasy. “What’s going on?”

His mother turned to face him. “Hermione has made these visits much easier on me.”

“I’ve noticed,” Draco replied, still wary. “We’re lucky she insists on coming.”

“Maybe one day she’ll come to formally meet Lucius?”

His mother sounded hopeful, but he noticed the reluctant downturn of Hermione’s mouth.

“Let’s wait until they relax security measures. More than one person can see him at a time, then.”

He didn’t miss the gratitude in Hermione’s eyes. She was already doing enough; he didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t ready for.

“Very well,” his mother was disappointed, but accepted his answer. She held up her wand and looked back towards Hermione, who nodded in encouragement, and she readied herself to cast something.

“What are you doing?”  

Narcissa inhaled a deep breath, closed her eyes, and spread her mouth in a small smile of contentment. Her voice was strong and steady as she spoke. “Expecto patronum.”

Draco’s lips parted as a large, graceful lioness leapt out of her wand in a shimmery display of magic, brightening their cold, grey surroundings. He looked up at the elation in his mother’s face, and shifted his gaze to the love reflected in Hermione’s. She taught his mother, but she did it for him. He reached out with his pinky and curled it around hers. Hermione’s fingers laced in his, and she squeezed. Draco’s throat was thick with emotion as he watched the silver animal stalk in a circle around them, infusing the air with hope and a contented closeness.

A lion.

Draco chuckled. “So you’re a Gryffindor, mother? Is that it?”

She scoffed, leading her Patronus around the tall grass of the island. “I taught you better than to use foul language.”

Hermione snorted.

Despite her joking, his mother was clearly pleased with the corporeal form her Patronus took.

“Female lions lie quietly in wait for the right moment to strike,” Hermione replied, with a pleased expression of her own.

“Yes, they do,” his mother replied.

Hermione’s smile widened as she turned to his mother. “They’re especially deadly if there’s a threat to their cubs.”

His mother shared a knowing glance with Hermione, and then returned to making the lion crouch down, rear back and leap.

Hermione whispered to him as his mother proudly led her lioness around. “I have a day-trip planned for us tomorrow.”

He raised his eyebrows as a thrill of excitement rushed through him, almost making him forget the hollow expression on his father’s face.

“Where to?”

“It’s a surprise.”

She had the same shit-eating grin as the day she had taken him to the National Space Centre.

“Does England have another space museum?”

“Much better than that.”

“Something with guns?”

“Infinitely more powerful.”

Draco wanted to ask, but knew Hermione wouldn’t tell. He felt like he had springs in his heels, and started bouncing in anticipation.

His mother dissolved the lion and looked up at the two of them, face alight from the rush of Patronus magic. “Ready to leave?”

“What memory did you use?” Draco asked, now curious.

She approached him and tenderly tucked a longer lock of his fringe behind his ear. Her blue eyes were clear and full of happiness, but a tear made its way down her cheek nonetheless.

“You.”  

 

Baikonur Cosmodrome, Kazakhstan

 

Draco held Hermione’s hand tighter and tensed his legs. The ground rumbled softly as the roar of fuel combustion sounded in the distance. The shaking intensified until they nearly fell over despite standing over a mile away. Hermione laughed out loud as they stumbled against each other, trying to remain upright. Grinning from ear to ear, he supported her and she supported him. Somehow they remained on their feet, clinging to each other while they staggered on the unstable ground.

There was a huge burst of light and flame, and smoke quickly followed, billowing up, out and around, obscuring much of the Proton rocket and Zarya – the first module of the International Space Station to be sent into orbit. The rocket launched, rapidly rising into the air, propelling the module up, fighting against the Earth’s gravitational field.

They heard gasps from the crowd of on-lookers and Draco wrapped his arms around Hermione, holding her flush against his body as the ground gradually stopped shaking.

Eyes wide in wonder, they watched as the rocket fought to free itself of the Earth’s control. Draco’s lips parted in amazement at the streak of smoke left in its wake across the sky. He couldn’t believe the wizarding world had no idea this was going on. The rocket slowly made its way upward and they squinted until they were no longer able to see anything.

In two weeks, the Americans would send up their module, and another one a few years later. Europe and Japan were next, slated to attach their own laboratories several years after. Over the next several years, a space station would be built where astronauts could perform experiments unrestrained by the laws of gravity.

“You’re free,” she whispered.

He was. The Independent Oversight Committee more or less acquitted him, just like Tonks had predicted. He still had the pardon if he wanted his wand back, but he chose not to use it.

At least, for now.

Draco tightened his grip around her waist, and rested his chin atop her head as they stared at the plumes of dust and smoke settling in the distance from the launch site.

Tonks’ trial was currently underway, and it appeared that she’d serve a several month stint in Azkaban. The IOC was much harsher on Tonks than on him. Aside from charging her with violating the Auror Rules of Engagement, which she had ensured everyone else adhered to, Draco suspected they had an aversion to the introduction of Muggle weapons and their potential devastation on Wizarding society.

Tonks had blown a door open, so to speak, and it would never be closed again. They wanted to make an example of her.

He didn’t think it would work.

Nevertheless, Draco was grateful Tonks spared Hermione their scrutiny.

“Hermione?”

“Mmmmm?”

“What did Tonks cover up?”

She glanced back at him and her eyes watered.

“Oh.” She bit her lip in thought. “It was my idea to blow up the safe houses.”

They had already talked about why she hadn’t warned him earlier, and he knew the Order was right. He likely would have sabotaged the explosions and endangered himself, his friends and family with his need to warn them.

“But there’s something else. Isn’t there? You told me you murdered people, too.”

She blinked up at him, and laced her fingers through his. “Draco,” her lip trembled. “I don’t think I should tell you yet.”

Seeing a Mind Healer regularly was helping him come to terms with his actions. The darkness would always be there, but he was learning to forgive himself, slowly, and to focus on the future. He knew that Hermione’s time in Azkaban still haunted her, as did some of the things she did during the war. But she was recovering faster than him, and was better able to justify her own actions during the war. Not only that, but Bellatrix was rapidly becoming a distant memory as she looked forward to the challenges ahead.

Did she kill one of his friends? He could hardly blame her for that.

“Are you afraid I’ll be mad at you? Is that why?”

She shook her head and a tear fell. “No, not this time. If it were only me you’d be angry with, I would have told you already.”

It must be related to something he did.

“That answer worries me more.”

She rubbed the vein on the underside of his wrist with her thumb and studied his eyes. Hermione assured him they hadn’t gone dark since the final battle, but he still worried they would.

“Can you trust me on this?” she asked, her voice lilting upwards in hope. “We’ll talk about it when the time is right. I promise.”

“I don’t like that answer.”

“I know. But we’re dealing with a lot right now, and there’s no rush. Can it wait?”

It was true. They both felt somewhat adrift without the security of the family structure they’d grown up with as children. Instinctively, he wanted to know what she wasn’t telling him, but his heart warmed at her words.

But we’re dealing with a lot right now…

We’re…

We.

His problems were hers, and her problems were his. That’s what it meant to face the future together with someone you loved.

“Alright,” he swallowed, and couldn’t help but feel somewhat weak in that she didn’t think he could handle whatever it was that she knew. He wanted to make things easier on her, too. “You don’t have to go with me to Azkaban, you know.”

“You’re helping me too, Draco,” Hermione seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. “You’re there with me every day with my parents, you came to Fred and Charlie’s memorials and I know what that cost you. You’ve attended every single Order funeral despite Oliver, Eloise and Hannah being there. And even though I know how important it is to you, you’ve never once asked that I talk with your father or your friends awaiting trial. And you shield me from your mother when she hints at it.”

Draco’s chest expanded with a sudden rush of love. “I am a decent catch, aren’t I?”

Her lips twitched, but her throat constricted as she swallowed. “Very much so.”

“On the subject of friends, we could bring them to the next launch.”

Hermione stiffened in his arms, and he knew what she was thinking. So many of those she would have brought weren’t here anymore to enjoy it. He recalled the Weasley twins’ antics in school and knew Fred would have appreciated the rocket launch. A controlled explosion larger and more powerful than any wizard or witch could imagine.

He still saw Fred bloody, beaten and laughing on the floor.

Would George still enjoy the rocket launch alone?

Luna would have been fascinated.

He thought of his cousin bringing Teddy, forever fatherless. Or maybe his Aunt Andromeda would have to bring him if he would be motherless too, depending on how long Tonks stayed in Azkaban.

Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

If Daphne and Vince had lived, would being exposed to Muggle science rid them of their hatred? And what of Tracey? He would never know.

Hermione turned around to gaze up at him. Her eyes were now glassy with tears, but she replied hopefully, “We could petition to have it worked in to the class. The Aurors are supposed to accompany them on outings as part of their Muggle Studies course anyway.”

An excursion into the Muggle world would also enable him to see his father outside of his holding cell. Everyone associated with Voldemort’s Army, even tangentially, was slated to undergo a several month long Muggle Studies course immediately, even those still awaiting trial. The Ministry was trying to punish and simultaneously reform the parts of society that supported the Dark Lord and his war.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Draco asked, running his nose across her forehead. The thought of seeing his father and friends outside in the open air brightened his mood. “What the Ministry is trying to do?”

“Perhaps not right away, but with time, yes. Take the example of the International Space Station.”

Lecturing him always made her feel better, and he listened patiently. Hermione briefly recounted the bloody wars fought between all these countries, with some rivalries existing for several centuries. All that death and destruction made the First and Seconding Wizarding wars seem insignificant. But while there were still grievances, these countries now worked together to push the boundaries of what was humanly possible.

And Draco and Hermione were witnessing it.

She’d told some of this to him before at the National Space Centre, but Draco didn’t mind. He watched her face brighten and become increasingly expressive as she spoke.

“I never pegged you as an optimist,” he replied, nuzzling her cheek.

“I never pegged you,” she teased, and tenderly kissed the tip of his nose. “Period.”

“Hmmm…” he replied with a smirk. “I’m not averse to it.”

She grinned wider.

“You know,” he said, returning his gaze to the place the rocket had disappeared. “Portkeys and Apparition would slash the cost of making these trips.” He still couldn’t believe the cost of the American shuttle program, and the projected cost of the International Space Station.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “Portkeys would be the better approach. We can’t even Apparate very far on Earth, let alone to a moving target in orbit.”

Draco shielded his eyes with his hand, trying to make out any hint of the rocket at the end of the smoky wisps disintegrating in the bright blue sky. “That would be some complicated Arithmancy.”

“Muggles already solved the non-magical part of those equations,” she replied, unable to hide her excitement. “We’d have a head start.”

He looked down into her hazel eyes, bright with the endless possibility of a wide open future. Loving, encouraging, admiring, Hermione would support him in anything he wanted to do. As he would her. It was their own future to craft as they liked.

“Honestly,” he said, still unbelieving that she was his and standing with him right here, right now, in this place, after all that had happened. His heart swelled with love. “The Statute of Secrecy would be the biggest impediment. Not the Arithmancy.”

“Oh,” she raised her eyebrows. “You want to go head to head with the Minister of Magic?”

“I’d much rather watch you do it.”

Hermione had Kingsley by the balls for life. He wouldn’t be blackmailed, but apparently the Slytherin had a conscience and could be guilted over certain issues. Hermione had absolutely no scruples in using that against him.

Draco’s cock twitched. Hermione must have felt it, because she turned around to face him.

“What are you thinking about now?” her lips spread in a saucy grin. “Pegging?”

Draco had only just stopped Hermione from Imperiusing Kingsley after the battle. Once Draco explained that he did indeed have a pardon, and it had been available to him all along, Hermione released a half-growl, half-shriek. Rather than calming down, she was even more outraged than before. Not chancing a public incident that would put Hermione at risk with the IOC, Tonks disarmed her before she could hex him.

But it took four separate Episkey charms to fix Kingsley’s nose, and even today, one and a half months later, his face still appeared misaligned.

Draco’s cock grew as his blood rushed south, and he ground himself into her. Pulling Hermione in close, he kissed her, and grinned against her lips.

Anything was possible, so long as he was with her.

Hermione tilted her head up to look at him, and lowered her lids in anticipation. “Well?” she asked, her voice husky. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“Your right hook. It’s improved quite a lot since third year.”

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: Another Muggle outing. With everyone!

Thank you so much for the kudos and comments!

This launch actually did happen on November 20, 1998. The timeline works. :)

If you are unfamiliar, the International Space Station really is a success story. Not just for the feats of science and engineering, but for the international cooperation. It’s also the most expensive item in the world! Since the advent of social media, astronauts have been able to connect with the average person with ease. My daughters and I have eagerly watched videos which vary in content from the complex science experiments being performed to small details of everyday anti-gravity life, such as how to shampoo long blond hair. Lavender would approve.

https://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/station/main/index.html

The remaining launch dates after the one in November were:

December 4, 1998 – the US space shuttle launches the US component

February 7, 2001 - Destiny, the U.S. Laboratory module, becomes part of the station. Destiny continues to be the primary research laboratory for U.S. payloads.

February 7, 2008 The European Space Agency’s Columbus Laboratory becomes part of the station.

March 11, 2008 The first Japanese Kibo laboratory module becomes part of the station.

I wanted to extend a special thanks you to all of you, my very own pandemic book club, that have been with me throughout. I first started posting this story in March, and some of you read my earlier stuff too, posted last fall. Regardless of when you joined, everyone here has been so encouraging, and many times your comments and reactions, whether expressed in emojis or essays, have made me rethink the characters as each chapter went up. One comment is worth 1000 kudos to me, and this comment section right here has really been the best part of writing. It has been absolutely insane and I love all of you for it. Because of your input, I’ve added dialogue and extended scenes many times throughout the story. Not to belittle Bek’s and slytherdor99’s massive efforts in any way (they were a phenomenal alphas/betas), but I really do consider you all to be part of the alpha/beta process. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed writing and posting chapters with all of you with me. It’s been a hugely collaborative project while I learned how to write (and am still learning). :)

In thanks, I’m opening up requests for the second epilogue. It’s the only chapter in a long while that I didn’t have written prior. I have a vague idea of what I want to do, and there are snippets of dialogue, so I’m sending out an open call. What would you like to see?

To set the scene, yes, it’s a Muggle outing. I’ve made it possible for the entire ensemble to be there (the ones left alive anyway). The tone is comedic but with somber undertones. Someone in the comments mentioned earlier that they’d like Tonks to give a smackdown to Lucius.

I already know how I’m going to work that in.

I’m not promising to include everything, but I’ll see what’s possible.

Also: it takes place one year in the future! So no babies or weddings yet!

We’re all going to have fun in this last epilogue. Much love to you all!

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

reddit: /u/PrincessRapBattles
Facebook: Lynn Dramione
Discord: mistresslynn#1535

Chapter 86: Epilogue Part 2

Notes:

An early Christmas/New Years' gift from your resident Jewish writer. ;)

I tried really hard, but couldn’t incorporate all of your prompts – it was actually very difficult from a technical perspective, which I didn’t anticipate. However, I think I managed to get most of them! I hope you have fun reading.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

In a time not long, long ago…

In a galaxy, not very far away…

Well really, it’s only about a year later in London: October 1999

 

Hermione watched as Pansy turned her head from side to side, eyeing her hair in the mirror.

“This is the most ridiculous hairstyle I’ve ever seen. And that includes your fuck-ups in sixth year, Brown.” Lavender scowled and Pansy continued without notice. “What a waste of a hair extension potion.” She curled her lip and patted the massive amounts of hair, now twisted into buns on each side of her head. “We all look like we have cinnamon rolls covering our ears.”

Ginny snorted and flipped through the magazine Hermione had provided them for reference. “Well, there’s this picture with the braid wrapped around her head. Do you want to try that instead?”

Lavender peered at the picture over Ginny’s shoulder. “Why is she always wearing white?

Pansy scoffed. “Virginal white.”

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest, feeling the need to defend one of her favorite characters. “I’m hardly blaming Princess Leia for the Madonna/whore complex. She’s still badass. It’s either white clothing from the first and second movies or the whorish metal bikini from the third.”

All three women turned to face Hermione, eyes wide in interest. Pansy pointed a red painted nail at her chest. “You’re holding out on us, Granger.”

“It’s October, you'll be cold!” Hermione protested. Seeing as the weather didn’t phase Pansy, she added, “And look ridiculous.”

“Warming charms,” Pansy replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “And I’ll be the judge of how I look. Show me.”

Hermione flipped through the magazine they used as a guide to style their hair until she arrived at the movie poster for Return of the Jedi.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Forget the white gown and cinnamon rolls. I’m wearing the whorish metal bikini.”

“The fuck you are, Weasley. It was my idea.”

“We're all wearing the same thing now,” Ginny retorted.

Lavender took the magazine from Hermione. “Aren’t there any other female characters?” she asked, flipping the pages back and forth to compare the varying hairstyles of Princess Leia’s long locks.

“A few smaller side characters that hardly anyone will recognize.”

“But the men have all these choices!” Lavender protested.

“Smurfette Principle,” Hermione grumbled, becoming annoyed that their options were so limited. Dressing up had seemed fun at first. Maybe she should go as a male character and be done with it. Even Lavender couldn’t get Hermione's wild curls to behave and form proper cinnamon rolls.

“What?”

“Never mind. I’m changing my costume.” Hermione waved her wand over Princess Leia’s signature white gown, transfiguring it into Mandalorian armor. After adjusting the fit, she conjured Boba Fett’s signature helmet.

There was only one Boba Fett.

 

 

“You could go as a fighter pilot – rebel or Empire – or one of those Storm Troopers,” Ginny offered. “They can’t all be male.”

“No. She can’t,” Pamela Proudfoot denied the suggestion, while shifting uncomfortably in her own Storm Trooper costume. Being one of the Aurors that had secretly trained Order members throughout the war along with Ignatius Savage, Dedalus Diggle and Voldemort’s spy, John Dawlish, she was entrusted to guard inmates on Muggle outings. Her wand had been Glamoured to look like a blaster and was currently resting in a thigh holster. “Only Aurors are dressed as Storm Troopers. Else we won’t be able to tell who’s keeping watch over the war criminals.”

Fuck you, Proudfoot,” Pansy sneered. “You don’t know what it was like.”

“I know exactly what it was like,” Pamela spat in reply. “You think my family wasn’t threatened by Death Eaters? All of the Aurors were targeted but you didn’t see me groveling before a genocidal maniac. You should be rotting next to Dementors, not taking field trips. I don’t care what your sob story is, or how old you were. You tortured people and committed murder just like those sitting in Azkaban.”

The five women stared at each other in the tense silence. Nothing Pamela said was wrong, but Hermione, and many others, didn’t think Azkaban was an effective solution anymore. Not after Grindelwald. Not after the First Wizarding War. And most definitely, not after this one. The inmates weren’t reformed if/when released, mostly resentful, somewhat unhinged, many times completely broken and unable to return to society. Others of course, simmered with thoughts of revenge.

Aside from that, no one really knew whether fear of Azkaban was an effective deterrent or not. It was only assumed to be.

“This is an integral part of their Muggle Studies,” Hermione tried to keep the argument neutral. “And we already know the Muggle Studies courses have been effective.” The safe house at Pinner had been expanded to incarcerate the younger generation of Death Eaters convicted of violent crimes, away from Azkaban. Those lucky enough not to be in a situation involving murder or torture were sentenced to varying lengths of wand removal and probationary supervision. “The focus is reformation and re-integration for the younger generation because many were coerced and some underage. They can't reintegrate into society after being subjected to psychological tort–”

“I’ve heard the arguments and they’re all bollocks,” Pamela growled. Hermione remembered how the Aurors had protested in a rage over what they saw as the hypocrisy in Tonks’s eight-month long sentence in Azkaban by the IOC. Pamela Proudfoot had been among the most outspoken for her friend and colleague. “Sitting with Dementors for a few years is a deterrent to dark wizards. Not coddling them and taking them to Muggle museums.”

The hot button issues of the day had shifted. There was still talk of Muggle-born and Muggle inferiority; however, those views were rapidly declining in popularity and some in wizarding society were ashamed to admit they still held those beliefs. Introducing Muggle items to the Wizarding World and tax incentives for taking the Ministry approved Muggle Studies course was slowly but surely having its effect.

However, the main issue being discussed in The Daily Prophet was what to be done with Death Eaters, their families, and collaborators who were coerced, threatened and/or bribed. Not only that, the question of what do with Azkaban, the long established and relied upon criminal justice institution, rose to prominence as well.

“It’s alright, Granger. I don’t need your sympathy.” Pansy retorted with a small smile. “Pamela here would prefer to go on a rampage like her friend. It’s only murder if you’re on the wrong side of the Auror badge.”

Pamela’s eye twitched and she laid her hand on her blaster. Pansy knew exactly where her words cut the most.

“We don’t murder innocent people.”

“Right,” Pansy drawled. “Only teenagers forced into battle by wandpoint.”

“We don’t murder,” Pamela ground out. “But we’re not going to endanger ourselves when someone forced into battle by wandpoint threatens to kill us either. That’s why there are rules of engagement.”

“Maybe you don’t, but Ton–”

“Can we drop it?” Ginny interrupted, her voice coming out a lot shriller than Hermione had ever heard.

Pamela faced Lavender, Ginny and Hermione, and her eyes hardened. “Forget the ethics of reformation and punishment for now. The Dementors need a source of happiness or they’ll start feeding off our villages like they did centuries ago. That was the reason Azkaban was created in the first place. Better criminals than the rest of us.”

“Well, the older Death Eaters are still there,” Lavender offered.

“Mark my words,” Pamela said, crossing her arms awkwardly over the plastic armor of the Storm Trooper costume. “You think you have a solution now, but it’ll backfire. Once their sentences are up, the Dementors will leave Azkaban and start preying on all of us.”

Hermione recalled Remus teaching her to throw off the Imperius Curse, and of learning from failure. The Wizarding World was poorer, not having the benefit of someone as wise as he was, who could balance differing factions and points of view. She had long learned from him to prioritize the problems she dealt with to prevent the crippling anxiety that came from tackling everything at once.

Wizarding society wasn’t any different.

“Well, we have time before that happens,” Hermione said with a lift of her chin. “There are more urgent issues to address in the meantime, and rebuilding is the main one. We can’t do that if everyone who served Voldemort, even tangentially, is in Azkaban. Younger people especially, they come out as shells of themselves.”

Pamela was about to respond but Ginny interrupted, pausing in the transfiguration of the white gown into the slave girl costume. “Look, there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t see two empty chairs at my mum’s table. I want to have fun tonight. Can we all pretend that the war never happened and we’re just a bunch of Muggles going out to the cinema?”

Pansy and Pamela eyed each other angrily; a reluctant cease-fire hung between them.

“I’ll do your hair like the picture with the metal bikini,” Lavender offered, changing the subject. Ginny turned to her in relief. “It’s a complicated updo with the braid but I can manage. Pansy, do you want me to style yours?”

Pansy and Pamela continued to glare at each other in silence, and then Pansy turned her sneer to Lavender, eying her wand enviously. She hadn’t had use of her wand since the final battle. “Anything is better than the cinnamon rolls.”

“I like them,” Lavender replied, busying herself with styling charms as Ginny’s long red locks, unnaturally thickened and extended via potion, began to unravel by themselves and form new braids and knots. “And I’ll keep the virginal white gown.”

“Whorish metal bikini for you, then?” Hermione asked Pansy.

“Always,” she replied with a huff.

Hermione felt a warm sensation in one of the cargo pockets of her Boba Fett costume and pulled out her Galleon.

 

Where are you?

Still getting dressed and doing hair.

No lesbian orgy then?

You wish.

Constantly.

What is it with men and lesbians?

It’s hot.

We’d be ignoring you and getting ourselves off.

So I’ll wank and enjoy the show.

Maybe you could learn something.

Are you questioning my technique?

There’s always room for improvement.

Says the woman who screamed so loud I had to recast my Silencing Charm.

You love it when I scream.

You love it when I make you scream.

 

“Granger, what are you doing?”

Startled, Hermione jumped to see Pansy eyeing her Galleon with a raised eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

Ginny turned to Pansy. “She flirts with Malfoy on that Galleon.”

Hermione couldn’t compete with the reflexes Ginny honed by playing Seeker last year, and before she knew what had happened, Ginny had her Galleon.

“Hey!” Hermione protested while Ginny held the Galleon far above Hermione’s reach. She grabbed her wand, but Lavender was quicker, wand already out to style Ginny’s hair, and disarmed Hermione with a wide grin.

Pamela rolled her eyes while Pansy cackled.

Hermione turned on Lavender with a shriek and tried to pry her wand out of Lavender’s grip while Ginny thumbed the Galleon. Pansy tugged the Galleon down, peered at it, and then burst out laughing.

Hermione growled and charged after Ginny who leapt up onto her bed.

“Give it here, Weasley!”

Ginny tossed the coin over Hermione’s head to Pansy, who caught it one handed and thumbed the Galleon with a maniacal laugh right as Hermione barreled into her, knocking her onto the other bed.

"Oof!"

Pansy squealed a grunt as Hermione climbed over her body, straining towards the outstretched hand containing the Galleon. Just as Hermione was about to grab it, the Galleon whisked out of Pansy’s hand and shot into Lavender’s. Thoroughly frustrated, Hermione sat down on the mattress with an irritated huff and crossed her arms, watching as the three took turns laughing, reading each other’s messages and sending more back to Draco.

“Are you finished yet?”

Lavender giggled. “Almost.”

“How much damage am I going to have to repair?”

Ginny glanced up with a grin. “Don’t worry, Hermione. He’s totally into this.”

“A lesbian orgy?” Hermione scowled.

Pansy scoffed. “Is he still carrying on about lesbian orgies?”

“Your boy wants to be smacked around and pegged,” Ginny taunted, and held the Galleon out with a smirk. “You’ll thank us later.”

Flaring her nostrils in annoyance, she grabbed the Galleon and stared down at the glowing letters.

Right then. I’ll tell Potter, Wood and Theo to assume the position.

 

~

 

The troop of women walked around the back of the Odeon to see the long line of Muggles, eagerly awaiting tickets for the entire trilogy, many dressed up in costume, and acting out their favorite scenes. Hermione surveyed her friends, almost all in costume, but couldn’t find Draco. Blaise and Ron were fighting with lightsabers, each dressed as Han Solo. She narrowed her eyes. The lightsabers looked a bit too realistic to have been made solely from plastic and battery powered electricity. The Aurors didn’t seem to notice.

Tonks approached, holding Teddy’s hand. Both were dressed as Ewoks in full body costumes. Despite the eyepatch and scar across her face, mum and toddler looked surprisingly cute and wholesome. The ex-Auror appeared a lot healthier recently, and her cheeks had regained their color. Hermione had a suspicion that her new career had something to do with it. While the Auror office gave Tonks a dishonorable discharge before her sentence in Azkaban, MACUSA held a different view on Tonks’ war tactics.

And promptly recruited her.

Hermione wrapped her arms around the padded bulk of the Ewok costume to hug Tonks, and she bent down to press a kiss on Teddy’s cheek, which he returned, and smeared her with drool. “Every time I see you, I feel guilty for not facing the IOC.”

Tonks lifted Teddy, supporting his weight on her hip. “Saving you from the IOC was the one decision I made in the war that didn’t have negative consequences,” she said with a wry grin. “Every time I see you, I feel guilty for not removing you as Draco’s handler sooner.”

“Don’t be,” Hermione blinked in surprise. “I don’t know that we’d have made out so well otherwise.” So much had happened since their spy/handler days. She grinned, thinking about her days working with Draco in the secret subsidiary branch of the Portkey Department. The excitement of new discovery was helping them just as much as their Mind Healers. “Things worked out alright,” she added, grin widening.

“Yeah, they did.” The scar running across Tonks’ face and under her patch lifted up, but her smile wasn’t as bright and cheery as in the days before the war. She was still mourning Remus’ loss. Tonks continued with a smirk, “I’ve heard rumors that a few select Muggle governments will institute a separate level of classified information for their space agencies next year.”

“Tonks!” Hermione shushed her, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. The Ministry was going to collaborate with Muggle space agencies. It was a long road ahead absolutely mired in red tape. But only Kingsley, Arthur, Draco and herself were aware of the trajectory. “How did you even know that?”

“Eh. I’ve got sourc– Oi! Nott!” Tonks glared over Hermione’s shoulder.

Theo jumped and turned around from where he was standing next to Bulstrode and Goyle, both dressed as Chewbacca, each flanked by Storm Troopers. His eyes widened in alarm.

“Give it here!” Tonks ordered him.

“Give wha–”

“Shut your gob and give it here!

“I don’t know wh–”

Now,” she commanded, and held her hand out. “Or I’ll remove your bollocks with a spoon.”

“Why do your threats turn me on?” Theo retorted with a flash of teeth.

“They won’t if you have no testicles.”

“Point taken,” he nodded, dragging his feet as he walked reluctantly over to Tonks. Hermione watched curiously as he shoved his hand in his trouser pocket and reluctantly pulled out a gun.

“You brought that to a movie?” she whispered loudly.

“Robards!” Tonks called out. A masked Stormtrooper turned around and walked over, hand on his blaster. “Cover me.”

The Auror blocked Tonks from view from the other Muggles in the area with his body and she surreptitiously waved her wand over the handgun, Vanishing it.

“That’s the second one you’ve swiped,” he pouted.

“Where do you think you are? Texas?”

Theo leaned in close to Tonks and waggled his eyebrows. “I’m beginning to think it’s not just my gun you’re after.”

She glared at him. “Balls. Gone.”

He leaned back, but looked supremely satisfied with himself.

“You know,” Tonks turned to Hermione, pointedly ignoring Theo, “I was only four when the first movie came out, but I distinctly remember standing in line and a man in front of us bragging that he had already seen Star Wars in the theater twenty-three times. Twenty-three times!” Tonks repeated in disbelief, surveying the long line of costumed movie goers. “People are nutters.”

“Says the woman wearing an Ewok costume,” Hermione teased.

“The Ewoks are the best thing about the movies!” Tonks retorted with a light punch to Hermione’s arm.

Hermione winced. That hurt.

“You’re kidding me,” Theo said, cracking a grin.

Tonks paused, and then slowly turned to face Theo. “No. I’m dead serious.”

“The Ewoks?” Theo repeated. “Ruining what could be an otherwise darker tale? Are you telling me that a tribe of glorified teddy bears could defeat a space-age army?” He threw out his arms and Tonks’ face darkened. “It made no sense! Storm troopers dying all around, but one sodding Ewok gets sixty seconds of bloody screen time to dilly-dally on his way through the veil.”

Tonks lowered her voice. “Excuse me?”

Her voice sounded dangerous, more terrifying than the half-serious tone she used when she threatened to castrate him.

“George Lucas just wanted more kids buying his… uh…” Theo stuttered as Tonks bared her teeth, encroaching menacingly into his personal space. He continued explaining nervously, “Uh… buying his m-merchandise.” Tonks reached out, dug her fingers into Theo’s wrist and twisted as he released a high pitch shriek. Theo backed away in horror and she let go. “Fuck, you’re serious.”

Hannah Abbott also dressed as an Ewok, appeared behind Tonks, flanking her side.

“Say that again about the Ewoks, Nott,” Tonks said in a dangerously soft voice.

Hannah cracked her knuckles. Teddy stuck out his lower lip in defiance. Theo looked over to see Neville standing behind the Hufflepuffs, furiously making cutting motions across his neck. Theo gulped and glanced back down at Tonks.

“Well, uh… maybe the Ewoks aren’t so bad.”

“Aren’t so bad?” Tonks repeated tonelessly.

Neville mouthed, ‘Badass’ to Theo from behind the Hufflepuffs. He looked down at Tonks. “Badass,” he said, his voice lilting upwards in question. “The Ewoks are badass.”

“Say it again, Nott,” she whispered with a sinister smile.

“The Ewoks are badass,” he repeated with more conviction.

Tonks patted him on the chest. “Yes, they are.” After giving Teddy a kiss on the tip of his nose, she turned back to Theo. “Enjoy the movies kids!” She walked away, Hannah and Neville behind her.

Theo ran a hand through his hair, making it spike upwards. “Fuck me,” he breathed, and turned to Hermione. “I really thought she was going to gut me in front of everyone. My wrist fucking hurts.

“It’s best not to test her.”

“Normally I like taking the piss,” he glanced knowingly at Hermione.

“I’m well aware.”

“But that was,” he gulped. “They're vicious bastards.”

“Hufflepuffs or Ewoks?”

“Maybe both?” he chuckled.

Hermione craned her neck, surveying the crowd. “Have you seen Draco?”

Theo quirked his thumb at a tall, brooding Darth Vader standing next to Blaise. “That arsehole?”

She swatted his arm and they walked over to Draco.

“Only a tosser like you would be arrogant enough to dress up as the Lord of the Sith,” Theo taunted, puffing out his chest. Without replying, the costumed figure slowly turned to Theo, placed his hands on the plastic mask and lifted it up. Theo made a slight squawking noise as the chin length black hair of Severus Snape revealed his ex-Head of House, who raised an eyebrow in irritation.

“Nott.”

“Oh. Sorry, Professor. Good costume choice. I’m ah…” Theo looked around, trying to escape. “I’m famished. Off to get food!”

Without another word, Theo turned on foot in search of something to eat. Snape nodded his head at Hermione and replaced his mask.

Hermione whirled around looking for Draco but couldn’t see him among the crowd. How hard was it to find his tall, blond, brooding form? She thumbed her Galleon.

 

Are you here?

Yes.

Where?

 

No answer.

Hermione continued scanning the crowd of moviegoers, and weaved in and out, around groups of people, avoiding elbows and narrowly getting plowed over as a boisterous lightsaber fight broke out. Draco was nowhere in sight.

“Nice costume.”

Irritated, Hermione glanced up to see a tall Muggle in a Boba Fett costume. Exactly like hers.

“Hmmph. So much for originality.”

The costumed Muggle lifted the helmet and shook out his pale blond hair. Hermione smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss the smirking lips.

“Great minds think alike,” he murmured onto her mouth.

She pulled back, eying him up and down. “You look pretty good in Mandalorian armor.”

“I was hoping you’d come in the slave girl outfit.”

Excited at the promise of some fun role playing, she pressed up against his body and offered, “After the movies?” 

His hand slid down to rest on her lower back, and his fingers dipped underneath the waistline of her trousers. “Bring Pansy and She-Weasel, too. You can make good on the lesbian org– Father!

Head jerking up excitedly, Draco broke away from their embrace and strode off, dragging her behind him as Lucius, Narcissa, Andromeda and Ted approached the crowd, accompanied by a Storm Trooper. Lucius had finally adjusted to life in Azkaban several months prior and stopped losing weight, but his frame was much thinner and weak looking than how she remembered him from the battle.

Draco made like he wanted a hug, but backed off when his father extended his hand. Hermione’s heart broke a little when she saw Draco force a smile to cover his disappointment and shake his father’s hand. It hurt to watch. Even though they seldom met outside Azkaban with the opportunity for physical contact, Draco wanted more affection than his father was willing to give.

Narcissa was free in her affection, eyes bright at the opportunity to be out with her husband. Even if it was to see a final showing of the trilogy before it was removed from theaters.

The Storm Trooper inspected Lucius after the contact to ensure Draco hadn’t slipped him anything.

Narcissa eyed the Auror in distaste. “Is that really necessary?” The Storm Trooper was at least six inches taller than Narcissa, but somehow, she managed to look down on him.

“Yes, Madam. After every contact.”

Completely unnecessary,” she sniffed. “If I’d slip my husband anything, it would be a vial of Baruffio's Brain Elixir in the hopes that brain damage would improve the Auror Department's competency. Will you examine his mouth each time I kiss him?”

Lucius’ lips quirked.

“Madam," the Auror was affronted.

But Narcissa pretended the Auror didn’t exist. She exchanged pleasantries with everyone, and kissed Draco’s cheek before bending down to kiss Hermione’s.

Lucius’ eye twitched and he gave a curt nod in Hermione’s direction. “Miss Granger.”

Lucius tolerated her. Resentfully. He knew his role as the Malfoy patriarch had completely vanished, and he had little power over the direction of his family. He was bitter about how the wizarding world was changing, but could do nothing from inside Azkaban to change anyone’s minds.

Least of all his son’s or his wife’s.

“Lucius,” Hermione smiled, but it wasn’t genuine. She could appreciate what he did for his family and felt badly for Draco and Narcissa, but he deserved every single day of his long sentence in Azkaban. Hermione’s opinion of Lucius was one topic she and Draco did not discuss. She could hardly expect him to agree with her.

“It’s good to see everyone together,” Narcissa added hopefully, and turned to Andromeda, back facing the Auror as she defiantly took her husband’s hand again, and kissed his cheek. The Auror sighed behind his mask. “I’m excited to see these… films?” her voice lilted around the unfamiliar word, “that you and Draco told me about.”

“They’re classics. We took Nymphadora to see them when she was little,” Andromeda’s tone softened as she recalled fond memories with Ted. “Over twenty years ago.”

Narcissa fixed her gaze on her sister. “I wish Lucius and I had enough sense to join you back then.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

The two sisters shared a glance, and then Narcissa turned back to Lucius and stroked his hair. “We are.”

Lucius’ eyes darted between her and Ted. Still wary, still unaccepting.

Draco’s mother was much more optimistic about Lucius’ regard for the Muggle-born his sole heir was so devoted to, but Hermione knew better. Draco’s father both admired and despised her. He knew his family was alive and safe because of her, but unless she and Draco separated, the Malfoy Pureblood legacy was finished. 

“Let’s do the assignment,” Narcissa suggested as Lucius shifted his icy gaze from her to Draco. “What is it this time?” she asked, rubbing his arm and sneaking a triumphant glance at the Auror, who had resigned himself to not checking every time she touched her husband. “I learn something new each time you’re out.”

Draco insisted on letting Narcissa run interference between Lucius and Hermione and the Tonks family, and Hermione agreed. Narcissa's mastery of the art of diplomacy could have prevented both Muggle World Wars.

“A vending machine.” Lucius spat the words as if they caused a foul taste in his mouth.

Narcissa looked to Hermione for help and Hermione led the Malfoys inside the theater, leaving the Andromeda and Ted outside. Draco explained the simple mechanics and they watched Lucius grumble, eyeing the vending machine like the remnants of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Draco approached. “I can–”

“No,” Lucius sneered. “They’ll know. The assignment is for me to successfully operate a vending machine, and I have no desire to repeat it. It can’t be that difficult.”

He narrowed his eyes at the coin slot and fumbled with the assortment of pounds and pence in his hand.

“They’re not so bad, you know.”

His father turned back to face Draco with a raised eyebrow. The sallow look on his face from nearly a year in Azkaban vanished when his snobbery returned. “Processed sugar and flavoring made on their… machines? I’d sooner drink the furniture varnish that masquerades as Firewhisky at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“No,” Draco continued, and cleared his throat. “Muggles.”

Lucius stared at his son in silence, shifted his cold gaze to Hermione, and returned to peruse the colorful candy and chocolate options. She didn’t know if he would ever change, but it had only been a year. The Muggle Studies program had been wildly successful with the younger generation.

Coins clinked as Lucius inserted them into the slot one at a time. After curling his lip in distaste, he chose a Flake bar. They waited while the whir of mechanical gears pushed the bar towards the edge and came to a stop. The bar was stuck.

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Even their machines fail them.”

“Magic backfires too,” Draco countered softly. “We’re all human. Fallible.”

Lucius’ jaw clenched, but he didn’t reply as he calmly counted out more coins from his pocket. Just as he was about to try again, Tonks appeared and banged the side of the vending machine with her fist, making them all jump. The Flake bar jostled forward and fell down.

“Come to Auntie Narcissa!” Teddy wobbled over to Narcissa’s outstretched arms and she lifted him up with a big smile while Draco lightly tickled his cheek. “He’s getting so big, Nymphadora!” she rubbed her nose on his. "Who's getting so big? You are! But never too big to hold you!"

Hermione’s heart was light as a feather as she watched Narcissa and Draco take turns tickling, poking, pinching and kissing the pudgy toddler while he squirmed and laughed.

Tonks bent over with difficulty, the bulk of her Ewok costume made it hard, and extracted the Flake bar from the machine. Holding the chocolate out to Lucius, he recoiled. She shrugged, removed the wrapper, took a bite with exaggerated relish and handed it to Teddy, who squealed in delight.

“How’s Azkaban?” Tonks asked after making a show of licking the chocolate from her fingers. “Even Muggle-made chocolate tastes better than the porridge they serve there. Any benefits from good behavior? They allowing you to take a piss by yourself yet?”

Hermione glanced at Draco and Narcissa, they were too preoccupied with Teddy and hadn’t heard Tonks' taunting.

“The same as when you were there,” he replied coldly. “Do you intend on ruining the evening for them?” He shifted his gaze to his family.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all, continuing to smile meanly at Lucius.

Teddy, also struggling with the bulk of his costume, reached out to Draco, face covered in chocolate. Grinning from ear to ear, Draco took the giggling toddler from Narcissa and took a bite of the bar, now shoved into his face.

Lucius observed Draco interact with Teddy, pure joy on his son's face, and stiffened his posture. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you belonged there.”

Tonks swallowed and after a few moments replied, “I did it for my family.”

“Likewise.”

The two stared in silence at one another and then turned to face Teddy, Narcissa and Draco. Tonks spoke softly without facing him. “I hope you think your choices were worth it.”

Lucius eyed his son, and after a short silence where Draco struggled to chew and swallow while simultaneously taking another bite of the bar Teddy pushed past his lips, Lucius answered, “This one was.”

Tonks had no reply. Without another word, Lucius straightened his shoulders, and walked away.

“Lucius?” Narcissa called after her husband. “Lucius?” Turning back to Draco with a small smile she chastised, “Your face is covered in just as much chocolate as Teddy’s.”

Hermione looked up to see that he did indeed have a smear on his upper lip and across his cheek. The results of Teddy force feeding him faster than he could eat.

Wordlessly, Tonks pulled a baby wipe out of nowhere and Narcissa wiped Teddy’s mouth, chin and cheeks with practiced movements. Tonks held out another wipe which Draco took. He grinned, shifting Teddy’s weight so he could carry him one-armed, and wiped his face. Teddy pouted, and Draco blew a raspberry on his cheek, re-igniting the squealing giggles.

A warmth spread up and outward from Hermione’s chest when watching the two of them. She was quite unprepared for how content the sight of Draco playing with Teddy made her feel. On the occasions she caught Draco staring at her while she cuddled with the happy toddler, she knew he felt the same.

Patronus fodder.

Tonks leaned against the vending machine and sighed. She still sounded somewhat tired. Hermione wondered if the effects of staying in Azkaban would ever leave her.

“I never properly thanked you three.”

Reluctantly tearing her gaze from Draco, Hermione glanced back to Tonks, “What for?”

“Being there for my mum, dad and Teddy while I was inside. And for visiting. Those visits meant everything. It was hard,” her voice became tight. “Azkaban was hard.”

Narcissa leaned over to place a light kiss on Tonks’ forehead. “We’re family now. Of course we'll be there for you. I’m going to find Lucius.”

Narcissa strutted off, eyeing all the costumed figures in interest and sneering at the Aurors. Draco stared at his cousin. “We take care of each other, Tonks. You’d do the same. You already have.”

The ex-Auror nodded. “I worried that Teddy would miss out on…” she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and closed her eye, turning her face to the side. “On loving male figures in his life.”

Hermione’s eyes burned, and she blinked away her tears, wishing Remus could be a part of the family they built from broken pieces after the war.

Tonks composed herself, sniffed and wiped her nose, looking up at them again. “But he has you and Harry. I couldn’t ask for better role models.”

A tear escaped Hermione’s eye and she glanced at Draco to see his Adam’s apple bob. With a wry grin he added, “What a horrible thing to say. I’m a much better role model than Potter.”

Tonks huffed a laugh and Draco set Teddy down when he started wriggling in his grip. After running over to Tonks, mother and son walked away to rejoin the rowdy crowd of fans just as Theo and Pansy came from inside the theater, accompanied by a Storm Trooper, shifting uncomfortably underneath the full body costume.

Pansy held her head high at the male stares directed at her costume, acting as if it were expected, and yet pointedly not acknowledging any of them. Theo leaned on her, covering his mouth with a towelette.

“What happened?” Hermione asked.

“Tacos,” Pansy replied with an eye roll.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I thought you liked tacos.”

“I do and they were excellent,” Theo croaked. Pansy shot him a scolding look. “I may have added too much hot sauce,” he amended.

“Your stomach’s too delicate,” she said, gently wiping the sweat from his forehead with another towelette. “You’re too delicate,”  

“Am not. I’m an,” he gurgled. “An alpha male.”

Pansy snorted and held out a paper cup. “Drink the ice water, it’ll help.”

“But I am," he protested after obediently swallowing the water. "I mark my territory with piss.”

“You do actually,” Draco replied. “Your father's desk still stinks.”

“Men cower before my penetrating gaze.” Despite his sickly appearance, Theo leaned into Pansy’s ministrations.

“Cower in hilarity?” Draco quipped

Theo shot him a half grin. “Star Trek is better than Star Wars.”

Hermione gasped in mock horror. “You take that back!”

“There’s no,” he glanced surreptitiously around and continued in a stage whisper, “There’s no Ewoks.”

“An Alpha male scared of speaking in front of Hairymuffs,” Draco’s lips lifted mockingly. Then he paused, and glanced around, probably checking to see if any Hufflepuffs had heard the derogatory name.

Eyeing the vending machine, Pansy tilted her chin in its direction. “What’s that?”

“A vending machine?” Draco replied, thinking the answer obvious.

Pansy scoffed. “I did the vending machine assignment three months ago. What is that.” She repeated, pointing to a coin flattening machine.

“Muggles seem to love those things.” Everyone turned around to see George saunter over, wearing a T-shirt that said 'I defeated the Dark Lord and all I got was this lousy T-shirt' emblazoned across a picture of Darth Vader. Despite the presence of Aurors, everyone seemed to be playing fast and loose with the Statue of Secrecy tonight. “I saw someone using it before.”

Theo gulped down the water Pansy held for him and wiped his mouth. “You put in a large value coin and a small value coin, paying to flatten the small value coin and imprint it with a picture.” George bent over and squinted, inspecting the mechanics on the inside. “In this case,” Theo leaned over to look at the side of the machine, “it’s the Star Wars logo. The coin is rendered useless. But you come away with a souvenir.”

“A souvenir,” George repeated thoughtfully.

Theo nodded, and the greenish tint in his face subsided as he explained. “With a one-time investment, the movie theater makes a pound every time someone wants to flatten a two pence coin.”

“I could do this in the shop,” George said, rubbing his chin.

“Wizards aren’t as stupid as Muggles,” Pansy replied, picking at her nails. “Who would pay 494 Knuts to smash a Knut?”

“Pansy!” Theo chastised her.

“Well, it’s true!” she retorted, crossing her arms.

“Oh, I love these!” Ron bounded over excitedly, pulling along Susan, another Princess Leia look-a-like with the cinnamon roll hairstyle. “Give me one of those pound doodads and the coin with a two on it.”

Susan fished around in her purse and extracted a few coins. “For what?”

“It’s flippin’ amazing! Watch!” Susan handed Ron the coins and they all watched as he inserted them and activated the machine. The gears creaked and turned and Ron bent over, bouncing on the edge of his heels in anticipation. The machine flattened the larger two pence coin to Ron’s outward glee and deposited it where it could be retrieved.

Ron grabbed the coin and inspected it, flipping it over. “Look it’s got Darth Vader on one side and the movie logo on the other!” With a whoop he ran off, abandoning Susan. “Harry! Ginny! Look what I've got!” Susan stared at them apologetically and followed after him.

“Alright,” Pansy said, red lips curving upwards. “I stand corrected. Muggles and Weasleys.”

Ignoring her barb, George stared at the coin flattening machine in thought. “If I bought that for the shop, I’d have it stamp our logo, but modify it so kids could pick different colors and flashing lights. Maybe a few choice impolite sounds.”

“For that you could charge double,” Theo added.

“Right,” George agreed. “One galleon for the logo, two for colors, flashing lights and farting noises.”

Theo turned and pointed at George’s chest. “Five to make one of those Galleons Hermione uses to flirt with Draco.”

“Hey!” Hermione protested. Did everyone know about them? Draco chuckled next to her.

“Genius,” George nodded, sizing Theo up as if seeing him for the first time. “Problem is I’ve nothing to invest.”

Theo looked taken aback. “What happened to the funds from your Order of Merlin? Wasn’t your family compensated?”

“Barely. They didn’t cover the damage to the Burrow, the shop and restocking. I had to take out a loan to cover the rest. I can’t handle another loan, we're barely making ends meet as it is.”

Theo shrugged. “I’ll buy it. We’ll split the profits fifty-fifty.”

George snorted. “Sounds like a shit deal to me. I’m the one doing the work and supplying the location.”

“You’re right,” Theo replied smoothly. “Eighty-twenty in my favor since I’m fronting the cash.”

“You’re barking.”

“Most likely.” Theo shoved his hands in his pockets. “Have you ever considered selling modified Muggle guns? They’re fun to play with.”

 

~

 

Hermione and Draco stepped away from George, Theo and Pansy, leaving them to discuss future business ventures, and almost ran directly into Yasmin and Kingsley. Yasmin’s posture was regal, and she wore the burn scars running from her left shoulder up her neck and covering half her face like a queen would fine silks.

The confrontation was awkward.

Hermione had Kingsley under her thumb. They both knew it. But if she ever threatened him, truly threatened him, Yasmine would kill her.

Albeit reluctantly.

Not that Hermione would threaten Kingsley. So far, he had been helpful in pushing her agenda of collaborating with the space agencies, and open to the long-term goal of combining the Wizarding and Muggle worlds again. There was no reason to threaten him. For now.

Yasmin narrowed her eyes at her.

Kingsley bowed his head slightly. “Hermione, Draco. Nice to see you both here. And in matching costumes?”

Yasmin flashed her teeth. “Draco is very fond of costumes. Has he told you, Hermione?”

She pulled Kingsley away and Hermione looked up to see Draco’s cheeks redden. Her eyes widened as the blush spread up to his hairline. She had never seen him so embarrassed before.

“What was that?

He coughed, laughed awkwardly, and then coughed again. “I told you, I was a sick fuck when I was fifteen. I wanked to everything.”

She poked his ribs and he jerked, grabbing her wrist. “Which costumes?” 

Letting her wrist go to run a hand through his hair, he looked to the side. “Never mind.”

Which costumes?”

“Let’s start with the slave girl and go from there?”

“Now I’m cur–”

“Are they from the movies we’re watching tonight?” Lavender appeared behind them, motioning to several movie posters featuring scenes from the trilogy.

“Yes, of course,” Hermione replied, eyeing Draco with renewed interest. What fantasies did he have in mind?

“So, we’re going to watch that?” Lavender pointed to a poster of the Death Star exploding.

“Yes?” Hermione answered, not understanding her fixation. “Your real-life explosions are much more impressive though.”

“But Muggles need to make the explosions in order to film them.”

Hermione swiveled around to see Lavender’s excited brown eyes. “Are you thinking of a career change?”

“I am. My grades weren’t high enough to work at the Romanian Dragon Reserve, but I could stage explosions for Muggle films.”

“You’re deranged, Brown,” Draco drawled.

Lavender ignored him and tugged on Hermione’s braid, loosening it. “He’s just upset because you haven’t pegged him yet.” She flounced off before Hermione could retort and Draco flushed for the second time that night.

“Does everyone know?”

“You’re not as subtle as you used to be.”

Neither one of them Occluded anymore. Healers’ orders. But Draco was so used to hiding his emotions that it was hard for him to accept that he occasionally let his guard down around others.

“I’m subtle,” he retorted in mock offense.

“Your face is beet red.”

With a bashful grin, he ran a hand over his face. “That bad, ‘eh?”

She slid her hands around his torso, feeling his abdominals under the fabric. “I like embarrassing you.”

“That’s not all you like doing,” he lowered his face to hers and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips.

“Very true.”

They broke apart and he tugged on her hair. “Brown undid your braid,” he said, fingers getting caught in her plait, and turned her around to face the crowd.

He hummed, and undid the hair tie, gently unwinding the curls and then regathering her hair. She allowed herself to sway backward as he pulled gently, running his hands over her head and braiding her hair again. She enjoyed the feel of his fingers, and his hot breath fanning atop her head when she caught Harry, Ginny and Ron watching them from amongst the crowd.

Draco was oblivious to her best friends’ stares and continued tying back her curls into a neat braid. Harry shifted his gaze to Draco, concentrated on braiding her hair, lowered his stare back to her, and smiled. Ginny sighed dramatically, batting her eyelashes at Hermione and laid her head on Harry’s shoulder. Ron rolled his eyes.

Despite it all, she was so lucky. She had her family, but Harry had to build his from scratch.

Harry knew what it was to love, and he knew what it was to be loved. That’s all he wanted for himself, that’s all he wanted for any of them. 

Draco rested his hand on the back of her neck and she leaned into him, closing her eyes with a contented smile while they waited to be let into the theater.

His voice rumbled above her, disturbing her happy thoughts. “My father might die in there.”

She reached for his hand, pulled it across her body, and squeezed. Lucius had deteriorated, but the odd mix of love, devotion and spite seemed to keep him in better condition than most.

“I don’t think he will,” Hermione offered. “He’s doing much better than other inmates that have been in for the same amount of time. And the Muggle Studies course and frequent family visits have mitigated some of the psychological effects.”

“I miss my friends, too.”

Millie was going to be released from Pinner soon. Greg and Pansy’s sentences were longer.

“We’re going to be alright,” she whispered as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. “It’s not perfect. Not by any means, but I think we’re going to be alright.”

His muscles flexed against her body, and she nestled into his heat.

“I’m not so sure,” Draco rested his chin on her head with a sigh. “I don’t think I can live with myself anymore. This blushing has to stop.”

 

~

 

A loud cheer broke out and Hermione opened her eyes to see Ginny and Harry facing off, each with a light saber. She with her slave girl outfit, he dressed as Luke Skywalker. They held the lightsabers out, and circled one another.

As they approached, Draco called out, “She-Weasel handles that length better than you!”

That prompted some laughs.

“Fuck off, Malfoy!” Harry called back while Ginny swung.

Harry blocked her strike and thrust at her torso as she dodged. “Ferret-boy is right though!” she taunted, whacking him in the arse. “I can handle any length -Oh.” Ginny bit her lip, briefly panicked as she parried Harry’s thrust. “Are Mum and Dad here?” she called to Ron.

“No, they’re inside getting popcorn. But I don’t want to hear you blabbing about Harry’s meat either. It’s bad enough I have to see you dressed like that.”

She stuck out her tongue just as Harry hit her upper arm. “I don’t think you can take a sword of this size,” Harry taunted.

“Size doesn’t matter,” she quipped, whacking him upside the head with a twirl. “Only skill!” She hit his leg. “Which you lack!”

Ron groaned. “Ginny!

“Is that what you tell yourselves at night?” Theo taunted them.

“It’s the girth that matters, not the length,” Ginny replied with a cackle, as Harry hit her knee.

“For fucks’ sake!” George cried out. “You’re my baby sister!” 

“So, Pothead lacks length, girth and skill, is what I’m hearing?” Draco smirked.

“He’s very filling!” Ginny retorted, with a thrust to Harry’s chest.

“Fuck me, I don’t want to hear this!” Bill cried.

“But ‘Arry is–”

“Don’t encourage them, Fleur.”

“The Chosen One has some Chosen Skills!” Harry smiled as his light saber collided with Ginny’s with a crack of plastic.

“The Chosen One is referring to himself in the third person now?” Hermione snorted.

Ginny swung and watched in satisfaction as the impact broke Harry’s lightsaber off the handle, clattering on the ground.

“The Chosen One chose the wrong weapon,” Ginny quipped.

“Looks like a failure to perform,” Draco said with a smug grin.

“No judgement here, it happens to the best of us,” Theo added.

Ginny shifted her gaze to Pansy. “My sympathies, Parkinson.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes as Ginny and Harry high-fived each other.

Hermione chuckled and looked around at the group of her friends. Her generation would make it, but they paid a huge price to get here. The happiness was true. Everyone was celebrating life, survival, and looking forward to a bright future. Hopefully one without divisive hatred.

There were still signs of trauma, if you knew where to search.

Hermione noticed how truncated the Weasley family felt. Ginny had looked around, almost expecting Charlie and Fred to yell at her too, but they never would again. George still turned to an imaginary person next to him, ready to share a joke, before remembering Fred wasn’t there.

Her Hogwarts class was the smallest in 300 years; so many had died.

Although Teddy had male figures that would be involved in his life, he wouldn’t ever know his father.

Minerva was gone. Hermione would never forget her courage in the face of so many Death Eaters.

Hot tears pricked her eyes. She wiped them away, but Ginny caught her in the act.

“Penis,” Ginny whispered with a slow smile.

Harry looked at his girlfriend questioningly. “That’s a bit too on the nose.”

Hermione laughed and wiped her eyes. “Penis,” she answered more loudly.

“I thought it was just innuendo.” Draco looked around to see if anyone was staring.

“Penis!” Ginny called out.   

Theo cracked a confused grin. “What are you–”

“Penis!” Hermione yelled back with a laugh. More people turned to face them.

“Penis!”

Penis!

“PENIS!”

“Vagina!”

Ginny and Hermione burst into loud guffaws.

“Amateurs.”

They turned to see someone dressed as C3PO tsking and shaking his head.

He removed his helmet to reveal perfectly gelled and combed red hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

Ginny raised her eyebrows in challenge. “You won’t win this time.”

Percy extracted his wand and pointed it at his throat.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “There are Aurors here!”

“Do you really think, after all that’s happened, that the Ministry is going to punish a Weasley over something as silly as this? You ladies don’t know when you can break the rules.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Ginny said with barely concealed glee.

“Wouldn’t I?” Percy cleared his throat, cocked an eyebrow and whispered, “Sonorus.”

“This is crazy!” Hermione grabbed Draco’s hand and they ducked, covering their ears as the word ‘PENIS’ reverberated above the crowd.

Everyone was craning their necks and laughing, wondering who brought a megaphone. Percy looked around in incredulity just like everyone else. If she hadn’t just seen Percy fucking Weasley trounce them all in The Penis Game, she never would have believed it.

And he got away with it, too. That sneaky little shit.

“Holy fuck,” Draco exclaimed.

“I know. I can’t believe he did that either.”

“No! Over there!”  

Hermione turned around to see what he was looking at. It was a movie preview poster picturing a boy walking, surrounded by desert.

“A poster for an upcoming movie?” She couldn’t tell what he was excited by. “With… sand?”

“No. Look.” He grabbed her shoulders, turned her bodily around to face the poster and walked her forward.

“I don’t– oooooooh.” The shadow behind the boy was in the shape of Darth Vader. “It’s a new Star Wars movie!”

“It’s a new Star Wars movie,” he repeated. “Do you think it’ll be just the one or a lot of movies?”

 

 

 

The two of them scanned the poster and Hermione read the title aloud. “'Episode I.' I bet they’re making a lot of movies. Prequels from the look of it. Maybe they’ll do sequels too.” They stared in excited silence for a few moments, holding hands.

God, I hope they’re not terrible.”

 

 

~fin~

Thanks to Kate (she gave me the taco prompt), I am now a card carrying member of the epic war behemoth club:

 

 

Notes:

Yes, I really did end an epic war behemoth with dick jokes. :D

Just so you all know, there may humor in this chapter, but I’m crying right now. I’m going to miss writing this story, I’m going to miss sharing it with all of you. Our pandemic book club has been like therapy for the past year. Life has been really hard. It still is. My kids struggled a lot during school closures and we're still dealing with the psychological effects of that. This little world has been an escape to retain my sanity and I can’t tell you how much it means that you’ve all come along with me, providing little bits of happiness along the way.

And I STILL can’t believe how much of a readership this story has. Right now it’s almost at 3100 kudos? That’s insane! And there is a lovely translation team working on making this story available to Russian readers as we speak. I came out of nowhere, didn’t know how to use social media, and only had one fandom friend when I started.

And now? Look at this! I can't describe how wonderful you've all made me feel.

And the comments. I said it in the previous chapter A/N but I’ll say it again. I ADORE THIS COMMENT SECTION SO MUCH. You all are the best readers. The absolutely best. I feel like the luckiest person in fandom right now and your feedback has been a true gift. If you were in Boston, I’d invite you all over to my house for drinks in the backyard.

So what’s next for me?

I have a ton of ideas (one-shots in the FWWL universe, epilogue part 3 to Blackmailed, a continuation to Draco’s Body, some fic fests I want to do, a few multi-chapter ideas) but I need a break. The next few months I’d like to support the friends I’ve made along the way (you know who you are WIPtember and Jumanji crew!) by alpha’ing/beta’ing their stories, maybe gifting some fanart if it’s good enough.

If you'd like to chat/yell at me or check out my fanart:

instagram: mistresslynn42, twitter: mistresslynn14, tumblr: mistresslynndramione

reddit: /u/PrincessRapBattles
Facebook: Lynn Dramione
Discord: mistresslynn#1535

So what’s next for you? Would you like something excellent to read now that this is finished?

My beta, Bek_48, is the best kept secret in the Dramione fandom. You’ll read her stories and be shocked that you’ve never heard of her before. If you liked the complex action-y plot of FWWL, you will love Notorious. A trope subverting, cleverly told mystery/adventure that’s Dramione endgame with a ton of morally grey characters.

Did I tease you with pegging without following through? (it’s a bit of an inside joke between Bek and I) She’s actually got the juevos to write that pegging porn, Unforgiven, and it’s one of the best one shots I’ve read. That’s right, one of the best one shots I’ve ever read. By the time it’s finished you’ll be floored that it wasn’t just pegging you’ve read, but a philosophical take on war and about four separate trope subversions while trauma fucking.

She’s that good.

Happy holidays to those of you that celebrate. Hopefully we’ll meet here again when I start writing in a few months. Much love to you all, thank you for making my writing experience an absolute joy.

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