After the peace Hermione felt when returning from foraging, she should have known things couldn't be so steady without something happening.
The next week, while Pansy and Neville were patrolling a rumored Vampire club that Draco was having trouble confirming was an underground sex trafficking location, they came across a seriously injured Greengrass sister. Before completing their mission they had apparated back with her: a mistake.
Daphne Greengrass was so deeply hurt that the force of the apparition caused her already deep injuries to open even more. When they arrived at the London safe house they sent out an immediate Patronus for assistance.
Draco and Hermione were lounging on her bed, discussing the outcome of his most recent Death Eater meeting. They hadn't had the time to talk about what had happened the night Draco was drunk. Despite that they hadn't planned any attacks, the Order was quite busy and the Death Eaters even more so with the final battle plans. It was all coming to a close and everyone could feel it.
Nagini was still alive. For a while Harry was convinced Voldemort had created another Horcrux, but after a recent stint where he was sucked into his mind, Harry was sure that was no longer the case.
But things were different now than they had been at the Battle of Hogwarts. They couldn't storm the castle with no plans set. Five years into a war meant they had to prepare properly. Things were going into overdrive as everyone wrapped up their last minute plans.
They had more important things to discuss, and dynamics remained comfortable and easy between the two of them so Hermione wasn't concerned about rushing the conversation.
Hermione was laid back on her pillow, her feet propped up on Draco's lap as he leaned back against the wall her bed sat against. She was nearly asleep when it appeared. When the message had finished, they both jumped up and Draco immediately reached for Hermione's elbow just moments before she apparated them away.
When they arrived, Hermione's bare feet slamming onto the cold wood, Daphne was on the ground with blood spurting from an injury by her ribs.
Hermione only took a moment to assess Draco, watching as the color drained from his face before she fell into action.
"Someone needs to call Ron and Seamus," she said.
The infirmary was full of injured bodies after the safehouse in Surrey had been attacked the day before. No one knew how it was found, only that the secret keeper had disappeared mysteriously and any of the inhabitants that weren't dead were seriously injured.
Morale was low. Hermione wasn't sure how this development would assist in that.
"No Finnegan," Malfoy said. "Blaise can't handle this right now."
Hermione wanted to argue that Blaise needed to toughen the fuck up , but there was no time. She merely nodded.
Blood soaked her up to her elbows by the time Ron arrived, with Dean in tow. His arms were full of medical supplies, which he promptly dropped to the floor as he fell to his knees to assist.
"I heard screaming in your Patronus," he said, shooing Hermione out of the way as he cast a diagnostic over Daphne.
"She's lost too much blood," Hermione replied. She was eerily still, her pale face covered by her dirt ridden hair.
Ron and Dean worked silently. Hermione watched as Ron wandlessly sewed up her injuries, his brows drawn in focus. Dean worked on her lower half, pulling splinters out of her legs and healing superficial burns. She turned to Draco.
"What happened to her?"
His face was pale, but his eyes were clear. She could feel how much effort he was putting into keeping his shields up.
"I'm not sure. Daphne and Astoria aren't around much. They're not really apart of the Death Eater regime, more like—"
"Like what?" Pansy pushed, shoving out of Neville's arms to face him head on. Pansy was no master at Occlumency, though she had worked hard to shield her mind in battle. No one was allowed on the field without at least the basics of Occlumency cemented in their minds. Right now she stood, hands shaking as she pushed her bangs out of her face. Her gaze was dry and focused.
"Whores," he said, looking Pansy in the eyes. "They come, entertain the younger Death Eaters and leave afterwards. We don't get many chances to talk."
"Daphne would never do that willingly," Pansy said.
"I never said it was willingly. That's just how it has been."
"How long?" Pansy pressed.
"Pans, now isn't—"
"How long, Draco."
She wasn't Pansy of the Order right now. Not Hermione's friend, Pansy. She was Pureblood elitist Pansy Parkinson, demanding answers to questions she couldn't handle.
"Long enough that they don't look me in the eye anymore."
Pansy gasped. "You wouldn't."
"Of course not. It doesn't mean I don't see—"
"Draco," Hermione scolded. "That's enough." She turned towards Ron. "How's it looking?"
"We don't have enough blood replenishing potion to spare for her." Ron stood, disappearing the blood on the ground in a very mechanical manner.
"We can't just sit here and let her die," Pansy protested.
"There are people that have been dedicated to the Order for years that aren't being afforded the potions they need. We aren't wasting one on Daphne."
His tone left no room for arguments. In the end, he was right. No matter how hard it was for Pansy to stand by and watch, she had to accept it. Daphne had made decisions which made further assistance impossible.
So she sat by her side instead, holding her hand through the night and well into the next day, until Neville had to pry her fingers out of Daphne's.
"We've got responsibilities, Pans," he whispered. "We have to go back out on patrol."
Pansy merely nodded, sending a pleading gaze on Hermione, who had stayed by her side faithfully since her arrival.
"I'll watch over her," she confirmed.
So Hermione found herself sitting on the hardwood floor, back aching from the lack of cushion, when Daphne jerked awake.
Hermione was so shocked that she didn't move for a moment.
They had been so sure that Daphne would meet a dim, silent end that they hadn't bothered to restrain her or take her wand.
Hermione lunged for it, thankful that Daphne seemed disoriented enough to not ask questions.
She cast a Patronus and sent it to Draco. He arrived in less than thirty seconds.
---
"Since when have we become a hotel service for helpless Slytherins?" Ron bit out as he sewed up the gash in Hermione's arm.
Daphne, as it turned out, was less concerned with Draco's betrayal or being in Order custody than she was about her sister. Apparently Astoria had been handled roughly by one of the Death Eaters she was with. Daphne, after hearing her cries of protests, burst into the room and tore a man off of her, punching him in the face and then running away with Astoria in tow. They didn't make it far before they were caught and beaten again. Whoever it was must have heard Neville and Pansy's arrival, because Daphne claimed they left in quite a hurry, dragging Astoria by her hair.
She attempted to escape from the cabin and screamed in frustration when she was unable to get past the anti-apparition ward. She turned towards Draco and begged for his assistance in finding Astoria.
And he agreed. Readily. He insisted he could do it alone, but Hermione fought him until he relented that she could join. Any time— especially time that might be spent battling or dueling— she was away from Draco put a spur in her heart. She didn't like thinking about it.
They came up with the least elaborate plan possible. Draco used his Death Eater standing to request Astoria's company. When she arrived, bruised and terrified, he slipped her a location to arrive in five days' time.
When she came, she had been tailed. Draco, who had transfigured his hair into a brown shade and altered some minor facial features, fought off two while Hermione covered his six and dueled the other three.
In the end, they had made it back to the shack that Daphne still resided with minimal injuries. Draco had a bloodied nose and Hermione a large gash on her forearm, but those were from their perusal through the forest and not the duel. It was nothing that couldn't be handled.
"We help those in need, Ronald." She grimaced against his rough movements, flinching as her skin magically sewed back together.
He eyed her apologetically. "We're all out of pain relief draught, I'm sorry."
"I wouldn't have accepted it anyways," she said.
She turned towards Draco. Dean had already fixed his broken nose and he was using a wet cloth to clean the blood off his face.
"Does Astoria need medical attention?" she asked him. His hair was still the awful brown color. She tapped her wand to his head until he was back to the more familiar white blonde. Much better.
She turned towards Astoria to find she was wrapped in her sister's arms. Both girls had fallen to their knees and sobs filled the room.
"Leave her, for now. I think she's getting all the healing she needs at the moment," he said.
"What do we do about them?"
"They didn't fight with the Death Eaters. We could let them go, make an Unbreakable Vow and drop them off in hiding."
"Where would they be safe? They don't seem able to defend themselves if someone comes after them."
"Then they're no more likely to fight for the Order." His eyes were trained on the sisters, tension lined his shoulders, but she could feel the relief flooding through him at the sight.
"They don't need to fight. We could offer them shelter."
"In a safehouse that could very possibly be overrun by Death Eaters at any given moment?"
Hermione sighed. "Well what would you suppose we do?"
Draco hesitated. "Call for Pansy. We don't need to make a decision straight away."
---
Over the next few days, Hermione found herself in a whirlwind of snarky female Slytherins. Despite her acceptance of Pansy, Daphne and Astoria were much more difficult to get along with.
They weren't like Theo or Pansy or Draco; they never saw the error of their ways. But they weren't like Blaise either, because they weren't driven towards prejudice because of the hurt in their hearts that made them easily manipulated. They were raised on it, and even though they'd never fought with the Death Eaters, it didn't mean they didn't agree with their cause.
When the decision had been made to move the Greengrass sisters to a safehouse, they begged Pansy to join them.
"I can't," Pansy said simply.
"Pans, this isn't our war to fight," Daphne insisted.
Pansy looked towards Hermione, who was standing a respectful distance away, giving the girls their room to say goodbye. She waved lightly at her and Pansy shot back a blazing smile.
"It might not be yours, but it is mine."
She threw her arms around both girls, squeezing tightly before walking back and joining Hermione, engaging her in conversation about a new dueling formation Neville and her had been fiddling with. They looked bewildered, as if they didn't recognize her.
Hermione thought it was possible they might never have known Pansy.
Draco had been summoned earlier, leaving Hermione with a quick squeeze of her hand and a reassuring smile.
They were on the roof, walking away from the disapparition of the two sisters when Hermione felt a pang reverberate through her.
Hermione grasped at her chest, stumbling and reaching out for anything that might hold her up. She managed to grab onto something, but faltered again as the pain doubled in intensity and both hands were suddenly bunching at her shirt, fumbling to unbutton it and release the burning inside.
Behind her she heard shuffling, people calling out to her and trying to right her. She couldn't respond, could only focus on the panic that caused her vision to go black at the edges.
"Something's wrong with Malfoy," she managed to get out after Harry held her head in his hands, begging her to speak.
She was sobbing now, on the floor and pressed tightly into Harry's chest as she let out loud wails and broken gasps, clawing at the string in her chest that attached her to Draco— that was gnawing annoyingly just minutes ago— that had now turned into a full blown searing that made her think she could breathe fire.
Harry continued to try and speak to her while everyone stood watching. She couldn't listen— could hardly think over the primal urge that surged through her telling her she needed to go save Draco now or it would be too late.
She was on her feet in an instant, legs jelly beneath her, but steady enough. They had to be. She needed to reach him in time.
Harry grabbed her and before she could blink she was pressed against the wall, face digging into the rough concrete and hands between her shoulder blades. She let out a scream of frustration.
"He's dying," she cried out. "Please, I can save him."
But the hands on her back merely pressed into her harder, and she knew that she couldn't take six bound partners and make it to Draco in time.
She screamed and fought, chest arching against the wall, feet kicking wildly, hands reaching to scratch the arms of the person that restrained her.
Her chest ached so deeply she thought she was dying too. The roaring in her head was so loud she could only hear Draco's screams. She knew they were his; she didn't have to be there. They echoed in her head, bouncing around and hitting every corner until her skull felt ready to explode and her mind melted with the sound she knew she could never unhear.
Somehow, she was on the floor. Her knees were pulled to her chest and she eyed the blood running on the pavement below her.
Her blood, she realized. She pressed a shaking hand to her head. It was soaked. She didn't care; wanted to hit it again so that maybe she could forget this entire awful feeling.
Another wave of pain hit her, and this time it was all encompassing. Her veins felt like they were shriveling, as if all the blood was being sucked out of her. More painful than a vampire bite, this she knew from experience.
Her insides twisted and she could feel her bones scraping against one another with every move she made. She tried to remain still but the pain was too much and she was thrashing helplessly on the ground.
"Save him," she broke out in between screams, as this round of pain faded. "Please, someone help him. They're torturing him."
"Hermione, I'm sorry." Through her hazy eyes she could see Harry's messy hair. He was crying. His hands were on her shoulders, pressing her into the ground.
She laid there for a few minutes with her eyes closed, waiting for the next line of pain to scream up her spine. Her eyes shot open as the burning in her chest turned to a pleasant thrum.
She shot up, running to the spot she knew he'd apparate to—
And collapsed as the heap on the floor appeared.
Draco was covered in blood— positively soaked in it. He wasn't moving, not even a rise of his chest could be detected from her angle. She threw her head against his sternum and let out a choked sob as she heard the first rattled breath. She jumped into healer mode straight away.
"I need blood replenishing potions. And several pain potions. We need to check his injuries and see if there's any type of poison in his system. We need antidotes.
She cast a diagnostic, eyeing it carefully as she looked within at her bind. The string connecting the two of them hummed happily, as if completely oblivious to what had just happened. She shook her head and turned back to Malfoy.
"Just the potions actually," she threw over her shoulder.
Pansy eyed her nervously. "Are you sure?"
Hermione clenched her jaw so tight her teeth clicked.
"Sorry, but not everyone has been as lucky as you and Neville." She turned head on to face her, trying to mask her fear with anger. Her shields had crumbled. "But my bound partner and I have experienced enough injuries that we are more reliable about each other's health than even the most specific diagnostic could be."
Pansy didn't respond, but the pity in her eyes made Hermione's fists clench.
"What's happened to him?"
It was Harry who answered. "Cruciatus curse."
Hermione turned to him. He was levitating Draco's body and preparing to carry it down the stairs to the infirmary. Hermione stood on shaky legs and made to follow him. The thought of being separated from Draco sent a ripple of pain through her almost as extreme as what she had just experienced a few moments before. She wanted to snap at Harry, but managed to hold back.
"Why would you say that? I think I've been crucio'd enough to know what it feels like."
"It wasn't cast on you, Hermione," he said.
"So?"
"So," he began as they turned a corner, "that means it wouldn't feel the same as you're used to. The Cruciatus curse is meant to be the most severe torture spell out there. That means it adheres to each specific person's view of what is most painful."
"Then what makes you say it was the Cruciatus?"
"Because no matter how it felt to you, all torture by wand looks the same." He turned to her, emerald eyes alight with the horror he so rarely let shine through. "It's always you, on the ground writhing around like you won't get up this time."
"I always get up," she breathed, her thoughts turning to someone else besides Draco for the first time since she'd hit the ground.
"You get up until the one time you don't. I'll never know when that is until it happens."
The words were so haunted; so honest and raw that Hermione thought she was talking with Draco for a moment. It wasn't that Harry didn't know what was going on; he wasn't ignorant. But he spent so much time trying not to drown in the negativity and pressure of being the Chosen One that he didn't talk about it. It was all subtext with Harry; they participated in coded conversation more often than not.
They had made it to the infirmary then, Draco landing softly into a bed, blood instantly soaking through the white sheets. Hermione ran forward and gripped his hand.
Ron was at her side in a moment and she breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know many Healers well and Seamus and Blaise were at the new Surrey safehouse location trying to get a makeshift infirmary up and running. Even though Ron wasn't an expert, she desperately needed someone she trusted by her side to take care of Draco.
"His nerves are a mess. Bloody hell, what happened to him?"
"Your professionalism is outstanding, truly," Harry scolded him.
"Cruciatus," Hermione said without hesitation, because Harry was right.
She'd read about it, of course. You had to mean Unforgivables, which not only meant that they could hit you with a wavering intensity, but it also meant that each person would feel the curses differently.
For Hermione, it was all in her head. Her mind would explode before she ever felt it bother her other extremities. The pressure would build so tightly that she would thrash around, and a lot of the times it caused hallucinations and visions of horrid images that she could never quite remember when she was lucid. It was if the pain stemmed from her brain and traveled downwards. It was a mind game.
Draco's Cruciatus was a full body experience. She could feel it from the hair in her head to the tips of her toes. The whole time her nerves were alight with indescribable pain that made her toes curl to even think about. Her fingers ached, her heart was still stuttering and the blood from her head injury was now creating a steady puddle on the ground.
She didn't care about any of it, because if that was what she felt and she was still standing... she looked over at Draco, who was unconscious and bruised.
"Looks like he was beat muggle style as well." Ron turned toward her. "Do you know why this happened?"
Dread flooded through Hermione like ice water, freezing her frayed nerves in a way that made her jaw clenched until it cracked.
He was being punished, she realized. There was no other explanation for it.
"Tom," she whispered. "Something has happened. He— he knows or he thinks he knows—"
"Mione, calm down." Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and forced her into a chair. The world was spinning around her and being put in the seat, she was thrown back to the time her parents had surprised her with tickets to Disney World, the feeling reminiscent of the TeaCup ride. She was swirling and twirling around until it was too much.
Except back then the ride had stopped. Now it just seemed as if she were going faster, first clockwise and then counterclockwise. The world was starting to dim.
"She's going into shock."
"We need a blood replenishing potion. Harry, fetch one from the cabinet."
She could hear the voices and could recognize them as her friends, but horror had struck her at her very core. Her vision was blurred and everything continued to curl around her in tight cues, like Van Gogh's Starry Night.
She felt something pressed to her lips and she tried to spit it out.
Poison, her mind said. Draco's not safe. They're trying to kill Draco through me. They want Draco dead. Everyone wants Draco dead.
She closed her lips and thrashed against the hands that held her down until she felt herself magically bound to the chair. Still, she fought, throwing her head in between her knees so they couldn't force anything past her mouth.
She felt a pinching sensation at her inner arm and she screamed, not at the pain but because her own ideas and innovations had been used against her.
She was the one that had come up with the idea of making potions injectable through the bloodstream for quicker effect.
She lifted her head and spit, not knowing at who or even if her target hit, but just feeling a wild anger and terror clawing its way up her throat and she needed to do something to quell it.
When the needle was withdrawn out of her she slackened, immediately feeling the world go dark. She kicked out one last time, making contact with something warm and fleshy before the swirled colors around her were gone.
---
When Hermione awoke, she was in a bed pressed up against a warm body. She didn't need to open her eyes to know that it was Draco, or to know that his steady heartbeat beneath her ear was a vast improvement on the state he had been in last.
She sat up quickly, reaching a hand out to him— that he immediately grabbed— to right herself. She reached over to see his silver eyes set upon her.
"You look awful," he commented.
"Are you okay?"
It might not have been the most important question, but it was the most relevant. And though she could feel his life force through their bind she needed to hear it.
"I'm alive and I'm with you."
She threw her arms around him, not caring when he flinched and sinking into his chest further when he wrapped his arms around her waist.
As if someone had hit a button— it occurred to Hermione, as she eyed the nurses watching them suspiciously, that it might just be the case— a group came hurrying in the doors.
Pansy was at the front, followed by Harry, Ginny, Theo and Ron— their bound partners just a few feet behind, offering a small shield of privacy.
Pansy was running and Hermione found it funny that she'd ever thought of Pansy as heartless when the woman in front of her— tear stained and smiling and just so clearly a whirlwind of emotions— wore her heart so freely.
She threw her arms around the pair when she arrived at the bed. The force was so strong Hermione was knocked against the pillows. When the others arrived, Pansy didn't let go, just shoved Hermione over and joined them in bed.
"Pans, this bed is hardly made for two people, never mind three."
"Draco, when this war is over and everyone is done with their dramatic almost dying, you can lecture me about proper bedsharing."
"What's happened?" Theo demanded.
Hermione flinched. Theo wasn't supposed to check in today. He had been spending the past few weeks with a pack of werewolves undercover and had gained a lot of useful information. Currently he was in the process of convincing Moody to let him attempt and switch the werewolf allegiance. Moody told him it was a death sentence, to which Theo'd replied it was worth dying for. It was the first time Hermione had seen the senior auror speechless.
Ginny must have summoned him back after today's incident. He was always on edge just before the transition, but now it seemed he was always nervous— shifting eyes and more animalistic movements. She couldn't imagine how this disaster had added to it.
"Nice to see you too, Theodore."
"Cut the act, Draco. You were tortured and the Order needs to know why."
Theo's defenses were up. He wasn't— couldn't demand to know for his own peace of mind. He needed a shield to hide behind— some emotional distance to put between himself and his injured best friend.
Malfoy sighed. "Take a seat. It's a long story."
Harry waved his wand and summoned chairs for everyone. They all sat and waited intently.
"Back when the first raid after mine and Hermione's binding was completed— the one where you found the Dark Lord's jewelry box?" The group nodded in understanding. Draco reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand. She squeezed in support. "I told you there would be retribution on his side. And there was— on everyone but me."
Harry's eyes widened. Theo gripped the arm of his wooden chair so tightly it cracked.
"I waited. I prepared properly and waited for the punishment that I knew would come. But it didn't. And then Theo was bitten and I had nearly forgotten about it."
"Until?" Pansy prompted.
"Yesterday I was summoned. I assumed it was for a meeting but when I arrived it was only the Dark Lord and— and a muggleborn."
Hermione's breath caught. She leaned away from Draco on instinct, but fought against the urge and nodded him on.
Draco was pale and Hermione could tell he hadn't built up his strength to properly build his shields against what he had witnessed— what he had done.
"The Dark Lord greeted me and started praising me, talking about my successes and potential. Somehow the raid came up. He claimed this was a muggleborn that had witnessed the scene— an impossible statement because I know the members of the Order, but no one argues with the Dark Lord.
"He said she needed to be punished. A crucio would suffice."
Hermione could feel his dread and apprehension.
She had heard so little about the atrocities Draco had committed. She could assume, but hearing him describe them would make it unavoidable. She would know. She would always be reminded.
"It's— it's not something I've done often. But it is something I've done. Torture of muggle and muggleborns is practically part of the Dark Lord's everyday routine." He paused, taking a shaky breath. "So I raised my wand, because I needed to prove my loyalty. Not just to save myself but to keep my cover as an Order spy. More than just my life was on the line and I knew he wouldn't kill her if I could go through with it. I would go to the dungeons myself and Obliviate her and free her."
Words were pretty, Hermione thought. Actions meant more. Draco's actions for the Order have been commendable, but what had he been doing while with the other side?
"But when I raised my wand and cast the crucio, nothing came out. My wand fizzled, a mere spark that died just a few inches in front of me."
Hermione sucked in a breath. The rest of the room stayed silent, all eyes trained on Draco.
"I tried again, and then there wasn't even a spark. Another attempt and it sounded weak to even my own ears. You— you have to mean Unforgivables and—" he glanced at Hermione. "I couldn't do it."
Hermione was caught between relief and horror. Relief because he had changed. This was proof and she didn't know how desperately she had been searching for it before this exact moment.
But the panic and fright that washed through her almost immediately after we're all encompassing. Draco had almost died. He had risked his position as Order spy. Voldemort would be suspicious now, if he wasn't already.
"The hate was stronger than I've ever felt. I don't know how he knew ; how he could have realized. I managed to convince him I was fucking a muggleborn prostitute on the side, thanks to some quickly put together Occlumency memories mixed with some emotions and conversations with Granger, but he'll figure it out eventually. He doesn't realize I'm an Occlumens, but his suspicions will overrule any logic very soon. He's going to figure it out. At the very least he'll try things like this again."
He looked towards Hermione, grey eyes wide and pleading. "I couldn't do it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. She had brown eyes and cotton pants."
Hermione wasn't sure what pretenses he was apologizing for anymore.
He ran his fingers through his hair and Hermione stared at him with paralyzing confusion. She wasn't sure how she should feel. She was torn in so many different directions.
"I'm sorry that I ever thought it was okay to do this— for myself or others. You were right when you said it back then, I should have never put myself in this situation in the first place. If it weren't for my own bigoted views—"
Hermione punched him in the arm, hard. Draco flinched away.
"Your job," she bit out between clenched teeth, "is to stay undercover and gather intel for the Order at all costs, on top of staying alive and fighting with the Order in the final battle."
Draco's brow crinkled. The others in the room had gone ramrod still.
"Are you saying—"
"You have to deal with the ramifications of the decisions you made. If the so called Dark Lord asks you to do something and you can't find a way out of it, you have to find a way to mean it."
"Granger, you can't possibly be serious."
"I have to be!" She stood up, pulling at the hem of her leggings. "Draco, without you the Order is not complete. I am not complete." She let out a shattering breath. "We need you. You need to be able to complete all your tasks as you're asked."
"And how do you suggest I torture someone when I've not the faintest interest in doing so?"
"You have to warp your mind into believing it's the best option," she began. "You said you think you could have released her?"
Draco nodded.
"The curse is all about intent. It doesn't have to be malicious in its delivery, though it normally is. So then you mean the curse because it would have saved her life down the road. " Hermione caught his glance. "Her and her brown eyes and cotton pants."
"That's— that's so twisted, Hermione." Harry sounded impressed. It made her stomach clench.
"This is war. This is what we've become. It's awful and horrible but we can't think about that now. We just have to do it. We have to do whatever it takes to win because if we don't then there will be no chance for muggleborns of the future." She turned to Draco. "Is she dead?"
He shook his head, fingering the blanket that was tucked under him. "But I don't think I could get her out without arousing suspicion."
Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "Alright then, time for a rescue mission then."
"Mione no—"
"You're barmy."
"Hermione please—"
Hermione shot her hand up to stop the bombardment of voices. She had a plan. A plan that no one would like but one that needed to be implemented. It was her fault this girl wasn't saved, her fault Malfoy couldn't follow through on his job.
She would save her. She would save every muggleborn she could.
"Just listen will you?" She waited for silence. "I'm not suggesting we break into Malfoy Manor and grab her from under Tom's nose."
"Then what are you suggesting?" asked Ron.
Hermione smiled, real and genuine because this was her domain no one else could claim.
"That I get captured by Death Eaters and take her with me when I escape."