June 2003
Draco brought Hufflepuff's Cup to Hermione in less than a week.
She recognized it instantly from the pictures she'd seen researching. "You found it."
He looked down at the ornate goblet in his hand. "I would have had it yesterday, but I'm going through the legal channels for vault access as well. It will be transferred to my name within the next month once the Ministry paperwork confirming Rodolphus' death goes through. Traditionally the process should take months, but it's being accelerated out of concern that Andromeda's daughter might try to claim it."
Hermione studied him carefully. "Is there any record that you've been there?"
Draco gave a thin, closed smile. "None at all."
Hermione's throat tightened. She didn't look at Draco as she swallowed and gave a sharp nod.
They couldn't afford any loose ends—but every death felt like an additional noose around her neck. She shoved the thought away.
She opened her satchel and pulled out the sword of Gryffindor.
Draco raised an eyebrow and studied it. "Do you usually carry a sword?"
Hermione stared down at the blade in her hands. "I got it last week. I knew you'd be efficient. I figured I should come prepared."
Draco's eyes glittered. "How do we do this?"
Hermione gnawed at her lower lip. "I'm not sure. We should probably cast a barrier spell, to try to contain any potential backlash. Then, I suppose I stab it." She gave him a small smile. "I've never stabbed a cup."
"I'll do it." He extended his hand to take the sword.
Hermione shook her head and stepped back, pulling the sword closer to herself. "No. I need to. There's very little information on horcruxes in books. I need to analyse and observe it when it's destroyed."
Draco's expression hardened, and he stepped towards her; his eyes were flint-like. "No, you don't. You said Dumbledore was cursed destroying the ring. Give it to me, Granger."
Hermione gripped the hilt more tightly and jutted her chin out as he closed in on her.
"Dumbledore was cursed because, for some reason, he put the ring on. I'm not going to wear it, I'm going to analyse it and then stab it. Harry stabbed the journal without any problem."
Draco's hand closed around hers. "You're the healer. If it tries to kill us, you have a better chance of saving me than I have of saving you."
She didn't loosen her hold. She looked steadily up at him. "I also specialise in analysing and deconstructing Dark Magic."
He stared down at her, his expression a mask. Her heart started pounding, and she tightened her hold on the sword, half-expecting him to try to wrench it out of her hands.
"Draco, let me do my job."
His expression wavered, and he let go of her hand. "Tell me what to do if something goes wrong."
Hermione unclasped the bracelet on her wrist and held it out to him.
"This charm here," she pointed at a small cauldron, "if you activate it, it sends my location to Severus."
Draco's expression flickered, and his mouth twisted into contempt. "Snape is a double agent. I thought the Order had stopped trusting him years ago."
"He's a triple agent. Reducing his official clearance level within the Order is a cover. He has the same clearance I do. He's known about you since the beginning. He's the one who convinced Moody and Kingsley that your offer was probably legitimate."
Draco's expression was disbelieving.
Hermione gave a small sigh. "You don't need to trust him, but if I'm dying and not conscious to heal myself, he'd probably be the only person who could do anything. He's the one who contained the curse on Dumbledore."
Draco's expression was mutinous, and he refused to touch the bracelet she was offering him.
The corner of her mouth twitched, and she lowered her hand. "You asked what to do, and I'm telling you. If something goes wrong, he's the one to call. Whether you choose to use it or not is up to you."
The muscles in Draco's jaw rippled, and he snatched the bracelet from her fingers.
She set up a barrier around herself and built a web of analytical magic around the Cup. Horcruxes were such a taboo there was no record of the magic ever being analysed. Hermione understood the fundamentals, based on theory, but actually dealing with a suspended piece of mangled soul was a level of Dark Magic she had never encountered in any form.
She ignored the charmwork crafted by Helga Hufflepuff when the Cup was created and focused on the Dark Magic. The Cup was surprisingly unprotected. Voldemort must have assumed that the Lestrange vault had sufficient safety measures on its own.
The soul fragment had interlaced and entwined itself with the other magic of the Cup. Poisonous and malevolent, it seemed to sense it was being disturbed. Hermione worked quickly; if she had enough information on Voldemort's magical signature, they might be able to use it to find other horcruxes.
Her eyes darted up to Draco. He was still as a statue as he watched her, as though he were not even breathing.
She wrote everything down on a scroll and picked up the sword of Gryffindor. It was a perfectly balanced sword, but it felt unwieldy compared to a knife. She drew a deep breath and drove the blade into the centre of the Cup, splitting it in half.
There was an unnerving moment of stillness. Hermione snatched up her wand.
The air shifted and moved around her.
There was a long drawn out scream, and the soul fragment rose up from the Cup like a black wraith with scarlet eyes. For a second it seemed poised to strike. It appeared to detect Hermione and moved sharply towards her. Then it wavered and dissolved into thin air.
Nothing.
Hermione gave a small gasp and stood clutching her wand, her chest jerking unevenly as she tried to breathe.
She performed a quick spell to confirm the soul fragment was gone.
"It's done," she finally said, flicking her wand and removing all the wards around her. "That—wasn't too bad. I thought it might be a lot worse than that."
She looked up and found Draco was only inches away from her. He dragged her into his arms and gripped her until she was crushed against his chest. "Never—please, not ever again."
She wanted to say no, but he was so tense he was nearly shaking. She found herself nodding slowly and saying, "Alright. I won't."
Harry was like a lost lamb in Grimmauld Place. Ron had been placed on leave. He went to stay with his mother, while he grieved over Lavender and tried to come to terms with the guilt he felt over Kingsley's death.
Hermione found Harry standing listlessly near Ginny's door more often than not.
She opened the door after a visit with Ginny and found him standing blank-eyed outside the door. He had a black eye and cut lip, and his knuckles were split so badly there was still blood running down his fingers and dripping onto the floor.
His eyes brightened, and he seemed to come back to himself when he saw Hermione. "Is she alright? Is she doing any better? Do you think she's—do you think I'd be able to see her soon?"
Hermione stared at him, her stomach dropping sharply at his appearance. Harry was worryingly fragile. She had tried several times to convince Ginny to come clean and tell Harry she was pregnant, but Ginny was adamant that telling him would make things worse. Hermione had appealed to Moody; to her disappointment, he had sided with Ginny. Harry was in no condition to handle any additional stress, and the Order could not handle the breakdown of trust if the truth came out at such a critical point. Things were too precarious.
Hermione swallowed her guilt while performing all her pantomimed protection and sterilisation charms on herself.
Ginny had a bump that was beginning to require precautionary glamours, if only to fool Dobby, who Harry regularly spoke with.
The baby was a boy. Ginny already referred to him as James.
"She's the same, Harry. I'm sorry."
His expression fell. He gave a listless nod and started turning to go.
He was deathly pale, and the eye that wasn't purple and yellow was sunken.
She reached out to stop him and touched his face lightly. "You're fighting again? When did you last sleep?"
He jerked. "A—a couple days ago. For a few hours."
She cast a diagnostic charm on him; he had several fractures in his hands and his eye socket, and his torso was covered in bruises.
She took him gently by the arm and led him down the hallway toward the hospital ward. "Is it nightmares again? I can teach you a few more occlumency techniques, it might help. Come on, let me fix you up and get you some Dreamless Sleep."
Harry gave a short, hysterical laugh. "I wish I had nightmares."
Hermione paused and looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Harry's face twitched. "It's not nightmares, Hermione. It hasn't been nightmares in years. It's him. When I'm asleep, I'm him. I torture people and kill them, and I feel how he feels when he does it. I don't even have to be asleep for it to happen, it's just worse when I am." Harry was trembling with exhaustion. "Last time I fell asleep, he was trying new curses and then he drank a goblet of unicorn blood, and when I woke up, I could taste it. I haven't—I haven't been able to eat—"
"Harry, you didn't tell me things had gotten so bad. You should have told me."
He twitched. "What—are we talking again?" His expression was wounded as he stared at her.
Hermione's hand dropped away, and she looked back at him. "Tell me what happens."
He shook his head, his eyes unfocused. "It's not so bad when I have something to focus on. When I'm on a mission—when I'm with Ron and Gin—when I'm remembering why I'm doing all this, I can keep him out. But—it's like there's a place in my mind that's an open door, and sometimes I step through it when I'm distracted. When I wake up—I don't always know who I'm waking up as."
Hermione hurriedly pulled out several restorative potions. "Take these. I don't care how awful they taste, you're malnourished."
Harry gagged two down and then vomited them both up again. Hermione banished the mess and pulled out a stomach settler and handed it to him more gently.
"Try this one. If you haven't eaten in a few days, it can help. Sip it slowly."
"Hermione—," he said between sips as she muttered spells and spread bruise paste across his face. "I think there's something wrong with me."
Hermione's fingers twitched, and she shook her head sharply. "Harry—I really think practicing occlumency could help with this. I can help you with it. I've read several books now, I think I can do it more gently than Severus did; maybe it would go better."
She cast another more complex diagnostic on him. He was underweight. He was chronically sleep deprived. He was worryingly frail. He was vibrating with magic in a way that he had for as long as she had known him. His magical signature was blurry and indistinct. It was the way Harry was; how he'd always been, Pomfrey had told her that when Hermione asked during her early years of training.
Harry pressed his hand against his scar and looked away. "Occlumency doesn't help."
Hermione gave a frustrated sigh. "I know separating from your emotions can be difficult at first, but I think, if you try, it could—"
"It makes it worse," Harry said in a hard voice. "Every time I try, it makes it even worse."
Hermione swallowed and turned away to summon new restorative potions, her jaw tense. She handed the vials over wordlessly. Harry managed to keep them down.
She pulled out a vial of Dreamless Sleep without looking at him. "Well, we can at least agree that undisturbed sleep will help."
He gave a small nod and downed the potion.
With all the restoratives in his system, it took longer for the potion to take effect. He sat for a minute before his head lolled, and he dropped it against her shoulder.
Hermione hesitated, and then wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. "I'm sure you'll feel better after you sleep."
"I miss Gin."
Her throat caught, and she rested her head on his. "I know. I'm sorry."
Harry gave a low sob under his breath. "When I was with her, it seemed like everything was easier for a while."
Her hands trembled. "I'm sorry, Harry."
She held him while he drifted off. Then she tucked him carefully under a blanket and went to speak with Alastor.
Fleur was in the war room when Hermione reached the doorway.
"I 'ave not 'eard from Gabrielle so often lately. She 'as always sent word on ze wireless so I would not worry. A little joke or phrase so I would know she is alright. But there 'as been almost nothing. You must 'ave some way to contact 'er. She is my baby sister, I am responsible for 'er."
Moody's mouth twitched, and his eye spun sharply. "Your sister has always worked on her own terms. I'll see what I can do."
Fleur gave a stiff nod. "Thank you. Bill and I 'ave replaced the wards on all ze safe 'ouses once again, and we are renewing ze wards on ze cave. 'Owever, there are limits to 'ow much more we can do. We are nearly at ze capacity. We need a secondary location or ze magic quantities may compromise security."
Moody gave a low sigh and nodded, his eye rolling suspiciously downward. He seemed to have aged a decade in the two weeks since Kingsley's death. "I'll have a team start scouting for new locations. We'll need new guards for it. You and Bill will need to train them."
Fleur nodded again and departed.
Hermione studied Fleur's face as they passed each other. Fleur was a lovely, ethereal figure among an army that was increasingly grey and despairing, but the strain of the war was visible in her eyes. Fleur and Bill mirrored each other in their quiet guilt.
Fleur's parents had been early casualties when the war reached France. Gabrielle had survived by being at school rather than at home, but eventually the war had razed Beauxbatons too. Few members of the French Resistance had survived. Hermione suspected Gabrielle's veela allure had been what spared her. The way Gabrielle had continued to weaponise it seemed like a form of guilt-stricken restitution and revenge.
Gabrielle's methods had grown more vicious and vindictive over time. Flamboyant. Borderline careless. Hermione had started taking calming draught before even heading to the beach in Cornwall.
Hermione wasn't sure how much of Gabrielle's activity Fleur was aware of, but she imagined Fleur knew enough and suspected more about the little sister who was always so eager for her next mission.
Gabrielle's eyes were colder and older than even Draco's.
Hermione stared at Moody in silence for several seconds after Fleur left. He gave a low sigh and started casting privacy charms.
"I'm worried about Harry," Hermione said when Moody sat back. "He seems like he's at the edge of a precipice. We need to get into Hogwarts."
"We're trying to. Remus has a team there now."
"I think—," she hesitated and crossed her arms. "I've been—dabbling in a few things lately. I think I've found a way to take down the wards around the castle. I've been analysing all the reports brought back. There's—a bomb—a bomb I think I can make. It can be placed under temporary stasis. We can have Draco or Severus plant it without risking their covers. I can delay the detonation for up to three days."
Moody stared at her. "You think?"
Hermione's throat tightened, but she lifted her chin. "Well, I've never made one before. When I mentioned the idea a few years ago, I was told it was unethical, regardless of how targeted the blast could be on a Death Eater location. The Order decided we could only use explosives on empty buildings. However, this one wouldn't have much collateral. The blast would be targeted at the magic surrounding the castle. So—if it's framed carefully, the Order shouldn't find it unethical in this case."
"What materials would it require?"
She could see Moody calculating a budget for her proposal.
She swallowed. "I—already have them."
Moody's expression stiffened. His eye spun and locked on her. "This is Malfoy's idea then. He's offering to supply you?"
Hermione pushed her chin up. "No. This is my research exclusively. I have the materials because the Resistance brought them in last year when the curse division's lab was raided. There was a large quantity of materials brought back that—" her mouth twitched. "They aren't used in traditional forms of potion making. I have more than everything I'd need."
Moody gave her a long look. "You've never reported it."
She raised her eyebrows. "I was busy at the time; all I could do was store them until I had time to catalogue it. It wasn't until July that I knew exactly what I was handling." She shrugged. "My supplies were never an inventory I was asked to report."
Alastor's face twitched with irritation, but he seemed to be seriously considering the proposal.
He ran his thumb along the handle of his wand. "Using a bomb to get into Hogwarts would result in an all-out battle."
"I know." Her chest felt constricted, and she had to force herself to breathe. "I was thinking, if it's played as a rescue, we could use a larger attack as a diversion while a smaller group could go into the castle. The school should still recognise Minerva; it might cooperate with us."
Moody gave a slow nod, looking deep in thought.
Hermione left without a word.
Alone in her potion cabinet, she leaned over and rested her head on the worktop. Her hands were shaking from stress and exhaustion. Voldemort felt like an incoming tide. The rock the Resistance had lashed itself to was crumbling beneath them.
No matter what she did, it was never enough to enable them to get ahead.
Draco had been abroad for nearly a week, inspecting the puppet governments Voldemort had set up across Europe. It was an assignment Voldemort tended to give out on whim.
Rodolphus Lestrange had been on such a mission when he'd been intercepted by Gabrielle.
Draco left a note in the shack to explain his absence. It had been so abruptly assigned that a note was all he could manage.
Since the day she had read it, Hermione had nightmares of arriving at the beach in Cornwall and discovering Draco sitting mangled in that small room in the cave. Nightmares of him never returning at all, and receiving word from Severus that he'd been been found dismembered in some foreign city.
She had never even thought to warn him about Gabrielle.
When her ring burned again for the first time in days, she ran out of Grimmauld Place to apparate and flung herself through the door of the shack.
He was already standing in the middle of the room, still wearing his Death Eater robes.
"You're back," she said, so relieved she felt her knees might give out. He was there, he was still alive, he appeared uninjured.
She reached towards him. Her hands were shaking as she grasped his robes and touched his face.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
She gave a short nod as she rested her head against his chest.
"What's wrong?"
She closed her eyes for several seconds and listened to his heart, just feeling him: alive.
"Nothing. I'm just so tired. I feel like I forgot to breathe until now."
He was still for a moment before he gave a low sigh. His hands hesitated before he rested them on her shoulders.
Her stomach dropped, and she opened her eyes. "What's wrong?"
Draco was silent. His fingers twitched. "My father—he's being recalled to Britain."
Hermione's heart stalled as she looked up at him.
His expression was closed. Resigned. "He'll expect my company when we're both off duty."
"Oh."
She didn't know what else to say. She stared up at him, and he looked away from her, but his hands remained on her shoulders.
She grasped for words. "Of course, you should spend time with your father."
He gave a sharp laugh.
"Hardly. My father, he—" Draco hesitated, and his gaze dropped to the floor. There was a trace of boyishness in his tone. "—well, he blamed me for my mother's fragile health." His expression was closed, but his eyes flickered. "He always said he expected me to be an exceptional heir to make up for—nearly killing her."
"Draco—"
He jerked slightly and cleared his throat, his tone becoming clipped again. "Suffice to say, I'll have little availability—to anyone—for the foreseeable future. It may take me longer to complete assignments. If you can inform Moody, I hope he'll take it into account."
Not available. Not to the Order. Not her.
She felt so tired she could barely stand, but she nodded and drew herself up. "Of course. Don't worry. I'm sorry. You'll be back in the manor then, won't you?"
He gave a short nod.
She caught his hands and ran her fingers along them, checking for any tremors. She needed to make sure he was alright. If she didn't know when she'd see him again, she had to know he was alright. "When will he arrive?"
"Tomorrow or the day after. I found out when I reported back." His voice was dull.
Her mouth twitched, and she focused on his hands. "I'm sorry. Maybe—it won't be for long."
"It's possible. He doesn't like to stay in Britain."
He drew a sharp breath, and his jaw twitched as he watched her check his fingers, again and again. "I suspect there's something coming. Tell Moody. It was mentioned to me that the Dark Lord has gone to Sussex personally several times while I was gone. Whatever it is he's doing, he isn't confiding to anyone currently, except perhaps Dolohov. It—could be related to my father's unexpected return."
Hermione nodded. "I'll tell Moody. I think—the Order is preparing to make a move on Hogwarts."
"It would be a relief if they did something. Things have been suspiciously quiet lately." There was an unspoken question in his tone.
Hermione avoided his eyes. "Losing Kingsley was a blow. It's affected morale." She kept looking at his hands.
"They have been suspiciously quiet for me too. Are there concerns about my morale?" Draco's tone was light but with a razor edge hidden in it.
Hermione looked up. "No. I haven't told Moody about your threat, if that's what you're asking."
Draco's eyes flickered. She saw him doubt her.
The corner of her mouth twitched, and she let go of his hand and stepped back.
"After Kingsley died, I told Moody that he and Kingsley had been over-utilising you just to buy time without any broader strategy, and I wasn't going to stand by and watch it anymore." She shrugged. "I'm more crucial now—without Kingsley, Moody needs my support to maintain all the classified aspects within the Order." She gave him a small smile. "I can protect you now."
Draco's lips pressed together into a hard, flat line, and his expression grew cold and closed.
"I don't want you inserting yourself to protect me, Granger." His tone was like ice.
She stiffened and there was a sharp stab of hurt that laced through her. "Why not? Is protection exclusively your right? Am I supposed to just sit quietly in the safe houses while you win the war for me?" She jerked her chin up. "I'm not running raids. I'm still carefully cag—"
Draco flinched before she could cut herself off.
She dropped her head and drew a sharp breath, curling her fingers into a fist as she looked away from him. "I'm sorry. That—I didn't mean that. I don't see it that way."
Lie.
She sighed and looked away from him. "I'm not leaving the safe houses. I'm just coordinating more of the classified details within the Order, which means I have more leverage now than I did before. That's all. I'm not—endangering myself."
She stopped speaking and stared at Draco. His expression was guarded.
The air hung around them, cold; as though their ghosts surrounded them. They were both drenched in the dead.
The war was like an abyss that wanted everything and was never satisfied. There was always more required. Another life. An additional measure of blood. Be better. Smarter. More ruthless. Quicker. More cunning. Accept a second portion of pain.
It was never enough.
Hermione had gone to Eleos and Panacea. She'd lain herself prostrate at the feet of Athena. She'd built prayer towers. She'd sacrificed almost every piece of herself that she had to offer.
Never enough.
Draco had walked straight to the altar of Ares.
Never enough.
Nothing was ever enough. The war always wanted more.
'If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.'
What will you give? What will you give to win?
Hermione swallowed. "Draco—what do you expect me to do?"
He gave a sigh that sounded like a hiss. "I don't want you in this fucking war." The rage in his voice was raw. "All I do is worry about what will happen to you if I fail to meet all requirements."
She drew a sharp breath and stepped towards him, reaching for his hand. "The Order is not like the Death Eaters. Draco—"
His expression turned vicious before she could touch him.
"I am aware of the difference." He sneered. "Do you imagine it's somehow more reassuring to know you'd just volunteer?"
Hermione stepped back and glared at him, her shoulders rigid. "I am not a possession you can put away somewhere, Draco. I've spent years training in order to contribute to the Resistance. You can't ask me to stop or leave because it worries you. You agreed—you swore you wouldn't interfere with my aid to the Order. You can't try to guilt me into passivity either."
He glared at her. "You have no idea what would happen if you're caught. If—"
"I do know," she snapped, cutting him off. Her throat was tight, and her chest felt compressed until she could barely breathe. "What do you think I do with all my time? I heal the people you Death Eaters don't manage to kill. That's almost all I've done for years. I cared for the victims from the last curse division until they died. And they all died." She tried to swallow. "Every—last—one of them—died. I'm so aware of the risks I think sometimes I might go mad from knowing them. Don't you dare—don't you dare try to treat me as naive. I know as well as you. Why do you think I try so hard?" Her voice broke slightly.
Draco's expression remained cold.
Hermione turned away. She felt so drained she wanted to sink into a corner so she wouldn't have to keep standing. She'd been so worried waiting for him to return to England. She'd reached her limit. She could feel her occlumency walls wavering; like a dam, her exhaustion threatened to break apart.
You're losing. You're losing. You haven't saved anyone. Draco. Harry. Ron. Ginny. The Order. The Resistance.
You want too much.
Her shoulders shook. She wanted to go back to her potion cabinet and find something that would make the war stop feeling like death by a thousand cuts.
She pressed her lips together, and her jaw trembled. "I think I need to go. I'm too tired to have this argument tonight."
She wanted to just vanish. She was so tired of begging him not to die. She swallowed. Even her saliva tasted bitter. "I'll report to Moody about your father. Do you need me to heal you at all?"
Draco's hand shot out, and he gripped her wrist. "Don't. Don't go. I don't know when I'll be able to call you again."
She wavered. "Draco—I'm so tired—I don't want to fight—"
He pulled her closer. "Just stay with me. Just stay."
She gave a small nod and dropped her head against his chest. He slid an arm around her waist and apparated. They reappeared in his suite in the Savoy.
He laid her on the bed and pulled off her shoes. He sat on the edge, running his fingers along her arm until she was half-asleep.
He stood. "I need to shower and eat. I'll come back."
Hermione reached out and caught his hand. "I was afraid you'd die abroad, and all I'd have was your note." Her voice was thick. "You're always in danger, and I can never ask you to stop."
He ran his thumb across the back of her hand. "I would if I could. You know that. I'd run with you and never look back."
"I know—" Her voice broke. She was too tired to keep her emotions at bay. She gave a low sob. "Don't die, Draco. You can't leave me behind."
He sank back down onto the bed beside her and didn't leave until she stopped crying and fell asleep.
When the bed shifted, she woke to find him on the far side of the bed, his hair slightly damp. It had been hours since they'd arrived; more sleep than she'd had since he'd left.
She shifted across the bed and into his arms, resting her forehead against his bare chest, tracing her fingers along his torso until he caught her hand and then rolled her under him. He studied her eyes but didn't move again until she lifted her head and kissed him.
His hand was on her throat, his thumb sliding up to nestle under her jaw as his tongue played against hers. Gradual. Committing him to memory. She never thought she could know a person with such slow intimacy. She laced her fingers through his hair and closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of him.
She knew how he would press his lips against the pulse point of her throat, the ways he would push her body down beneath him. The sensation of his hands on her thighs and his teeth grazing across her skin.
When he moved inside her, his hands were locked around her wrists. She arched and met his hips. She felt his breath whisper across her skin.
"Mine. You're mine," he said as he kissed along her jaw.
"Always."