May 2003
When Hermione woke, Draco was still beside her. He had a large stack of books he was cross-referencing. Hermione blinked and narrowed her eyes to read the titles and found he was researching Gringotts regulations and inheritance law.
"What are you doing?" she asked after a minute.
His eyes flicked up from the page he was on.
"Rodolphus Lestrange was found decoratively strung up in a number of pieces while traveling through Bulgaria."
Hermione swallowed. Gabrielle. It had her fingerprints all over it. Gabrielle's methods had grown increasingly ruthless and extreme in recent months.
"It was the reason for my summons," Draco said as he snapped the book closed. "The Dark Lord is incensed by the audacity of the assassination and-curiously enough-intensely concerned about who will have access to the Lestrange vault now."
Hermione froze, and her eyes widened. "Do you think-"
He gave a short nod. "The Lestranges would be an obvious choice to entrust with a horcrux. If my father was chosen, Bellatrix and her husband were equally likely. Old families with heirlooms and excellent security. Bellatrix transferred her inheritance as a Black into the Lestrange vault. Aside from Andromeda's daughter, who's currently a wanted criminal, I'm the last with Black blood. There are no more Lestranges unless a bastard crawls out of the woodwork. I believe that by blood and technicality, I may be able to access the vault."
Hermione's mind raced. "Bribe the goblins. They're highly possessive of anything goblin-made. If you agree to give them some of the Black or Lestrange heirlooms that are goblin-made, they'll cover up that you were ever there. That's how we got access to some of the vaults."
Draco's eyes glittered. "Useful."
He flicked his wand and summoned several vials from across the room. "Can you move?"
Hermione lifted her arm and tilted her chin downwards to look at her chest. At some point while she was asleep, Draco had banished the exoskeletal cast. The sheets were pulled carefully up to her regrown collarbones. Her fingers caught the fabric, but she hesitated and glanced up at him. "Is it bad?"
He shrugged, but his eyes were fastened on her face. "It's minor."
Hermione tensed her jaw slightly as she pulled the sheet back and stared at her chest.
It looked as though a tiny bomb had exploded from her sternum. The scarring was concentrated in the dead centre of her chest and then spattered in tinier scars up toward her shoulders and down over the tops of her breasts.
She could feel Draco's eyes on her although he didn't move. She blinked hard as she studied it.
She swallowed slowly.
The scarring was quite minor considering the injury. She was hardly disfigured. It wouldn't have any lifelong consequences. With time, it would fade. She knew she could treat it so that it would fade.
She was very lucky. A few scars were nothing compared to the injuries other people in the Resistance would carry for life.
It was fine. She would just wear shirts with a high neckline.
She swallowed again and looked up at Draco, who was still watching her carefully. She forced a smile. "How-how many vials of Dittany did you use on me to manage this?" She dropped the sheet and pressed her hands against it.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Still not as many as you've used on me."
She gave a wry smile. "Your scars are prettier than mine."
He snorted audibly. "I had a better healer."
Hermione gave a low laugh, but it caught in her lungs. She tried to breathe but instead coughed violently until she spat several blood clots into her hand.
Draco was immediately beside her. He slid his hand behind her head, and there was a vial at her lips. "This is to clear your lungs."
Hermione's instinctive reaction was to pull away and inspect the potion in order to verify it, but she trusted Draco was paranoid enough for both of them. She parted her lips and swallowed it. The smothering, catching sensation in her lungs vanished.
Draco muttered a spell, and she felt the blood on her hand disappear.
Draco summoned several other potions. Hermione eyed them and mentally catalogued each one. Pain relief. Strengtheners. Potions for lung tissue. Potions to help the tendons and ligaments bond with the new bones. Some were somewhat redundant. Draco was exhaustively, obsessively thorough.
She swallowed every potion without a murmur, gagging down several.
He kissed the top of her head. "Are you hungry?"
She snorted. "Not after eight potions. Although water would be appreciated. Do you have my wand? I think-I was holding it when I was apparated, wasn't I? I can't-entirely recall."
Draco pulled her wand from his robes and slipped it into her hand. She could feel the hesitation in his fingers.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise that disapparation would cause your bones to shatter."
Hermione flinched at the memory. She looked down and forced herself to shrug. "Pressure. That's why I told you that you can't use displacement transport with brain or eye injuries. It can be similar with damaged bones."
"I'm sorry."
Hermione glanced up and gave him a small smile. "It's not your fault. It was a lot of bad luck."
He stiffened, and his expression froze before he scoffed under his breath. "It wasn't just bad luck. Does the Order realise how predictable they've become? The losses yesterday were almost entirely one-sided. It was a stunning success. It will be repeated."
There was a bitter rage in his voice.
Hermione stilled and then pressed her lips together, hesitating for a moment. "It was yours, wasn't it? The attack. You planned it."
Draco tensed, and there was a pause. He looked away from her, and she saw his jaw ripple.
"I have to maintain my position in order to do everything required. The Dark Lord knows there are spies in the army now. He's well aware that the Order has infiltrated somehow. Shacklebolt overplayed. Sussex and the various branches of the army are becoming sequestered. There are dozens of counter-espionage measures in place; maintaining rank is the only way to remain informed of them."
She slid a hand against his leg. "I'm not faulting you. I just hadn't realised it."
There was a long silence.
"I had no choice but to kill Shacklebolt," Draco finally said. "He was cursed, as you were aware. Weasley went on a rampage because some girl died. Shacklebolt got Potter and Weasley out, but he was finished." There was a beat. "Capture and interrogation would have been worse."
Hermione gave a slow nod without looking up.
The Death Eaters would have known the value of Kingsley Shacklebolt. They would have done everything in their power to tear out every piece of intelligence he possessed.
It would have been a slow and horrific death.
It would have risked the Order. It would have risked the entire Resistance.
It would have risked Draco.
"Was it quick?"
"It was quick."
There was nothing else to say.
She ignored the weight in her chest and flicked her wand, casting a diagnostic on herself.
The bones had regrown well, but her lung tissue, tendons and ligaments were still delicate and resetting. Apparition would not be advisable for several more hours.
She looked up at Draco. "Do you need to work? I can help you research inheritance law."
"I've found what I need."
Hermione glanced around the room. It was sterile. Almost bare. The bed, a towering wardrobe, a desk, and a chair.
"Is this a guest room?"
Draco's mouth twisted in a brief grimace. "No. It's mine. I don't come here often."
Hermione looked around more carefully.
It was as impersonal as his hotel rooms; she didn't think she'd ever seen him with anything she could classify as personal possession. "I would have thought your bedroom would be green and silver."
Draco gave an empty-sounding laugh.
She picked up his hand, entwining their fingers. "I'm sorry, Draco, that you had to come here because of me."
His fingers tightened, gripping hers comfortingly. "I would have come for the books."
Hermione lit up, and her eyes widened as she looked up at him. "Can I-can I see your library?"
Draco's eyes glittered, and he chuckled. "I had wondered how long it would take you to ask."
Hermione's cheeks grew hot, and she dropped her eyes. "It's just-I haven't had access to many magical texts since returning from studying abroad. We brought some from Hogwarts, and the Black library is alright. I've read most of them now-there isn't a place I can get books easily anymore."
"I'll show you the library, Granger."
She dressed, and Draco took her hand. They paused briefly at the door. Draco drew a sharp breath, as though he were bracing himself, before opening the door.
They stepped out into a long dark hallway. As they walked down it, several of the portraits muttered. Draco froze and then turned and stared at the pale, narrow-featured ancestor glaring at them.
"A word against her, and I will burn you to ashes. Pass on the warning." Draco's voice was deadly calm.
The ancestor turned green and nodded before ducking out of the portrait.
The library was enormous. Aisles and shelves of books with spiral staircases leading to a second story with paths running along more shelves.
"Draco..." Hermione felt as though there were stars in her eyes as she took it in. "This is-"
She hesitated. He hated the house. Being there with her had to feel like a nightmare.
"It's nice library," she finally said.
Draco gave a low laugh. "You're allowed to like the library, Hermione. You don't have to dislike the manor on my account."
She stepped closer to a shelf and ran her eyes along all the spines. Her fingers hovered a breath away from the leather-bound tomes before she caught herself. "Can I touch them?"
"Of course. I wouldn't show you books you couldn't touch."
She shrugged. "Some libraries are cursed against Muggle-borns."
Draco leaned against a shelf. "I don't think the Malfoys ever imagined a Muggle-born would be invited onto the estate." He gave her a wry smile. "What do you want to see?"
Hermione glanced around longingly before she spoke. "Soul theory, if you have any. They're usually a subsection in magical theory. I don't have much time."
Draco's expression flickered as he turned and led her through the aisles.
She lost track of time poring over the books. There were so many books there she'd never seen or even heard of. She raced through one book after another until her eyes burned, and she had to tilt her head back to remove the crick in it. As she looked up, she found Draco watching her.
His eyes were dark as he stared at her. Her skin prickled, and a shiver ran down her spine as she set down her book and met his eyes.
He moved like water as he came towards her. He kissed her, and she drank him in. He slid his arms around her waist, and she drew her mouth back just enough to speak.
"We have to be careful. Everything is still a bit fragile."
He nodded and kissed her again.
He was careful. Slow and gentle. He touched her as though she were glass in his hands.
When he pulled her shirt off and looked down at her, she flinched, and her hands darted up to cover her sternum.
"They'll fade," she said quickly.
Suddenly she fully understood Ginny's tears over her scar. The injury on her chest seemed so much more prominent than the scars on her wrist were. She couldn't hide it; couldn't conceal it under the sheets, or behind her back, or off to the side so the scars wouldn't constantly be visible.
She didn't think they would affect how Draco regarded her-but maybe they would. The scarring was so present. Dropped right in the middle of her. Perhaps, after a while, being constantly revisited by the sight of them would cause things to change; eventually he'd want something that didn't have the war so overtly burned into it. Someday, if it was over, he might want something that wasn't such a constant reminder of the past.
The thought cut through her like a blade. She bit her lip and pressed her hands more firmly against her sternum.
"I'll treat them-so they'll fade more." She swallowed, and her fingers fluttered somewhat as she tried to cover them all and make them less-there.
Draco was still for a moment, then he caught her hands and pulled them away. He stared down, his silver eyes studying her intently until she could feel heat rising in her cheeks and ears and bleeding slowly down her neck.
"Do you see my scars that way? When you look at me, are they all you see?" he asked.
Hermione flinched. "No."
"I don't see you that way either. You're mine." He let go of her hand, and his left hand lightly traced along her throat and collarbones and then down her sternum to where the scarring was most concentrated. "You are. It doesn't matter what happens to you. You will still be mine." His head dipped slowly towards her, and he captured her lips with his as he said the last word.
She twisted her other hand free and tangled her fingers in his robes, drawing him closer. She kissed him and held onto him so tightly her hands trembled.
When she traced her fingers along his body and felt the scars along his torso and across his shoulders, her heart ached, and she kissed along them. She would wish them all away for his sake, but it had never occurred to her to dislike them for hers.
He was hers. She didn't love him because she wanted to change him into something easier. He was hers.
He pushed into her, and she caught his face in her hands and almost spoke.
I love you.
It was on her tongue, but she hesitated and bit back the words.
There was a part of her that felt she might somehow doom them if she said it. If there were important things left unspoken, then perhaps tomorrow would come.
She kissed him instead.
I love you. She told him in the way she pressed her lips against his; in the manner her tongue slipped against the pulse point under his jaw; with the desperate way she tangled her fingers in his hair and the patterns she traced across his shoulders.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
She told him in the way she let go of herself and held onto him instead. I love you. I will always love you.
Eventually it was time to leave. There were no excuses to stay longer. The Order had been dealt a severe blow, and Hermione had to go face it.
She glanced at the library one more time before turning to leave.
"I'll bring you back. Anytime you want," Draco said as they stepped through the doors.
She paused and gave him a small smile. "No, you don't need to."
They walked back to a foyer they had passed through while walking to the library. It was an immaculate, empty room, but dark and cold for being near summer. Hermione looked around.
"Is it always this cold?"
Draco looked up. "I think it used to be warmer. I remember it being warmer. The ley lines are corrupted now. It affects the house. There are wards I could use to reduce it"-he shrugged-"there have always been better things to do."
He slid a hand around her waist and side-along apparated her to Whitecroft.
Hermione stepped back and tightened her hold on her wand. Before she could apparate, Draco's hand darted out, and he captured her wrist.
He pulled her back. "Hermione, please-," his voice broke off as he gripped her harder and hesitated. She looked up into his eyes.
She knew what he wanted to ask her.
He swallowed. "Don't get hurt again. Don't-"
She rose up on her toes and cut him off with her lips. He held her shoulders, and she could feel his temptation to apparate; to take her away and beg her to stay there.
She caught his face in her hands and gave him a slow kiss before pressing her face against his so their cheeks brushed.
"Be careful, Draco," she murmured against the corner of his mouth. "Be careful. Don't die."
His fingers around her wrist tightened and almost shook. Then he gave a low sigh and let go of her.
She kissed him again and forced herself to step away. Their eyes were locked on one another as she vanished.
Grimmauld Place was tense when Hermione walked in. There was a palpable sense of despair in the house. She stood in the foyer for several seconds, absorbing it. Now that she was no longer running interference with Draco's murderous rage, she had space to realise her own fury.
She headed up to the hospital ward, her jaw tense as she went to find Padma.
Padma burst into tears at the sight of her. "You're still alive. I turned around, and you'd vanished."
Padma hurried over and started casting diagnostics on Hermione.
Hermione shoved Padma's wand away. "I'm fine. I've recovered. If I were still in any danger, I wouldn't be standing here. Not that you'd know, since you apparently forgot to use a decent diagnostic spell yesterday. Did you actually diagnose by sight?"
Padma froze and paled. "I didn't? No. Wait-first I used the-" her voice cut off as her eyes widened with horror. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm so used to you doing the advanced charms when I'm with you. I did a basic one-then-then I think I must have panicked."
Hermione stared and then shook her head in disbelief. "I had vampire venom in my system, Padma, and unfortunately I wasn't in a state of mind to recall it. That's such an easy thing to fix if you'd just used a better diagnostic. If I hadn't been taken to be healed, I probably would have died in the middle of the foyer."
Parma's face crumpled. "I don't have any excuse. I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't bring back a corpse," Hermione said, her voice shaking as she tried to rein in how venomously enraged she felt. Her neck and jaw were tense, straining with the effort of keeping her posture neutral. "There are things that should be rote. Someone is injured, you cast advanced diagnostic and ensure you know the exact extent of the injury. You don't ask them to tell you what happened. You were a field healer for years; I can't believe I'm even having this conversation with you."
"I know. I know. I'm so sorry." Padma started crying harder.
Hermione's tongue twisted with all the frustration she wanted to pour out at Padma. She felt so angry she could feel her magic crackling in her fingertips.
She slid her hands behind her back and curled them slowly into tight fists as she forced herself to swallow her fury.
Hermione drew a sharp breath and looked away from Padma. "Where's Alastor?"
Padma sniffed and wiped her eyes. "War room. He's barely left since the Order held their debriefing. We lost Shacklebolt yesterday. Harry says Draco Malfoy killed him."
Hermione froze. "Harry saw Kingsley die?"
Padma nodded, her exhaustion visible across her face. "A lot-a lot of people died yesterday. I have the records mostly tallied for you. Ron's a mess. Lavender was killed too. They've been close, you know. Since he got mauled, they've been really serious. When he saw her die, he lost it. Harry tried to get him away, but-Ron was-apparently he killed the Death Eater that killed Lavender, and he broke Harry's wand arm when Harry tried to stop him. Kingsley got them both out, but as Harry was pulling Ron past the anti-apparition wards, he looked back. He said he saw Malfoy in front of Kingsley, and he knew it was Malfoy because Malfoy pulled off his mask and smiled before he used the Killing Curse."
Hermione swallowed and felt her legs threaten to give out. The hospital ward around her swam slightly.
Padma touched her on the arm. "Sorry, I should have told you more gently. I know you two were close."
Hermione blinked and felt dazed. "What?"
"Shacklebolt. You were friends, weren't you? You seemed to meet a lot."
"Oh-we-we-," she swallowed. "It was mostly hospital ward logistics."
What could she say about her relationship with Kingsley?
There was void in her chest where her emotions over his death should be. It was a blow, a horrific blow to the Order to lose him; she'd had sincere admiration for his skills as a strategist, for his capacity to make impossible choices. Yet the things he'd done-that he'd made her complicit in-his tacit allowance of torture, his disregard for her advice as a healer, his exploitation of Draco. He'd been a puppet master, who found strings he could manipulate and made the Order dance accordingly. He'd kept them alive through sheer genius, but Hermione found herself gasping with relief at being free of him.
She didn't know what to feel over his death.
"I don't think Kingsley thought of anyone as his friend," she finally said, looking away from Padma.
"Well, Ron is pretty wrecked over it all. Over Lavender and then everything else on top of it."
Hermione nodded absent-mindedly. She hadn't known Ron and Lavender had become serious. She'd been so preoccupied with research and experimental potions, with worrying about Draco, with caring for Ginny; she'd barely paid attention to any of the relationships at Grimmauld Place. It hadn't seemed important. She didn't have the time or energy for everyone's relationships to be important to her.
Kingsley was dead. Lost in a battle that the Order should never have let themselves be lured into.
The war was coming down to the line, and the Order had nothing to show for it after six years. All they'd been doing for the last year was surviving. Without Kingsley's deft manipulation reining in Harry and the Resistance, she didn't know how they were going to manage even that.
Draco would be next.
She could feel it written into the future.
It had been in his eyes as he watched her apparate away.
Padma was reciting the list of the dead, the injuries-Hermione was only half-listening to the report.
"I need to speak to Moody. Make sure it's all written down, Padma; I'll verify the reports later."
Moody was sitting behind a pile of paperwork. His expression hardened when he saw Hermione. He cast a dozen privacy charms before he spoke.
"You're alive. I've been buried in reports, Patil said you'd been injured and then went missing, and that damned elf came in, sent to "inform me" that you'd been removed for your protection. How long has Malfoy been using it?"
Hermione swallowed and drew a deep breath. "Last April. That's what he told me."
Moody's mouth twisted. He was the most paranoid man she'd ever known. Discovering that Grimmauld Place had had a latent spy in residence immediately after losing Kingsley had to have been a shock.
"I thought it was bound to Potter."
Hermione looked down at the floor. "House-elf magic is complicated. I haven't researched it extensively-most of the books only study it to exploit it. House-elves draw from the natural accumulation of magic. When old families have an estate that taps into the ley lines and utilises blood wards, it entwines the magic. They become highly attuned to the signature."
Her throat tightened as she thought about the elves that had stayed in Hogwarts. McGonagall had offered to break the ritual bond they had with the castle; Hermione had begged them all to leave when the school evacuated. Some had agreed, but others had declined. Hogwarts and the magic there was their home.
She didn't know if they were still alive inside Hogwarts prison, or if the Death Eaters had killed them all when the school was purged of 'uncooperative magic'.
She stifled the thought. "My theory is that whatever Sirius did to force the inheritance of Grimmauld Place to go to Harry split Kreacher's ties. Kreacher's bound to Grimmauld Place as a family seat, but he's also bound to the Black family's magical signature. Lucius handed the title and manor over to Draco after Narcissa's death. If Draco keyed the estate to himself with blood wards, then Kreacher belongs to Malfoy Manor as much as he belongs to Grimmauld Place; possibly more, since Harry has never used blood wards on Grimmauld Place to strengthen the ties. It was inevitable that as the Black signature on Grimmauld faded, Kreacher would be drawn somewhere that he could find it again. Instructions Draco gave him would have more influence than orders from Harry."
"I want it gone."
"I was going to suggest it. His bond with Harry is so weak I think I can break it myself. He'll lose the bond and connection to Grimmauld Place."
"What will happen to it then?" Moody's eye was spinning suspiciously.
"His ties will be solely to Malfoy Manor."
Moody seemed to be considering. Finally he cleared his throat. "Fine. Gone by tonight, or I'll be the one who deals with it."
Hermione's shoulders tensed as she gave a sharp nod. "I have something else to report. Rodolphus Lestrange was killed in Bulgaria. Draco was summoned about it. Due to Tom's reaction to the news, Draco suspects that there may be a horcrux in the Lestrange vault."
Moody started, looking at her sharply. "You told Malfoy about the horcruxes?" His voice was a growl.
Hermione met his eyes calmly. "I did."
"You weren't cleared to."
She rolled her jaw. "He's taken a Vow, Moody. He's not going to betray the Order. We've known about the horcruxes for five years, and we failed to find a single one. Draco is more effective than anyone"-her voice sharpened,-"and you know it, because your list of demands for him has kept getting longer every week."
Moody stood. "Watch your tone, Granger."
Hermione did not watch her tone. Her voice dropped lower, and it vibrated with intensity as she met his eyes. "You have over-utilised him. If I were a lower calibre healer, he would have died ten times over in the last two months; I have told you this, I told Kingsley this, and you both ignored it. The fact that he will try to do anything you ask doesn't mean you can keep demanding it until there's nothing left of him to exploit. Tom knows we have spies in his army. It would be miraculous if he hadn't noticed by now. He's testing the Death Eaters' loyalty. Kingsley pushed too far, and yesterday was the consequence of it."
She leaned across the table towards Moody. "We lost Kingsley because he allowed the Order walk into a trap for the sake of solidarity. I said the Resistance shouldn't go." She felt so angry her chest ached, as though her sternum were going to fracture again. "I said we shouldn't go, and I was told that putting the Resistance first was the same as saying 'wizards first' and that's only a step short of 'Purebloods first,' and then I was reminded that every human life is worth the same and worth saving; as though I'm not the one trying to save them." She fought to breathe through her seething rage and swallowed bitterly. "Well, they know we'll walk into death traps on principle now, so how many worthy lives do you imagine yesterday's heroism will cost us in the long run?"
She slammed her occlumency walls more firmly into place and released a short breath.
She gripped the edge of the table, and her mouth twitched as she met Moody's gaze. "I'm done watching my tone."
She straightened and glanced around the room. "I'm the only person you've got in Grimmauld Place. I have been an obedient foot soldier. I have done the unconscionable for the Order, and I don't know what we have to show for it." Her mouth twisted, and her chest tightened. "We're no closer to winning than we were a year ago. I have followed orders without a word of complaint. I would accept it if it was just me-because at this point, what good would stopping do? Or if I believed we'd eventually win the war because of it. But I don't believe that. I don't even think you believe that."
She met Moody's gaze and gave a thin smile. "If you have a better ally left in the Order, by all means, show me."
Moody said nothing.
She released a sharp breath. "Draco and I will try to find the horcrux. I need access to the sword of Gryffindor. I can-" her throat tightened, and she dropped her eyes down to the desk, "-help coordinate and manage the reconnaissance team, since they're all acquainted with me, and I can take care of the food distribution to the safe houses; it can be done along with the potion distribution I'm already responsible for." She studied the files on the table between them. "Let me know what else you need."