Woo! The halfway point! Maybe even beyond... This story ends on either Thursday or Friday depending on what my brain churns out in that amount of time. Your reviews are the highlight of my day. My favourite two: "Why does everyone seem to be dying nowadays?" and "I love that the two of them bonded over how they think divination is dumb." ANYWAY. This is a huge chapter plot-wise. Draco is still a bit of a wanker, Hermione is Hermione, maybe some tingly stuff happens, and a lot of you are about to feel very vindicated. I hope you enjoy! xoxo
Draco stared at Hermione, trying to digest what she had just said. Harry Potter couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible.
"I don't understand," he said, because there was really nothing else to say.
"Harry's dead. He died two years ago in an accident... From a rebounded curse. It was an unexpected fight in Hogsmeade. Winter. It was brutally cold. We were transferring someone who was injured when the Death Eaters found us."
"Oh God, Granger, I remember that fight. I was there."
"All we ever see are the masks," she said, shrugging helplessly. "I never who's behind them. It happened so quickly we didn't even realize what what going on. Ron eventually checked his pulse, thinking he was just knocked out. It was a fluke - we don't even know whose wand was responsible. It could have been one of our own, for all we know. The blizzard saved us, in a way. Nobody saw he was down. We were able to create a diversion and we got his body out of there."
The diversion was Fiendfyre, Draco remembered. It certainly worked; his troops scattered in an instant. Draco had been furious. He didn't even realize Harry was there - he had been targeting Weasley.
"But if Harry's dead..." He almost didn't want to finish his own thought.
"If Harry's dead, your side won," she finished. "The War ended two years ago, the one we thought we were fighting, anyway. The Order's job has been to cover it up until we could figure out what to do."
Draco gaped at her. There was no way. Having the Manor under the Dark Lord's rule was terrifying enough, but losing everything to him? How stupid that this had been Draco's goal for so long, and now he wanted nothing to do with it.
"But what can we do?" he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "I mean, the Dark Lord... He can't die."
"Not without Harry," she nodded.
"So... The potion?" he said, gesturing with his hand at the dark, sweet-smelling liquid bubbling away on the corner. "What's it for?"
"It's the best solution we could come up with," she said, evasively. "It will weaken Voldemort so he can finally be killed."
He narrowed his eyes. She was still withholding information. Obviously she wasn't sure if he was completely trustworthy - understandable, given how new their partnership was - but still. It irked him. Why couldn't she just tell him everything?
"Okay, ignoring the fact that we still don't have Harry, so killing the Dark Lord is still impossible," he said, trying to keep his temper in check, "How will you administer the potion? He's completely unreachable. The only two people who have access to him are senior Death Eaters, top of the ranks. You'd sooner convince a lioness to eat her cubs."
"I know... That has been a bit of a challenge."
Draco resisted the urge to scream. If what she said was true, the situation was hopeless. Truly hopeless. Nobody was going to feed Voldemort poison, no matter how effective it was. Luring him out might be a possibility, but then what? Eventually the Dark Lord would find out that his nemesis was gone, and then all of magical Britain would cede to him. They would never get out of this nightmare.
"Hold on. Where does Luna's prophecy come into this?"
"The prophecy is the reason we have any hope at all," she said. "We were so lost. I can't even describe the panic to you... The mourning... And we couldn't even share it with anyone. Every day was spent concocting plans that would ultimately go nowhere. Luna, meanwhile, has already started getting visions. Just small things at first, but they would all turn out to be accurate. We didn't know where her abilities were headed. One evening, we were all in the common room, and Luna goes rigid. I thought she was having a fit, but Molly urged me to leave her be. Eventually she started talking. Mumbling at first, but it got more clear, and eventually we could hear her saying 'the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord' over and over."
Draco leaned closer to Hermione. Their arms brushed, and he could feel her pulse hammering against her skin. "Did she finish?"
"Yes. She finally spoke the whole thing." She looked at him apprehensively.
"Tell me, Hermione. Just tell me what she said."
"I don't think you'll like it."
"Tell me," he said, holding on to his patience by a thread.
"'The Dark Lord's killer will be a Malfoy.'"
His mouth dropped open.
"A Malfoy? How...?"
"That's the prophecy."
"Not possible."
"But it is possible," she insisted. "Luna was the real thing, you know this. When your father died, we were left with you and your mother as our only possibilities. Your mother spent most of her time in the Manor... She seemed well protected and extremely loyal, so not a good option."
Draco snorted in agreement.
"You, on the other hand, had started visiting our territory without even realizing it. You seemed upset, disenchanted. We started to keep an eye on you, worried you'd end up in trouble. You and your mother are our only chance at winning this war, Draco. It has to be one of you. One you has to kill him."
"I don't think you understand what you're asking," said Draco, already feeling his stomach lurching at the thought.
"I think I do."
"No," he said, loudly, panic rising inside his chest. He remembered Timothy Randall after he was caught. He remembered watching him breathing, his body a bloody pulp, left like that, the cruelest existence he could have imagined. "You obviously don't understand. My mother would never agree to this. She hates your lot for killing my father. She'd kill you all if she got the chance. That leaves me. I'd have to figure out how to administer the poison without getting slaughtered, likely by my aunt or my own mother, and then what? I just use the Killing Curse? He's still the Dark Lord. I've seen what he's done to servants who disobey him. You can't honestly believe that will work!"
"Draco, there's more, just listen - "
"No, you listen, Granger. This plan is insane. How do you know your potion will succeed? I have no idea what you're brewing there. You think dabbling in a bit of Dark magic will kill you an evil wizard?"
She pulled back as if punched. "Do you really think I'm so naive?"
"Yes!" he said, standing up abruptly to pace the length of the small room. "Of course you are! You would win this war with hearts and rainbows if you could! There are a million ways for this to go wrong. You need something better."
"That's what I'm trying to say," she ground out. "I have something better. This isn't just some half-baked plan... I would never have agreed if I wasn't sure it would work. You have no idea what it's cost me to go through with this."
"Cost you? Would you stop fucking talking in code?"
"Then stop interrupting me! I'm trying to tell you the rest! It doesn't just stop at the prophecy. I've already got help."
"Really," he growled. "Please enlighten me, then. How does your ridiculous plan redeem itself? What poor fool have you convinced to take on this suicide mission?"
"We have a new leader," she said, standing up, visibly furious. "They will administer the potion. I had hoped you could help with the very end, since you apparently want to be involved, but if you're too busy speaking to me as if I'm a child - "
"Don't say it like that, don't say it like I'm changing my mind... Of course I want to help. God Granger, the last thing I want is for the Dark Lord to stay in power. I just want to know that there's a chance I won't get my skin flayed off for trying!"
"We are all taking huge risks, Draco."
Draco sucked in a breath to retort, but was interrupted by a glowing orb catapulting into the room, eery white-blue light illuminating the arched walls. Silhouettes of people floated around the orb. They were moving... Running... Screaming. Draco raised his wand, unsure if he was under attack.
"Hermione Granger," said McGonnagal's voice, booming and sombre. "There has been an attack in Balnesmore. The devastation is widespread. Both sides have sustained huge losses. We require your help immediately."
"Neville," Hermione whispered. "That's where Neville had his base. I have to go!"
The glowing orb dissolved, leaving the two of them shell-shocked before Hermione jerked into action.
"Granger, we're not done here!"
"Draco, listen for once," she said as she rushed around the small room, stuffing supplies into a small bag that really should not be able to fit more than a book. "There's so much more I wanted to tell you, but the conversation was wasted on petty bickering. Again."
Draco flushed red, embarrassed. She was right, of course.
"Look, I'm sorry, I know I've got a temper - "
"Yes, you've always had a temper," she said, exasperated, bottling up the red potion and stoppering it tightly. "But there are bigger things going on here than your ego."
Draco watched her tossing two bottles of Dittany into her handbag, feeling helpless. Had he messed things up again? Was he ever going to get this right? Why couldn't he just shut up and let her finish?
"Draco, pay close attention," Hermione said, suddenly standing very near to him, their noses only inches apart. "Tell me where your father was killed."
"Wh... What?"
"Tell me where he was killed."
"At the battle in Fronders, of course. Killed by the Order."
"What if I told you your father never actually made it to that battle?"
"What? Don't be stupid... Of course he did."
He must have.
Didn't he?
"Wait... What do you mean?"
With a sad smile, Hermione raised her hand and gently brushed her fingers across Draco's cheek. They were frigid and startlingly soft. Draco was stunned at the action, and kept himself very still, not wanting to interrupt the bewildering gesture. He held his breath, thoughts racing.
Had he missed something? This was practically... Well... This was affectionate. There was no other word for it. Was she just trying to comfort him? Or was it something more?
He waited for her to realize her mistake, to snatch her hand away and make an excuse, to do anything that would stop the tendril of hope from taking root in his chest.
She did no such thing.
Slowly, Draco began to lean into the touch, wanting to warm her hands, wanting to take them into his own. Oh God, why did this feel so good? Was he that starved for touch? Having someone caress his face should not possibly feel like this, and yet...
"You always make it so difficult," she whispered.
"Make what so difficult?" he murmured, every nerve in his body humming with suppressed reaction. He wanted to fold himself against her. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and just stay there for a few hours, breathing her in.
Jesus fuck, what had she done to him?
"Everything," she said, taking a shaky breath. "Look, I've given you all the information you need to figure it out. You're smart... I've probably never told you that, but I've always thought so. Unbearably arrogant, but clever as anything."
"Now you admit it," he said, turning his cheek fully into her hand, his eyes slipping shut for a brief moment. She couldn't possibly leave now. A mere touch and he was fucking useless. "Don't go."
"I have to," she said, visibly conflicted. "I really do. People need my help." The realization seemed to snap her out of the moment, and she stepped back, dropping her hand. Draco felt the loss keenly against his skin.
"Think about what I've told you, and if I survive this battle, I'll see you soon."
"If you survive? What's that supposed to mean? Merlin Granger, you can't just drop that on me and leave."
"I'm sorry. I've got no choice."
"I expect you to come back in one piece," he said, feeling anxious as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "I still have to yell at you for leaving me in this mess."
"I'll do my best," she said with a smile. "Now use that brain of yours, because you need to figure out where you stand, and you need to do it soon."
Then she reached behind to the bookshelf closest, touched the spine of a nondescript book, and blinked out of existence.
There was nothing left to do. Draco trudged out of Headquarters, head spinning, walking slowly up through the tunnel and finally slipping out of the maintenance closet. It was early morning now... Commuters were starting to trickle into the Tube. Blinking vacantly at the ground, Draco ran his fingers across his cheek.
Hermione had ordered him to think. Apparently he was going to do as he was told.
As he walked to the platform, he berated himself repeatedly for losing his temper again - he'd lost track of how many times he'd fucked up a simple conversation because he let his mouth overtake his mind. Quite frankly, when she told him who would have to kill the Dark Lord, he panicked. Full stop.
What a gutless reaction. And why had it happened to begin with? Not long ago, Draco was waiting to die, hoping for it, even. Then came the curse, and of course Draco panicked again, practically begging Hermione to intervene.
He was a coward, that much was obvious. But there was something else, too. Something that was becoming increasingly undeniable. Draco frowned as he shuffled into the crowded train car. No seats for him this time. He sighed and grabbed the bar, trying to stay focused.
The truth was that he might have found something to live for. A vague hope for the future. A person who was interesting to talk to, who was alone like him, who had seen the worst of humanity and still put one foot in front of the other.
Perhaps it was ridiculous to be sentimental about his strange relationship with Hermione - they barely managed to converse for five minutes before clawing at each other's throats - but at least with her he didn't feel like a fake. She knew what he was about, she'd known him at his most despicable, and yet, here she was. Trying to involve him. Trying to win the War despite insurmountable odds.
"You cannot possibly have developed an interest in staying alive because of Granger," he mumbled under his breath. "She probably doesn't even like you."
The Muggle next to him looked at his sideways and then turned slightly away, not wanting to be bothered with the crazy man with the shaggy blond hair.
"And you don't even like her." There was a pause. Draco rolled his eyes and huffed his breath in annoyance. He couldn't even convince himself of his own fiction.
Hermione Granger was intelligent, dangerous and heartbroken. She was as damaged as he was. She was scarred and tired and desperate. She was unpredictable.
And the truth was that he quite liked her.
Gods, how embarrassing. If he ever made it out of this, his mother would disown him.
The train pulled into one of the larger stations, and his car emptied out before starting to fill up again. Draco elbowed his way to the corner seat, sitting down heavily and making himself look as unfriendly as possible so the Muggles kept their distance.
Fine. He could admit to his ridiculous fondness for Hermione, but that wasn't the biggest puzzle here. Draco felt his cheeks colour slightly when he remembered what she had said, calling him clever, touching his face. If she thought he was smart, he would damn well not disappoint her. Maybe, if he got it right, she'd even touch him again.
Think.
Fact: the Order had a new leader who had somehow agreed to administer the poison to the Dark Lord. Ludicrous, but he would have to take Hermione at her word.
Fact: Luna's prophecy was accurate, because Luna was a Seer, and everything she had foreseen had come true. This meant either Draco or his mother would have to kill the poisoned Dark Lord.
Fact: Narcissa was a loyal, senior Death Eater. She was the Dark Lord's confidant. She would never betray him. In fact, she was so hell bent on avenging Lucius's death that the likelihood of her joining forces with the Order was utterly laughable.
Something shifted in Draco's mind as the walls of the Tube shot by outside the glass.
Wait. What was it she said about her instincts?
They tell me to avenge your father and punish the people who took him from us. They tell me to crush my enemies mercilessly.
But Hermione had said Lucius may not have been killed at Fronders. Was Hermione telling the truth? She was brutally honest, as a general rule. That meant...
If Lucius never made it to that battle, he was already dead before it started.
If he was already dead before it started...
If he was already dead before it started, he was likely killed at the Manor.
By one of his own.
I believe, however, that after some introspection, you will come to the same conclusions as I did, and you will act accordingly.
Draco stood up so quickly his vision swam.
"Bleeding fuck," he muttered, pushing his way to the door and the next station rolled into view. The train screeched to a halt and Draco threw himself out the doors, running up the steps and out of the Underground. He needed to get back to the Manor. It would be nearly empty if there was an active battle taking place, all the easier to...
Merlin, the battle. Was that a set-up too? He'd been so blind! What better way to put a plan in action than to get rid of potential witnesses. Keep all the Death Eaters busy, keep them away from the real event.
Draco raced though the streets of London, looking for a quiet corner, frantically trying to calm his brain. The scenario that had slotted into place suggested a plan so unlikely, so bizarre, he was tempted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
Except that he was becoming more and more certain he had figured it out. He had understood what Hermione was getting at. He'd cracked it.
Ducking into a damp alley, he reached into his pocket for his wand. Upon pulling it out, something fluffy drifted to the ground. Draco bent down and grabbed it.
A feather. A small one, light brown.
The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
The Manor was indeed deserted, and Draco had a strong sense of deja-vu. He broke into a run the second he Apparated, heading straight for his mother's quarters. Nothing but empty hallways and grumbling portraits greeted him as he made his way through the old house, more sure with every step he took.
Finally, he reached his mother's door.
Draco took a moment to calm his breathing and centre himself. Then, he raised his hand, and knocked.
The door opened.
Narcissa was sitting in her favourite wingback chair, black leather and silver studs. She looked every bit the powerful sorceress - a black lace gown with a simple velvet choker, blonde-white hair pulled back neatly, blood-red lips. It made her look extremely intimidating. She kept her face carefully neutral, but Draco knew better. She had clearly been waiting for him.
"Mother," he said, nodding.
"Hello, darling," she said, smiling and standing up to greet him. She pecked him on the cheek and then stepped back. "Any luck in with your mission?"
"I believe so," he said, hands behind his back, beginning to circle her. "Things are a lot more clear now."
"In what way, dear?" she said, watching him with an arched brow.
"Well," he said, coming to a stop. "I've learned that I have been incorrectly crediting my father for passing along his ability to strategize and scheme. I always thought he was the planner in our family."
Narcissa stayed still, watching him calmly.
"And why would you say that, Draco?"
"Because it's you, isn't it?" he said. "You're the key. You're the planner. You make or break this war."
She lifted her chin slightly, challenging him to finish his thought.
"You're the Dark Lord's closest ally," he whispered. "And mother, you're also the leader of the Order."