Disclaimer: All J.K. Rowling's

SHADOWS OF OURSELVES
Chapter 21: Desperado

Desperado: A piece that seems determined to give itself up, typically either to bring about stalemate or to sell itself as dearly as possible in a situation where both sides have hanging pieces.

Thursday, December 25, 2003

"We've just received a rather interesting missive from Miss Parkinson."

"You mean Madam Zabini?"

"She's looking to take on a different name."

"Your own?"

"More precisely, my son's."

"I was under the impression that the former Miss Granger now held that enviable title."

"That jumped-up Mudblood bitch has always been more trouble than she's worth."

"She is worth quite a lot, if prophecies and the Dark Lord are to be believed."

"The sooner she's gone, the better."

"That may be sooner than you think. If—when the Dark Lord wins, he will be the first to get rid of her."

"Either way, she will have to go. Her very existence threatens Draco's position."

"Hmm."

"You're not looking to back out now, are you? This is becoming quite a habit of yours."

"We wait until the Order makes its final move. It won't be long now."

It had been exactly 9 hours, 37 minutes, and 19 seconds since Draco had answered the Dark Lord's summons.

Hermione expected every moment that he would return, stroll in with that annoying swagger and arrogant smirk, tease her about waiting up for him, which she would then deny before asking what color he was wearing for a Christmas luncheon with the Greengrasses.

And for every moment that this did not happen, she expected that she would receive word—via owl, house-elf, Death Eater, the Order even—that he was dead, that Voldemort was now coming for her, that it was all over.

She didn't know when her guests had left, and she didn't care. All she cared about was that Draco would walk through those doors right now. She wouldn't even deny that she had waited for him. She would never, ever say another snarky thing to him ever again if he walked through those doors this second.

When light suddenly broke over the horizon, the reflection of a tired, haunted woman stared back at her, just beside the rising sun. And then she knew what she had to do.

Hermione stood slowly, straightening her spine until her posture was as flawless as Draco had trained her. She moved with firm but measured steps to her rooms and began getting ready as she would any other morning. Her movements were unhurried, if a little automatic, as she re-did her make-up, recast her Glamour Charms, adjusted the tiara on her head, and changed into her Death Eater robes.

Then she Apparated to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, where everything was uncharacteristically still and silent.

"Homenum revelio."

Only one human life form registered throughout the entire house. Hermione's already frayed nerves frayed a little further. She ventured silently toward the kitchen, where the person was—

She fell to the ground just in time for a spell to whizz over her head, taking out a chunk of the wall above her. She scrambled into the study for cover.

"Come out here, ya filthy Death Eater! No one attacks the Order on my watch!"

"Mad-Eye! It's me! It's Hermione," she said, stepping back into the hallway. "Where's—?"

She had to duck into the study again as he sent another curse hurtling her way. "You can't fool me, Granger!" She could hear him limping down the hall toward her. "I know a traitor when I see one!"

With each word, he sent a Bombardment Charm at the wall separating them until it had been reduced to rubble. His eye no longer worked, so he compensated by obliterating the physical barrier between them. She backed farther into the study to avoid being hit by the flying pieces of wood, stone, and plaster.

"Moody, wait!" She stepped into the middle of the room so that he could see her clearly. "It's just me. It's Hermione. I'm not a traitor. I'm—"

"Expelliarmus!"

Her wand flew out of her hand. She watched it sail across the room and land behind the old, worn mahogany desk. She held her hands out in front of her, showing she was now completely unarmed.

"Mad-Eye, please," she entreated. "It's me. It's Hermione. Don't—!"

She dove behind the old, worn mahogany desk just in time to avoid being hit by another curse. She grabbed her wand before curling into a tight ball, shielding her head from the splinters of wood raining down on her. She forced herself to stay completely still and silent as the debris settled.

She could clearly hear Moody's labored breathing from across the room, the tell-tale drag of his wooden leg against the threadbare carpet as he took a tentative step toward her. She shifted silently, preparing to spring to her feet. Just one step closer...

"Stupefy!" she cried, popping up from behind the desk long enough to aim and fire.

Belying his age and physical limitations, Moody dodged her spell and returned one of his own in one fluid motion.

"Reducto!"

The desk she was hiding behind and leaning against disintegrated into a pile of dust. She sprang toward the gaping fissure where the door and wall had been, shooting another spell toward Moody along the way.

"Petrificus totalus!"

It missed him by a hair and hit the bookshelf behind him, sending it and the books it held toppling forward. Instead of trying to save himself, Moody tried to hit her with another curse.

"Incendio!"

She ducked under the jet of fire and sent another in his direction.

"Immobulus!"

This was not aimed at Moody but at the books and shelf about to collapse on top of him. Moody stared at the suspended tomes in disbelief.

Hermione had taken refuge behind the lumpy, moth-eaten couch, waiting for his next attack, but it did not come.

"Granger?" He sounded different, calmer and much more like the Auror Moody of old.

She raised her head tentatively over the edge of the sofa.

"Mad—?"

"Crucio!"

Pain like she had only known once before consumed her entire being. She fell to the floor, limbs contorting and twitching uncontrollably. She could hear Mrs. Black screaming, no words this time, just an incessant, high-pitched shriek that seemed to channel her own pain. It took her a moment to realize she was hearing herself.

Grimmauld Place dissolved from around her and was replaced by Malfoy Manor, not the one that she now was mistress of but the one of five years ago, when she had been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. The memory of her torture there was one she had suppressed, hidden away in the far corner of her mind like everything else that was weak, but the Cruciatus brought it forth, ripping open a wound she thought long healed.

She was sobbing, begging for it to end. They hadn't taken anything from her vault. It was a fake, just a fake. It wasn't the real sword of Gryffindor.

Then suddenly, miraculously, the pain stopped. Harry's and Ginny's pale, concerned faces swam above her. Her head lolled to the side, and she saw Kingsley and Lupin had pinned Moody, who was as breathless as she was, to what was left of the study wall, while Tonks held him at wandpoint. Ron stood in the middle of it all, obviously torn between going to Hermione and attacking Moody. Red sparks were shooting out of his wand.

"Ron," she rasped. "Don't."

Ron was at her side in seconds. Falling to his knees beside her, he pulled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth.

"Ron. Ron, it's all right. I'm all right," she assured him, wishing she sounded more convincing.

Harry's emerald green eyes held barely contained fury as they shifted from her to Moody.

"Get out," he said quietly.

"What?"

Everyone froze. Tonks lowered her wand as she looked at Harry in surprise. Kingsley and Lupin, too, seemed shocked, though they did not relax their hold on the old Auror.

"If you want to use Unforgivables, go join the Death Eaters!" Harry spat. "The Order doesn't use them, and now the Order has no use for you. Get out!"

"Harry, no," Hermione protested. "It was my fault. I came here unannounced, dressed like this—"

"She's a Death Eater!" Moody roared. "She's a traitor! Ask her! Look at her arm! She's Marked! She has to be! She's a Death Eater!"

"GET OUT!" Harry yelled, this time raising his wand.

"No, Harry, he's right," she said calmly. She rolled down her sleeve and revealed the Dark Mark.

An indescribable look came over Harry's face as he stared down at the intertwined skull and snake branded on her skin. His grip tightened around his wand until it seemed the wood would crack in his grasp.

"Stupefy!"

Draco has been training for this torture his whole life. His father had performed the Cruciatus on him more than once as punishment, when he had been old enough to match his father physically but not old enough to perform magic outside of school. He hadn't told Granger—the look on her face when he'd told her about being hung off the balcony by his ankles had been nothing short of horrified, and honestly, that had been one of the tamer things Lucius had done to him. Poor, innocent little Granger...

Hermione's face faded away and was replaced by Voldemort's. Really, when it came down to it, he preferred Granger's.

"Tell me, Draco, why did you really bring me Hermione Granger?"

"Because you asked me to, my lord."

Voldemort hit him with the Cruciatus once more. By the time he lifted the curse, Draco's limbs were aching and twitching uncontrollably, but he somehow managed not to give Voldemort the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

"Did you find her for me ... or for yourself?"

Draco spit out blood onto the floor. He had bit the inside of his cheek. "What are you talking about?" Draco rasped. "My lord?" he added, almost mockingly. Almost.

"You have been a model husband, Draco. Most devoted, most ... protective. I thought you were acting so because I had asked it of you, but the way you acted against the Zabinis went beyond anything I expected of you."

Voldemort leaned over Draco's prone form. "Do you think I know not about your prophecy? I have always recognized the similar ambition, the same ingredients for the same destiny in you, Draco, as was in myself. I would have thought you might be content being my second in command, but ambition does not stop short of the top, does it, Draco?

"Do you really think Hermione Granger can help you defeat me? That you can turn her into a weapon against me? You are too late. I have already transformed her into something beyond even her wildest dreams."

Draco pushed himself up. "What have you done to her?" he demanded hoarsely.

"Nothing you haven't helped me to do. I conquered the wizarding world, Draco, and now I will conquer you!"

And then the pain started again.

"How long?"

Hermione looked up from the goblet of Restorative Potion that Ginny had given her. She was sitting between Harry and Ron on the lumpy sofa, in the middle of the ruins of the study. It had been ages since she'd had both of them on either side of her, and it felt very fitting that they would be together like this again now, near the end.

Ginny and Tonks were standing a little removed from them. Lupin and Kingsley, returning from locking the Stunned Moody in one of the spare bedrooms, quietly re-entered the room.

"How long have I been Marked?" she clarified. "Months. Four, to be exact."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked quietly.

Her fingers fiddled with her discarded glove. They were wasting time. They needed to go save Draco now. But she also needed to explain and the Order needed to understand in case this was the last chance she ever had.

"Don't you know what Death Eaters have to do before they're Marked?" she asked softly.

"They ... they have to prove their loyalty to Voldemort," Ron said, confused.

"They have to kill," Harry elaborated.

Ginny faltered. "Who did you kill, Hermione?"

"Ernie Macmillan."

Hermione stared down at the swirling pink liquid in her goblet so she wouldn't see the looks of shock and horror on their faces.

"And that's why I didn't tell you," she whispered, still looking down. "He had been tortured, he was half-insane ... but those are just excuses. I still had a choice, and I chose to kill him."

"No," Lupin said firmly. "Hermione, that was the most merciful thing you could have done for him."

"This war has made us do things we aren't proud of, sometimes to each other," Kingsley reflected. "You should understand that more than any of us, Hermione."

Emotion welled up in her chest. "Why the sudden trust?" she demanded suddenly, desperately. "For months, for years none of you have trusted me."

"Because you saved Mad-Eye," Tonks said simply, "even when he was trying his best to hurt you, probably kill you. He was the one who used the Unforgivable, not you, and you're the one who's supposedly a Death Eater."

Hermione raised her forearm inchallenge. "Supposedly? Isn't this proof enough?"

"The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," Harry said. "And now we know they can be both."

"Why are you dressed like that, anyway?" Ron asked bracingly. "You know better than to barge in here in full Death Eater costume when we have an off-his-rocker ex-Auror in the house."

They all were looking at her expectantly, and she realized how utterly alone she would be if they said 'no' to her now.

"He has Draco," she forced out, her voice breaking. "Voldemort summoned Draco last night, and he hasn't returned."

Silence greeted her words. Their expressions took on varying degrees of sadness and ... resignation.

"No, we have to help him!" she insisted. "We can't leave him there!"

Harry winced. "In a few days, maybe a week—"

"It'll be too late by then!"

"Hermione, we can't rush this!" Harry yelled, jumping to his feet and pacing in front of her. "This is our last chance, our only chance. If we mess this up—"

"You're as ready as you're ever going to be!" Hermione declared, getting to her feet as well, though legs still felt shaky. "Harry, I know you've been smuggling people in for weeks. A few more days isn't going to make a difference! Who else are you expecting to show up?"

He looked like a fish out of water for a moment. "No one," he finally admitted. "But there's still the strategy to figure out a-and—"

"—and I'm sure Ron already had that figured out weeks ago!" she said, rounding on the redhead.

Still seated on the couch, Ron's eyes darted from Harry to Hermione. "Well, yeah, but ... everybody could use more time to prepare..."

She looked around at the rest of the Order and saw they all were watching Harry, trying to take their cues from him. "This isn't about them being ready at all, is it, Harry? This is about you being ready." She looked at him imploringly. "Aren't you ready for it to end?"

"Hermione, he isn't ready," Ginny finally said, after a moment of painful silence.

"No, it's not that," Harry denied. "Just, wait, Hermione—"

"I'm tired of waiting."

She spoke quietly but with finality. She drew herself up, more Madam Malfoy than Hermione Granger. The tiara on her head and the ring on her finger glittered in the faint light.

"What you said about Death Eaters and good people doesn't apply just to me. If it applies to anyone at all, it applies to Draco Malfoy. He's the only reason any of us are still here today. The Order would have fallen long ago without his help, and now you refuse to help him." She drew on her glove, straightened her robes, and gave them her ultimatum: "If you're not coming with me, then I'm going to Voldemort by myself to try and save him."

They gawked at her.

"Don't be stupid, Hermione!" Harry snapped dismissively.

"I've never been stupid in my life," Hermione murmured, more to herself than to him. "Maybe I'll start now."

She turned to leave, but Kingsley and Lupin blocked her way. She had her wand pointed at them in a blink of an eye.

"Let me pass," she requested, with the same deadly calm. "I won't hesitate to use an Unforgivable this time."

Either they didn't believe her or they really didn't want her to go, but neither moved. She tightened her grip on her wand, then—

"She's right." Lupin looked over her head to Harry. "A few days, another week—it won't make a difference."

"We are as ready as we'll ever be," Kingsley affirmed.

"Every second that we wait is another second Voldemort could discover one of the groups, blow the whole plan to hell and back," Tonks chipped in.

"We ... we aren't going to change the strategy, mate," Ron said. "You said so yourself. And I wouldn't put it past Malfoy to come back as a ghost and haunt us for the rest of our lives, whining about how we didn't save him," he added.

"Harry, I go with whatever you say, I always do," Ginny said, reaching out to him. "But I believe in you ... and I believe you're ready."

He slowly intertwined their fingers, resolve gathering in his eyes as he looked from her, to the others, to Hermione.

"All right, Hermione." He gave her a small smile. "You win."

Her body sagged with relief for a moment. But when she looked up, her eyes mirrored his determination.

"No, Harry. We do. We've got to."