Chapter Twenty-Five
Hermione's heart raced as the ability to once again conduct magic flowed undeterred. It was a special kind of torture to keep a witch from her wand, and as soon as she wrapped her hands around the piece of cherry wood, a strange sort of magic enveloped her. But rather than use the wand to dispose of Francine, she pushed the stocky woman to the floor. Sure, she could have used magic to levitate Francine's lifeless body out of the room and down the hallway, but something told her that it was imperative to do this with her two hands.
So, she did.
It was difficult to maneuver with the extra girth her belly presented, so much so, that she ended up dragging the former Lupa at odd angle. Fortunately for her, rigor hadn't set in, so the woman's body was pliable enough for the moment.
Hermione's lower back protested in agony as she struggled to drag the woman down the hall; all the while, she kept her grip on her newly acquired wand. She would not lose it so easily this time. As she emerged into the mess hall where the Loup Garou took their meals, stunned pack members stumbled into view.
They watched as Hermione dragged Francine's remains into view before dropping the lifeless body to the floor. She lifted her to wand eye-level as she observed a wary werewolf close to her, and another who appeared beyond him. "You!" She lifted her chin at the young man, no older than her.
The young man began to growl as he took in his former Lupa, dead on the ground beside Hermione's trainers. "You've killed Francine."
Hermione did not budge, as her wand remained trained on the man. She arched a brow and replied, "You know what this means?"
More werewolves poured into the hall. Hermione quickly scanned the room as they filed in, one after another, no doubt drawn from the magical shift they felt earlier.
Betrayal marked the young man's face as he lowered to his knees, preparing to shift. "I'll die before I'll serve a bloody witch!" As he finished, the man shifted seamlessly into a wolf and charged at her.
There was no time for indecision. One protective hand on her stomach, Hermione twisted Francine's wand as the incantation flew forth effortlessly. All watched as the charging wolf fell forward into a lifeless heap, his large head barely attached to its neck as muscle and blood sprayed at her feet.
She growled at the man's insolence as her children shifted in-utero. "Listen!" she shouted to them all, her voice amplified by a Sonorous charm she did not cast. She spun to face off with the growing crowd that appeared on the balcony above her. They poured out of the back rooms, and from outside and the winter air.
Her hair, wild with the magic, crackled as the fire of wolf's blood burned her veins. As if testing out her mettle, the power of a Lupa swirled about her feet, her waist, up to her heart and down her arms. She struggled against the uncomfortable feeling as she addressed the Loup Garou surrounding her. "I do not want to, but I will kill you if I must. Threaten me and my children, and you will lose every single time," she swore the truth of the matter.
For a moment, they did not move. Perhaps they were waiting to strike, or something more sinister. Encouraged by their collective pause, Hermione raised her voice and continued, "I offer you what Francine could not –"
"What could a witch possibly offer us?" someone shouted from the balcony above.
The wild magic circled tighter about her. It was thick enough to stuff her ears with cotton, yet it caressed her arms as if she were a long-lost lover. In a raised voice, she began, "True power isn't found by following a man who'd rather see our kind eradicated from the world." Her audience was intrigued, so she continued, though she held her wand high, ever on the defensive. "It's found in blood. Blood, we share." She placed her hand on the underside of her belly, swollen with Draco's children. "My children are your children. They represent the boundless possibilities for our kind." Being a witch did not stop her from using the possessive. She saw them as kin, for they were her mate, her friends, and her soon, her children. They were a part of her.
At this, a few nodded, though some still regarded her cautiously.
She swallowed and pressed on, "Francine saw it and I know you see it. And yet, there are some who would rather cater to a mad-man, a half-blood, who would end those possibilities." There were grumbles of agreement at this declaration. "Who would rather see us beneath their feet as if we were nothing more than a domesticated dog!" Here, some openly shouted in agreement with her. Her voice cracked from the extensive shouting, but she soldiered on, "I swear, on the life of my children, our children, that I will never hesitate to defend each and every one of you, to make sure such possibility is never taken from you!" Her eyes darkened to obsidian as she warned them all, "But cross me, openly or behind closed door, and I swear, I will end you." She lowered into a dueling stance as best she could as she tested the room, "Now, what say you?"
The smell of blood filled her nostrils as the magic of the Lupa settled to bury deep beneath her skin. Her womb tightened as the magicks intermixed to form a new kind of power. She grimaced in discomfort as her magical core shifted and expanded deep within the seat of her, but through it all, she remained resolved. She would make them heel, one way or another.
She could not see the metallic amber that replaced her former honey-colored irises, marking the shift as complete; but the Loup Garou did. Like recognized like as they accepted the call of their Lupa and one by one, they lifted their fists to cover their heart. Slowly, she lowered her wand.
Hermione gave a smirk and growled darkly to her pack, "Good. Now bring me Clara and Greyson."
Draco's mind was slipping again.
He usually did not mind the lead up to the full moon; now, it was similar to the months after he'd been initially turned. Blinding pain would overtake him in random intervals. His heart would stitch, or worse, a hollowness would cleave at what was left of his soul. Without his mate beside him, his mark physically pained him in the days leading to the pack's collective shift. Without her, his hold on the animal that lingered beneath the surface loosened and often snapped. He lashed out, like an angry whip, to whichever unfortunate soul happened to be close-by. He fought hard and often. He hadn't been in this many fights since Fenrir first made him a werewolf, but there was no other outlet for the anger within.
As winter's daylight shortened, the encroaching darkness that stole the sun and his sanity seemed like a welcome escape. By the close of January, the pain was near constant. Draco traced the small mate mark on the inside of his wrist as his heart broke a little more.
Brown tried talking to him about it. She tried to develop a strategy to move forward, but he had de-evolved from a wizard on a mission to an animal gravelly wounded.
The concept of time had evaporated like his mate. Everything filtered to before, when she was here and after, when she wasn't.
And she hadn't been by his side for quite some time now.
He was lost.
True, his pack still depended on him for their safety, but he had little to give of himself. A youngling had been foolish enough to challenge him in the days after the January full moon thinking his broken heart equated weakness. The challenger was dead on the ground within two minutes. His pack learned that even in his weakness, Draco Malfoy was still a powerful Alpha.
Broken, but still powerful.
He found little solace on the shoreline of Shell Cottage, a few meters from the final resting place of Harry Potter. He watched as the tide swept in beneath the crescent moon.
"Malfoy. There's a meeting with the Order in a bit. Are you coming?" Brown called as she approached, her footfalls quiet on the wet sand.
"What's the point?"
"So, we're not fighting with the Order, then?" Brown pressed as she neared, the annoyance clear. "You know, she would've wanted you to fight." His pack was careful not to utter his mate's name within earshot of him. They all had learned that lesson by now.
Draco mentally folded into himself as the werewolf approached. He did not want to do this.
Brown sighed as the silence stretched. "Because we both know she would have, right? You're still here, Malfoy. That must mean something." He continued to stare out into the ocean, his mind whispering to forget it all. He had done it before, perhaps he could do it again.
"It's pointless if she isn't here," he admitted to himself, though the other werewolf overheard him.
"It isn't and you know it. Hell, I could give up, too, after what Greyson put me through…" she argued, as Draco growled at the mention of the werewolf's name. "But I'm not sulking around. Damn it, there's still a war to win."
"So, go fight." He was so very tired of it all: the fight, the will to continue, the desperation in which he vigorously sought his mate. He had searched high and low for her, beginning in Hogsmeade following the aftermath of the attack. Clutching her beaded bag, he travelled to Voldemort's former strongholds hoping to catch a whiff of her. But she eluded him as the weeks wore into months, until he was forced to replace the touch and smell of her with a memory.
But memory paled woefully when it came to the real thing. Sometimes, he wondered how far along she was? He imagined she would be waddling along, as their children pushed against her back, stretching her into the height of discomfort. Could she feel them kicking by now? Were they still alive?
His mind slipped into static as raw pain clawed at his heart.
Brown continued, unaware of how close he teetered to the edge. "Believe me, I would if I could." She crossed her arms before sitting beside him in the cold surf. She yelped, not that the frigid water affected them, but because the muddy surf ruined her jeans. "The pack won't listen to me," she complained. "They need you. And I get it, you need her, but if I know Hermione," she took his glare in stride and continued, "then she's fighting as we speak to get back to you. Now, are you going to get off your arse and do the same?"
It would be so much easier to give in. The temptation was still there. He fingered his mate mark once more as Brown's words pierced the fog. Unbidden, a smirk lifted the side of his mouth as a memory came to him. "You sound like her," he admitted lowly.
Brown snorted as she stood to her feet, dusting off her jeans free of sand. "Well, you don't live together for years without picking up some habits, I suppose."
Draco stood with her as the two walked towards Shell Cottage in silence. As always, he and Brown entered through the patio door to find remnants of the Order already deep in conversation. The traditional group of Weasleys, Shacklebolt, McGonagall and a few from Dumbledore's Army paused mid-conversation as the werewolves joined the fray.
It was McGonagall who spoke first, her face pinched at the sight of him. "So good of you to join us."
Brown spoke for them both, "Was trying to convince this one to shave," she teased, tossing her head to the growth on his chin he'd left unattended. He glared at her in warning as she backtracked, "Clearly, I lost."
"Well, I'm afraid the time for personal grooming is behind us. You-Know-Who is on the move."
A hush settled over the room as Draco spoke up, a first in months. "Where?" he grated, his voice rough.
McGonagall regarded him slowly before replying, "We're not sure. He is pulling his forces from across the island. I fear an attack of great magnitude is coming."
"Similar to the Battle of Hogwarts, you mean?" Bill Weasley surmised as he hugged Fleur close. "Fleur is too close to delivery. She'll have to stay behind."
"Where do you need us?" Arthur Weasley asked, resolved, even though he had already given much to the cause.
Shacklebolt answered instead, "We're moving our people from what remains of our safe houses. If you don't mind, we will momentarily give them quarter here. Until we get a better track on You-Know-Who's whereabouts, I don't want to leave our people vulnerable to attack."
"But the villages we protect? We're just going to give them up?" The shock across the room was plain to see.
Shacklebolt and McGonagall remained firm, as the former Professor replied, "You-Know-Who is strategic. He's isn't seeking to kill all of wizarding kind. He will need someone to lord over once the fighting's done. Ever since Harry fell, he's been meticulous in taking out our strongholds. No, this is our best bet. The villages will be safe, but the longer members of the Light are out there, the more they will be at risk."
McGonagall turned to the expectant parents and current occupants of Shell Cottage. Draco couldn't block the bout of jealously as he watched Bill draw his pregnant wife closer to him. "Bill, Fleur, I know it is much to ask, but can we?"
"We are already 'osting a pack of werewolves. What is a few more?" Fleur nodded their permission. "We will provide what we can."
McGonagall nodded her thanks before turning to Draco. "And what about you, Mr. Malfoy? Can the Order count on you and yours to fight when the moment comes?"
Before he could respond, a brilliant ball of white light illuminated the small kitchen as it painted the room's occupants in a myriad of color. Draco hesitantly stepped forward as the ball of light took the form of a silver wolf, its tail long and shabby. The wolf padded about the kitchen before stopping before him to sit on its hind legs.
Then like a song for the ages, his sweet, sweet mate's voice spoke through the wolf's snout, "I've missed you terribly. It's been much too long, but I am coming home. We are safe. And we are coming home."
an: I love you guys more than I love ice cream, and that's saying a lot! We're slowly making our way there, maybe 2-3 more chapters. Til next time! ~ L