A/N: Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews! The Dream Team worked hard tonight, so thank you to my AlphaBet. Check my tumblr for some BEAUTIFUL new art based on this series.
Content Warning: Some mild gore
Someone was knocking her elbow. Jarring her, helping her lift a glass. Champagne flooded her closed lips.
The girl in the white dress swallowed, her throat moving delicately as the champagne poured into her mouth.
Fireworks crackled and boomed, and the girl's skin glowed blue and red and green — a white canvas to paint on.
Warm breath whispered against her ear — "Granger, close your mouth or you'll catch lacewing flies."
The stretched elastic of her mind snapped, and her vision seemed to shiver before refocusing.
Ginny Weasley was within twenty feet of her.
She spun to Blaise, her heart pounding in her throat. She kept her gaze on Ginny in case she vanished. "Blaise, please. You need to take me to Avery. I need to— If I could just get close to her—"
"You must be confusing me with a different Slytherin. I'm afraid my back doesn't bend that way for you, Granger—"
"Please." She looked up at him, and he sipped his champagne, avoiding her eyes. "I haven't seen her since May."
Blaise faced the ballroom as he whispered, "I have no business with Avery. I can't just walk up to him—"
Avery pressed a hand to Ginny's back and steered her toward the doors. Hermione's breath squeezed out of her lungs — to lose her so quickly after getting her back—
"Just walk me that way," she begged. "Just towards the doors, and then I'll figure out—"
"What did I tell you about speaking to your superiors?" Lucius hissed behind her. A warm hand grabbed her elbow. "Behave yourself."
She turned to his cold grey gaze, her lips trembling, trying to beg him without words.
"Clearly you've had enough excitement for the night." His eyes were like ice as he turned to Blaise, speaking loud enough for onlookers. "I apologize for her behavior. I can assure you she'll be thoroughly punished. Please, excuse us."
And without waiting for a response, Lucius escorted her through the crowd with a bruising grip on her upper arm.
"Mr. Malfoy—"
His fingers tightened. "Control yourself," he muttered from the corner of his mouth. "Remember where you are."
She stumbled before quickly finding her footing. The logical part of her brain knew he was right, but the rest of her was screaming to turn around. She needed to get to Ginny.
Lucius nodded at several people as they passed, moving swiftly through the ballroom as Hermione's mind whirred in overdrive. But her heart began sinking with each step. Lucius was right. Short of a miracle, there was no way she could speak to Ginny tonight.
Pain pricked her temple as he led them out the drawing room doors, towards the marble staircase. They closed, sealing Ginny away from her like a coffin. Hermione swallowed, trying to be strong—
"Lucius!" a voice called, just as he put his foot on the first step. They swiveled around to find Yaxley, leaning out the cracked door of the small sitting room tucked behind the staircase. "Come join us. We were just discussing Geneva."
"Of course. Give me a moment to put my pet to bed," said Lucius smoothly. He moved to the second stair, tugging Hermione behind him.
"Bring her," said Yaxley, and Lucius froze. He turned around slowly, and Hermione followed. "I was just about to come looking for you. We have the other one in here, too."
Hermione's breath was tight in her chest.
Ginny.
Alone in a room full of Death Eaters.
Lucius hesitated, and Yaxley lifted a brow. "Don't be stingy. Your guests want to see the finest horses in the show." He smirked. "Maybe we'll let them wrestle."
Hermione said a silent prayer, begging. And then—
"Just for a few minutes, I suppose," said Lucius stiffly.
Her skin shivered, and then her heart beat out of her chest as Lucius led her to the sitting room. With each step of the marble, she concentrated on binding her emotions into books — pushing Draco into a far corner of her mind and covering him with other texts, folding the pages of Ginny into another book altogether. The doors pushed open just as she lost them somewhere in the stacks.
Her eyes caught on the white dress immediately. Ginny had her back turned to the door, Avery at her side with his hand on her backside. Hermione drew a sharp breath, but her Occlumency held. She looked away. Dolohov, Rookwood, Mulciber, Crabbe Sr., Parkinson, and the Lestrange brothers stood in a lazy formation, sipping drinks and chuckling with each other. It was odd to see them in the bright candlelight of the Manor, without a slave on their arm or in their lap.
Their eyes drifted over her, but they looked away without leering — all except Dolohov.
"So, this is where you all disappeared to." Lucius shook Mulciber's hand and promptly took a path through the room towards the drinks trolley in the corner, pushing Hermione to stand against a wall behind a chair.
"Your wife throws a fine party, Lucius."
"That she does." Lucius sipped his brandy and moved to shake Avery's hand. "Didn't expect to see you here, Aron. Welcome."
"I got permission to let her out of her cage." Avery chuckled, and Hermione watched his hand slide up from Ginny's backside and curl into her ginger locks. Swallowing, she quickly looked away.
"However will the Dark Lord amuse himself on this New Year's Eve?" Rabastan murmured, and Mulciber hid a smile in his glass.
Avery sneered. "It's an honor to be of service to the Dark Lord. I consider myself lucky to have a pet who holds his interest."
Ginny smiled demurely, sipping from her champagne glass.
"These two know each other, I take it?" Rookwood said, gesturing between Ginny and Hermione. "Both of them sucked Potter's cock?"
The men chuckled. Ginny simply blinked.
"I'll ask you to watch your language in front of my great-grandmother's portrait," Lucius said, lifting his glass to point at the grumpy looking grey-haired woman in her frame. The men laughed.
"Is that right, darling?" Avery said softly into Ginny's ear, his hand fisting the hair at the base of her skull. "Do you remember your old friend?"
Hermione watched Ginny twist — her bones spindly under the pale-blue skin of her back — and turn her gaze on Hermione for the first time. Her warm brown eyes were shallow pools of nothingness as they roved over Hermione.
"Hardly," she said.
Her voice was different. Like a hook had been pulled tight around her throat and tugged until the melody left her inflections. In that one word, Hermione could hear an aristocratic drawl unfamiliar to Ginny's natural consonants and vowels.
"Here you all are." Hermione turned to the door and found Nott Sr. leaning drunkenly on the doorframe. "Not going to invite me to this little private party?"
Yaxley pursed his lips in distaste. Rookwood and Mulciber shared a meaningful look.
"Not at all, Ted," Lucius said smoothly. "Do join us. I was just about to open a bottle of Scotch."
Nott Sr.'s eyes lit up. He stumbled into the room and dropped into a high-backed chair. "What's the latest, then?" Lucius handed him a drink, his lip slightly curled.
Luckily, unlike at Edinburgh, neither Hermione nor Ginny were prime attractions for the evening. That honor belonged to Switzerland. The room was focused and almost civil as they discussed the latest initiative to retake Geneva. Most were confident; others pointed to rumors of foreign assistance to the French and Swiss rebels. Lucius said little, simply humming and circling the rim of his glass with his finger.
Hermione shrunk between the drinks trolley and the back of Lucius's chair, trying to be invisible as her brain scrambled to memorize names and dates. But unless she went to Edinburgh again soon, it wouldn't be of any use.
At one point, Dolohov approached to pour himself another drink, and Hermione froze like a rabbit in the headlights. Lucius swiftly stood and stepped between them, refilling Dolohov's glass himself and thrusting it into his hand with a sneer. Dolohov returned to his seat, sulking, and Hermione's fingers loosened on the back of Lucius's chair.
Hermione tried not to stare at Ginny. But her control began slipping as the men droned on, and she chanced a glance in her direction. Her stomach turned at Ginny's tight smile as Avery wrapped his arm around her waist. She sipped her champagne while he pressed his face into her neck, laughing when he whispered in her ear.
All of it was wrong.
It was as if the fire behind her eyes had burnt down to embers, dying in the hearth. Hermione's books shivered as she quickly looked away, focusing on a lake with still waters.
Ginny didn't look at Hermione again.
Before long, Lucius was making his excuses to return to Narcissa. And Hermione couldn't find the strength to wish to stay in the same room as Ginny any longer. Her mental shelves were straining under the weight of her heavy Occlumency, threatening to buckle any moment.
She didn't even take a final look at Ginny as Lucius grabbed her arm and guided her up the stairs, her mind throbbing and numb. Down the long corridor to her bedroom, she felt Lucius glance at her, but she was too exhausted to respond.
As she stepped through her doorway, Lucius warned, "Stay in this room. No wandering."
She nodded mutely. What reason was there to wander? It was impossible to reach Ginny now. She had no excuses. She was out of clever plans.
Lucius stood in the doorway as she took off her jewelry, piece by piece. Her vision blurred, but her hands were steady. She startled at the sound of a shut door. She felt the hum of locking charms and trespassing wards. And then, nothing.
Hermione unclasped her dress, letting the tulle and satin fall to the ground. As she stepped out of it and wandered to the bathroom, it occurred to her that there was nothing she could have done differently. Nothing she said or did could have given her a moment alone with Draco on the balcony. Nothing in her power could have cleared the ballroom so she could have rushed across it and taken Ginny in her arms.
It had all been hopeless from the start.
Turning on the taps, she stood by her vanity and stared at the tub as it filled.
First Draco, then Ginny. She'd lost them both tonight.
A memory sparked. There was one thing she could have done differently. She should have told Draco that she missed him too. Now he was back in Zürich, and he might die without ever hearing the words.
The tub was filled, the taps magically turning off. She stepped into the perfectly warmed waters, watching the ripples move aside for her. Her face was stinging.
She should have been bold and reckless, smashing champagne stems and slicing throats in that room, like Ginny had been once. She should have shown her that Hermione Granger was still in this shell of a body covered in tulle and makeup. Maybe Ginny would have remembered herself as well.
The water surrounded her shoulders. She submerged deeper, slipping her ears and eyes below the surface just as the first sob tore from her throat, the salt from her tears poisoning the lavender-scented bathwater. She stared up through the funhouse mirror of water at the high, cream-colored ceiling.
She missed Harry. She missed Ron. She missed her parents.
She had Ginny in her grasp tonight and let her slip.
And Draco Malfoy might never come home to her.
She opened her mouth underwater and screamed.
The sorrow of New Year's Eve hung like a shawl across her shoulders for a week. She only saw the elves for three days, as if Narcissa knew she needed space. Perhaps Narcissa needed space as well — after all, her husband and son had left for war all over again.
Her mind was a scattered mess the morning after. She tried to Occlude, to push everything back into place and tidy her shelves. Instead she ended up crying on the floor next to her bed, curling into herself at the memories of the strange sound of Ginny's voice and the heat of Draco's hand on her back. She allowed herself a day of rest and recovery before she tried again.
She started with Ginny and flipped through the crinkled and dog-eared pages of her book. She bound the new pages in like an addendum, a slice at the end for the reader. Ginny's book wedged itself on a high shelf, disappearing.
Then the volumes on Draco Malfoy closed under her fingertips. Thick pages with crisp edges and elegant typefaces. I've missed you, folded into the pages like a bookmark, and the millions of could-have-beens slipped between the chapters. She closed the book with a lock and key, and shoved it onto a shelf at eye-level, unable to lose it in case she needed it again.
It was eight in the evening on January 2nd when she was finally done. Her head pounded and her eyes squeezed closed every time they landed on the fire in the hearth. But her shelves were sturdy, and the heaviness in her stomach lessened. She ate a slice of bread that had appeared with her dinner and tucked herself into her sheets after taking a Dreamless Sleep potion.
When she woke the next morning, she felt nothing but cold determination. After a half-hour of meditation, she packed up all her books on tattoos and moved them back down to the library.
Pansy had given her invaluable clues into the creation of these tattoos. An ingested potion changed things dramatically. A potion had an antidote. She'd been chasing a counterspell.
Her test with the mouse had failed for numerous reasons, the first of which had to do with the use of a potion. The second had to do with blood magic. But thanks to Pansy, Hermione now knew the potion came first.
She started by cross-referencing all of the library's resources on magical tattoos with potions. She tried hundreds of search terms — so many, in fact, that she had to list them down. She tried searching in half a dozen other languages. She'd even tried skimming books by hand. But after several weeks, she'd found nothing that related magical tattoos to an ingested potion.
Frustrated with her lack of progress, she spent the last week of January on the second piece of the puzzle: blood magic. She found plenty on its uses in protective wards, including those surrounding magical estates. But here she was overwhelmed with too much information. And it was useless to zero in on any particular spell until she could locate the correct potion.
Once again, it felt like she was working blind. The Scourers hadn't used a potion — there was no precedent and no apparent shortcuts to find the information she needed. She wished she had Draco to help her see whether she'd missed something, but she was out of ideas. So she started from scratch, searching One Thousand Magical Potions and Their Uses by hand. Hoping that something would catch her eye and spark an idea in her exhausted mind.
The weeks moved like molasses until it was already mid-February. She broke up her research with Occlumency practice and semi-regular meals with Narcissa. If the Prophet reported good news, Narcissa would sit down with her. Bad news, Hermione's tray would appear in her room. It was still bitingly cold out, but sometimes she'd wander the grounds on her breaks.
Draco's name or picture appeared in the paper at least once a week. Hermione found herself cutting out pictures of him more than once, tucking them on top of the folded parchment in the jewelry box on her nightstand.
What she would give for just one sarcastic letter from him now.
The following Tuesday, the Prophet reported that the rebels had moved against Basel. Though the city was still decimated by the attack in November, an army of hundreds had marched through the rubble towards the city's stronghold. Thousands of Death Eaters had been recalled from Lausanne and successfully crushed the attack. Skeeter spent a full page lavishing praise upon the ingenuity of the Death Eaters who'd been responsible for Obliviating bystanders and Imperiusing Muggle leaders — all of whom blamed the destruction on foreign terrorists.
On Wednesday morning, Hermione woke up to find her breakfast delivered to her room, a copy of the Prophet laying underneath the coffee cup on her tray.
ZÜRICH UNDER SIEGE!
by Rita Skeeter
Like roaches to cupboards, a small band of insurgents infiltrated Zürich last night. This brazen attack from French invaders and Swiss traitors is undoubtedly a reaction to their spectacular failure in Basel yesterday — a last-ditch attempt to seize control and throw the country into chaos.
The Great Order's forces have been recalled from Basel, with support from additional infantries in Lausanne and Bern. Sources close to the situation expect a decisive victory over the usurpers as early as this afternoon.
Blinking, Hermione stared down at the page. Her heart drummed in her ears as she scanned above and below it. Her shaking fingers tore through every other page, searching for more.
Nothing.
Hermione growled and tossed the paper into the fire. She began pacing, her mind scrambling to connect the pieces. The French and their allies had attacked Basel two days ago, but it had been a feint. Basel wasn't an obvious strategic target. But it had lured Voldemort's forces outside of neighboring Switzerland, leaving the real objective vulnerable: Zurich.
Where Draco was.
Her chin trembled before she began pacing again. Skeeter's lies were glaring. If it had been a small band of insurgents, there was no reason to summon the forces in Lausanne, let alone Bern. Voldemort's army had left a direct path of vulnerability from the border through the heart of the country. Only a massive attack could have warranted it.
Her shelves shook violently. Hermione clutched her bedpost, breathing deeply until they calmed. She began pacing again.
The leash on Rita Skeeter was getting tighter and tighter, the omissions more glaring. She'd asked Narcissa last week about getting a copy of another paper from a foreign ally of the Great Order's — anything less biased — but Narcissa had replied that non-British periodicals were forbidden in the U.K. by order of Minister Thicknesse.
She paused at the fireplace, staring as what was left of the pages curled and crisped in the flames. She tried to focus on her research that day, but it was no use. So she spent the rest of her day meditating. When night fell, she pulled a chair by her window, staring at the dark windows of the room next door until she drifted to sleep.
She woke up the next morning with a crick in her neck and panic in her chest. When no paper arrived with her coffee, Hermione went straight to the dining room without changing out of her pajamas.
She found Narcissa standing over the table, glaring down at the newspaper. Blood rushed in her ears.
"What's happened," Hermione croaked. "What did Skeeter say?"
A light scoff. "I've had enough of Miss Skeeter for one lifetime, thank you very much," Narcissa replied, and as Hermione inched forward. Her mouth fell open when she realized it wasn't the Prophet spread out on the table, but pages of The New York Ghost.
"Mippy took a trip to New York City this morning," said Narcissa.
Hermione blinked, her neck craning to get a better look.
"Start there." Narcissa pointed to the pages on the other side of the table.
Hermione moved quickly to those pages, and found the evening edition from Tuesday, when hundreds of rebels failed in their mission to take Basel back.
But that wasn't what she found in the Ghost.
SMALL BAND OF REBELS CAUSE TROUBLE IN BASEL
by Gertie Gumley
French and Swiss fighters from "the True Order" coalition caused a stir in Basel, Switzerland this morning when a series of explosives detonated outside the Basel Town Hall. Swaths from the Dark Lord Voldemort's army of so-called "Death Eaters" were dispatched to Basel instantly, and according to sources, spent the whole day fighting maybe twenty-five soldiers.
Hermione frowned, but before her mind could compare Skeeter and Gumley's takes, her eyes caught on Wednesday's paper.
FRENCH SUCCESSFULLY INVADE ZÜRICH
by Gertie Gumley
After drawing hundreds of Death Eaters to Basel yesterday, the True Order has claimed territory on the east side of Zürich. The city was sparsely occupied after Tuesday's attack on Basel, creating a window of opportunity for the army of Swiss rebels and their allies.
According to eyewitnesses, the rebels moving on Zürich vastly outnumbered the Death Eaters left in the city, catching the Dark Lord Voldemort's army unawares.
"It was a classic Wronski Feint," said an anonymous source. "Thousands of French in Zürich all at once. Only I can't quite make sense of how they invaded from the southeast."
Hermione's eyes popped wide as she read, her vision jumping from page to page, looking for any mention of familiar names. The rebels were taking ground. This was good news. But—
"Is there any mention…?" She trailed off, running her fingers over her lips.
"Here." Narcissa extended a paper to her, and Hermione plucked it more quickly than was polite.
It was today's Prophet. A picture of Draco, Lucius, Mulciber, and Bellatrix was at the center of the front page beneath the headline, "REBELS THWARTED IN ZÜRICH."
Hermione shook out the paper, her fingers skating the edge of the photo. It had been taken at nighttime. Draco had been alive no more than 12 hours ago.
Hermione frowned down at today's New York Ghost: "BATTLES RAGE IN SWITZERLAND."
"Where is Lucius?"
"He was called to Lausanne last night." Narcissa rubbed her brow. "The French are pushing past Geneva."
And sure enough, in the Ghost's article there was mention of incursions east of Geneva. The Prophet, on the other hand, had nothing but inquiries into the Austrian Minister. She had been taken into custody while investigators looked into whether she colluded with the rebels and allowed them to infiltrate the country via the Austrian-Swiss border.
Narcissa duplicated the Ghost pages for her, and excused herself with tired, red-rimmed eyes. Hermione spent the rest of the day sorting through Skeeter's lies and cross-referencing with Gertie Gumley.
At the end of every Gumley article, she signed off with "M.A.C.U.S.A. President Harrison declined to comment for the 33rd week in a row," or "No word from the President's Office on if or when M.A.C.U.S.A. will provide aid to the French or Swiss Ministries, though Scandinavia, Iceland, and Canada have pledged support." Hermione found the reporter's boldness and openness disapproval of the president quite impressive.
She couldn't sleep that night.
One rainy day at the end of February, Skeeter reported that Nott Sr. had been promoted to General and dispatched to Zürich, where the battle continued to rage.
She grew hardened to the lies of the Prophet and the news of war. Her fear for Draco's safety, and the safety of her friends, was a constant burden in her gut, but she was helpless. So she began Occluding daily for at least two hours and buried herself in her research.
One evening on her way back from the library, there were raised voices in the entry hall: one male and one female. Hermione stopped cold, and for a split second she considered turning around. But her control snapped at the sound of a familiar cadence. She crept forward quickly, pressing herself against the wall adjacent to the stairs.
"—a few days. No more—"
"For what purpose? Surely…" Narcissa's voice faded in and out. "...something Bella can handle?"
"The Dark Lord was resolute," the male voice replied. "I must lead the investigation in Austria."
Lucius was here.
"Surely Draco can go with you—" Narcissa's heels clicked across the marble.
"I've already tried." His voice was crisp and clear, as if he meant it to travel past the stairs. "The Dark Lord insisted he stay. Your sister spoke with him first."
Hermione held her breath and shifted quickly out of sight, slipping behind the staircase.
Narcissa muttered something scathing that made Lucius sigh. "Cissa, you mustn't—"
"You'll go back soon, won't you? You'll be there with him?" Her voice shook as it echoed through the walls.
"I'll do my best. I told Ted and your sister to inform me immediately if they're planning a significant counterattack."
Narcissa scoffed. "As if you can trust either of them."
"I have no choice." A long pause. "He's made it this far, Cissa. He's stronger than you give him credit for—"
"He's a boy. A boy you're leaving alone with a pack of wolves."
She heard Narcissa pacing.
"I need to go," said Lucius, his voice low and regretful. "I just wanted to assure you we are both safe at present, and…" Narcissa's heels paused on the marble. "But I need to go. I've already stayed too long."
She heard the fireplace roar to life.
"Lucius!" Narcissa's voice bounced across the beams and banisters, as lost and helpless as a child.
Hermione looked around the staircase before she could stop herself. Narcissa's arms were flung around his shoulders, her lips hungry and desperate against his. Floo powder dripped from his fingers as he crushed her lithe body to him.
Hermione pulled back with a silent gasp. Her own parents were in love, she knew. But Hermione couldn't be certain that Henry and Jean Granger had ever clung to each other like this.
It was over quickly. Hermione peeked around the stairs just in time to see Lucius pushing his wife back and tossing the powder into the flames. Narcissa's fingertips pressed against her lips, her arm wrapping around her middle.
"Be safe," she whispered.
His lips pulled in the semblance of a smirk. "Alright. Just because you asked."
He stepped through, and the flames took him away. Narcissa stared at the fireplace for a long moment.
Hermione sank back into the shadows, not wanting to disturb her.
A few days. No more.
Draco would be alone in Zürich with Bellatrix, and Nott Sr., and countless other monsters. And his mother was scared for him.
She went back to her room for the night and drank a dose and a half of Dreamless Sleep potion, slipping between the sheets without touching her dinner.
The next two days passed without any news. Narcissa joined her for breakfast, but she was skittish and distracted. Hermione continued her research in an Occluded haze, making little progress. But on the third morning, she woke up to a breakfast tray and copy of the Daily Prophet announcing:
VICTORY IN SWITZERLAND!
by Rita Skeeter
The Great Order is victorious at last against the rebel mercenaries in Zürich! After months of skirmishes in Basel, Geneva, Bern, and Zürich, the Dark Lord's army has beaten back the French and Swiss insurgents once and for all, thanks to the ingenuity of General Theodore Nott and the dedicated work of the countless other officials and soldiers.
Last night's decisive blow illustrates the magical might of the Great Order and those closest to the Dark Lord. Developed in recent months by General Nott, a novel magical weapon was released on the frontlines last night, first to defeat the rebel forces in Zürich, and then dispatched immediately to Bern and Geneva. By dawn, the insurgents had fled, leaving Switzerland in the hands of its rightful owners.
Former Swiss Minister Vogel and his cabinet — who refused to pledge support to the Great Order — have been captured in Geneva, and are currently being held in the Swiss Ministry in Zürich. Check back for the evening edition of the Prophet for more information.
Hermione's fingers were shaking. What deadly weapon had Nott Sr. created, and how many had it killed?
Was Draco safe? Who else did Hermione know fighting on the front lines yesterday? Were Bill and Fleur still alive?
Pop!
Hermione jumped, spinning to see Mippy blinking up at her.
"Mippy has paper for Miss. Mistress is not well, so Mippy brings paper for Miss!"
Hermione rubbed a palm over her thundering chest and reached for the New York Ghost. "Thank you, Mippy. Do you… Is there any word on Draco? Or Mr. Malfoy?"
"Mippy is not knowing, Miss," said Mippy, twirling her ear.
Hermione nodded numbly and let the elf pop away. She shook open the Ghost and gasped.
A THOUSAND DEAD IN ZÜRICH AND COUNTING
by Gertie Gumley
Yesterday at dusk, a poisonous gas swept through the streets of Zürich, killing over one thousand French and Swiss soldiers. Although most No-Majs have fled to neighboring Italy or Germany, some are suspected among the casualties, along with Swiss witches and wizards who did not hear or heed orders to stay inside.
According to an eye witness, the gas is resistant to the Bubble-Head Charm and kills on contact. It was created by a member of Lord Voldemort's inner circle and looks to be the newest Mass Death Magic used in the Great Order's attempts to claim Europe.
The Ghost received word that the Death Eaters released the gas upon Zürich around 5 p.m. last night, allowing it to move indiscriminately through the city, killing True Order soldiers on the frontlines and any exposed civilians. Patronus warnings were received in Basel, Bern, and Geneva, where the majority of the rebels retreated just before the gas was unleashed. The Death Eaters used an unknown protective charm to move through each city unharmed, picking off fighters who had not yet evacuated or been reached by the gas.
Just weeks ago, the No-Maj Federal Council of Switzerland declared a State of Emergency, citing terrorism similar to that in Edinburgh, Scotland, and ordered the mass evacuation of No-Maj citizens. The Ghost has received word that two members of that Council showed signs of resisting the Imperius Curse. They are now being held by the Death Eaters, along with Swiss Minister Vogel and the Magical Council Members who survived the attack.
With the retreat of the rebel forces in Switzerland, Lord Voldemort's Great Order now has complete control of every one of France's bordering countries. France remains the stronghold of the anti-Voldemort coalition, referring to themselves as the "True Order." When informed of their defeat in Switzerland, coupled with news of Voldermort's new Mass Death Magic, M.A.C.U.S.A. President Harrison was quoted as saying that he was "looking into the situation."
Hermione sat in her chair as the paper slipped from her fingers. Her legs felt leaden and numb.
Over a thousand dead in one day.
Her anxiety bubbled to the surface, and the bookshelves in her mind shivered. New images flitted through her mind. Bill and Fleur collapsing with countless others, their faces swollen and blue. Had Draco been there with the other Death Eaters, prowling the clouded streets? Or had someone from the "True Order" gotten to him first?
Her chest seized and her fingers clenched. She closed her eyes and imagined a lake with still waters until she could breathe freely again. After an hour of meditating, she went to the library and buried herself in her books until nightfall.
The next morning, there was no paper under her coffee cup. She wandered down to the dining room and found it empty. Narcissa's study was empty.
She called for Mippy, and the elf appeared immediately.
"Was there no Prophet today? Or the Ghost?"
Mippy shifted from foot to foot. "Mistress tells Mippy to take papers away." Her bright emerald eyes couldn't meet Hermione's.
Her heart thumped in her chest. Something had happened.
"Can I please have them?" Hermione asked with a thin voice.
Mippy wrung her hands. "Mistress says… it's better not to..."
"Then can you take me to her? I understand if you've been forbidden, but I need to know what happened."
Mippy played with her apron. "Mistress is needing to be left alone, Miss. Mippy hasn't been forbidden from giving the paper." And with a flick of her small wrist, the Prophet appeared in her waxy fingers.
Hermione took the pages and thanked her. She turned away quickly, distracted by the picture of Draco on the cover, standing beside the new puppet Minister. His eyes were empty.
EXECUTIONS IN ZÜRICH: DARK LORD WELCOMES SWITZERLAND TO GREAT ORDER
by Rita Skeeter
In the wake of the Great Order's defeat of the French rebels in Switzerland, the Dark Lord appeared in Zürich last night to accept Minister Egger's pledge of support. General Lucius Malfoy joined him, having returned from Austria in the early hours of yesterday morning.
The Prophet has learned that the executions of ex-Minister Vogel and two of his cabinet were carried out by General Draco Malfoy shortly after Switzerland was retaken. In a statement to The Prophet, General Bellatrix Lestrange was quoted…
The paper fell limp at her fingertips. She felt ice in her throat, slicing her neck on every breath.
Perhaps there had been a mistake. Perhaps Bellatrix had cast the curses instead. Rita was notoriously misinformed…
She scanned the rest of the article. His name wasn't mentioned again.
She sat in the library, staring out the window for the rest of the day, in a haze of confused grief. Narcissa's reaction indicated that Skeeter had been telling the truth. She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Draco had been sent to the battle lines to fight for Voldemort. Did she really think his hands would remain clean?
But there was a stain on her heart, black as ink, festering deeper and deeper with each passing hour. He'd killed three innocent people. She could only hope it had been the first time. But he'd likely be expected to kill again.
There was a quiet but unshakable certainty in her chest that he hadn't wanted to. That he would have avoided it if he could. But the simple fact was that he had been the one to hold the wand and cast the spell.
Try as she might, knowing it didn't make her care for him any less.
The next few days came with sporadic sightings of Narcissa — a dinner here, a breakfast there. Neither of them mentioned the executions.
She sang a quiet birthday song to Ron when the day came around, hoping that wherever he was, he wasn't in too much pain. The thought made her cry herself to sleep, and she had to spend all next morning Occluding to shed the pain of it.
On the first Tuesday in March, Hermione excused herself from another solemn breakfast to the library for the rest of the day. Once she was settled, she realized she'd left one of the journals on her bedside table. Heaving herself out of the comfortable chair, she trudged back through the library doors. She passed the line of marble busts of each Malfoy man, and stopped dead when she turned the corner to the entry hall.
There, next to the fireplaces, Draco was draped over his mother's shoulders in an embrace as she squeezed his waist in a vice. A valise and his coat on the floor next to him.
Hermione stared like they were a mirage in the desert that would vanish if she got too close. Her ribs felt glued together, her lungs unable to work.
Draco was home.
She took one step toward the unmoving couple just as Draco sucked in a tight breath, and a sob rattled out, into his mother's neck. Narcissa held him close to her with a soft hum.
Hermione paused, going very still.
"Breathe, Draco," Narcissa murmured.
Hermione pulled back silently, quickly pressing herself around the corner.
Her eyes stung as she heard him catching his breath with shaking gasps. She wanted to comfort him—
"I'll have the elves unpack," Narcissa said. "She's in the library."
"No." Draco's voice was sharp but wet with tears. "I don't want to see her."
Her skin froze, the cold seeping inward, like a Dementor hovered over her. She stared with unfocused eyes at a marble bust of Armand Malfoy, thinking of I've missed you kissed against her ear — remembering the way Lucius had come home last week just to kiss his wife.
"Alright. Bathe and change. Have you eaten? I can—"
"Lunch. Please." She heard him move toward the staircase. "I'll come find you shortly."
She listened to the sound of his heavy boots against the marble all the way up the stairs. Once they faded, Narcissa let out a sharp, ragged sigh. After a long moment, her heels began clicking in the direction of the kitchens.
Hermione wasn't sure how long she stood there before she returned to her body. Slowly, she walked back to the library, passing the marble men who all seemed to hiss, I don't want to see her.
It was five in the evening when the doors to the library finally opened. She was lost in the stacks, thumbing through a text on rare potions when she heard the hinges creak. Her head snapped up, and she reshelved the book before winding through the shelves.
He was staring down at her research table, turning a page in her notebook. He seemed taller, his profile stronger. His hair had grown just a bit — one more half-inch and it would curl at his neck.
"I see you're still here, with both arms attached." His voice was flat as he turned another page. "So you're still hard at work, I take it?"
She swallowed at the sound of his voice. Familiar, but distant.
He wanted to skip the hello. There would be no embrace, no kiss by the fireplace, no I've missed you. Just back to business as usual.
She stepped down from the landing, keeping her distance as she approached the table. She'd imagined him returning home a thousand times. But none of the scenarios in her head had played out like this.
"It's good to see you, too, Draco."
Silence.
"Yes, I've made a lot of progress, actually." Her throat felt raw. "I was… I was hoping to share it with you."
He turned to her, his gaze landing on her for the first time since New Year's. Since before that. He gave her the smallest of nods.
"But before we get to that, I—" She cleared her throat. "I wanted you to know that I'm glad you're home safely. That you're not injured, I mean."
He didn't flinch.
"And if you want to talk about it, I—"
"I don't."
The word was clipped. Final. Her stomach sank.
But then his eyes flickered, and he quickly looked away. His hand shook almost imperceptibly as he turned another page, avoiding her gaze. She watched him, wondering what he'd been through all those months. What he must be feeling now.
Her heart clenched.
She'd meet him halfway, if that was what he needed. She could wait for him to be one to close the distance between them.
Taking a shaky breath, she moved to her notes. "Then let's talk about the tattoos."
She spent the next half hour filling him in on her progress over the last four months. She told him about her failed experiment. About her chat with Pansy. She told him about the blood magic and the tattoo potion — how she was stuck trying to figure out what kind of potion Nott had used. Draco said nothing, but he listened attentively. He hummed at the right parts and furrowed his brows at the mysteries.
"Pansy said they signed for her in blood, but I wanted to make sure you went through the same process." She looked up at him from her notes. He was watching her closely. "Did you have to sign in blood as well?"
He nodded. "Yes."
"Was there anything special about the parchment or the quill used? Did you cut yourself for the ink?"
"No." He slipped his hands in his pockets. "The quill was charmed to sign in the holder's blood."
"And when Dolohov's ownership transferred to you," she said, and he shifted. "Was there anything different that happened?"
"No. Same process. I signed the parchment in blood, and the transfer was complete."
His voice was clipped, his jaw tight.
We had a binding agreement, Antonin, she remembered him saying. She chose to drop it for now.
She stared down at her notes, willing some logic to jump out at her.
"Mother tells me you've been reading the papers."
Her fingers stilled. "Yes. Every morning."
The room was quiet.
"Then you read about the executions, I take it?"
She turned to face him. He stared down at the table, eyes glazed. The muscle below his left eye twitched.
She swallowed. "Yes."
She watched his ribs expand slowly. "Skeeter was misinformed. There were only two. The Undersecretary was forced to watch and then taken prisoner." His lips pressed together. "And for what little it's worth, those were the only—" His throat caught on the words, and he fell silent.
"You were in a war-torn country for four months," she said softly. "I hadn't expected you to return a saint—"
He barked out a laugh. "A saint. Was that what I was before, Granger?" His tone was scathing. It set her teeth on edge.
"Listen. I don't like the thought of you killing. Of course it makes me s—upset. But you had no choice." She didn't know what to do with her hands. Her fingers curled and trembled.
"I had to torture them first," he said, as if she hadn't spoken.
She took a deep breath. "Of course. Your aunt was watching, so—"
"No." His voice was cold. "I had to torture them first. My first two attempts at the Killing Curse failed." He ran a sharp hand through his hair. "But after Crucio, it became a bit easier."
Her skin shivered, and she failed to hide it. The black stain sinking into her heart burrowed deeper. He pressed on.
"Bella said it was time for me to prove myself. Said the Dark Lord was anxious to hear about my 'progress.' She wouldn't let me pass it off to her. I tried, but there were others—"
The words vanished, unsaid. His eyes were empty and pale.
She stepped forward, and reached for his pale knuckles on the table. "I know it's not my place, but I… I forgive you, Draco. You should forgive yourself."
He flinched, snatching his arm back. She watched his fingers stretch like he'd been burned.
"No, you don't." He stepped away from her. "That's why they're called Unforgivables, Granger."
"If you hadn't done it, you'd have been killed." She willed her voice to remain calm.
"I watched them cast the spell. The one that killed all those people." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Father advised against it, but Bella made the call when he was gone. I saw them do it, and I did nothing."
Her lips opened in slow horror, but he was already walking away, crossing to the doors.
He paused as he pushed them open. "I'll think on that potion bit," he said over his shoulder.
Her chest felt heavy as lead as she listened to the doors click closed.
The next day he found her in the library just before noon. His face was unreadable as he approached, and she stood like a statue until he stopped in front of her and dropped a book on her research table.
"Perhaps this helps."
She ran her fingers over the cover. An old dark magic book. "What is it?"
"It's a replica of a book in Ted Nott's private potions laboratory."
She stared at it, hardly daring to believe. Her eyes snapped up to him. "Theo gave this to you?"
Draco shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "I took the opportunity to drop in on Theo and Oliver this morning. Theo hadn't heard about a potion either, but Oliver confirmed he'd drank one. So he went looking."
Hermione's mouth fell open. "But won't his father find out?"
"Ted is still in Zürich celebrating his success. Apparently he's been too drunk to keep track of his privacy charms lately."
Blood rushed in her ears as she flipped through the pages, finding Nott Sr.'s notes in the margins. "Oh my God. This is— brilliant. This is incredible, Draco."
She turned an exhilarated smile on him, her chest heaving in excitement. Something familiar flashed in his eyes. And then her heart stopped as he pulled up a chair across from her like no time had passed and asked to see her notes on the potion. Her pulse thrummed with the promise that he would help her again. That maybe things might return to normal.
While she dove into Nott Sr.'s book, Draco read over her theories and notes. Hermione tried to focus on his logic and problem-solving. Did her best to ignore her traitorous mind when it floated up soft memories of his hands and his lips.
They worked together for two weeks, passing books back and forth like they used to, drinking their tea and coffee in the mornings and rereading yesterday's notes. She hesitated to ask about Edinburgh, but she was itching to go back. She hadn't been since the end of October, and it was the second week of March now. She'd read in the Prophet that the celebrations had been muted, but she still turned cold at the thought of what she might have missed.
One morning she cleared her throat and turned to him before her second cup of coffee. "Would you assume that the tattoo has the same properties when we are at Edinburgh?"
He lifted his head out of his notes and considered her. "I'd say so. I need to take you over the boundary when we enter and exit."
She huffed, crossing her arms in frustration. "That's just the problem, isn't it?"
His mouth opened. "Sorry?"
"I've been working under the theory that the tattoo's boundary at the Manor had to do with the boundary of the property itself. Seeing as the Manor is something you own by birth, the blood boundary is already in effect. It's the only thing that makes sense. But Edinburgh is not a property you own."
He scratched his forehead, trying to follow. "Alright…"
"What I mean to say is, the Manor is tied to you by blood already. So it would make sense that the tattoo could work in tandem with that blood magic." She brushed back a stray curl impatiently. "But then why would it work similarly at Edinburgh."
She dropped her head into her hands, rubbing her temples. She heard the snap of a book closing.
"Because I spilled blood at Edinburgh. We all did."
Her head jerked up to him. He was staring at her with intense eyes.
"You what?"
"At the first ceremony," he said. "About a week after the Auction. When Edinburgh was opened to us, the Death Eaters had a celebration. Just us." His words poured quickly from his lips. "We were to enhance the wards on the castle by spilling blood and casting protection charms. The Dark Lord made it very clear that Edinburgh belonged to his loyal followers. It was our castle—"
"So then it follows," Hermione picked up, jumping out of her chair, "that the deed of Edinburgh—"
"—is in the name of every Death Eater who's ritually spilled their own blood there."
"Where do initiation ceremonies take place for new Death Eaters—?"
"At Edinburgh. With blood."
She slammed her book down on the table, punctuating the end of their thoughts. She was breathing hard with the joy of solving a riddle, and even though it was less than half the battle, she felt like she'd unlocked a chamber in her own mind.
"There is no separate barrier created. The 'barrier' represents the estate line. That's one less significant problem to worry about." She grinned, and her stomach fluttered as he smiled back at her. She could kiss him, if he'd accept it.
Pop!
"Master Draco!"
Hermione jumped. Mippy stood at her knee.
"Master Draco has guests!"
Draco frowned at the elf. "What guests?"
"Guests is coming to the library now!"
Hermione jumped, grabbing Nott Sr.'s book and her notes as Draco waved his wand to close the open books. She turned to ask Mippy to Apparate her upstairs just when the library doors flung open.
Hermione went still as Narcissa led in two people she had never seen before. "Draco, dear," said Narcissa, her eyes polite but strained. "Look who's paid a call to see us."
Hermione pressed herself back against the stacks, shoving the book and her notes between two larger texts.
She blinked at the two guests: an older gentleman with sparse facial hair, and a young woman, several years their senior. She had the brightest teeth Hermione had ever seen.
"Draco, you remember Professor Viktorov."
Draco stepped forward at his mother's prompt, shaking the man's hand. "Sir, it's a pleasure. It's been far too long."
But Hermione's eyes caught on the girl — long silky hair, a slender figure, and kind honey-brown eyes that were locked on hers.
Tearing her eyes away, Hermione looked down at the floor.
"And you remember Katya," said Professor Viktorov, his voice a deep hum.
She couldn't resist glancing up at them as Draco and Katya offered polite greetings and kissed each other on the cheek. Narcissa cleared her throat and reiterated what a pleasant surprise it was to see them both.
"I truly, truly thought I'd written!" said Katya, smiling at Narcissa. She turned to Draco with a ringing laugh. "Your mother was quite shocked to see us stepping out of the Floo!" She lacked her father's heavy Bulgarian accent.
Narcissa brushed her off gracefully, blaming the war for lost correspondence. Hermione longed for a secret door she could slip out of, but she was trapped. She could only stand and pretend to be invisible.
"This must be your girl, then?" Professor Viktorov said, and Hermione had the good sense not to move. His voice was surprised when he said, "You let her near the books?"
There was a stilted pause before Draco said, "She's reshelving. I give her mundane tasks to keep her from bothering me."
They hummed in agreement and continued exchanging pleasantries. At one point, Katya put her hand on Draco's arm and expressed her concern for him while he was in Switzerland.
Hermione glanced up at them again. The professor's daughter, the Puceys had said at New Year's — as if Katya was someone people were aware of in relation to the Malfoy family. Mrs. Pucey had mistaken her for Katya, as if it would be normal for her to stand so close to Narcissa and Lucius.
Her stomach turned. Was he expected to court her?
"Draco, I was hoping to see you at Edinburgh!" Katya brushed her long chestnut hair over her shoulder. "I've been for two weeks now, and I was disappointed you didn't come. Though, of course, I know how exhausted you must be."
Draco cleared his throat. "I must admit, I can't imagine you at Edinburgh, Katya. It can be rather uncouth."
Narcissa snorted, then quickly brushed her hair behind her ear, as if she hadn't made a sound at all.
A smile flickered across Katya's face. She leaned into him and stage-whispered, "I stick to the Burgundy Room." She winked. "But you'll come this Friday? I find it quite elegant if you keep to the more conventional spaces."
Katya's eyes flickered over to her, and Hermione quickly looked away.
"Of course. I'll be there this Friday." Draco returned her smile, but his eyes were tight.
"Lovely," said Narcissa. "Now, shall we sit for tea?" The group nodded, and Narcissa began leading them out of the library. Draco spun back to Hermione when he was halfway to the doors.
"Finish here, and then straight to your room."
She nodded at the floor. The library doors closed, and Hermione was left alone with a churning stomach and questions she didn't dare to voice aloud.
A deep purple slip arrived in her closet on Friday afternoon. She did her hair and makeup like Pansy had instructed, and slipped into her dress, collar, and shoes. Her nerves were alight with excitement to see Charlotte and Cho again, but also with dread. It was odd to be returning to Edinburgh after so many months. To be leered at and salivated over again. She meditated all morning, clearing her mind so that she would be focused and prepared.
Draco didn't speak of Katya again. It wasn't until they were walking down the drive to the Manor gates that Hermione asked, "How do you know Katya?"
He was silent for twelve footsteps. "It's complicated."
She hummed, filing it away to bring up again at another time. He gripped her tattooed arm, took her over the threshold, and Disapparated them.
Edinburgh was bright under the moon, and even from the cobblestones she could hear the castle alive with people. They passed through the archways, up the side stairs, and into the courtyard. Charlotte greeted them with champagne, and her eyes lingered on Hermione before glancing away.
As they entered the Great Hall, Hermione was almost blown back by the noise. It was as if the normal crowd had doubled. Death Eaters all celebrating their win against the French and the Swiss and foreign officials who were now pledging support.
She barely had a second to register which familiar faces were in attendance before Draco tugged her up the stairs to dinner.
The boys jumped up to greet Draco, some of them saluting him as "General Draco Malfoy." Adrian Pucey shook up a bottle of champagne and sprayed it over the room when they entered.
The boys were in rare form tonight — drunk off other men's success.
Once she was settled in Draco's lap, Flint called out, "Draco, guess who's been here the past two weeks, looking for you?" At the silence, he winked and added, "Katya Viktor."
Goyle sat up straight, almost knocking Susan off his lap. "The model?"
Hermione tensed, nearly rolling her eyes. Of course she was a model. Giuliana Bravieri stared at her across the table, and she forced her muscles to relax.
Draco sipped his Firewhisky as Flint continued, "Been very interested on when Draco Malfoy would be back."
The boys jeered and ribbed him.
"She's supposed to be back tonight," said Draco nonchalantly.
"Got some balls showing up at Edinburgh," said Warrington. "I wish the girl I was courting had a pair."
"Well, if you need to take a walk in the moonlight together," Pucey called out, "you know we'd be more than happy to look after Miss Granger for you."
Draco sent him a sharp glare as the boys laughed.
"Speaking of Bulgarians," Theo said, "Viktor Krum is back tonight. I saw him walking around."
Draco went still beneath her, and Hermione had to remember how to breathe.
"He was staring a hole through every brunette who walked in the room," said Theo, as Pucey jeered. "Think he may be up for another chance at betting tonight."
Draco was muted all throughout dinner. Afterward, they settled in the Lounge, and Hermione's heart beat rapidly as she tried to scan the room without drawing attention to herself. She noticed the absence of Cho, but her eyes were peeled for Viktor. She thought she saw him when Charlotte dropped a champagne glass with a loud shatter, but when the broad-shouldered man at the gambling table turned to glare at her, it wasn't him.
Flint and Pucey were especially raucous tonight, each drinking straight from the bottle and grabbing the backsides of every Carrow Girl that passed.
It was after midnight when a faraway boom shook the walls and rattled the glasses, like the cannon going off. Hermione breath hitched as she stared down at Draco's Firewhisky, watching it sway. Pucey turned to the group in confusion and said, "There's a One O'Clock Gun tonight?"
She stiffened, her spine tingling with dread. Draco's hand came up to her elbow, rubbing a small circle on her arm.
"I didn't think so," Flint said, standing to peer towards the courtyard.
The sounds of a girl screaming ricocheted off the walls. Hermione's eyes shot open as her head jerked, searching for the source. Draco quickly placed her on her feet and stood. She craned her neck and saw someone on the ground twenty feet away, the girl next to them screeching.
The walls shook again, and just as Hermione ruled out earthquakes, a crack! came from behind her, followed by a wet, gasping sound. She twisted around, and Draco yanked her waist to him.
A Carrow Girl lay on the ground, beginning to scream. Her arm was separated from her body at the shoulder, laying a few feet away. Her leg was twisted at an odd angle.
Splinched.
Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth as the girl cried out, blood spurting from her arm. Hermione stumbled toward her, thinking of Dittany and healing spells—
Draco dragged her back. "We need to go—"
Shouting from the other side of the room.
A burst of spells in the air.
And just before she could make sense of it all, Edinburgh Castle shivered with magic, the floor shifting beneath her feet and the windows shattering as two— three— ten people popped into existence in the Lounge.
She stepped back with wide eyes and a thundering heart, stumbling into Draco's chest when she locked eyes with George Weasley across a room full of Death Eaters.
.
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Updates every other Sunday. (Next update 5/31)