Quick Note: I realized on Friday (Dec. 31, 2020) that there was some confusion on who was speaking in the very last bit of chapter 15 (the last scene in Chamonix). It has since been updated.
Part 2: Secrets
"the upward journey and the viewing of the upward world as the soul's ascent to the intelligible." – Plato, the Republic
Aberdeen
October 27, 2006
"Granger," Draco breathed; his eyes darted back and forth across the internet café from beneath a pair of aviator glasses, trying to discreetly watch the two Corps officers across the street. His hair was dyed brown – a faded black baseball hat covered the blonde roots that no amount of hair dye could overcome for long. He unconsciously scratched at his left forearm, the dark mark covered by a long sleeved black shirt.
"Almost done." Hermione's fingers clacked against the keyboard. "Found him!" she exclaimed and stood up, hastily grabbing the paper from the printer before leaving. She gripped Draco's hand so anyone watching would assume them a bland couple going about their day. The pair left, avoiding eye contact with the ever-increasing number of Corps officers.
They walked evenly, attempting to blend in with the scant crowds as much as possible, until they reached a ramshackle motel. Hermione placed a few Alliance chips into the slot marked 8 and grabbed the new key card. "We have a few more hours before we should move again," she told Draco as they walked up the two flights of stairs into the small room.
Only once they were safely inside, an Imperturbable Charm ensuring privacy, did the pair let their guard down.
"We have to get out of this city," Draco drawled, "the Corps presence seems to have tripled overnight." He pulled the cap off, brushing out his now completely blonde hair, his innate magic overcoming the non-magical hair dye.
Hermione nodded. "I know. I wouldn't be surprised if they impose a curfew tomorrow." She brought the papers over to a card table that stood a few feet away from the bed. "We need to somehow get to Liverpool." She marked Liverpool and stood over the map considering alternative routes. "There are bus routes – it would be indirect, but we could get there in maybe four days?"
Draco looked unamused. "Four days? How will we stay off the Corps radar for four days?"
Hermione shrugged. "It will be easier the further from here we are. I truly believe the most difficult thing will be leaving this city. Once we do that, it will be merely evading the Corps at bus stations and checkpoints. I think the key is to maintain non-magical disguises; they're so focused on removing glamours, they're not considering less sophisticated methods."
"Are you sure we can't apparate?" Draco pleaded.
Hermione shook her head. "Apparition is highly regulated. We would have to break into an apparition zone, and even then, we would need someone to guide us. It's too messy."
He nodded. This was a familiar argument; he would suggest a magical means to accomplish a task, and Hermione would sound off some regulation that would prevent them from effectively using magic discreetly. It was – tiring. "When can we leave the city?"
"Tomorrow." Hermione paused for a minute, reviewing the piles of brochures and papers that she had acquired over the last 24 hours. "I believe, based on the notations on the main port, there should be a ship departing at 5 am for St. Andrews. It's an oil freighter; typically, there would be a lot of security, but I theorize they've moved Corps officers off of the dock to look for us."
"How do you suppose we'll get on the freighter?" Draco asked. He'd learned earlier in the day that curses and any 'offensive' spells were monitored through enhanced satellites and immediately detected, at least in the city. So the Imperius and Confundus charms were clearly off limits.
Hermione nodded. "Yes, I've been thinking about that. Ship workers typically don't love the Corps. I think we just bribe someone." She shrugged.
"Isn't that risky?" Draco questioned.
"Sure," Hermione responded, "but as you said, we need to get out of Aberdeen. The bus station will be overrun with Corps members. I'm sure we can find some freighters willing to stow us away for a fee."
Draco looked concerned but nodded, finding he was, for the moment, fully reliant on Hermione's guidance. He'd been overwhelmed since leaving Hermione's hovel in the uninhabitable zone; they had been in Aberdeen for barely an hour before the Corps officer they had Imperiused had sounded the alarm. The pair had been hiding out and researching since then.
"Is this what all of the WEA is like?" Draco asked, looking unimpressed. The city was quite sad: most buildings appeared to be in disrepair. This motel, as shabby as it was, happened to be in what felt like a better side of town.
"Not exactly," Hermione started. "Aberdeen is fairly close to an uninhabitable zone. Most of the population fled after the Fundamentalists nuked Scotland - sometime after the Event. The Corps set up a base here about five years ago and encouraged some industry and resettlement." Her tone was upbeat, and she had the familiar look of pride in her eye.
"You're doing it again," Draco drawled.
"What?"
"You're speaking lovingly of the Corps," he pointed out.
"I'm not. I'm merely stating a fact. Besides, until I've fully determined what exactly is going on, I refuse to blindly hate," Hermione pointed out.
"It wasn't what you said, but how you said it. You credit the Corps while you run from them."
"I don't believe it's so simple – you should realize that not everything is black and white. The Corps may be involved in something unsavory, but it doesn't make them inherently bad. I may be running from them, but it's only because I lack enough information to identify who can be trusted."
"Yet, you've admitted you don't trust me, and you'll work with me." Draco frowned.
"You're one person; and I know I can't trust you," Hermione reminded him. "We're well off track now. Once we reach St. Andrews, hopefully the Corps will be off our trail, and we'll be able to get on a bus with a basic disguise."
"Alright, Granger, it's a good plan." Draco cracked his neck, the exhaustion of the past couple of days weighing on him. He sat on the bed and considered his current predicament. He was being hunted in a Muggle/magical state, his only ally the witch he had been tasked to procure for the Dark Lord. And at this point, after spending three weeks with the woman and having everything he thought he knew about the world outside of Hogwarts turned upside down, he was reluctant to blindly follow the Dark Lord's orders without further information.
He roughly scratched at the scar on his right shoulder, allowing himself to consider the Dark Lord's prophecy. Away from the Death Eaters, Draco admitted that the Dark Lord's interpretation was – optimistic. Looking at the witch, and based on his interactions with her thus far, he could not imagine her voluntarily taking any action that would align with the Dark Lord's goals. He himself had never liked the idea of prophecy; they were fickle things and always subject to interpretation. What had once appeared a straight forward mission was becoming progressively murky, particularly when it came to the witch in question.
"Why do you scratch that?" Hermione asked, nodding towards the scar.
Draco shrugged. "Not sure, really. It itches sometimes." He looked up at Hermione and smirked. "Speaking of scars, you're bleeding again."
Hermione cursed before grabbing the first aid kid, handing it to Draco so that he could restitch the wound on her left shoulder. The gun shot wound was neither fatal nor debilitating, just – annoying. Draco had offered to magically heal it, but she refused, fearing the Corps would be monitoring specifically for healing spells, since they knew she had been shot and might use them to treat her wound.
He frowned as he carefully stitched the skin together, while Hermione remained stiff, refusing to cry out. He found it amusing that for all the times she repeated that she didn't trust him, she had handed him a needle and granted him carte blanche to push it through her.
"I can't believe how many restrictions on magic there are," he bemoaned, placing a bandage on her shoulder and returning the kit to her.
Hermione shrugged. "I mean, the isolationists complain about it. But the way I see it, wizards and witches have so much more opportunity now than they had before. They can live free anywhere they want – well, at least within the WEA. Magicals are well represented within our government. The younger witches and wizards in particular, those who never knew another way, are free to be who they are without fear of recrimination.
"I think you focus too much on what was lost and not enough on what was found. The Event was horrific and quite possibly the worst way possible for the world to find out about magic. But there are positives to come out of it," Hermione pointed out.
"Like the Corps?" Draco sniped.
"Yes," Hermione sniped back. "What did they do to you anyways?"
"I guess I just don't like being hunted," he pointed out.
Hermione peered outside their barred window and saw the familiar Corps officers trekking to and fro and sighed. "It's not safe to go out for food; we'll have to eat rations again." Before he had the opportunity to argue, she dug into her expanded bag and retrieved two Corps' Instant Meals.
"The Corps must be evil to create an atrocity such as this," he griped as he forced down some of the tasteless mush.
"You know, for Corps training, I had to spend a week alone in the wilderness," she remarked, half her meal already gone.
"A week? Didn't you just spend two years in the middle of nowhere?"
"Well, yeah, but I had a home, power, TV, and food. This was just me. They gave me five Corps Instant Meals, which they said was enough for me to survive. By the end of the week, I grew to appreciate them."
"You lasted a week in the woods on only these?" He looked horrified.
She laughed. "No, of course not. I ate vegetation and fruits I deemed safe, and I hunted game. But I grew to appreciate not having to fight for a meal," she explained.
"I don't get it; why did they make you do that?"
"Well, to be clear, they didn't make me do anything. Anyone who wishes to be a Corps officer is required to complete the quest. It's a test of sorts – officer training is rigorous. I have to admit," she said with a light smile, "by the end of it, I felt – a sense of achievement that little else had given me in my life. Like, I knew I was a survivor."
Draco looked at her thoughtfully. "Do wizards in the Corps have to go through that?"
She nodded. "Yup – and no wand. We each receive a single weapon. If anything, it's more important for the magicals than the non-magicals."
Draco found that he wanted to disagree, but given his utter inability to do anything over the last 24 hours, he had to admit that some non-magical survival skills would be dead useful.
"So what does that mean anyway – to be an 'Officer' in the Corps?" Draco asked.
Hermione threw the empty CIM pouch into the trash can and sat in the folding chair next to the card table, turning it to face Draco. "Let's see – everyone joins the Corps as a Private. Then we have Lieutenant Sergeants, Sergeants, and Chief Sergeants, which is as high as you can go before becoming an Officer. To become an Officer, you are required to complete a two year program and pass a series of tests, such as the wilderness exercise. Once completed, you are an Officer. Then you can become a Lieutenant, which is – was – my rank. After Lieutenant comes Captain, Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel, General, and then Major General. Typically, there are three Major Generals: one magical, one non-magical, and one wild card, so to speak."
"And that witch – the one who came for me – she was a Colonel? Is that important?" Draco asked.
Hermione paused, contemplating before answering. "You'll find there are a lot of Officers; typically, these Corps goons running around are Officers, though I'm sure some are Privates and Sergeants. To become a Lieutenant, you're expected to be a leader, prove your intelligence beyond simple tests.
"I was primarily given the rank of Lieutenant due to the nature of my assignment. Typically, Lieutenants are responsible for a squadron of soldiers. So imagine having to prove yourself not once but three more times, since Longbottom not only had to work her way to Lieutenant, but to Captain, Lieutenant Colonel, and eventually Colonel."
"Does level of power play into ranking at all?" Draco asked.
"Not overtly," Hermione surmised. "I've never looked into it extensively, but I have noticed that the higher ranked magicals are typically more powerful. I would assume that perhaps magical ability is connected to intelligence or inherent leadership. Or perhaps I'm misunderstanding the causal link, and magicals with substantial power are more easily accepted as leaders."
She paused, brows furrowed. "But all that being said, the regulations were written so that, technically, a magical with only minimal power could rise through the ranks. It's not anyone's inherent strength or power but rather their ability to use those skills that matter."
"But why? Shouldn't power be taken into account? Don't you want the most powerful leading you?" Draco questioned.
"Not particularly," she shrugged. "I would prefer a leader to be intelligent, rational. In the WEA, we do not have a clear executive. It was a compromise the magicals and non-magicals came to: we have three branches of government – the Corps, the Judicial branch, and Parliament – and each branch has its own leaders. These leaders convene a delegation when executive decisions need to be made. The intent is that the diversity of thoughts and experiences from the three government branches will make decisions inherently wise. Whereas a single person as an executive – perhaps a single powerful person – could be subject to emotional whim."
Draco disagreed. "The Death Eaters live in perfect harmony with a single leader. It's possible, so long as the leader is powerful."
"The Death Eaters are a very small homogenous subset of a subset. You all have the same beliefs, the same goals, and believe in your leader in the same way. Presumably, the youngest of you have known no other way and have not been exposed to other beliefs or ways of life. In such a setting, it's unsurprising your people have been able to live in harmony," Hermione finished, silencing her last thought of 'however, it's surprising you left.'
"Perhaps one day, we'll have the opportunity to test my theory." Draco smiled.
"Ho – you're threatening me? Or the WEA?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.
Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm joking. I told you, we only seek to defend what's ours."
"A school and a small town." Hermione shook her head. "Hard to imagine going to war over something so replaceable."
"Because you've never been to Hogwarts," Draco drawled, "it's not a 'school' like you think of it."
"Yes, yes. You've mentioned that before – paintings and passageways," Hermione mumbled.
Draco shook his head. "Most of the magicals in the UK went to Hogwarts before the Event. It was the hub of magic, so to speak. The founders built the castle on a magical nexus; the school has been known to grow and change in order to effectively accommodate the wizarding world. The wards around Hogwarts are unique: the castle itself has added layer upon layer of protection to it. The castle likely represents the single greatest achievement of the wizarding world."
"You mean wizarding Europe?" Hermione clarified.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean, what about the magicals in America? Or China? Perhaps in Africa, they've built pyramids that can float in the sky. Who knows? The point is, you described Hogwarts as sitting on a magical nexus; can't someone simply recreate it on another one?" Hermione pondered.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Perhaps someone could, but they would have to wait a thousand years for the castle to be anything like Hogwarts is."
"I'd like to see it – if nothing else, to see your face as you show me," Hermione smirked.
"Ha ha. The older generation tells me it's not the same as it once was. Apparently, there used to be ghosts about, and the stairwells moved without prodding. Some even say that Hogwarts was once alive – not just sentient, but truly alive. I think she's hibernating now, waiting for the next class of students." Draco said this last part with a sense of nostalgia.
"Do you not use it as a school anymore?"
"It's impractical, with the birth rate in decline and most families living in Hogsmeade," Draco explained. "It makes more sense to have the school in Hogsmeade and use the castle for other ventures."
"Like children running amok?" Hermione suggested with a light smile.
"Those were the good ol' days." He lay down on the bed, staring at the bits of orange marking water damage on the popcorn ceilings.
Hermione lay next to him, her hands on her stomach as she observed him. "Do you miss it?"
He shrugged. "I miss... certain people and things. I miss using my wand." He unconsciously rubbed his right forearm at the mention of it. "I miss the familiarity of it." He paused and wondered when he became so comfortable talking about such things. "Here, everything is... different."
"Well," she started and grabbed his hand in an overly familiar gesture, "you've got me."
It was a habit they'd formed in their preparations to leave the uninhabitable zone: he'd grab her shoulders to calm her, and she'd grab his hand to comfort him.
"Yeah," - he rolled over to his side to face her, eyes darting from their clasped hands to her eyes - "until you decide you don't need me anymore."
"Oh Draco," she smiled, "I'm sure we have quite some time before then."
A/N: As always, appreciate any thoughts/commens/reviews/theories.