Chapter 12 – Dreadful News
A/N: I'd like to apologize on any previous and future chapters for any grammatical errors or continuity issues. I have no Alpha/Beta and revising as best as I can, so please forgive me. Several things happen at once in this chapter, so you better buckle up. I promise it will be worth it. 😊
Song Recs: I'll Be Good – Jaymes Young, Hit Me Right – Johnny Goth, and Lacrimosa – Mozart (the Hauser version) If you can listen in order, it works surprisingly well.
(2 weeks later –1 week before the Order Retrieval)
The two continued their shaky routine of translating and deciphering dusty tomes, in-depth discussions and arguments over prominent Muggle authors along with their illustrious merits (or spectacular failures), and companiable silence. Draco had been surprised at Granger's knowledge of Wizarding authors considering her late start in the Wizarding world. He was particularly impressed at her nearly photographic memory of Ancient Runes. That particular fact had been immensely helpful in their quest for information on Cerridwen lore. Both shared a passion for learning and he had secretly delighted in the way her eyes had lit up when he began describing the massive Malfoy library and he had been highly amused when she admitted that she had compared herself to Matilda, the precocious magical character written by Roald Dahl, when she had experienced bursts of accidental magic as a child. She may have been a swotty know-it-all, but he was actually beginning to look forward to mentally sparring with her. Blaise and Theo had been the closest to him in class marks, but they lacked the passion that Granger had in spades for any subject. Her thirst for knowledge and pure ambition prompted him to wonder why the Sorting Hat had placed her in Gryffindor – she would have excelled in Ravenclaw or even Slytherin if you could overlook the whole blood purity mindset.
However, this secret thrill was severely tempered by the knowledge that it would all end. Soon, the Order would appear and snatch Granger away while they threw him in the darkest corner of Azkaban to rot for the remainder of his miserable existence. He decided to make these next couple weeks as tolerable as possible before his freedom was lost forever. Every night, Draco laid awake on the transfigured bed next to the glow of the fire and attempted to soak up every sensation. From the warmth of the hearth, the soft smell of freshly fallen snow, the contentment of a full belly of warm food, and even…the talks with Granger. He sighed, irritated. What a situation he was in that he should bemoan the loss of that bushy-haired witch's company?
(The night before the Order Retrieval)
So far, they had only managed to breakdown a single page, which had contained nothing of use beyond acknowledgement of Cerridwen's power and status as an Otherworld (Or Underworld depending on the time period) goddess. Hermione had secretly tried engaging with the hidden entity contained within her body, but she was always met with silence. She hadn't heard Cerridwen's murky voice since they had arrived at the cottage. On the other hand, there were decided perks. Hermione, ever the logical witch, had been immensely pleased to discover her ability to cast magic without a wand. This was helpful as her wand had been confiscated during her initial capture in the woods. She also noticed that the magnitude of her magic had been amplified, the inherent magic contained within the earth flowed in and out of her. It usually left her exhausted at the end of the day, the constant flow of magic, but she supposed this was a side effect of containing a magical being. Hopefully, further translation would provide better answers.
Speaking of translations, Hermione had begun to look forward to her quiet evenings with Malfoy, despite his ever-increasing moodiness. They usually stayed up late into the nights discussing all ranges of topics. She had regaled him with her adventures with Harry and Ron, from how they met that Halloween evening in the girls' bathroom to teaching Harry the charm he used to summon his broom during the Triwizard Tournament. He had sat quietly, nodding occasionally and something akin to jealousy mixed with disbelief written in his eyes.
"So, you are telling me that the Ministry of Magic allowed a Third Year to use a Time-Turner?" he scoffed, "I find that exceedingly difficult to believe."
"That year nearly killed me. Not to mention my encounter with a werewolf, dementors, and that traitorous Peter Pettigrew!" she exclaimed, "I almost regret taking that much schoolwork on."
His silver eyes were comically large at her casual tone. She stifled a laugh. He sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Wait," he spoke, holding up a hand, "All of that and the thing you regret the most is…the course load!?"
She merely nodded.
"Bloody hell Granger." He declared, "You are mad."
In turn, she smirked at him.
"Third year wasn't a complete loss." She defended, an evil grin spreading across her face, "I slapped this pretentious git for his cruel comments regarding a certain magical creature, who I am pleased to announce, is still quite alive."
Malfoy let out an embarrassed groan.
"You are enjoying this aren't you?" he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
"Immensely." She countered.
"I'll acknowledge that I was an absolute pain in the arse during Third Year, and I do regret the whole Buckbeak business." He explained, his face darkening while his jaw began to clench, "Actually, from Third Year on, I pretty much regret every decision I made."
Hermione blinked. Curious, she pushed the conversation forward.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better…I don't regret being stuck here." She said softly, "I've actually begun to appreciate our discussions."
Malfoy shot her look, clearly indicating he did not believe her, that quickly dissolved into an angry scowl.
"Potter and Weaselbee won't like that." he sneered, "They'll think I've Imperio'd you."
"Well, I don't." she snapped, "Or at least I don't when you aren't being a dismissive little ferret."
With a toss of her curls, she gathered her book, and stomped out of the living room and up the stairs.
(Morning of the Order Retrieval)
To say that Draco was on edge was an understatement. He had paced the cottage several times, drank several cups of tea, and was attempting to read the book before him. After glossing over the same paragraph, he snapped the book shut with a sharp slap. He growled, wishing the Order had thought to stash at least a flask of Firewhiskey or Ogden's Own in this blasted cabin, but his efforts to locate such a bottle had ended fruitlessly. The delicate understanding between him and Granger had started crumbling after he mocked her for admitting that she enjoyed his company. He had immediately regretted the words but knowing that he probably wouldn't even be speaking to her in less than two weeks' time had dissuaded him against pursuing her. Better to let this 'truce' fade away and let him get back to his usual self-loathing thoughts. After all, they were going to be his company, along with Dementors, for the foreseeable future. Granger's shuffling around the previous evening while muttering a list of items to pack had grated on his nerves more that he cared to admit. Although, he wasn't sure why he had expected her to be anything other than industrious and thorough while carefully packing all their belongings into that damned beaded bag.
Their belongings? Since when did he start considering it as 'their' rather than 'his'?
Draco huffed. He chastised himself for being so concerned. He had basically told Granger to take everything anyways. Azkaban didn't allow personal belongings. A couple nights ago, he had hidden his mother's moonstone brooch in an unassuming box, sealed it, and asked Granger to hold the box for safekeeping – refusing to reveal the contents. Thankfully, she merely nodded and tucked the box away without a word. He had also told her to keep the books and clothing his mother had provided. She had rolled her eyes at the clothing but had gasped when he mentioned the books.
"Are you sure?" she breathed, her amber eyes large, "These books are incredibly valuable and rare."
Draco had shrugged, the value of those books did not affect his future. At least, with Granger, they might make a difference.
"Thank you." She whispered, carefully slipping the many volumes into the depths of the bag.
As if he needed more internal battles, he was also struggling with how to tell Granger the warning his mother had offered in her last letter.
How does one tell a potentially violent goddess-vessel witch capable of extraordinary wandless magic that she'll basically combust because of the amount of power flowing through her and that he, a traitor ex-Death Eater with some moral hangups, is her only chance of surviving? A chance that will be inaccessible in a couple hours? Isn't she the lucky one?
He flopped back down on the armchair, running a hand up the smooth curve of wood. Despite its old-fashioned appearance, Draco had truly enjoyed the many nights spent in that chair. It was well-built, surprisingly comfortable, and held some late-night memories of literary debates with Granger. Merlin, he thought sarcastically, those damn Gryffindors are contagious – I'm pining over a bloody chair.
Hermione had gone over the packing list three times, double-checked the placement of the contents of her bag, and tidied up the cottage to keep her nerves from fraying right there on the spot. Soon, the Order would be arriving to reunite her with Harry and Ron. She was too nervous to settle down and work on translations, so she chose to prep some food while they waited. She didn't need to be to be a seer to see that Malfoy was not handling this upcoming rendezvous well. Actually, he hadn't been handling the past two weeks well whatsoever. Hermione felt like she was back in the Forest of Dean stuck with grumpy and irritable company. She could sympathize though. Just as she was concerned about how the Order would her goddess revelation, she could only imagine what would happen to Malfoy once the Order got ahold of him. She assumed a one-way ticket to Azkaban. However, she didn't believe he deserved that fate. He had protected her and had been mostly civil the entire time they had been stuck together. Maybe, she thought, she could convince Harry to speak for him. She sighed as she watched him pace the length of the cottage before dramatically dropping into his armchair. She frowned when he tenderly ran a hand on the familiar piece of furniture, a forlorn and poignant expression written plain on his face. Her heart ached for him.
"Malfoy," she called out softly, "Would you like some food for the road?"
Instantly, the expression vanished, and he leveled her with a frosty glare.
"Trying to fatten up this lamb for slaughter?" he sneered.
"How c-could you think that?" Hermione stammered out, "I just thought…"
Malfoy rose from the chair and stalked towards her, his posture threatening. Hermione went rigid and felt the stirrings of deep magic from that shadowy dwelling place.
Circe, she thought, Now, Cerridwen decides to show up.
He continued moving closer, circling around the kitchen table, a dangerous glint in his eye.
"You think just because we've talked about some books and shared some tea," he hissed, "That we are friends and that your precious Order won't destroy me on the spot?"
Hermione merely stared, unable to comprehend the unexpected venom dripping from his voice. Her hands began to shake as she fought the rising tide of magic. Fearfully, she noticed the temperature in the room begin to drop.
"What a joke." He spat, "I should have left the moment I was dropped in this hovel with YOU."
Something inside Hermione cracked with that last word. He had uttered it with such revulsion, shame, and menace. She lost control and that ancient goddess bubbled to the surface.
Draco knew he had gone too far as soon as he uttered that final word. He felt that bone-chilling cold from the first night they were here surround him. Gone were her honey colored eyes, replaced with that all too familiar burning black. Draco stilled his forward movement, watching her. Slowly, a malicious grin split across her face – stretching her lips into thin lines with her teeth on full display. A darkness spread from her in wispy tendrils as her hair softly lifted, floating like a halo. She floated forward.
"You…" echoed a voice, "Dare speak to me so?"
Draco was horrified as the words rippled through the air, her lips unmoving. He stood frozen in place, remembering the terror he had felt at witnessing her initial transformation. How could he have been so careless!?
"Foolish boy." she purred.
Draco could barely blink before she closed the gap between them, her face inches from his. She was sublime, full of terrible and haunting splendor. Despite her malevolent smile, she took his breath away. His eyes connected with hers, those murky depths hiding lifetimes of secrets. Her hand shot out, cruelly grasping his face between her slender fingers. She leaned forward, inhaling slowly.
"It's time you learned your place."
A surge of magic shot through Draco and he saw stars.
She stood in the marshy edge of a lake, her chestnut curls whipping wildly in the wind. The steely blue water stirred into a grayish-brown frenzy. The waves lapped at the rocky shoreline and clouds gathered in the distance. She turned and held out an inviting hand, beckoning him to step forward. Diaphanous clothing clung to her body, outlining the delicious curves that graced her form. She called to him over the thunderous crack of the sky. Draco raced to her, splashing through the turbulent water. He gathered her in his arms as she raised her face, lips ghosting by his ears.
"Llyn Tegid," she breathed, "This is our home, my Lord. See the many lifetimes we have endured? This is but another turn of the wheel. Know your place and stand by my side. Together, our magic and bond shall prevail."
Draco panted as he was thrown through all of space and time, reliving the many lifetimes of Cerridwen and her husband, whose name was revealed as Tegid Foel. He saw himself through his eyes. Heard her whisper his name across the eons. The greatest mythological love stories in all of known history and those yet to be. Ulysses and Circe. Nyx and Erebus. Rama and Sita. Freyja and Odr. He had experienced them all with her. The empires had sung tales of their passions, their squabbles, and their gifts. She continued to hold him, watching the worlds pass them by. Just when Draco thought he would suffocate from the weight of it all, he was abruptly brought back to the tempestuous lake shore. She released him and began moving backwards, drifting into the depths. He reached for her, fingers stretching.
"Is it true?" he asked, "Is what I feel real?"
She inclined her head slightly, the water creeping up her body. She continued sinking until only her eyes remained above the water. The water pooling around her dark features, eyes glowing in the storm.
"She is your equal in every way." The watery voice murmured, rolling across the lake's glassy surface, "Give yourself to her freely, my prince."
Draco stood forlorn, the swells crashing higher and lapping at his feet. He could not let her escape. She kept slipping from his grasp, plummeting further and further into the waves. She gave him one, last expectant look before disappearing under the waves. Her voice resonated in the air, filling his body with an unknown melody.
"My beloved, set us free."
Hermione gasped as she was ripped back to the present. A pair of steel gray eyes captured her own, sending out waves of delight and pain where her fingers dug into his sharp jawline. His skin glowed with symbols. Symbols that looked eerily similar to the one she held. Her breath came out ragged and hot as she realized this was the first time she had touched his skin. The feel of it in her hand shot straight to her center. She licked her lips, dragging the tip of her tongue across their cracked surface, watching as Malfoy's eyes darkened at the movement. Unbidden, the pad of her thumb ghosted against the curve of his lower lip. A soft sigh escaping her mouth. Abruptly, Malfoy tore his face from her grip, breathing heavily.
"You are back." He simply stated, a cough rumbling deep from his chest.
She dropped her arm, feeling the tide of magic subside inside her. Snow littered the inside of the cottage, the barest scent of storm lingering in the air.
"M-Malfoy…" she stumbled out.
"Don't." he hissed, "I just witnessed lifetimes of her, of them, of…" he trailed off, before flicking his eyes to her.
"Us." Her voice barely above a whisper.
She moved towards him when a loud shriek pierced the silence. Malfoy whipped out his wand and rushed forward, angling his body to partially cover hers. She quickly concentrated the magic from around them and held it in her hands, waiting for the intruder to show themselves. A drab, brown owl came hurtling through the window, shattering glass everywhere. Hermione gave a small cry and rushed forward to the injured animal. A small piece of parchment, spotted in blood, was tied to its leg.
"Help it!" she cried, gently stroking the owl's feathers as its hoots died away.
Malfoy kneeled down, examining the creature. He shook his head.
"Its injuries were too much." He spoke gently, "This owl used the last of its energy to get here."
"Poor thing." She sighed, "Who would do such a thing?"
"What does the message say Granger?" he growled, eyes darting around rapidly.
She sniffed, gently untied the paper from the owl's form, and unfurled the paper. Written haphazardly and splattered with ink marks were words that sucked the air from Hermione's lungs and threatened to send her into a spiral of darkness:
We were betrayed. Mundungus. Many died. The Order has gone underground.
It's safer for you to stay where you are. Forgive me, I don't know when we'll see each other again.
"Well?" Malfoy barked, exasperation creeping into his voice.
The note slipped through her fingers and fluttered to the ground, her voice completely lost. Malfoy snatched the parchment up and with that, the color drained from his face.
"What do we do now?" his breath ragged, a dangerous edge of fury barely concealed.
Her lips began to tremble as she struggled for air.
"I don't know."