an: hi everyone! I know it's been a super long time since I updated. the end of my semester was insane for many reasons, and I was having trouble writing this part. thank you to everyone who's been keeping up for being patient! hopefully I haven't lost anything over the break. please enjoy! :)
Hermione never liked swimming. Maybe it was because the water was always too cold, or because her cousins were always better at it than her; consequently, she was always the first one out, or the first one left behind. She especially hated being under the water. Everything was too blurry, and nothing like the pictures she imagined of sunlight sparkling through the surface, beaming onto the surroundings below. It was too silent, and she was too aware of being alone, being disconnected from the world above.
She felt like she was underwater now. Hermione rested her elbow against the table, her hand supporting her chin and her shoulders poised. But she couldn't hear anything; the conversation around her was muffled, distorted. Hermione certainly wasn't seeing anything, either. She might as well have been floating with the current, unable to discern her surroundings. She felt far, far away from everyone else.
Everyone except Malfoy. Hermione didn't dare look at him, but she felt him there. He was sitting across the table from her, the distance expansive and small all at once. He was too close, but he was too far. She noticed every single, miniscule movement: the dull clink of the Malfoy ring as he tapped his finger against the table, the shift of fabric as he pulled an ankle over a knee, the tightening of muscles in his neck when he turned to look at another speaking. She didn't dare look at him, but she knew every raise of his eyebrow, every downward pull of his lips.
Hermione pressed her fingernails into her chin, desperate to resurface. She was adrift, a speck of dust floating in a breeze. She had lifted her chin. When he looked at her, she lifted her chin. And when he touched her, every nerve was sent firing through her, nearly shaking her entire being. She knew that feeling, the rush of being near someone, the fear of something more.
This wasn't something she could explain away. She thought about everything from that night; the expression she couldn't place when their eyes met, the wind being knocked out of her at every turn. It made no sense. No, she couldn't explain this. This had turned into something more than understanding, even forgiveness. She was entirely scrambled; somehow, she had become the jigsaw puzzle, and it felt like Malfoy was purposefully picking her apart.
All she knew was that she was in very deep shit.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione blinked, snapping her head up to Kingsley. He was watching her expectantly.
She was in very, very deep shit.
She cleared her throat, dropping her hand and perhaps doing the only thing that she could possibly think of. Hermione turned her head to look at Malfoy.
To anyone else, his poker face was brilliant. Even to her most of the time, it was impossible to read. But there was the tiniest lift at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes glinted like fine silver.
Hermione exhaled sharply. He knew she hadn't heard a thing Kingsley said. And he thought it was funny.
"Erm…" she coughed out, unable to even pretend she was following the conversation.
"Can you heal Draco's injuries any further?" Luna asked next to her. She gently touched Hermione's arm, causing her to jump.
"Oh!" Hermione broke into a nervous smile, fully straightening in her chair. "Erm…"
She looked at Malfoy again, trying to analyze his face without noticing that light amusement made him something wonderful to watch. While the cuts had practically disappeared, there were clear bruises around his eyes and cheekbones still, dark and purpling rather grotesquely. It wasn't necessarily a fault of her healing; he had been the one to wait so long to get attention.
"Well, no," she said simply. Hermione tore her eyes off him, addressing Kingsley. "But I can use glamour charms to cover them. They'll need reapplying, but it'll make his face…"
Attractive. Handsome. A fine example of the male species.
"…fine," she mustered.
Ron blew a harsh breath through his lips as he stepped forward, joining Kingsley at the head of the table. "I mean, yeah, we should do that, but that's not really the problem, is it?"
He watched all of them expectantly, but seemed to find no recognition from any of them. "We're just dancing around this. The Death Eaters are looking for someone unfaithful now, someone who is close to Daphne and Astoria, someone who has the ability to remove them from that side."
"Malfoy has an alibi," Ernie interjected. "He's not supposed to get back from his mission until tonight. There's no way they could place him there."
"I'm sorry, we're still talking about Death Eaters, right?" Ron dripped sarcastically. "When have they ever been rational about anything?"
The room fell into heavy silence, and Ernie sat back dejectedly into his chair.
"Until they pinpoint someone who did this, everyone will be under scrutiny," Ron continued. "Including Malfoy."
Hermione spared a glance to Malfoy, her chest tightening. He was frowning, practically attempting to set fire to the table with his glare. Something told her he was already aware of this, and that he didn't particularly enjoy the solution.
When no one said anything, Ron sighed, his shoulders falling. "What about Nott?"
"No," Daphne and Malfoy said together, and they quickly twisted to glower at each other. In between them, Theo's eyes had widened comically at their outbursts, his eyebrows at his hairline.
"Thanks, guys. I love when people answer for me."
"You weren't going to answer," Malfoy drawled, leaning back in his chair.
"I might have."
"What are your plans, Mister Nott?" Kingsley asked tersely.
Theo shrugged, leaning forward to place his forearms on the table. "I dunno. I assumed I would just go back. I have the Mark, so that makes the most sense."
Malfoy closed his eyes for a moment, and fully faced Theo, giving what Hermione could only describe as "the look." She was very familiar with it; she gave it to Harry and Ron countless times. "The look" was difficult to place, but often conveyed, "I need you to think about what you just said and adjust it to my liking."
Theo frowned, throwing his palms upwards in confusion. When Malfoy rolled his eyes across the room, he blinked in understanding, his mouth forming a small 'o' as the gears in his head turned.
"I mean, I don't want to go back," Theo corrected quickly. "The Death Eaters suck. Definitely don't agree with what they do in any way. Quite frankly, they aren't even that nice to me—"
"Theo," Daphne interrupted, her hand covering her eyes.
"But it's only logical to go back. Draco needs someone there he can trust."
"I think," Ernie said slowly, "they are proposing that you be the one who saved Daphne and Astoria."
Theo's face darkened. "I'm fully aware of what they're proposing, Macmillan. I'm not a stupid Hufflepuff."
"Theo—" Malfoy warned.
"This is ridiculous," Daphne cut in. "Theo needs to be there. He's just as good of a spy as Draco, and you'd acquire more intel." She raised a clinical brow, her gaze wandering over everyone threateningly before settling on Malfoy. "I'm not allowing another person I care about be put in danger on Draco's account."
Malfoy closed his mouth with a click; the way he twisted his head away from her seemed painful.
"With all due respect, Miss Greengrass," Kingsley said, "he is in danger regardless if he stays here or there." He matched her raised brow, his mouth turning with displeasure. "I am not willing to lose all the intel we have in the event this doesn't get resolved."
Daphne narrowed her eyes but remained silent, her fingernails digging into the table. Theo sighed, his hand coming up to gently cover hers.
"Is there no one else?" Luna asked hesitantly, her eyes drifting between the two of them warily.
Theo shrugged, shaking his head lightly. "Blaise isn't here. And Pansy isn't a Death Eater."
"Yet," Daphne supplied tightly.
"It's either me or Draco," Theo continued, ignoring her. He turned his head, raising a brow at Malfoy next to him.
"You'll get some of my stuff?"
Malfoy crossed his arms, breaking the eye contact and reluctantly nodding once.
"Give my father a punch in the face while you're at it."
Malfoy snorted, a light smile gracing his features. "With pleasure."
"It's settled, then?" Kingsley asked brusquely. At a glance from Malfoy, he sighed, gathering some of the parchment littered throughout the table.
"Congratulations. You are officially Order members."
"Do I get a medal?" Theo blurted.
"You avoid imprisonment in Azkaban, Mister Nott, and with luck, you'll survive a second war," Kingsley deadpanned. He turned on his heel and started to leave the kitchen. "Boys, I need you upstairs."
Before he exited, Kingsley turned to face them all again, his eyes wandering across the room before settling on Hermione. "It seems you'll have an extra pair of hands, Miss Granger."
Hermione blinked, flicking her gaze to Daphne. The girl smirked at her, letting go of Theo's hand and standing gracefully as everyone else filed out of the kitchen.
As it turned out, Daphne was an exemplary potions partner, and Hermione regretted every moment she ever worked with Harry and Ron in rotation during school. It would have been a much better example of collaboration than either of the boys offered, and she was sure she would have actually learned something in the process. Daphne was good. She knew most of the recipes and instructions by heart, down to each nit-picky detail. And Daphne was nit-picky, too. She wasn't afraid to be.
"How many did you just throw in there?"
Hermione froze, her fingers poised over the cauldron hesitantly now. "I…it said a pinch."
Daphne rolled her eyes, quickly taking up a quill and grabbing Hermione's (or rather, Malfoy's) potions book. She frowned at the page, before quickly scribbling out the instructions and writing between in the margins in fine cursive.
"You count out five pairs now. Exactly." Daphne lectured, handing the book back to Hermione.
"They're gnat's wings. It would take forever to explicitly count that many."
Daphne pursed her lips, turning her attention back to her own cauldron. "And? Do you want the best potion or not?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes between the Slytherin girl and the book before slowly setting it down in mute agreement.
It wasn't annoying that Daphne was so thorough. In fact, Hermione appreciated it. And even more so, she appreciated how well they worked together. Outside of an occasional instruction or "can you pass an ingredient this way," there was very little talking. They were a well-oiled machine, never bumping into each other or otherwise in the way. And soon, the cabinets were nearly full with potions stock.
Even so, they kept working. From dawn to dusk, and then some. Astoria would accompany them sometimes. She would sit on the kitchen table, her long, thin legs dangling thoughtlessly as she told Daphne unnecessary gossip. Gossip in the sense that Hermione didn't care for it. Unnecessary in the sense that neither of the Greengrass sisters cared for it either; it was recognized as a simple past time, a hobby that Astoria participated in to distract from her one-sided vision.
"…and then Tabitha had the audacity to say that my hair was dry." Astoria rolled her eyes, scoffing.
"She obviously couldn't think of anything else to say," Daphne supplied carelessly, her eyes glassy as she poured the last of her batch of anti-paralysis potion into tiny tubes.
"And she obviously doesn't know anything about hair care," Astoria continued. "I mean, have you seen it? I would die if I was caught with curls as frizzy as hers."
Hermione looked up sharply, not willing to freeze the counterclockwise motion of her stirring. She couldn't help but glance at her own hair in the periphery of her vision, trying desperately to analyze its condition.
Astoria's one eye softened, her eyebrow slightly raising in concern. "I didn't mean—"
"Don't worry about it," Hermione interrupted. "I'm the only one allowed to have frizzy curls, anyway."
Astoria's mouth dropped, and stifled laugh came from behind Hermione's back. There was a light pat at her shoulder, and Daphne came to stand next to her, her smile brilliantly white. "We'll make a Slytherin out of you yet, Hermione," she chuckled softly.
It was strange to hear her name coming out of Daphne's mouth still. But as Astoria relaxed, her shoulders slumping and the one half of her mouth tilting upwards in a smile, and Daphne organized the ingredients for her next potion with a twinkle in her eye, she figured that it was something she could get used to.
When Astoria was in the kitchen, Hermione could forget everything else. It was easy to listen to her stories, the cut-throat insults she would throw at her classmates. It was fun when Daphne joined in, somehow becoming insulted on behalf of her sister about incidents that happened years before. They even began asking her opinion, which always delighted them (her usual response of "It doesn't seem like they required your attention at all" was always met with "oohs" and "aahs").
But then Astoria would leave. And the kitchen would fall silent. And Hermione would think. She would think about Ginny. She would think about Harry. Ron and Ernie would come back late, and before they shuffled into the kitchen with drooping eyes and hung heads, she would think about them. The night always got darker when Astoria left, and the shadows seemed to swirl around her, even though she replaced the overhead lights a day ago.
She knew that Daphne thought too. She would sit at the kitchen table while she waited on cauldrons to brew, fingering at the splinters of wood with her pristine nails. She would play with the ends of her caramel hair, no longer perfectly straight and shiny, before pulling it into a low bun and lightly fidgeting with anything else nearby. Occasionally Daphne would look up from her thoughts, staring ahead into the hallway, and Theo would appear. He would always make some quip about Hermione's hair trying to swallow her whole, and then he would sit with Daphne. Often, they were silent, but Hermione always noticed the relief written plainly on Daphne's face when she looked at him. She also noticed her teeth clench, her fingers beginning to fidget again when he retired to bed.
So, when Daphne's gaze shifted toward the hallway tonight, Hermione assumed it was Theo. She turned to the side counter, analyzing their organized (alphabetically, of course) rows of ingredients, her hand hovering over them as she searched for the essence of daisyroot.
"Good morning, Draco."
That made her freeze. Hermione didn't dare glance over her shoulder; her hand remained poised in the air, and she couldn't remember what on earth she was looking for. Her thoughts shot through her by the millisecond; she hadn't seen him in a long time, longer than what was customary, anyway. Malfoy had insisted that she teach him the glamour charms, which made perfect sense. It wasn't as if he could apparate to Grimmauld Place whenever they faded. But now the hairs on her arms stood straight up, and the only thing she could hear was his slow approach to the kitchen table.
"You're not asleep either," Malfoy drawled, his voice sending shivers up her spine.
"I was merely being polite."
Hermione could see a small smile across Daphne's lips in the corner of her eye. She started to fruitlessly touch every jar, tube, and pot in front of her, desperately trying to find some ingredient out of place that needed reorganizing. Of course, nothing was out of place, but that didn't stop her.
"Is Theo asleep?"
"Probably."
"These are his things."
There was a slight thud against the table, and a black bag now entered Hermione's periphery. Daphne sighed, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms daintily over her chest.
"I'll give it to him," she said quietly.
There was a beat of silence. Hermione studied their jar of gillyweed like it would spontaneously sprout of pair of eyes at any moment and she didn't want to miss it.
"Granger."
She dropped the jar with a clack, jumping away from the counter and whirling to face him. In doing so, he knocked the wind out of her. There wasn't anything inherently different about him; Malfoy with his platinum hair, Malfoy with his slate eyes, Malfoy with his black clothes and dragonhide shoes. She wanted to believe that it was because she hadn't seen him in a long time. But the way her heart stuttered, the way her stomach did flips at being merely across the room from him did not explain that at all.
"Yes?" she squeaked out.
"Can you help me with something?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes, glancing at him and Daphne like there was a tennis ball being batted between them. But Daphne looked as confused as she was, and Malfoy was doing his best impression of a rock. Slowly, she nodded, and quickly followed him out of the kitchen.
"Since when do you ever ask something of me?" Hermione asked suspiciously as he flicked on the light to the dining room.
Malfoy remained stoic, waving his wand around them. There was a familiar bubbling around them, the creaking of the house suddenly gone.
"And now you're casting a muffliato," she accused. "What on earth are you playing at?"
"Can you read these?" Malfoy asked pointedly, ignoring her and gesturing to a small pile of parchment on the dining room table.
Hermione frowned, leaving his side to examine the parchment. She reached to press down one of the curling edges closest to her, and Malfoy suddenly snatched her hand up and away.
"Hey—!"
"Do not touch them," he warned, his grip strong on her wrist. He searched her face earnestly, and Hermione suddenly felt sick to her stomach; there wasn't just concern there, but fear. Her breath hitched at the idea of Malfoy being afraid of anything.
"Can you hear it?" he asked softly.
Hermione bit her lip, concentrating on their surroundings. It was faint, but as time passed, time where Malfoy didn't breathe at all, she could hear the unease around them, the sound that reminded her of the damn locket her and Harry carried for weeks.
"Ringing," she croaked.
"Dark magic," Malfoy enunciated. "Wards against Muggleborns. If you touch that, you'd light on fire at the very least."
Hermione balked, and wrenched herself from his grasp. "Why would you ask me to read it?!"
"Because I need to know if I'm reading it wrong. And you're the smartest person I know."
Hermione folded her arms against her chest, glaring at him. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
"I wasn't trying to flatter you," Malfoy said simply. "It's a fact."
"A fact that will get me killed, apparently!"
"Granger—" Malfoy stopped himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just do this for me."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but he dropped his hand, and he looked exhausted. His shoulders slumped like they were carrying the world.
"Please."
It was like when he asked her to heal Theo, when he asked her to call for Daphne instead of Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts. Any retort Hermione had in her dissipated instantly, as if she let go of a feather in a light breeze. She slowly released her arms from her chest and nodded, stepping towards the table again and keeping as far away from the parchment as possible.
The paper was very old. No longer just yellowed with time, but also nearly disintegrated in certain spots of common wear. Hermione squinted at the faded ink, before looking up at Malfoy cautiously.
"These are runes. I…I can't—"
"Yes, you can," Malfoy said, and he placed his hands on the table to lean closer to her.
Hermione inhaled deeply, trying to make sense of the swimming symbols in front of her. She could hear him in the library now, his quill scratching carelessly on his own homework as he chided her abilities. You have to memorize and remember. She bit her lip so hard she was sure skin broke. It's not a puzzle.
"…that one—"
Hermione stopped herself from pointing directly on the parchment when Malfoy stiffened, ready to tackle her away from the table. "Sorry. That one is…'artifact.' And that one is 'potion.'" Hermione retracted her hand, bringing it up to cover her mouth in thought. "They are both followed by 'dark,' making it an adjective, but we knew that, and…"
Malfoy had turned away from the table, nearing the end of the dining room and the beginning of the living room. Hermione watched his back, how his head hung as he stared at the floor.
"I can't read this last one," she called to his retreated form.
It was silent for a moment. "Do you see a prefix?" he asked quietly, hesitantly.
Hermione focused on the parchment again. "Oh! Yes, it's…"
Her voice died out, and her eyes widened. She backed away from the table, her fingernails digging into her palms. "That can't be right."
Malfoy didn't say anything, and Hermione rocketed towards him, grabbing his shoulder and ripping him around to face her. "Malfoy, tell me I'm wrong!"
But he only shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. "You're not."
"Reanimation?!" she spluttered. "That's impossible!"
"Then why is there a set of instructions detailing exactly how to do it?"
Hermione spun on her heel, leaning over the table again and scanning the parchment. He couldn't be right. It wasn't possible. But it stared her plainly in the face.
Step One. Procure a pewter cauldron. Fill halfway with water and boil—
"I don't believe it," Hermione clamored, aggressively stepping away from the table.
"Think about it, Granger," Malfoy insisted, earnestly stepping toward her. "How else could they bring him back the first time?"
She blinked, trying to remember what Harry told her about that night. Hermione wasn't sure if he evaded the conversation, or if she couldn't remember the details now. Merlin, it was six years ago. She was almost twenty now, and she couldn't remember anything; only everything that followed, every blow they took afterward.
"Harry didn't tell me much about it," she mustered.
Malfoy watched her, his head tilting slightly, and she could tell that he didn't quite believe her. She wasn't even sure if she believed herself.
"Regardless," he finally said, drawing himself up and approaching the table again. "I can't imagine there are that many magic rituals that bring people back from the dead."
Hermione eyed the parchment warily, before nodding once in agreement. "We can't let them go through with this," she whispered.
"They need a dark artifact in conjunction with the potion," Malfoy lectured. "I have no idea where it is, but that doesn't mean I can't find something that will tell me." He grabbed one end of the parchment and rolled it up before tapping it with his wand, making the pile disappear with a pop. For a moment, he stood silently watching the table surface, his jaw clenching tightly.
"If I find anything else," Malfoy started, turning to face her. "Will you help me read it?"
Hermione blinked, slightly taken aback. "You're better at reading runes than I am," she stated. When he didn't answer, she broke out into a nervous smile, letting out a short breath of air. "Partnership, not defense, remember?"
Something shifted minutely, and his eyes cleared, a melted silver that pooled and swirled without purpose. He swallowed and bit his tongue between his teeth. "I'd take your luck over mine."
Hermione inhaled deeply, opting to look down at her hands. "Well, we never did get to finish the class, right?"
She spared a glance at him, and he let out a sharp exhale, a large smile spreading across his face. Hermione's heart leapt – she couldn't stop from returning it – and she tried not to notice that his bottom teeth were slightly crooked, that there was a dimple on his right but not his left cheek. His eyes glinted like tinsel on a Christmas tree when he smiled like that.
"Leave it to you to bring it back to school somehow," he said, and her stomach nearly dropped at the teasing tone in his voice. She let out a laugh, shaking her head, before pressing her lips together and looking up at him again.
"Of course I'll help you."
Malfoy let out a sigh, and he stepped forward ever so slightly, bowing his head and staring at his feet. Feeling a surge of bravery, Hermione opened her mouth to request a "thank you," to tease him back, but stopped short when he snapped his head up and waved his hand between them. Suddenly, the low groans of the floorboards and the buzzing of the old lights came racing back.
"You'd think you two were snogging back here with how long you've been—"
Daphne stopped short as she entered the dining room, her eyebrow quirking upwards. Realizing exactly how close they had gravitated towards each other, Hermione quickly stepped away from him entirely, hotness rushing to her cheeks. Malfoy swallowed, fisting his hands in his pockets and staring at Daphne, aside from the nearly imperceptible flick of his gaze to Hermione.
The Slytherin girl cleared her throat, blinking rapidly. "Your potion is ready for the daisyroot."
Hermione nodded quickly, avoiding both of their burning stares and retreating into the kitchen. While uncorking the essence of daisyroot, she tried to ignore the whispers that trailed through the hallway. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or more panicked when the front door slammed shut and Daphne reappeared in the kitchen, so she focused on stirring the potion in front of her instead.
"I'm going to bed," Daphne said. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Okay," Hermione nearly gasped out. "Good night."
She heard Daphne turn on her heel and approach the door frame, but she didn't hear her leave. Hermione threw a glance toward the exit, shock flitting through her to see Daphne watching her.
"He has a nice smile, doesn't he?"
Hermione stood still, dumbfounded. "What?"
"Draco."
She held her breath as her mind raced, the potion entirely forgotten as she tried to come up with a response that was acceptable. But Daphne didn't give her the time.
"I hope he spends more time with things that make him smile."
Daphne smiled sadly then, and disappeared into the dark without waiting for an answer.
Overall, her schedule during the day remained the same. Hermione woke up and made potions with Daphne for hours. On certain days she would apparate to Shell Cottage with Hannah Abbott, hauling cannisters of Wolfsbane Potion for Bill and Tylenol for Mr. Weasley. She often tended to Astoria's eye as well, especially when Daphne was in the middle of brewing.
It was at night where things adjusted. Instead of continuing the potions work, or even studying the healing textbooks that she knew by heart at this point, she was helping Malfoy. They poured over the runes on the withered parchment nearly every day, learning the hard way to use a muffliato to minimize the detriment of the house.
"I'm telling you, Malfoy, that does not mean 'man.'"
"Then what is it?"
Hermione looked at him through her lashes; he was getting testy with her. His eyes were solid like stone, and he was gritting his teeth so hard she was sure they would shatter. Her mouth opened and closed as she thought, and she threw her quill down in frustration, ignoring the ink on her fingers as she covered her face with her hands.
"I don't know, but—"
"You don't know."
"But, in what world does 'the blood of his man' make any sort of logical sense?"
"A right-hand man."
"No! There would be an adjective after this rune, and there clearly isn't one."
"The writing is ancient, Granger. Maybe you weren't paying attention during History of Magic, and I'd hardly blame you as Professor Binns is a tragic misuse of a salary, but wizards often left things out when it was largely understood in their circle of colleagues."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, her teeth clicking against each other impatiently. "There are so many things wrong with that statement that I can't even fathom having the time to explain it all to you. And I don't appreciate your tone."
"And what tone would that be, exactly?" Malfoy drawled, lazily resting his chin in his hand.
"That one. Where you want to imply that I'm daft, but you don't have the nerve to say it out loud."
"I have the nerve."
"Go on, then."
"You're daft."
"Guys," Theo interrupted as he exited the guest bedroom. He rubbed heavily at his left eye and squinted against the light of the dining room. "Some people have a hard enough time sleeping without a loud, drawn out argument taking place in a house with paper-thin walls."
"I would quit while you're ahead, Nott," Ernie said from the living room. "I don't see this ending any time soon."
"First of all," Hermione gritted, standing from her chair in a forced attempt to, for once, tower over him. "I was the only one paying attention in History of Magic, and Professor Binns happens to be very knowledgeable in the course material."
Theo coughed obnoxiously, unable to completely cover the "try-hard" that fell from his mouth.
"Secondly, if you were writing the instructions to performing perhaps the darkest magic known to wizard-kind, wouldn't you be very clear in defining what exactly was required?"
"I would," Malfoy shot out, before she could continue, "but dark wizards are perhaps the most arrogant pieces of shit out there. If you can't understand the instructions contextually, then you shouldn't be performing the spell at all."
"I wasn't finished," Hermione seethed, feeling her hair begin to rise with static. "Even if a dark wizard was supposed to understand this contextually, in what barmy 'circle of colleagues' would they ever have the information base to infer an adjective in runic writing?!"
"Well, there is a fun little group that goes by the name of 'the Death Eaters,' now, isn't there?" Malfoy shouted, standing from his own chair. "I would certainly call them a circle of colleagues!"
"Right!" Theo yelled over top of them. "Draco makes a good point, a lot of them are colleagues and they really like choreography that includes circles, can you guys please—"
"Theo, shut up!" Daphne called from the kitchen. "It's already difficult to brew Dittany without you inserting yourself into the conversation!"
"You call this a conversation?!"
"You've said yourself that the Death Eaters are imbecilic!" Hermione cried. "Calling them 'colleagues' is a gross understatement. They all have the combined intelligence of a dodo bird!"
"And yet they've somehow roped you into three wars! That doesn't happen through sheer luck!"
"Malfoy!" Ron accosted. He thundered down the stairs, appearing more drained than anyone else. "Kingsley is waiting for us, we have to—"
"Did I not say to give me a moment, Weasley?" Malfoy spat, his darkened gaze flashing away from Hermione.
"Yeah, you did, and that was ten minutes ago."
"Just go," Hermione said, gesturing wildly toward the stairs with her hand. "Arguing about this is clearly pointless. This parchment is so ancient, and the handwriting is terrible. The possibility of missing some small little detail is—"
Hermione stopped, her arm slowly lowering as she stared at the rune before her.
"What?" Malfoy asked quickly, his voice hoarse.
She brought her finger as close as she dared to the parchment, pointing at a small dot in the center that nearly conjoined with the rest of the rune surrounding it. "Do you see that?"
Malfoy quickly appeared at her side, lightly pushing her finger away and pressing against the parchment, his face so close he could probably touch it with his nose.
"Malfoy—"
"Give me two, and I'll say it again so you understand me clearly, Weasley, two seconds," Malfoy snapped. He grabbed a fresh page of parchment and his quill, copying the rune for the millionth time that night, now including the dot at the center. When he finished, he stood straight again, dropping the quill unceremoniously and staring at the copy.
"I don't recognize that," Hermione said softly, inching closer to him to get a better look.
"You shouldn't." Malfoy sighed deeply, lightly tapping the onyx ring on his right forefinger. "The dot is common in darker texts. It redefines the original rune." He pointed at the weathered parchment, eyeing it carefully. "Without the dot, that rune means 'man.'"
Hermione tore her eyes from the rune, staring up at Malfoy anxiously. "And with?"
He swallowed. "It means 'murderer.'"
Even though she knew that Grimmauld Place was silent now, Hermione could hear the ringing of the parchment in front of her clearly. It vibrated against her, inside of her. She reached out weakly for her chair, sitting ungracefully with a huff.
Malfoy stared at the rune for a moment longer, a muscle in his neck tensing, before stepping away and approaching Ron. "Stay here," he shot back to her, and Hermione nodded numbly as Ron and Ernie stumbled after him up the stairs.
The blood of his murderer. The last ingredient of the potion. It made sense now. She remembered Harry coming back with a cut on his hand, and although he never explained it to her, she couldn't think of another reason for it to be there. They would have had the potion ready before he and Cedric Portkeyed there, leaving one ingredient left to brew.
But that didn't make sense. Harry was dead. There was no way for the Death Eaters to get his blood, which meant that the potion would be rendered ineffective. Hermione gnawed at her lip, tasting metal on her tongue.
There was a light touch at her shoulder, and Hermione jumped, looking up to see Luna standing next to her. Her eyes drooped, clearly still fighting back sleep, and her hair was pulled back in a long, frizzy plait.
"Ron sent me down. He seemed worried about you."
Hermione shook her head, pursing her lips slightly. "I'm okay."
Luna nodded once before pulling a chair close and sitting next to her. For a long moment, Hermione continued to stare at the parchment, frowning so hard that her temples began to burn.
"It doesn't make sense," she finally admitted.
Luna hummed, an innocent brow raising.
"'The blood of his murderer.' That's the last ingredient. But Harry is dead, and they know that. Why would they think this could work?"
Luna blinked, her eyebrows furrowing. "Well, what about Neville?"
Hermione twisted, giving her a confused look. "What about him?"
"Trelawney's first prophecy said that the one to defeat You-Know-Who would be born at the end of July, and to parents who defied him three times. There were two boys born that year who matched that description."
When Hermione didn't move, Luna shrugged lightly, her powdery eyes far away. "You-Know-Who picked Harry, but it could've been Neville."
Hermione stared at Luna for a long time, before grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her lightly. "You're brilliant, Luna. Truly. Come with me."
She all but dragged Luna up the stairs and broke down the door to Kingsley's office, desperate to update them on the Death Eater's plans.
Kingsley ordered Neville's immediate relocation from Dartford to Shell Cottage. It was the safest place he could go of their safehouses, and Bill and Fleur would protect him well. He then instructed Malfoy to burn the parchment they acquired about the potion, and any other material he found throughout Malfoy Manor.
"You're asking me to potentially burn the entire library," Malfoy retorted.
"Do you have a problem with that?" Kingsley asked pointedly.
"I'm good at playing spy, Shacklebolt, but not that good. And I think my mother would turn over in her grave."
Kingsley grimaced, twirling his wand in his hands as he shifted in his chair. Malfoy considered him, before stepping towards his desk hesitantly.
"If this is truly their plan, then they already know what to do. Burning anything else would be a waste of time."
"That's not what I'm worried about," Kingsley muttered. "Until we find out where the artifact is and destroy it, Neville will not be safe."
The clock behind Kingsley's desk ticked maliciously against the silence. Hermione glanced throughout the room; all of them were there, somehow stuffed into the cramped space. Everyone avoided eye contact with each other, instead stiffly standing and analyzing the floor, the walls, the weird little helix structure on Kingsley's desk that no one knew the origin of. There was a sense of dread slowly filling the room, an uneasy anticipation.
"I have an idea of where it is," Malfoy supplied.
"An idea?" Kingsley said gruffly.
"I've found nothing explicit, but I have reason to believe that it's in the Department of Mysteries."
Kingsley blinked and sat back in his chair. He stared at Malfoy for a moment, before folding his hands under his chin and closing his eyes.
"What's the reason?" Ron asked hesitantly.
Malfoy sighed. "When I couldn't find anything related to the location of the artifact, I figured it must be common knowledge among the Death Eaters involved in the ritual six years ago. It would be classified information within the ranks, something that I could never gain access to even with my status now."
He paused, his tongue held between his teeth. "My father was involved six years ago. He's always been weak-minded, even in his prime."
Ron scrunched up his nose, frowning at Malfoy in confusion. Hermione couldn't help but feel the same. What about Lucius Malfoy being weak-minded have anything to do with—
"You're a Legilimens," she blurted, her eyes widening.
Malfoy twisted, looking over his shoulder to face her. His eyes betrayed him even before he answered.
"Yes."
"So you…" Ernie raised his hands, palms upwards, and his brow furrowed further as the gears turned in his head. "You read your dad's mind?"
"I did what I had to do," Malfoy said, sneering slightly.
"And you're sure it's there? In the Department of Mysteries?"
Malfoy nodded once, swallowing and casting his gaze to the floor.
"Hold on," Theo cut in, pushing himself off the wall. "Draco, there's no way they can get in there. It's crawling with Death Eaters. It'd be a death sentence to even try."
"Do you have a better idea?"
"Yeah, loads!" Theo snapped. "Why should we worry about it at all? All Longbottom has to do is stay hidden until the end of the war."
"We can't guarantee that," Kingsley said tiredly. "Even if we could, the artifact may fall into the wrong hands after all of us are long gone." He eyed each of them one by one and sat forward in his seat. "No one should be able to perform this ritual, ever. Destroying it provides security."
"What's the game plan, then?" Ernie asked.
No one answered. Hermione took a shuddering breath; she wasn't exactly a tactical master, and even she knew that this could be deadly. For everyone involved.
"There's a secret entrance that directly leads to the Department of Mysteries," Daphne said quietly.
"Excuse me?" Kingsley demanded, his eyebrows at his hairline.
"I'd be surprised if you did know about it, Minister," she amended, stepping forward from Theo's side. "My father used it all the time. Most Death Eaters who infiltrated the Ministry did." She glanced between Malfoy and Theo, raising a brow. "You knew about this, right?"
They both shook their head. Daphne sighed. "He brought me to work that way often when Astoria was young, so I wouldn't get in the way when my mother was taking care of her."
"Well, that's it," Theo grunted. "My father largely regarded me as a disappointment, and undeserving of a 'take your child to work day.'"
Daphne pursed her lips. "I could bring some of you to it. If you avoid any Death Eaters patrolling, you'd be unnoticed."
"We could stage an attack to draw their attention," Ron suggested, his eyes suddenly alight.
"And retreat as soon as the artifact is destroyed," Ernie finished, standing excitedly from his chair.
Kingsley's eyes darted between them, before finally resting on Malfoy. "Could you direct Miss Greengrass to the location of the artifact?"
Malfoy tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "I'd have to be among the ranks once the diversion starts. But I could make a map."
Hermione held her breath as Kingsley stood slowly from his chair and placed his hands on the desk, leaning into its stability. After a moment, he looked up at the room, meeting their expectant faces with wide eyes.
"This just might work."
Hermione nervously wiped her palms on her jeans as she crouched behind Ron. Her heart pounded erratically against her chest as she dared another glance around his shoulder to the Ministry of Magic. Even from their distance, she could see the crawling Death Eaters surrounding the entrance. It would take a miracle for all of them to be distracted by the attack Ernie was leading. Her fingers shook violently against her, and she swallowed hard, grabbing her wand from her back pocket to ground herself.
"What's the time?" Ron asked gruffly, twisting slightly to face her.
Hermione pushed back her sleeve and turned her wrist over. "We have about a minute."
Gravel crunched ahead of them as Daphne left the entrance of the alleyway to approach them. "The side of the Ministry is clear now. As soon as they first attack, we run for it." Her wide, brown eyes darted between them, betraying the unease she so easily hid otherwise. "Stay close to me," she whispered.
Hermione and Ron nodded simultaneously, and the three of them stumbled toward the entrance of the alley, packed behind each other, and waited. Hermione turned her wrist over once more. It was time.
There was a whizzing over their heads, and Hermione strained her neck to look up. She recognized Ernie leading a pack of brooms toward the Ministry, his blond hair blowing in the wind. As he approached, his arm reared back, his wand glinting against the darkening sky before thrusting forward. She saw the explosion of dust at the entrance before the sound came bounding toward them, shaking the ground and causing her to knock into Ron's back.
"Let's go!" Daphne shouted.
They sprinted ahead, ignoring the clamor of the Death Eaters as more Order members started to attack from above. Green streaks began shooting towards the sky, and stone was crumbling from the top of the columns, striking the ground with booming crashes. Hermione tunneled her vision, seeing only Ron in front of her, the wild waving of Daphne's hair.
When they reached the cover of the side wall, they stopped only for a moment. "Come on," Ron urged. "The quicker we are, the quicker we get out of here."
Daphne stalked the wall with long strides, even making Ron struggle to keep up. Hermione could hear her counting the brick panels under her breath, stopping abruptly once she got to twenty-six. As she examined the building, Hermione turned back the way they came, her wand drawn for a potential attack. Ron did the same on the other side. She heard Daphne take a deep breath, and saw in the corner of her eye that she had placed her palm at the center of a panel.
"Mudblood filth."
There was a deep rumbling, and suddenly the side wall split open, the bricks spinning over themselves to reveal a dark tunnel. Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Daphne swallowed once.
"Sorry."
"They aren't very creative," Hermione muttered.
"What d'ya expect?" Ron spat. "They're Death Eaters."
"Not even a 'Long reign You-Know-Who?'"
"It's just down this hallway," Daphne said, ignoring them. "Come on."
The secret entrance rattled shut as they entered, plunging them into darkness. The three of them lit the tips of their wands and began walking towards the end of the tunnel. Hermione tried not to notice the water that dripped down the walls, the pools that gathered at their feet. Above them, the Ministry continued to rumble and crack, spewing yellow dust from the ceiling. Daphne quickly reached for the door, turning the knob and ushering them inside before slamming it shut behind them.
Once inside, Hermione's lungs nearly stopped working. It was the same as before; long columns and rows of shelving, all hosting milky white spheres on dusty pedestals. The floor gleamed against the light from their wands, their obsidian reflections warped and twisted. Ron brushed her side, and she could feel his concerned gaze on her.
"Alright, Hermione?" he whispered.
"Yes," she said, flinching at the long echo of their voices. "It's just…"
She trailed off and looked up at him. He was biting his lip, his eyes wide even in the darkness.
"I know."
Another explosion above shook the floor, rattling the prophecies in their stands with dull clinks. Hermione inhaled sharply, grabbing Ron's sleeve and leaning into him as she lost her balance.
"Twenty-six rows up, right?" Ron asked quietly, staring ahead anxiously.
"Then a left until you reach the wall," Daphne answered.
They started to walk up the pathway between shelving, careful not to disturb the glassware. They froze at every sound, every shake of the room, hesitating until everything stilled again. Hermione thought that her wand would break between her fingers as she held it in front of her, that her breath was too loud, that the room could hear her heart beating. It felt like hours that they crawled up the rows, counting each together as they went.
At nineteen, there was a boom that was entirely too close.
"Shit," Daphne hissed, and suddenly Hermione was being pushed to the right, behind one of the shelves. "Put your light out!"
They crowded together, and then they were plunged in darkness. Hermione felt her stomach filling with lead; she wanted to ask what Daphne saw, if anything, but her mouth couldn't move. She quickly waved her wand, casting a muffliato between the three of them and gasping for air.
"What is it?" Ron demanded. He froze when there was an echo of heavy footsteps throughout the room, surrounding them like a tidal wave.
"Dolohov," Daphne said breathlessly. "Two others."
Hermione's chest constricted. She blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the pitch black surrounding them, but there was nothing. Even the ethereal glow of the prophecies was gone, leaving her entirely alone aside from Ron's arm pressed against hers. They couldn't see a thing.
"I know you're here," a low voice echoed.
There was a slap, and Hermione thought it could be Daphne covering her mouth. Ron stiffened beside her, and the sound of his breathing stopped entirely.
"How stupid do you think I am?" Dolohov continued. His voice radiated around them, shaking Hermione to her core.
"Of course, it took some thought. I didn't think you were reckless enough to attack the Ministry, not with us harboring it. I've been surprised before, but not like this."
"What do we do?" Ron whispered frantically.
"But then I remembered the parchment went missing."
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. Of course. Malfoy never returned it. All that was left was ash in the fireplace at Grimmauld Place.
"I have to say, it was smart," Dolohov chuckled darkly. "Moving the Longbottom boy had foresight."
At that, Hermione opened her eyes again, her mind briefly stunned that the darkness remained. How could he have known that?
"Those blood traitors at Dartford are quite a stubborn bunch," he mused. The echo lingered, and then it was gone, leaving only malevolent, oppressive silence.
"But we'll break them. Just like we'll break you."
"Fuck," Ron gasped. "They have—"
"We have to move," Daphne hissed. "He's stalling."
Hermione felt paralyzed, her feet rooted to their spot. They needed a distraction, anything to get them moving again. She bit her lip, drawing blood that tasted foul. Dirty. Muddy.
"You guys go," Hermione said, surprised her voice didn't shake. "I'll draw him away."
"What?!" Ron balked. "No, we stick together!"
"Ron, I can't touch that thing. It will attack me. You two need to find the door and—"
"You're not leaving!"
"Even if Dolohov sends the other two after you, it will still distract him," Hermione said, all but pleading for him to understand. "He would never walk away from the opportunity to kill a Muggleborn."
She couldn't see him. She felt blindly for the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer to her. "I'll be okay. I need to do this."
Without waiting for an answer, she pushed him away, into Daphne. "Go!" she ordered, cancelling the muffliato and running in the other direction.
"It's pointless to keep hiding," Dolohov taunted. Hermione tried to focus on his voice, but she couldn't pinpoint where he was. She sneaked between the rows of shelving, keeping her head low, and when she felt far enough away from Daphne and Ron, she knocked one of the prophecies off its stand. It rolled right off the shelf and hit the floor with a ping, the glass twinkling like stars as the smoke settled and drifted away.
Hermione held her breath, waiting. Her wand was cutting into her palm painfully now. She closed her eyes, listening to the echoing footsteps. After a moment, they seemed to separate. One set started to come closer, no longer ripples of sound but clear thudding. Coming for her.
"Come out, come out," Dolohov called. Hermione was shaking now. Her heart was in her mouth. She couldn't control her chest. His voice was so near, no longer a reverb, allowing her to hear every rasp of his throat.
The footsteps came even closer, and Hermione was sure he was near the row she was hiding in. Unable to think, she stared ahead, daring him to light his wand.
The footsteps stopped. There was nothing but silence, darkness. Black.
"Found you," he whispered, so close she could feel his rancid breath against her face.
Hermione screamed and lunged forward, tackling Dolohov into the shelving. The foundation gave way, and they both fell with the hundreds of orbs that crashed to the floor. She fell straight into his chest and quickly rolled away, scrambling against the shards of glass and pushing herself up. Quickly lighting her wand, Hermione began to run.
She sprinted straight for the entrance, the one that Dolohov had come from mere minutes before. She waved her wand wildly toward the shelving, forcing the prophecies from the very top to fall from their stands. They left a trail of glass and dissipating dust behind her, and she could only hope it would delay him even more. The door was dead ahead; she dared to look behind her, but she saw nothing—
Hermione ran straight into something solid. She shrieked, and it grabbed a hold of her, keeping her in place. With her arms crushed between her torso and his, the lit end of her wand allowed her to see Dolohov's twisted smile, and his blackened eyes pierced through her.
"Caught you," he hissed.
Hermione gasped for air, suddenly aware of something wet against her shirt. Frantically, she looked down, only to see Dolohov holding the end of a knife. That's strange, she thought. She couldn't feel it, but she knew the other end was inside of her.
Dolohov let her go, and she dropped to the floor, slamming her head against the shelf closest to them. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the clatter of her wand against the floor as she slowly reached for the knife hilt. It was stuck directly in the middle of her abdomen. She carefully wrapped her hands around it, pressing against the outside of the wound. She knew she shouldn't, but she wanted to rip it out of her.
"It must be my lucky day to run into you, Mudblood," Dolohov cackled.
Hermione weakly looked up from the knife. With her wand's light shining against the floor, she could only see the shadows of his face; he looked like a ghoul, a demon. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but she could only shudder out short exhales of air.
"I think I'll take you to Malfoy Manor," he continued, tilting his head as he examined her. "It will be such a joy to watch you suffer."
Hermione jutted her chin weakly, her face hardening. "Y-you're luck-k ran out-t," she said hoarsely. "You'v-ve alread-dy lost."
As if on cue, a loud bang came from the back of the room. Dolohov nearly toppled over, and she could hear more prophecies shattering against the floor. At his bewildered expression, Hermione smirked.
"The art-ti…tifact is…gone," she mustered.
Dolohov's face pinched. His mouth screwed up into a horrifying grimace. "Then again," he said darkly, "perhaps your suffering can start now."
As he raised is wand, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, seeing nothing but Malfoy's chandelier and Bellatrix's hair.
"Crucio!"
an: so sorry for the cliffhanger. the next chapter is already started, and I'm hoping to get it out soon. thanks again to you all!