Draco came home the next day with blood crusted beneath his fingernails and storm clouds in his mind.
Hermione and Theo sat cross-legged on the floor, practicing Lumos and Nox when he strode through the kitchen. "Welcome home," Theo said.
Draco didn't spare them a second glance, wishing—not for the first time— that he lived alone. He only grunted in response and turned on the faucet, scrubbing his hands free of their rust-colored stains. He kept his neck bent to avoid looking at his reflection in the darkened window above the sink. When he finished, he braced his hands on the edge of the granite counter and forced himself to inhale until his lungs couldn't expand anymore. Then he released. Tomorrow was his day off, thank Merlin. He wouldn't have to return to the Manor for two days.
Mercifully, the bottle of vodka Theo had bought was still on the counter, almost full. After the week he'd had, Draco was going to need a shot or five to fall asleep.
"I'm off to meet Pansy," Blaise announced, exiting his bedroom. "I'll bring back dinner. Granger, you good with Indian food?"
"That sounds great, thank you." Her voice always raised an octave when she spoke to Blaise, like she was trying harder to seem affable around him. Draco gripped the counter tighter. It seemed she had already given up on trying to win him over.
"What are you meeting her for?" Draco asked before slowly releasing his grasp on the counter.
Blaise made a point of staring at Draco's newly blood-free hands and tilted his head in a silent question. Draco responded with a barely perceptible nod. After nearly eleven years of cohabitation, the two of them had perfected their methods of telepathic conversation. It was a blessing as much as a curse, but better for Blaise to find out about Draco's whereabouts from the source than secondhand from Pansy.
He cleared his throat. "Beers. It was her idea. I expect she wants to find out what's going on over here and why she isn't allowed to come over."
"What are you going to tell her?"
Blaise shrugged into his jacket and pocketed his keys. "That Theo isn't feeling well."
"That'll only make her want to come over more." Pansy Parkinson was the least maternal woman that Draco had ever met, but that didn't stop her from playing nurse every chance she got.
"It's not much of a stretch. She'll just have to deal with the disappointment. She should be used to it by now."
Their argument ended before it began. Draco scoffed as the door swung closed. "Looks like Granger might not be the reason this blows up in our faces after all," he said with a grimace. He looked up at the ceiling. A ring of water damage circled one of the light fixtures. Draco had been trying to fix it for ages, but couldn't quite find the right combination of spells to fix it without altering the apartment above them, which would only raise questions from the neighbors. Perhaps it was time to address it directly with the landlord.
Hermione ignored his quip and went back to lighting the tip of her wand. "If Pansy is getting suspicious, I can leave for a few hours so she can come over."
Where would you go? You already burned your own house down and faked your own death.
Besides, if there were anywhere else for her to go, Draco would have put her on whatever plane, train, or automobile would take her that. As it were, they were stuck with each other for a bit longer.
"It would be more trouble than it's worth. If anything were out of place, she'd notice, and the secret wouldn't end with her," Theo said.
"So, why are you friends with her if you don't trust her?" She didn't use an accusatory tone, but the words graveled against Draco just the same.
Theo hesitated, looking to Draco for help, but Draco kept his head down and pretended like he couldn't hear. He had no problem bashing Pansy to her face, but he wouldn't speak ill of her in front of the Mudblood. "It's-"
"Complicated. I know," Hermione sighed. Draco felt something adjacent to sympathy lodge itself in his ribcage. Pity, maybe, at how useless and ignorant this poor girl was. "It's complicated" was about the only thing she did know about their world. She pushed herself to her knees. "Do you mind if I grab a glass of water?"
"Sure. Glasses are right above the stove," Theo said.
Draco clenched his jaw. "I'll get it." His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears.
Hermione gave him a skeptical look but sank back to her heels. Draco filled the glass and placed it on the kitchen table, with a firm enough hand that liquid spilled over the edges.
"Thanks," she said, rising to meet him halfway.
"Stay there," Draco ordered. "Bring the glass to you."
She lowered her eyebrows and glanced at Theo. "I don't..."
Theo rose to his feet beside her. "Draco, don't do this. She just started learning."
"It's the most basic spell." Draco lifted his wand. Swish and flick. "Wingardium Leviosa."
The frown lines at the corners of her lips deepened but she lifted her wand and squeezed her eyes shut. Just watching her, Draco could almost feel the magic coursing through her veins, rushing through her fingertips into her wand, as effortless as her blood flowing, her heart pumping, her lungs expanding. "Wingardium Leviosa." The glass shook as it rose an inch above the wooden table before it fell back, splashing even more water onto the table.
"Try again." Unlike Theo's teaching voice, Draco's was cold and unforgiving. Unwilling to accept anything less than perfection. Theo collapsed onto the couch in a huff.
Hermione wrangled a hand through her hair and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Wingardium Leviosa." This time, the glass rose a foot above the table. Hermione drew the glass closer to her, keeping it steadily above the ground. Her white teeth bit into the soft, pink skin of her lips in concentration. Draco, without warning, picked up the chair nearest him and slammed it onto the floor. Hermione's shoulders hunched. Losing her concentration, the glass fell to the ground and shattered.
She took a step back, narrowly avoiding a shard of glass in the shin.
"What the fuck?" Theo asked, jumping to his feet.
"Reparo," Draco said. The glass repaired itself. Draco set it back on the table and filled it with water once again. "Again."
"Give her the damn water," Theo demanded.
"Unless she's dying of thirst, she's going to work for it," Draco said through clenched teeth. "If she's attacked and you're not there for her to hide behind, she'll need to know how to protect herself. Lumos and Nox won't do much on that front. Might as well learn something useful." He gestured to the glass of water.
"If you're going to turn this into one of your sick games, the least you could do is let her do it in peace."
"If Death Eaters walk through that door, they're not going to let her cast a Stunning Spell in peace. Work through the distraction. Go again."
Hermione's frown smoothed out, replaced by a mask of indifference. "I'm suddenly not thirsty," she said, crossing her arms.
Draco shrugged and downed the glass of water himself. "Maybe when Blaise gets back with your dinner, you'll feel more inspired."
"You know, there's a reason we learned that spell with feathers," Theo said.
"You want to follow the Hogwarts curriculum?" Draco's chest inflated as he took a step toward them. Theo moved in front of Hermione. "In our fifth year, we learned how to take the Cruciatus Curse without screaming. Shall we have her try that exercise?"
Theo fell silent, louring. Draco held his stare until the other boy looked away. He turned his attention to Hermione. "You're dead weight around here, Granger. I'd suggest you two accelerate this training program so you can actually contribute something. Otherwise, this will end badly for all of us, and it'll be on you." Theo's submission left a bitter taste in Draco's mouth, but he'd gladly take his resentment over his death, any day of the week.
"It's not going to-" Theo cut himself off by erupting into a fit of coughs. He fell back on the couch, digging his elbows into his knees.
"Theo?" Draco pushed off from the counter and rushed to his friend's side. He knelt beside him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You okay, mate?"
Theo continued coughing but nodded. "Water, please," he choked out.
Silently, Draco filled the glass with water from the tip of his wand. Theo drained the glass in one go. "Are you alright?"
Theo nodded and pounded a fist on his chest. "I'm fine." He looked up at Draco, who blinked and looked away. He was sure his eyes were bloodshot. "You look like shit, though," Theo said, as though noticing it for the first time. "Rough day?"
Draco sat back on his heels. "No more than usual, I'd say."
"I'm sorry." He didn't elaborate, and Theo didn't press. "You don't have to take it out on her." Theo's voice was so quiet, and his intentions were so good that Draco almost regretted his actions.
Hermione remained silent throughout their exchange. Draco ground his teeth as Theo's cough subsided. Didn't she have any sense of self-preservation? Why wasn't she fighting back? "If you want to eat tonight, you'd better get working on that spell," he said with a tone of finality. He snatched an empty notebook from the shelf and stalked to his bedroom, making sure to shut the door quietly behind him.
· · ─────── ·?ￂﾷ ─────── · ·
"Sorry about him," Theo said. He set a thin paperback between them. "Try with this. Less risk of either of us being maimed."
"The apology would mean more coming from him," Hermione said. She practiced the wand motion and chanted the incantation in her head. "Should I take it personally or does he hate all Muggle-borns?"
"It's not like that."
She shifted her grip on the wand. Her fingers were already sore from clasping the rough wood so tightly. It was a miracle she hadn't gotten any splinters yet. "So it is me."
Fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, Theo glanced over his shoulder. Lowering his voice, he said, "It's not my place to tell his story, but he grew up differently than Blaise and I did."
Hermione let her hands fall into her lap. "Meaning his family hates Muggle-borns and he's following the path laid out for him."
"Meaning," Theo corrected, "For a very long time, the Ordinance—the act that made all Muggle-borns property of Voldemort—benefitted him."
Hermione glanced through the kitchen, expecting Draco to be standing at the threshold, but it remained empty. "What changed?"
"Just about everything," he said with a bitter smile. He nudged the book closer to her with the tip of his wand. "Blaise will be back soon, and Draco wasn't kidding about not letting you eat."
Swish and flick. "Wingardium Leviosa." The book rose above their heads. Hermione summoned all of her concentration to keep it from falling. Lowering the book, she discovered, was much more difficult. A moment after its initial descent, it came crashing down on Theo's head. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" she said between laughs.
Theo rubbed the top of his head. Another cough escaped him, despite his best and obvious efforts to keep it in, but he cracked a smile. "That was good. Relax your grip a little bit."
She tried again, this time only bringing the book to eye level before bringing it back to the floor. "Can I ask you something?"
"You get can ask one question each time you perform the spell."
She frowned, mentally sorting through the multitudes of questions. "Ever heard of the democratization of information?"
"Ever heard of supply and demand? That was your first question."
"You didn't answer. It doesn't count." Hermione rolled her eyes, lifted her wand, and raised the book off the ground. "What's the Cruciatus Curse?"
Theo flexed his shoulders and lengthened his neck, a visceral reaction to whatever memories those words conjured. For a moment, it seemed like he'd deny her the answer, but eventually, he spoke in a near-whisper: "It's the torture curse. Causes extraordinary pain. Before Voldemort rose to power, it was considered an Unforgivable Curse. Anyone caught using it ended up in prison. Now, it's acceptable against Muggle-borns, criminals, and for teaching purposes."
Hermione's lips parted. The book fell to the ground, facedown and open. "They would use it on you at school?"
He nodded to the book. "That was another question."
With a shaky wrist, she made the book float a few inches above the ground. "They wanted to train us like Death Eaters, which meant we had to be able to handle the pain without breaking. They stopped last year when it started backfiring on them. Naturally, a few Hogwarts graduates every year would join the Order of the Phoenix. When the Death Eaters captured them, they would torture them for information, but of course, everyone was able to handle it."
"That's horrible." The tips of Hermione's fingers had gone cold. She lowered the book to the ground, dropped her wand, and wrapped her arms around her knees. "You were only children."
"Start them out young," Theo said without a hint of humor on his tongue. "Anything else?"
Loads. But she would start with learning the definitions. "A stray is a Muggle-born that Voldemort doesn't know exists?" She'd deduced as much from context, and maybe it was silly, to waste one of her precious questions on one word, but she wanted confirmation. The language, according to Blaise, would be crucial if she were ever to fit into the wizarding society.
"Yes and no. It's any Muggle-born who isn't in the Ministry's custody or service. It's a colloquialism that Draco coined a few years back, so it doesn't mean much outside these walls. There are plenty of strays that the Ministry has on record, but they're hoping will lead them to others, or to Pureblood traitors, so they tail them for a while before collaring them."
Hermione paled. "Please don't tell me you mean that literally."
Theo grimaced in an apology. "I suppose branding would be the literal term."
Hermione ran an anxious hand through her hair. Both had long forgotten their agreement: spells in exchange for answers. At least, Hermione had; maybe Theo simply stopped caring. "Stray is a pretty apt word then."
"I'm sorry. It was funny when Draco first came up with it." Theo placed the book back on the shelf. "It seems cruel now."
She rubbed her temples, picturing herself being prodded like cattle; branded like a commodity.
Liberty had never seemed so distant or so fragile. Maybe Draco was right: death was more tempting than ever.
Her tongue went dry like she had a mouthful of cotton. "The word isn't the part that's cruel." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rid her mind of the image of herself, at twenty years old, forced to bow before a man who fancied himself a god, under the threat of torture; torture that was done by barely lifting a finger. If pain could be manifested by speaking it into existence, if it didn't leave any traceable, physical marks, it would be all too easy for the assailant to be above reproach.
"Maybe I should go to Australia," she mused, hoping her voice didn't give away every emotion that lurked just beyond the surface. "Unless Voldemort rules over the entire Commonwealth."
Theo shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. "Not exactly, but he does have spies across the globe. If they found an English Muggle-born witch in Australia, the consequences wouldn't be pretty."
There would be no escape.
"So what's the long game? Live out the rest of my life here, in someone else's bed, using someone else's wand?" It wasn't that she was ungrateful; she was exhausted. She considered Theo a friend, and Blaise was beginning to be nice enough. Draco irritated her, but she'd get used to him. The prospect of life in this apartment was by no means the worst option. As far as prisons went, she preferred this gilded cage to the collar and shackles waiting for her right outside, but she wasn't sure how long that sentiment would last.
"There's no long game. We take it one day at a time."
Hermione had to force herself to keep from sighing. Without a plan, they'd be acting on impulse, impulse led to the loss of control, and loss of control led to corruption.
Before the fire had left Hermione's fingers, back in Hampstead, there was a moment in which Hermione felt liberated. She felt powerful, indomitable. To cause so much destruction with so little effort was horrifying, but it was intoxicating.
That kind of power only had one path: devastation.
"Give me the book. Let's keep going."
"Why don't you take a break?" he asked, blocking her reach.
She cleared her throat. "Wingardium Leviosa." One of Draco's notebooks from the top shelf floated above their heads and landed in Hermione's hand. She absent-mindedly thumbed the pages. She hadn't meant to read what he'd written, but she couldn't help but notice his tight scrawl. It was so illegible, that to a passerby, such as Hermione, it might as well have been in a different language. She handed it to Theo. "I guess I'm not completely useless."
Theo smirked and shelved the notebook. "I wasn't the one who said that."
The smell of food wafted through the door before Blaise even made it to the top step. He entered with his arms full of takeout bags and a dusting of snow on top of his beanie. "I think I have enough chicken tikka masala to last us a week, so we better get started." He flicked his beanie in Theo's direction as he passed, causing flecks of snow to land on Theo's black sweater. Hermione's mouth watered.
Draco exited his bedroom wearing a fresh set of clothes. He took his seat at the head of the table, claiming two boxes of food for himself. He held one above his head as he locked eyes with Hermione, a quizzical eyebrow raised, daring her to challenge him. "Granger-"
Theo cut Draco off before he could finish. The second box of food flew into Theo's hand, which he handed to Hermione. "She's done with your games for tonight," he said, sinking into the seat directly opposite from Draco. "Give it a rest."