Chapter 25

January 1998

One snowflake fluttering down landing on a frozen pond. Another snowflake drifting down, joining the first snowflake, melting into it. A third snowflake-

"What are you doing?"

Hermione jumped and nearly fell off the porch chair prompting a huge laugh from Harry. He emerged from the front door, hugging himself in a coat loosely closed over his pajamas and sipping hot coffee. His black hair was spiking out everywhere. It was even more disheveled in the morning than usual.

"Practicing," Hermione grumbled, righting herself and getting back into the chair.

She had been sitting calmly, trying to clear her mind the way her Legilimency mentor had taught her. Being her roommate, Lavender was used to her meditating every morning and evening but Hermione wanted some fresh air for a change, despite the wintery cold. She thought it would be too early for anyone to catch her in the act but forgot Harry would occasionally rise at the crack of dawn.

Harry turned to her with a loud slurp of his coffee, extremely amused. "Practicing what exactly?"

Hermione glared at him. She wouldn't be able to clear her head of thoughts this morning, that was certain now.

"Occlumency."

He snorted. "That's not how Snape taught me."

She raised an eyebrow. "And he taught you so well."

"Touché."

Now she was curious about how Harry had been taught. Hermione knew she was making progress and that Harry had been absolutely abysmal at Occlumency. She had always assumed it was because he didn't have the discipline required. And also because it was Snape teaching him, whom he hated and had no desire to learn from. Maybe Snape had a different style of instruction from her mentor.

She wondered who taught Malfoy. If it had been Snape or someone else.

"How did Snape teach you?"

He sipped his coffee, looking off into the distance as he remembered fifth year. "First he'd insult me or my father or both of us – always the same insults, absolutely no originality there, sodding murderer – then he'd tell me to clear my mind and prepare myself – whatever that meant – and say 'Legilimens.'"

Harry spoke the last word in an imitation of Snape's superior sounding drawl and Hermione laughed. He hugged his coat tighter around his body and walked over to her.

"So he actually spoke the incantation?"

"Yeah," Harry cocked his head. "How else would he do it?"

"Nonverbally?" Hermione suggested, as if it were obvious. "So that you don't actually know that he's doing it?"

"What?" Harry's eyes widened in disbelief and he spilled a bit of his coffee on the porch. "Is that possible? How can you not know? It hurt like hell, with every memory that he pulled from me!"

"It hurt?"

She didn't ever feel her mentor entering her mind. Sometimes Hermione could see the memories that the older witch was seeing, but not always. Her mentor only showed her what she was looking at to make a point. Not because it was an artifact of the spell.

Harry nodded slowly. "Like a mother fucker. I felt really bad for you when you said you had to learn."

"No wonder you hated learning from him."

Hermione gazed out at the morning sun in thought. She wasn't sure how to process Harry's experiences. Was Snape the exception? Or was her teacher? Clearly, performing Legilimency nonverbally would be more challenging and require more finesse to hide it.

She didn't recall her textbook describing Legilimency as a nonverbal spell either. Her mentor must be unusually adept at it.

Hermione was somewhat proud that Kingsley had secured such a good teacher for her. She looked up at Harry from her chair. "Do you think Snape did it on purpose? So you wouldn't learn?"

Harry shrugged. "Who the hell knows? It doesn't matter now, does it?"

Harry hadn't felt Voldemort in his head for such a long time. Perhaps he was just as worried about Harry reading his mind as Dumbledore was of him reading Harry's. It was a two-way street that Voldemort couldn't control. If Harry truly was a Horcrux, Voldemort's mind was just as open to him, so he hadn't breached the connection anymore.

Stifling the morbid thoughts that came to her every time she thought of Horcruxes and Harry, Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand. He glanced down at her in surprise, but squeezed her fingers in return.

"So long as You-Know-Who isn't trying to access your mind anymore," she replied, "I guess it doesn't."

His fingers slackened and she glanced up at him. His green eyes were pensive in the early light of dawn. "What's wrong?"

A half grin graced his face and he pushed his glasses up his nose. "That obvious am I?"

"Completely."

He sat down in the chair next to her. "Ginny's officially joining next week."

Hermione turned to him, watching while he swallowed more coffee. "I thought you were excited for her."

"Yes and no." He ran a hand through his hair, making it spike out even worse. "I hated being shielded when I wanted to fight. I get that and I'm not going to be some paternalistic boyfriend trying to prevent her from charging into battle."

"Hey, look at you!" Hermione smiled, impressed. Although, it was not like Ginny would let him keep her out anyway. If Molly couldn't keep her from fighting, there was no way in hell Harry could.

"But I want to be a paternalistic boyfriend and prevent her from charging into battle." He turned to her with a wry smile. "Can you induct her into leadership so she doesn't go on all the raids like we do?" Harry's expression turned bitter. "Tell her all your secret stuff so she can't go."

Hermione stared back at him, unsure whether or not to start a fight over the information she kept from him and Ron. She was tired of the off-hand comments they dropped, expecting her to take them in stride. But before she could say anything Harry continued.

"And it's not just that." He pushed his bum forward in the chair, slouching slightly and spreading his legs apart. "I shouldn't be with her." He downed the rest of his coffee and set his mug on the floor. "At all."

Hermione wondered if his martyr complex was kicking in. He always thought about others first, at the expense of himself.

Always.

She'd save the conversation about his and Ron's attitude for another day.

Hermione took a deep breath, hazarding a guess at what was wrong. "Don't tell me it's because you're afraid something will terrible will happen to you. You think she should be with someone who isn't destined to face You-Know-Who?"

He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, slouched in his chair even further and replied dryly, "Brightest Witch of her Age."

"Please," she said, squeezing his leg affectionately. "Anyone could figure that out after speaking with The Boy Who Lived to Care About Everyone Except Himself for more than fifteen minutes."

"I'm assuming you don't agree?"

She shook her head. "Is there anyone here who isn't in danger? Who couldn't die at any moment? Tonks was right." Hermione thought back to the night of the party when Tonks yelled at everyone about Dolohov's suicide. "Scary. But right."

Harry stared down at the floor in thought, and then turned to Hermione. His green eyes were pained. "If we win, Ginny's safe. She'll live through this and can pick whomever she wants. Why drag her down?"

Harry was assuming he would die.

No.

He couldn't think that way. Hermione grabbed his upper arm and squeezed it through his jacket, pulling him close. He stared down at her.

"Anything could happen to anyone, at any time. Why won't you allow yourself some happiness like everyone else here? That's silly, Harry."

"But no one else has to face him," Harry protested, looking out over the misty lawn of Paddington safe house. "The chances I'll survive this are significantly lower than anyone else's."

Zero, Hermione thought despairingly. If she was right, his chances were absolutely zero. She couldn't tell him. Not yet. If Harry thought he had to die, he'd distance himself from everyone and he didn't deserve that. He deserved happiness for whatever remained of his life. He deserved a relationship with Ginny. He deserved friendship. She Occluded, trying to steel her expression before she cried.

"Your chances are just as good as anyone else's. And you're wrong." Her voice was trembling, but at least she didn't cry.

"About what?" Harry was taken aback by the emotion in her voice.

"That no one else has to face him!"

"What?"

"You tosser!" She smacked his thigh, her voice rising. "Where do you think Ron and I will be? Playing Wizarding chess?"

He stared at her, but said nothing.

"We'll be right there by your side!" she yelled. "As will the rest of the Order! Including Ginny! You're not doing a sodding thing by yourself! None of us wants You-Know-Who to win! We're all facing him! It's a team effort, you wanker!"

Harry's grin slowly returned to his face. He was about to reply when the front door crashed open. An irritable Seamus Finnegan stepped outside into the morning cold with his own cup of coffee. His red hair looked just as presentable as Harry's.

"Fuck me, Hermione, it's half six!" he protested, stretching the arm that wasn't holding a mug. "My window is right above the porch. Have the decency to cast a Silencing Charm before you go yelling at Ron, will you?" He chastised, his voice groggy. "Oh. You're yelling at Harry?" He joked. "That's new."

"Sorry," Harry apologized.

"Not your fault. You're the one getting yelled at." He glared at Hermione and then turned back to Harry. "But she's right you know. You're not facing You-Know-Who alone. Why do you think we're all here? Why do you think I let Dawlish and Proudfoot knock me on my arse five times a week?"

"Sorry I woke you, Seamus," Hermione repeated.

"S'alright." He walked over to Hermione and Harry, sipping from his coffee. He peered into the sun for a few moments and grimaced. "Who made this coffee? It's too strong."

He pointed his wand at the liquid and cast a Dilution Charm.

"I did," Hermione replied.

"Figures," Seamus muttered.

Harry leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at his feet, and Seamus continued, "Nobody regrets leaving Hogwarts, Harry. I know I was a jerk fifth year when I didn't believe you, but every single one of us is ready to fight and face him. And besides," He pulled the hem of his shirt up and leaned over slightly, eyeing his stomach while trying to clench his muscles. "Check this out." Harry turned his head up to look in his direction. "If I flex, I almost have abs. I don't play Quidditch so I've never had abs before."

Hermione lifted an amused eyebrow at Seamus. It was true. Combat training was building all of them up. He wasn't as defined as Malfoy, but she could see muscles beginning to protrude. He used to be so weedy back in school. Even on herself, she couldn't help checking out the newly defined muscles in her back and shoulders after showering.

Malfoy.

She couldn't stop thinking about him. Once her thoughts were derailed she couldn't get them back on track. She wondered what kind of training he had to do as a Death Eater, or if it was just Quidditch that kept him in shape, like with Harry and Ron. She wondered what his role was, and what he did aside from participate in raids. They had never talked about it.

She should ask him. Maybe it wasn't just plans he could give her.

Harry made a gagging sound and knocked Seamus' hand down. "Put that away, Seamus. No one wants to see that."

"Padma does," he retorted with a grin. The sun was shining behind Seamus' red hair as he leaned against the porch railing, facing them.

"So go find Padma."

"She's still in bed. Made me come down and tell Hermione to shut her pie hole." He sipped his coffee and shifted his gaze back to Hermione. "Although to tell you the truth, I don't know why we need all this combat training. Just have Tonks and Hermione go yell at You-Know-Who at six in the bloody morning. He'll plead to be sent to Azkaban."

ooooooooooooooooo

Draco ran up the stairs after Lovegood, two at a time, his heavy boots thundering up the multiple flights to the top floor of her house. She was surprisingly good, but Xenophilius was out and she was outnumbered. With the anti-Apparition wards Jugson installed prior to the attack, she didn't have a chance. Jugson and MacNair were almost a flight behind him, unable keep up.

"Give up, little girl," MacNair taunted her from below. "I promise we won't hurt you."

Draco's lip curled in revulsion under his mask. That man would fuck anything female with two legs. After seeing his mother cornered by him once, he vowed to never allow them to be alone together. He noticed his father did the same, an unspoken agreement between the two Malfoy men.

Draco, MacNair and Jugson fanned out on the top floor. He saw a flash of bright light from one of the bedrooms and sprinted towards it, disarming Lovegood just as her rabbit Patronus exited the window.

It wouldn't matter who she had warned. They'd be gone in less than a minute, as soon as Jugson removed the wards. Draco closed in on her, ready to put her out, and she narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn't see him behind the mask, could she? Lovegood was an oddball, but that was impossible.

MacNair and Jugson appeared in the doorway behind him. MacNair stalked forward, elbowing Draco out of the way and advanced on her. Lovegood turned towards him, afraid and defiant. He reached under his robes to undo his belt.

"Dormio!"

She collapsed and Draco sprung forward to catch her, easily tossing her over his shoulder.

MacNair whirled around, wand pointed at Draco. "Wait your turn, Malfoy." His voice was low and menacing.

Thankful that MacNair couldn't see the look of disgust on his face he spat back, "She signaled for help. We don't have time for that."

Jugson pressed his hand on MacNair's arm, lowering his wand. "The kid's right. We have to move."

While Jugson busied himself in removing the anti-Apparition wards he installed, MacNair leaned into Draco and growled, "Do that again and I'll make sure you're sorry."

MacNair wasn't the best at dueling, and lately, the Malfoys had increased their standing within the Dark Lord's army due to their success in dissolving the Auror Office and progress with the Ministry Financial Bureau. Draco wouldn't have to fear retaliation like before.

Before they all Disapparated to the Manor, Draco sneered back, "I'd like to see you fucking try."

Voldemort was pleased when he saw Lovegood hanging over Draco's shoulder, and he noticed a faint glimmer of relief in his father's eyes. No one would be tortured for failure this time. His aunt and the Carrows were standing to the other side of the Dark Lord, as were some other members of the Inner Circle.

"Well done," the Dark Lord smiled slyly. "The blood traitor won't print lies about us anytime soon. An excellent idea Lucius."

His father nodded, "I'm pleased you think so, my lord."

MacNair spoke out in irritation, "My lord."

The Dark Lord turned to him with interest as MacNair continued, "By rights I should get the girl. The Malfoy brat took her before I could. He's too soft and spoiled."

Draco was about to defend himself when Jugson spoke up. "If I may, my lord, Malfoy made a judgement call. The girl sent a Patronus. There was no time and we had to leave."

The Dark Lord fixed his red gaze on him. "Is that so Draco?"

He bowed his head, surprised at Jugson's defense. Draco had never really interacted with the older, more experienced Death Eater before. "Yes, my lord. I have no desire for her. My sole concern was the success of the mission."

Feeling emboldened by his and his father's recent successes, Draco purposefully hinted that MacNair preferred to sexually assault their captives than execute missions properly. The Dark Lord didn't disallow prisoner rape, but he didn't think highly of it either. While his aunt thought that pure-bloods were unnecessarily sullying themselves with Mudbloods and blood traitors, Draco got the impression that the Dark Lord perceived it as a waste of time. Beneath the actions of a powerful, competent wizard.

Thinking back to how the Dark Lord was actually a half-blood, he wondered if he believed in all this blood purity nonsense at all. Maybe he just exploited the cause for his own power.

They were all tools, every single one of them in his army, and they didn't know it.

Regardless of the Dark Lord's personal opinions on the matter, MacNair would try to make him pay for his comment later. It made no difference, MacNair already hated him and his father. Draco's comment would hardly make the situation worse. And the Order would be taking him out next.

"Well done, young Malfoy," was the Dark Lord's answer. "You work well with your father?"

"Yes, my lord."

When his father told Draco of his plans, he found out that Lovegood would be home from Hogwarts over the winter holidays so the mission wouldn't fail. He also followed Xenophilius and detailed his schedule to figure out when his daughter would be alone. Little to no reconnaissance was the primary reason raids weren't successful in the past.

There were so many raids in the summer that they were often done impulsively. Snatchers were sent out, told the targets, and often hoped to catch people unawares at home in the middle of the night. With only a bit of planning, Draco had ensured success.

The Dark Lord waved his pale, scaly hand dismissively. "Go put the girl in the dungeons."

Draco Disapparated and unlocked one of the empty cells. He laid Lovegood down on the stone floor carefully and scrutinized her unconscious body, conflicted. As with the other prisoners he brought in from raids, he didn't have a choice. With or without his participation, Lovegood would be caught. If he didn't want himself or his parents to be tortured, he had to bring her in. She'd be caught regardless. Did it matter if Draco was the one to do it?

Draco stared down at her through his mask. He thought of Shunpike and felt sick. At least raping her wouldn't be condoned. She wasn't a Mudblood and was being used for leverage, which would ensure the conditions of her imprisonment wouldn't be terrible. There wasn't much else he could do right now. He locked the cell and reappeared in the ball room to see everyone else silent, waiting for something to happen.

The atmosphere had changed considerably in the few minutes he had been in the dungeons. Draco's eyes travelled around the room. His father's face remained impassive, Jugson removed his mask and had a blank expression on his face as well. MacNair had his mask off and was visibly enraged, seemingly ready to kill Draco. His aunt was excited; running her fingers up and down her wand in anticipation.

Never a good sign.

Alecto was staring at him like she wanted to devour him. Draco struggled to maintain his calm. Something bad was about to happen.

The Dark Lord's voice slithered through the air. "Walden is not wrong, you are soft and spoiled."

Draco tensed. This was not the reaction he expected.

"Remove your mask, Draco."

He made sure his expression was blank, removed his mask and lowered his hood apprehensively. It didn't matter that he had succeeded. It didn't matter that he worked well with his father, that they were slowly but surely rebuilding the Malfoy name. The Dark Lord didn't care that they were gaining prestige and power back within Voldemort's army. None of that mattered because in the end it was always death and torture for one reason or another.

Draco was going to be Crucio'd anyway. That's why his aunt looked so excited. And Alecto was sicker than she was. MacNair should be happy he was getting punished. What the fuck was his problem anyway?

And then he understood. It wasn't Draco that would be tortured today.

The Dark Lord turned to him with a cruel smile. "Show Walden that his first priority is serving me."

Draco had cast the Cruciatis Curse dozens of times, each one a failure. He knew the technique, the pronunciation, and how to draw from his hatred to fuel the curse. But there was never any hatred to extract when he directed the curse at prisoners.

MacNair met his eyes mockingly, knowing that Draco had always failed, but not understanding the reason. Draco met his gaze and glowered at him with pure hatred.

MacNair's expression faltered as Draco raised his wand. The amount of times he had attempted the curse made it easy. Almost reflexive. The only missing ingredient was hate.

Fear suddenly entered MacNair's eyes. He knew Draco wouldn't fail this time. This wasn't at all like his frequently ridiculed attempts to torture prisoners. What did MacNair fucking think would happen if he tried to assault his mother?

"Crucio!"

Draco felt an overwhelming sense of power as his hatred combined with his magic and spread throughout his body; tentacles wrapping around his limbs. It tightened around him, squeezing with a surge and just when Draco thought he would burst, a bright red jet of light shot out of his wand and pummeled MacNair in the chest. He exhaled sharply through his teeth, arm trembling while he held the curse in place. He had never felt his magic combine with his hatred before and it was exhilarating and dizzying at the same time. MacNair dropped to the ground and began to scream.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Dark Lord and his aunt share a knowing smile.

Draco recalled Luke Skywalker cutting off Darth Vader's hand while the smiling Emperor Palpatine egged him on. He understood what the Dark Lord was trying to do, trying to make Draco give into his hatred and use it to power his magic. But it wasn't much of a choice in the Dark Lord's army.

Torture or be tortured. Kill or be killed.

Draco wasn't Luke Skywalker. And he sure as fuck wasn't Saint Potter.

A sinister grin slowly spread across his face as MacNair's screams echoed throughout the ballroom.

He wasn't even ashamed that his smile wasn't fake.