Chapter 52

"So I saved Pothead's life?"

Hermione peered up into Draco's eyes.

Grey. They were grey. They had been grey all evening.

"You did."

"Hmm." A teasing grin played at his lips. "Well, nobody's perfect."

He chuckled after she smacked his chest with the back of her hand. Hermione brought her knees up to the bench and wrapped her arms around her shins, watching the kids play on the jungle gym as the sun set in the distance. He tightened his arm around her, and she snuggled into his side.

Draco had been mostly quiet this evening, unsettled by the events of yesterday and much like her now, thinking through the ramifications of Voldemort messing with their memories, and what the nonsensical events of Wembley Stadium meant.

Yesterday, Hermione had been primarily focused on Harry, crying in the waiting room with the Weasleys until he was released, good as new, and then collapsing into bed. What she and Alicia had mistaken as a simple laceration had continued to travel through his body, opening up a much larger wound. Mary had identified the curse right away and treated it before it could spread further and kill him. He was lucky the hex hit is arm, and not where any vital organs lay.

Despite some near fatal injuries, the Order weathered the attack. It was still unclear what the purpose of the whole operation was.

"How do you think your friends would react to me?" Hermione turned up to face him curiously, but he was watching the kids play, his expression was guarded. "To us," he clarified.

Draco had never shown much interest in how Harry or Ron or anyone else in the Order would process their relationship before. Perhaps coming face to face with Harry in battle made him consider the way in which he would be perceived.

"To the Muggle-born with the big, bad Death Eater?"

He huffed a laugh, but she heard a twinge of apprehension in his question. "Something like that."

They seldom spoke about the future. It wasn't as if the future was a taboo subject between them, but Hermione wanted to avoid the topic of his pardon – or lack thereof – until she had answers and a solid path forward. She hated lying to him, hated that he thought he could still get clemency for his father.

"Your deeds during the war make up for the past," she reassured him. "We'd have been finished after that first raid if it weren't for you."

She watched his jaw move as he contemplated her words. Draco had been conflicted the last time Azkaban and his culpability in the war were brought up between them, which unsettled her.

But he didn't say anything, so she tried to lighten the mood.

"Honestly, I think your schoolyard pissing contest is the only thing we'll have to deal with." She saw the corner of his mouth lift. "Maybe if you compliment their Quidditch prowess, that will smooth over the–"

He burst out laughing and his body shook, jostling her forward. "Oh, you are precious, Hermione. I'm not that desperate."

Draco's laughter died down and he twirled a curl in his fingers while listening to the kids yelling at each other, caught up in a game of tag.

"Potter," Draco continued softly. He pulled on the strand of brown hair, watching as it unwound off his finger. "And the Weasel. They mean a lot to you."

The sight of Harry's ashen face in the infirmary had been enough to make her heart stop momentarily.

"We each have our people."

"We do," he agreed, winding his finger with a curl again.

And Pansy was one of his. Draco had the Order remove her rapist before anyone else, and she was reminded of how careful he had been with her unconscious body before Disapparating. Draco had been worried that by talking about whatever it was they were supposed to find at Wembley Stadium; he had compromised the two of them.

But nothing happened.

"Is Pansy okay?"

"Yeah," he said, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "As far as she's concerned, I saved her hide from the terrible blood traitors."

Pansy would see Hermione as the enemy. An inferior enemy. And Draco was worried about how her friends would treat him?

"And how do you think your friends would react to us?"

His fingers stilled in her hair as he thought. Likewise, she never asked how his friends and family would receive their relationship. She just assumed she'd be rejected. Hated.

"Some of them will be in Azkaban. It won't matter."

He didn't elaborate, so she prodded him further.

"And those that aren't?"

He sat, pensive, before speaking.

"I think they'll be too shell-shocked to care. Those that aren't Death Eaters now, they will be soon. It's inevitable. Of those that survive, I think they'll just be glad that it's over and their families safe."

Hermione burrowed into Draco's side, leaning her head against his chest so his voice would rumble into her ear. She ran her thumb along the seam of his trouser pocket.

"They won't care about pure-blood supremacy anymore?"

He snorted.

"It doesn't make a damned bit of difference who wins the war to someone who's dead."

"True." She lifted her head up from his chest. The phrasing of his words sounded familiar. "Was that–"

"Yossarian said it." He gazed down at her with a smug grin.

"Yossar–" Hermione repeated, confused. "Oh! From Catch-22!"

Draco hummed, pleased she caught on. "Muggles understand war so much better than wizards."

"They've been through more of it," she explained. "Joseph Heller served for several years in the military."

He slouched against the bench and spread his jean-clad legs out. Hermione pitched forward and he caught her, pulling her back up so she could lean against his shoulder instead.

"At some point, you stop caring about why you're fighting because you just want it to stop. Especially if your families are threatened, too. You just want to live to see another day." Draco was tired and scared. She could hear it in his voice and glanced up at him. His eyes reflected the pastel colors of the sunset.

"Wizarding war fiction doesn't speak to you? I haven't read any before."

"When I was younger, yeah. But now?" He shook his head. "It's all romanticized and mostly deals with goblins and other magical beings. It's not relevant, it's not real."

Science, art, and now literature. Hermione was fascinated at how the Wizard and Muggle worlds had diverged and how Draco processed that divergence. Muggles missed out on the fantastical, the magical and the seemingly impossible hidden from their view. A world within their world.

But frozen in time, small and closed off, it was the Wizarding World that was missing out, and Draco knew it. Hermione wondered if his friends and family could get over their bigotry in order to realize how much they were unaware of.

She returned her thoughts to how war was portrayed in literature. "The goblins probably have their own version of those war stories."

"I'm sure they do," he agreed. "And Wizard fiction doesn't discuss how some people on your own side hate you more than they hate the enemy they're supposed to be fighting. Joseph Heller does. He was never a Death Eater, but he understands how petty and vindictive they are."

Hermione huffed a dry laugh. "It's not just Death Eaters."

He turned down to her in surprise. "They're like that in the Order?"

"No," she shook her head. "But I think it's because we know that if we don't win, we'll die. There's no space for it. It's human nature to be petty and vindictive. Look at how the Ministry functions."

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes. "Fucking useless, the lot of them."

Hermione thought of Amelia Bones, who had been murdered before the war started. And Arthur Weasley. And… even Kingsley. There had to be more that were similarly devoted to their jobs, she just didn't know very many Ministry employees.

"Not all of them," she insisted.

"No," he agreed reluctantly. Draco stared down at his lap, looking more upset. "Not all of them."

She reached to clasp his hand, resting on his thigh, and laced her fingers into his. She knew he hated what he did at the Ministry, but didn't know the details. It must weigh heavily on him. Although her duties in the Order were difficult, she believed in what she was doing. Wouldn't have it any other way. Draco had to be someone he hated.

"You enjoy Muggle literature," she commented.

Hermione thought about why Muggle books had so much more to offer, at least on this topic. Wars had completely torn apart the entire Muggle world over the course of the twentieth century. While there had been some magical involvement here and there, wizards didn't know what it was like to serve in a military. There weren't armies, navies, and air forces in the wizarding world. Wizards that fought didn't leave their families for years on end. They didn't spend months in trenches with poor food and poorer hygiene.

The First Wizarding War was fought by a handful of people who stayed hidden in their own homes with their families, many of whom were no longer alive.

"On the one hand," Draco continued, "it's somewhat comforting to know that so many people understand and explain it vividly. I don't have anyone to talk to about being a Death Eater. Ironically, it's Muggles that prevent me from thinking I'm going crazy, or that I'm… some type of monster. They get it."

She squeezed his hand in comfort and he kissed her forehead again, letting his lips linger against her skin.

"And on the other hand?" she prodded gently.

His jaw clenched and she felt his fingers slowly tug on her curls. "It's going to get worse. Some of my friends already see that but some..." his voice trailed off. "Some are still trying to figure out pure-blood politics. They're stupid. I know I couldn't care less who anyone is marrying or who is inheriting what. So long as I don't have to live in terror anymore."

She studied the outline of his nose against the pink and blue sunset. He was still watching the children play.

"You don't care about your inheritance?"

Hermione didn't want to bring up the subject of his parents directly, but she worried about how they would process her relationship with Draco. Lucius would be in Azkaban, but Narcissa wouldn't be, and she was a blood supremacist. Hermione remembered how nasty she had been the last time they met in Madame Malkin's. Narcissa had been very cavalier about Dumbledore's impending death and had subtly threatened Harry.

He turned to her, offended. "Money won't do me any good if I'm dead. Priorities change."

"Of course, I'm sorry," she said, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb. "I didn't mean that you cared more about money than your life. Or your parents' lives."

"I'd give it all away for a chance for us to live in peace," he added. "Every last bit. I don't want it. I'd rather live as a Muggle."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You'd give up magic?"

"It feels safe here, doesn't it?" Draco shrugged, looking out across the park. "The Ministry is trying to convince everyone that the war is won and life is normal, but everyone walks around Diagon Alley as if someone is chasing them. People know it's a lie, even if they're unaware of the details."

The children, the dog walkers, the couples holding hands. Evening was approaching and parents started collecting their children to head home. The contrast between the terrifying events of yesterday, of Wembley Stadium and its aftermath, and the boring humdrum of Muggle suburbia was jarring.

Hermione turned to him, inhaling his scent. He smelled fresh like the trees outside, and warm from the sun.

"The Muggle world is an escape for you, isn't it?"

He nodded silently. "Not just an escape. I could live here."

"Muggles have wars too," she reminded him. "A lot of them. All the time."

"I know that." He turned to her. "But the Muggle world is large enough that you can hide from it all."

Maybe he worried that Azkaban was all he had in his future. Draco might be able to escape imprisonment by living in exile. Would he want her to go with him? Would she even be willing to do that? These questions were pointless now. As Draco pointed out, they didn't even know if they would survive the week.

"I…" Draco's voice cracked, pulling her from her thoughts, and she looked up at him sharply. "I never apologized to you."

She furrowed her brow in puzzlement. "I told you I forgave you."

"You did." Grateful, he glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "But it's not the same. I was such a piece of shit in school. To you, to others, and I'm sorry. I want you to know that I'm sorry."

She didn't say anything. It was true, and she nodded in acceptance. "I know you are. Thank you, Draco."

"But how much do apologies change things?" He pulled up his sleeve, exposing his Dark Mark to her. "It doesn't matter how sorry I am or what I do during this war, I can't get rid of this." He made a fist, flexing the muscles of his inner forearm. "It's a symbol of every bad decision I've made, of how terrible I am."

"It's not," she shook her head and placed her hand gently over the brand. "Not anymore. The opposite, actually."

"What do you mean?" His voice lilted upward in surprise.

"You've changed. You've rejected that part of yourself," she insisted. "It's not a symbol of evil at all, it's a symbol of how far you've come. You've changed its meaning."

"But the Dark Lord still uses it. It still means–"

"No," she raised her voice, cutting him off, and his cheeks flushed at her fervor. "Maybe for the rest of us because we didn't grow up with those beliefs. But it's so much harder to go through the process of rejecting what you've been taught and repenting for your past. And you've done it." Her fingers dug into his skin as she worked herself up. "When I look at it, I see how far you've come. How much you've changed. How much you still struggle and how hard you're fighting. You've changed the meaning of the Dark Mark! For you it symbolizes atonement!"

Hermione was somewhat breathless from her outburst, and she glanced to the side to see a few onlookers staring curiously at them. She hadn't realized that she raised her voice. Shyly, she brought her gaze back to Draco to see his lips curl upward in amusement.

She lowered her voice and held his gaze. "It's one of the things I love about you, Draco. Even this." Her fingers tightened protectively over the curve of his arm. "Especially this."

He stared back at her for a few moments, unsure of what to say in response, and swallowed. "But it traps me. He's still making me…" His shoulders rose as he inhaled a deep breath. "I'm still doing things I don't want to do. Terrible things, Hermione."

"But you're fighting for your right to live in freedom," she protested, more softly now.

His smile was so sad, and it broke her heart. "That's what you're fighting for. If I had freedom, I'd leave. I feel like…" His smile fell, and he raked his hand through his hair, upset. "Like pieces of me are being taken away and replaced with something else."

She thought back to how adamant Draco was that he not be Obliviated in order to receive the Unbreakable Vow. He didn't want his head messed with. Minerva explained that a triggered Obliviation was possible in theory, but never put into practice. She didn't recommend trying to retrieve Draco's memories because of the potential for cognitive damage, and the likelihood they'd retrieve the memories was slim.

Voldemort experimented on his own army. The Dark Mark, the Veritaserum implant, and now this triggered Obliviation. Draco digested her news earlier of the triggered Obliviation with a resigned horror. He had expected it, but was terrified nonetheless.

She leaned up into him and pressed her lips against his. "You're still you. He can't take pieces of you away."

"Hermione," he swallowed again. "He already did, and I'm scared. He… he does things to us. I'm scared of what he's doing to me, and I want to leave." He gazed earnestly into her eyes and his jaw hardened. "I'll come fight for the sodding Order. I don't care anymore; I'll do whatever they fucking want. Will that demonstrate trust? Just help me get my parents out. Can you tell that to the werewolf? Please?"

Hermione felt absolutely awful. The only reason he stayed as a Death Eater was because she was stringing him along. Maybe he would have convinced his parents to leave already with a different means if he hadn't started spying and had that pardon dangled in front of him like a carrot.

And being a human experiment to Voldemort was the price he was paying.

She wondered if Kingsley told her to string him along to ensure he would continue spying throughout the war. He'd been invaluable to the Order's success. If Draco got the pardon and left with his parents like he wanted, they'd be stuck without a spy, and no intelligence.

Just like with Wembley Stadium.

The Order still didn't know what had happened or why. Yes, Harry and Lavender had almost died, but it was an awful lot of effort for several treatable injuries.

With a growing sense of unease, Hermione realized she had unwittingly trapped Draco into spying throughout the entirety of the war. She had trapped him into continuing on as a Death Eater. That was Kingsley's plan. Draco would never get the vow because once he did, he would leave.

And even though she loved him and didn't want any damage done to him, she didn't want him to stop spying either. The Order could lose, and they would all die. And just like the brutal pragmatist that she was, if having Draco spy throughout the war was truly Kingsley's motivation for stringing him along, she agreed with him.

They couldn't afford to lose him.

Hermione was horrified with herself, and felt sick to her stomach.

"I'll tell them you're willing to join the Order," she lied, and Occluded to stem her tears.

He rested his forehead against hers and exhaled in relief. "Thank you," he whispered against her lips. "The sooner, the better. I'm… I'm changing. I can feel it."

She squeezed his hand in reassurance.

"So am I. We all are. War changes people."

He shook his head. "It's not the same."

Hermione thought back to his darkened eyes and how upset he was after he fucked her in the bathroom. Draco was right. He was changing. She didn't know what the changed hue meant or what had bothered him so much. But she didn't want to bring up her worries about his darkened eyes now. There was enough that he was dealing with now. Maybe she figure it out on her own. But she didn't know where to start.

"Alright," she replied. The tension in his face relaxed, and she gave him a smile with a playfulness she wasn't feeling. "When this war is over, you get your people, I'll get my people, and we'll go see a midnight showing of Star Wars."

Draco barked a laugh and her heart swelled to see that she was able to bring him out of his melancholy. She could fix this. She would fix this. He didn't deserve whatever was happening to him.

"We could make real light sabers. Show the Muggles up."

"I'll come in costume."

He raised an eyebrow. "Princess Leia in that bikini?"

She laughed.

"Please?"

"There aren't too many choices for women, are there? We'd all have to dress up like her. You'd probably go as Han Solo."

He cracked a grin. "Roguish anti-hero? Brought to the Rebellion by the love a woman?"

Hermione flushed, slightly embarrassed. "I just meant that he's snarky and plays by his own rules."

"Too predictable," he said with a playful tug on her curls. "Save the snark for Theo."

The sun had set, and the stars came out, glittering above them. The park was quiet, empty except for a few nighttime walkers.

"Draco?"

"Mmm?"

"Maybe you can draw up some more plans of whomever you think would know what Wembley Stadium was about. They'd be more willing to trust you and agree."

"I can do that," he sounded encouraged.

Hermione was starting to hate herself for the way the Order was using him. The way she was using him. Her gut curdled and she fought the compulsion to retch.

"I have a few suspects," Draco offered, pulling her away from her thoughts.

"We still don't even know if You-Know-Who got what he wanted."

Order leadership was flummoxed from everything that had happened yesterday, and Draco hadn't indicated that they had brought anything or anyone back. The entire day was a mystery.

"No," Draco countered. "I think it was successful."

"How do you know?"

"No one was tortured."

Next chapter: Draco returns to the snake den