Thank you to RESimon for being such a wonderful beta.

CHAPTER FOUR

The weeks continued to fly past and she threw herself into her schoolwork, allowing herself to pretend that her brooding husband did not exist. Harry had figured out that Malfoy had been disappearing into the Room of Requirement but knew nothing beyond that, and her guilt had only continued to grow, festering in her gut like a disease.

Currently, Hermione was sitting in the common room, her mind reeling as Harry relayed what he'd learned about Horcruxes from Slughorn's memory. In his and Ron's eyes, she could see the tendrils of the fear that had been hanging over her like a shadow for weeks slowly creeping in, causing them to face the realization that the conflict that they had been preparing to face for years was now rapidly approaching, whether they wanted it to or not.

She'd been able to avoid Malfoy as much as she could over the weeks that had passed since their blowout, but she knew that as the end the school year approached, their time avoiding each other was rapidly waning as well.

"What do you think will happen, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice small. She looked up at them, allowing them to see the raw reality of her emotions for the first time in weeks, knowing that they would chalk it up to her fear about what they just learned, unsuspecting of the true origins of her hesitation.

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry said. "But I know that we have to fight this, whatever it is–no matter how difficult it may be to accept the reality of it."

She knew that he expected her to fight with him as she had been non-stop throughout the school year, but instead, she just nodded, turning to look into the fire and letting her eyes drift away as far as her mind had.

She felt to Ron take up her hand squeezing it gently. "We will get through this Hermione," Ron said. "We'll destroy them all, and kill him once and for all and things will go back to normal, you'll see," he said, his voice ever hopeful.

She wanted to cry at the optimism and she saw shining in his eyes, and collapse at his feet as she tried to explain that now things would never be the same between them again, no matter how desperately she wished they could be. She had made an irreversible decision all for the sake of the Order and she could no longer renege on it, no matter how much she felt like she was rotting from the inside out in the wake of her decision.

"I think I'll head up to bed early tonight," Hermione said. "I'll see you tomorrow," she added, picking up her book bag and making her way up the steps to the girls' dorms.

As she dressed for bed, her head filled with an overabundance of scenarios she imagined could explain Dumbledore's reasoning behind choosing her to be bonded to Malfoy. Had he known, she wondered, what Malfoy had done when they'd asked her to marry him? Had the Order known? Had they any inkling of his nefarious activities or had they brushed off any suspicions in hopes that they could secure Mrs. Malfoy's allegiance? If they had known, had it not mattered enough to them in the wake of what was being offered to them? She had always blindly trusted the Order, believing that all decisions they made were to benefit the light, every thought process laced with moral integrity as they weighed the possible consequences as well as the costs and benefits of every decision they made. The seed of doubt that had begun growing and coiling in her stomach since the night of her marriage now felt like tendrils tickling at her logic, forcing her to reconsider all that she thought that she'd known about what equated good versus bad.

She recalled the looks on McGonagall and Kingsley's faces that night as they'd watched her come to her decision, the hard looks in their eyes and slight frowns curling at their lips. At the time, she'd thought that they had been worried for her, but she realized now that they had likely been worried for themselves and the consequences of the decisions they had made. She wondered how long they had debated about whether or not to pose their request her, knowing that such a decision would tread dangerously on the edge of moral ambiguity. She wondered how much it had really mattered to them that she had had no idea of the underhanded dealings of her classmate, equating her life with the needs of the Order as flippantly as one would ask a friend a simple favor.

But that was what it had become, had it not? She knew that her life could not come above the needs of the Order, that her sacrifice, in the grand scheme of things, was nothing compared to what was that stake. She thought of the lives of muggleborns who lived in the magical world and those whose powers had yet to manifest alike, knowing that their survival was what mattered in the grand scheme of things. What was her life, compared to theirs? She knew it was nothing, and that on that fateful night she had decided it was worth sacrificing because there was no scenario that she could envision where she would not do the same, whether it be on the battlefield or by finding her life force to that of the enemy.

X

She was sitting in Potions class when it happened.

One moment, she was adding a handful of carefully chopped herbs into her cauldron. The next, her body was filled with a seeping cold, gripping her heart like a vice. She clutched the table hard, scattering a bowl of pixie wings across her workstation. A few curious eyes looked up at her, blinking at the sudden mess she'd made.

She lifted a trembling hand in the air. "I need to-" she shuddered as the cold grew so severe that it felt like ice was forming in her veins, and she gasped, stumbling out the doorway as she ignored the concerned questions of her classmates and Professor Slughorn alike.

She stumbled to the floor when she was in the hallway, a hand grasping her chest as her heart began to thunder. Something was wrong—very wrong. The moment the thought crossed her mind, she immediately knew that it had something to do with Malfoy. He had been injured–-no, he was dying. Panic coursed through her veins as she forced herself to tear through the hallways, knowing not where her feet were leading her, but somehow knowing that it was it the right direction. She was stumbling up a set of stairs when she doubled over, heaving. Sweat poured from her brow while the cold continued to ravage her insides, and she forced her panic-stricken mind to propel her forward, knowing that she would be too late if she hesitated even a moment longer.

She made it to the sixth floor, tearing down the hall until she abruptly stopped as the feeling disappeared completely. At once, she felt normal again, as if the life-ending doom that had permeated her body only seconds before had never come to pass.

The door beside her burst open suddenly and Harry tore past her, not even registering her presence. She opened her mouth to call out to him when she noticed a steady trickle of water seeping from the door he had just exited. Trepidation began growing in her heart as she stepped forward and slowly pushed open the door, revealing the boys' bathroom within. A sink had burst in the far corner of the bathroom, spurting a steady stream of water that left a shallow pool on the ground. And in the middle of that pool lay her husband, on his back with bleeding wounds all over his body as Professor Snape bent over him.

She gasped, clapping to hand over her mouth. Snape looked up sharply, catching her gaze.

"He lives," Snape said.

She gaped at where Malfoy's unmoving body lay, then back out the door where Harry and exited only moments before. "Did Harry…?" She asked, meeting Snape's eyes.

The man nodded sharply, then turned back to Malfoy. "We need to move him," he said.

"What happened?" She whispered, eyes still frozen as she looked at her husband's prone body.

"He was cursed," Snape explained. "Come," he said, levitating Malfoy's body.

She followed him out of the bathroom and down the hall, where he stepped into engineer hidden stairwell and began quietly descending the steps. She did not take her eyes off of Malfoy's body the entire time, roving over his wounds and watching the shallow, pained breaths he took with every movement. They emerged somewhere in the dungeon, where Snape led them to a small room, that was outfitted with a simple cot, a chair and a small table holding only a jug of water.

Snape bent over Malfoy again, muttering a series of incantations that she did not recognize. She watched him quietly for a long while, eyes trained anxiously on the ghostly pallor of Malfoy's face.

After a while, Snape stood, turning to her. "You will need to continue his treatments," Snape said."I know not when I will be summoned, and it is important that he receive timely treatment. The wounds have now been sealed, but the curse lingers in his system, and will return if it is not coaxed out in a precise manner."

She nodded, still watching Malfoy's body. "He almost died, didn't he?" she asked, meeting Snape's eyes.

"Yes," The man answered simply.

She shuddered at his words, swearing she could still feel the tickle of that dreadful cold seeping through her veins. The consequences of their bonding had to come into sharp focus, and it terrified her. This man's life with tethered completely to her own, and she had no way of extricating herself from it without life-ending consequences.

"Tell me what to do," she said.

X

She did not return to Gryffindor tower until late at night, exhausted after the hours she'd spent coaxing the dark tendrils of the curse out of Malfoy's wounds. He had not yet awoken, but he only whimpered softly in pain as she worked, propelling forward her urgency. She held no affection for the man, but she could not deny the way her heart clenched at seeing him in such a state.

When she stepped through the portrait hole, the common room was empty save for Harry, who sat staring at the fire that burned in the hearth.

"What did you do, Harry?" She asked softly, sitting down beside him.

"He almost died," Harry whispered, his voice breaking. "I almost killed him," he added, his voice so low that she barely heard him.

"Harry–" she started.

He turned to her, his emerald eyes distraught as he looked at her. "You know that I would not have done it if I had known—"

"Known what?" she asked.

"The curse," he breathed. "I didn't know what the curse meant, it's sad to use it on your enemies and I thought—"

Hermione inhaled sharply at his words."You used a curse from that book, Harry?" she asked. She immediately knew his answer from the guilt she saw pass through his eyes.

"I didn't know," he whispered.

"But you should have!" she snapped, standing up as rage coursed through her body in a sudden torrent. "You almost killed him!" You almost killed me, she wanted add, biting her lip to keep the tremble out of her voice.

"You don't think I know that?" Harry said. "Myrtle followed me all the way here, screeching that I am a dirty murderer," his voice was hollow, and she could hear the sorrow and regret in it.

Hermione ran a trembling hand through her hair, unable to look hairy in the eye.

"Hermione," he whispered. "Everyone knows, they think I'm a monster–don't leave me too," he said.

When she looked down at him his eyes were filled with the familiar pleading look fat she always succumbed to in the past. She wanted to scream at him, berate him for what he had done, almost depriving her of her life for no reason other than a fit of anger against his childhood bully. But she knew that she could not do that, and so she let her expression soften, sinking back into the sofa and pulling him into her arms. Almost immediately, she felt his tears wetting her blouse and she squeezed him closer, knowing that she should relish in these moments while they lasted, before she would leave and align her loyalties with her husband, breaking her best friend's heart.

X

She spent her lunches and evening hours tending to Malfoy, precisely reciting the incantations Snape had taught her, watching the dark tendrils of the curse lift themselves from his skin and dissipate in the damp air of the small room.

On the third evening, she'd just finished a fourth round of siphoning out the curse when Malfoy turned and blinked his eyes open. At first, she wondered if he even recognized her. His gray eyes were vacant and nearly unseeing as they roved around the room, focusing on nothing at all. Eventually, however, they settled on her, alight with an intensity she had never seen in them. They looked at each other for a few long moments, and she held her breath as she waited for him to curse her.

Nothing came. Instead, the intensity in his eyes dimmed, and he gave her a weak nod of acknowledgment. And as quickly as they had opened, his eyes fluttered shut again and he fell into a peaceful sleep.

X

It was late, and Hermione found herself in the library yet again, perusing through a pile of books that were scattered on the table in front of her. This time, however, instead of searching for what she could find on Horcruxes, Each tome contained various bits of lore surrounding ancient marriage bonding ceremonies. She had been reading for hours, and she was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of types of ceremonies there were. She had looked deep into history, to points where nations had existed only in broken fragments, each culture having its own practices regarding marriage. Most ceremonies utilize blood magic as a way of forming marriage bonds, and many of them - too many - carried the unfortunate consequences of the immediate death of both spouses upon the death of one.

It was maddening. After hours of research, she'd found only a handful of similar ceremonies but not the exact one she was searching for. She ran her finger down yet another page, quietly muttering to herself the Latin vows she remembered repeating on that fateful night. Yet again, the vows she found bore little resemblance to the phrases she recalled. She yawned as she turned to the next page, skimming through the words she saw before she stopped abruptly. In the middle of the paragraph where her finger had stopped, a familiar line stared back at her. She sat up straighter, newly alert as she read the paragraph, recognizing some of the Latin words she had heard her Defense Against the Dark Arts professor speak that night. Further down the page, she saw the words Malfoy had repeated to her and froze, realizing that this was it.

She took a deep breath before turning into the page next to where the vows were written, knowing that the words she had dreaded to read were now in front of her. The name of the type of bonding spell they had used was a long and complicated Latin phrase that she committed to memory before moving down the page, skimming the details of the ritual. "Bonding is done by combining the blood of the intended spouses… once complete, consummation is required in order to make the bonding permanent… dissolution of the bond is impossible, and upon the death of one spouse, the other shall follow nearly immediately… throughout their lifetime spouses can never be compelled to speak of their marital dealings, including by way of magical coercion…"

Hermione froze, re-reading the last few lines. They could never be compelled to reveal their marital dealings, and even outside compulsion as pervasive as veritaserum could not be used against them. The only way that the dealings of the spouses could be revealed outside of their own volition was through Legilimency. Hermione paused, then re-read the sentences again. And again. With shaking hands, she turned back the pages of the book she was reading from, skimming the entries detailing other similar marriage bonding ceremonies as her blood began to run cold with the realization that had begun to dawn upon her. Almost all the ceremonies in the book bound to the intended spouses with blood magic. Almost all resulted in the death of both spouses upon the death of one. Almost all made intimacy with another nearly impossible outside the bond. But only one… only one had this additional trait.

She shoved the book into her bag, standing mechanically as her footsteps let her out of the library and down the hall. Dread seeped into her veins as she neared her destination, all the while thinking of a vast array of reasons that could explain away what she'd just discovered other than the one that loomed at the front of her mind like any imposing shadow, casting everything she'd once seen as light versus dark into doubt.

Before long, she was stopped in front of the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office, her mouth dry and her breaths shallow as she continued to try and reason the situation over her mounting panic.

Before she could make a decision - whether to demand entry or run back to her room and cry, she knew not - a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

"What brings you here at this late hour?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling in the same way she'd come to know over the years. Now, though, she wondered if what she'd always taken for kindness was simply a calculated look, hidden behind the gentle mannerisms of an aging man who was experienced in the art of manipulation.

"I need to speak with you," she said, hearing the slight tremble in her voice.

Dumbledore looked at her for a moment before nodding, and the gargoyle slid open beside him, revealing the entrance to his office. She followed him up the steps in silence, her trepidation growing with every movement as she neared and closer to hearing the truth she feared from the words of the man she had trusted implicitly for so many years.

When they entered his office, Dumbledore sat at his desk quietly, summoning the steaming pot of tea and pouring her a cup. "What can I do for you, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Hearing her new name come from his mouth sounded like a curse. "Why did you ask me to marry him?" she asked quietly.

He gave her a sad smile. "I understand that Mr. Malfoy can be quite difficult –" he paused as she scoffed at his words. "—but I know that you understood the necessity of your union when we made the proposal to you."

"But why–why did you choose me specifically?" she asked. "Surely there are other Order members as valuable as I–"

"There are many hardships that the members of the Order will have to endure during the upcoming war. I thought you best suited for this particular task."

"I spent my evening researching ancient marriage bonding ceremonies," she said tonelessly. "Do you know how many I found?"

The man did not answer, and she did not expect him to.

"Four hundred and sixty-seven," she said softly. "I found four hundred and sixty-seven possible ceremonies that you could have chosen. Yet, you chose the only one that binds us so completely that we can never be compelled to reveal any of our dealings together. Not by our friends, not by our family, and not by any legal entities either, whether veritaserum or other similar methods are employed. The only method that can be used to extract this information would be through Legilimency," she added the last part in a whisper, recalling his reminder that they strengthen their Occlumency shields.

Dumbledore was quiet as he observed her for a long moment. "There are sacrifices that we all must make," he said simply.

"I am not Harry!" she snapped. "You do not get speak to me in vague references, and expect that I will follow you blindly, never questioning the peculiar ambiguity of your words."

Dumbledore perused her quietly again, his eyes unreadable in the wake of her words. "You are the brightest witch of your age, Mrs. Malfoy," he said.

"What do you mean to have us do?" she asked, fear swirling in her heart as she realized that she knew nothing about the man that sat in front of her. No, she had never known anything about him at all, she decided.

"You made a commitment to the Order, Mrs. Malfoy," he said.

"Stop calling me that!" she thundered, disgust rolling through her in waves at his repeated use of her new name, reminding her of the damning choice she had made.

"it was your decision to take on this name, Mrs. Malfoy," he reminded her, his voice is gentle as ever. It infuriated her.

"I decided to aid in the Order in securing a vital ally," she seethed. "I did not choose to become a part of your—your schemes!"

At this, he said nothing, instead continuing to look at her in silence, his peacefulness contrasting sharply against her outburst.

"You knew I would not refuse to help the Order," she breathed. "You knew this, and you took my loyalty to use me as a pawn—"

"I would never call upon you to do anything that you would not do in the name of the Order," he answered.

She reeled at the implications of his words. She had thought, that in fighting for the light, the actions they would take would show a clear path of unambiguously good intentions towards winning the war. But now, as she looked into his eyes, she felt entirely uncertain about his plans for their involvement in the war. She had not considered that she might be asked to walk a grey path in her attempts to aid the war effort. She had blindly allowed herself to be brought into the schemes of a man who knew exactly how far she would go in the name of the Order. Either they would live, unable to be punished for whatever they would be compelled to do, or they would die together – and their crimes would die with them.

She stood, glaring at the man who seemed somehow keen to rip all purity from her soul. She slammed a fist down on his desk, wordlessly shattering both their cups of tea into a heap of porcelain shards and steaming liquid before exiting the room and slamming the door hard behind her.

Some of you were correct in suspecting that there was more at play behind Dumbledore's request - there always is with him, isn't there?

Every review means the world to me - I can't wait to hear your thoughts/your hypotheses about what's to come.