Thank you so very much to my beta, RESimon - you're a dream.
CHAPTER SIX
She landed on the doorstep of her parents' home, collapsing in a heap as sobs began to rock her body. She vaguely registered the door opening, and the confused voices of her parents as they fretted over her. She let them help her up and take her inside, sobbing all the way to the family room where they wrapped her in a blanket and soon placed a steaming mug of tea into her trembling hands.
"Hermione, love," her father asked urgently, his hazel eyes wide with concern. "Tell us what happened –why on earth aren't you at school?"
She opened her mouth to speak, trying to formulate a lie that could realistically encompass her grief. Instead, a fresh round of sobs escaped her, causing her parents to wrap their arms around her as they whispered soothing words into her ear.
They stayed like this with her for hours, letting her cry as they held her in their comforting embrace, occasionally planting kisses along her forehead and hair as she cried. She fell asleep like this, waking up sometime in the middle of the night to find that they had tucked her into her bed. She sat up, shivering even though her room was temperate, reflective of the summer months that they had entered. She cast a warming charm on her sheets, instantly feeling the spell begin to work.
Still, she could not help the cold that seeped through her body, feeling as though it enveloped her entire soul.
X
She was still numb a few days later when McGonagall showed up on her doorstep, looking somber as she took in Hermione's expression.
"How are you doing, child?" The kindly woman asked.
"I should be asking you the same, professor," she said, knowing the woman would detect the emptiness in her voice. She lead the woman inside, moving mechanically as she poured her a cup of tea from the steaming pot she had just set down on the table.
"The funeral will be held at Hogwarts tomorrow," McGonagall explained, searching her eyes. Hermione nodded, staring down into her tea unblinkingly.
"You did not answer my earlier question," the older woman said softly.
"It is because I do not know the answer," she answered robotically, not bothering to meet McGonagall's searching gaze.
"Where is he?" McGonagall asked softly.
"I do not care where he is," she answered tonelessly. "I know what he's done." She thought of all the lies he had told her since they'd married, feeling bile rise in her throat at the memory of it all. She had left him wherever his hotel was, praying she wouldn't have to see him again until whenever the Order designated they were to go into hiding. At the time she'd decided to leave with him, she'd thought stealing away in the night with him was the best course of action for them. Now, she desired nothing more than to have done anything but.
McGonagall reached out to place a hand over where Hermione's rested on the table. "He did not do this," she said. "He was raised in an environment of abject cruelty, but this is not something he was capable of."
"How do you know?"
McGonagall sighed. "It was Severus."
At this, Hermione looked up, shocked. "He–what? I—I don't understand," she asked, looking at her professor with wide eyes.
"I know not the answers to the questions you wish to pose," the older woman said. "I, too, am confused."
Hermione was quiet as she remembered the way she had seen Harry screaming and throwing curses at Snape that night. "What happens now?" she asked, knowing her voice betrayed the fear she felt inside.
"I do not know," her professor said solemnly. "There is much at play here that we do not yet understand."
"Did you know why he chose to bond us this way?" she asked, looking up at the woman.
McGonagall sighed. "I had had my suspicions, but I could not be certain — his reasons for choosing you, for binding you in this way were sound, as much as it broke my heart to agreed to the decision."
"Why didn't he have someone else make an unbreakable vow? He could've chosen anyone else in the Order, but he chose me—"
"Who could we have chosen, Mrs. Malfoy? There are many members of the Order, it is true, but how many would have agreed to bind themselves by way of a perilous Vow that they could not guarantee that they would be able to uphold? Asking them to do so may have decreased their utility in the war, and as you know we have no lives that we can spare, unfortunately."
Hermione looked at the woman who sat in front of her, scanning a face that she had known and trusted for the past six years. She wondered if the woman had known about Dumbledore's ulterior motives - if she had realized, and objected. Or perhaps he had presented the unique advantages that the situation provided, and the Order members present had agreed that it was in their best interest to conceal that aspect of the proposal from her. She no longer knew who she could trust, and it broke her heart.
"Except mine, of course?" Hermione spat bitterly.
McGonagall gave her a sad look over where her spectacles were perched upon her nose. "You know very well of the sacrifices that must be made in times like these. As Albus also pointed out, you are one of the key individuals is that the Order must protect at all costs throughout this war. Who better to choose than someone who is dedicated to the cause and understands the gravity of the situation that approaches us?"
Hermione scoffed. "He gave quite the elaborate explanation, didn't he? Did you know about how completely our marriage has bound us?"
McGonagall reached over and hand and placed it gently atop hers that was clenched into a fist on the tabletop. "I did not– I swear it. As far as I know, only he and Severus were the ones who were aware."
"Regardless of if only they were aware, the Order cannot be unaware of the useful prize that has been played into their hand," she said bitterly.
"The Order would not ask of you anything they know you would not do," McGonagall said.
"You think they would not emphasize the importance of what they will ask of me in the face of the war we must win?" Hermione said. "I know how crucial this war is–I am a Muggle-born. They know that too— do not think it is beneath Kingsley or Moody to guilt me into undertaking missions they wouldn't touch themselves, knowing that if caught we can cover our tracks entirely once we master Occlumency, leaving them with clean hands once this war has concluded. All in the name of the Greater Good." She swallowed, knowing that she had already nearly mastered Occlumency out of sheer desperation to avoid Malfoy's probing in the future, effectively sealing their destiny.
To that, McGonagall said nothing, only continuing to look at her somberly.
Hermione turned to look out the window of her parents' kitchen, observing how peaceful and undisturbed the Muggle world was, in direct contrast to the turmoil that was about to descend upon the Wizarding world.
Eventually, McGonagall broke the silence. "Kingsley would like you to relocate to 12 Grimmauld Place until we've made more suitable arrangements," she said as she stood, making her way back down the hall and toward the front door. Hermione followed quietly, pulling open the door mechanically to let the woman out.
"I do sincerely hope you will be able to attend the funeral," McGonagall said as she stepped through the door.
Hermione said nothing but gave her a small nod as she left the door click shut behind her.
X
Hermione sat in the back row of the funeral, wearing thick shades and with her telltale hair pulled back into a sleek chignon, making herself as small as possible. Thankfully, she did not recognize those who sat beside her, and she spent the entire funeral alternating between watching Harry's shock of black hair and Ron's vibrant red. They stood out to her like beacons in the crowd, spots of vibrancy in the otherwise dreary weather. Even after most had stood up and left, she stayed seated, watching as Harry took Ginny aside, speaking to her in low tones. The girl's stance was hunched, and when she turned to leave, Hermione caught a glimpse of tears glistening on the girl's cheeks.
It was a vicious cycle, Hermione mused, and it all ended in heartbreak. These were the first casualties of war. The blatant grief she saw etched on the faces of the mourners that surrounded her was almost a prophetic vision of the world they loved crumbling around them, leaving a bleak new reality in its wake.
She waited until the crowd thinned some more before making her way over to where Ron and Harry sat, talking quietly amongst themselves.
"Hi," Hermione said quietly as she approached, carefully opting to sit in the seat beside Harry and furthest from Ron.
"Hermione?" Harry said, looking up at her. When she met his broken look, she pulled him into her arms, temporarily throwing down the barriers that she'd erected so carefully over the past few months.
"I'm so sorry," she said as she pulled away. "For— for all of it," she said weakly, looking toward Dumbledore's tomb.
Harry leaned into her shoulder, nodding.
"Where were you?" Ron asked.
Hermione focused on looking at Harry, the grass, the sky, Dumbledore's tomb — any and everything that wasn't Ron as she answered. "I...had things to take care of," she said.
"Like what, 'Mione?"
She could hear the doubt and hurt in his voice, and she forced down her pain as she continued to avoid his probing gaze. "My parents," she lied, knowing she'd continued to put off what she knew needed to be done as the war loomed over her.
At her words, Harry's head shot up. "Are they—"
"They're fine," Hermione reassured him. "I just...have to send them somewhere safe," she finished.
Harry continued to look at her with a wild, broken gaze, and she smoothed a hand over his cheek before hugging him again. "It'll be alright," she whispered, despite knowing that neither one of them knew if that was true. "We will survive this." The lies slid off her tongue with ease. She swallowed back the bitter taste they left, accepting that one day, sooner than she would like, she would drown in them.
X
Hermione sat at her kitchen table, watching her parents as they laughed together, soap suds in their hair as they playfully splashed each other, dancing to the radio that was tuned to their favorite oldies station as it was every Saturday morning. Her bowl of oats had grown hard and cold in the time she'd been watching them quietly, flashing them her widest, falsest smile every time they turned to her.
The two people in front of her were all she truly had left. She counted Harry and Ron as already lost, as she knew that the clock had begun to tick on their relationship the moment this war had truly begun to manifest. Her eyes roved over them, memorizing every inch of their features as she felt a silent tear slip down her cheek. Could she sever this final connection, knowing that this may well be the last time she saw them?
For a moment, a sliver of selfishness burst forth within her, urging her to ignore the desperation that had brought her to this point. It clawed at her, telling her to keep them here, to keep them near, knowing that they were the only ones who would understand the choices she'd made in the future if she even had one—
"Obliviate," she whispered, feeling more tears slip down her cheeks as she watched their bodies freeze, her father's arms still wrapped around her mother from behind in an embrace as she whispered the word that would alter their lives around her existence, closing off the gaps she'd created in their memories until their daughter was long gone from their minds, reduced to nothing but a whisper of the memories that had been stolen from them.
X
It was nearing dark when she apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place, standing on the doorstep for an inordinate amount of time before she finally stepped through the threshold. She stood in the front hall for a moment, running her fingertips along the faded wallpaper as she tried to commit the place to memory. She had once viewed the place as something akin to a prison, but now she realized that it was the closest place she had to home. At least she had been able to return — after stealing away that night with Malfoy, she had anticipated not returning to any of the sanctuaries that she had shared with her friends for quite some time.
She tiptoed past the oft shrieking portrait that despised her so, wondering what insults the shrill woman would have for her now that Hermione had technically married into her bloodline. At that thought, Hermione's eyes went wide as she went quickly into the room she knew held the Black family tapestry. Her heart race as she searched the tapestry, letting out a relieved breath when the space that would link her to Draco was empty.
"We had that glamoured, too," a voice spoke from behind her, startling her.
She whirled around to see none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt perched in an armchair by the fire, nursing a glass of dark liquor.
"Hello, Kingsley," she said stiffly.
"No one should have had to witness what you did," his said. "Are you alright?"
Hermione stared at him, incredulous for a moment as she took in his words. How could she possibly be alright? From the look in his eyes, she could tell that he, too, knew just how useless his words had been.
"I'm fine," she lied.
"We've prepared a room for you on the top floor," he said as she turned to make her way for the exit.
She paused at that, as she had been heading toward the room she had once shared with Ginny. She turned and gave him a soft nod.
"You have taken on a great responsibility, Hermione," Kingsley said. "It will not be forgotten."
She stiffened at his words, wanting to turn to ask him if he had known about Malfoy's activities before they'd elected to have her bonded to him. But she had already caught the weariness in his stance, the empty look in his eyes as he'd nursed his glass. Instead, she gave him another stiff nod before making the long journey to the topmost floor.
It was quiet in the house save for the creaks her footsteps made as she ascended the stairs. By the time she made it to the topmost floor, the weariness she'd been feeling when she'd entered the home had begun to seep into her bones, and she pushed open the door to the room with the sole intention of taking the sleeping potion she had stashed in her bag and drifting off into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
She knew she shouldn't have been surprised to see Malfoy there, sitting on the small couch, but she was.
They stared each other down for a long, tense moment, and her hand was tight around her wand in her pocket as she debated whether she could hex him without rousing the entire household. Before she could decide, however, he stood and went into the small loo, slamming the door shut behind him.
Before he re-emerged, she had already crossed over to the bed that was pushed into the far corner of the room and curled up on top of the sheets, falling into a deep sleep.
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