Hello everyone! I apologize again for the delay. Real life has certainly gotten in the way of late - thank you all for bearing with me. I also wanted to announce that I now have a discord! For those who want to chat with me, here's the link (remove all *'s, of course): h*t*tps*:*/*discord*.g*g/*GH6N7Sn. Secondly, I wanted to thank those who voted for me in the 2019 Enchanted Awards - A Contract Most Inconvenient got runner up for Best WIP. Thank you so very much.

Finally, some warnings for this chapter: This is a dark, war-era fic, and this chapter gets deeper into the violent aspects of war. There is also a brief (implied) mention of rape.

As always, thank you to my wonderful beta, RESimon.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was quiet save for the occasional turning of pages, and Hermione found her mind starting to drift as she paused to take the last sip of tea in her mug. They had been researching for hours, and evening had descended swiftly. She had lit several lamps around the room, and she watched the tall candle that was lit on the desk between them steadily drip wax down its stem, gathering in a molten puddle at its base. Eventually, he sighed before she stood and stretched, padding over to the kitchen. She quickly prepared two mugs of tea, and was rewarded with a raised eyebrow when she set Draco's down in front of him.

"What?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Are you too good for tea now?"

He said nothing and instead cooled his mug with a quick flick of his wand before lifting it to his lips.

"You're welcome," she grumbled, pulling out her seat with more force than was strictly necessary.

She thought she spied a small smirk grace his features, but he melted back into his usual stoic self before she could figure it out.

"You're this upset over tea?" he drawled.

She looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "You can feel that?"

"Clearly," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

She crossed her arms. "It wasn't a stupid question, Draco. You're only supposed to be able to feel your partner's most intense emotions—"

"And you've been intensely upset for quite some time now," he said, stretching. "What else is ailing your fragile little heart?"

His tone was so deeply mocking that she felt a sudden surge of anger rise within her, and she levelled a glare at him. "You think that I have nothing to be irritated about?"

"You've made your bed, Granger," he said simply, turning back to the book in front of him.

She slammed his book shut, seething at him. "I've made my bed?!" she snapped, heaving. Until he'd pointed it out, she hadn't realized how deeply her anger had been festering within her. "Yes, I've made my bed, and you are in it. Do you know how that makes me feel?! I've lost everything," Hermione snapped, her heart shuttering at the thought of her losses in recent months. "I've basically abandoned Harry when he needed me the most, and I don't know if he'll ever forgive me for this. I broke Ron's heart, and then left. And my parents…" she swallowed the sob that threatened to burst forth, taking a steady breath before continuing.

"I agreed to marry you because I thought that you were nothing but a harmless bully who had been forced to comply with an ideal that was chosen for you that no one should have to submit to. And then only days after I do it, I find out that not only was Harry right about trying to murder people, I also find out that the Order, which I had come to trust with my life because I trusted that they would be the only way to save me and my kind from persecution was manipulating me and played me right into their scheming hands as they use me as nothing but a chess piece in this war. So yes, forgive me if I am a too little upset for your liking." By the time she was finished speaking, she was heaving with the efforts of her outburst.

He said nothing, and instead of quirking an eyebrow yet again before turning and calmly opening the book she had slammed shut in front of him. She watched his nonchalance incredulously for a few long moments before she turned back to her own book. Still, it took her only a few minutes of re-reading the same sentence before she realized that she was too flustered to continue.

"I'm not sorry," she said carefully. "But I understand why you did what you did, just as I hope that you understand that I am valid in feeling the way that I do. But… if we are ever to get through this without getting ourselves killed, then we need to work on this," she said, gesturing between the two of them. "We need to learn how to control it or it will ruin us both."

He did not turn until she finished speaking, and when he did there was a glint in his grey eyes as he met hers. It was then that she felt the tickle of him probing at her mind, gently but with purpose. Immediately, she snapped up a wall in her mind, blocking him from her thoughts. Still, she could feel her emotions seeping through invisible crevices in the wall, coaxed forward — although unbidden — by the force of the bond. They swirled like smoke, curling toward him as if beckoned by his mere presence. She tried to pull them back, but they slipped away as she clawed at them. The most burning ones seeped forward quickly — a ball of anger and frustration — while the others lingered behind, hovering but not quite reaching out for him. He probed deeper still, even as she painstakingly pieced together a stronger wall, finally feeling it begin to take shape around her swirling emotions, blocking them in.

She narrowed her eyes, then pressed forward into his mind, feeling his walls come into place similarly to hers, even as his own emotions hovered near the surface, laid almost bare to her. She felt his annoyance swell above all else as he tried to force her out, and she could not help the small smirk that she knew played on her lips as she probed further with ease. Currently, only his irritation and anger flared hard, but she knew his other emotions lay just beneath. She pressed forward, reaching deeper still—

And paused. They were married, yes — but she still felt as though she barely knew the man in front of her. Yet, here she was probing at his deepest emotions, dragging them out even as he tried his damndest to suppress them. She was his wife only in the strictest sense of the word, and these were things she was never meant to be privy to. At the same moment that she pulled back, he pulled back as well, glaring hard at her as she watched him back, neither saying a word.

"You can— be with someone, eventually," she said as she eventually broke the silence. "It will take some focus, but the bond doesn't stop you from loving"— the word felt thick as she said it, recalling the messy end of her relationship with Ron— "someone else, although the, uh, physical aspect will take some focus—"

"I know, Granger," he cut her off, his expression stoic.

He turned away from her then, but she still watched the hard set of his jaw and his clenched fists as he went back to his book, wondering about their future. After the war — if they were to survive it — they would eventually part. And what then? Things were over between her and Ron, and she no longer had lingering feelings for him. But if she were to pursue another relationship in the future, would she be damned to the same messy fate of whatever she and Ron had been? It's felt as though a part of her had been severed when she had been bonded, leaving only a gap of emptiness in its wake—

"Complete destruction," she breathed.

"What?" Malfoy asked.

"We need to sever a Horcrux's bond to its object completely in order to destroy it," she said, scrambling to write down the information that just dawned on her. "The diary — it wasn't destroyed by the basilisk fang just because it was stabbed. It was destroyed because of the venom," she said, scribbling across her parchment.

"So complete destruction entails basilisk venom, then," he mused. "And the only known place where we could acquire said venom would be in the Chamber of Secrets, no?"

"Maybe…" she said, thinking of the school that was now being run by Death Eaters. It would be next to impossible for them to even get into the school undetected. They would need to ask McGonagall for aid, which could possibly in turn leave the information vulnerable to Voldemort's plundering should he ever decide to interrogate the teachers, which was a high possibility. Snape knew very much about the Order, enough that she would be a prime suspect were anything to occur involving them. And if she were to consent to obliviation, the risk still existed that something would occur, potentially leaving the students unprotected.

"Fiendfyre," Malfoy said. "That could work, couldn't it?"

She bit her lip to stop it from trembling as she recalled the fiery snake that had consumed her home in seconds, leaving nothing in its wake. All of her family belongings that she had so carefully stowed away and warded with every spell she knew was just gone— as if she had done nothing at all.

"Yes," she whispered finally. "That would probably work."

She felt him watching her, and she ignored him, opting instead carefully pen a letter to Harry for delivery whenever someone came to check on them next.

X

Several more days of radio silence from the Order passed before the coin burned once more. One moment, they were poring over the texts and their notes, occasionally swapping notes and addressing further points of interest. The next, it burned hotly where they kept it on the desk between them, the scent of burning wood settling in the air between them. This time, the message was simply a set of coordinates. Malfoy peeked at them before tapping his wand at the location on the map, studying it carefully. She was about to send a confirmation of receipt when another message followed the first. Proceed with caution. A tendril of fear curled in her heart as she read the message, and she felt Malfoy pause himself and lean to read it over her shoulder.

When she looked up at him, his face was hard. "Get your cloak," he said, crossing the room to gather his own. She went into the bedroom and pulled it out of her trunk, then hesitated before pulling out a second bundle. She unraveled it as she made her way back to the main room where Malfoy waited, eyebrows raised as he saw what it held inside. She handed one of the knives to him wordlessly, watching the way the intricate details on the sheath glinted in the light.

"I got them in Knockturn before school started. With everything…I wanted to be prepared," she explained.

He nodded. "I've been there before," he said, holding out an expectant hand. She met his hard eyes for a moment as she hesitated, wondering if she would see a flicker of the fear she felt reflected in them. But there was nothing, and the walls he'd built in his mind were firmly in place, not an ounce of his emotions seeping through.

Finally, she reached out and took his hand, and they were gone.

They reappeared in shadows, the darkness around her so dense that she could feel only the tickle of leaves around her and feel the densely packed earth they stood on making soft squelching noises as her feet slipped. Malfoy's form was hard and solid in front of her, and she leaned into him, clutching the back of his cloak as she drew some comfort from the warmth he radiated. He said nothing, only leaning down to nod ahead of them into the darkness of the densely packed trees, urging her forward.

She followed on his heels, slipping twice before she muttered a quick charm to stabilize herself. Still, it did nothing to calm her racing heartbeat as they moved forward, steadily approaching a dim light that shone between the trees. When they got close enough to the light for her to see properly, she realized that there was a modestly-sized cabin that dominated a small clearing. This time, no revealing spell was needed — she would see the shadows of bodies moving past the drawn curtains in the lit windows. Instantly, her hands felt clammy and her throat went dry.

"Wait," she said, grabbing Malfoy's arm and stopping him.

He looked back at her, flinching when she raised her fingers to graze lightly through his hair. "Maybe we should, you know—glamour ourselves," she said, even as the thought of how she'd kept her telltale curls in tight buns and braids since their run-in with Yaxley.

It was so dark that she could not see his eyes, but she knew that they were searching her all the same. "No," he answered, his voice was gruff. "I have a plan."

"To expose yourself?"

"I will be the distraction. You need to set up wards and disillusion yourself to check the premises."

Her hand gripped his sleeve for a moment longer before she released him, her trepidation mounting with each step he took away from her. He stepped into the clearing and turned to her, giving her a sharp nod before he went up to the door and rapped hard. It opened a few moments later, and she stood in the shadows, listening to the exclaims of surprise of the men within at Draco's appearance. There were several voices — at least five, she thought, but couldn't distinguish properly. She hoped it was less. It was probably more.

At this thought, she started, recalling her task. She quickly disillusioned herself, then set to putting up anti-apparition wards around the small area. When she finished, she circled back around to see that the door was still wide open, and Malfoy was leaning casually in the doorframe, likely appearing nonchalant to the men within. She approached carefully, wincing at the small squeak her trainer made on one of the wooden steps.

"—and they've now started rounding up the mudbloods, then, I see?" Malfoy drawled, his tone as casual as ever.

Even now, although she knew it was a ruse, his use of the word still made her flinch, and an unwitting sense of cold dread settled over her.

"There'll be a registry soon," one of the men spoke from beyond Malfoy. The glee in his voice sickened her. "And if they won't register…well, we've found other ways," he said, his voice dark.

"Filthy little creatures, aren't they? And the blood traitors are no different," Another man added, and the others joined his ensuing laughter. These words finally made her unfreeze, and she moved close enough to Malfoy until she could brush his arm, signaling her presence. Malfoy's laugh boomed loudest of all, forcing her to separate her memories of that specific laugh during their years at Hogwarts from the man in front of her. He did not flinch at her touch, but instead causally uncrossed his legs and straightened, and she spied his face melting into his signature haughty look as he stepped further into the room while she brushed past.

It was a small, well-lit living room, and there were five men sitting around, bearing glasses of various liquors that ranged from amber to dark brown. Only one appeared completely inebriated and slouched on a sofa, his slurred laughter echoing louder than that of those around him.

She did not linger, and instead tiptoed over to the entry to the kitchen, peeking inside to find no one within. She spared one last glance at the men gathered in the living room before she mumbled an extra charm on her feet and tiptoed up the narrow steps, wand at the ready. Upstairs, there were four closed doors. One was ajar, which appeared to be a loo.

She crept up to the first door, listening for the sounds of movement within. Booming laughter still echoed from downstairs, sending chills up her spine as she tried to focus. It was near silent as far as she could tell, yet her clammy hands nearly slipped off of the doorknob as she grasped it. She stepped through quickly, wand at the ready and a stunning spell on her lips when she realized no one was within. It was a sparsely furnished bedroom, and a draft breezed through the slightly opened window across the room. Still, her skin tingled, and her wand did not waver from its taut position as she whipped her eyes around, scanning for movement.

"Homenum revelio," she whispered. When the air shifted in the middle of the room to reveal its occupants, she stumbled backward and clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream as well as her sudden need to retch.

In the centre of the room, two bloodied figures were slumped in chairs, arms bound behind them and their legs bound just as tightly by the ankles. It was a woman and a man, and their clothing was ripped, blood seeping through several cuts and wounds that littered the exposed parts of their skin. Neither was moving.

"Reenervate," she whispered at the figures after she disillusioned herself. Only the one on the right side jerked awake, blinking open the eye that wasn't swollen shut to look up at her. The woman opened her mouth to speak, and choked instead, spraying bloodied spittle as she struggled for air.

Hermione quickly conjured a glass of water and tipped it to the woman's lips, her hand shaking as she heard the woman's ragged breaths, sensing that it would not be long before she became a limp corpse like the man next to them. After a few meager sips, the woman turned to Hermione, wheezing something to her.

"My…my…" the woman's voice was a cracked whisper, and Hermione leaned closer, uncaring of the slippery blood that coated her hand as she cupped the woman's cheek.

"You're going to be okay," Hermione said. "We're going to get you to safety—"

But they both knew that she was beyond saving. Even as she spoke, her words rang with the finality of one's final breaths.

"Seamus," the woman said again, her voice clearer. "My…son."

And Hermione gasped. She whipped her wide eyes between the two figures, now noticing the matching wedding rings they both wore. The words of the men downstairs now haunted her impossibly deeper — muggleborns. Blood traitors. A registry. Finding other ways to handle them, should they choose not to comply.

Her foot caught against an object as she stumbled backward, and she heard a loud bang followed by a shattering noise behind her at the same that she heard a long bang from downstairs. She turned horrified eyes to the vase she had knocked over, still hearing the noises of the struggle downstairs. She was out of time.

She flicked her wand at the woman's — Seamus' mother, she now knew — bindings, caching her as she slumped forward. "I'm going to get you out of here," she said desperately, her voice choking over the words. "I'm going to get you back to your son."

She barely heard the sound of the door to one of the other rooms slamming open before the door to the room she was in opened, and she shot out a spell as a burly man burst in, easily deflecting her spell.

"You little bitch," he spat, charging at her before she shot out another spell that made him drop instantly, and made quick work of obliviating him. Her wand was not practiced this time, and she was forceful in dragging out his memories, some of them even spilling out onto the floor in silvery puddles that quickly dissipated as she shoved a portkey into the man's hand. This man would be nothing but a vegetable, and in that moment she had no regrets.

She turned back to Seamus' mother, breathing a sigh of relief as she felt the faint beat of a pulse under the woman's skin, even as she was slumped forward again, looking eerily like the corpse of her husband beside her. Hermione had been about to tip a portkey into the woman's hand when she heard another set of footsteps and another man burst into the room, his dark eyes dancing with rage.

"Cruci—"

"Impedimenta!" she shouted, watching him deflect her spell as easily as she dodged his. He rushed forward and she whipped to the side, tossing out another spell that barely grazed his hair.

The man snarled and charged forward again, deflecting her stunner. Then he paused, and with a wicked smile, aimed his wand toward Seamus' mother. Before Hermione could register her actions, she threw herself at him, causing the flash of green light that erupted from the tip of his wand to hit the already dead body of Seamus' father instead. She grunted as they fell to the ground, and her hand that held her wand got trapped between their bodies. She butted her head into his jaw, causing him to rear back in pain for a moment before he pressed forward again, crushing her beneath his body.

Then, as if in slow motion, he lifted his wand and cast a hex at Seamus' mother that slashed across her stomach, causing her to gasp out a final breath before she slid to the ground in a pool of crimson blood, her eyes open and lifeless.

Hermione screamed, and his free hand fastened around her neck, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her hands were small, so small compared to his and he slammed down a heavy elbow on her forearm with a sickening crunching noise that caused her to drop her wand as she cried out in pain. Black spots started to appear in her vision, and she stopped clawing at his fingers that were latched around her throat, causing a cruel smile to slowly grace his features as he smirked down at her.

His smile disappeared, however, when she whipped her hand back up and swiped her knife across his throat. Instantly, blood spurted out of the wound and spilled over them both. He dropped her instantly, clawing at his throat. Then his body jerked and he fell forward, giving her only a moment to scramble backward before he toppled to the floor, unmoving. Beyond him, Malfoy stood in the doorway, breathing heavily even as his wand stayed pointed at the man as if he was waiting for him to get up. His eyes flicked to her before he crossed the room in two quick strides, dropping to his knees in front of her.

"Where are you hurt?" he demanded, his hands ghosting over her body. "Is it his?" he asked, looking down at where his hands had come away bloodied.

She didn't answer although she knew she needed to. She willed her limbs to move, but she felt as though she was underwater, her body slow to respond while her mind raced, replaying the sequence of events of the night on a sickening loop.

"Granger," Malfoy said, and she flinched when he touched her broken arm. "I'm going to heal this, alright?"

She managed only to blink in acknowledgment and felt a burn of pain as her bone snapped itself back together.

"Granger," Malfoy prodded again, and still she could not find the words to answer. When she did not reply, he gathered her into his arms gently — more gently than she'd previously thought him capable of — and disapparated them.

X

They landed back in the kitchen of their cabin. He set her down on her feet, then quickly steadied her as she buckled.

"Granger," he spoke into her ear as she sagged back into his chest. "You're shaking."

She hadn't realized it, but she was. Even as she noticed the trembling, however, she couldn't make it stop.

"What happened?" His voice was almost soft — concerned.

She opened her mouth, then slammed it shut as the sound of her teeth clacking together took over. She couldn't move. Couldn't think. All she could see was blood. Blood and dead bodies, a dying woman lingering just out of her reach…

"Granger!" Malfoy snapped.

She looked up at him, still shaking, her teeth grinding down hard as she tried to force her jaw to stop trembling. She tried to focus on his eyes, but grey shifted to brown, and she saw Seamus' mother's lifeless eyes looking back at her from where she lay on the ground—

She was jerked forward then, and she dimly registered Malfoy pulling her toward the loo, dragging her inside and shoving her into the shower. The sudden spray of frigid water caused her to shiver more, and this time she let her teeth chatter openly, clutching her arms tightly around her body. Malfoy stepped in in front of her, the water soaking through the long-sleeved shirt and trousers he wore, the dark fabric clinging heavily to his figure.

"You're in shock," he said, gently tugging her chin until she met his eyes.

She gave a shot nod — she supposed she was. She felt powerless to do anything all the same.

"I'm going to clean the blood off of you, alright?" Again, he used that gentle tone that sounded so unlike him that she had to flick her eyes down to his lips to make the connection between the man in front of her and the words she heard him speaking.

She managed another small nod, aware that she was still holding herself tightly and shivering. His hands were as gentle as his words as he raised a rag and began wiping her face.

"I'm going to take off your clothes," he said softly and she gave another small nod, no longer caring about her modesty.

He vanished her clothes a moment later, and she was glad to be rid of them, glad that some of the evidence of what had transpired was gone forever, although she was certain that her memories of it would brand her forever. He cleaned her skin slowly and diligently, taking careful care to wash away every speck of blood from her skin and hair. It was so unlike him — so deeply unlike everything she had ever known about him that her eyes remained fixed on him, trying to reconcile the gentle movements he made as he cleaned her thoroughly with the hard, cold man she was used to. He remained clothed all the while, and she watched him, looking for signs that he was as affected by the night as she was. He had blood in his hair, platinum stained with red, and a spot on his neck that didn't seem to wash away like the rest of it until she realized it was a small gash that he had yet to heal. He paused only when she reached out to touch it.

At her touch, he looked up at her and caught the question in her eyes. "I'll heal it later," he said dismissively, pausing to wring out the rag until pink water flowed down the drain before he returned to wiping her feet.

Draco Malfoy was an enigma. She continued to study him, watching for a break in his facade as dried her and summoned her bathrobe, wrapping it tightly around her. Wordlessly, he carried her to the bedroom and put her under the sheets before turning to leave.

"Thank you," she croaked, watching him pause in the doorway.

"Get some sleep," he answered simply before pulling the door shut behind him.

X

She did not emerge from the room for two days. A few times a day — she could not say when, because she kept the curtains tightly drawn — Malfoy would come in and leave her a plate of food before exiting quickly without a word. She slept fitfully for as long as she could before she would wake up, the images slamming back into her mind as suddenly and as vividly as though she had experienced them only moments earlier. Sometimes she would scream. Other times, she would choke back sobs, shoving a fist into her mouth as she tried to stifle the sounds. Still, Malfoy heard her —and probably felt it — every time without fail, and would enter the room with a sleeping potion at the ready. She knew the supplies she'd seen their cabinets stocked with were limited, yet he did not complain — or say anything, really — and would instead tip the potion to her lips and slip back out, closing the door behind him and sealing her in the darkness she so craved once more.

On the morning of the third day, she awoke in a cold sweat, sucking in heavy breaths as she tried to steady her racing heartbeat. Her mind was overrun with images of people suffering, screaming — dying. But this time, instead of crying out as she so desired to, she channeled her fear into determination. She knew now that this was bigger than her — she now knew firsthand what the costs of war were. She felt herself swing her legs over the bed, and took two steady steps as she stood up. Eventually, she padded carefully over to the door and pulled it open, scanning the room before her eyes landed on where Malfoy was sitting at the long desk, looking up at her with a question in his eyes.

"I'm alright," she said, her throat scratching as she spoke her first words in days. "Thank you," she added.

He nodded and scanned her for a moment before turning back to the tome in front of him.

"I killed him," she whispered brokenly. "I killed him, and—"

"Granger," he cut her off. "You don't need to—"

"—and I don't regret it," she finished. "He…he wasn't human."

Malfoy paused, his gaze intense as he met hers, and she looked back, knowing he could see the truth of her admission, and feel it as she dropped the walls she had built in her mind. "I burned them," he said eventually. "I burned everything."

"Good," she answered. "She—" it was then that Hermione's voice broke, and she bit her lip before looking down. "She was Seamus'— Seamus Finnegan's— mother. His father was already…when we got there." Her lip trembled as the sickening images flitted through her mind once more. She closed her eyes and let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and when she opened them again Malfoy was in front of her, his hands out as if ready to steady her.

She waved him away, shaking her head. "It's alright," she said, and he nodded, letting his arms drop to his sides as he turned to go back to the desk. She caught his hand before he could take a step.

"Draco," she called. "How did you…why did you know where to go?"

His shoulders stiffened instantly.

"I don't— I won't pry, if you don't want to tell me," she said. Still, she continued to grip his sleeve, knowing that he would soon pull away. Still, a long moment passed and he did not pull away, nor did she release his sleeve.

"The Dark Lord…he liked to hold revels," he said. His voice was low, yet she heard the tinge of fear in it that was otherwise hidden by his fortified occlumency walls.

"Revels?" She asked when he offered no more.

"Some referred to them as…learning exercises," he said. She yearned to circle him and search his eyes but knew that he might pull away if she moved even a fraction. "They taught others how to curse people in ways that would make the pain last. They held demonstrations of how to use the Killing Curse."

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, imagining the horrors of what he must have witnessed. "Did they use…live targets?"

His nod was nearly imperceptible, but unmistakable all the same. "Muggles, mostly. But sometimes…" he trailed off, letting the implications of what was left unsaid hang in the air between them.

"They killed…all of them?" Her voice was a pained whisper as she thought of the horrors he'd had to endure.

"No," his voice was sharp. "Some…some they kept for entertainment."

Hermione froze at his words, letting out a horrified gasp. She pictured her parents in the same position Seamus' had been in the previous night, and wondered if they would have simply killed her, or…

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Malfoy from behind, feeling her sympathy beating as strongly as her heartbeat and knowing that he could feel it, too. She let her feelings flow, clutching him so tightly that she could feel his muscles contracting under her fingers. He tensed but did not move, and he stood there for a long while, letting her silent tears wet the back of his shirt.