AN: Hi! I have this story cross-posted to AO3 (you can find me there under the same username, hellvwng). I am able to respond and engage much more easily and freely there and I LOVE chatting with readers and discussing with them, so please read and comment over there if you'd like! Thank you to everyone that has commented already: I read each and every review and I'm eternally humbled that people are enjoying my story. mwahhh
The atmospheric pressure of Apparition was almost too much to bear for Hermione. When they appeared again onto solid ground, she pitched forward on unsteady legs. She would've crumbled into a bloodied heap on the ground, if not for the vice-like grip Draco had on her right arm.
"Fucking - come on, Granger," he hissed.
Dark spots had appeared in her field of vision. Hermione tried to take in a gasp of air but found there was fluid in her lungs, rapidly filling with blood. She heard a creak of leather and a shuffle of fabric above her.
Suddenly, she was being scooped up. An arm reached around to support her by the back of her legs, while another supported her upper body.
Draco had sheathed his wand and was carrying her, striding forward with purpose.
Hermione tried to blink and focus through the dark spots at the edge of her vision.
There were stars above. A dark, inky night enveloped them both. The waning moon hung in the sky offered enough light for her to see his eyes; the rest of his face was still obscured by the High Reeve mask.
He stared down at her. There was something molten in his gaze, mercury shapeshifting.
A tendril of fear snaked through her. The last time they had spoken, Draco told her that he'd kill her if he ever saw her again.
She tried to take in another breath but it was like wading through water; difficult, slow, sluggish. She could feel her consciousness sinking away somewhere as the lack of oxygen began to overtake her.
The crunch of gravel beneath his boot stopped abruptly as they reached their destination. Hermione turned her head to stare at the door of the cliffside cottage. It sprang open by itself and Draco pushed way in, desperation driving him faster.
He lowered Hermione down on the cream sofa, as quickly and gently as he could, and then -
"Mippet!" he barked.
A pop, and the elf had appeared. Hermione stared at her, flummoxed. How did -
"Get my healing kit," Draco urged. Mippet's expression was one of terror, but she clicked her long fingers and was gone again.
Draco turned back to Hermione and tore his mask off, tossing it behind him without a backwards glance. It clattered onto the wood floor and wobbled once, twice, then fell silent. Finally, she could see his expression.
He was pale. He had always been pale but tonight he looked distinctly unwell. His hands trembled faintly as he pulled up her torn shirt.
The wound in her side poured blood over his hand. Hermione watched as his expression grew tense. She had never seen him look so … panicked before.
Draco Malfoy was panicking over her.
Mippet appeared again with a pop and hurried over with a silver tray, laden with a variety of potions. She offered it to him and shot Hermione a terrified, anxious look, before backing away. She disappeared with a crack.
Hermione turned her gaze to the silver tray that rested on a side table, and saw the potions on it. She immediately recognized them as the very regimen she had prescribed for Draco, for his own aftercare after the Blood Rituals.
He quickly grabbed a Blood Replenishing potion and a pain relief potion, bringing each vial up to yank the cork stoppers out with his teeth. Then, with the utmost care, he slipped his hand under Hermione's head and brought the potion to her lips, helping her drink.
Draco leaned in and she heard the whispered incantation of a Vanishing spell, muttered at her chest. The inside of her lungs no longer felt sticky wet with alien fluid churning around.
As she swallowed down the Blood Replenishing potion, she gave a sudden inhale. The woozy, floating feeling had left her. Reality took on its usual clarity again, as if she had donned a pair of prescription glasses.
The pain relief potion took away the searing burn in her side, and dulled it to an intense ache. She was able to think clearly again.
Grasping the wand she had managed to cling to stubbornly during the escape, she whispered healing incantations. The hole in her lung stitched together, zipping her flesh up like a form fitting jacket. After taking a few deep steadying breaths, she froze.
Hermione looked up suddenly into Draco's beautiful, cold face.
Caught off guard by her sharp glance, he had no time to school his expression. It was twisted with foolish agony.
Of its own accord, her hand raised up slowly. She pressed her palm to his cheek, held it against his face.
His own hand rose up to clasp hers. He looked down at her.
Mournful regret lay there.
"Why- … why are you here?" Hermione whispered. "You weren't … you weren't supposed to be in the country. How did you find out? I- I thought you were in Romania."
I thought you were safe in Romania, she wanted to say.
She stared up at him, desperate. What had he done?
Draco looked down at her and there was a flicker in his expression, before the cold set in again.
His eyes seemed to shimmer and then went dull.
He was Occluding.
"I specified that the Dark Lord would be in Romania," he said. His voice was icy with cold disbelief. "I didn't say I would be joining him. I was to stay here and oversee his army in his absence."
Hermione gazed back. Suddenly, horror gripped her — alpha, beta, delta, gamma. They had charged forward with such an ambitious mission because somewhere along the way, communication lines had been crossed. They thought the High Reeve would be out of the country.
"What happened to the other teams? How did you find me at Sussex?" she gasped. She tried to push herself onto her elbows, to sit up and scramble away from him.
Her arms failed her.
Draco fixed her with his frigid stare.
"Lupin's last thoughts were of Tonks. He was never good at Legilimency; he prayed desperately that she and their unborn child would survive the war. I saw you in the memory, arguing to storm Sussex along with the elder Weasley. I went searching for you once I disposed of Lupin."
It was as if a vat of ice water had been dumped on Hermione. Tears began to pool in her eyes as the wretched night came flooding back to her.
Robards. Davies. Tonks.
Lupin.
Hot tears trembled on the precipice, before they began rolling down her face. Hermione gave a gasping sob and looked up at Draco.
He remained unmoved. There was nothing there but cool indifference again.
Hermione felt the burning hurt of betrayal. Deep down, she knew what Draco's role entailed. She had tried hard to forget about it and was now paying the price.
"You said you were a Healer."
Draco's voice was granite and his face held onto an accusatory expression. Hermione looked at him in mild confusion and disbelief.
"What the fuck were you even doing at Sussex?" he continued on, suddenly furious. It was as if a switch had flipped, once he realized Hermione was no longer in danger of dying.
"You had no business being there, look at how fucking dangerous that operation was. I got you out by the skin of your teeth. How would it even take fucking Weasel more than 10 minutes to destroy Sussex? Just hit the fucking thing with a few Bombardas and run."
"We needed the supplies and intelligence," Hermione cut him off coldly. She stared at him as a distinct sense of self righteousness and anger rose in her and asserted itself.
Below it all, most insidiously, was grief.
Robards. Davies. Tonks.
She mourned them all. She mourned herself and Draco, too.
How dare he?
"We needed the intelligence," she continued on icily, "because our most reliable source had been severed. I don't know if you noticed, Draco, but the Insurgency depended on you. Maybe there are bigger things in life than your selfish little games, than pitting the Insurgency against Voldemort so you can come out on top. Maybe you should think about more than yourself for once, you reprehensible fucking coward."
The room was dead silent.
Hermione turned her head to the side, took a sharp inhale through her mouth, and spat out a spurt of blood at his feet. Onto his shoes.
She sneered at him. She didn't care that she lay prone on the sofa, that he was towering over her. That he had gone entirely still.
Draco looked enraged. He stared down at her with his eyes flashing.
His lips were pressed together so hard that they had gone white. Without a word, he withdrew.
He rose, took a step back, turned on his feet. Hermione could hear him stride away, open the door, and slam it.
A loud crack came from outside the cottage. He was gone without a word.
She let out a shuddering breath.
A deep inhale.
She opened her mouth and screamed as loud, as raw, as grieved as she ever had in her life.
Hermione picked herself up on shaky hands. Raw throat, bruised neck, tender flesh threatened to break her apart. Eyeing the remaining concoctions upon the silver tray that Draco had left on the side table, she knocked a few back quickly.
Nutrition, more pain relief, a Calming Draught. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she rose on shaky legs.
Taking a tentative step to confirm she could indeed walk, Hermione straightened up. Casting one last glance around the cottage and down at the now stained sofa, she froze.
She had been laying on her beaded bag. Somehow, in all the chaos, she had managed to cling onto it.
Hermione bent down slowly and picked it up, holding it up to her face. She eyed it tiredly.
Tonks had died for this. So did Robards, and Davies. Pocketing it solemnly, she rose and unsteadily walked out of the cottage.
Apparating into Grimmauld Place was like plunging into the depths of Tartarus. From the moment Hermione pushed her way in through the front door, she was submerged in chaos.
Angry, frenetic, tangled, desperate.
The hastily cobbled together team of healer interns had done little for the injuries that returning fighters carried. All they could offer was minor patch jobs, pain relief potions, and stasis charms. McGonagall had done her best to stem the tide, but there were already a few bodies growing cold by the time Hermione returned.
She threw herself into her healing work to try to forget about Sussex. It was one thing to treat victims that were carried back from missions. It was another thing entirely to see her friends cut down in front of her eyes and be completely helpless, unable to change a thing.
Early morning pushed into bright day. She worked. The interns had rotating shifts to relieve themselves from the burden of work.
Hermione carried it all herself.
Night had fallen and turned to early morning again by the time the infirmary had finally stabilized enough that she could rest. Pulling herself out of the ward on shaky legs, she collapsed into a dusty wingback chair in the sitting room.
It was the first time she had been able to retreat from the infirmary since returning to base.
Through eavesdropping for a while, she learned that somehow, the mission had been considered successful. Hushed tones whispered around that Alpha, Beta, Delta had made it out mostly intact. Gamma had been decimated almost entirely, only stragglers returned. Omega had come back with half its members, but Sussex had been cleared of prisoners and partially blown apart (thanks to Bill) and ransacked (thanks to Hermione). She hadn't had a chance to dig through her beaded bag yet but two entire floors of the lab had been looted … that was a wealth of rare and valuable potions ingredients.
Tears pricked at her eyes as she thought of Tonks.
Tonks, Lupin, their unborn child.
Her hands trembled. She flexed her fingers and dug her nails into the palm of her hands. Hermione itched to do something. She wished she could've changed something. She wanted … she didn't know what she wanted anymore. She had been awake for 36 hours at that point but she wanted to push herself even harder.
Working endlessly could be her atonement. Her apology.
A clunk startled her out of her reverie. Hermione stared down at the peg leg of Mad-Eye Moody first, before her gaze travelled up to meet his disfigured face.
"Granger. A word?"
Hermione stood up mutely and followed Moody obediently, into his office. He ushered her in and then closed the door behind them.
She heard the click of a lock, crisp through the silence.
He limped his way over to the other end of his mahogany desk and gestured for Hermione to sit. As she folded herself into the chair, she looked up to find Moody staring at her appraisingly.
Then, he gave her a smile.
Hermione had never seen Moody smile quite like this before. Even on the best of days, a smile from Moody was more a warning sign than a welcome. A "danger lies ahead!" if she ever saw one.
This smile was different. It spoke of something sinister. She wondered if in his pursuit of stamping out the evils of the wizarding world, if he too hadn't been twisted by it in turn. A feedback loop of wretched people and wretched morals.
"Granger. Let's hear your explanation of Sussex, then. Weasley's team made it out alright; plenty of injuries, mind you. But alive. They ferried out the prisoners and when they returned, all they found were bodies. Dozens of Death Eaters, and the Insurgency; the other half of Omega." He leaned in a little, eyebrows furrowed.
At this distance, Hermione could see every line of his face. The way the light from torches on the wall illuminated, flickered, lit up his face and cast even deeper shadows in turn.
She stared into the mess and felt cold and hollow. She knew what was coming; they both knew.
"Tell me how that came to be."
His magical eye was thumping ferociously in its socket, scrying and twisting and turning. It seemed delighted by what it had heard, and was eager to learn more.
"It was Malfoy," Hermione said quietly. "He- … He came to look for me. I would've died if it wasn't for him. He risked his life to save me and then … left. I think he formed some sort of attachment to me and … didn't want to see me die in there."
She had been staring at her blood stained hands when she spoke, but glanced up at Moody once she had finished.
He was looking back at her with an expression of utmost satisfaction. Despite the surprising news, Moody looked like he had expected to hear it. He leaned back and watched her, collecting his thoughts.
He looked like the cat that got the cream. Satisfied.
"A turn of events that benefitted us tonight, Granger. I have to congratulate you on this; your mission paid off in spades."
Moody gave her a cold smile that deepened the shadows of his face, until his grin was nearly a leer.
"Snape tells me Voldemort returned quite quickly today. Had intended to stay in Romania longer, I'm sure, but news of the High Reeve's failure at Sussex had reached him. Dozens of Death Eaters slain. Sussex looted, partially bombed. The entire underground prison released. He was quite unimpressed with the High Reeve's performance."
Hermione's blood ran cold.
Draco.
Draco had done that for her alone. Draco had risked it all for her, and had paid the price.
The devastation they had feared from the High Reeve ... he had turned and inflicted it upon the Death Eaters at Sussex, instead. For her.
Her hands trembled harder and she dug them into her thighs, gripping tight. Please please please stop, she wanted to whisper.
Her mouth remained shut tight as Moody eyed her. His magical eye whizzed; it seemed to glance through the mahogany, had seen her hands clasped tight. It slowed for a moment, focused on the direction of her lap, before it ominously rolled up to settle on her face.
Moody was staring beadily, expectantly, hungrily at her, with both eyes fixed upon her face.
"Arrange a meeting with the Malfoy boy, as soon as you can. I expect he'll be somewhat incapacitated. Take advantage of that."
He gave a cold chuckle, as if partaking in a private joke between himself and his magical eye. Then, he continued on generously.
"We're in the final stretch of the mission, Granger. I want this wrapped up quickly. This was a resounding success for the Insurgency today, all thanks to you, so let's see this through to the end. "
He leaned back again. His magical eye began lolling lazily about, in a frightening caricature of whimsy and delight.
Hermione gripped her thighs so hard she thought she might be bleeding.
She gave a trembling nod, pushed herself up and out of the seat, and walked calmly to the door.
She shut it behind her and stood breathing hard for a moment.
Arrange a meeting. End the mission. Arrange a meeting. End the mission.
End the mission.
End the mission.
Moody had given the final order, for her to eliminate Draco.
She had no means of contacting him; the gold coin she wore around her neck was one-way. Hermione bit her lip, thinking. The cliffside cottage was the only choice for her, then; he had said the wards would let him know when she was there.
Taking a deep breath, mind made up, she made her way to the infirmary for one last round. She bent over the injured and dying, checking them over as best she could. Exhaustion was heavy in every step she took. She wanted rest. She wanted the endless, infinite void of sleep. She was so tired, and so cold, and life was so bleak. She had healed for years and thought it would be enough. She had killed yesterday, her first and then second and then she lost track. It wasn't enough. She would kill again and hope and pray that it might be enough.
She had made so many sacrifices.
Turning and pushing her way out of Grimmauld Place, she stood on the steps and swayed a little.
She Apparated with a pop and reappeared at the cliffside cottage. She would wait there for Draco, she figured; as long as it would take.
How she would even manage to kill him, she didn't know. She didn't even need a plan; hurtling into Sussex with the most perfectly laid plans hadn't made a damn difference.
Turning towards the cottage, she began walking towards it. It stood lonesome in the night, glowing faintly, windows lit dimly. If she squinted, she could pretend it was just another normal home in the dark. She could imagine a happy family living there.
She reached the door and turned the knob tiredly, expecting the cottage to be empty.
She froze.
Collapsed on the floor, sprawled unconscious, was Draco.