Chapter 2: Atonality
1999
"I don't want you to go."
"God, Hermione, I know, but I can't-I have to-"
"No, you don't get to just walk away from this, Harry. You don't get to run away and hide."
"Why not? I've given everything, everything, Hermione. I've sacrificed my friends, my parents, Sirius-"
"You don't need to remind me of all the people you've lost. I've lost people too."
A sigh. "You're right, I'm sorry. I'm just-"
"Overwhelmed." A delicate hand, reaching out for a calloused one. Both scarred.
"Understatement." A pause. Then weakly, desperately, "What do we do?"
"We fight. Because it's who we are. You're the Chosen One, Harry Potter."
"But you were always the Wise One. The Smart One. And I think the world just might need you more than it needs me."
"I can't speak for the world, but I need you. You can find our friends, finally bring an end to this fucking war-" a choked off sentence. A breath. "And pay You-Know-Who back for all these years on the run."
Silence for a beat. And then, seriously, "I don't know what I'd do without you, Hermione."
Hands brushing fabric, soft breaths in an embrace. An anchor in the waves of terror. To rest before they were required to run.
But they wouldn't run away. This was running forward, toward whatever awaited them on the other side. With Merlin's blessing, perhaps their friends. Their loved ones. A world restored. But for now, the burden could be put down. Or at the very least, she could bear some of its crushing weight for him. The press of his hands into her back echoed his gratitude.
"Born from ashes," she murmured.
"Rise in fire," he replied.
Separated with a smile. Wand pulled from her pocket. A silent question of Ready? and an answer of Are we ever? and then a crack of disapparation.
Then the night was silent, only the dying campfire popping as the embers crackled, glowing bright one last time before blinking out, one by one, leaving only cinders.
2001
The fire crackled in the hearth, dancing with shapes as several extremely inebriated men spelled the flames in amusement. Their joyful guffaws turned heads of patrons, but only for a second before the bottoms of their glasses called to them again.
Hermione scanned the evening crowd, as she did every night. The Leaky Cauldron had been unusually popular in the last week. Probably something to do with the roundups.
More Snatchers than usual, too. That made her antsy, but she reached up and poured the man at the counter a drink as though her last care in the world was her blood status. She could feel his leering eyes on her behind as she turned away for another glass, but she ignored it and plunked his glass down in front of him.
"There you are," she said brusquely, before reaching under the bar for a towel. She felt his eyes follow her, and heard him drag the glass over the wood surface before lifting it to his mouth.
"How atrociously plebeian," he remarked, his voice low and gruff, almost a growl. It made Hermione's hair stand up.
"If you mean the bar, I'll be happy to take your money now and you can complain to the rats in the alley outside," Hermione replied shortly, running the towel over the countertop to rid it of the spilled alcohol from overly enthusiastic patrons.
She could feel his smile before she saw it, and when she did, it was one of the ugliest smiles she had ever witnessed. His teeth were rotted, his gums black, his lips cracked and scabbed over. But it was the amusement in his dark gaze that scared her the most, and Hermione Granger was not easily frightened.
"So she speaks and pours premium," he said, his eyes never leaving hers as he brought his glass up for another sip. "Anything else she can do?"
"Nothing you get the privilege of seeing," Hermione said coldly, feeling her hackles raise at the man's attention. It wasn't that she hadn't had patrons hit on her before, but she had a deep gut-feeling that this man wasn't sitting at her bar to get drunk and hit on the bartender.
He laughed, draining his glass before placing it in front of him, sliding it toward her like a challenge. His twisted smile made Hermione very aware of the wand in her pocket, the forged papers in her jacket, and the back door several steps past the bar. Hermione picked up his glass and reached for the bottle of whiskey again, pouring it over the still melting block of ice. She had learned that you could tell a lot about a person by their drink, especially when they asked for another of the same. Whiskey on the rocks. Not a whiskey purist, then. And yet, likely blood purist. Funny how consistency never mattered in the characters of those in power.
"Well that's an awful shame," he said, reaching for the glass before Hermione could set it down. With revulsion, she felt his cold fingers pass over hers. She yanked her hand away and indiscreetly wiped it on her black pants.
"On another night I might try to change your mind, but tonight calls for business and not pleasure," he lamented, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Though, I s'ppose they are one in the same."
He brought his other hand up to rest on the counter, and Hermione saw a bright red piece of cloth, tied with an innocent bow around his forearm. She felt her blood run cold. Snatcher.
"You'll only find purebloods in here, I'm afraid," she said acerbically, attempting to sound annoyed to mask her terror.
"Unfortunately, sweetheart, I know for a fact that's not the case." He threw back the rest of his drink, and leaned conspiratorially toward her. "Why don't you go bring out your boss, eh darling? I think we should have a little chat."
"Dave," she shouted loudly over the din of the pub, not taking her eyes from the Snatcher. "Need you at the bar."
She felt her heart rise to her throat while she stared down a man who represented everything she despised. Does he know? How could he know? Does that mean that Harry-
Without permission, her deeply scarred brain dredged up a memory of the last time she had felt this way. Cornered. Almost discovered.
She dared not breathe, not when he was inches from her. She was sure that he could hear her heartbeat, her pulse racing, her traitorous blood rushing loudly in her veins. He paused, sniffing the air before slowly turning in a full circle. His eyes passed over her, unseeing, but Hermione's heart stopped in her chest all the same. His body was frozen and alert, like a predator stalking its prey. He was clearly suspicious.
Hermione prayed to every god, every saint, every famous wizard or witch she knew that he wouldn't take a step in her direction.
That's all it would take. Just a step. One movement of his bloodstained black boots toward her, and the enchantment would be shattered. She and Harry would be arrested, brought to the Dark Lord, tortured-
She thought of the word carved into her arm already and felt it burn at the prospect of enduring worse. Bellatrix had been crazy, but Voldemort was...was-
The Snatcher, with one last shrewd glance at the forest, slowly turned and headed back the way he had come. Hermione's fingers itched for her wand, sudden anger welling up in her at the idea of him getting away. She moved her right hand toward her pocket slowly, reaching for the comfort of her wand, but she suddenly felt a hand grip her elbow.
"Not worth it," his familiar voice said in her ear, low enough to be discreet.
Watching as the Snatcher disappeared into the trees, she deflated and the felt the adrenaline leave her in a whoosh of energy.
"There's no honor in a kill like that."
"When has You-Know-Who shown us any honor?" Hermione's left fist clenched, but her right hand slid from her pocket, empty.
"We're not like him," came his soft reply. "We don't stoop to his level."
She wanted to argue more. She had no moral qualms about killing a man working for the Dark Lord, or even for his own selfish gain at their expense. Harry wanted to win without spilling unnecessary blood, but Hermione knew in her bones that it was kill or be killed in this world.
"Yeah, Hestia," her boss grunted, coming out from the back and wiping his pale hands on a towel. He was a big man, taller than the Snatcher by several inches and wider than him by several more. "What's going on? This man giving you trouble?"
He nodded at the Snatcher, oblivious to the red band on the customer's arm. Dave was usually a kind man, if not a little gruff, but he treated Hermione like a daughter. She didn't know how much she craved that father-like figure. If this was the end for her here, if she was found out and had to run, she knew she'd miss him.
The Snatcher smiled, slow and big. "I think you might be the one in trouble here, David Wood."
Dave's gaze sharpened, his eyes falling to the red band on the Snatcher's arm.
"I don't appreciate you coming to my bar, drinking my liquor, and then making vague threats. If you have something to say, just come out with it," Hermione's boss said, his body language unfazed as he leaned back on one arm against the shelves of alcohol behind him. She saw his fingers twitch closer to a bottle behind him.
The Snatcher stood slowly, his eyes locked on Dave's. Like a predator stalking its prey. Hermione's eyes darted around the bar. No one was aware of the confrontation that was occurring, but she had a distinct feeling that it wasn't going to end well.
"I've heard some things recently," the Snatcher said, reaching for his drink and swirling it around the glass; the picture of ease, as though he was about to share a bit of juicy gossip with an old friend. "Rumors, really. Some people 'round here've been saying that you're harboring mudbloods. What would you have to say to that?"
"I'd say that there's been a lot of petty jealousy since my bar's business picked up, and people will look for any chance to get ahead." Dave barely moved, his body stiff.
Hermione's eyes wavered between the two men. Her reassuring revelation that the Snatcher wasn't here for her, that Harry had not been found, was followed immediately by a curiosity and growing uneasiness.
"Well," the Snatcher said, setting his glass down on the bar again, "why don't we take a little walk back to your apartment and see for ourselves, hmm? Visit the wife, look for false walls-"
Hermione saw a quick movement, and before she knew it, Dave had a bottle of liquor in his hands and was bringing it down on the Snatcher's head. It connected with his skull with a sickening crunch, glass shattering and alcohol pouring over him as he staggered backwards. He bellowed out a string of curses, which Dave didn't stick around to hear. He vaulted over the back of the bar, making for the exit. For a man so big, he was agile as he maneuvered around customers, shoving a few out of his way before blowing through the back door of the Leaky Cauldron.
People's heads had lifted at the sound of breaking glass, and now the bar stunned into silence as the Snatcher shook his head and moved uncoordinatedly after Dave. Hermione began backing away, unsure if she should make her own escape, but she knew if she went missing after this then "Hestia Jones" would be dead. She would have to start over again, and Harry might never find her.
At the last second, the Snatcher turned his attention to Hermione and lunged for her, grabbing her wrist in his unforgiving grip. She let out a yell, struggling to get away, but he used her arm to drag her into him until she was pressed against him, her back to his front. With more strength than she would have expected, he hauled her towards the back exit. She couldn't reach for her wand and as she was about to cast non-verbally, she felt the point of his wand pressed into the skin of her neck. A clear warning.
The Snatcher used her body to open the door, the cold night air hitting her in an icy blast after the comfortable heat of the tavern.
"David!" the Snatcher called cheerfully, walking Hermione forward into the back alley. It was lined with houses, most of which were dark; it was well into the night, and almost curfew.
"Come out or I'll have to hurt your little bartender here." She felt his wand press further into her neck as his voice echoed in the dark. Wincing, she thought of all her training. One well-placed kick, a jab upward with her elbow, maybe a head butt-
"Crucio," she heard, right before her world erupted into pain. The Snatcher's arms loosened around her as she collapsed onto the street, writhing as imaginary daggers flayed her skin over and over, boiling it, lighting her blood on fire, shattering her bones, frying every nerve in her body-
"I'm not in the fuckin' mood for games tonight, Dave," she heard him say above her, his voice sounding almost bored as he continued to torture her.
Hermione couldn't hear herself screaming, even though she knew she had to be. She felt wetness on her face. Was it blood? Her tears? She didn't know, didn't know anything, what even was her name, and how did she get here, and oh god, all she wanted was for it to stop, to stop, before her mind gave in, before her body shut down-
"Enough," Dave's strained voice echoed from somewhere around them. "Enough, please. Let her go."
Suddenly the pain relented, and Hermione came back to her senses, which were flooded with pain, and her shaking hands and her spasming stomach and her aching head and her scorched throat that was gasping for air. She couldn't move; the residual agony kept her paralyzed.
"There's a good lad," the Snatcher replied patronizingly. Hermione kept her eyes closed, forcing herself to breathe and get her wits back.
"Throw me your wand, then, and no funny business. I can keep this up all night."
Hermione heard a sigh of despair from wherever Dave was, and then the sound of movement. Finally, the clack of two wooden wands in the hands of her torturer.
"After this night's over for him, why don't we have a little fun, hmm?" she heard him say down to her, before he kicked her aside. The breath left her in a rush, and she lay there, gasping for air. When she peeled her eyes open, she saw Dave kneeling before the Snatcher, his head bowed in submission and his own eyes looking desperately into hers. There was so much regret there, so much anger, so much defeat. It was an echo of every emotion she felt when she looked in the mirror.
"David Wood, you're under arrest for aidin' and harboring mudbloods in your own home," the Snatcher said, his tone almost gleeful as he looked down at the wilted man. He cocked his head to the side for a moment and studied his prey. "Although that warrant for your arrest said alive or dead. And dead is so much more fun, wouldn't you agree?"
Dave's eyes barely had time to widen before a jet of green light left the Snatcher's wand, striking Hermione's boss squarely in the chest. Immediately his eyes went dull, and he toppled over in a heap, a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"No," Hermione choked out, trying to raise herself up, but her hands wouldn't work. She felt the heat pulse behind her eyes as tears threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. Not another one. Not another ally gone.
The Snatcher studied the dead man for a moment before snapping Dave's wand in two. He dropped the jagged pieces over the corpse, pausing to spit on him before turning his attention to Hermione. She saw the gleam in his eye, and pushed herself up, willing her body to obey her. She couldn't be here, she had to get away, she wouldn't let him, she'd rather die first-
"Now that the dog's been put down, what do you say we enjoy the rest of this evening?" he asked conversationally, making his way across the cement to her while she desperately tried to scoot away.
She sent a nonverbal spell his way, gritting her teeth when he deflected it. "Nice try, sweetheart, but it'll take more'n 1st year spells to get rid of me."
He finally reached her and knelt before her, his hand ghosting over the dip of her waist and coming back up to rest just under her collarbone. She felt bile rise up in her mouth at his touch.
"Don't touch me," she spat, jerking away.
The Snatcher genuinely laughed, as though she had just said the funniest joke he'd ever heard. He reached out for her again, and just before his hand brushed her covered breast, she heard footsteps coming into the alley.
"Must you accost every woman you come across, Ethur?" a voice drawled from behind Hermione. Her head whipped back in time to see a tall man walking toward them, his pale blond hair glinting in the streetlights. "Really, it comes off rather desperate."
Hermione knew only one person with that hair, and her shocked suspicions were proven accurate when Draco Malfoy himself stepped out into a circle of light near them. His face looked different...more haggard, perhaps, but more defined. He had definitely grown into himself; he looked like a man now. His relation to his father had never been more physically obvious. She felt her heart grow cold. Death Eater.
"Oh bugger off, Malfoy," the Snatcher- Ethur- muttered, seemingly cowed in the presence of an actual servant of the Dark Lord. "I was just havin' some fun." Clearly he knew enough of the young Death Eater to know his name. It seemed Draco had been busy making friends in low places since the Battle of Hogwarts.
Draco's eyes surveyed the scene, falling onto the dead man before moving back to Hermione and the Snatcher.
"I see," Draco murmured. He tilted his head toward Dave's body. "Is that the owner of the Cauldron, then?"
Ethur nodded vigorously, standing up and dusting himself off as if to make himself presentable. "Was, I s'ppose now. David Wood."
"That his wife?" Another head tilt toward Hermione. For a moment she was confused why he would ask, but then realized that of course he wouldn't recognize her. She wasn't Granger, Gryffindor mudblood. She was Hestia Jones, held together by polyjuice potion-a complete stranger to Draco Malfoy.
"Nah," Ethur replied, nudging her thigh with the tip of his boot, making Hermione cringe away from him. "Just a fuckin' bartender. Needed a little leverage to get him to come quietly, if you know what I mean."
Draco let out a noncommittal sound. "Well, unfortunately, that makes her a potential accomplice. She might have information about the ring of mudblood smuggling in London. You know about that, naturally-"
"Naturally," repeated Ethur, blinking frantically.
"-so I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this little rendezvous short." He turned his attention to Hermione. "Go home tonight, but I expect you back at the Cauldron an hour before opening tomorrow for an official interview. If you do not show up on time, I will hunt down you and anyone you've ever met and make you wish that you shared David Wood's fate. Am I clear?" his voice was like a whip: sharp, pointed, and brandished as though he'd had much practice giving orders. And much practice having those orders obeyed.
She nodded curtly, her head racing. Finally able to stand, she wobbled to her feet and drew herself up to her full height, unwilling to show Malfoy any weakness. She'd already been weak enough tonight.
"Ethur, come with me. There are more important things to tend to than blood traitors," Draco said crisply, waving his hand in the air in a practiced motion. Hermione watched as Dave's body disappeared, his kind face gone forever. "And a good night to you."
It took Hermione a moment to realize this last statement was directed to her. She simply pressed her lips together and turned back, opening the door behind the bar and making a statement without saying a word, one she would've never dared to make on the run with Harry. One that she could make now, under a false identity. But even if it was risky and she knew he had escalated from petty bullying to murder, she wouldn't cower before him. Sure, she'd never seen Malfoy kill anyone, but she had no doubt he had blood on his hands.
So as she allowed the door to slam behind her, she refused to acknowledge the silver pair of eyes staring intensely at her back.
Fuck you and your blood purity, Malfoy. I wasn't yours to toy with at Hogwarts, and I'm not now.
And here comes Draco...
Kat
