Chapter 8: Playing Tetris
24 December 1924
BELOVED BACHELOR MISSING: A REFLECTION OF HIS LIFE AND LEGACY
By Rita Skeeter
While the rest of us wait patiently for news on Mr. Draco Malfoy's whereabouts and wellbeing, we cannot help but theorize what may have happened to the young, successful, and cherished man of our society. The shock of Mr. Malfoy's failure to show at the Christmas Charity Gala, specifically to claim his Man of the Year award and grant those in attendance the pleasure of listening to one of his expertly written and dictated speeches, reverberated among all of Great Britain ominously.
Several eyewitnesses – guests of the Gala – assert that Miss Pansy Parkinson and Miss Daphne Greengrass were both seen fleeing the palace under Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy's arms. "They were clearly very distraught," says Miss Fleur Delacour. "I do hope that the two of them work it out and feel better soon." By that, we can only presume that Fleur – who attended at the bequest of Mr. Hartnell and Mr. Malfoy himself – means that she hopes that the two women work out a row that may have occurred between Mr. Malfoy and either of themselves.
Miss Delacour elaborated that she was pleased to see "the little brunette" on Mr. Malfoy's arm at another, private event which, although upsetting many fans of her pairing with Mr. Malfoy herself, leads us to believe that it is in fact Miss Parkinson that holds Mr. Draco Malfoy's favor and heart.
Either way, we do agree with the beautiful French woman in that the wellbeing of both women – no matter who is the intended wife-to-be! – along with Mr. Draco Malfoy is of the utmost importance.
This part is actually a bit painful to read.
It's hard to go back and think about that gala without panicking, and right now I need to keep a level head. As best as I can with the circumstances, I suppose. Which, predictably, include me facing my own death (among many other fun things) which was a making of my own doing.
I set the bed and now I must lie in it.
As for Pansy holding Draco's favor and heart, that was quite comedic genius and did make me feel better for a second. I mean, seriously? I know for a fact that Pansy and Daphne were not crying over Draco because I don't even think they knew he was missing when Narcissa ushered them out of the palace and back to the Manor. They were too absorbed in their own problems to notice anyone else's that day.
Then again, I'm shouldn't be one to talk.
Perhaps, if I had been paying even an ounce more attention to anyone other than myself in the past twenty-four hours, then I would have noticed how absurd and unusual Draco's absence was, and I wouldn't be scrambling, willing to die if necessary, to save him.
At least, on the bright side, Fleur didn't name me to that Rita woman. Dodged that bullet.
Would it be wishful thinking to presume that would be a good sign that I would dodge this bullet staring at me, too?
29 August 1923
Hermione stepped out of the second car with Theo and Harry, watching as Draco mesmerized the few reporters that had been tipped off about the event that they were all attending. Originally, only Draco and Theo had been granted invitations – and Hermione presumed it would be Pansy and Daphne that accompanied them, naturally – but as it turns out it was her and the other newbie in the Manor.
She laughed as Theo pushed Harry forcefully through the glass doors and into the small cocktail room, evading the guards' inspection with a simple nod. This was his event, after all, and who were they to deny him a free pass.
Their hands were thankfully not as intrusive as they could have been as they searched her for any weapons. Hermione was briefly astonished that they had even thought to search her considering her status as a member of the fairer sex. They were, supposedly, known not to be capable of violent behavior.
The initial shock of them asking her to stand aside as they searched her quickly wore off as Hermione registered that she was, in fact, currently holding at least two detectable weapons. The third was less obvious so, she was less concerned about the brute of a man patting her down discovering it.
First, the gruff man asked to see her purse. She gave it willingly. Hermione had learned not to conceal anything noteworthy in it; it was the first place someone would suspect anything to be so, she kept simple, feminine products such as lipstick and mirrors in there and nothing more. The man handed it back to her with a curt nod.
Then, he arched a brow as he let his massive, hairy hands hover over her arms. Hermione slid the chain strap over her shoulder and nodded her assent to him, grateful that he had thought to hesitate and silently ask permission. As his hands slid over the base of her neck, and the neckline of her dress, as he moved from one extended arm to another, Hermione held her breath. She felt the cool, edged silver fall between her bralette and exhaled at the precise moment it nicked her stomach. The tip of the blade caught in her under-shift and she thanked god that the man didn't notice it poking out.
Finally, his hands slid down her legs and Hermione timed her theatrical reaction for the opportune moment. When his hands skirted the strap around her ankles and slid up her bare legs, angling toward the slit in her dress, she promptly leapt back and let out a loud shriek.
"How dare you?" She yelped. Hermione painted an aristocratic-level face of pained pride over her facial expression and aimed her purse accusingly at him. "Have you no respect for women? You think because you wear a fancy little suit and shaded lenses that you can simply grope women as you please because you are immune?"
Hermione smirked inwardly at the heads turning to witness the scene.
"I want to speak to your superiors," she demanded, stomping further past him and his coworker. "Where are they? What's your name, Sir? I will be speaking to them at my earliest convenience about the assault I narrowly avoided."
"No, ma'am, please," the man said, shuffling uneasily as more heads turned to stare at the two of them and give him dirty looks. "I was only doing my job – I didn't mean to – Please, I have daughters, I would never!"
"Hm," Hermione huffed, turning on her heel and disappearing into the cocktail room without another word.
Theo and Harry stood at one of the miniature tables with two drinks already in each of their hands. Harry held one of his out to Hermione and she took it with a solemn nod, then looked Theo up and down and sighed at his bemused expression.
"What?" She snapped.
"Nothing," he chuckled under his breath. "I just enjoy you putting the patriarchy in their place."
Hermione arched a dark eyebrow, sipping at the fruity gin. "You realize, Nott, that you are a member of the patriarchy, yes? Just because you are sleeping with another member of the party does not mean your inclusion is moot."
"As I said," he shrugged. "I enjoy you putting us in our place."
She let out an exasperated laugh and let it dissolve into her next sip.
"What I want to know," Harry said, pursing his lips. "Is why that was even necessary in the first place."
"My god man," Theo groaned, shaking his head and tussling the other man's already messy hair. "You really have a lot to learn about us, don't you?"
"As if any of you would ever be forthcoming with me," he remarked drily.
Hermione took pity on the newcomer. She remembered being in his place once – and being constantly taken around with Draco and Theo so that they could keep a careful eye on her while also not explaining a single thing she witnessed – and did not miss it.
"That," she began, gesturing lazily over her shoulder to the guards. "Was because I don't want him to discover my highly illegal possession of weaponry." She paused, handing her glass back to Harry for him to hold. "Which reminds me, I have to adjust one of them before I rupture my own spleen."
"What?" Harry asked, eyes widening in horror. Theo merely chuckled and leaned casually against the table.
"This should be good," he muttered.
Hermione glanced around to make sure no one was looking at her and positioned herself between the two men so that no passerby of the party would see what she was about to do. Her hand slid aside the slit of her gown to reveal a revolver strapped around her thigh – "Bloody hell," Harry remarked – and she reached her white-gloved hand up to her abdomen where she pulled out a large, daggered knife.
"Alright," Harry gasped. "What the fuck?"
She repositioned the knife carefully against her breastbone and then took her glass from him with a dimpled smile. Her third weapon, which she chose not to reveal to either man, was a making of her and Astoria's creation. It was a bejeweled pin holding back her curls that when freed would be sharp enough to slit one's throat.
Should she want to do such a thing.
"Fuck," she hissed low enough for only the two men next to her to hear. Narcissa had reminded her, as she usually did before Hermione stepped out into society, that foul language was especially unladylike and frowned upon in higher society. The gin rested on her tongue for a moment before she sent it down her throat. "This is good,"
"I know," Theo chuckled, "It's almost as if Malfoy knows what the bloody hell he's doing."
"Yes, well," she replied. "I don't know why he didn't think to distribute his product among your pubs the minute he called Vince and Greg back."
"I still can't believe that fucker is alive," Harry muttered.
At the same time, Theo gave her a knowing look and waved over his head as he caught sight of the smug blond himself. "Penny," Theo said, letting his pale blue eyes fall back on her. "We both know why he didn't do anything with his distillery right after. It took – What? – months for you to convince him that Longbottom was no longer a threat and that there was no point passing up the opportunity to make more money."
Hermione merely shrugged.
"Pen," Draco breathed as he came up to their small group. His silvery eyes gleamed promisingly, sending her stomach lurching. "Will you do me the honor of sharing my first dance with me?"
"Wait, really?" She blinked. "But what about all of these people watching you? Aren't you afraid that they'll say something?"
"Sure," he lifted his shoulders disinterestedly. "They could. It would only be hearsay, after all, and seeing as none of them know you as more than my humble, little assistant I highly doubt they will find the dance worth remarking to the reporters outside." He paused, sharing a knowing glance with Theo. "Actually, I'm quite certain none of them even know your name."
Hermione tipped the remainder of the strawberry-flavored gin to the back of her throat, relishing in the burn of it. "Then, sure," she said, letting a small smile creep up over her pink lips. "I would love that."
"Watch out for the dagger," Harry commented as she put her hand in Draco's and let him lead them onto the intimate dance floor.
Draco placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her close to him. At first, as the soft jazz echoed through the room and the began to turn to the rhythm, several heads caught on the sight of them. Hermione had expected their eyes to linger, their stares to trail down her body and criticize her, but that is not at all what happened. As Draco had predicted, none of them kept their attention on the two of them dancing for longer than half a breath.
It bewildered her, that to them she was nothing even when she was encompassed by Draco's arms – the man they talk about so wildly and itch to gain favor of. Because she wasn't someone of noteworthy status, or of noteworthy blood like Pansy and Daphne, they didn't bother wasting their time even looking at her.
Hermione was delighted to discover that it didn't bother her.
If anything, it helped her understand Astoria much better. She had once questioned the woman as to why she had never heard of her before now. Surely, as Draco's ex, she would have been subject to being dragged through the mud along with any other woman who so much as shared a dance with Draco in comp.
"It's simple," Astoria had told her, smirking a little triumphantly. "I made myself invisible. I may be a Greengrass, but I used my elder sister's popularity as a shield when we were younger and so by the time, I became of age to do anything noteworthy, the press had already lost interest in me."
Hermione, unfortunately, had not been able to get any more out of her about her time dating Draco – and he wasn't forthcoming at all regarding her, either – and at the time she hadn't understood why Astoria had seemed so pleased with herself when admitting that.
Pansy and Daphne, as much as they weren't involved with Draco, still adored being in the spotlight.
She couldn't fault them for being so comfortable in front of reporters since most of their efforts following graduation have been to further what are known as passion projects in high society. Meaning, mostly, that they gave attention and loads of money to areas that would otherwise struggle without their help. For the most part, these were neutral humanities projects like Draco's Children in Need charity, but Hermione was ecstatic to see both women choose projects that were also feministic.
In this day and age, she knew how vital it was for women to stick together and raise each other up.
Silently, Hermione pondered if Astoria or Narcissa somehow had an influence in their projects. Pansy had started a charity called Girls on the Run which promotes empowerment and life-skills in the young girls, while Daphne allied with a Kiwi aristocrat by the name of Hannah Abbott to start Girls not Brides, meant to end child marriages.
Rita would never cover them, of course, but it was still comforting to see the projects blooming.
Hermione was so caught up in her reverie that she barely noticed one set of eyes following her every movement as she twirled around in Draco's arms. He caught the sudden stiffness of her back and cocked an eyebrow at her quizzically, scanning the room himself for any potential threat.
This, however, was less of an actual threat to Hermione and more of a nuisance.
"What is it?" He finally asked, leaning in to whisper in her ear.
Hermione frowned, pulling out of his embrace the minute the song came to an end and angling him away from the dance floor. "Miss Delacour is here," she remarked drily. If she was quick enough, then she could get her and Draco out of the woman's eyesight and could hopefully avoid another strange lecture.
"Oh?" Draco gasped, not sounding at all surprised.
She spun on her heel, rounding on him with her eyes narrowed. "You don't sound to shocked to learn that the French fairy princess is here." Hermione didn't resist letting her distaste show, which ended up backfiring as Draco's amused grin only grew.
"You aren't jealous of her, are you?"
"What?" She spewed. "No. What is there to be jealous of? Her flawless skin, perhaps? Or her charming personality? Oh, and definitely not the fact that her beautiful naked body was pressed up against yours and still displayed around the city every holiday season, right?" Hermione scoffed, spinning around and aiming herself for the powder room.
Draco chuckled, following her.
"Hey!" She protested as he stormed into the petite room after her. "You can't be here! Women only!"
"Oh, my apologies," he drawled, once again sound not even remotely sincere with his emotions. "Should I see if Miss Delacour is perhaps available? Would you prefer her company?"
"Shut up," Hermione snapped. "That's not fair. It's not like I've given you anyone to be - " She bit her tongue on the word jealous, and watched as a fire danced behind the smoky grey of Draco's eyes. "Never mind. Just – Shut up," she settled on lamely.
Draco grinned.
He flicked the lock on the door and backed her up against the vanity table, letting his hands fall to the curve of her hips. "My, my," he tutted, his lips brushing against her jaw. "So feisty, today, aren't we, Pen?"
Hermione shuddered.
"Careful, Draco," she warned coquettishly, "You wouldn't want to see how feisty I am with a weapon aimed at you, now would you?" He chest vibrated against hers, and she held her breath as his hands skirted the edge of her dress.
"Oh, I know precisely where your weapon is, Penny, and it is always aimed at me." His fingertips slid over the back of her neck, undoing the single pearl button and letting the top of her gown drape over her torso, exposing her lacy bralette and the hilt of the dagger against her breastbone. "Ah, there's another one. This one, however, I fear much less,"
To prove his point, Draco removed the serrated knife from its precarious position and slid the smooth side of it along Hermione's jawline, then deposited it on the vanity table behind her. Hermione gasped as the cool metal left her skin dimpled and met his icy stare. "I didn't know you feared anything," she mused quietly.
"Hm," he non-answered.
She choked on another gasp as his hands slid down her waist, tapping against her ribs as the pressed against her skin; her lungs filling with air and burning, preparing to burst and wither. "That isn't my only - "
"Weapon?" He finished, arching a silver brow knowingly. She swallowed her answer, biting down on her lip to stop a more embarrassing sound from escaping as his clever, skillful hands shifted to part the slit of her dress even more. "You think I didn't notice you favoring this leg?" Draco asked, skimming the leather strap around her thigh. "Penny, you're going to have to be a bit brighter than that," he smirked.
Draco unbuckled the strap and slung it onto the vanity table, then roughly spun her around and pulled her hips back to meet his. Hermione could feel his arousal pressing into her bum. She braced herself on the vanity table and stared at the reflection, astonished to see the dark glint of desire evident in both of their eyes.
Hermione watched as the reflection of his palm skated over her stomach to cup her breast, toying with the bead of her nipple and rolling it expertly between his thumb and his forefinger. She, completely entranced like the trapped planet she was, could not tear her gaze away. The heat of his touch burned, as hot and searing and detrimental as it usually was, but now it felt like the fire was only just beginning; it would only get hotter and burn brighter and she yearned for it. She wanted to burn with him, her sun.
His foot kicked out her legs, spreading them and his knee tucked behind hers, lifting it and almost nearly throwing her off balance as she shifted to lean on her other foot. Draco, though, wrapped his other arm around her torso to steady her at the same time, making sure that she would never fall. Hermione imagined if it were up to him that particular sentiment would always be true, but the unkind words of Black played ruefully at the forefront of her mind.
The higher you climb, the farther you fall –
And you will fall.
But she shoved the piercing words out of her brain as Draco's fingers slid between the lips of her cunt. This time, Hermione did not bite back a moan, letting it roll off her tongue along with the shallow gasp of his name. Her eyes fell, in the mirror, to the sight of his palm rubbing against her clit, bringing her to a new elation. Coiling and coiling and coiling.
Hermione gasped and panted, feeling the release building and churning, ready to burst with one more flick of his fingers and –
She came. Hard. Her slick euphoria dripped down her inner thighs, coating her skin as well as his hand in her sweet release. Draco let her ride it out for another moment, let her catch her breath, and then he pulled her up, close to him. Always close. His lips brushed the nape of her neck, leaving kisses and grazes of teeth as he filled her.
It was impossible to look away.
Much as she wanted to close her eyes and lean her head back against his shoulder, to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in the fine, golden strands of his hair, she could not bring herself to do it. She could not bring herself to look away. He felt so good. He always felt so fucking good. Admittedly, on other occasions, they would both drop their gaze to watch as he thrust into her, slowly filling her with his throbbing, pulsing length.
This time was no different, except for some reason it entirely was; watching him fill her through a speckled reflective surface sparked a flame, a natural high, in the depths of her brain.
Three months later, the four of them stepped once again into a building. However, this time, it was not nearly as grandeur as the last nor even remotely for a celebratory reason. Hermione eyed the beams over their heads skeptically, sure that one would collapse any minute and strike them. Her gaze met Theo's as she lowered it and they shared a conspiratorial glance before he strode forward and yanked Potter's arm back.
"Hey," he said, eyes narrowed. "You aren't suicidal enough to lead us into a trap, are you?"
"No," Potter retorted, green eyes blazing. "I told you, this is just a meeting."
"Yes," another, new male voice said. "As Harry has so kindly phrased it, this is simply a meeting between two warring gangs for the purposes of hopefully establishing a peace treaty of some sort."
"A treaty?" Theo repeated, bristling.
Hermione saw the tall, lanky man step forward from the shadows and was unsurprised to see Lupin was the one who had been talking. She was, conversely, surprised not to see a particular greasy, ebony-haired relative of Draco's at his side. Something dark stirring inside the pit of her stomach was disappointed.
"A treaty, yes." Lupin verified with a nod. A tall, pink-haired woman stepped up in Black's usual place at his side and his lips twitched upwards as she crossed her arms over her chest. Hermione instantly knew that she would prove to be a weak link of his for later uses should they be necessary. "I am not so disillusioned," Lupin went on calmly. "To think that our people are capable of any more than that. Certainly, we will never be able to get along – only to coexist peacefully."
"Peacefully," Draco murmured, his eyes glinting coldly at the pair before him. "You must learn to be a better liar than that, Lupin, if you plan on deceiving me one day."
"I'm not sure what you mean," he replied.
"Yeah," Harry inputted gruffly, earning an elbow to the ribs from Theo. "What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?" He spat, glaring at Draco. Hermione wondered how that dastardly man had managed to live so long and not get himself killed for his smart mouth; she made a mental note to ask Theo later if that was why he always sneered Chosen One at Potter.
"Are you going to pretend like you didn't see that lory outside, Potter?" Draco countered. He shook his head, tsk-ing at the jewel-eyed man. Then, at Theo. "You sure it's him you want to give your affections to, Nott?"
"Shut up," Harry grumbled, though Hermione caught a tinge of hurt flash behind his emerald eyes as they flickered to Theo, who refused to look at him in the span of that particular second.
"Lory?" Hermione muttered, glancing around at the street outside of the abandoned building through the dirty, newspaper-covered windows and not seeing anything remarkable. "What about it?"
"It's hiding the rest of the Order members." He replied simply, loud enough for everyone in the empty room to hear as his voice echoed off the rotting wood. "Isn't that right, Lupin?"
The older man's lips pulled into a taunting grin. "Oh, Malfoy, don't pretend like you aren't doing precisely the same thing as I am. I know your little Death Eaters are hidden behind these very walls as we speak. Should we invite everyone out to play, hm?"
Hermione stiffened at the implication and though she tried to hide it, Lupin's dark eyes had already caught onto the guilty motion and she swallowed a lump in the back of her throat.
"Just as I suspected," Lupin muttered under his breath, and the woman beside him chuckled, her lips twisting into a mean grin. One that sent chills up Hermione's already erect, anxious spine. Her eyes flickered unhelpfully to Harry's and searched his face – much like Theo was also doing, she suspected – for a sign of betrayal. Signs of a set-up.
Draco, meanwhile, managed to keep a level head and his slate grey, calculating gaze trained on his true opponents. "Yes," he finally said, lifting his chin proudly. "Let's invite our brethren in, shall we? Why should we be allowed to have all of the fun, eh?"
"Exactly what I was thinking, Malfoy." The other man agreed.
With a flick of his wrist, a hoard of men climbed out of the back of truck with a burlap covering over the back of it, and Hermione watched in horror as the other side easily outnumbered hers, once again. Every man that filed into the room had been present at the bar brawl years ago, and other than the woman standing intimately close to Lupin, Hermione was the only other woman.
The Weasley's, the youngest son in particular that Hermione had stabbed once upon a time, glared vehemently at Potter and she recalled that he had left the Order in seemingly rushed, bad terms. He had mentioned that he knew something about them, discovered something that he felt worth leaving, and she presumed that from the violent stares between Potter and Weasley that the latter of the two had not been equally informed in whatever it was that the former found out.
The hatred, the betrayal, was unmistakable.
Then again, it could have had everything to do with Theo's finger looped around Potter's trouser belt loop, securing him to his side.
"Now that we're all here," Lupin said, smiling vacantly around the crowded space. "Shall we get started on negotiations?"
"Negotiations," Draco repeated, casually resting his hands in his pockets. "That's an interesting way to put it."
Lupin's smile faltered briefly, revealing the hidden animosity he truly felt toward Draco, and Hermione grimaced, inching closer to his side and letting her fingers curl around her signature blade – the one Draco had gifted her – hidden in the sleeve of her blazer.
"Listen," he stated, placating a false amicability across his slender features, "We both know there has been an influx of IRA in the streets over the past few weeks, and we both know what they're here for."
Ah, yes, Hermione recalled. That would be the SMLE guns and fifteen-thousand rounds of ammunition the Royal Small Arms Factory seemingly misplaced. How careless of them.
Lupin's dark brown eyes settled accusingly on Draco with an air of calculated indifference which Hermione didn't believe in the slightest to be genuine. "We can at least, I believe, agree that the artillery cannot fall into the hands of the IRA. We all just survived one war and I don't plan on starting another one anytime soon."
Draco's stoic expression didn't falter.
"You think I have the guns?" He speculated aloud.
Hermione fought every fiber in her nervous system from reacting this time, knowing that the pink-haired woman's dark eyes were trained on her. Theo, predictably, also did not react; though, that was less impressive considering his upbringing and the fact that it was his pub that hoarded the stolen weaponry.
"I didn't say that," replied Lupin diplomatically.
"No," Draco corrected, "but you implied it, and I don't care for the insinuation." He lowered his newsboy cap so that the silver glinted in a stray beam of light and went on, "I am wealthy enough to afford guns and bullets without having to steal them from the RSAF." He paused, letting his gaze slid across to the red-haired men gathered to one side of the room. "That seems like something your people would be more inclined to do, doesn't it?"
The youngest Weasley muttered, "Death Eater scum," under his breath which earned him a slap to the back of his head from the one-eyed man called Moody.
Lupin ignored this.
"So," he drawled. "You believe that I have the guns, then?"
Draco scoffed, his lips twitching into a mean, little grin. "No. I know you don't have them, because if you did, then none of my properties, nor Nott's, would likely currently be operational, much less standing in one piece." He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. "Which leads me to wonder why you want to draft some form of peace treaty among us if there is nothing either of us will gain from it?"
Hermione blinked. He had an excellent point (presuming, of course, one looked at it from Lupin's perspective and believed Draco to not be in possession of the stolen weaponry).
Lupin shrugged, "Call it a precautionary alliance."
To that, Draco nodded. He exhaled a ring of smoke and smirked, "Better the devil you know than the devil you don't, eh?"
Hermione stifled a laugh.
The proverb Draco quoted was, ironically, of Irish origin. Though, knowing his level of intelligence and cunning, he probably knew that and said it on purpose. She wondered if Lupin understood the comedy of the phrase.
"So," the other man said, lifting his chin toward Draco. "Do we have an understanding?"
"Aye," Draco replied. "We have an understanding."
As the Order members began to exit the room, Hermione caught the youngest Weasley try to grab Potter by the arm, but the other boy – noticeably healthier after months spent in the Manor – pulled away and held Theo back defiantly. "Later Ron, just trust me,"
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the exchange and felt the warmth of Draco's presence beside her. "I don't trust them," he told her simply, low enough for only her to hear. "Especially Potter," he added, nodding to him walking away with Theo, trailed by a sulky Marcus – who was most likely disappointed that there hadn't been a chance to throw a fist – "Keep an eye on him for me, Penny."
"Consider it done," she responded without a breath of hesitation.
As it was, she had been planning on doing just that regardless of Draco's instruction.
The bleak winter bled into spring in the blink of an eye and the only real change that occurred was the color or presence (or lack thereof) of the leaves outside. Hermione had not been able to get close with Harry per se, and get him to open up with her, but she was at least able to observe him or interact with him almost daily because she and he spent most of their time sharing Theo's company.
The fire crackled in the hearth, spreading its warmth throughout the quaint reading room overlooking the front lawns of the Manor. The chill of the early spring was biting, threatening her toes with frostbite even with the copious amounts of coal burning in the furnace across the room. She pulled a wool throw over her lap and surveyed the chess board before her.
Hermione contemplated her next move, then decided to dangle a bishop in front of Potter's pawns, knowing that he would take it.
One could learn a lot about a person from the way they played a game of chess. If they were cautious and took their time making several small moves, then they were generally afraid of risk and were unlikely to gamble in their life as well. If they took bold moves but took their time doing so – like herself and Draco – then they were likely using smoke and mirrors to shield their true motivations. If they were bold but jumped to make the first maneuver that came to mind, no matter how detrimental such a move might be several steps later, then they were generally headstrong and idiotically brave.
Harry Potter fell into the last category.
He, as Hermione had suspected that he would, captured her bishop and freed the path for her, in exactly three moves, to take his king in a checkmate. The taste of victory was sweet on her tongue, but she refrained from letting it disrupt her poker face and, conversely, let a small frown turn her mouth downwards.
A small smirk spread across Potter's face and Hermione tried to feel sorry for him as he eyed her queen, also carefully placed two moves from his seizure as a way to distract him. Baiting him with captures of her larger players by his smaller ones was his signature vice, and she sat back silently smug at having discovered his thought process.
"Penny," Astoria chimed, entering the room just as Hermione tipped Potter's king with a smirk, reveling in the flash behind his emerald eyes. "Would you join me for a walk around the gardens? I hear Narcissa planted some new primroses,"
Narcissa's roses had not fared well against the gardenias (they are apparently very competitive) and so, she had opted to plant primroses for their symbolism and compatibility to her beloved gardenia bushes.
Hermione knew they were beginning to bloom in the early spring; however, she also knew that Astoria had never once displayed any interest in Narcissa's garden, nor was she a fan of walking in the cold evenings, either.
She stood and smiled at the woman regardless trusting that, like when they first got to know each other, there was an underlying purpose to this walk. "Of course," she replied, bidding goodbye and good game to Potter as she left him, Theo and Blaise to have the room to themselves.
They put on coats and scarves, then slipped past the men guarding the door to wander through the gardens. As they stepped down the stone steps to the first lower level of the terraced garden, Hermione cleared her throat, "So," she began, eying the vacant look on the other woman. "Where have you been today, on another errand for Narcissa?"
"Penny," Astoria reprimanded. "You know even I wanted to that I couldn't tell you if I was."
"Right," she remarked drily, letting her fingers traipse the cold petals of the flowers.
"Don't do that." Astoria criticized, her pale green eyes gleaming against her pale skin and dark, brunette hair left in loose waves cascading over her shoulders. "Don't do that. Don't pity yourself for not being included." Her face softened minutely. "Personally, I don't think she includes you because she feels guilty. Responsible, even. Definitely apprehensive."
"What?" Hermione sputtered. "That makes no sense."
"It does," she insisted, her eyes narrowing at something in the distance as she analyzed the proposal. "Her errands are dangerous, well everything the Death Eaters do is dangerous, but this is different. I almost always go in alone and without backup. After all, none of you ever know what I'm doing much less where I go so, how could any of you possibly help me if I got in trouble?" She paused. "Narcissa knows Draco would burn the city to the ground if anything happened to you." A sigh followed by a sidelong glance. "I think she feels guilty for what happened to you… with Black."
Hermione shifted uncomfortably, halting their winding path through the newly planted primroses.
"She gave you permission to take his fate into your own hands, didn't she?" Astoria pressed.
"Yes," she admitted, breathless. "She – Wait – Did she give you permission as well?"
Astoria slipped a loose wave behind her ear, the pale emerald stone imitating the color of her irises sparkled in the moonlight, and Hermione frowned, catching the infinitesimal clench in Astoria's jaw. "No," she finally stated, meeting Hermione's gaze with a narrowed one of her own. "She didn't. Why would she?"
"Why would - " Hermione repeated, astounded. She blinked. "What do you mean why would she? Because of what he did to you, Astoria!"
She gritted her teeth. "I told you, Penny, no one knows about that." At Hermione's subsequent gaping mouth, she added, "No, not even Narcissa knows."
"But," Hermione sputtered. "Why? Why not?" When Astoria said nothing, continuing their path through the dimly lit garden, Hermione rushed forward and took a hold of her small wrist. "That's not healthy, Astoria! You need to talk to someone about that."
"I'm talking to you, aren't I?" She countered, pouting.
"That doesn't count. You aren't saying anything!" Hermione protested, flailing her free hand around wildly.
"Penny, will you desist with your abhorrent emotions?" She grimaced, her nose scrunching in distaste. "They are irritating and not at all necessary in the slightest." She pulled her arm free from Hermione's grasp and tightened the strap of her coat, knotting it swiftly.
"Not necessary?" Hermione shrieked. "How can you say that - "
"Listen," Astoria cut in sharply, jewel-toned eyes blazing. "I don't want to talk about it. That's not why I called you out here, alright?" She grabbed Hermione's wrist that time and dragged her further into the garden, winding them around and down to the lowest level. "I want Black dead just as much as you do, and through you, I can finally see to it that he ceases to take another breath of borrowed air. Understood?"
"Are you saying that you want me to help you find him?" Hermione blinked. "I – Astoria he hasn't been seen in the city for ages. It's been, bloody hell I don't know, two years at least."
"Yes," she sniffed. "I'm aware. I am also aware that Draco has had his men on the lookout for him since long before that, and that they haven't found him because he wasn't in London this entire time." She huffed.
Hermione chewed her bottom lip, catching the glimpse of ice behind Astoria's constricted pupils.
"What – What are you saying?"
"I don't need your help finding him, Penny," she exhaled in a rush of cold air. "I don't need your help finding him because I already found him. I need you to help me kill him." Astoria tightened her grip on Hermione's wrist, leading her to a poorly lit corner of the garden where a limp, starved man was tied up to an iron bench.
Hermione inhaled sharply.
The stir of something dark and angry in the pit of her stomach returned the moment Astoria let go of her to lift the unconscious man's head, revealing the dirty, hollow face of Sirius Black. He looked no worse for wear than he usually did, and Hermione pitied him no more than she usually did as she took in his beaten and bruised body tied to the frosty iron.
"How did you - "
"Never mind that," she snapped.
Hermione nodded. She surveyed the cut on his lip and the weight of his head as it fell limply against his chest when Astoria let go of it. She wiped her hands on her coat and retreated to stand beside Hermione with a shrewd expression.
"I presume," Hermione began, flickering her darkened gaze from the man that nearly took her life in his grimy hands and choked it out; suffocated it. "No one else knows he's here." It was less of a question and more of a fact. A truth – and one that she didn't expect to change.
"What they don't know won't hurt them," Astoria supplied with a gentle shrug.
She was right, of course. Even with Narcissa's blessing to rid the world of Black, that didn't mean that the Order would not try to avenge his death or use it as an excuse to start a war with the Death Eaters. Hermione tilted her head, regarding the petite brunette beside her before sliding her narrowed gaze to the man that had stolen something from both of them.
His death was justified, surely.
She wouldn't feel remorseful.
Besides, he wouldn't be the first man Hermione had killed.
Krum had been more of an animal, and once again had tried to take something from her – the very same something that Black had succeeded in taking from Astoria, along with many other evils, Hermione presumed – so his death had a taint of mercy in it.
This, however, would have no mercy in it.
"We have to wake him up," Hermione finally said, reaching in her coat for the blade tucked into her blouse sleeve. She never went anywhere without it anymore; not since she realized that she had walked into certain death more than once by not always being armed.
"Why?" Astoria snapped, eyes blazing at the man covered in dirt and soot. "He didn't care if I was conscious when he took advantage of me." She turned to Hermione with a cold, unforgiving glare. "I woke up to him inside me. Do you know what that's like, Penny? Do you?" She spat. "And when he realized that I was coming to, do you know what he did? Hm?"
Hermione swallowed a lump in the back of her throat, forcing it down. She shook her head.
"He laughed." Astoria snarled, returning her merciless emerald eyes to Black. "He didn't feign shock or even malice at my timely return to consciousness. He fucking laughed. I still hear him cackling when I close my eyes sometimes. Did he laugh when he nearly killed you?" She said, throwing the words at Hermione. "I bet he did."
She paused, then went on. Her words tainting Hermione's morality like poison; like venom.
"He doesn't deserve to have a chance to fight back," raged Astoria, fists clenched. "The fucking bastard doesn't deserve it. He was too much of a coward to try and – he knows I would have gone kicking and screaming – he knows I would have fucking killed him if I – if he didn't knock me out like the wanker he fucking is."
There was a beat of silence where Hermione imagined herself sinking the blade into Black's chest and watching him bleed out before he got the chance to fight back, and she accepted it with a bitter taste in her mouth. But then Astoria spoke up again.
"You know what?" She hissed. "You want him on his feet, Penny? Fine," she lurched forward before Hermione could grab her and smashed Black's face against the iron arm of the bench he was tied up to; he came to screaming, and with blood trailing down his face from a new gash.
"Fuck," Hermione swore.
"What the fu – Oh, hello loves." His anger gave way to an evil mirth, and his dark eyes lingered on Hermione's face before settling ultimately on Astoria's. "Miss me, did you?"
He laughed; the terrible, shrill nail-scraping cackle that rattled both of them. Hermione caught Astoria wincing and shutting her eyes, subtly angling her neck to cover her ears. After seeing the pain in the other woman, and remembering her own near-death experience, there wasn't any hesitation in what came next.
Her hand struck out, like that of a snake, and her blade swept cleanly across the man's vibrating throat. He bled out in a matter of seconds, and then there was just silence, and the vacant sound of cicadas.
Hermione sighed shakily, blinking away the grotesque sight before her. She took a deep breath, settling her nerves and reminding herself that his death was necessary, that it was earned, if that was even a valid reason.
"Come on," Astoria said, nudging her and coming back to her strength. "We have to get rid of the body. Bury it before anyone sees, and then get cleaned up and get back inside before anyone notices how long we've been gone and comes looking for us."
"Right," Hermione nodded, dragging the back of her hand across her cheek and grimacing at the blood that splattered there. "Ok."
Hermione woke up in a sweat, screaming and thrashing and desperately gasping for air.
The stale air of another late summer heat wave did little to help Hermione cool down as she kicked the sweat-soaked sheets off of her. A warm palm stroking the ridges of her back didn't cool her down either, but it did make her feel slightly better. She turned around to see a familiar silver glint in the dark room.
"Hey," Draco murmured, sitting up to take her cheeks between his hands. "Will you please talk to me?" He paused, searching her face for something, then sighed. "I know there's something bothering you,"
She opened her mouth to tell him that she didn't want to talk about it, but he cut her off with a stern glare. "Don't," he warned, protectively. "Don't tell me it's nothing. Don't tell me not to worry about it. That's what you and I do, alright?" He placed a kiss to her feverish lips and brushed away a damp curl. "We talk to each other, and we worry about each other." He kissed her again. "Fuck, you're hot."
Hermione smirked, tugging at the short hair at the nape of his neck. "I know,"
He rolled his eyes, "That's true but that's not what I meant, and you know it," he remarked, shaking his head and rolling off the bed. He disappeared behind the bathroom door and came back with a damp cloth, placing it to her forehead, neck and chest and letting the cold water soothe her burning body.
"You never actually told me what your nightmares are about," Hermione muttered, arching an eyebrow pointedly at him. She'd figured out that they were from his time in France, but no more than that. He was a vault.
"One day," he promised, though she could see that he wasn't being sincere. Then again, how could she possibly push him to be? She knew what it meant to have ghosts and to be haunted by them when you closed your eyes, so why should she make him have to relive his? She could only imagine how horrible they were.
Draco gave her a gentle nudge for her to lie down and she caught the glimpse of an apology in the silver of his eyes; he must have had a similar thought process to her and decided to let it go. Good.
"Come here," he said, his voice low and gravely.
Hermione curled into his side, running her fingers up and down his torso as he twirled his in her hair. She counted his breaths and let it lull her back to sleep; welcoming the sweet abyss and the security of his arms wrapped securing around her small frame.
The morning came all too quickly and with a harsh, blinding light. "Bloody hell," she croaked, untangling herself from Draco's arms and shaking him awake. Today was not a day to lie in, and therefore they only had a matter of time before Theo, or Narcissa herself, barged in to wake them both up. Clothed or not.
"Hold on," Draco protested, pulling her back down into the array of pillows. "Come here."
"Draco," she chuckled, swatting him playfully as he slid his hands between her silk shift. "We don't have time,"
"Fuck it," he shrugged, sliding his tongue along her bottom lip as he took her breath in his. She melted in his arms, as she usually did. "Fuck it," he said again, "I'm in charge of this whole bloody organization and I say that we get five more minutes. Fifteen tops," he winked.
"Oh?" She challenged.
"Mhmm," Draco replied smugly, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His hands renewed their efforts to rid Hermione of her clothing, and this time she didn't bother to stop them. Her own fingers were sliding his linen trousers from his hips.
She took his length and smiled against his lips as he exhaled a satisfying hiss, tugging her roughly closer to him. Closer, closer, closer.
"Fuck," Draco groaned, adjusting his three-piece-suit as Hermione came out of the shower, tussling her damp curls with a towel and appreciating the way this particular fit hugged his bum. "I don't want to bloody celebrate another fucking trip around the sun."
Hermione rolled her eyes, selecting one of the three dresses Draco had already pulled out that were stamped with Narcissa's (and Daphne's evidently, who did most of the shopping for the women in the household) approval.
"I don't understand why you don't tell her you don't want to have a celebration. You're the leader of the bloody Death Eaters, Draco, surely you can excise your power in this one area, no?" She leered.
He grimaced, adding a silver time piece to his ensemble – one that she had gifted him that morning between their amazing morning sex and narrowly missing Theo's incoming shoe as she scrambled out of the sheets and towards the shower – and leaning against her bedpost as she changed.
"No," he replied. "I can't. I've tried."
"I highly doubt that," Hermione stated. "I've seen your ambition in action. You clearly didn't try hard enough."
Draco took hold of the hair at the back of her head, twirling it around in his palm and giving it a hard pull, snapping her neck back. He placed a kiss at the base of her throat, followed by a harmless bite and another kiss, then let her go.
"I did try," he insisted. "Mother is… peculiar about birthdays. Always has been. Since I've kept the household on lockdown again, I denied her hosting a larger party."
Hermione frowned, slipping into the pale pink slip and twisting her hair into a chignon low enough to accommodate the matching rose-trimmed hat. "So, if it's just the family then why the bloody hell are we leaving the Manor? I mean, Theo's pub is nice an all that but - "
"Because I already denied her so much apparently," he replied flippantly. "Now, will you desist your interrogation and - "
"Oi!" Boomed Theo, poking his head into the room. "What part of ten minutes don't you two bloody understand? Come on, for the sake of fuck," he slammed the door loudly behind him, and then opened it again seconds later to add, "and by the way, Penny? My pub is not just nice. How very dare you," he sniffed.
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "Bloody Nott," she mused.
Draco met her eye, resting his hand on the small of her back and leading her down the corridor, downstairs and toward the garage where every other family member was all dressed already and filing into the family cars. "Bloody Narcissa," he winked, helping her into the passenger seat.
They were the only ones to drive themselves, the others relied on the house staff. Hermione was irritated to see Kreacher bow low to Potter and open the door for him, something he had never done for her. Theo caught her staring at the exchange and chuckled, tipping his newsboy cap to her.
"Interesting, isn't it?" He remarked.
Hermione lowered the brim of her hat over her eyes and tore her gaze away from Theo's hand on Harry's thigh pointedly. It wasn't that she was bothered by them – honestly, they were a lovely albeit odd couple and aside from the constant bickering, there was only that, small touches, that she'd witnessed – but rather the way it seemed that Theo had been right about Kreacher.
She wondered briefly if Draco or Narcissa had noticed Kreacher's specific animosity to her.
The arrival of the family to the pub – a newer favorite named The Dagger – had been entirely typical.
Draco led the entourage to the entrance with Hermione on one side of him, the two of them walking and muttering under their breath with lingering comments from the conversation that had taken place during the drive over. Narcissa stood to Draco's right, with Astoria on her right, and the two of them had their chins up high and their pale eyes fixed on the posh pub ahead. Blaise, Graham and Marcus fell well behind the leading group because they were bickering and bantering about some inane topic, and Theo was not far behind, dragging Harry by his arm. Vincent and Greg took their time getting out of the family car because they were either tipping back a flask or making sure their snacks were in their pockets.
What was not typical was what happened the moment Theo opened the doors to the pub and let everyone inside.
There were two men waiting for them, propped at a table with one of Theo's Irish whiskey's already open between them. Hermione blinked at the two men. They didn't look familiar, and she usually tried to keep in the habit of remembering faces of those who were either for or against the Death Eaters as well as those who either knew or did not know of Draco and Theo's involvement with the gang.
Hermione was unable to categorize these men, and she was quite certain she hadn't seen or met either of them. She glanced askance to Draco and to Narcissa to gauge whether or not they recognized them. From the tension in both of their shoulders, it was evident that they did not.
"Oi," Theo began, meeting Draco's eye momentarily before inclining his chin at the two strangers. "Who the bloody hell are you two and why the fuck are you in my pub? It's closed in case you couldn't read the bloody sign out front."
The taller of the two men, with his ebony skin and accentuated cheekbones, stared at them with his hazel eyes and tipped the double shot of whiskey to his lips. The other man, the shorter and much paler of the two, regarded them with beady, dark eyes. He was the one to address the gang.
"Aye, we can fookin' read, and you'll be wantin' to watch the way you talk to me, boyo."
Draco's eyes narrowed notably.
"Aye, he knows what I'm talkin' abou'. Don't you, lad?" The man went on, sparking a light. "You'll forgive me, Mr. Nott, if I indulge a little," he gestured to the honey-colored liquor and smirked, "it takes a lot for a Dubliner to show up in yer city, and I'm positively shattered."
Hermione registered a heavy, Irish accent and immediately shrank back between Draco and Theo. Astoria's hand shot out to close around hers, and the women slowly made their way to the sidelines while Blaise and the others shifted forward, subtlety rearranging their formation.
"Anyone with money or good intentions is welcome in London," Theo stated, nodding to his bottle, "and in my pub."
"Is that so?" The Irishman dimpled, a mischievous smile stretching across his lips, twisting them unkindly.
"It is," Draco supplied, tilting his chin forward and puffing out his chest slightly. "So, which will it be? Money?" He paused, sidling up the men and their arguably impeccably well-tailored suits. "Or good intentions?"
"Hm," he grunted. "It's delicate, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco waited approximately twenty-three-seconds before clearing his throat and adjusting his newsboy cap, holding it firmly between his fingers. The others all did the same, lowering their caps and clenching onto them, the silver glinting in the yellowed bar lights.
"How is it that you know our names," Draco announced, "but we don't know yours? I find that to be unspeakably rude, don't you, Mr. Nott?"
"I do, Mr. Malfoy. I really do."
Theo's eyes, characteristically a blue so pale it would closer resemble ice, were dilated so much that they appeared black. His grip on Harry's wrist would likely leave bruises, Hermione mused.
"Oh, my apologies, lads!" Apologized the pale Irishman, though his tone was not apologetic in the slightest. "I am Mr. Seamus Finnigan, and this here is Mr. Dean Thomas."
"Mr. Finnigan," Draco said. "What business do you believe the IRA has here, hm? This is but a friendly pub just north of River Thames."
Finnigan refilled his glass, taking a languid gulp and exhaling loudly. "Aye, it is but a little pub, and one that I'm told the Death Eaters like to frequent." His gaze shifted between Draco and Theo. "Interesting, ain't it? That you lot be the ones to walk in 'ere while I'm expectin' the leader of the fookin' Death Eaters to walk in, eh?" He chuckled. "Very interesting, ain't it, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco's eyes narrowed, and Hermione's breath got caught in the back of her throat. These men were clearly well informed.
"What the fuck do you want?" Theo finally snapped, mouth downturned into a deep grimace.
"Guns, a serious amount of guns," the other man – Thomas – responded. "We know you 'ave 'em so, don't bother fookin' lyin' to us. He may look a right moran," Thomas added, nodding to Finnigan, "but he can do the bloody numbers and besides, errybody from 'ere to the Pale just about 'eard of the robbery."
"Don't know what you're talking about. We heard about the robbery, yes, but we don't have the guns. Have you tried the Order of the Phoenix? They're a shifty bunch," Draco shrugged. "I bet they bloody stole them."
"Funny enough," Finnigan drawled as slowly as an Irishman could, at the same time pausing to take a long drag. "The Order of the fookin' Phoenix pointed their gun at you," his dark eyes twinkled. "Now, what's you to say to that, eh? One of you's is lyin' that's for damn sure."
Again, Draco shrugged.
"Wouldn't be us. I can bloody well afford my own weaponry. I don't need to go around stealing it like those beggars. What fucking use would I have for stolen RSAF guns anyway?"
Finnigan smirked, then stood up. His companion mimicked his motion and in less than a breath both of them had guns pointed at the group. "Yer a clever man, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure you'd 'ave thought of somethin', eh?"
"What my mate 'here is sayin' is, if you were to 'ear about such guns and things, we would pay good money to take them off yer hands, aye?" Stated Thomas with a glint of duplicity in his eyes.
"You have good money?" Draco drawled, cocking a silver eyebrow.
"You know," Finnigan stated, gesturing to where the women stood off to the side, Greg and Vince angling themselves in front of them. "You got a couple of fine things on yer arm, Malfoy. Ain't nobody mentioned tha'."
"What do you want?" Draco growled.
"What I fookin' want," Finnigan snapped, breaking his cool, carefree exterior to show the rattled, angry man within. His fist slammed onto the table, sending whiskey sloshing around and spilling all over the dark wood. His gun flickered among the group as he shouted his desires. "What I want is for my countrymen to lead their own fookin' nation and not 'ave to answer to you British, prissy lot!"
He finished his glass, then smacked the bottle of whiskey onto the floor; the glass shattered across the room and the sound echoed off of the high beams of the ceiling, carrying with it the sharp intake of breath.
Finnigan and Thomas turned toward the back exit, their weapons still halfway drawn, and the former of the two called out over his shoulder, his original smug expression returned. His voice cool and clipped and venomous.
"Consider this a warnin', eh, Comrade?"
Then, he and Thomas opened fire on them.
It all happened quickly. So, so quickly. Hermione had barely registered what was happening by the time the booming sound of bullets ripping through the air ended. Then, agonizing screams took its place.
She was on the floor. The sound of her blood rushing through her body was enough to let her know that she was still alive, and the aching pain in her lungs let her know that she was still breathing. Hermione took a second to evaluate herself, to check to see if the tingling sensation in her arms and legs were from wounds and not simply nerves and terror. They weren't. She was fine. She was fine. But others weren't. Many others, it seemed.
Hermione propped herself up and spun her head around to look at the chaos before her.
Draco was easy to spot first with his hair glowing a brilliant silver against his pale skin, reminding her of an angel even though she knew he was far from one. He was bent over, his hands covered in dark red and her heart lurched. She sat up and got to her knees to crawl toward him but a weight, wrapped around her wrist, pulled her back.
"Penny," Narcissa clipped coldly. "He's fine. Stay here. She needs you." She paused, her pale eyes flickering to the small figure between them on the floor. "I need you."
Hermione, startled by the confession falling from Narcissa's lips, blinked and let her gaze travel to Astoria. "Oh," she gasped, a shaky hand rising to cover her mouth. "Oh, my fucking god. Is she - "
"I'm not dead, Penny," Astoria snapped, sagging against Narcissa with a disgruntled moan. "I've only been shot," she clarified, wincing as Narcissa tore off her blazer and pressed it firmly against the hole in her thigh.
"Only?" Hermione shrieked, unable to hide the concern in her voice. Her lips quavered and hands tremored as she hastily followed Narcissa's instructions to apply pressure to the wound as she worked on improvising a tourniquet.
"Nott," she heard Draco growl, and shifted to incline her head to see what was going on at his end of the pub entrance. "Nott, for fuck's sake, if you don't hold still, I will kill you myself."
Theo was trying to sit up but the more he moved, the more blood spurted out of the gaping hole in his shoulder. It looked as if the bullet – if not more than one – tore right through his shoulder, possibly shattering his clavicle along with it by the lack of prominent bone in its place.
Harry was huddled on the other side of him, opposite Draco, and he seemed to be joining in trying to get Theo to lay back down and let them wrap something around the wound. His lips were moving as he leaned in closely to Theo's ear; his hands were clamped around Theo's, knuckles flushed. Hermione couldn't make out what he was saying from the wailing coming from another part of the group
"No," Blaise screamed the same time Graham let out a piercing sob. "Those bastards. Those fucking Irish bastards." He hollered, lifting a limp head; from the dark hair and slack, square jaw, Hermione could tell it was Marcus that he was holding. Cradling. It was Marcus in his arms. It was Marcus who was dead.
The ride back to the Manor was brutal.
Hermione rode with Narcissa and Astoria, holding onto the latter for dear life as the former swerved through the streets fast as fucking hell. They were the first to arrive back to the house, and Narcissa swept through the marbled entryway spitting orders at the staff, and clearing a space on the kitchen island for Hermione to hoist Astoria up onto; her head fell from its place in the crook of Hermione's neck to the hardwood top with a sickening thud.
"Fuck," Hermione swore, brushing back her dark hair and grimacing at the slightly blue tint to the woman's extremely pale face. "Fuck, Narcissa," she choked, eying the blood pooling between her legs. "Fuck, she's bleeding out. The tourniquet it's – she's losing a lot of blood! – is she going to die?"
"No," Narcissa quipped, a bottle of liquor and a medical kit in her polished, red-stained hands. "Not if I can fucking help it."
"But - " Hermione trembled, helping Narcissa prep Astoria for the procedure. "But Marcus – He – He - "
"No," she snapped, her pale eyes blazing. "Don't fucking lose your shit now, Penny. Don't think about Flint, right now, think about Astoria. Think about her. She's the one fucking bleeding out on the table right now, alright? Think about her. She needs you, and therefore I need you." Her tinted lips formed a thin, heavily condemning line. "Keep your shit together."
Hermione inhaled sharply, her gaze flickering from Narcissa's stern one to Astoria's blank one and swallowed the pit in the back of her throat.
"Right." She said, taking the needle and metal thread from Narcissa. "I can do this. I can save her."
There was a moment of silence, a moment of reprieve, where everything seemed to stop. Where time itself slowed to the point where Hermione's brain was able to slowly process every sensory input it was receiving. The flutter of Astoria's dark lashes against her translucent cheek sounded like that of a butterfly's wings; the sheen of the silver tools in her blood-stained hands gleamed under the harsh lighting of the kitchen; the background roar of an engine as others pulled into the garage rushed through her veins like the oxygen she inhaled.
"I can do this," she said again, and then got to work.
It wasn't easy. Hermione wasn't a trained professional – not even close to one. She had basic medical training as per requirement by the academy years ago, and she'd had to use the medical kit every now and then to bandage up Draco or Theo or anyone else who came home with cuts and bruises and the like. But she'd never had to stitch up a gunshot wound, and she'd especially never had to stitch one up for someone she cared about.
The bullet had nicked her femoral artery. She was bleeding out. She would die, and soon, if Hermione wasn't able to clamp the artery and sew it back together along with the torn muscles and skin around the hole. First, however, she had to find the fucking bullet that was responsible for this massacre of her leg or she would die regardless of what medical miracle Hermione performed.
Her head instantly snapped up at the sound of Draco's voice as he entered the room, but a quick glance at Narcissa allowed her to focus on saving Astoria's life while she left to see how the men were doing. They ended up setting up camp on a rather wide counter elsewhere in the large kitchen. Hermione tuned them out until it was just white noise.
She was meticulous and she was careful, and her hands had never been more still, despite the fact that their every movement was a calculated risk and probably doing more harm than good.
Against all odds, it seemed, the bleeding stopped. Then the wound was closed up – not prettily; there would definitely be a scar, but still – and color began to creep up on Astoria's face.
Hermione let out an enormous sigh of relief.
She practically collapsed from exhaustion, settling herself in a stool and clasping her hand in Astoria's limp one, murmuring nonsense get well soon's until she felt the pull of sleep drag her into its depths.
Hermione woke with a parched throat and a cramp in her leg. She sat up, rubbed at the crust in her eyes and blinked into the dim lighting to see Harry perched in a similar position to the one she was in with Theo propped up on the counter. He took a long look at her, blinked, and then quirked his mouth up into a wry smile.
She swallowed, grasping for a glass from one of the cupboards and leaving Astoria's side momentarily to stand beside him. He took her proffered glass and the two of them gulped down the cool water before either of them said anything.
"He's alright," Harry said, nodding to the door and not to the unconscious dark-haired man on the counter beside them. "Narcissa thought it would be best to leave you with Astoria and told him not to wake you." She nodded to him, and he continued. "He's alright, too." This time, Harry did nod to Theo. "It was a through and through. He'll heal, and his collarbone will mostly heal itself." He sighed, then looked over her shoulder at the petite brunette on the kitchen island. "You worked a miracle on her you know,"
"I know," Hermione sighed, toying with a hangnail and avoiding his emerald eyes that were only a few shades off from Astoria's. Even if they weren't the same it was still too painful.
"She'll wake up," Harry said, registering her concern and pinpointing it with an unnatural talent.
"You don't know that." She countered, frowning at the man whose hair was incurably messy.
He pursed his lips, taking another sip of water. "No," he agreed finally. "I don't know that, but I have a good feeling. From what I've seen in my short time here, you're quite brilliant. I highly doubt you would give anything less than your best to her, as well."
"Still," Hermione protested weakly. "My best may not be enough."
"She'll wake up," he insisted, nodding curtly.
She swallowed a large gulp of water, then placed the glass down on the counter and shifted her gaze from Theo's evenly rising and falling chest to Harry's clenched jaw. "You say I'm quite brilliant, but you're hardly an idiot yourself. Perhaps, a bit suicidal, but not unclever." She noted, arching an eyebrow at him.
He said nothing.
"The others might not be willing to accept you here despite Theo's insistence that you can be trusted if you don't give them something about yourself worth trusting." She went on, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. He glanced up at her, his expression faltering briefly to clue her in on his better intentions.
"You know," Hermione said, going on in his lack of verbal response. "If you're going to open up to anyone here besides him," – she nodded to Theo – "it might as well be me. I'm the newest among them, and therefore probably the most understanding of your position. Why did you leave the Order?"
Again, he said nothing, and Hermione sighed and moved back over to sit beside Astoria.
"Him," he finally stated, paired with an exasperated exhale.
Hermione shook her head, "I believe that's part of the reason, obviously, but that's not the whole truth and you know it. You said so yourself when you showed up here in the first place, or did you think I would forget about that?"
"I don't trust them," Harry said after several minutes of silence. Hermione angled herself toward him and motioned with her free hand, the one not in Astoria's, for him to go on. "I – Well, let's just say I found out something and it was rather… unsettling."
She gave him her best No Shit expression and he immediately grimaced.
"Hey," he replied defensively, "You're the one who wanted me to tell you and now, you're going to sit there and pretend like you're better than me? Fuck off,"
Hermione deliberately refrained from sighing or smacking him upside the head for being so thickheaded. "I'm not trying to personally attack you, Potter, fucking relax. I'm just saying obviously you found out something that didn't sit right with you because you're bloody here and not with them. What aren't you telling me? What are you so bloody scared to confess, hm? Did you find out your precious Order is not as high and almighty as you thought they were? They as fucked up as we are?" She let her gaze shift pointedly to Theo's hand in his. "Or more so, I should say."
"I – Fuck you," spat Harry.
She shrugged, "Fine, be that way. I just thought maybe if the time came where you needed an ally then you might find one in me. I guess I was wrong."
"First for everything," he muttered under his breath.
At that, Hermione swung around on the stool and gave him a stern look, one accompanying what would be a very short, very blunt lecture. "Look, Potter," she seethed. "You burned your bridge with the Order, and no matter how many fucking peace treaties you try to enact, they will never stick. You know that because, as I mentioned before, you're not without aptitude. Theo may be around to protect you now, but one day he may not be, or one day it might not be enough, or worse yet, he won't want to protect you anymore. All are very real," – she nodded to the pink tinted bandage over Theo's bare torso and shoulder – "possibilities and you should be prepared for all of them. Which means having someone on your side besides your lover." He opened his mouth to protest and she held up a finger. "Don't. Unless you plan on explaining yourself, don't fucking say anything."
They stared at each other; his jewel-toned eyes boring into her with a renewed vehemence.
Eventually, as Hermione had predicted, Harry gave in. He didn't look any more pleased about it, but she – as she so often was – had been infallibly logical. "My father," he stated. "James Potter was a Marauder. He was one of the original members of the Order of the Phoenix before he was murdered."
He paused and Hermione let her chin fall in condolence.
"He was a Marauder. So was Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew." His eyes glazed over and Hermione found herself reminiscing the night Narcissa signed Pettigrew's death warrant and Harry's eccentric reaction, as well as her own hands covered in mud from digging Black's grave. Three Marauders down. One left.
"Because of my father," Harry went on, clearing his throat. "I was granted a special place in the Order and welcomed in some of their higher up meetings. It was the last one – the one right before I saw Theo and ran here – that I found out who I really follow and what they really wanted. What they really represented."
Hermione tilted her head, analyzing the micro-expressions across Harry's face and filing them away in her mind.
"There was a new man," he explained, absentmindedly toying with the dark curls that fell in Theo's closed eyes. "I didn't trust him right away because he didn't fight in France, and when he started going on about the destruction of the Death Eaters and the general corruption of the city, I got the feeling that he was commanding the Order, using them, for his own agenda. That we didn't matter to him. That our lives didn't matter."
His eyes met hers and the pain behind them made her skin crawl.
"Then, I realized where I recognized his face from and it all just – I couldn't handle it anymore. I couldn't be part of it." He shook his head, brushing his thumb across Theo's knuckles.
"Who was he?" Hermione pressed.
Harry gave her a lopsided grin, "Sorry, Penny, but you know as well as I do that. I can't very well tell you all my secrets."
Her mouth twisted downwards, but she nodded to him. "Fair enough, Potter."
The next week was marked by an unrelenting grey cloud. Both metaphorically and literally. It followed their family around and soaked them in rain, depression, and doubt. The Death Eaters had never truly felt invincible, but now the reality of the statement was marked by their uniformed black attire and the recently dug grave in the cemetery down the road.
The scent of roses overwhelmed Hermione's nose, but she welcomed it and basked in it because she knew it was far better than the smell of dying flesh as the heavy casket was lowered. Six feet under. The women all took turns tossing a white, thorny rose onto the dark wood and murmuring a prayer for Marcus. He was loved. He was valued. He was fucking missed.
When it was the men's turn, they each tossed a rose and shoveled a pile of – miraculously dry – dirt into the grave. Draco was the first to do so, and when he returned to her side, she could see from the familiar and terrifying glint in his grey eyes that a storm was brewing. A reckoning was coming. Marcus would be avenged. The IRA would pay for what they did; for what they took from their family; for the life they ended far too young.
Back at the Manor, Dobby and Winky kept the alcohol flowing.
They hadn't risked leaving the Manor much over the past week, and they weren't especially keen on going to any of Theo's pubs anytime soon and specifically not on a day like today. They weren't afraid. They were practical. They were cunning.
Besides, Astoria was still bedridden (even though she pushed that particular limit nearly every hour against Hermione and Narcissa's very clear instruction). Theo was far from fully healed, but he was well enough to wear a simple sling and send shots to the back of his throat with his better arm, one after another, after another, after another.
He collapsed in a drunken heap against the sofa and slung his good arm over Hermione's shoulders, regarding her warily before letting a sloppy grin spread across his face. "You, Penny," he slurred. "You are a very," – a pause for a hiccup – "very special person."
"Mhmm," she agreed, her own head thick with the haze of intoxication. "So is Harry, right? Or why else would you risk your friendship with Draco, your own fucking life, to keep him here?"
Theo shook his head, tapping a finger to her nose first and then his own. "Hit the – the nose on the head – the hammer on the – the nail on the hammer." She laughed and he did, too, hiccupping through it. "You don't even know," he drawled.
"Know what?" Hermione blinked.
"You don't even know, Penny," he told her. "You don't even know the fucking – the fucking half of it. No idea. You don't." Theo fumbled through his pockets for a cigarette and a matchbox, then lit his own and handed her own, lighting it as well. They both inhaled smoke and exhaled wide grins. "The shit – the fucking shit that we've been through."
"Oh," Hermione nodded, leaning her head back against the cushions and letting her eyes wander around the room. They settled on her favorite blond as he bent his head toward Narcissa and Blaise. "France, right?"
Theo coughed and sat up straight, glowering at her. "Penny," he glowered. "You don't fucking know. Not just – I mean like we – like fucking Draco and Harry and I." He registered the confusion across her face and went on. "In fucking France. We were all in the same squad, right? Like fucking together. For the whole bloody war. Or most of it. Anyway," he hiccupped. "Harry and I, we fucking like, saved Draco's life. We did. That smug fucker would've died in 1915 if it wasn't for us. That's why," he said with a conspiratorial smirk. "That's why he can't kill me, or Potter. Of course, he's special. They both are. You are." He chuckled under his breath. "I guess we all are."
Hermione, again, blinked. "What?" She croaked. "He – You – How?"
"Hm," Theo nodded. "Good question."
He took a long drag from the cigarette and then tapped her thigh impatiently with his fingertips, then leaned in closer to her. He was steeped in the familiar scent of sandalwood and whiskey.
"Well?" Hermione pressed, managing to keep this particular focus long enough to pull together a string of thoughts that was not as nonsensical as her other conversations that evening had been. "What happened? How did you save his life?"
"How did Potter and I save his life," Theo corrected with a wink. She rolled her eyes then nodded along eager to find out. He leaned back and she did as well, both of them finishing their cigarettes and exhaling a cloud of smoke around them. Secluding them from the rest of the family in their cozy corner. "We hatched a plan," he paused, shaking his head. "Wait. I have to start from the beginning."
She nodded, then closed her eyes and let his memory wash over her; let the story encompass her.
"We were in the south of France. It was somewhere near the border of Italy, but I couldn't tell you the name of the bloody town right now. Anyway, it was fucking dark because it was winter, and it was the middle of the night and Draco decided he wanted to go get himself fucking killed. Fucking idiot," Theo supplied, setting the scene. "So, he goes off on some stupid crusade to save the rest of us and take on the fucking Italians because they just got themselves fucking involved in the bloody war to end all wars. Fucking idiots."
Hermione reached absently for Theo's hand, and was surprised and relieved when he didn't pull away from her.
"Draco goes to take on the fucking Italians all by himself because – fuck, I don't know, because he was our fucking leader – and so, Harry won't let it happen. The fucking rebel he is. He goes off after him, but I'm not a heavy sleeper and I'm also not fucking stupid like the two of them so, I follow him." Theo tells her.
She imagines the scenario as he plays it out for her: Draco, surrounded by Allied Powers and outnumbered, willing to risk his life for his men and his country and sacrifice himself to prevent them from advancing and – fuck, I'm pissed – alright, fuck it, I'm not getting into this right now. Basically, Harry and I saved his arse and we bloody stomped on those mafia bastards."
Hermione regarded his stiff posture and stoic expression warily, squeezing his hand in hers. He gave her a sidelong glance and she could have sworn that among his three heads, at least one of them was smiling at her.
"Pen," Draco breathed, appearing in her vision in all of his golden glory. He held out a hand to her, helping her up and pulling her close to him despite all of the eyes on them. She stiffened momentarily, then melting in his arms. As she always did. "Pen," he said again, murmured into her chestnut curls.
"Draco," she whispered back, clutching onto him by the loose strands of his hair, holding him close to her. Ever closer. Never close enough. "I'm here, Draco. I'm here. I love you, Draco. I'm not leaving you," she hiccupped, tasting salt on the tip of her tongue as it streamed down her cheeks – or was it from his?
"I know," he sighed, and she heard rather than felt the weight leave his shoulders from the two simple words. "I know, Pen, I know. I love you. Fuck I – I really fucking love you. I need you."
"I'm not going anywhere, Draco, I promise. I fucking promise." She assured him, both of them clutching onto each other for dear life and riding the intoxication all the way up the stairs in a flurry of hands here and mouths there and promises.
Promises and climaxes and endless I love you's and I know's and I'm here's.
A/N - Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah and Happy other Holidays to all of you as well as Happy New Year as I don't expect to be able to update again until the new year. I did leave a little holiday surprise for you all at the bottom of my author page though ;) Thank you all for such a wonderful year, and I can't wait to spend next year with you.
The title of this chapter was from Kendrick Lamar's song (jacpin2002 - same girl, same) HUMBLE from the lines pull up on your block, then break it down / we playing tetris xx
