A/N: I everyone! Thank you all so much for your comments. I have really been overwhelmed by the response so far and I really appreciate it.
I have received a few comments about my pacing and chapter lengths. All I'll say is that the story is outlined in great detail, and although I may vary my chapter lengths, the cuts are placed in what I feel are the best spots for the story. I'm truly humbled and appreciate that you want to read more of my words each week, but I'm just trying to tell my story the best way I know how.
Thank you!
As always, AlphaBet love to BiscuitsforPotter and DisenchantedGlow
It took weeks for Draco to feel like himself again after Pansy's death and the disastrous events that followed. He was plagued by horrific dreams of William and Pansy nearly every night, but whenever his demons got particularly aggressive, he had gotten into the habit of sneaking into Granger's room. They would sit up and talk sometimes, airing their fears and dreams to the darkness. Other times they would just sit with each other in silence.
Once, Draco woke from a particularly bad dream and rolled over to find that Granger had already come to visit him. She laid next to him on her side, her breathing deep and even in her slumber. His heartbeat slowed at the mere sight of her. Reaching out, he brushed an errant curl from her forehead, and then allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep by the sound of her even breathing. When he woke up again the next morning, Granger was gone.
They were separated for a week at the end of April when Draco was stationed at Shell Cottage and Granger at the Longbottom house.
Draco barely slept.
The following week they were both at the Westenberg house, and Granger snuck into his room nearly every night.
For all the intimacy of their new habit, they rarely touched. Occasionally she would hold his hand, or rest her head against his shoulder in the late night hours when the darkness encouraged the most brutal honesty from them, but nothing more. It was as if neither of them wanted to ruin the gentle comfort they had found in each other.
As Draco began to feel more and more like himself, the others in the Order seemed to also return to a sense of normality where he was involved. Though some people still skirted around him suspiciously, most seemed to have forgotten their wariness and were treating him with civility again. People chatted with him at mealtimes and greeted him in hallways. It wasn't anything overly friendly, but Draco was grateful for any amount of courtesy he was offered.
As April faded into May, the weekly Order meeting brought word of a dark threat.
"We have received news that the Death Eaters are preparing to unleash their deadly potion upon a population of Muggles," announced Shacklebolt.
In front of Draco, Granger's shoulders tensed. "When?" she asked, her voice tight with concern.
"We can't be sure, but the threat is imminent. The chatter suggests that they have prepared large quantities of the potion in anticipation of an attack. We should make every effort to be prepared when it happens," Kingsley responded, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.
"The antidote still isn't complete," Granger announced.
"Then that is your top priority."
"Sir," Draco interjected. "If it would help, I could work with Granger on the antidote. My personal experience may provide some insight."
"Hermione, would Malfoy's assistance be helpful?"
Granger nodded. "I certainly think so."
"Very well. Feel free to fill him in on all of the information that you have. The faster we can develop the antidote and have a good stock of it, the better."
Granger turned in her chair, offering him an appreciative smile. The Minister forged ahead with the meeting, discussing the protocol should an attack occur.
"Everyone here must make themselves proficient in the Bubble Head Charm. We cannot be sure that the potion isn't also absorbed through the skin, so impervious charms on all clothing will be necessary. No exposed skin is allowed on the site of an attack of this nature. That means gloves, long sleeves, and trousers, the works. Is that understood?"
Everyone in the room nodded their assent, some glancing to Draco as if remembering the attack he'd endured at the hands of this potion. Draco dropped his eyes, wishing to sink into his chair and disappear. He wondered how many people in this room had watched him succumb to the potion.
After the meeting, Draco followed Granger into the office and they set to work. He knew many of the ingredients she had been using to treat him, but had very little knowledge of how she was developing the antidote.
"The potion attacked your nerves, shutting down your body one system at a time," Granger said, pulling files from a drawer and setting them on the table between them. "We know the science of what happened to you because of the memories we witnessed and also from trying to heal you afterwards. We had to go system by system, clearing your body of the potion and reversing the damage done to you. That's why your recovery took so long. Every part of you had been shut off, in a manner of speaking. We had to turn it all back on."
Draco nodded. He recalled similar explanations from MacDougall in the days after he woke up.
"I guess what would help me the most is hearing it from your perspective. I've never really asked because I know you didn't remember much, and I didn't want to hinder your psychological recovery by asking you to relive it," she explained, tucking a curl behind her ear nervously. "Do you remember enough to explain it to me?"
Draco approached the table, glancing at the files she had opened. One of these files had his name on it. It was overflowing with parchments and charts, all of which had little notes scribbled in the margins in her tidy handwriting. "I remember everything."
In the first few weeks of his recovery, the entire incident had returned to him, bit by bit, until there was no detail he couldn't recall. He would often relive it in his nightmares and wake up gasping.
Her eyes lifted to meet his, a hint of fear behind them. "Would it bother you to tell me?"
"What do you need to know?"
"Everything. What you saw, felt, smelled… anything."
Draco sat in one of the chairs and Granger followed suit. He closed his eyes, allowing his memory to travel back to the day he had nearly died.
"The potion was black and shiny. Almost alive in the way it swirled against the glass. Like it wanted to get out and kill."
He could hear Granger scribbling notes as he spoke, so he continued. "When Yaxley broke the glass, the liquid spilled out, but it turned to vapor almost immediately. Maybe it reacted with the air, I'm not sure."
Taking a deep breath against the memory of the panic he had felt, he pressed on. "It was impossible not to breathe it in, and as soon as I did, I felt my lungs tighten. So I had to take quicker breaths."
"What did it smell like?" Granger asked.
He opened his eyes. "Awful. Er—acidic. It burned my nose and throat when I breathed it in. It tasted a bit like...licorice… but sharper, stronger. And then the pain started. It hit me everywhere… like the cruciatus, only a bit more dull and longer lasting. I couldn't get a breath deep enough. It felt like my lungs were collapsing."
Granger had stopped writing now and was staring at him in abject horror.
"Then I guess my systems started shutting down, like you said. My muscles felt like they turned to mush. That's when I collapsed. My eyes weren't working right either. Everything got kind of blurry. Er—I threw up, and then everything went numb. It was better than the pain, but then I couldn't breathe at all. After that, everything in my body just felt like… I don't know… like it was slowing down."
Granger was leaning forward on her elbows, heels of her hands pressed into her brow and fingers gripping her hair.
"That's all I remember," he finished softly.
She took a sharp breath in and lifted her head. He had expected to see tears in her eyes, but although there was deep sadness on her face, it seemed that she had cried all she could about his attack. She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to offer some sentiment about how awful it must have been, but then it snapped shut again. Her eyes went wide and she looked back to her notes. "Did you say licorice?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Licorice taste could be a byproduct of bulbadox juice when it's mixed with nightshade." She flipped through her notes. "I hadn't considered it before, but it would explain the rapid potency of the potion."
Rising to her feet, Granger crossed to a cupboard and opened it to reveal a huge stock of potions and ingredients. She checked the labels of several phials before pulling one from its shelf.
"This could be the ingredient I'd been missing!" she exclaimed, eyes lighting up in triumph. "If I add essence of daisy root, it should negate the bulbadox effects and strengthen the antidote."
"There's no way to test it without a sample of Yaxley's potion," Draco reminded her, standing to join her by the cabinet.
"That's true, but it's a massive step in the right direction. As long as we get the formula close then we'll have something to work with if Dolohov orders an attack. If the Order can get to the scene quickly, we should be able to save lives."
Her optimism was infectious. Draco didn't know how it was possible for her to still believe so ardently that good would triumph over evil. Maybe all Gryffindors had a bit of that romantic view of the universe. The brave and true warriors of the world always won against evil doers. It was admirable, but of course Draco couldn't share her belief. He had seen far too much evil for that.
"Let's get started," Granger urged with a smile. She pulled a pewter cauldron from the cupboard and set it up on the table. After directing him to start a fire under it, she returned to the cabinet, grabbing several jars and phials of various ingredients.
They worked for hours, until their brows were sweaty and Granger's hair was so frizzy that she had to pull it back into a ponytail to keep it from blocking her vision. By the time their insatiable hunger forced them to stop for the evening, they felt confident that they had successfully brewed a prototype antidote.
Optimism bubbled in Draco's chest as they ate dinner in the kitchen that evening. It had been so long since he'd been trusted with an intellectual project that he forgot how invigorating it could be to solve a complicated puzzle. Granger had proven to be a satisfactory partner. So much, in fact, that he was starting to regret treating her so poorly in school. He had wasted too many potions projects working with Blaise, who had always been far more interested in letting Draco do all the work and flirting with Daphne Greengrass to be of much help.
The next several days were spent at headquarters with Granger, locked inside the office and brewing as much antidote as they could. Without knowing when an attack might occur, or how many civilians might be affected, it was impossible to know how much they would need. They had brewed it to work retroactively, knowing that a preemptive antidote would do them no good against an attack on Muggles. Their only hope was to treat the infected as quickly as possible following their exposure.
After a week of brewing, they still only had enough antidote for perhaps twenty people. Draco was beginning to feel a bit panicked about not having enough in the event of the attack they'd been told was inevitable. Granger brought up this concern to Shacklebolt, who assigned Angelina Johnson and Luna Lovegood to help.
Despite both of the witches' competence with potion brewing, Granger seemed annoyed to have to teach them how to do it. She was constantly micromanaging the two newcomers, especially hovering over Lovegood's shoulder. Draco couldn't blame her. The batty blonde's potions always came out flawless, but she had some unorthodox methods of getting there. For a rule-follower like Granger, it was extremely stressful to watch Lovegood improvise over the cauldron, particularly with the stakes being so high.
The extra help paid off though, when after only three days they had brewed thirty more portions of the antidote.
Sadly, that was all they had time for, as on the fourth of May, they received news of an attack on Muggle London.
Headquarters dissolved into a frenzy as everyone prepared to respond. Draco changed clothes quickly, making sure that every inch of skin was covered and his clothes were protected by impervious charms. Downstairs, everyone cast their Bubble Head charms before departing for the attack site. Granger waited on him by the door, her head already encased in its protective shield. With a wave of his wand, his own head became surrounded by a bubble.
She held out a small bag for him. It rattled with phials as he took it from her. They would have to act quickly to save as many Muggles as they could. With only fifty doses, Draco could only hope that the attack had not been in a heavily populated area. They both drew their wands and walked together from headquarters and down the stairs.
Her hand found his, their fingers interlacing just before she pulled him in apparation to the site of the attack.
Trafalgar Square was hardly recognizable when Draco and Granger arrived on site. Order members dueled with straggling Death Eaters. A few Muggles on the outskirts screamed and ran for cover. The worst of it was at the center of the square, where a thick, black smoke had settled over the ground. At least a hundred Muggles were coughing and choking, writhing on the pavement in obvious agony.
Lovegood and Johnson were already administering antidotes, flitting this way and that in search of people to save.
Every fibre of Draco urged him to run the other way, to protect himself and Granger by getting as far away from that smoke as possible. But Granger was already darting into the fray, her faith in her Bubble Head Charm unwavering as she moved to save the innocents.
It seemed that the protective charms were working. The Order members seemed unaffected by the toxic fumes. Despite running directly through the most thickly concentrated areas, they did not succumb to the poison.
Draco took a deep breath and forced himself forward. There were too many Muggles here. They would not have enough antidote to save them all.
The straggling Death Eaters were retreating now. Their job was done. The Order Members then turned their focus to clearing the air of the choking vapor. As it evaporated, Draco could see more and more affected Muggles. Writhing and screaming, they called out for help, but only half of them would receive it.
Granger moved among the victims quickly, administering the antidote with calculated swiftness. Kingsley swept through the chaos, shouting orders and doing what he could to help. As Granger knelt down next to a Muggle who had already lost consciousness, he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Leave him. He's expectant."
Granger's eyes widened in shock, turning back to the limp man. He was elderly. Perhaps seventy or so. Vomit covered his chin and blazer, his eyes already looked glassy and distant.
"Let's prioritize those we know can be saved," the Minister ordered.
Granger's mouth fell open. Obviously she had never been in a wartime triage situation as a healer. She was unaccustomed to making the difficult decisions about who would get treatment. Closing her eyes, Granger nodded stiffly before turning away from the man to help a younger woman who was still writhing in agony.
Draco moved forward, looking for the people who seemed most easily saved. He administered the antidote to a young woman and her husband, a middle aged mother and her teenaged son, and—most horribly—three small children, whose father was already too far gone.
The sounds of panic and agony were all around him. Every time he looked up, it seemed that there were more people who needed their help. The Order did what they could to help, marking the victims with floating orbs of light signifying their needs.
Green meant they had already been treated.
Yellow meant they were waiting.
Red meant they were an expectant casualty.
Black…
Black meant dead.
Granger, Johnson, and Lovegood darted between the yellow orbs, gradually turning them all to green. Draco joined them. He hoped to be able to circle back to some of the red orbs after the yellows had been treated.
There just wasn't enough of the antidote. Granger ran out first, hurrying to Draco to see how many he had remaining. He gave her his last one, and she turned to see two yellow orbs. One over a boy of about twelve who was writhing in pain and the other over a small girl, no more than six, who was barely moving, eyes open and unseeing.
Draco could see her internal panic. He knew what needed to be done, but refused to deprive her of the choice. The girl was too far gone. Granger should save the boy.
After her moment of hesitation, Granger dropped to her knees beside the boy and administered the antidote. When she was done, she looked around desperately toward Johnson and Lovegood. But it seemed they had run out of potions as well. Meanwhile, red orbs were turning black at an alarming rate.
Granger was trembling, still on her knees next to the boy. Her eyes darted around the square, as if looking for a miracle cure to the horrible destruction around them. With no more antidotes, she didn't seem to know what to do. And really, what could be done? There was nothing left to do but monitor the treated and wait for the untreated to perish.
Shacklebolt must have called for reinforcements of Healers. Draco recognized MacDougall, Humphreys, and Browning from his own treatment, as well as several others in St. Mungo's robes and Bubble Head charms sweep onto the scene. The Minister briefed them of the situation and then released them to begin transportation and treatment of the afflicted. Aurors patrolled the perimeter of the scene, keeping Muggles back and looking out for suspicious activity.
It would be a public relations nightmare for both wizards and muggles alike, Draco knew. How many Muggles had witnessed the attack? How would the media report on the event? A biological attack, like the one that had allegedly been unleashed in the Muggle department store all those months ago? Or perhaps something else—a terrorist attack? Would those treated be taken to St. Mungo's to recover, or would they have to be taken to muggle hospitals to receive care?
While Draco had a million questions, it seemed that Shacklebolt had none. He was striding through the square, delivering orders to Aurors, Order members, and Healers as if he had a plan for every possible problem that might arise. And maybe he did.
MacDougall made his way over to them. "Mr. Malfoy," he greeted, extending his hand for Draco to shake. "Good to see you doing so well."
Draco took his hand, grasping it firmly. "I wish I were seeing you under different circumstances."
"Indeed." MacDougall frowned, glancing at the deceased Muggles around them. "The Minister said you administered an antidote to some."
Draco nodded. "We only had fifty, unfortunately. And they're untested. There's no way of being sure that it will be effective."
"We'll do our best treating them," MacDougall promised. With a flick of his wand, he levitated the boy Granger had treated onto a stretcher.
Next to Granger, the little girl's orb turned black. Draco turned to her, expecting to see tears in her eyes, but Granger was just staring at the tiny body, her pupils blown wide, her expression unreadable.
Kneeling down next to her, Draco placed his hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Granger," he murmured gently. "There's nothing you can do."
She closed her eyes tight and turned away from the little girl. Draco helped her to her feet and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "Let's check in with Shacklebolt. We should get you back to headquarters."
Shaking her head adamantly, Granger opened her eyes. "No, I have to—I can't leave yet." She turned sharply away from him and walked to another Healer, immediately jumping in to help.
Draco's stomach twisted. If they'd just had a few more days, they could have saved more Muggles, perhaps even all of them. And now their supply was depleted. If the Death Eaters attacked again, there would be nothing they could do to stop it from killing dozens, or even hundreds more.
Longbottom and George Weasley were helping to transport the dead, and Draco volunteered to help them. It was exhausting and depressing work, taking hours to move all of the fallen into the morgues of St. Mungo's. When at last all of the sick had been moved into the hospital, and all of the dead were taken care of, Shacklebolt released the team. Draco looked around the square for Granger, but she was nowhere to be seen. He asked MacDougall if he had seen the witch, and the Healer could only guess that she was at St. Mungo's helping the sick.
"I'm on her watch duty," said Bill. "I'd better go."
Draco thought about volunteering to go in Bill's place, but he was no longer on Granger's protective team, so it might be overstepping to relieve Bill of his duty now.
He returned to headquarters and took a much needed shower. He Scourgified all of the clothes he'd been wearing at the scene of the attack before pulling on some comfortable trousers and a jumper. He then made his way downstairs and sat in the living room to wait for Granger to return.
Other Order members filtered through, getting food and discussing the attack in low voices. Tensions ran high as people arrived through the floo or front door, reported in, and cleaned up. Some people trudged through the living room looking appropriately forlorn. Molly Weasley offered him a plate of roast chicken, but he didn't feel hungry in the slightest. Spending the day watching people succumb to the potion that had nearly killed him had well and truly squashed his appetite. She set the plate on a small table next to him before leaving through the floo.
Voices rose in the kitchen, stressed and clipped. Draco turned his head toward the argument. Dean and Seamus emerged from the kitchen.
"Mate, what is going on with you?" Dean hissed, reaching out to grab hold of Seamus' elbow.
Seamus wrenched his arm from Dean's grasp and wheeled around. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Is this about—?"
"I just didn't need today as a reminder, alright? All this fucking shite on top of everything else." Seamus turned, his eyes falling on Draco. He sneered. "What are you looking at?"
Stomping a bit more than necessary, Seamus crossed the room and disappeared into the floo.
Draco turned to Dean, arching a brow questioningly. Dean just shrugged and let out an exasperated groan before heading up the stairs.
After an hour, Draco picked up the bread roll from the plate beside him and nibbled on it slowly. He still didn't feel like eating, but perhaps forcing a bit of food down would make him forget how long Granger had been gone.
It was well after midnight when she entered through the floo. Draco stood up instantly and moved to stand before her. "Did our antidote work?" he asked.
Granger removed her Bubble Head Charm and took off her gloves with a sigh. "On most of them, yes." She walked past him and up the stairs, seemingly uncaring that Draco was hot on her heels. "We lost six," she said, her voice heavy with exhaustion.
"Well, it's better than all of them," Draco considered, weighing the numbers in his head.
Granger glanced over her shoulder at him, her expression unreadable, before she deftly turned away again.
"I'm going to take a shower," she said before disappearing into the loo and shutting the door.
Draco knew that Granger was deeply affected by losing patients, by not being able to save people. He had seen it in Potter's memory of the night he'd been found. But there was something much deeper about this. She seemed… guilty.
What she had to be guilty about, Draco didn't know. She had done everything she could have. Brewed potions night and day, administered them with great skill and care on the battlefield. None of this was her fault, and yet she was acting like she had killed those six Muggles.
Though he was still mentally energized from the stressful day they'd had, Draco tried to calm his mind. He sat in his room, Occluding quietly for the better part of an hour before the click of his door opening caused him to open his eyes.
Granger looked exhausted as she walked inside and closed the door. Her hair was still damp from her shower, and her light pink pajamas looked shockingly out of place next to her melancholy expression. She didn't speak as she crossed the room and climbed onto the bed next to him, immediately resting her head against his shoulder and looping her arm around his.
For several minutes, they were silent. Perhaps this was what she needed. Just to be with him and feel the warmth of another living person. Draco took a deep breath, inhaling the gentle scent of her shampoo.
"You know," she said, her voice cutting through the silence. "I used to think that people were generally good in the world. I've always known that there is great evil, of course. But I thought that mankind, as a whole, was good and decent."
She paused to take a shuddering breath. "I believe it less and less. After days like today… days like the day they sent that box of memories to the Order with what happened to you. Days like the day Pansy died. After days like this… I can't make myself believe it anymore."
Draco's heart twisted to hear her losing her faith in humanity.
"I'm tired, Draco," she sighed. "Tired of all the death. Tired of feeling like we're making good progress only to have it slip away like sand through my fingers."
Draco didn't know what to say. Her belief in the good of people was not something he had ever known. For as long as he could remember, he had known that people were the scourge of the earth. Humans were evil in nature… at least the vast majority of them. It didn't take much for most people to call upon the darkness within them. But that wasn't a belief that he wished to spread around to those who were more optimistic. Granger was one of the good ones, and to hear her say that her faith was waning was heartbreaking.
"How did you do it?" she breathed, breaking the silence after many minutes.
"Do what?" he asked.
"Decide who lives and who dies."
Draco's stomach flipped unpleasantly. "What do you mean?"
Granger sat up, turning to face him and pulling her hair over her shoulder to twist it in her hands. There were tears in her eyes. "All those people today…" She sniffed. "So many of them died because we didn't have enough antidotes. I just…" She trailed off.
Though he wasn't sure he entirely understood her question, Draco could tell she was upset about the decisions they'd had to make that day. "We gave the antidotes to the people we thought stood the best chance of benefiting from it," he said. "You know that."
"Yes, I do. But it didn't work on everyone we gave it to. And who's to say that it wouldn't have helped those people that we deemed too damaged already?" She countered, gesturing with her hands emphatically.
"We had to prioritize, Granger. I know it was terrible, but that's the way war is. We saved forty-four people today who would have otherwise died. That's something to be proud of."
Granger squeezed her eyes shut. "I just—" She didn't seem to be able to articulate what she was trying to ask. It was very unlike her, and Draco didn't think he had ever seen her so flustered. "Please tell me how you decide who lives and who dies."
A horrible coldness seeped into Draco's veins. She thought that what she had done today was tantamount to murder. In her eyes, she was no better than he was.
Sitting up, Draco met her gaze with ferocity. "I want you to listen to me very carefully," he said, reaching out and grabbing hold of one of her hands. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"But—"
"No," he interrupted. "You did the best you could today. It was a horrible day and you have every right to be upset after what happened, but none of it was your fault."
She didn't reply.
"And I never got to decide who lived and who died. Dolohov gave me a name, and I did as I was told. I had no choice in the matter."
"You chose with me," she breathed.
The air rushed from Draco's lungs. "Yes, I suppose I did," he said, his lips twitching up slightly.
"You never did tell me why."
Draco glanced down at their clasped hands before returning his gaze to her eyes. "In truth, I don't know why."
Her brow furrowed and her eyes dropped.
"It was unfair of Dolohov to even ask me to target you. I'd never killed anyone I knew before. Never killed a woman before. But honestly, I was going to do it."
He swallowed, knowing that she was likely to hate him after all was said and done. Still, she hadn't walked away from him yet. Every horrible thing he told her was met with grace and understanding. More grace and understanding than he deserved.
"Everything leading up to the kill went perfectly. But then you turned around and looked at me." The memory of her face on that day floated in his mind's eye. "I was disillusioned, so I know you didn't actually look at me, but I had to wait until your focus went elsewhere, or you might see the movement. But something made me hesitate just long enough for you to disapparate."
Granger was looking at him with wide, shining eyes. "What?"
Draco thought back to that day in the alley. The way her eyes had looked right through him, intelligently trying to discover the source of her discomfort. The way the wind had caught her hair, sticking a strand to her lipstick.
"It was your eyes," he answered. "Among other things." His eyes flickered to her lips briefly. "You just seemed so...alive."
Granger wiped away a tear and smiled at him as if he'd just said the most wonderful thing in the world. "You see?" she sighed. "There's a heart in you after all."
She leaned in, and her lips landed on his cheek, just above the corner of his mouth. And as she pulled back, he knew she was right, for he could feel his heart nearly bursting in his chest.
A/N: Updates every Monday
Next chapter posts: June 22nd
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