With a plan starting to form, and a wedding rapidly approaching, the next two weeks were very busy with cleaning the Burrow to within an inch of the poor structure's life, and getting to grips with detailed Order business. Once quite uncaring about the hours she spent in Ron's room, Mrs Weasley suddenly had an endless list of tasks to do that split Hermione apart from her youngest son; any progress on learning key Welsh phrases ground to a halt.
Messages from Wiltshire carried the pulse of Voldemort's attack directly into her arm; whenever the Dark Lord returned to the country, Draco's gripes about his family evaporated into agonising over the horrific evils Voldemort liked to inflict as part of his daily routine. Stilted messages over their Protean Charm became even more despairing as the day of Harry's departure from Privet Drive approached.
What are you doing on Saturday 27 July, he kept sending one evening when Hermione was trying to enjoy a slice of strawberry cheesecake with Tonks and Ginny.
He knows, then? she sent back, having escaped to the bathroom to respond to the flashing heat on her wrist.
You won't help Potter by dying for him this weekend, Granger, he insisted, back to using her last name, as he always did when annoyed. Let someone else do it.
For someone who had so righteously lectured her about taking chances with their Unbreakable Vow, the hypocrisy didn't seem to phase Draco one bit.
What does he know about the plan, aside from the date? Hermione sent back, ignoring the fight she would have preferred to pick in favour of intel.
He knows he's traveling in the open. Saw through that false plan your lot planted at the Auror Office immediately.
This was troubling; while a date around the time of Harry's protective magic ending could have been guessed, it sounded like Voldemort had a rather well-informed source. Mundungus' key strategy was missing, though.
How does he know this? she asked, flicking the sink tap on and off as she waited for Draco's response.
Snape says he has a source, he replied.
"Shit," Hermione whispered, staring at the lavender soap so she didn't have to look in the mirror and see the anxiety she could feel playing out across her face.
Draco had not told her this straight-forward information so she could run to the Order with it. Changing the plan a whole five minutes after Voldemort discussed it with his followers would obviously reveal he had a traitor.
Would seven Potters be enough to get Harry out? It would almost certainly result in deaths. But so too would the next plan, now that Voldemort knew they were not going through Ministry controlled transport options to evacuate him. And Harry had to leave Surrey in the next few days regardless. If Voldemort killed Draco now, there would be no escape for her or Harry if either of them got captured, and she would no longer have eyes and ears amongst the Death Eaters…no more practical logistics and frontline info being fed directly to someone on the horcrux mission…
She looked in the mirror, and couldn't help thinking of the blank faces of Gregory Goyle, Luna, and her parents. But Hermione knew she had already made her choice.
He said nothing else about the plan? she asked to be sure, fingers on the door lock, ready to go back to her dessert in the dying sun.
Why did I watch the Muggle Studies professor get eaten by the snake if nothing I tell you changes your mind, Draco lamented, and she sighed and left the bathroom.
Would you be persuaded if I told you he will kill Potter this time? Draco asked later that evening, when Hermione had escaped to Ginny's room to gingerly figure out how to load her stolen muggle weapons.
What do you mean? she sent back. Tone was hard to communicate over metal engravings, but she hoped it would be terse enough to convince Draco there was a chance she would be convinced, if only he spilled every secret he had.
He says he knows more now, Draco said vaguely. He needed someone else's wand.
"Hmm," Hermione wondered aloud, clicking the bolt of the rifle back into place. So Voldemort had found out about the twin phoenix cores. She couldn't help but smile - Voldemort had finally discovered this truth about two years after Dumbledore, who had recognised the magic immediately after Harry survived Voldemort's rebirth. A day late and a knut short, magical people might say.
It took him two years to figure that out? she sent back chidingly.
Does it matter? Draco asked. He can kill him now.
But Hermione was not so sure. Harry's fate was so deeply, magically intertwined with Voldemort's, and nobody could duel like the Boy who Lived. Besides, though Draco didn't know it, the plan aimed to buy Harry enough time to get to safety before Voldemort even found him.
There is so much Voldemort does not know or understand, she eventually decided to send back. It was technically true.
The wizard who knew the most about both sides ran to him, though, Draco said.
But Snape didn't know about the horcruxes. Hermione was sure that murderous snake would have picked a different master if he had.
The witch who knows the most is beside Harry, she sent back, tracing the rifle's safety.
You actually believe in him? Draco sent back, and Hermione frowned. What sort of a question was that? But the bangle wiped clean as a new message emerged:
I thought it was a Gryffindor show of love to needlessly die for him.
Her breath caught in her throat. Had Draco misunderstood her, before cursing her in the Room of Requirement? She thought it was obvious how a chance to save Harry was worth more than love; worth more than her life, his life, and his hateful family. But it wouldn't have been the first time they had accidentally talked past each other on something of critical importance.
An escape from capture to continue Harry's mission is worth more than anything, Draco. It's not about love, she clarified carefully, placing a Freezing Charm on the loaded rifle and carefully placing it back in her beaded bag. Now didn't seem the right time to confirm Draco would need to try and save Harry too if they were captured together, or else she would merely run back in after him.
Liar, her bangle accused. Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved it back over her wrist, heading downstairs to find a cup of tea.
"Nymphadora," Moody said, nodding at her. Tonks and Remus stood up, gesturing and moving Order members around.
"Ok. Mundungus, Fred, George, Fleur, Ron and Hermione – we want you to be our Harry's," Tonks said, reading off a large scroll of parchment as Remus gestured them over to line up against the empty fireplace.
"I'm not being a Harry," Mundungus muttered. Moody kicked him.
"And, of course, Harry himself," Tonks finished. "So, seven of him. You'll obviously all be armed, as well, but you'll also be paired with another Order member." Her eyes flickered to Moody and then returned to her list. "Mad-Eye, with Dung-"
"Absolutely," Moody said, pushing himself up onto his one leg and leering over to Mundungus, who looked most unpleased.
"Bill, your lovely wife, of course –"
Hermione watched Fleur bat her eyelashes at Bill, and wondered if Remus and Tonks had bothered to even try to think of an alternative pairing for the two of them.
"Arthur and Remus, you're with Fred and George –"
"Well, which son do you love the most, Dad?" George asked.
"Sorry Ron - but you were never really in the running, were you?" Fred said.
"Kingsley, with Hermione –"
Her brief annoyance that Tonks had paired the two black Order members together was quickly overshadowed by the rational thought she had been paired with the Auror second only to Moody.
"Ron, you're with me," Tonks said, grinning at him happily. Ron barely grimaced at her and Hermione tried to tread on his toe painfully so he would stop being so rude.
"And Hagrid – you'll be with Harry!" she finished, beaming. Hagrid looked equally pleased.
"Just like when I took 'im there, wee lad," Hagrid said. "Sirius motorbike an' everything."
"Yes, that's the other thing. Transportation modes." Tonks pointed at her and Kingsley. "Kingsley, Hermione, Bill and Fleur – you're on thestrals."
"Can you fly?" Hermione whispered to Kingsley; there was no room for pride on such a critical mission. "I'm ok at spells, but flying is –"
"Yes, Hermione," Kingsley said, a hint of a laugh in his voice. She nodded and shut up.
"Hagrid and real Harry, on Sirius' bike. And the rest of us are on brooms."
She had to ask. "Tonks? Harry's probably the best flier of us all – why is he not on a broom?"
"Halfway there," Moody said. "That's what Voldemort will be thinking too, won't he? Especially with that little Malfoy shit whining in his father's ear about the boy that beat him at quidditch."
"Oh," she felt herself say. Luckily Tonks cut in.
"Voldemort will also assume Harry's with the most acclaimed Aurors, see?" she said, looking at Moody happily. "That's the best part, Mad-Eye's thinking, totally brilliant. Even if they show up, they'll go for Mad-Eye first." She suddenly looked at Hermione seriously. "And then Kingsley. Remus tells me you're a sharp shooter, Hermione."
"And you've studied with Harry," Remus said quietly. "McGonagall said you trained with him in fourth year – I know about fifth year, obviously. All of you have trained or worked with Harry, actually," he said, glancing at Ron, the twins and Fleur. "So we want you to think about Harry's duelling style."
"I'll swap with Hermione," Ron said, pushing past her to stand in front of Tonks and Remus.
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said, anger hitting her so hard it felt like being back in the Room of Requirement.
"You'll do what you're told, or you're off the mission," Moody said lazily, eye spinning around haphazardly. "This is the Order of the Phoenix, not King Arthur's Round Table. You can shove that Gryffindor chivalry shit -"
"Thank you, Alastor," Remus cut in.
"Any other questions?" Mad-Eye said. Hermione couldn't see his face, but she knew Ron was glaring at him. "Molly, have we sorted six disguises for the fake Potters yet?"
"Yes," Mrs Weasley said from across the room. "And luggage and fake owls; I'll finish the Transfiguration now –"
"Thank you," Moody said. "Arthur, you and I need to finish the safe house charms around Surrey this evening."
"I'll come too," Bill offered.
"Right – Bill, with your father at this Weasley Aunt Muriel's. Nymphadora, you and your parents' places. Kingsley, your apartment is done, right?"
"Yes," Kingsley said. "Think all that's left is Diggle's house and double-checking Emmeline's old place is cleared before we ward it."
"Too right," Moody said. "Let's clear Emmeline's place together – no chances. Everyone on the plan – you're arriving at Privet Drive at 7pm this Saturday night. Anyone late will have to deal with me."
"Ah – well, actually –" Mundungus started, but Moody cut him off.
"Don't you worry, Dung, I know all your hidey holes, you'll be right on time," Moody said, and the man grew quite as sulky as Ron. "Meeting adjourned."
Hermione stepped past Ron to talk to Tonks, deliberately not looking at him.
"Sorry about –" she started, but Tonks shook her head.
"Not as sorry as poor Ron," she said quietly, eyes twinkling. "It was Mad-Eye's idea to have you as the second Harry, you know."
"Oh," Hermione replied, looking at the grizzled man who had stumped over to Arthur with some doubt.
"What's it like to not be the favourite anymore," Remus said, smiling more happily than Hermione had ever seen him, all wolfish teeth. "Nympha-"
Tonks elbowed him hard in the ribs.
"Anyway," she said casually. "You obviously have a fan in the Auror Office, if you feel like keeping this up professionally."
"Yes, if you can keep the Gryffindor shit to a minimum," Remus said drily.
"What house was Moody in?" she asked, realising it the moment she asked the question.
"Hufflepuff, of course!" Tonks said.
"Yeah, that's why he took pity on Tonks here," Remus commented, before ducking away to avoid Tonks' faux wrath.
"Anyway, I've gotta go finalise these wards, Hermione. I'll see you on Saturday!" Tonks gave her a quick hug and then she was gone, following her new husband out the door.
Hermione's gaze fell to the others chatting, and suddenly the room started spinning around her. Focussing on her feet, she walked into the kitchen pantry and crouched on the floor, willing herself not to throw up or pass out.
It was guilt. Everyone saving Harry was so genuine, except her. Even the thief Mundungus – he could rob Harry of Sirius' belongings ten times over and it wouldn't be worse than the secret Hermione was holding back. They were going to fly straight into Voldemort in two nights time, and Hermione was the only one who knew.
They all know to expect Death Eaters, she made herself remember. They want to protect Harry. Though Mad-Eye's misplaced trust in her felt awful, it at least meant Hermione was in the initial firing line for Voldemort. That was a small mercy, at least.
She hadn't faced Voldemort before. Running circles around Lucius Malfoy and sleepwalking through the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts under an Imperius was a truly shameful track record to go toe to toe against Voldemort with.
Hermione pulled off her bangle, hands shaking.
Have you seen any spells hold up Voldemort at all? she sent into the ether, leaning her head against a giant jar of pickled plums. It was cool on the side of her face; the bangle glowed hot in her hand.
Oh god Hermione, Draco said plainly.
You need to answer for the Vow, by the way, she sent back. She looked around Molly's impressive collection of tinned fruit, considering if there were any other desserts she wanted to eat before possibly dying this weekend.
Of COURSE I haven't Granger, he replied, making her feel bad for even asking and making him upset. If you go looking for a fight with the Dark Lord I cannot help you. No one can.
Her head was starting to adjust. Ok, just wanted to ask, she sent back politely, pushing off from her knees to try and stand up steadily. The dark pantry spun slightly, but overall she was back on her feet.
You are unbearable, the bangle lamented on the stone floor. Hermione picked it up, finding she didn't disagree.
"So – Harry's coming here?" Ginny whispered, as Hermione entered her bedroom.
She nodded, unsurprised Ginny had been listening. "Yes. You know my beaded bag?"
Ginny sat up from where she had been pretending to sleep. "Yeah?" she asked.
"All the stuff Harry and Ron need is in there. In – in case I –"
"Hermione," Ginny said, mattress springs complaining as she jumped out of bed to stand in front of her. "It'll be ok."
"It's statistically unlikely," she whispered back, as close to the truth as she dared.
"You've fought Death Eaters," Ginny said. Nervous, embarrassing tears spilled over Hermione's eyelids.
"I haven't fought him," she forced out. Ginny grabbed her hands.
"I have," she said quietly. "When I was only eleven. It was hell. But I fought." She squeezed so tightly her nails dug into Hermione's palms. "If it happens – I know you can do it."
If indeed. Ginny hugged her tightly and Hermione tried to breathe.
"Oh, what is this?" Fleur said suspiciously, as Hermione brought a warm serving bowl to the table.
"Plum crumble," Mrs Weasley replied. "Hermione made it – isn't that lovely, Fleur?" she said pointedly.
Fleur smiled at Hermione until she offered to dollop whipped cream over Fleur's portion. "Oh, no thank you, Hermione – I will not fit into my wedding dress! It would not do," she said, laughing. As though it were certain there would be a wedding.
The sweetness and tartness curled painfully in Hermione's jaw, as she tried to force it down while Ron went back for seconds.
I'd be annoyed if you were mistaken forever, so to be perfectly clear: I don't love Harry more than you, she sent east.
That means a lot coming from one of Potter's meat shields, Draco sent back distastefully, but she ignored him to self-charm her anxiety routine before magically passing out. It would not do to be unrested before dying, after all.
Harry opened the back door of his aunt and uncle's suburban home, his beaming grin brighter than the setting sun, and Hermione let go of any sense of propriety to wrap her arms around him.
He protested after Moody's explanation, just like she said he would, and it twisted her heart that she knew Harry so well…he eventually relented and gave up his hair, and she took on his appearance alongside the others.
"Three minutes!" Mad-Eye barked, and Hermione jumped and followed Kingsley out, atop an invisible winged beast, underneath at least some of their certain deaths…
Her heart thrummed like a hummingbird and she forced her breathing to slow, wand gripped tightly in her hand, arm wrapped like a constrictor around Kingsley's waist. Let me hold him off for one minute, she thought desperately. If she could just buy Harry one minute –
"On the count of three!" Moody shouted, and her mind went blank, so blank she couldn't feel the thestral anymore, the first spell ready in her mouth as the ground got smaller and –
Too many dark, hooded figures appeared and she tilted her aimed wand slightly to point at the closest.
"Bombarda!" she screamed, and the fierce hatred in her heart channelled down her wand and blew the closest Death Eater to pieces. Broomstick chips and viscera coated the men to his side, the aim of their Killing Curses shaken enough to for the green lights to squeal past her and Kingsley.
The Auror's wand was now out, too; Kingsley shielded them both with some sort of purple phase of light as Hermione aimed a Sectumsempra at the next Death Eater's pointed wand hand. The stick fell from the sky amid a spurt of blood and he recoiled, crying out in pain. Hermione realised the thestral was moving, faster than anything, distance suddenly opening between them and the carnage in the sky.
"Picave – picave," she cast, summoning several charmed magpies, space to cast the complicated wand movements of a magical bird attack. "Oppugno," she screamed, and they followed her wand point; Kingsley aimed a nonverbal hex at the Death Eater gaining the most ground and his broom bucked him off; he fell, tearing at the air –
A magical lash of fire came out of nowhere and wrapped around her waist; Hermione screamed, abandoning her attack to grab onto Kingsley's robes with both hands; the Thestral turned as he cut his wand through the air and severed the hex.
"Aquement – fuck! Aguamenti," she cast, concentration receding as Harry's hoodie burned around her; Kingsley suddenly pulled the thestral again and they were leaving, she did not know why, when they needed to stay and fight.
"Kingsley! We have to –"
"No," he interrupted, growling such that she immediately shut up. "Our only chance is if everyone leaves."
Two lone Death Eaters were approaching on their brooms rather slowly, their hearts clearly not in it; a mid-air exploding charm scuttled them into a retreat before they got anywhere close. The sky was now empty, small dark spots in three different directions.
Of course Kingsley was right. If they turned around now they would just confirm themselves as a fake, and hiding Harry was the whole point of the cursed exercise.
Hermione finally turned to face forward, as a building with a large hole in the wall approached –
She flinched as the thestral swooped inside, landing steadily inside an apartment with the exterior wall removed. Kingsley quickly got off the animal and her wand was suddenly gone from her hand, Kingsley's aimed at her face.
"Kingsley!" she said, shocked.
"Someone betrayed us," he spat. "Tell me something only Remus would know."
Hermione tried to find a fact in her frazzled brain, the fear of being on a large horse –
She realised she could now see it. She looked down at its dark black coat; in the night sky and fight, she hadn't noticed it appear. Black hair and muscle under hands splattered with singed flesh and wood chips.
"He calls her Nymphadora when he's teasing her," she said, looking up. "I don't know anything about you."
Kingsley handed her back her wand, and she shakily slid off the animal. "You'll have to wait until we get to the Burrow. Someone else will have to clear me," he said flatly, walking past her to peer out the open wall. "I can't see the others anymore. Or hear them."
Hermione forced her mind to go blank as Kingsley turned back to look at her.
"You were quick on the draw," he said. "Blowing that Death Eater up."
She focused on the sofa beside him, emptying her mind. "Mad-Eye said there'd be a couple. I thought a distraction might help. I was ready to cast the second I saw one." She breathed out and looked him in the eye, determined. "But then there were so many, one of them was practically right in front of me."
Kingsley nodded. "I think it saved at least one of our lives. They were all sitting there with Killing Curses." He inexplicably smirked. "Thank god he had idiots at the front."
Hermione wasn't sure she followed. "Why was it bad to be waiting with an Avada Kedavra?" she asked.
"It's a powerful curse. Takes a lot of concentration," Kingsley said. "Gives no field advantage whatsoever. Unlike blowing a man up." He frowned, looking down at the flecks of flesh and twigs on his robes. "That was truly disgusting, Granger."
Always the last name, when someone wanted to distance themselves from her. "Where's the Portkey?" she asked. Kingsley opened a box underneath a coffee table and pulled out a coat hanger, peering into the kitchen to see the time.
"It doesn't go for fifteen more minutes," he told her.
It was a thousand times worse to sit and wait rather than fly around certain death; it was agony. At five minutes in, she had a sudden strike of empathy.
"Can I use the bathroom?" she asked Kingsley, who vaguely nodded towards the hallway off the kitchen.
I'm alive, she sent Draco, holding the bangle under the water as well as washing her hands of the sticky bits of sinew that had exploded onto them.
How? ? ? he responded, his response flashing back almost immediately, but she dared not take more time when Kingsley was already suspicious. She shoved the bangle back on and sat back in the lounge, staring at the coat hanger and willing it to glow and take them back to Devon.
"How much of being an Auror is waiting…like this?" she asked at minute eleven.
"This is what the Ministry pays for," Kingsley confirmed, voice low and flat. "Easy to fight. Much harder to wait."
It was absolutely not the future career for her, then…if there was any future, if they didn't all die before the end of this war. She stared at Harry's hands as they slowly shrunk and turned darker, her appearance returning, wishing on every second that he had survived, that she would see him on the other end of the Portkey…
Finally, the coat hanger emanated a blue glow; they reached for it together, and the world closed in on them, squeezing them through time and space to land in the long wildflowers at the Burrow. Out of the falling darkness a figure sprinted forward, and Hermione's heart soared as Harry ran towards them, into her arms, alive under her hands…
It had worked. It was all worth it.
"The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us?" Kingsley said loudly behind her, and she turned from Harry to see him aiming a wand at Remus' chest, his expression uncharacteristically ugly.
"'Harry is the best hope we have – trust him,'" Remus replied, very calm for a man at wandpoint. Kingsley turned his wand to Harry, and she stood in between them, but Remus quickly shouted he had already checked him.
"All right!" Kingsley yelled, finally putting his wand away. "But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!"
"But they did not realise there would be seven Harrys," Remus pointed out. Kingsley was not impressed.
"Who else is back?" he asked, and the price started to become clear.
"Only Harry, Hagrid, George, and me," he said quietly.
"No," she said without thinking, covering her mouth. Ron. Fleur, Tonks, Bill, Fred, Mr Weasley, Mad-Eye, Mundungus…
Surely eight souls could not be the cost, to get Harry to the Burrow…
"What happened to you?" Remus asked, and Kingsley started to recount the explosion and how quickly the attention turned elsewhere.
"We saw You-know-who," he said, and Hermione blinked, surprised – she had not seen him at all, although there were so many Death Eaters in identical uniforms she could see how Voldemort might have been hidden in a crowd. "Remus, he can –"
"Fly," Harry finished. "I saw him too, he came after Hagrid and me."
She did not understand. Voldemort had not chased her and Kingsley, and they were supposed to be the second target after – after Mad-Eye and Mundungus…
"So that's why he left! To follow you," Kingsley said. "What made him change targets?"
"Harry was a little too kind to Stan Shunpike," Remus said, and Harry shifted behind her.
"Stan?" she asked, looking at Harry. "Isn't he in Azkaban?"
"Must have Imperiused him when they got the others out," Kingsley said flatly, and the bizarre image of Draco's father breaking out of Azkaban with Stan Shunpike took over her mind briefly.
"Where's George?" he asked, and Hermione suddenly realised he was not in the yard.
"He's lost an ear," Remus said, looking slightly ill.
"Lost -?" she repeated, voice painfully shrill.
"Snape's work," Remus said.
"Snape?" Harry shouted. She grabbed him.
"Harry – the Prince's book, the counter-curse –"
But Harry shook his head. "It – it didn't make it," he said haltingly, and Hermione's shock and disappointment was quickly overtaken as she realised Hedwig was not here either; she took his hand and squeezed, but he pulled out of her grasp and looked away.
"You know the counter-curse?" Remus said urgently, but Hermione shook her head.
"We had – it was written down."
"Exploded," Harry said harshly. "I should have given you the book, Hermione –"
"No, Harry, it's – here, I'll go see if I can help George –" she said, darting inside to try and do something to help.
The kitchen was empty, but in the lounge there was blood. Ginny and Mrs Weasley surrounded George, stained cloths at the side of his head. Hagrid stood back, his face full of concern.
"Hermione!" Ginny said. Hagrid looked up at her too as she entered.
"George," she half-whispered; he was shaking as Mrs Weasley smoothed his hair.
"I – I have a pain relief set of charms," Hermione said tentatively; Mrs Weasley gestured for her to come closer. She knelt beside him, wand aimed at his bloodied and sweating face.
"Anapneo…quies…lassi," she cast; his breathing calmed and the tension in his tightly shut eyelids released a little.
"Airways, tension relaxant, tiny fainting spell," she explained, as Mrs Weasley looked at her, eyes wide with questions. "That curse is Dark magic, so close to his brain, I'd be afraid to try another spell on the wound directly. I think helping make it easier to process –"
"Yes," Mrs Weasley said, looking back at her son. "Better to be cautious."
A loud bang sounded behind them in the kitchen; Hermione jumped up and aimed her wand.
"I'll prove who I am after I've seen my son!" snarled Mr Weasley; she had never heard him so angry. Hermione lowered her wand and backed out of the way; Mr Weasley strode into the lounge, sweating and red with anger but very much alive. Fred followed behind, pale as a ghost but at least on his feet.
"Arthur!" Mrs Weasley said, but Mr Weasley passed by her to lean over George.
"Is he –"
"We've just tried to help him sleep through it –" Mrs Weasley whispered. "It's a Snape curse."
Mr Weasley swore loudly and George stirred.
"George?" Mr Weasley asked urgently, but as he opened his eyes and saw Fred's pale, pale face, all the life seemed to return to him, quickly making off-colour jokes.
Harry headed back outside and Hermione followed him; Ginny quietly took his hand and to Hermione's immense relief, he let her comfort him. Kingsley was pacing rapidly back and forth while Remus stood quietly still, watching the skies; the waiting was the hardest part, indeed. A horrible bargaining started in Hermione's head, unbidden and unstoppable…if only Ron could come back…if only Bill, or Mad-Eye…
A broom appeared above them and she screamed; Tonks and Ron careened into the wards, shaken but unharmed, and now she could breathe again. He stumbled towards her and Harry; she hugged him, pins and needles stabbing in her arms as their numbness started to leave her. Tonks recounted how Ron had Stunned a Death Eater cleanly in the Surrey sky…how mad Bellatrix was determined to kill her…
Several more long minutes passed, and Kingsley eventually said he had to get back to Downing Street. He nodded at her and the others, and the thank you she suddenly realised she hadn't said died in her mouth as he quickly walked past the protections at the Burrow and Disapparated.
Mr and Mrs Weasley were much more polite; they emerged from the kitchen door and thanked Tonks and Remus for bringing Ron and George back. Then, a huge black animal made her jump, and Bill and Fleur swept down from the back of the thestral, and told them all: Mad-Eye was dead.
Hermione felt very cold. Good enough for me. Not the favourite. Nymphadora. Fleur's face was coated in shiny, beautiful tears.
"I saw it," Bill explained, voice shaking. "Went straight for him. Just like he said he would. And Dung cut and run, fucking cowardly snatch thief, and Mad-Eye tried to stop him - and Voldemort's curse hit him straight. And he fell, and – there was nothing we could do, there were half a dozen chasing us –"
It was Mad-Eye who had bought Harry precious seconds. Who knew Voldemort would go for him first. Had he bought her time, too? When she was meant to be the second Potter, why hadn't Voldemort switched to her? How had he discovered the real Harry so quickly?
One by one, they filled back into the Burrow. The questions did not stop flooding her head. Who had Snape got the information from? Why did the plan half-work? And how did Harry survive?
Bill shoved a glass of firewhisky under each of their noses. "Mad-Eye," he toasted.
"Mad-Eye," she and the others repeated after him, downing the liquor and wishing it would burn away everything.
"So Dung ran?" Remus asked, voice harsh, and the moment passed – the post-mortem began.
"They were expecting us, weren't they?" Bill agreed. "But I don't think it was Mundungus. They didn't seem to know there were seven Harrys, and that was his idea, remember. I think he just panicked. You-know-who did go for him immediately."
"Mad-Eye said he would," Tonks said thickly, still crying steadily. "He'd think the real Harry was with the most senior Aurors." She looked at Hermione. "Did he switch to you and Kingsley?"
"No," Remus said for Hermione, looking grim. "Hermione, you did the right thing blowing that Death Eater up. But it gave away you were not Harry."
Ron's head turned suddenly, but Hermione could only look at Remus and feel the failure in her throat and chest. If she wasn't such a vicious witch…if only she could duel like Harry, so beautifully, no exploded guts of Death Eaters anywhere…
"Someone must have been careless!" Fleur said angrily. "That's the only way someone could know it was tonight but not the whole plan."
Could that be right? It would be so much easier to believe, than the alternative of a traitor being in their midst…
"No," Harry suddenly said, loud and commandingly; everyone turned to look at him. "If…if someone made a mistake, and let something slip – I know they didn't mean it. It's not their fault. I trust all of you. I don't think anyone in this room would sell me to Voldemort."
How was he here, drawing all in the room toward him, alive after yet another confrontation with the Dark Lord? It was a miracle. Harry suddenly turned to Remus, strangely aggressive.
"You think I'm a fool?" he told him, rather than asked him, but Remus merely shook his head.
"No," Remus said. "I think you're like James. He would have thought it the height of dishonour to mistrust his friends."
Anger sparked in her heart at his low blow, but perhaps Remus was being overly honest rather than intending to hurt, as he only turned and discussed with Bill the retrieval of Mad-Eye's body. Remus and Bill left, and Hermione could feel Harry's angry reaction coming – indeed, a minute later Harry had blown up and was angrily hissing about having to leave immediately, to a crowd who loved but did not understand him like she and Ron did.
At the mention of Mad-Eye and Hedwig, he seemed defeated, retreating back into his whisky, and Hagrid could no longer contain the undercurrent of excitement Hermione was sure they all felt.
"Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry," he said quietly. "Escaped, fought him off when he was right on top of yeh!" Hermione turned to Harry, so hungry to hear how he had done it, how he had survived.
"It wasn't me," Harry said, always too humble. He blamed his wand; and she knew it was not the twin cores, that it was something more than that.
"But that's impossible, Harry," she said. "You must mean you did magic without meaning to. Reacting instinctively."
"No," he said again, "the bike was falling, I didn't know where Voldemort was, and my wand spun around in my hand and shot a spell. It was golden flames; I don't even recognise it, I've never done it before."
He argued with Mr Weasley, but Hermione knew, they all knew. You could feel it. You could see it; here was Harry after Voldemort had just cleanly killed the most senior Auror in the Ministry of Magic, alive and whole, two middle fingers firmly turned up at Voldemort's dearest death wish.
Harry took off outside, and they all looked at each other uncertainly.
"We'll…go talk to him," Ron said awkwardly after a moment, and she joined him in walking out of the Burrow. Their pace quickened when they saw Harry, tensely curled over the gate, clammy and far away; the fear was so great she forgot everything else.
"Harry!" she whispered; Ron shook him and he was suddenly present again.
"Are you alright?" she asked, staring worriedly into his pale face, slick with sweat. "You look terrible, Harry…"
"Better than Ollivander," he replied shakily. "He did kidnap him, he's got him imprisoned somewhere. Ollivander told him about the twin cores, and Voldemort attacked me with Lucius Malfoy's wand…he said it was destroyed, which - he was screaming at some other Death Eater for his wand right before I hit the Tonks' protections, but I don't know how it was destroyed, I didn't see it…"
It was Lucius' wand? The thought bounced around uselessly and unhelpfully in Hermione's head. Why hadn't Draco said his father was the Death Eater whose wand Voldemort had used?
The lack of twin cores, of course, was not news to her…she probably could have put two and two together earlier, if she had thought about it. Of course Voldemort's new wandlore knowledge must have come from the kidnapped wandmaker.
Harry shook and spat some bile out over the gate he was still clinging to for support, bringing Hermione firmly back to earth. She remembered what Dumbledore and Mad-Eye had said about Voldemort's connection into Harry's mind. It was physically terrible, what the possession did to Harry; she could only imagine the mental damage it was doing to him. This was Harry's one weakness to Voldemort. He could fight him off with magic unknown in combat, but in his mind…
"It was supposed to have stopped, Harry," she whispered. "Your scar wasn't supposed to do this anymore! Please don't let the connection open again – Dumbledore wanted you to close your mind!" But Harry would not acknowledge her, not even when she grabbed his arm and shook him.
"Harry," she pleaded uselessly, but he shook her off and walked back inside the Burrow, leaving her to exchange aghast looks with Ron under the stars.
"You have to talk to him," Hermione told Ron, who instantly looked irritated.
"Hermione, he doesn't want –"
"I don't care," she interrupted. "He can't, Ron. Dumbledore said – I'm so worried, when he lets him in –"
Ron now interrupted her; he pulled her into a firm, irritating embrace. "He's doing the best he can, Hermione," he said above her head. "Nagging him will only make him feel worse."
She shoved him away angrily, storming back into the Burrow to find Harry; god, Ron could be so deliberately unhelpful at times. But Harry was not in the lounge, nor in Ron's room. With Ginny's bedroom door closed, Hermione savagely hoped they would remember to discuss being possessed by Voldemort in between sticking their tongues down each others' throats, and retreated back to the one of the only spaces in the packed Burrow she could be alone – the dark pantry in the kitchen.
"Colloportus," she cast on the wooden doors behind her, settling beside a huge sack of potatoes in the corner. A moment to breathe. But the space gave way to stressed tears, spilling suddenly down her face.
Sniffing, she pulled her bangle off, hoping the Death Eaters weren't standing around on ceremony while Voldemort tortured poor Mr Ollivander.
He's so angry, Draco had sent since she had messaged him at Kingsley's apartment hours ago. I've never seen my mother look so terrified. Potter must have done something.
He did, she sent back. I miss you.
She had missed him every day, of course. But this was the first night since Dumbledore's death she had been enough of a wreck to admit it to him.
What's wrong? he wrote back quickly, the candour of her message obviously making him concerned. Are you hurt?
I'm fine, she reassured him. They figured out I wasn't Harry before I was meant to face him. The stone floor's coolness was comforting against the heat of summer and her guilt; she laid her tired fingers on it.
Hermione, he sent back vaguely, but she could imagine the crack in his voice, his head in his hands. How can you say and do these things while the Vow holds me back, he wrote further. It's torture.
She frowned at the shining metal. They had to share intel for the Vow – would he rather she didn't ask if there had been a spell that could hold up Voldemort? Maybe Draco was still struggling with accepting how the Vow had turned out. I'm not trying to upset you, she decided to reply. I know it's hard, I'm sorry.
I can't believe you survived, the bangle read back. How did you escape?
Hermione hesitated for a moment, remembering his body trapping hers, whispering 'you're fucking vile,' in her ear.
I blew up a Death Eater. It distracted and put off the others, she eventually replied.
That was you? he replied quickly, and Hermione felt a trace of apprehension in her chest, preparing for the hurtful insult. If you could just avoid the Dark Lord and Aunt Bella, you could make it, he sent.
She stared at Draco's message, a confused aggravation setting in.
Why wouldn't it be me? she etched into the bangle. The looks on Remus and Kingsley's faces swam before her eyes. She said the insult for him. I'm vile, remember? Of course I'm the one who tore that man apart.
Hermione drummed her knuckles on the stone floor, watching her angry message remain static on the charmed metal. "Go on," she said quietly to the bangle, like he could hear her. "Say it."
But instead of a righteous, relieving stab of guilt, anger rolled across her body as her message cleared and Draco's reply shined in the dark: Don't say that about yourself.
Why not; you do, she wanted to argue; but somehow, she couldn't make herself write it. Weak. She shut her eyes, swearing under her breath.
You didn't tell me it was your father's wand, she said, changing the subject.
…how did you know that? he asked. Does the Order have another spy?
Why didn't you say? she persisted. But moments passed and Draco did not reply, her bangle still and cold. Eventually, Hermione shoved it back on and left the pantry, wiping her face.
The firewhisky bottle was almost empty, and Hermione emptied it into a mug and ventured outside. Ron had since disappeared; the front yard of the Burrow was empty. She sat on the bench by the front door, staring at the night sky blankly and sipping her liquor.
Her wrist glowed. So he hadn't abandoned their conversation. Frowning, she set the mug down and pulled her bangle off.
Didn't think it would help to know the Malfoys are a laughing stock.
Somehow, amongst the stress and anger and relief of the evening, there was space in her heart for a wave of pity.
Why didn't you tell me? Hermione asked.
It wouldn't change anything. His nihilistic message lit up in the dark, in her hands.
We're supposed to trust each other, she scribbled back, frowning. Why are you hiding things from me?
I'm not hiding anything, the bangle flashed. I tell you every day what's happening in this godforsaken house.
The firewhisky hardened her feelings into harsh words. Everything except your father getting stripped of his wand, she spat back, magically doubling the liquor she had left and downing the lot.
There isn't enough time in the day to describe every misery the Malfoys are suffering so you can die for Potter, he wrote, scathing and sarcastic. Sorry for focusing on the shit that might save your life.
What about your life? she asked, ignoring his shitty attitude. Why did you hide that you had fallen out of favour? I made the same Vow that you did.
The reply came back, slower than his previous responses. No you didn't.
A familiar, prickling sensation crawled up the back of her neck. The feeling of Draco suddenly revealing he had known something about the Vow, and had concocted a horrible plan to use it against her.
Yes I did, she argued, heart beating faster with nerves. If he's going to kill you I need to get you and your sorry parents out.
No, he responded simply. Hermione blinked. Was it the unnerving tilt of the conversation? The firewhisky infecting her bloodstream? Something rooted her to the spot.
Listen to me you stubborn witch, he sent, insulting and commanding from afar. You will not and cannot protect me anymore. Your mission puts Potter's life ahead of both of ours. They were Gryffindor-bold words, glowing against the midnight dark.
But he was wrong - her mission and her Vow were two different things. Annoyed, Hermione started scrawling this back to him. Her Vow wasn't subject to her mission; that was the condition he had agreed to in his Unbreakable promise. Her Vow was subject to…
She blinked. It was subject to…
Her stomach lurched. A strange numbness immediately swept through her hands at the realisation.
Your mission was saving yours and your parents' lives, she sent back; but it was far, far too late.
Draco's Pyrrhic victory glittered in the dark, a constellation in the night sky she was bound to chart her path to. My mission is you. It has been for a long time.
You can't make the Vow recursive, she sent back quickly, mind whirring in panic. It was already a complicated Unbreakable promise because they had both Vowed it. How would a self-referential Vow even work? Surely it was impossible to turn an Unbreakable promise in on itself?
I already did, her bangle crowed, and she could almost see his smug fucking sneer, his arrogant victory over her quickly lighting up her bangle and fading from view.
Have fun trying to analyse your way out of it. You're too late.
As long as your loyalty is to Potter, you will not risk your life for anything other than his mission, or you will die. I demand it.
And you told me yourself. You believe one chance for Potter's mission is worth more than anything.
The panic sobered her up immediately; her mind had never been so clear. Hermione shoved the bangle back on and started mapping out the logic with her wand, sparks forming a diagram of the binding decision trees.
But he was right. If Draco had made a nebulous concept of herself as his personal mission, she was bound not to interfere as much as possible, making the main protection promise of her Vow not just void but prohibited. How could she try to protect him without incurring some sort of risk to herself? Meanwhile, the only constraint on him was her mission – Harry's mission.
A small crack made her jump, and Bill opened the gate, looking tired and upset.
"Hermione," he said. She stood up, hands and knees dirty from kneeling on the ground in front of her magical diagram.
"Bill," she said, knowing what his sombre and solitary appearance meant. "Y-you didn't find him," she said. He nodded.
"They must have got him first," he said haltingly.
"I'm sorry," she said uselessly. He did not reply; merely walking past her into the Burrow, leaving her in the dark with nothing but her binding magical chains.
Author's note: In case it wasn't already obvious that this fic is a love letter to Madoka Magica.