Chapter 136: November 1998

"You can live safely and be protected by people just like you, or you can stand up and be a leader for what is right."

-Shannon L. Adler

Hermione stood before a mirror, huffing with impatience as her hair demanded to fall from the carefully pinned place she had spent an hour getting it to. Each errant ringlet that fell across her shoulders, forehead, and back made her want to scream with frustration.

Maybe it wasn't really her hair. After all, she hadn't really cared all that much about it for the last nineteen years, she didn't really see the point in caring about it now. It was more likely that this event at the Ministry had her teeth on edge.

A little over a week ago, Harry had knocked on the door of the room she'd been sharing with Ginny and asked for a word in private. He'd showed her a crumpled-up piece of paper—it looked like an old take-out menu or a page from a phonebook or something—and written across it were five words: 14th November Ministry of Magic.

Harry had no idea who the letter had come from, only that Luna had somehow procured it and was certain that something terrible would happen on the day the Ministry decided to honour those who fought in the war. Luna had been vague with her answers when Hermione had questioned her, simply stating that it was someone she trusted that had relayed the information and that she couldn't speak on it further.

Hermione had been tempted to spike her tea with Veritaserum but Harry shut that down quickly, much to her annoyance.

So now, she was standing before a mirror, trying to get her hair to look presentable while also doing her best not to notice that her dress robes hung off her frame. It had been a horrific year and all she wanted was to put it behind her. But, she was reminded of it constantly. In the way the nightmares never stopped, in the way Harry disappeared for hours, looking as exhausted as ever when he returned, in the way Ron had slowly stopped talking to her beyond pressing their lips together in feverish need.

And even more so from the scars that littered her body. The crude mudblood carved into her arm was as painful and gnarled as the day it was done. She was reminded every time she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and her hip bones jutted out against her knickers, where there used to be soft swells of skin from years of hearty meals, now held skin stretched taut over visible bone from nine months of starving in a tent.

She'd wanted so badly for everything just to go back to normal. She thought that maybe once Voldemort was defeated, she'd be able to go back to Hogwarts, finish out her NEWTs, get a job at the Ministry and actually do some good.

But, Hogwarts was barely in working order. Half the school was still being repaired, despite being two months into the new school year. Professor McGonagall had insisted they still carry on, but had brought healers in after the first two weeks were filled with the sobs of those who had lost people and those who had fought in the war, echoing through the corridors at night.

And Hermione had tried. She had tried to go back and finish it out, but every time she walked into the Great Hall she could see the bodies of people she'd cared about lined up across the floor that they ate above. She could still see the scorch marks burned into the stone of the castle walls and see the crumpled stone from the blast that had taken Fred's life.

She still felt the soft eyelashes of Professor Lupin against her fingers as she closed his eyes, apologising to him for having to die alone.

The back of her neck throbbed as she thought of that moment, as it often did. A new pain, a new twinge to add to the ever-growing list of damage she'd received. She wasn't sure if it was left over from the Cruciatus curses she had taken at the Malfoy Manor or a stray hex that had hit her during battle, but the throb on the back of her neck came and went often.

A light knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts as Harry stepped in, closing it behind him.

"You look nice," he said, a small smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Hermione shrugged, "I guess."

"You're upset."

"No," she shook her head. "I'm not upset. I'm worried."

"About what?"

She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "What if Luna is right and The Ministry gets ambushed tonight? You said before someone stopped you and told you it was coming. What if they weren't crazy? What if they knew exactly what they were talking about?"

Harry sat next to her, running a hand through his mess of hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck. "I don't know, Hermione. I guess if it happens—if the Ministry gets ambushed—we'll just…deal with it."

Hermione levelled him with a pointed look. "Deal with it? That's your plan?"

"Well, I don't know!" Harry stood, pressing his fingers to his eyes, making his glasses sit askew on his nose. "I don't have an answer. I just want this all to be over with—it was supposed to be over with! But I keep feeling that…"

He trailed off, his shoulders slumping as a heavy breath rushed past his lips.

"Is it…is it your scar?" Hermione asked.

He shook his head, "No. No, it hasn't bothered me at all since…it just hasn't. But, I've had this strange feeling…like, deep in my gut, you know? Something is off, and I don't know what it is. But…but if something happens tonight, maybe it explains why I've been feeling so…weird."

"I've felt it, too," Hermione admitted. "Like the air is still charged or something."

Harry nodded, falling heavily back down on the mattress. "It would make sense if they ambush tonight. The entirety of the Ministry will be present and with it barely being put back together again, it's not exactly at its strongest. Plus, anyone who opposed them the first go around will be there, too."

"I've been doing some studying," Hermione said, reaching under her bed to pull out a crate filled with every medical textbook she could get her hands on. Both magical and muggle had made their way into her growing library. "Reading up on healing, just in case. I think it would be useful even if nothing happens. But, if something does…"

"Clever," Harry smiled warmly, picking through the massive books. He leafed through a few pages before tossing the book in his hand down, turning to face her. "I've been talking to a few people. I want to get The Order together, get it organised—properly, this time—create strategies and plans and safe houses."

"It's probably not a bad idea."

"I think we should return to Grimmauld Place. We'll need to do a bit of restoration, and make sure it's inhabitable, but I think it's the best option. It isn't safe to do it here. I don't want to put Molly and Arthur out like that, even if it was."

Hermione nodded, "We would probably need to have someone check for any tampering with the wards. But, the ones there should be strong enough as long as they're intact."

"Bill said he would help."

Hermione inhaled slowly, bobbing her head a bit. "I'm not sure what other options we'd have."

"Harry? Hermione?" Ron's voice boomed from outside the door just before it swung open, "Oh, there you are. Mum said it's time to go."

Harry stood, offering a hand to help Hermione off the bed. "We need to keep our guard up, tonight."

Ron nodded, clearly, Harry had already had this talk with him. Hermione felt her lips move in some sort of agreement but she wasn't even sure what it had been, the sound of her blood pumping through her veins rushing in her ears as her adrenaline spiked drowning out the sound of her own voice.

No amount of warning or guarding could have prepared Hermione for the onslaught at the Ministry.

Her breath ripped from her chest in angry pants as she sprinted across the atrium, throwing every hex and curse she could think of while she ran. Tables of canapes and champagne lay shattered in splintered heaps across the hall, broken glass glittering like snow in sunlight across the floor.

Frantic screams echoed through the hall as the Floo Network sealed, refusing to allow anyone safe escape. The lifts remained tightly shut, barring anyone from sneaking to an apparition point or pubic exits and the passages leading to any other area of the Ministry had been demolished, effectively blocking off their paths.

Hermione caught sight of Harry as he skidded to a halt halfway across the Atrium, duelling fiercely with Death Eaters in black robes and masks. She watched as he shoved a Slytherin she recognized from their year—Blaise Zabini—out of the way of what looked to be a nasty severing curse.

"Granger!" Draco Malfoy's voice pierced the air, frenzied and terrified, from about three yards away. He was cradling Ginny's body to her chest as she convulsed, blood spilling from her side onto the floor.

Hermione rushed over to them, the skirt of her dress robes heavier than ever as she slid across the floor on her knees, the periwinkle colour muddy with blood and dust.

"What did you do?" She shrieked, shoving him off of Ginny, and held the tip of her wand to his throat.

"Nothing," Malfoy insisted, his eyes wide with fear. "I've seen this curse before, she needs to be healed now."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, ignoring any alarm bells that sang in her head that this was Draco Sodding Malfoy.

"Sectumsempra," Draco whispered. "Do you know the counter curse? I do, but you'll have to keep pressure or she'll bleed out."

"Okay," Hermione nodded, taking the position Malfoy was in to wad Ginny's robes up in her hands, holding the already blood-soaked fabric to her side with steady pressure.

Malfoy leaned over, whispering a melodic counter-curse, waving his wand in complicated patterns. Hermione's heart was in her throat as she silently prayed to any deity that could possibly exist that they let this work, that they keep Ginny alive and let Malfoy be a decent human for once in his miserable life.

After about twenty seconds, Ginny stopped moving, her body going limp.

"What did you do?" Hermione hissed, nausea roiling up the back of her throat.

"It's the spell," he explained. "It's working. I swear to Merlin, Granger, I didn't do this."

Hermione stared at him fiercely before giving one, terse nod. "Fine. What else do we need to do?"

"She needs a blood replenisher," Malfoy insisted.

"I don't just carry blood replenishers around," Hermione snapped.

"Well, maybe you should fucking start."

"I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, I will—"

"Not the fucking time!" Harry shouted, grabbing Hermione by the elbow. He stared down at Malfoy with uncertainty for a moment before addressing him as well, "You can heal?"

"A bit."

"Good. There's a ton of people who need it over there," Harry pointed toward the far wall, where the welcome desk was turned over. "Go heal. If you do anything stupid, I'll kill you myself."

Malfoy's jaw worked in irritation for a brief second before he stood and bolted toward the desk, immediately casting protection charms around it that glowed blue.

"They're starting to leave," Harry rushed out, tugging Hermione with him. "They've all got Portkeys."

"How?" Hermione demanded, "There's no way they could have legally obtained—"

"I don't think they give a single shit about the legalities of Portkeys, if I'm being honest, Hermione."

"What do we do?"

"Keep fighting," Harry said. "Maybe we'll wear them down. Just keep anyone you can out of the way. Ron and Neville are working to get the entrance unblocked, but they need time."

Hermione yelped as a large stone zipped past her, ricocheting off the wall before bursting into pieces. "We don't have time, Harry!"

"I know," he shouted, "I know. But, it's all we can do."

In a flash, Harry was gone, leaping over a black-cloaked body on the floor and back into the thick of the fight.

This was supposed to be a nice evening. A solemn one, perhaps, but an evening filled with champagne and quiche and talking about the loved ones who they'd lost and celebrating the people who had put so much effort into keeping the Wizarding World level. And, instead, her best robes were shredded and blood-laden and she was out of breath as she fired off spell after spell, her wand arm shaking from the force of it.

She crossed the Atrium, dodging and weaving between jets of bright blue and sizzling purple streaks. The raucous laughter of Death Eaters rang in her ears as she pulled unsuspecting wizards and witches out of the crossfire, shoving them down beneath heaps of busted wood and buckling stone in hopes of keeping them safe.

"Kingsley's been hit," Someone's voice carried across the cacophony of sounds and Hermione felt her stomach plummet.

She threw a bombarda to her left as three Death Eaters raised their wands to a group of elderly witches, watching as the stone above them collapsed, burying them with sickening crunches of bone. Hermione tried not to think on it, tried not to dwell on the number of people who had been injured or killed by their hands tonight. It was clear that it was kill or be killed, and she would live to see Christmas.

A cloaked figure stood near her, about four feet to her right, and her eyes searched them frantically. Their cloak was not black—but brown, tan, and blue, patchworked and threadbare in places—and they shot off a protego as a jet of red light nearly collided with her chest.

Her throat felt thick with emotion, the back of her neck throbbing painfully as the person moved closer to her. Her vision blurred and she stumbled, her hand flying up to massage the back of her neck in some futile attempt to ease the pain. Now was not the time for this. She hadn't felt the pain this strongly since she'd been in the London Magical Library a month or so ago, and she didn't know what to do to curb it.

A woman appeared in front of her, with long, black hair matted and tangled with sweat and soot. Her golden eyes were bright with curiosity as she knelt next to Hermione, gripping her wrist.

"Breathe," she said, her voice rough with a thick, northern accent. "It's just magic coursin' through ya. If you focus on it, I reckon you can manage to use it to your advantage a bit."

Hermione had seen eyes like that once when she was fourteen and stood terrified and confused outside of the Shrieking Shack as her favourite professor howled up at the sky. Before she could get the word werewolf off her tongue, the woman disappeared, bounding over fallen debris and skidding out of view.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath. Her head was pounding and she felt sick to her stomach, the acrid taste of bile burning the back of her throat. She focused on the throbbing in her neck, feeling the warmth of the ache as it flooded down her shoulders and sat heavy in her chest.

Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion around her. She watched with hazy vision as Death Eaters evacuated in swirls of bright blue light, random objects clutched in her hands. She could hear the muffled voices yelling around her, surely barking out orders as the dust began to settle.

Harry's hands were cupping her face, his brows pinched in concern, glasses cracked through one lens and blood dripping from his nose.

"Are you alright?"

Hermione blinked, "Yes. I think so."

"They're gone," Harry said, with exhaustion she'd not heard in months.

"How many…?" She let the question trail off, not wanting to finish it.

Harry's face went slack and his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I don't know. At least four of theirs. I don't know if any of ours…"

Hermione nodded, "I'll start looking."

"Heal what you can," Harry requested. "St Mungo's is going to be overrun if we send everyone there."

Three hours later, Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow on the back of her sleeve. She was exhausted—physically, mentally, and magically. There had been a lot of injuries that she healed in the best way she could. There'd been a lot of bodies of people she didn't fully recognise, carted off to St Mungo's for identification and to alert the families.

She was sitting on the blasted remains of the fountain, sipping at some water while trying to calm her racing mind. Her thoughts always seemed to fly through her head, but right now she couldn't even catch one to grasp onto. The only thing she could seem to focus on was the dull ache in her neck and a patchworked cloak that looked achingly familiar.

"Granger," Draco Malfoy dropped down next to her, offering a small phial.

"What is it?" she asked, cautiously eyeing the glass tube.

"Pepper up," he shrugged. "I nicked it from St Mungo's on the last trip. You look like you could use it."

"Why?"

"Because you look knackered."

Hermione shook her head, "No, not…I am knackered—obviously. Why are you helping? Shouldn't you be trying to kill us or something?"

"I could still if you'd prefer it. But, I'm exhausted and would rather not get any more blood on my robes."

"What do you want?"

Malfoy sighed, "Look, I know I've been a prat—"

Hermione snorted. "That's putting it lightly."

He narrowed his eyes at her but continued, "—but, I want to help. I don't want to be them. I never wanted it. None of us did."

She looked up to where he was looking across the Atrium, to a group of Slytherins huddled together, healing each other's wounds and looking worse for wear. Hermione studied them for a moment, watching as they passed a pain relief potion between them, as they flinched every time someone passed near them.

"What are you asking for?"

"A chance," Malfoy said. "I've heard through the grapevine that Potter is reorganising The Order of the Phoenix—"

"How did you hear that?"

A smirk spread across his face, "I have my ways."

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes, "And what if he is?"

"I want in. We all want in. You've no reason to trust me, I know that, and I'm prepared to take Veritaserum if needed. But, I don't want to sit back and do nothing again. They took everything from me last time. I have nothing left to lose and I want to do the right thing for once."

She wanted to believe him—she really did. She wanted to believe that Draco Malfoy actually craved doing something for the good of others instead of for himself. But, she wasn't sure she could speak for Harry on this. There'd been so much bad blood between them, it didn't seem likely that he would agree. Of course, if they were subjected to Veritaserum and their intentions were honest…

"What's going on?" Harry asked, stepping in front of Hermione and eyeing the pair suspiciously.

"Malfoy wants to help."

Harry scoffed, "We're good."

"Are you?" Malfoy stood up, nearly touching his chest to Harry. "Because by the looks of it, you need a bloody healer. And a potioneer wouldn't hurt your chances either, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry paused for a moment as if he'd just thought of something, his face pinched in concentration. "You want to help? Like, actually help?"

Malfoy gave a sharp nod, "I'd been planning for years to go for Healer training after NEWTs, but…well, obviously other shit came up."

"Oh, you mean like becoming a Death Eater and working for Voldemort to try and kill Dumbledore, that shit?" Harry questioned, his tone sharp but something humorous in his eyes.

"Fuck off, Potter. Do you want the help or not?"

He roughed up his hair, letting his hand settle on the back of his neck before his shoulders slumped slightly. "Probationary period," Harry said. "You can help on a probationary period. If you fuck up, you're out on your arse, no second chances."

"Fine," Malfoy agreed. "But, they come with me."

Harry looked to the group Draco waved a hand toward, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "What can they bring to the table?"

"Pansy is skilled in human transfiguration, she'll be an animagus soon, I'd wager. Theo is proficient in charms—building spells, too, he's rather quite brilliant on that front. Blaise is a fair duellist, not to mention he's amazing with transfiguration in the elemental sense. Tracy is strong in Herbology and Runes…"

"And you?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why should I let you help and not turn you in for that mark on your arm?"

"I'm excellent at potions, healing at an intermediate level, and fast as fuck on my feet in a duel. I have connections that you don't have and I am incredibly wealthy. I can fund this."

"The Ministry seized Malfoy Manor," Hermione cut in, standing up to dust herself off.

"They did," he agreed. "But, they didn't take my personal vault, which I can assure you is sizeable enough to make sure we don't want for a single thing."

"I have money," Harry said. "That's not an issue."

"You have money until they seize Gringotts, Potter. My personal vault is an offshore account protected from their reach. You need me."

Harry stared Malfoy down, his eyes flitting over his face, searching for honesty. Malfoy dropped to his knees, his face falling with the exhaustion of the evening.

"Please," he whispered. "I have nothing left but this. I will do anything you need me to do and I will make sure they all stay in line."

Harry stuck his hand out, using it to hoist Malfoy from his grovelling position. "Don't embarrass yourself, Malfoy."

"Veritaserum," Hermione chimed in. "You'll go under Veritaserum, let anyone who wants to question you ask their questions. Once we're satisfied, you'll make potions and heal."

"Yes."

"We'll send you an owl," Harry said, ending the conversation.

Malfoy turned to walk away, stopped, and then backtracked to them both. "Thank you."

"Don't fuck us over," Harry shook Malfoy's hand.

Hermione sat on the floor of Ginny's room, a dozen or so books spread open around her as she flicked through different healing methods. All this magic and there was no way for her to just absorb the knowledge—it seemed a pity, really.

She heard the door creak open and felt the familiar presence of Harry at her side. He fell to the ground next to her, crossing his legs in front of him.

"I met someone a couple of months ago in London," he began. "They told me that someone may ask for help. Someone I wouldn't expect. And, that I should help them."

"Divination is rubbish Harry," Hermione sighed, peeling her eyes from the article on advanced bone healing she'd been reading.

"I know," Harry agreed. "But, I don't think this was Divination. The woman was at the Ministry the other night. She wasn't duelling, at least I didn't see a wand, but she was fighting. A werewolf—"

Hermione gasped, clutching Harry's hand. "I saw her."

"I don't think she's a seer—she didn't seem that way to me, anyway. But, she said some things that…Hermione, I think she knows things."

"Like what?"

"She knew there would be a strike in November. Granted, she did say it was in Diagon Alley, but she may have gotten it mixed up. But, she told me someone would ask for help and that I should help them. And that happened."

"So you don't think she's a seer, but..?"

Harry shrugged, "Time travel? Maybe she has a Time-Turner?"

Hermione shook her head, "It's not likely. Most of them were destroyed and the ones that weren't are under lock and key at the Ministry. Plus, Time-Turners only work for a few hours at most. She wouldn't have knowledge from months in advance."

"So she's a seer."

"Divination is rubbish, Harry."

"Well, I don't know what she is, but she knows things somehow!"

"Let's just hope whatever she knows continues to be for our benefit," Hermione said quietly, closing her books to stack them back in the crate. "And, until then, we have a lot of work to do."

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a/n: Thank you so much for your endless patience with my slow ass updates. love you. *boop*