Sole Survivor
Day Thirty-Two: Reward
October 30, The Previous Year
I unlocked my office door at the usual time, a few minutes before nine o'clock. The first half-hour of my day was spent, as usual, refreshing the wards on my files and making sure all of my paperwork was secure.
It was around 10:30 in the morning when the owl tapped at my window. A rather nondescript barn owl, the kind I usually saw. Certainly nobody's specific messenger; that would be too easily traced. I opened my window, allowing in both the owl and the frigid autumn air. After an exchange of parchment for owl treats, the bird flew away and I was left with a piece of paper in my hands and a residual coolness in my office.
Carefully, I opened the parchment on my desk. To all outward appearances, it was a blank sheet of paper. I reached for my quill, dipping it into a special tiny inkpot on my desk. I signed my name at the bottom of the page with the reddish-brown ink. As I finished, words began to appear on the paper where none had been visible before. I knew the message was from SilverHawk, and I knew that, for the present moment, he was still alive.
It was Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Potion Master and all-around slimy git, who had come up with the idea of the blood ink. Take the blood of an agent in the field, mix with the blood of an Intelligence operative at the Ministry, add a multitude of expensive ingredients and secrecy, and there you have it. Blood ink, readable only by the two blood donors. We were fairly certain that Voldemort didn't know about the blood ink, but if he should ever find out and kill one of our field agents, he still wouldn't be able to read any of our documents; if one of the two blood donors were killed, the ink would never become visible. Leave it to Snape to add in extra safeguards.
Several other Intelligence operatives had pots of blood ink on their desks. Some more than one pot. But I only had the one, connecting me with field operative SilverHawk. I had no idea who he was, other than the fact that he was male, and apparently rather high in ranking in Voldemort's organization. Oh, and I also knew that he gave great, valuable and truthful information.
I took out another piece of parchment for my own notes, then started reading SilverHawk's letter.
Dearest Isabella,
I hope this letter finds you well.
Mostly the weather here is very cold, but I've heard that we may see some sunshine tomorrow. Maybe there will be heavy fog at some point.
Actually, I've been meaning to get in touch with our mutual friend, Ray. Needless to say, I haven't seen him since late May. On the off chance that you see him, let him know he could come see me soon, as I still owe him thirty dollars.
Ray truly is a good friend, and I know he can stand up for me.
I miss you, my sweet Isabella. This war grows tiresome. I look forward to seeing the end.
Love, S.H.
The coded message began and ended like all of his missives, a sentence on each end to let me know it wasn't written under any coercion or outside influence. But the body of the letter … oh my Gods. Something huge was about to go down.
I grabbed my quill and a pot of regular ink, and began taking notes on my own parchment. Isabella was my code name, taken from my Italian great-grandmother. Anyone on the Dark side caught writing to someone named "Hermione" would surely be suspected as a traitor. Besides which, not giving my true identity to my contact added another layer of protection between the two of us. The references to the weather meant that something was going to happen the next day where Voldemort could possibly be destroyed, thus the resulting "sunshine." The opportunity would come when Voldemort's powers were lowered or otherwise occupied, the "heavy fog."
Our mutual friend Ray was none other than Harry Potter. The reference to "late May" told me that whatever was going to happen would happen at 5:00pm, since May is the 5th month and the use of "late" meant it would be in the evening instead of in the morning.
So, tomorrow at five in the evening, Voldemort would be in a vulnerable position. And he would likely be that way for thirty minutes, as referenced by the "thirty dollars" in the letter. I didn't understand what SilverHawk meant by "I know he can stand up for me," so I just copied it onto my notes in case it made sense to Harry. And the location of the event was clearly spelled out by the first letters of every sentence: MMANOR, or Malfoy Manor.
I wondered briefly why I hadn't heard anything about Draco Malfoy during the long two years of the war. Certainly Lucius' name came up frequently, as he was practically Voldemort's right-hand man. Perhaps Lucius had sent the precious younger Malfoy away, so that he wouldn't dirty his delicate hands in the war. I decided to ask Harry about it.
I finished up my notes, locked away the message from SilverHawk and my blood ink, and went to find Harry. The Aurors' offices were in a different section of the Ministry, little more than cubbyholes in a large work room. Not that it mattered, since most of them spent their time out in the field, not stuck behind a desk. Upon reaching their area and passing security clearance at the door, I asked around and was finally directed to Harry and Ron playing a game of chess in one dark, musty corner.
"Harry, I have a message for you." Both men glanced up from their game. Harry must have seen the intensity in my eyes, because he immediately stood up and ushered me into an office nearby. He closed the door behind us and cast several complex wards and silencing charms.
I pulled out my notes. "SilverHawk wrote in. There's something going on at Malfoy Manor tomorrow, five in the evening. He suspects that Voldemort will be preoccupied for thirty minutes. He seems to think this is the big opportunity we've been waiting for."
Harry pondered this for a moment, then asked, "was there anything else in his message you didn't understand? A line that didn't appear to be in code?"
I was stunned. I fumbled with my notes, then read the line, "Ray truly is a good friend, and I know he can stand up for me."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I need to see the Minister immediately. This could be it."
Before he could go, I grabbed his sleeve. "Does this have anything to do with Draco Malfoy?"
Harry's expression flashed quickly, showing me a brief glimpse of something that could have been shock or concern, before becoming unreadable. "Why do you ask that?"
"Well, because whatever this is, it's happening at Malfoy Manor. And I haven't heard anything about Draco Malfoy since the war began. It's almost as if he's become invisible."
"Ah." Was that relief on Harry's face? "It could be anything, really. Draco Malfoy or not. Remember, Lucius Malfoy has hosted many Death Eater events out at Malfoy Manor. Look, I really need to see the Minister." Harry turned to go, and I stopped him once again.
"Harry, if this is it … well, good luck."
He hugged me tightly, unwarded the office and left.
The next day was Halloween. And I knew that something was going to happen at Malfoy Manor that evening. I could barely concentrate on my work that day, knowing that at any moment all available staff could be called in to help. But the call never came. I went to bed early on Halloween night, wondering what had happened, or what was still happening, out at the Manor.
I got to work earlier than usual on the first of November. Ron Weasley was sitting on the floor outside my office door, looking exhausted. He told me the parts of the story that he knew: Harry had gone out to Malfoy Manor alone a little before five. A backup team of Aurors was to go in at five-thirty, to offer any assistance necessary. Ron was a part of that team. What they found, instead of a battle in progress, was the remains of a battle completed. Malfoy Manor looked as if it had been hit with a bomb; crumbled walls, fires still burning within. Voldemort's dead body, along with those of Lucius Malfoy and at least a half-dozen other Death Eaters, littered the ground. Ron ran to Harry, lying on the ground, still alive and breathing but unconscious. He picked up Harry's limp body and rushed to St. Mungo's.
Harry stayed in that coma for almost two weeks. When he finally came out of it, any sign of the cheerful boy I'd grown up with was gone. He wouldn't speak about what had happened at all with me. And so I'd always been left to wonder what had happened on that fateful Halloween night out at Malfoy Manor.
So many of my memories flash through my mind as I stare dumbfounded at Malfoy.
"You are … I mean, you were …"
"SilverHawk. Yes."
"I need to sit down." Malfoy guides me away from the small metal bistro chairs and helps me into a comfortable deck chaise.
"All right. Where to start." Malfoy paces in front of me for a moment, then pulls another chaise next to mine and sits on the side of it. He leans forward toward me.
"I was eleven years old when I started at Hogwarts. Up until that point, I'd led a very sheltered existence. The only people we socialized with were other pureblood families. It was constantly reinforced to all of us that we were the best, the brightest, the finest that the wizarding world had to offer. I believed it, because it was all we were ever told.
"But being a Malfoy was much more than that. Malfoys were, according to my father, the best of the best. The absolute pinnacle of purebloods. And being so fine, so far above the rest of humankind, meant that Malfoys could not stoop to lower themselves to be like the rest of the rabble. Emotions weren't allowed. Compassion, sympathy, caring … all of them taboo. And when I made a mistake of any kind, or dared to show an emotion, or had the unmitigated gall to lose at a game or display any inferiority of any kind…" Malfoy stops for a moment and looks quietly at his hands, "the punishments were swift and severe."
Malfoy takes a deep breath. "I would probably have grown up to be just like my father. Cold and compassionless. Really, the man was dead inside. But he was ruthless in his pursuit for power, and his consideration of others to be lower forms of life helped him immensely. But one thing, just one thing at Hogwarts, helped me see how wrong he was."
Malfoy takes my hand in his and looks me straight in the eyes. "That one thing, Hermione, was you."
He squeezes my hand. "Oh, at first, I hated you. After all, hating people like you was what I'd been raised to do. You weren't just a lesser witch; you were a Muggleborn witch. To my father, the so-called 'Mudblood' was even worse than a Muggle. At least Muggles lived their Muggle lives and stayed out of the wizarding world. But a Muggleborn witch or wizard, that was like a dirty Muggle trying to horn in on the wizarding world, which by all rights should have belonged solely to pureblooded wizards. I was trained from birth to hate everything that you are.
"And yet, you fascinated me. I didn't understand how it was possible that a Muggleborn witch could be first in our class. That place should have belonged to a pureblood, a Slytherin. After all, we were the best of the best, were we not? But still, there you were, earning the top marks in class after class, even though you hadn't been raised in the wizarding world.
"So I decided that it would be all right for you to be so smart, if you were at least cold and composed. Because true intellect only shines through when emotions aren't allowed to get in the way, according to the great Lucius Malfoy. But no, you had to blow that theory for me as well. You laughed, you cried, you were sympathetic and caring with your friends. And the anger that you showed to those that dared hurt the ones you cared about absolutely amazed me. I'd never had anyone stand up for me the way you stood up for Ron and Harry. I seriously doubt anyone in Slytherin would have even raised their wand to help me, unless there were money or prestige involved somehow.
"I pondered the mystery of Hermione Granger for years. I began to form my own ideas of what made a good witch or wizard, and none of them had to do with parentage or upbringing. Of course, I had to remain aloof and cold on the outside. And I had to mock you and your friends when other Slytherins were around. Any weakness of any kind would immediately get back to my father. I was already being punished enough for letting you do better than me in every class except for Potions, I certainly didn't need my father finding out that I wanted to befriend a Muggleborn.
"Things were also starting up again with Voldemort, and that made me even more angry on the inside. It hurt me every time I hurt you. But I knew it would kill me if anything happened to you. And I knew that the first people the Death Eaters would go after once Voldemort came back to power would be Muggleborn and half-breed witches and wizards. I couldn't let that happen. Because by then, I'd fallen in love with you.
"And that was the worst thing of all. Not loving you; that was easy. You were so beautiful on the inside, smart, funny, talented, and so full of life. When I saw you at the Yule Ball our fourth year, I was amazed. The outer you had finally caught up with the inner you, and you were so beautiful I could barely stand to look at you. No, the worst thing was that I now had to make a huge choice. I could take the easy road, follow in my father's footsteps, be a good little Death Eater and help eradicate mudbloods. Unfortunately, that path would have taken away the one thing that meant anything to me. You.
"So, I took the harder path. I went to Dumbledore at the end of our fourth year and told him everything. How much I loathed my family and friends, how alone I felt, and how miserable that should have made me. Except that there was no way I could be miserable as long as Hermione Granger was in my world.
"Dumbledore helped me as much as he could when it came to dealing with my family and so-called friends, and he was always there for me when I needed him. When Voldemort started gathering his forces, I offered to be a spy against the Dark side. I helped Dumbledore in his fight, until the Ministry finally joined in. Then Dumbledore vouched for agent SilverHawk.
"Once Snape developed the blood ink, I realized it was my chance to have contact with you. I'd been working with Harry for some time, meeting secretly and passing information. It took him quite some time to learn to trust me, but I finally told him much the same story I'm telling you. How I used to think and feel, and how you changed me. Harry agreed to help set you up as my blood ink contact. Finally, I could write to you, address my letters lovingly, and as long as the blood ink was still visible when I used it, I knew that you were safe and alive.
"From then on, you know a lot of the story. You were on the receiving end of my messages, so you know the kind of things I was up to. Fortunately, I didn't have to take the dark mark yet. My father kept me busy training in the dark arts, because I was to become Voldemort's new right-hand man eventually. I wasn't sent along on raids or attacks, because at the time I was too valuable. In fact, it was going to be at the ceremony that Halloween when I would have received my mark and taken my place at Voldemort's side."
Malfoy pauses in his story. He stares down at his hands and sighs deeply. I feel a coolness on my face, reach up, and find the wet tracks of tears on my cheeks.
My voice is barely a whisper. "What happened that night?"
He sighs again. "I know Harry never told you, because it would have given my identity away to you. And he always wanted me to be the one to tell you about SilverHawk." He rubs the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking weary. He's been talking for almost an hour, but the story's almost done.
"I put a line in my last message that was specifically for Harry. The line about standing up for me. It let him know what the ceremony would entail.
"Besides being given the mark and inducted into the Death Eaters, it was to be my wedding."
I feel my breath catch in my throat. "So did you … I mean, are you … married?"
"Fortunately, no. The ceremony was never completed." Malfoy stands up to stretch, which makes me realize how stiff and cramped I'm feeling in my little chaise. I hold out my hand to him, and he helps me up so that I can stretch my muscles as well. We slowly stroll over to the edge of the ship and lean on the rail, staring across the sea to the island in the distance.
"Voldemort spent most of the day making preparations instead of resting. He knew the combination of ceremonies would take a lot of magic, but fortunately he thought he was invincible. If he'd actually been sensible and taken it easy before the ceremonies, Harry might not have been able to kill him. So in a way, Voldemort had a hand in his own death.
"There were a lot of wards to cast, and a lot of protection spells. Only those who had been invited would be allowed entry onto the grounds. Knowing that the ceremonies were coming, I'd sent Harry an open-ended invitation to my wedding, which allowed him past that particular spell even though the date of the event wasn't even known at that time.
"And so, when five o'clock came around, we began the ceremonies." Malfoy begins to count on his fingers. "There was going to be the dark marking of both of us, as well as the marriage, a fertility rite to ensure immediate conception of a male heir, a loyalty spell, a bonding spell, and a very powerful infusion of magic."
I interrupt, "who was the bride?"
Malfoy grimaces. "Pansy, of course. Not just pureblood, but one hundred percent behind the dark cause. Pretty much what I should have become.
"So. There we are in the ballroom at the Manor, a cozy grouping of me and Pansy and Voldemort, surrounded by two dozen of my father's closest Death Eater friends. And all the while as I'm reciting lines, I'm praying that Harry is on his way.
"If Voldemort had suspected either of our loyalty, he would have done the spells in a different order. But since we were both such good little followers, I think he decided to get the hardest ones out of the way first. Another way that he contributed to his own undoing, since the harder spells made him weaker. Anyway, he started out with the fertility ritual, making sure that Pansy would immediately conceive a son, guaranteeing Voldemort's next heir. Then he started the ritual to infuse both of us with more magic, making us more powerful.
"He really should have marked us first. Or done one of the loyalty or bonding spells. It was the luckiest thing possible, he chose to do the spells that would not only fatigue him the most, but they would give me more power. As he recited the spells, I felt like I was walking on air. There was a buzzing in my head, and I felt stronger and more aware than I ever had before.
"Voldemort said the final words, and I could see that he was very tired. He'd just infused Pansy and me with a large portion of his magic, and it would take some time to regenerate. So there I am, standing with Pansy, each of us with our hand on the other's wand, waiting for the wedding part of the ceremony. And the lights all went out.
"I heard Pansy gasp in surprise. I held my own wand firmly and pulled it out of Pansy's hand, and at the same time pulled her own wand away from her. I could hear Harry's voice as he cast several spells in quick succession. I shouted my own, and between us we locked all of the doors to the ballroom and set a field around the Manor so that nobody could apparate or disapparate.
"It was pitch black in the ballroom, since all of the heavy curtains had been drawn over the windows. But with my newly improved powers, I could still see everything in a faint greenish glow. I knew that there was one other person currently as powerful as me in the room, so I had to take care of her first."
Malfoy leans down, resting his elbows on the rail of the ship, and buries his face in his hands with a deep sigh. I step closer and rub my hand on his back, trying to comfort him. I don't think he's had to talk about these events much, and it's only been a little over a year since it all happened.
His voice is muffled a bit behind his hands. "I didn't want to kill her, I swear. Sure, she was a gung-ho member of the dark side, but I'd grown up with her. She was one of the few kids I was allowed to play with when I was little. And while I didn't necessarily like what she grew up to become, I always had hope for her. I told her to run, to get away. Instead, she lunged for my hand that was holding her wand. I tried to stun her. But it didn't work, because of the magic infusion. So I … I had to kill her. With Avada.
"Harry was blasting away at everyone he could. He took quite a few of the Death Eaters down before I could join him. He killed my father, along with several others. It wasn't until afterward, when I visited him in the hospital, that I got a chance to thank him for that. Lucius needed to be killed, and I don't think I could have been the one to do it.
"So finally, it was down to Harry and Voldemort. They were both out on the lawn by then; the Manor was in sorry shape, half blown-away and on fire. I'd never been more happy to see that damned house than when it was destroyed. They were in the middle of a duel, with some kind of force shield around them; I tried to curse Voldemort, and it just bounced away harmlessly. I couldn't help; all I could do was watch and pray.
"They had their wands pointed at each other, and it was as if the wands were connected by this beam of golden light. And slowly, the light turned from gold to red. Harry stood up straighter, and Voldemort looked even weaker. The light was so bright, it was almost blinding. And then there was a huge flash of red light. I felt all of that extra power suddenly drain out of me. I turned my head away, and when I turned back, there was nothing but darkness and silence. Harry and Voldemort were both lying on the ground. I ran over to Harry first, to make sure he was alive. His pulse was strong and his breathing was clear; he was just knocked unconscious. Then I checked on Voldemort.
"There didn't seem to be any signs of life to him. Much as I loathed the idea of touching him, I checked for a pulse and for breathing, but didn't find either. He looked as if he'd aged a hundred years in the last few minutes; his formerly healthy body was shriveled and bent.
"Just to be safe … I hit him with three more Avada curses. Nothing. He was really and truly dead. I checked the time, which was about a minute shy of 5:30. I knew that the rest of the Aurors would be coming, and if they found me there, they might curse first and ask questions later. So I ran. I felt awful leaving Harry behind, unconscious, but I knew that Weasley and the others would be there shortly to take care of him. The rest of the story, I'm sure you already know."
He's silent for a few moments, leaning against the rail. It's odd to hear such a dark, awful story while standing on a beautiful ship in the middle of a tropical sea. Finally he sniffs and rubs his eyes. He squints and blinks up at the sun, then out at the island in the distance, but he won't look at me. Finally, I break the silence.
"You're probably thirsty after all that. Come on, let's see what's in the little icebox." I grab his hand and intertwine my fingers with his, pulling him down to the cabins. He hesitates for a moment, looking at our joined hands, then follows with his eyes downcast. I lead him down to my cabin, push him down so he's sitting on the edge of the bed, and rummage through the tiny refrigerator for two cans of cola. I hand him one, but instead of opening it, he rolls it around in his hands and stares at it.
"Draco," I begin. He interrupts me.
"I … look, I didn't tell you all that for your pity. I just wanted you to finally know the truth. I'd rather you were just open about hating me."
Hating him? "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Besides the fact that I'm a cold-blooded murderer who left his best friend unconscious on the battlefield, how about the fact that I'm a terrible coward. I made your life hell in school for no good reason, other than to cover my own ass. I hurt you so many times, just so I wouldn't get hurt myself." He sighs. "Except that it hurt me anyway."
I take his can of cola out of his hands and set it on top of the fridge next to mine. He continues sitting there, head down, staring at his hands.
"You know, what you call murderer, most would call war hero. And I'd hardly call turning spy against the most powerful dark wizard this century an act of cowardice. And you know what, Malfoy? Every time you insulted me, every time you said something hateful to me back in school, it made me stronger."
He snorts in disbelief and stands up. "I should just go. You don't need to try and make me feel better."
And now, I'm angry.
I step in front of him, but he still won't make eye contact with me. He moves to the left, as if to go around me and leave, and I shove him backwards so he falls onto the bed. I jump on top of him, straddling his hips with my knees, my arms crossed and pressed down onto his chest. He finally looks up at me in surprise.
"Listen up and listen good, Ferret Boy." I poke him in the chest. "Your little self-pity party needs to end, now. Without your help, untold thousands would have died, maybe including me. And if you feel bad at all about being a jerk to me, good. You were a jerk to me. But when I first got to Hogwarts, I was a shy, quiet girl with her nose buried in a book. If it hadn't been for you, if I hadn't felt the need to prove myself, I wouldn't be the person I am today. You," I poke him, "made me strong. You," another poke, "made me do the best work I could do. And if it weren't for you, I would definitely not be the kind of girl who would hold a guy down and tell him what a dumbass he's being. So learn to live with it, Dr. Frankenstein. You made this monster, now you have to deal with me."
Malfoy looks up at me with astonishment in his eyes, his mouth slightly open. Before he can say anything, I lean down and kiss him.
His arms are immediately in motion, one hand behind my head pulling me deeper into the kiss, the other trailing down my back. I run my hands down his chest, pushing aside the edges of his loose white shirt. He pulls his hands away from me and uses them to push himself up into a sitting position, taking me with him. I'm straddling his lap, on my knees. He pushes my hair behind me and starts kissing my neck, while slowly unbuttoning my shirt.
I open my eyes long enough to check the clock on the wall. We still have over an hour and a half before anyone comes back to the ship. I close my eyes again and relax into his caresses.
He manages to remove my shirt and tank top, while I pull his own shirt off. He snorts.
"I don't think this is technically the way this game is supposed to be played."
I look into his eyes, glistening with emotion. I know mine are the same. "Is this part of the game?"
He holds my head between his hands, looking at me intently. "I think this particular game is over."
I stand up and step away, eliciting a gasp from Malfoy. I move around the edge of the bed, hop on and lie down, reveling in the softness of the pillows under my head. He stands up from the foot of the bed and comes around the side.
"Well then, Malfoy, one of us should be declared the winner."
He climbs onto the bed next to me, pressing his body against mine. He lifts himself up on his elbow, so his face is looming over mine with a sly smile. His voice is low and husky. "And who do you think is the winner?"
I reach up and bury my fingers in his silky hair. "I'll let you have this one." He looks at me in surprise, amazed that I would give him the win.
I pull his head down to mine. "Now come and collect your prize."