Liverpool
October 31, 2006
"Shit," Draco whispered, non-magical binoculars in hand as he peered through a bush.
"What is it?" Hermione grabbed the binoculars and looked in the same direction. "Shit."
"Yes," Draco drawled. "It seems they've followed us."
"No." Hermione shook her head. "I think they just figured out where we were going." The pair were staking out Hermione's wizard mentor's townhouse in Liverpool, having arrived earlier that morning.
"Is that her?" Draco asked, pointing at the woman who appeared to be directing the others.
"If by 'her' you mean Colonel Longbottom, then, yes."
"Do you think she looks – angry?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised.
"Well, yes. Perhaps she's embarrassed we managed to best her." Hermione shrugged.
"You've seen enough?"
"Yes," she confirmed, and the pair quietly backtracked, returning to the long-abandoned shop they were using as a base of operations. The shelves were empty; only a faded sign with the word Boots stood dangling from the far wall, a reminder of a different world. Hermione immediately re-boarded the windows upon entering, placing her ear against the door and relaxing only when she confirmed they had not been followed.
Draco looked at her expectantly. They cut his hair short two days ago so that his signature blonde locks could stay hidden under a hat. He'd adapted to their life on the run, proving quite adept at shoplifting, which accounted for their evolving wardrobe of nondescript clothing and assortment of fresh food. His eyes were no longer wide at each stop; his demeanor had shifted seamlessly from the haughty Death Eater to a nameless, faceless non-magical.
A part of Hermione was impressed - perhaps even relieved he was proving a valuable ally. But she was also wary, wondering when the other shoe would fall, so to speak.
"I saw my mentor outside talking to Longbottom; I don't think he looked too happy with their presence," Hermione pointed out.
"So, you think if we approach him, he won't turn us in?"
"I wouldn't go that far." She mulled the situation over for another minute. "I think we need to send him a message. Ask him to meet somewhere we can stake out; that way, we can make sure the situation is safe."
"Good plan. Only problem is we can't get within 50 meters of him with all the Corps officers everywhere," Draco pointed out.
"Argh." She massaged her head. They had made it this far, evading Corps checkpoints and generally staying firmly in the shadows. This was it. She couldn't think of anywhere else to go; there was no one she could think of whom she trusted more. And that really rankled – in this world where she trusted no one, she found herself inadvertently putting more and more of her faith in Draco Malfoy.
In spite of all the reasons she knew it was a terrible idea, she found herself continuously counting on him to have her back; relying on his counsel to bounce ideas off of; and depending on his general cynicism to keep her tendency towards optimism in check. She could feel her heart trying desperately to accept this man and rationalize the discrepancies which, once upon a time, kept her up at night but which she now had to remind herself of.
"What if we pay someone to deliver a message?" Draco suggested.
Hermione shook her head. "I'm out of cash."
He smirked at her, pulling out a wallet she didn't recognize.
"Do I even want to know?" she asked.
"I just happened upon it." He shrugged, not the least bit guilty, even after their discussion on the ethics of shoplifting on the bus ride.
"You are a man of rare talents, Draco Malfoy." She smiled, shaking her head.
"Yes," he drawled. "So? What do you think? Would my plan work?"
Hermione shook her head. "I imagine they're monitoring his post and following him everywhere."
"I do have another idea, but it's a bit of a long shot," Draco started. "Have you ever heard of a patronus?"
Hermione perked up. "I believe I've read about them: very light magic, yes?"
He nodded. "They're a specter a witch or wizard produces – typically as a sort of protection from dark magic or dark creatures. But they can also be used to send messages. If I can teach you to cast a patronus, then you can send your wizard mentor a message when he's in his own house."
Hermione frowned. "Why can't you cast one?"
He shrugged and pointed to his left forearm where the Dark Mark lay covered by a cobalt blue long sleeved turtleneck. "Something about the mark prevents Death Eaters from casting it."
Hermione's frown turned clinical. "That's fascinating!" She considered the phenomenon but had no immediate hypotheses, a rarity for her.
"Yes, so if we're going to have any luck, it will have to be you."
"OK – what do I do?" she asked expectantly.
"I can only give you an academic understanding of the exercise. But, just to warn you, many witches and wizards are unable to form a fully corporeal patronus – so don't feel bad if you can't do it." He knew his warning would do little good - she had unrealistic expectations of herself in every aspect of her life.
He went over the spell and the wand motions and explained the need for a pure, happy memory.
She frowned. "What does that mean? What makes a happy memory pure? How do I know once I've found it?"
"Well, you'll know you've found it once you've successfully created a patronus."
"Of course – but how do I even know where to start?" She massaged her temples once again, fighting a raging headache caused by getting so little sleep as they went from town to town on their unintentional tour of Britain.
"As I mentioned, I personally have no experience in this matter."
"Yet, I feel confident you have some idea or theory," she pushed. This was the problem she was having so far with magic – there seemed to be so much dependency on memories, feelings, and other nebulous concepts.
"I imagine 'pure' is less to do with the memory and rather more to do with the nature of the memory. So for instance, a serial killer would not be able to create a patronus by thinking of killing someone, since the act of the memory itself is dark, regardless of any happiness it provides the killer," Draco explained.
"That helps." She thanked him and shut her eyes, trying to find something that would qualify. She opened her eyes and nodded at Draco, taking his wand in her hand.
"Expecto Patronum," she uttered clearly, her wand movements smooth and precise, but only the smallest wisp of silver escaped.
Draco looked moderately impressed. "That's not bad, I think."
"Not bad? You think?" Hermione was appalled.
"Well, yes. As I mentioned, many fully trained witches and wizards aren't able to form a corporeal patronus. That was your first try and you managed to make something happen."
"But we don't have time for this!" Hermione cried out.
"Stop complaining Granger, try again. Perhaps think of a happier memory."
She frowned; the memory had been of the first time she had listened to "In My Life" by the Beatles. She was 13 years old, and the WEA was still relatively young. The Dursleys had gone to a neighbor's, leaving their 'ward' at home. She had discovered the box of records in the attic only months earlier and had played the Beatles album Rubber Soul. The moment had been like what she imagined a religious experience to be. She had shut her eyes, and it had been like she was at home, her real home, her parents humming to the familiar beat with a young Hermione giggling in the background.
Perhaps the memory was tainted by the uncertainty of her own mind. She thought now of a recovered memory: her parents taking her to the zoo on her 8th birthday. She had dragged that tattered otter everywhere she went, giving a play by play of every animal, listing their every strength and weakness, as her parents watched with an amused sense of pride.
"Expecto Patronum!" she cried this time, her voice a little louder. A more distinct blob formed, but it dissipated before turning into anything more substantial. Her arms fell in frustration.
Draco walked over. "That was really good." He rubbed his hands over her shoulders, massaging the knots and giving her reassurances.
She couldn't help herself – she leaned into his deft fingers, eyes closing at the relief of his touch. She had gone two years without anyone touching her, and now she found herself craving these moments of contact.
She shook herself, brushing his hands off and preparing to go again. Seeing Draco out of the corner of her eye, a memory came to her in that moment. It wasn't anything substantial, just a single moment where she felt safe and at peace. She took a deep breath and cleared the doubt from her mind before she shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" A great silver bird escaped her wand, flying around them briefly before nuzzling next to Hermione, bringing her an unexpected calm before fading from existence.
"Holy shit!" Draco whispered.
"So now what?" She felt out of sorts, trying to understand why the specific memory she had chosen had worked.
"Now we stand in amazement that you just successfully cast a corporeal patronus two weeks after learning you're a witch." He smiled softly, his gaze lingering on hers with something like pride. She looked away, feeling uncomfortable under his stare.
"I'm a quick study."
"No, you're some sort of prodigy." His tone was clearly impressed.
"What are you doing?" she snapped. "I don't need your compliments and your – charm. What happened to the snarky Death Eater who thought everything was crap?"
"Are you seriously yelling at me for being nice to you?" he drawled.
"Yes! It's – I don't know what to believe, Draco. I want to trust your intentions but - I can't," she admitted. The patronus and the memory that had accompanied had shaken her.
His eyes flashed with hurt, and he stepped away from her, closing in on himself. After a moment, he turned back, his face composed and neutral, and he instructed her in a flat tone. "You should be able to instruct the patronus. If you ask it to deliver a message, it will," he finished clinically.
"Alright." Hermione moved a few aisles down the vacant store, finding her maps and scanning them over. "It looks like there's a park here." She pointed to a spot about half a kilometer from their current location. "I'll ask him to meet us there at 1700 hours."
"Won't he be followed?"
Hermione shrugged. "He's a clever man – and was a Corps Lieutenant himself. If he wants to, he can lose them or find some way to get there. If not – well, I'll have my answer." She paused. "I think I should meet him alone."
"What?" Draco eyes went wide.
"I need you to keep an eye on our surroundings; if it's a trap, I'll need you to get me out," she explained logically.
He nodded, albeit reluctantly.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" she called out and beckoned the bird to her, giving it directions and watching with curiosity as it took off. "Well, let's hope that worked."
Hermione watched through binoculars as her wizard mentor took a seat on a park bench, his face currently covered by a newspaper. She looked around and so far had not seen any indication of the Corps nearby. Draco had yet to give the signal indicating trouble on his end so, with as much confidence as she could muster, she made her way to the man she once considered a close friend.
She had cut her hair and dyed it black, her sharp bangs and sunglasses blocking her eyes. She wore a form-fitting grey dress with boots, the entire ensemble completely unlike her. Sitting down next to him, she took care not to look at him and instead pulled out a book, feigning to be just another person in the park, enjoying the brisk fall day just before sundown.
"Thank you for meeting me, sir," she told him, eyes glued to her book despite the desire to see her mentor's face.
"Hermione." He exhaled. "I'm glad you're alright."
"I'm not alright." She swallowed and turned the page. "I want to know what's going on."
"You tell me," he asked, folding up his newspaper and pulling out a pen as if to complete the crossword.
"I know that I'm a witch. Somehow my powers were bound, which seems to have inadvertently caused those around me to lose their powers. It seems the Corps found out about this and sent me to the middle of nowhere," she rushed out.
The man paused, taking a deep breath before jotting a few things down with his pen. "I don't know everything. I promise – I didn't know you were a witch."
"But you knew that I caused magic to go wrong?" she surmised.
He nodded. "Yes."
She took the briefest of moments to look at him and caught a glimpse of guilt coloring his eyes. "I suspected that you must have said something to a superior that resulted in my isolation."
"I didn't know you were a witch," he repeated, his voice genuine.
"I believe you." She swallowed, tears threatening to spill. She had been afraid that perhaps he had been aware the whole time - possibly even assigned as her mentor because of her 'situation'. The relief she felt in that moment was palpable. "But you know something else, don't you?"
"I don't know anything but –" he paused, writing something on the paper. "I have my suspicions. Just vague things a friend once mentioned a lifetime ago."
"What is it?"
He shook his head before returning his focus to the paper. "Nothing concrete, nothing that would help, but I'll give you a name."
"Thank you," she said, letting out an exhale.
"Are you with the Death Eater who escaped too?" he asked her.
"He helped me escape. And he's helping me find answers."
"You can't trust him."
She could feel his eyes on her but kept her gaze focused on the words in front of her. "Don't worry – I know."
"I'm sorry, about everything. I wish there was more I could do," he told her sadly.
"Well, there is one thing, sir. Do you have any idea where I can find a wand?"
He looked thoughtful, almost as if he were straining for the answer to a difficult clue. "I have an idea; he's a bit eccentric, but he doesn't bother himself with wand regulations or the Corps. When I leave here just grab my paper. I've written down everything you need," he explained. "I'm glad you're OK, and I hope you find the answers you're looking for." He stood up, leaving his paper on the bench as if he were just too lazy to throw it away.
"Thank you, Remus," she said quietly.
He didn't look at her but nodded in acknowledgement.
Hermione waited a few minutes before leaving, grabbing the newspaper as if it were a curiosity and walking calmly back to the abandoned store.
Draco was waiting for her inside, looking at her expectantly. "So?"
"It was good," she told him, emotionally spent. She slid down the wall to the right of the door, burying her head between her knees.
"What happened?" he replied. His tone was cold, likely in response to her admonishment earlier that day.
She looked up at him, rubbing her eyes and struggling to focus on his features. "He confirmed that he reported my – unique – impact on magic to his superiors. He had other suspicions but was unwilling to confirm them. He gave me a lead though. And an idea of where to get a wand."
"That's good, isn't it?" Draco frowned. As far as he was aware, this was the best possible outcome: her mentor, Remus Lupin, had not willingly betrayed her, and he provided a lead.
"Yes, yes. It's good," she mumbled, sounding particularly tired.
"What's wrong?"
"Is it going to end, Draco?" Her voice was suddenly firm, full of vitriol.
He took another step back. "What do you mean?"
"It's just – we escape the Corps, then we go city to city. What if no one knows the truth? What if there are no answers?" She looked at him and he gazed back, his eyes concerned. She once more sought his comfort and proceeded to berate herself for the errant thought.
"OK – well, as you would say if you weren't so exhausted, let's think about it rationally." He sat next to her, placing a solid foot of space between them. "We have a lead, so hopefully this guy knows something or, if not, then he can lead us elsewhere."
"And what if he doesn't? What if he has no idea who I am?"
"Then we find new leads. We know that someone in the Corps must know something, right?" Draco suggested.
"Or perhaps it was just a conspiracy to keep me away from magic users," Hermione rebutted.
"I don't believe that. If it was that simple, they would have completed tests, or done one of a million things. No – someone knows something. I was also thinking it may be worth a visit to the people that took you in after your parents died."
"The Dursleys?" Hermione asked, surprised.
"Yes – perhaps they know something or recall something from when they first took you in."
Hermione exhaled. "I hadn't even thought of that."
"See? There are still plenty of avenues left."
"When did you become the optimistic one of us?" Hermione asked, dubious.
"Right around when you became a pessimist." He smirked.
"Yes, what can I say. Having your entire world upended overnight tends to do that," she pointed out.
"You get used to it, having your entire world turned upside down," he reminded her. "So where to next?"
She pulled out the newspaper, scanning Lupin's pen marks. On one of the crosswords, he had written 'Wand' in the clue, and she found the corresponding entry on the crossword itself. "Well, looks like there's a wand maker: someone named Jonker in Bath. I think we should go there first."
She scanned the rest of the page, eventually finding a similar pattern where the clue was 'Answers'. "And then to Cambridge to see Sirius Black."
A/N: Thank you to my Beta, ElizColl, and to Astrangefan and Art3misia for reviewing/keeping me sane.
I appreciate any and all comments/reviews/theories! I'm also on Tumblr at canttouchthis87.