A/N. I don't know what to say except… this story has taken on a life of its own, really. This was supposed to be a somewhat linear plot at the beginning and now… well, here we are and I'm not quite sure which was is up and I don't very much care because I don't have the sense to. I should probably make this easier for myself, this whole plot, but I won't because I'm stubborn that way.

I always start a story by saying, "This will be the premise, the beginning. This will be the plot, the middle. And this will be the turning point and wrap-up, the end." It never turns out that simple. By chapter five, I say, "How about instead I make this the most complicated, emotion-heavy cluster-fuck in the world instead?"

In the very raw stages of Blacklisted, it was going to be a marriage law fic. It would be in the Voldemort triumphant world and Hermione would end of being the wife of Draco Malfoy while overthrowing Voldie from the inside, with the help of Draco. Hermione and Draco weren't supposed to fall in love, but instead develop a need and dependency for one another, becoming one another's anchors.

And, obviously, almost none of that stayed the same except the victorious Voldie and spy!Draco. So you can kind of see the flaws to my writing process. Nothing ever stays the same.

…~oOo~…

Chapter Eight: In Which There Are Obstacles

The headline read:

Azkaban Prisoner Shacklebot Escaped!

Grimmauld was swarming with people, Order members that hadn't been seen since the Battle of Hogwarts, all using their passwords, being escorted through the Floo, all eager to ask the same question. Is it true? Did Kingsley Shacklebot escape from prison?

It meant the cancellation of classes and it also meant that all of kids who could not be trusted to be left alone with the older kids at Mould-on-the-Wold – the Quartet of Terror as Longbottom had called them teasingly – were stuck at stuffy old Grimmauld because they needed to be under constant supervision. Otherwise they might start poisoning people again.

Chelsea sat with the latest edition of the Prophet on the floor in the corner of the sitting room. It was the only spot she had to herself. The house was that full. She could not believe there was ever this many members of the Order and couldn't imagine where they'd all went. Perhaps they went into hiding or perhaps they just went on with their lives in the new world. Because according to Professor Granger, the wizarding world was a drastically different place since the war.

The article was surrounding a huge picture of a very solemn wizard holding up a plate of numbers and runes. It was Kingsley Shacklebot, but not as she knew him. The man she'd met was older and skinnier and weaker than the oak tree of a man in the mug-shot.

The Minister of Magic Snow's only comment on Shacklebot's freedom was, "He best enjoy his freedom while it lasts, because it won't for long."

Adam was pacing back and forth, running his fingers against the wall as he went just to the right of Chelsea.

"Why are you pacing?" she asked when the curiosity was too much.

"He'll be here any minute," Adam said with certainty.

She immediately knew he meant Malfoy. "Why?"

"Because he works for the Ministry. He'll know what's happening."

Chelsea bit her lip. She wasn't sure if Mr. Malfoy being around was a good thing. Adam had been happy when they caught sight of him and Professor Granger snogging after the pie incident, but she'd never felt comfortable with Malfoy. Chelsea wanted to protect Professor Granger and Adam wanted to do the same for Mr. Malfoy, but Adam had no clue about her dreams. About how real they felt or how awful they were.

Lo and behold, though, Adam was right. Draco Malfoy came through the Floo only minutes later, looking as cold and disinterested as he usually did. His hair was getting a bit on the shaggy side so that even when it was pushed back, pieces fell on his forehead. Chelsea decided that she had no idea what her professor saw in this man, this detached and cynical man who seemed to cause Professor Granger nothing but grief.

And yet, in the back of her head, Chelsea had the fuzzy memory of a night she'd fallen asleep in the cellar while Professor Granger was looking through the tomes and in her sleep-addled state, she heard her professor and Malfoy talking. Professor Granger had been carrying Chelsea to bed when Draco came up to lighten the burden. Chelsea remembered Malfoy carrying her gingerly and whispers that the two teachers exchanged, the smiles in both their voices. Maybe there was something there, some kindness in Malfoy, but it wasn't enough for Chelsea to trust him.

Just as Malfoy left the room, striding quickly in the direction of the kitchen without stopping for pleasantries – which made Adam frown deeply at being ignored – there was a heavy pressure at the front of Chelsea's forehead. The world around her slowly became blurred, the noise around her muted, and she blinked wildly to try and adjust her vision.

With the people in the sitting room around her nothing but background noise and fuzzy blobs, clear as day she saw a young man pacing. He was tall and had long black hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wore black trousers, shoes, and a black and silver waistcoat over a white shirt. The sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, exposing a mark that Chelsea had seen before. It was a skull devouring a snake and it took her a moment to realize it was the same tattoo that Mr. Malfoy had.

The young man continued pacing. Looking anxious and pensive, he tore at the top button of his shirt, the button popping right off. He let gritted his teeth, but let it go.

Then, out of nowhere, an elf popped into the picture. He scrambled over to the young man, who dropped down quickly to be level with the elf. There was no sound in this vision, only the buzz of the real world behind her, but she saw the elf hold something out to the man. Upon a second look, it was a piece of jewelry, a necklace of some kind. No, a locket. The man popped it open and took a piece of folded parchment from his pocket and tucked it inside. Standing up straight, he seemed to take a deep breath and clutch the locket in his hand.

The young man looked around the room one more time, his eyes grazing over everything, passing right over Chelsea, and then nodding to the house-elf. The elf held onto one of the man's fingers and they were gone.

Chelsea came crashing back into reality so hard, she literally felt the impact of her return. She must have gasped for breath because Adam was looking at her very strangely. Her lungs were sore. Her heart was doing hopscotch with her ribs. She must not have been breathing for the entire duration of that vision.

Oh, no, she thought, suppressing the urge to cry.

How many more visions would she have where she couldn't breathe? And the visions were getting longer. If she had no control over her body and she had a particularly long vision…

Could these dreams and images and hallucinations actually kill her?

…

When Draco walked through the doors of the dining room, Hermione couldn't help but be slightly surprised. She didn't think she'd see him for another week at least. When Draco wasn't at the usual meetings, he was reporting to McGonagall after his weekly tea with his father at Hogwarts, so his attendance wasn't always needed.

They'd anticipated the headlines, the excitement, the return of the members who had been in hiding or left the country. There was no reason why Draco had to be there…unless something had changed in the Ministry. Something important.

Wading through the throng of people, Hermione met Draco and said, "McGonagall is at Hogwarts. If something has happened –"

"I don't need to talk to McGonagall, I need to talk to you," Draco said, looking around at all of the new and old faces. He nodded for her to follow him. Draco led her into the empty yard and did a quick perimeter check before casting a Muffliato over them and the porch they stood on.

"Snow is getting suspicious about the lack of accidental magic happening in the Muggle world," Draco said, right to the point.

That certainly wasn't what Hermione had expected. "Doesn't he have bigger things to worry about?"

"He's convinced his peons will have Shacklebot before the month runs out," Draco said dismissively. "He had faith in the new group of Aurors."

"Never did I imagine that one day Aurors would be synonymous with Death Eaters," Hermione said on a sigh. "But what does he plan to do about the muggle-borns he thinks are running about unprotected and wand-less?"

"As you said, he's got a lot on his plate," Draco said. "I give it a few more weeks before he starts looking into the muggle-borns who haven't been going to Hogwarts. He'll get their names from the records and eventually he'll want to investigate. He'll want to find them. And when they're not at home with their parents…" He paused as he himself processed the consequences. "It won't be pretty."

Swallowing, Hermione said, "We knew this would happen. We've prepared for this. We can send their parents away, put them in hiding –"

"We're trying to avoid suspicion," Draco said, shaking his head. "If Snow sends his goons to talk to the parents and none of them are in their homes, as American phrase goes, 'the gig is up'. He'll know the children are being hidden."

"He'll know the children are being hidden when they're all missing and their parents have no idea where they are," Hermione said firmly. "The choice is between the Death Eaters burning down empty houses or these children's parents burning down with them. We cut our losses, we deal with the consequences."

"Where are we going to hide a bunch of Muggles?" he demanded. "The safe houses are all at their max capacity. Nowhere in Britain or Europe is safe. There is something happening in the East that Snow has kept entirely to himself and he's established an understanding with Beauregard that had almost nothing to do with Margot any longer. He's already converted the Confederacy and had been making deals, bribes, and 'donating to the cause' to keep them in his pocket. Snow is at the core of the wizarding world right now and the Dark Lord is gaining strength every day. He was barely able to talk on his own a month ago and now he's taking evening strolls through Knockturn Alley and whispering in the ears of street rats and barmaids, the best sort of spies. There is too much happening right now to protect the students and their parents."

"They could come here," Hermione said, grasping at straws. "We still have plenty of rooms."

"The parents will be the first targets and we cannot put the targets in the same place as the kids," Draco stressed. "It would be unwise and you know it. The Muggles are safest in their world, oblivious."

"Their world won't be safe or oblivious much longer," Hermione said firmly. "And we're all targets, Malfoy. Each and every one of us. By that logic we should be sending the children home." It got silent for a stretch and it dawned on Hermione. She took a deep, sobering breath and said with understanding, "That's why you're here. You want to send the children home."

"The Muggle world will be safe for a while yet," Draco said reasonably. "Snow has to have control over each wizarding Minister and royalty. He's got a few more regions to close in on before he can crack open the Muggle world and the unrest in the Ukraine will keep him occupied for a bit. Right now, our best tactic would be to throw as many obstacles in his way as possible."

"All we're doing is delaying the inevitable," Hermione said. "It's all we've been doing. Buying some more time. We need a big move. But our big move, the prison break, that's only another obstacle. Another hurdle for him to jump over. But he will jump over it, as he does with everything we put in his way."

"We have Potter now," Draco said, not liking her tone of defeat. This was not the Hermione he knew. "Skeeter will write the article and –"

"Another obstacle!" Hermione said, exasperated. "As brilliant as Harry is, he really is just one man. Not a messiah and not a weapon of mass destruction – just Harry. We learned that the first war when we expected victory all because of a few words spoken by a loony Seer and a scar the size of a thumbnail. These things do not win wars."

"And neither does hiding every man, woman, and child you believe deserves saving," Draco replied harshly. "Be realistic. You can't keep collecting innocent creatures and putting them in cages for their own good. You'll run out of hiding places and exhaust yourself. You cannot protect the world, Hermione, and you especially can't by locking it away."

The next breath came shaky and Draco knew what was coming. She covering her mouth with her fist and tried to calm herself to no prevail. The tears pooled in her eyes and spilt over while she took short, shaky breaths and pushed down the sobs. She was trembling when she took the step forward to huddle herself in Draco's warmth and tuck her face into his collar.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Draco sighed and gently rested his cheek on her head, his hand coming up to lay between her shoulder blades and rub circles with his thumb. He felt useless. There was nothing he could do to make her feel better and that was one of the worst feelings in the world.

"How long before they need to go home?" Hermione whispered miserably.

"I'll monitor the situation, but… for now, it will be a month before Snow starts sending Aurors out."

"The school year is nearly over anyway," Hermione said, feeling tired and overwhelmed. "It's funny. There were petrifications, possessions, escaped convicts on the loose, murders and so much more at Hogwarts when we were there, and yet it never did truly close. They never had us pack up and go, never to return."

"I like to think we have better sense than Dumbledore," Draco said dryly.

Hermione snorted. "He was a bit dangerous, towards the end. Everything he put us through. I though the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been brutal, but when he was grooming us to become his army… Well… desperate times, and all that."

"We won't prepare these children to fight our battles," Draco said, the solidity of promise in his voice.

Hermione nodded in agreement and then took her face away from his now-soaked collar and looked up at him. They were chest to chest and Draco felt her breath on his face. Ducking his head the last few inches, Draco placed a short, tender kiss to her mouth. She leaned up into him, one more tear rolling down her cheek and into their kiss.

"Thank you," Hermione said, still a bit dazed by his embrace.

"For?" Draco asked.

"That," Hermione said, a corner of her lips tipping up.

"It was my pleasure," he replied with a small smirk.

Hermione felt suspended in that moment. And for that blissful moment, she was some kind of happy.

But beyond the porch door were people waiting to be delegated tasks and orders and get updated on what the plan was. Unfortunately, there was no plan, but at least morale was high and that's what the Order needed.

Hermione didn't need morale. Just for that second she just needed Draco Malfoy.

But duty awaits, Hermione thought sourly.

…~oOo~…

"The French girl, Beauregard's brat, what is so special about her?" Lucius Malfoy inquired.

"I don't ask questions, Father," Draco said, the steam from his tea warming his face as he took a sip.

"But she lives with you," Lucius said. "Surely you've noticed something about her that would justify our good Minister's keeping her around?"

Draco shrugged. "She's a girl. She's a tool to keep Madame Beauregard in our good graces."

"Not any longer," Lucius disagreed, sitting back in the velvet cushions of the headmaster's chair. "Madame Beauregard is in Snow's pocket for good. They have an understanding. She'll be Minister of France before the end of the year, I imagine. There is no reason to keep the girl now unless there is something we do not know."

"We do not know many things," Draco said, feigning boredom. "My only concern is when I'll have my flat back. The girl is a nuisance."

"Does Snow still visit her regularly?"

"For the most part," Draco confirmed. "Why?"

"No reason," Lucius said smoothly. "Just curious."

"Don't be curious about Snow's affairs," Draco said. "You'll give yourself a headache."

Looking at his son for a long moment, Lucius then said, "Since when did you become the sensible one?"

"You've taught me to keep my nose out of business where I'm not concerned," Draco said, "and in your advancing age, I'll do the same for you."

Lucius scoffed. "Advancing age! Boy, I'll have you know that your father is still very much young."

"Sharing Daphne Greengrass's bed doesn't make you young," Draco said with a smirk, "it only makes you one of the few pureblood English wizards under the age of fifty. And even you won't be eligible for that category much longer."

Lucius sneered. "You wound me. But speaking of the lovely Greengrass family… how are things coming along with Astoria?"

"Fine," Draco said, his jaw clenching. His father knew Astoria was a subject he preferred not to talk about.

"When will you get on with the betrothal, then?"

"When I damn well want to, Father. Do not push me," Draco said snappishly.

"I will push as much as it takes," Lucius replied coolly. "You have one week. Astoria Greengrass will be wearing an engagement ring before our next meeting, or so help me, Draco, I will see that you lose the Malfoy name."

"In this political climate? You wouldn't dare," Draco challenged.

"In this political climate," Lucius said sharply, "your marriage to the Greengrass family is of the upmost importance. Do not ruin this deal for me, son."

"What deal do you have with Garrick Greengrass?" Draco demanded, unaware that there was anything besides the usual pureblood courtship going on.

"Take your own advice, Draco," Lucius said, "and keep your nose out of things that do not concern you. Just do as you're told and propose. Marriage isn't so terrible. You will find your distractions, as you always have."

…~oOo~…

~ So Long And Thanks For All The Fish ~