A/N: The general outrage over that cliffy made my dark, Slytherin heart very happy. I love you guys! Thanks for all the lovely reviews and a big fat welcome to newcomers!
Chapter Fifteen: To Admit a Mistake
Lestrange Mansion
April 2001
The Mansion was nearly empty. Hermione assumed whatever problem the Legion had encountered was what had called Rodolphos away so suddenly, and what kept the soldiers away even now. Since her encounter with Narcissa Malfoy two days past, she had spent her time sleeping and pacing her cell. She felt like something was coming, and not only because of the blonde woman's cryptic warning, but because she could feel it in her bones.
It was some hours after her evening meal when Hermione heard shouting and the distant blast of magic. Leaping from her cot, she stood ready in the middle of the small room - ready to fight, ready to die, ready to do anything but allow herself to remain a prisoner.
The door flew open and revealed the best, most beloved face.
"Hermione!" Ron cried.
She was in his arms before he could take another step. He was shaking as he held her tight, crying into her hair. "You're alive. You're alive. You're alive."
It didn't feel right. She didn't feel safe or comforted or clean. In all the fantasies of rescue she had allowed herself over the past months, the feelings were always the same. Ron had always been shelter and love, but now his embrace felt slimy. She probably just needed a bath.
"Get me out of here, please."
Luna's cell was empty. In between enemy wand fire and hiding around corners, Hermione tried to describe what she knew of the Mansion and where Luna was being kept. Ron assured her that Luna would be rescued, but Hermione still had to swallow a great lump of dread as they left the residence wing behind. After several minutes, they met Harry on the way to the roof. He didn't speak to Hermione directly but quickly kissed her on the forehead in greeting. That too felt a bit wrong.
"What took you so long?" Ron demanded.
"Ran into the Carrows," Harry answered.
"Luna?" Hermione asked desperately.
"She's safe."
The door to the roof was tiny. It was made of thick wooden beams held together by aged brass nails. Hermione took a moment to marvel at the innocuousness of such an important portal. When it opened, she sucked in a great lungful of air as she stared up at the stars. Had the sky always been so far away? She guessed her days in prison numbered near three months, but it had felt like years.
Luna stood stiffly and separate from her rescuers. Hermione ran to her, pulling her into a tight embrace. She could feel how the other woman struggled not to flinch away. It had been too long since either of them had been touched by a friend.
"You weren't in your cell," Hermione babbled. "I was so worried."
"Harry found me," Luna answered, her voice cold and distant.
Harry avoided her gaze as he mounted his broom. Hermione could only imagine what Harry had witnessed in Alecto's rooms. Despite the wall of ice Luna had erected around herself, she looked whole and hale. It was enough for now.
"We need to go!" Dawlish snapped.
"Ready to go home, 'Mione?" Ginny's embrace less off-putting, but still awkward.
Settling behind Ginny, Hermione tamped down the sudden rush of panic she felt at the question. Home? The concept was hazy. Could she go back? How could she be the person she had been before? It wouldn't take long for her friends to perceive the stain on her soul. They would know the things she had done.
"Let's go," she answered.
Dolores Umbridge hosted a party for her own birthday every year on the thirtieth of August. The evening fete was in full swing when George Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Lee Jordan slipped across the property wards. The magical protections were weak. George assumed Umbridge had lowered their sensitivity to allow her partygoers to move freely about. Or perhaps the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic had no fear of attack. George decided her guests were going to be quite put out by her lapse in judgement. Those who survived anyway.
A well-crafted disillusionment charm was enough to keep them hidden as they sprinted silently from shadow to shadow. Gods, he had missed this. Special strike teams were his niche, as he was good at sneaking around and thinking on his feet. It reminded him of his time at Hogwarts with Fred. When he was on a mission and the sweet adrenaline was pumping through his veins, he was clear-headed and had no need of potions or alcohol to keep his dark thoughts at bay.
Nothing can keep me away, Fred's voice penetrated his focus. You wouldn't want me to leave you anyway, would you Gred?
Never, Forge.
George took his position outside the ballroom. Kneeling down carefully, he tucked his prize inside a potted palm, doing his best not to ruffle the fronds. A very well-dressed couple passed his hiding spot, giggling to each other. George pressed himself against the wall and tried to breathe silently. He put two fingers to the silver band across his wrist, imbued with a Protean charm that would buzz when the other two wizards were in place.
He could hear tasteful music and the churning hum of voices. George listened to the tinkle of glass and utensils with nostalgia. He had never been one to attend fancy parties, but he remembered the Yule Ball during his sixth year, and several family holidays during which Mum had pulled out the crystal and silver. It brought to mind warmth and a full belly, and the high trill of his mother's laughter. So much loss.
Out of the corner of his eye, George saw a flash of orange. Whipping his head around, he witnessed a head of bright hair and freckled, gangly arms disappear around the corner.
Peek-a-boo, Georgie.
His heart was racing. It was just a hallucination. Just in his head. Fumbling in his coat pocket, George brought out the flask of hooch he had stashed there before he left Hogwarts. He drained it quickly before replacing his fingers on the silver bracelet. What the bloody hell was taking the others so long?
A tall woman paused near his hiding place, lighting a cigarette. She sniffed, then frowned, leaned forward and continued to scent the air as if searching for something. George belatedly realized as he let loose a small burp that she could probably smell the alcohol he had just consumed. He shrank back against the wall as far as he was able. The woman scrunched up her nose and reached for the delicate wand holster draped across her waist.
"Gwenna!" The woman whipped away at the sound of her name. "Alfred is looking for you, get back in here!"
With a long-suffering sigh, the woman stalked back into the ballroom, and George allowed himself to slide down the wall in relief. He desperately wished he'd taken a dose of his Calming Draught before leaving Hogwarts.
That was close.
Close indeed.
It took another lifetime of seconds before his silver band tickled his wrist with the long awaited alert. His head was swimming nicely by then, and he chuckled at the sensation. It took a moment for his tingling fingers to find the wand tucked in his invisible jacket. The spell took a moment longer, and then he was tip-toeing back through the halls.
They met on a tall hill some two miles from the house.
"How long?" Lee asked, shifting from one foot to another.
George shrugged. He had forgotten to set a countdown. "A minute or two."
It took just about five minutes. George was getting worried that one of them had set the spell incorrectly when the walls of the house exploded. A great tongue of fire leapt toward the sky as the dirt shook and rumbled loudly with the blast. Setting a delayed spell on his Eggbombs was the perfect way to cause a bit of mayhem.
"Bloody hell," Seamus whispered.
"Big boom," George confirmed before taking a sip from his flask.
This would buy them at least a few more days.
Well done, brother mine, Fred applauded.
Thank you, Fred.
The decision to report Hermione's activity had not come easily. Luna's confession had astounded Ron. He had not been convinced of Luna's claim that the Purebloods had discovered a way to win the war. Luna had been vague, but what she told him had still been hard to swallow. Harder still to believe that four former Slytherins and their mothers could have invented such magic. If it was true, then Ron had no choice but to bring it to Kingsley. No matter what Hermione believed, these people were strangers. There was no sense in giving them the ability to wipe out entire regiments with a sneeze.
The first time Ron had felt uneasy about talking to Kingsley was when he saw the thunderous look on the man's dark face. Ron had assumed he would feel the same concern for Hermione's safety, but instead, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix had been incensed by what he considered a betrayal. Hermione's actions were foolhardy, to be sure, and possibly mutinous, but were in no way directed at the Minister of Magic. If anyone had a right to be personally offended, it was Ron, but Kingsley seemed to display a level of anger that went beyond insubordination.
The second time Ron had experienced a twinge of unease was when Kingsley enlisted the help of Amos and Smith to break into Hermione's private quarters. They failed miserably, but managed to find plenty of damning evidence within the rooms of the Purebloods and inside a pieced-together Potions lab. Smith returned with bleeding ears and a broken rib, complaining loudly that Hermione wouldn't have such impenetrable wards if she had nothing to hide. Ron had knocked out his front tooth. Ron had done enough harm to Hermione's reputation without a fat flobberworm like Smith adding insults.
His anxiety only grew when Ron realized the magnitude of what Hermione was trying to accomplish. The contents of the Purebloods' notebook was far beyond his understanding, but Ron had understood enough to realize that the magic was revolutionary. The contents, even though they made Ron's head spin with confusion, had made him wonder why Kingsley had not jumped at the chance to perform such magic. He understood a desire to keep such power out of the hands of six possible enemies, but it would have been easy to commandeer the project and put Order soldiers in place of the Purebloods.
Ron accepted that he had made a mistake when he had to place magical incarcerous bonds around Hermione's wrists. The act brought back the memory of the bruises she had once borne there, and the white scars that still marred her skin. He mumbled an apology while she stubbornly avoided meeting his eyes. The walk to the dungeons seemed longer than ever before. Everyone was silent but for Amos, who insisted on muttering under his breath about traitors and Legionnaires and snakes.
The five prisoners were herded one by one into separate cells. Hermione stood as far away from Ron as possible and waited for her turn.
"Luna told you."
It wasn't a question, and so he felt no need to answer. A heavy weight settled in his belly. This feeling of overwhelming remorse was probably why he looked the other way when Malfoy approached Hermione in the narrow hall outside their separate cells. As the others were placed in their prison cells and their bonds released, Malfoy and Hermione stood close and whispered to each other.
Hermione was distraught despite her frosty exterior. Ron had learned to read her quite well over the years. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she pressed her elbows into her sides, how she stood on her toes, leaning forward ever so slightly as if ready to run at any moment. The calm facade she presented to the world had evolved through the early years of the war, and been perfected after her time in captivity. But Ron could see it. He also felt the wild magic radiating from her, making the hair on his arms and neck stand on end.
They were talking intensely in low tones. Instead of putting distance between himself and the buzzing power pouring out of the witch, Malfoy stepped closer. Ron would have put money on the impossibility, but as he watched, the man calmed her with his words. Only Luna could do that. Hermione stood as if frozen, looking into his eyes, their faces close enough for their noses to touch, and nodded slowly as he spoke to her. She took a shuddering breath and her body relaxed, settling back on her heels.
The magical energy pressing on his skin faded away and Ron finally understood the scope of his mistakes. He was about to put Hermione in prison. The very idea was repulsive. She wasn't in the hands of the enemy, she would not be tortured or raped, but she was going to be locked in a cage all the same. No amount of reasoning was going to keep Hermione from being traumatized, or keep Ron from hating himself.
Ron saw Malfoy's jaw tick as he released Hermione into Smith's hands. Hermione disappeared into her cell and Ron felt the heavy weight of Malfoy's accusing stare. He had no excuses for his behavior, other than the fact that he had wanted to keep Hermione safe. It was the one goal which had driven his life for more than a decade. That particular job no longer belonged to him, it would seem. Ron swallowed thickly and settled in to wait.
It took hours for Kingsley to summon her. Hours she had to spend in a dark, stone box, constantly reminding herself that she was at Hogwarts, not back in the home of the Lestrange's. Draco had broken her cycle of anxiety by sternly ordering her to keep her head on straight, to remember to breathe properly, and to keep herself from bringing the dungeons down around their ears. They were, after all, in the same prison, and it would be very impolite to kill everyone else as well as herself.
There had been something soft in his grey eyes as he spoke that took the sharp edge off his words. His voice had been steady, with not a trace of anxiety. Hermione had latched onto his gaze as if it could imbue her with his confidence. She desperately needed it. The future she had allowed herself to envision was slipping through her fingers like grains of sand and panic was taking its place. But Draco wasn't worried. He reminded her that Kingsley may be a giant prat, but he wasn't stupid. She just had to keep her wits about her.
As she sat across from Kingsley, she drew up the memory of that steadying encounter, and found herself unaccountably comforted. It was almost tangible, as if Draco had reached out and caressed her with a gentle hand. It balanced her enough to be able to calmly face the accusations her leader was throwing at her with fervor.
"I brought this to you as soon as I found out, if you remember." Hermione said.
"You failed to tell me that the magic had been proven!" Shacklebolt argued.
"I did my best to convince you, but your mind seemed made up." She was doing her best to sound reasonable. "I couldn't allow you to lock up the only people capable of recreating the magic because you were afraid of their power."
"You assume too much, Granger." Shacklebolt's dark face had turned to stone.
"I assumed correctly!" she returned. "Or have my assumptions not been realized this very afternoon with this ridiculous display?"
"You will remember to whom you speak!" he thundered.
Hermione turned her head away and took a deep breath. "I have never been more aware of your position."
"Excellent." The Minister of Magic was suddenly serene. The lightning quick change in temperament made Hermione nervous. "Then we may proceed under better terms."
Hermione withdrew her hands from the table, clenching them together out of sight. She had to bite her cheek to keep herself from retorting with words that might put her at a disadvantage.
"I wonder if you might solve a few riddles for me." Shacklebolt leaned back with an air of nonchalance. Spreading it on a bit thick, in Hermione's opinion. Well, two could play at that game.
"Yes, Minister, how can I help?"
Shacklebolt smiled a greasy smile and summoned a box from the corner of the room. It settled gently in front of him on the table, at which point he unpacked its contents one at a time. Hermione thought she recognized a quill, or perhaps that stack of parchment? Then her stomach dropped when a familiar, black research notebook was revealed, followed by four of the six glass vials of Fangjuice Mrs. Parkinson had completed just the day before. Hermione hoped she was keeping her face impassive as she felt panic crawl up her throat.
"You broke into my quarters?" she asked quietly.
"Your rooms were quite impenetrable. You should have laid the same protections upon your secret Potions lab."
The glass vials shuddered as the table shook.
Shacklebolt seemed unperturbed by the magical display as he idly flipped through the notebook. "Who did the Arithmantic calculations?"
"Zabini," she answered shortly.
"It seems his friends feature greatly in his list of candidates. Let us hope his conclusions are unbiased."
"Why would he lie?" she asked incredulously. "The ritual is deadly in the wrong hands. It makes no sense for him to endanger the lives of his loved ones needlessly."
"There is no telling the lengths to which some people will go to gain power." Shacklebolt fingered one of the vials.
"That is ridiculous!" Hermione burst out. "What good is power if you've joined the losing side in a decades-long war? If power was their goal, they were better off staying with the Legion."
"We are not losing," he ground out, his brow furrowing.
She was pushing too hard, Hermione could see it in the way he clenched his teeth. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. The tension was broken when Harry burst through the door.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt groused. "So nice of you to join us."
Harry was gasping. He leaned against the table, his cane propping up his other side while he caught his breath. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his face and neck, Hermione noticed. She hoped he had not overtaxed himself. He hobbled over to her seat and transfigured his cane into another chair before plopping down beside her. His good hand came to rest on her arm under the table like an anchor in a storm.
"So nice to have been invited, Minister," he quipped sarcastically.
"What I meant to say before," Hermione amended before Harry could continue. "Was that bringing this kind of magic to us would make little sense when Bellatrix could have made them rich and famous."
Shacklebolt harrumphed. "Perhaps."
"I'm not saying their motives were completely altruistic. They certainly have their own agendas, but they are not the enemy. In fact, if anyone deserves to be punished, it's me."
Harry clamped down on her shoulder, urging her to be quiet.
Hermione knew she was throwing herself on her own sword. She hoped it would be enough to keep Draco and the others from being too severely punished. The Minister had been shown up by a subordinate, and it wasn't the first time Hermione had done so. There was no doubt that Shacklebolt was aware of the widespread loyalty she commanded. The highly logical and detached part of her mind knew that she could take the Minister's should she put forth the effort. It was her deeply rooted sense of fairness and her own self-doubt that kept her from seizing power.
"Despite my better judgement, I will allow this project to continue. The benefits obviously outweigh the risks. We will simply need to keep a closer eye on Mr. Malfoy and his friends."
Hermione relaxed, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, sir."
"I see the names of Cho Chang, George Weasley and Luna Lovegood on this list. Lovegood's name was even magically removed. Why were they not included in your undertaking?"
"They were judged to be unsuitable," Hermione explained. "The calculations did not include variables of a more personal nature since Zabini was not familiar with the subjects."
He sighed and laced his hands together before speaking. "I have decided otherwise. Lovegood and Weasley will be included immediately."
Hermione blinked into the silence while Harry stiffened beside her. The sour feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified.
"That is unwise." Her voice was becoming strained once more.
"Chang presents obvious problems, but I see no reason why Weasley and Lovegood should not be allowed to participate."
She lost her composure then, standing up and slamming her fist on the table. A wind picked up, ruffling her curls. "George is a drunk and a drug addict, he won't make it through the ritual! And Luna. . ." she laughed incredulously. "You can't possibly think that giving Luna the ability to kill indiscriminately is a good idea?"
"Weasley is more than capable. And Lovegood's nature makes her a valuable weapon, so long as she is killing the right people," Shacklebolt said coldly.
Harry tugged her back into a seated position, still trying to catch his breath.
"Even if they were viable candidates," Hermione argued. "We don't have time to prepare them properly. We have days at most."
"We will do our best with what we are given," Shacklebolt replied cryptically.
"Please sir, don't do this," Harry pleaded. "Three against one is more than enough."
Hermione nodded. "We don't need to risk more lives to be successful."
"I don't agree. From my understanding, our dragons are more vulnerable than Bellatrix in her Animagus form. Five against one will ensure our success completely." Shacklebolt held up a hand to forestall her argument. "In any case, Granger, you need not concern yourself."
Hermione felt the color left her face. "I beg your pardon?"
"I can't allow you to continue in this project." Shacklebolt gave her a smile devoid of warmth. "You committed treason when you disobeyed my direct order. You also stole potion and healing supplies, lied about your activities, and left Hogwarts grounds without permission. I also assume you went into centaur territory in order to collect the Fireflower pollen, which is strictly forbidden."
"I did all those things," she admitted.
"But no harm came from her actions," Harry protested breathlessly.
Kingsley sighed. "Ms. Granger, you are reckless and insubordinate. It would be well within my power to lock you up for the duration."
Hermione folded her arms and glared at him. He wouldn't dare.
Harry blinked. "You won't do that."
"Won't I?" Shacklebolt cocked his head inquiringly. "You and Harry both believe you are too valuable, that I will overlook your constant lack of respect for my authority because I simply can't do without you."
Hermione was breathing hard, her nostrils flared and her jaw rigid with the strain of keeping her mouth shut. She clutched the edge of the table as she felt static dance up her arms. Harry seemed unaware of the charged magic, but Shacklebolt snatched his hands away with a grunt of pain and then rubbed his fingers together as if they were covered in something oily.
"The magnitude of your power is unarguable, but your magic is unreliable. You are not as irreplaceable as you think." Shacklebolt sighed. "Sometimes I lament my position as a politician. We are slaves to public opinion, and you are widely loved. But make no mistake, Granger, if you continue to interfere, I will exercise my power to remove you."
The threat was perfectly clear. There was more than one way to dispose of an enemy and make it look like an accident. Struggling to control herself, Hermione noticed that Harry was still sucking in lungfuls of air as if he'd been running.
"You would have a mutiny on your hands," he gasped.
"Perhaps," Kingsley stood up. "In any case, Granger, you are no longer a part of this project. I will be taking your place within the ranks of our dragon soldiers."
Taking her place? So the man thought he was qualified to attempt the transformation in her stead? It was a genius move on his part. It was also arrogant, self-serving, and dangerous and it made her vision go red.
"Kingsley, that - " Harry stopped speaking abruptly, his sweat soaked face going white as a sheet.
"Harry?" Hermione took hold of his arm just before he slid out of his chair. She stopped his fall as best she could, but he started convulsing and leapt out of her grasp, smacking his head on the floor.
"Get Madame Pomfrey!" Hermione screamed. "Or give me back my wand!"
Harry had bitten his tongue and blood was running from the corner of his mouth. Hermione turned him on his side and did her best to keep him still. His spine bowed and he groaned through his clenched teeth, gurgling through blood and saliva.
"Don't you dare leave us," she sobbed. "Not yet."
Kingsley was beside her. "Pomfrey is on her way."
The man cast a spell that lessened Harry's seizures as Hermione examined her friend carefully. His eyes were sunken in his head, his skin was waxy and pale. She should have been paying more attention. Had he been showing signs of his worsening condition? Had the curse finally destroyed the last of his life force? The weight of her sorrow made her bend over his still-twitching form.
"Please, hold on," she whispered in his ear.
Draco had felt trapped before. In fact, he considered his entire life to be one giant rabbit snare, and he the prey. It had been some time, however, since he had felt this precise kind of helplessness. He had been fifteen and had listened to his mother scream while under the cruciatus, tortured for her husband's failure to kill the Boy Who Lived in the Department of Mysteries. At the time, Draco had transferred that deep fear into a hatred of Harry Potter.
It was the kind powerlessness that was rooted in guilt. His mother had been roped into a life of servitude by her fanatical husband, and later, by her power-hungry son. She had paid dearly for the choices of the men in her life. Now he was responsible for the downfall of a woman who had put her trust in him, her hope for the future. He wanted to turn this castle to rubble. He wanted to fly away with her and keep her safe with his claws and teeth and breath.
He wished for four legs so he could pace properly. As it was, he stalked the length of the stone wall separating him from Hermione's cell and counted his strides. Three forward. Three back. The Dragon was equally restless, clawing at the back of Draco's mind with suggestions on how to revenge himself on his captors. Poison had always been a favorite with the Malfoys, but the Dragon demanded something more direct.
Was it possible that just hours before he had been basking in the light of her enthusiasm? He had licked into her mouth as if he could lap it up with his tongue. He had feigned ignorance and then done his best to distract her when Hermione had surfaced from her meditative state and spoken of seeing his dragon form. The truth was far more unsettling.
As her breath had evened out, and her body had fell limp against his, he had unconsciously matched his breathing to hers. It had taken only a few moments to fall into a self-induced hypnosis with her. What followed was impossible to explain. One did not share one's subconscious with another, and yet, when he had opened his dragon eyes he had beheld the beautiful, shining creature that was her alternate form.
Mate, the Dragon had snarled with delight. Claim her.
And he had been about to do just that when she had spotted him. The shock of seeing his dragon form must have pulled her out of her relaxed state, for they had both been yanked back to reality. Draco had been shaken to the core. Even now, if he closed his eyes and grounded himself, he could feel the tiny, vibrating thread of her anxiety. He allowed himself a small moment of fantasy, in which he would be able to comfort her. He might touch her shoulders and feel them relax under his hand.
The door to Draco's prison cell opened, ending his reverie, and Ron Weasley stepped inside. He looked miserable. Strangely enough, the man inspired little animosity. If Hermione came to any harm, the red-headed weasel would have to live with the guilt. They both would.
"Is she okay?" Draco asked him.
"She's been returned to her room," the man replied. "She has not been prosecuted for treason, but she's been forbidden from completing her transformation."
"What a bloody fucking waste," Draco snarled. "Am I to be culled for the greater good then?"
"No," Weasley laughed humorlessly. "Kingsley would never allow an asset like you to slip from his fingers. He's going to ride you like Firebolt."
"Lovely."
Weasley then filled Draco in on all that he knew. Draco decided he could happily wrap his hands around Shacklebolt's neck and watch the light leave his eyes. Or perhaps he would simply pour something special in his tea.
"And how did Granger take all of this information?" Draco was certain she was at this moment crumbling Hogwarts's centuries old, stone foundation with her mind.
"She was disappointed and angry."
And understatement, surely.
"Also," the man swallowed and looked away, but not before Draco saw his eyes glaze with tears. "Harry had a fit. He's in the hospital wing. Pomfrey doesn't think he'll walk again."
They were so close to the end. Why did it feel like the whole thing was falling apart? Draco tucked his misery away and tried to focus.
"Where is my mother?" he demanded.
The Weasel shifted his shoulders uneasily. "Both Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Parkinson are being held at the home of Andromeda Tonks until their complicity is determined."
"They were to leave in the morning," Draco reminded him. "Why couldn't you just let them go?"
"It wasn't my call."
Draco looked Weasley in the eye long enough to communicate his disgust. It took but a moment for the other man to glance away.
"Am I free to go then?" He needed to get to Hermione, to see her with his own eyes. "And my friends as well?"
"That's right. But you'll be watched closely, and expected to help with whatever needs to be done with the dragon thing."
Dragon thing? Draco almost rolled his eyes. How could a man so stupid have so much power?
He was passing Weasley on the way out of his cell when Weasley stopped him. Draco's wand appeared out of the man's back pocket. Draco snatched it away quickly, repulsed by Weasley's carelessness. He was lucky the thing wasn't broken.
"I was wrong about all of this," Weasley said. "And I've been a right arsehole. I'm sorry."
There was no proper word to describe Draco's feeling at Weasley's words. Astonishment? Incredulity? Nothing could quite encompass the depth of it. Draco had a vivid imagination and had often pictured what it might be like to have any one of his enemies beg for forgiveness, but never in his wildest fantasies could he have created such a scenario as this. It took a very brave man to so blatantly admit his mistakes. Draco felt a very small measure of respect for the redhead as he took his hand in a firm grasp. Bloody Fucking Gryffindors.
"Thank you," Draco responded, feeling inadequate in the face of all that sincerity.
"Now that we're best friends," Weasley quipped. "I have an idea I want to run past you."
Hermione was angry with Luna. They were arguing in Hermione's room in the old dungeons and Luna could feel all the rock and damp earth pressing against her skin like a grave. Grave, ghouls, gods-forsaken. She hated being inside. Hermione was in a state, her magic rippling up and down her arms in shimmering waves, and sparking off the tips of her curls as she slumped against her lakeview window.
Luna had been certain she would understand, and was confused by her refusal to listen to reason. Harry's sudden downward turn had broken something in Hermione and had added to the stress of her brief incarceration and subsequent punishment. Hermione had decided that Luna had betrayed her on a very deep level, and Luna was having a hard time changing her mind.
"They can't be trusted!" Luna tried again.
"Oh, will you please stop?" Hermione pleaded wearily. "You sound like Ron!"
Luna sighed. "I heard they removed you from the project. I'm sorry for that, at least. Kingsley is afraid of what you'll do with that kind of power."
"Oh, who gives a shit about the power?" Hermione cried. "Harry's getting worse and I'm worried about George! If he doesn't sober up he'll most certainly get himself killed."
"You aren't worried about me?"
Hermione didn't answer for a moment, but stared at Luna with penetrating eyes. "I know you'll survive."
She said it curtly and did not elaborate. The unspoken words were what hurt the most. Hermione and Luna had danced around the truth of Luna's nature, and Hermione had been more than willing to overlook the bits of darkness that periodically seeped to the surface. "Your reluctance is understandable. You know me better than anyone."
Hermione started pacing. "I never thought you, of all people, would betray my trust."
"It was for your own good." Luna was tired of repeating herself. "I did it because I love you and I want you safe."
"You don't get to decide that!"
"The way you decided to remove my name from that list?"
She didn't deny it. Instead, she leaned against the window and closed her eyes in defeat. "Everything is such a mess. I hope you make the right choice."
As if there was any choice at all. "Make no mistake, I will take the power Kingsley is offering, a power you should never have kept from me, and I will use it as I see fit."
"You've become so cold hearted, Luna." Hermione was staring into the black lake pensively. "I thought we were saved that day on the rooftop. But I feel like we've never really left."
Luna laughed. "Saved? I can't be saved! The sweet, naive girl who held your hand through that hole in the wall is gone."
"I know." Big brown eyes looked over at Luna with such sadness and regret. It made Luna irrationally angry.
"I didn't need to be rescued then, and I don't need your pity now. The dungeons of Lestrange Mansion were like a forge, and Alecto was the blacksmith. She took me, formless and weak, and remade me into a weapon. Something neither you nor anyone else in this gods-forsaken rubbish heap can understand."
"You're right," Hermione whispered. "I don't understand any of that. What am I missing?"
"Everything! Nothing at all." Luna searched for the words, even knowing that the syllables when they were spoken, would mean the end of their friendship. "There is such beauty in the blood drawn from a human when it is done with precision and intention. It is an art. I was an artist and she was my Master."
"You don't mean that." Her face was a mask of horror and disgust. "That woman forced you to do those things."
"She never forced me to do anything. That was the artistry of her torture." Hermione was looking at her with wide, repulsed eyes. Luna gasped a shallow breath and spat out, "You can't possibly understand! Rodolphos took you after only a week. You were lucky to be under his protection. She found me bleeding in my cell after weeks of rape and torture. I was no longer able to even cry. I was no longer even human. I was worthless, weak, wretched."
Hermione flinched.
"She asked me if I wanted to learn from her. She saw something in me!" Luna was feverishly spilling out her heart, even though Hermione was recoiling and shaking her head in denial. "I resisted at first, but it didn't take long before I craved the power. And I wanted to make her happy, to see the gleam of approval in her eyes when I had reduced a prisoner to a gibbering pile of flesh. I wanted all of it." She paused and ready the final blow. "I miss it still."
"That's not true!" A wind picked up inside the room and Hermione's hair stood on end.
"You know it is! You've been comfortable turning a blind eye, but you know what I truly am."
"I can't!" Hermione collapsed to the ground, hands over her ears. Bright white flames were sparking from her hair and veining down her arms. "I can't listen to this."
Luna erected a magical shield around herself as the lightning bolts of power started lashing through the room. If there was one thing she mourned from her previous life, it was the ability to feel remorse for what she had done to Hermione and all the different ways in which she had failed her friend. As it was, Luna clucked her tongue in disappointment at the woman curled into a ball on the floor and then left the room. She had meditations to complete.
A/N: Much love!