I don't own any part of Harry Potter or make money from this fic.
AN: It occured to me I should mention this is so totally and completely AU. XD Also, hurray for more exposition...?
Hermione awoke like she did every night, sweat pouring from her brow, her blankets bunched in a corner of the bed and her body on fire. She tore from her bed in time to hurl into the toilet, barely missing the orange bathroom rug.
Not that another stain there would have mattered, as the vomit matched its color perfectly.
She lunged for the bottle of pills on the counter by the sink and downed three, along with a glass of icy water before she huddled down against the wall- toilet before her, door beside her, pills in hand.
Sleep blurred her vision again, but she jerked her head up and sat shivering on the floor until dawn brightened the window shade. Only then did she crawl from her spot and slither back onto her bed, leaving the covers as they were, and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
"Two?" Head Auror Potter repeated, his voice strained.
The nameless peon of the Rehabilitation, Assessment and Time-served Service, or RATS, glanced up from his papers. He was clearly nervous, but who wouldn't be? He was in Harry Potter's presence. The aurors were a dangerous bunch, these days. Good at their jobs- too good, some said- and absolutely without mercy. Or maybe it was more of a mercy to kill the evil-doers outright than parade them before the council, anymore. After all, look at what the council had done to dozens of wizards and witches so far- put them in RATS, loaned them out to witches and wizards who still had issues they needed to work through, then didn't bat an eye when said prisoners turned up dead or worse. The peon resisted the urge to shiver.
He had to run all new "indentures" by the Head Auror, because an auror had to be present at every release in case some thing went awry. The auror was tasked with protecting the master from the new servant and likewise, the servant from the new master. He (or she, heaven help her) had to go over every inch of the new master's home and make sure nothing untoward was going on, at least on the surface. They rarely bothered to look behind closed doors. Except for the Head Auror, himself. Potter was rumored to be more exacting than many of his men (and women, bless them).
"Uh, that's what the paperwork says, sir," the peon responded. "Ms. Hermione Granger, witch, graduated Hogwarts, war hero, requests allowance of two indentures for troubles taken during the second wizarding war."
Harry ground his teeth, then gestured for the peon to leave his paperwork and go.
"Chain of command, sir, I cannot let these papers out of my-"
"Leave the fucking papers and go," Harry said quietly. "I am the chain of command, here."
The peon left. Harry sighed, rubbed his temple- merely force of habit, these days- and then pulled the paperwork over. He wasn't happy about it, but by Merlin he wasn't going to question Hermione. If anyone deserved two of the bastards, she did. Still, his heart skipped when he read the names.
He signed off anyway, and put his name as attending auror.
"I'm twenty-six," Hermione whuffed, stirring her coffee. "It's been eight years. Why hasn't it gotten better?"
Ginny eyed her sadly and took a drag from her cigarette. She blew the smoke out Hermione's open back door.
"Why do you think I started smoking?" she responded, stubbing the butt out on the door jamb and then flicking it out into the backyard.
"Ginny, you know those aren't biodegradable," Hermione grumbled.
"Ah ah," Ginny said. "I switched brands. Green cigarettes. Sounds funny, doesn't it? You'd think they'd be lucky or something."
"Yeah, if your fondest wish is to die of lung cancer."
"Hey, at least I'm not addicted to muggle prescription drugs," Ginny shot back and Hermione glared at her and dumped her coffee in the sink.
"Fuck you."
"Maybe some day," Ginny replied coyly. Hermione laughed in spite of herself.
"So today's the day."
"So it is," Ginny said, then turned serious again. She leaned on the island in the kitchen of the old farmhouse. "And there's nothing wrong with you, Hermione. So you're twenty-six and still have issues, so what? I'm twenty-five and it's the same way. Bill is much older than either of us and he still has nightmares from his attack, or so Fleur tells me. Even Dad-"
"It's different for them," Hermione mumbled.
"Yeah, it is. But there's no time limit on the healing process. Don't push yourself. You're still going to that therapist- so am I. Look at us. We're standing on our own two- four- feet. We have jobs. We're contributing members of society."
"With addictions and a swiftly dwindling pool of friends."
Ginny scowled. "Don't remind me. I still can't believe I'm forced to go drinking with Penelope fucking Clearwater for kicks."
"She had it as bad as we did."
"She got off easy."
"Not from you, she doesn't."
"Fine, fine. She's kind of alright. Happy?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not in the least. Come on, we're going to be late-"
Ginny stopped her and looked at her for a long moment. "Hermione," she began. "I promise you we'll be alright someday."
I know you think that, Hermione thought. But not here, I won't.
Aloud she said, "I know. Someday. Cheers?"
"Cheers. Come on, let's go sign on the dotted line. Lord, I need another fag."
When Harry arrived at Sirius' all he saw of Hermione and Ginny at first was the backs of their heads. Ginny he would still recognize anywhere- he'd love that head of red hair until the day he died. Hermione, on the other hand, was a different woman. Gone were her wild curls, replaced by straightened, lightened, and layered locks that fell to her shoulders and a little down her back. Blond highlights streaked her hair, set off nicely by the tanned skin of her arms.
Arms that had held him closely, two or three nights once upon a time. He took a deep breath and steeled himself before he announced his presence. It wasn't so much that he hadn't seen Hermione in a long time- because in reality, he saw her nearly once a week. It was more that the shock of what had happened to her face never came easy. Whenever he saw her, now that he'd trained himself to recognize the new hair, he expected the woman who turned to greet him to have his friend's same heart shaped face, same straight teeth and brilliant smile, same delicately arched brows.
Instead he was greeted with only half a memory, while the other half was pink and puckered. And even though the same smile shone through the scars and the same arch of brow remained, marked by streaks of white scar tissue, the brilliance was gone. It was as if only half her soul, half her spark of life, remained.
He forced his lips up into an easy smile- ah, the joys of muscle memory- and Hermione immediately went to him, put her arms about his neck. Yes, that was right and familiar. He turned to Ginny next, who touched him gingerly, and still it was more than he'd been expecting from her. Perhaps this exchange would be a good idea for them, after all.
"Harry," Sirius spoke, and his voice was the only familiar, healthy sound in the room. Harry hugged him, too, then stood back and gestured for them to proceed.
And they got down to business.
Draco could hear them. He didn't know where in the house they were, but he'd swear he could hear them. Could smell them. Granger smelled like orange and juniper.
It was the best smell that had been in his cell in weeks.
He told himself that was the only reason he could remember the way it had sifted up his nostrils and down his throat after she'd left.
Or maybe he was going crazy.
"Dad," he said, putting a hand on Lucius' shoulder, shaking him. "Dad, they're here. They'll be coming for me soon. Dad." He leaned over, rested his forehead on the older man's shoulder. "Dad."
Lucius didn't respond at first, but as the seconds ticked by, Draco felt his father shift, then roll over and finally put an arm about his shoulders. He pulled his son down to him and they lay together on the narrow cot, Draco's head on his father's chest, listening to nothing and everything.
It was the most life Lucius had shown in days and Draco knew he was crying, but he couldn't help it. Lucius' hand began to move in small circles over Draco's back and finally, so soft Draco wasn't sure he heard it at all, the man spoke.
"Love you," he rasped.
Draco sat up and stared down at his father, who looked up past his son's face, to the ceiling.
"Whatever happens," came the raspy voice again. "Love you."
Draco bit his lip and then pressed his forehead to his father's. Lucius' eyes looked into his without seeing him.
"I love you too, Dad," Draco replied softly.
And then the sounds of footsteps were real and Draco sat up abruptly, wiped his cheeks, and stood.
Hermione hesitated at the door of the cell and Sirius motioned once again. Harry came to a stop beside her.
"You sure about this?" he murmured. "It's not too late to back out. Let someone else have them."
Hermione opened her mouth and was about to respond when Draco stepped forward, peering out of the darkness at them.
"That you, mudblood?" he called in a shaky voice.
Hermione turned to look at Harry. "No," she said simply, "they're mine."
Thinking she was speaking to him, Draco practically snarled. "I'm not anybody's, least of all yours, Granger. You'll regret this, you bitch. Signing my father's death certificate- I'll make sure you regret it, that's a promise."
Harry lifted his wand, but Hermione shook her head. I can fight my own fucking battles, Harry, her eyes said. He stepped back.
"Really? So you want me to leave your father in here to rot, is that it?" she called. She moved into the cell and motioned to Harry. "A pity. That's more paperwork."
"What…" Draco's face grew pinched. "What are you on about?"
"I said, 'That's more paperwork,' but if you really want me to take only you, I suppose we can arrange it."
"You want us both-"
"That's what I've been saying, Malfoy," Hermione replied coolly, inspecting her fingernails- trimmed short, with a layer of grime beneath the stubs. They clashed with every other perfectly put together part of her. She picked some dirt out and didn't say another word. Draco blinked stupidly and looked to Sirius, then Harry.
"Both of us."
"Hell, are we done here yet? I have things to do," Hermione said. She nodded at Harry, who stepped forward and chained Draco's hands and feet. Then he stepped over the Lucius, who seemed to be sitting of his own accord.
"No, don't-" Draco began, but shut up when Hermione's cold eyes met his.
"Why?" she asked.
Sirius spoke up. "Probably too weak to bear them. A simple spell should suffice."
Draco didn't say another word, merely watched silently as Harry spelled his father into submission- even the spell was unnecessary, in his own opinion. Then he followed Sirius from the cell while Harry and Hermione hung behind them, watching their every move. Or maybe Granger was inspecting her nails some more. He didn't know and he frankly didn't care.
His father wasn't being left alone. Whatever fresh hell was headed their way, they could face it together. It was almost more than he could bear right then and he knew his eyes were watering dangerously. He dared a quick glance over his shoulder at Granger, to where she now stood with Harry, going over some of the more pertinent details of their release.
She was shaking. Barely, but he could see it. The edge of one of the papers flapped dangerously in the still room. His eyes flicked to her face only to find her watching him, in return. The paper shook more violently until Potter reached over and took it from her. Draco looked away.
What the fuck had happened to her?
Same fucking thing that happened to all of us, he answered himself. War.
Then they were passing more security and Sirius was waving goodbye to Granger and Potter and they were being ushered into a vehicle with bars on the back windows that had no doubt been charmed to look like an ordinary muggle car. It looked like what it was to him, though. A prison bus. Draco's quick eyes picked up a flash of red hair in the front portion and he gazed across from himself to see Zabini. He didn't smile at his once classmate.
Zabini returned the favor by ignoring him. The message between most of the prisoners was pretty clear. If we all pretend this isn't happening , that we don't see our once powerful fellow wizards disappearing into the night to become slaves to muggles and Potter's comrades, we can die with some dignity.
The bus passed out of the City quickly and pulled to a stop in front of some remodeled town homes. Potter disembarked the vehicle with Weasley and Zabini. Draco's eyes followed them up to the front door of the apartment building and then cut away to his father. He had bigger things to worry about than Blaise Zabini, who could, of course, take care of himself.
He considered talking to Hermione while they waited, but of course why would he want to do that. He snorted and shifted on the bench, looked over at his Father, whose eyes were closed. At least he was still upright. That had to be a good sign.
Then, just as he was getting ready to open his mouth to speak to Granger (against his better judgment), Potter was back and the vehicle was moving again.
AN: Also, I'd apologize for the foul language, (How many f-bombs? Can you count them?) but it seems appropriate for this story, somehow. Eff eff efffffff.