Chapter 36: Resisted Allegiance

The dark skinned woman with long black hair slumps in the chair. Her wrists are bound to the arms and her ankles to the legs of the chair. A few extra magical ties go around her middle and shoulders. The dark circle under her eyes and wrinkles across her forehead makes her looked worried even while being unconscious.

Hermione takes in her form with Draco at her side. Luna steps forward.

"She didn't choose this," Luna says. "Be kind." She disappears out of the room. The pair wait until her eyes snap open and search the room.

"Draco?" she says. "Where am I?"

"Mrs. Zabini?" he says. She glances around the room nervously.

"Oh no," she whispers. "Oh no, no, no, oh no." Draco approaches her slows.

"Mrs. Zabini," Draco tries again. The witch in question starts sobbing.

"Let me out," she screeches, pulls at the restraints.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Hermione says calmly, stepping forward.

"You bitch," she spits.

"Why did you follow me?" Hermione asks.

"To get to your headquarters," she sneers. "Because I was order to," she says as tears slide down her cheeks. The younger witch shares a worried glance with Draco. The Jekyll and Hyde personality is unnerving to say the least.

"I want my boy," she cries. "I will serve until death," she hisses.

"Mrs. Zabani?" Draco says softly, taking a step further. "What happened to you?"

"You blood-traitor," she spits. "I had to," she whines.

"Had to what?" he presses.

"Had to follow you," she cries. "Had to worship the Dark Lord."

"No," Draco whispers and stumbles back a step. She screams out and pulls against the bounds that dig into her flesh. A jet of red light hits the witch and she slumps in her chair once more.

Hermione turns to Draco who stows his wand and sits down on the floor.

"What was that?" she asks. "Has she lost her mind?" He shakes his head.

"No, just her will," he replies. Hermione sits beside him. He runs his hands over his face.

"He didn't touch purebloods for a long time last time around," he says, staring at the unconscious witch. "Even by the time he got around to it, the Zabini's were in hiding. Still, she died and so did Blaise. But this...he never did this to purebloods. He may have taken Tracey, may have enslaved her, but…"

"What did he do?" Hermione asks slowly.

"There are a couple of spells in play here," he still hasn't taken his eyes off Mrs. Zabini. "Step one, the subject is imperiused into entering a contract of servitude. Step two, they are tortured until they cannot think beyond the next moment. Then the contract of servitude urges them to follow the will of their master, entering into a blood ritual that binds the will. By then end, the magical has lost everything that was once them. They will now follow orders unreservedly, marching right into death if told. Even in their thoughts they cannot defy their master."

"That's sick," she whispers.

"Yes."

"Do they all have dual personalities then?"

"No, the ritual wasn't done correctly. She wasn't broken before she entered the blood ritual. Most likely because Blaise is alive and out there."

"What can we do?" she asks. "It's like Luna said, she didn't choose this life." Draco sighs and puts his face in his hands.

"Because she has some sense of self, you can cast a spell to interfere with the bound side when talking to her, but that's temporary. Part of her will try to betray us to the very end," he replies.

"You mean there is no way to reverse it?"

"Never."

More sleeping draught is fed to Mrs. Zabini and Hermione sits on watch while Draco brews a potion. He returns to the room four hours later. The sun is sinking and casting the room into shadows. Draco pours three vials of the thick blue liquid down her throat before casting a spell.

"Now we wait," is all he says.

Two hours later, the woman still bound to the chair stirs. Draco nudges Hermione awake. Understanding passes over Mrs. Zabini's eyes and she starts to cry silently. Draco pulls a chair up and sits in front of her.

"I'm sorry," he says. She shakes her head. "Do you remember…" He leaves the question hanging in the air.

"Everything," she answers.

"What has been done to you is vile," Hermione says, sitting in a chair she places next to Draco. The older witch nods. "Do you know of any way to reverse it?"

"There is no reversing it," Mrs. Zabini replies.

"Why did they do this to you?" Draco asks. "You're a pureblood."

"That matters little now," the woman answers. "They wanted Blaise to join, but I had already tucked my boy away. When I wouldn't tell them where he was...well they found other uses for me." The lids slide close over Draco's pained eyes. The muscles tick as his jaw tightens.

"Is Blaise still safe?" Hermione asks. A smile breaks over her lips.

"You cannot make a mother betray her child," she answers. Hermione lets go of a relieved sigh.

"You-Know-Who tends to underestimate mothers," the younger witch says with a returning smile. Mrs. Zabini's smile turns into a grimace.

"I don't have long," she gasps. "Even now I can feel it fighting to get me free and back to the master." Hermione shares a look with Draco.

"We can't let you go," she says softly. "We could obliviate you, but…"

"No," she grinds out through clenched teeth. "You'll only be safe if I'm dead. My son...protect him."

"We will bring him here," Hermione promises. "We can sedate you until then, so that you can see him again."

"No," Mrs. Zabini says. "I do not have that long and...I don't want him to see me like this."

"I'm so sorry," Draco says, standing from his chair. The woman nods and closes her eyes.

"Is there anything you want me to tell your son?" Hermione asks desperately.

"My light, my love, my soul, I will love you forever and more," she says and then begins thrashing in the chair. Draco places a hand on Hermione's arm and pulls her away from the witch. The chair clatters to the side, the woman still bound.

"Filthy little mudblood," the woman curses as the chair splinters under her writhing. Draco raises his wand. He knew her well, the mother of his childhood friend. Draco's arm, out straight pointing to at the woman, is still, despite the tensed muscles running through it. His face is a passive facade though his jaw tightens once more. Every muscle wound tight through the entire body, yet the mask cracks around his eyes. The grey orbs are broken and sad.

She's spitting now, cursing everyone and everything with words alone. The tip of Draco's wand begins to shake and still he doesn't speak.

"Please," Mrs. Zabini cries. Hermione places a gentle hand on Draco's wand arm and push to his side.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispers, then cast a strong cutting curse across her neck. She turns away from the sight before she can see the spell hit, see the blood spills out around the body as it stills. She hears choked sobs and Draco wraps her up in his arms before she realizes she's the one crying.

He leads Hermione away to their room. After magically switching her clothes for her sleeping ones, he tucks her into bed, tears still sliding down her cheek.

"I'm going to contact Blaise," he says, kissing her forehead. "I'll be right back." Draco slips out of the room. It's midnight.

The silence is so loud. Those fierce black eyes haunted with sadness stare at Hermione from the shadows of the room.

"There will always be casualties," Harry says, stepping into the room. "You told me that."

"You don't understand," Hermione sobs. "She was innocent."

"Draco told me everything," Harry whispers back. "It was a mercy."

"You weren't the one holding the wand," she cries. Harry sits on the edge of the bed and grips her hand.

"You couldn't save her," he presses.

"I killed her," she says, staring into those green eyes, begging him to understand. "I've never killed an innocent." He squeezes her hand and closes his eyes against her pain.

"I know," he whispers. He stays for a long time, long after she's run out of tears, long after the sun rises for a new day, so long.

Draco enters the room silently.

"Blaise will be here tomorrow," he says. Harry nods to him and rises from the bed.

"Take care of her, of each other," he whispers as he passes Draco on his way out. Draco slides into bed and pulls Hermione into his arms.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she whispers automatically. He rests his chin on the top of her head.

"I'm sorry you had to do that," he replies. "I should have…" Hermione pulls away to look into his eyes.

"No one should have had to do that," she says. "She was you best mate's mum. I couldn't ask you to do that."

"To spare you this," he says, twirling a curl around his finger, "I wish I had." Hermione snuggle back into his chest.

"It had to be done, right?" she asks.

"Yes. It would have been cruel to send her back to those monsters and there wasn't a way that she could be cured. It was the only option." Hermione nods in his arms.

"When will this war end?" she whispers.

"The last week in November," he answer.

"Too far."

Draco goes down to breakfast alone and Hermione wanders to a room she had only been in once since they'd moved in. The body is gone, so is the chair. She feels empty as she looks at the stain on the wooden floor.

Slipping to the ground, her hand reaches out of it own accord. She doesn't know what to expect, but the texture of only wood seems wrong. It's not wet. It's not slick. Not dirty. Not grimy. No...just wooden floors.

If it wasn't for the stain, she could almost believe she'd got the wrong room. She stays there for hours, palm planted flat on the only reminder of the woman she murdered.

Luna steps into the room. Her footfalls are lite and Hermione wonders for a moment if she's been eating enough. The brunette lays on the floor, eyes watching the stain and her hand still touching the too clean floor. Luna sits on the other side of the stain and looks at her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. Hermione shakes her head a little.

"Not your fault," the older witch replies, but the word are empty. Hermione hasn't shed a tear since last night, but she can't shake the hole in her chest. She's seen many people die and she's killed before as well, but this time...it's different. She lived through a war, survived it. Yet this death, this lost life, the weight is different than the ones she's used to carrying.

"Bellatrix is a hard one, being so flighty as she is," Luna says. "That was the only time I'd seen that one of our didn't have a 72% chance of death or higher. 'Course, her death wasn't all that high in the odds either." Luna looks away from the floor to one of the windows. "But I couldn't leave her there, not when there was something I could do…" Hermione's eye flash to the blonde.

"Luna…" She leaves the name in the air, not sure what she should ask.

"Yes, I did this," Luna says. Hermione knows there should be a reaction to those words, but she simply shrugs and looks back to the remnants of blood.

"I couldn't leave her like she was," Luna explains. "So much death...every possible future has so much death. It was the only mercy I could offer her...the only one left for her."

Luna stands and walks out of the door. Time slips away again.

Tracey walks in and grabs Hermione's arm.

"Up you go, Granger," Tracey says, tugging at the limb. After a moment of letting her try to pull her whole weight to her feet, Hermione relents and stands. Tracey leads her to the door. Hermione glances at the stain again.

"What happened to the body?" she asks, perplexed that it hadn't occurred to her before. Tracey stops and stiffens.

"Draco buried her," she whispers, a weight to the words. "Last night, after contacting Blaise. There's a cemetery around the corner." Tracey pulls her through the door.

Draco sits on the floor in the hallway, head in his hands. Unable to enter that room again, he'd sat here all day, being with his witch as much as he could. He looks up as the witches near, dark circles encasing his eyes.

Hermione disengages from Tracey and walk to his side. Holding out a hand to him, they both stay silent and he takes it.

Draco and Hermione go back to their room before they cling to each other in a tight hug. They allow this moment, a moment of pain and mourning.

Tomorrow their members grow by another who will be mourning as well. They'll look to the future tomorrow, make plans and move forward. Tonight, though, they'll mourn in each other's arms.