CHAPTER VII
Hermione did have a plan, and by the time Arthur and Remus returned an hour later with the witch's address, she and Draco were ready to enact it. She had realised from experiences prior that no matter what time they arrived at the store, the Death Eaters turned up no more than ten minutes later.
Ten minutes. They had ten minutes to warn Ndidi, retrieve the clock and get all five of them out of there.
On the doorstep, Hermione wavered, struck still with what suddenly seemed to be an overwhelming task. But then warm fingers brushed her wrist, and squeezed.
"Twenty-fourth time's the charm," Draco murmured in her ear, then winked over his shoulder as he followed the other men inside.
It did appear to be the charm, because they had Ndidi on side in minutes, much to Arthur and Remus's complete and utter bewilderment, and were down in the woman's underground workshop, helping her pack up her research on Horcruxes several minutes later.
"The clock," Hermione said, catching Malfoy's eye.
"The clock," he agreed and followed her swiftly through the shelves.
They were nearly there when a yell and the shatter of glass signalled they were almost out of time.
"Come on," Draco said, urging her on with a hand to her back. A glance behind as she ran confirmed the Death Eaters had arrived; she could see bright flashes of spells, red, blue and purple, above the shelves.
And then they stopped. Hermione could only presume it was because Ndidi and the others had heeded her advice and successfully Apparated away. The alternative didn't bear thinking about.
"Here!" She skidded to a halt beside the clock. "Here, help me shift it."
Malfoy put his wand beneath his teeth and, together, they hefted it up from the base. Merlin's beard, it was heavy—and bulky to boot. But if they were going to Side-Along the thing out of here, they needed a good grip.
"Watch it," Draco grunted as it slipped in her hands, sending Enekpe veering dangerously towards her chin. Fortunately, the water seemed to be charmed against such manhandling, and didn't slop over the edge of the pool.
"We need to go," she said breathlessly. It wouldn't be long before the Death Eaters spread out into the shelves to hunt them down.
"Got it?" he asked and, when she nodded, he braced himself more firmly against the clock and took out his wand.
Her stomach flipped as just a little way down the aisle, a hooded figure stepped from between the shelves.
Lucius.
"Now!" she cried. The shout drew Draco's father's attention—his head snapped towards them, wand raised—but it was too late; Malfoy had spirited them away.
She held onto the clock tightly as the wind roared around them and the ground vanished from beneath her feet.
After a few moments of wild whirling, they landed with a jolt back at the safe house—the hallway, to be exact. Her boots slipped a little, but she caught herself, grimacing as the weight of the clock wrenched her shoulders.
"Alright?" Draco asked, eyeing her with concern.
"Yeah." She exhaled slowly, relief filtering through her like rays of sunlight. "I'm alright."
"Let's get this down," he said, nodding towards the clock. "Here should be…"
He trailed off suddenly, eyes catching on something behind her.
"Kingsley?" he said faintly. Hermione turned, although the weight of the clock in her arms made it difficult for her to twist very far.
It was far enough.
Kingsley lay flat on his stomach in the open doorway, his cheek pressed to the rug. He was dead; there was no doubt about it. His eyes were open and clouded, staring blindly across the floor.
"Kingsley!" she cried.
"Quick. Get this on the ground," Malfoy said, and they lowered the clock hurriedly to the floor.
There were scorch marks on the door, she realised when she hurried over. And through it, in the front room, another body. George Weasley, slumped across an abandoned game of wizard's chess, eyes closed, skin white beneath his freckles.
She checked his pulse, but he was gone. Merlin, how could he be gone?
"Hermione." She looked up to see Draco framed in the doorway, his expression grim. "There are more out here."
He was right. Molly on the stairs, Hestia in the kitchen. They were dead. They were all dead.
"What the hell happened here?" she asked dazedly.
Her eyes snapped upwards, the haze evaporating instantly as someone walked over the floorboards above them. A door shut with a bang, then she heard voices: the low murmur of men, followed by the shriller tone of a woman—muffled through layers of wood and plaster, but entirely recognisable.
Bellatrix.
Voldemort's most loyal follower, the maddest witch Hermione had ever had the misfortune to encounter, and Draco's aunt.
"Shit," Draco said, face ashen.
The footsteps above them started suddenly towards the stairs.
"Come on," he said, catching her wrist and tugging her towards the cupboard beneath the staircase. Hermione resisted.
"Wait, the clock!"
She Levitated the clock into the cupboard, quickly and with shaking hands. No sooner had she set it down, Draco was shoving her in after it. With a glance upwards, he followed her, wrapping an arm around her waist and twisting so they could fit, her back to his chest, in the small space left between the coats and the clock.
Panic clogged in her throat as she realised the door hadn't properly caught and stood ajar. She reached for it, but froze as directly above them, the wooden staircase creaked.
A moment later, several sets of footsteps made their way down the stairs and into the hallway.
"Is that everyone?" One of the Death Eaters moved into sight.
Draco's palm flattened on her stomach as he pulled her tight against his body, away from the light cast by the open door.
"Yes," another replied. "Though you'd think a houseful of Order members would put up more of a fight."
"Clearly they were not expecting us," Bellatrix said with glee. She appeared in Hermione's eye line, a flutter of wild hair and black lace. "Our little mole has served us well."
Mole. Hermione inhaled sharply, then stiffened as Bellatrix cocked her head like a bird.
"Did you hear that?" she asked, glancing suspiciously about.
"Hear what?" a man asked rudely. Hermione presumed it was the woman's own husband, Rodolphus, since she'd never heard anyone else speak like that to Bellatrix and survive.
"I don't know, you blithering idiot," Bellatrix snapped. "Spread out, all of you. We can't leave any survivors."
"Granger," Draco breathed urgently in her ear. "I can't reach my wand."
"On it," she murmured back, and despite the cramped conditions, managed to twirl her wand above their heads. The Disillusionment Charm melted down her body, and she, Draco and the clock at her feet vanished into thin air.
And not a moment too soon either, because Bellatrix chose that moment to stomp across the hallway and throw open the door.
Hermione held utterly still as the witch's onyx eyes raked the empty closet. Above them, boots thudded and doors banged as the Death Eaters searched the upstairs rooms. The hunt sent dust sprinkling down over their heads, and Hermione's stomach lurched as it caught on the clock and revealed the faintest outline of a child by the pool.
Don't look down, she chanted inwardly. Don't look down.
At her back, Draco tensed as his aunt leaned slowly into the cupboard. Hermione held her breath; the witch was so close, she could smell the sickly sweet scent of her perfume.
The moment stretched long, silent, punctuated only by the frantic hummingbird-wing beat of Hermione's heart. Until finally, Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and lifted her wand.
"Hominem rev…"
"Bella," Rodolphus said from behind. His silver mask was hanging about his neck, and his grizzled face was set in what Hermione supposed must be amusement.
"What?" she barked, jerking back.
"We've searched the whole house. There's no one left." He paused, lifting a thick brow. "And no one in that closet either, darling."
Bellatrix slammed the door shut, making Hermione flinch then sag back into Malfoy's chest. Thank Merlin for the mad witch's insolent husband.
Said mad witch whipped a petty hex in her beloved spouse's direction, then stomped across the hallway.
"Well what are we waiting for?!" she demanded. "I want to know whether Lucius managed to kill that cockroach of a son of his."
And then with the swish of cloaks and the crack crack crack of Apparition, they were gone.
Silence. Except for the faraway crash of the waves. The rattle of the wind through the roof. The roar in Hermione's ears as reality settled all around her.
Behind her, Draco let out a shuddering breath and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. His arms were still around her, and he tightened his grip, gathering her close. She was grateful—she felt like her legs might buckle any moment.
Her friends. So much of the Order. They were all dead. How could they all be dead?
"This has never happened before," she whispered bewilderedly. Unless…
…Unless it had. How would she know? She'd never made it this far before.
But Bellatrix had mentioned a mole—someone who told her where the house was, how to get through the wards, how to take its occupants by surprise. That must have been how the Death Eaters knew Hermione and the others were at Ndidi's store, too. And why they chose today to strike, with four of the Order's strongest fighters separated from the rest.
At her words, Malfoy's hold on her had tightened, hands sliding up her body in comfort. But now he lifted his head.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get out of this closet."
He had to help her out, so wobbly was she on her feet. Keeping a firm grip on her, he murmured the counterspell to her Disillusionment Charm, then propped her up against the banister.
She just couldn't believe it. All that work. All those loops. And it was all for nothing.
"You have to destroy the clock," Draco said after a moment. Her head jerked up, and his expression was serious—more serious than she'd ever seen it.
"No," she said. "No. I won't."
"Granger," he began, face twisting, but she cut him off.
"No. You're alive. You're finally alive."
"But no one else is," he said softly, and tears pricked in her eyes.
He was right. She knew it, of course.
She looked up at him, a lump in her throat. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair disarrayed, but he was alive. She had finally done it. And now she had to start all over.
"I can't," she said, dropping her head. "I can't do this again."
Draco made a rough sound in his throat and closed the gap between them. His hands found her face, and brought it up so she could see him, so he could cup it, so close his nose was almost brushing hers. Her breath hitched at his touch, his closeness—and quite without her meaning to, her hips swayed towards his, her fingers finding the hem of his jumper.
"You can," he told her fiercely. "I know you can."
She blinked rapidly, because she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't cry.
"How?" she asked, and despite her best intentions, her voice cracked. "Someone betrayed us. Someone told the Death Eaters we were here."
He exhaled softly.
"I know. I heard."
She closed her eyes as the tears threatened to fall. She had been so stupid. Fretting over the task of saving Draco, saving that blasted clock, when all along, Bellatrix had been murdering the rest of her friends right here.
"I don't know what to do," she admitted in a whisper.
His thumb skimmed her damp lashes, and the touch sent shivers across her skin.
"You will, though," he said. "You will. You always do."
He sounded so confident. So sure. She raised her gaze to his—a mistake certainly, because now she couldn't look away. He was looking at her with such warmth, such fondness, that it made her belly clench.
With the weight of his trust. With the fear of failure. And with something else entirely.
"If anyone can do this," he added softly, "it would be you." Her mouth crumpled as a fresh wave of emotion rippled over her, and the movement drew his gaze. "It would always be you," he murmured, voice thick, eyes on her lips.
Hermione couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. She wanted to close the space between them, to kiss away the breath that fluttered hot on her skin. But his voice, low and rich like liquid gold, had her utterly trapped—stock still, as if caught by spell.
But then his gaze rose to meet hers, and his mouth twitched into that half-smile she knew so well.
"What was I saying earlier?" he teased. "Twenty-fifth time's the charm?"
A rush of affection washed over her. Spell broken, she choked on a laugh and a sob, and dragged his mouth down to hers. He sucked in a sharp breath—surprise at her boldness, maybe—but he kissed her back, hard and fast and wanting, fingers pushing into his hair as he held her mouth firmly against his.
Half mad with the sudden rush of it, Hermione groped blindly for him. She wanted to touch, to feel, wanted him hard and hot and real against her. He seemed to sense her need and let go of her head to gather her to him, holding her so tightly it felt like she might slip right through.
She would though in a way, wouldn't she? When she woke up on that library floor, this Draco—the one that held her, the one that kissed her—would be just a memory.
The thought sent a wave of despair surging through her. She inhaled, a rough ragged sound, all at once hands and tongues and desperate passion as she willed him to remember. She willed him to know.
He was breathing heavily when he finally broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers.
"I'm going to forget this ever happened," he rasped. "Aren't I?"
Her lashes fluttered, and a single tear escaped, trickled slowly down her cheek.
"Yes."
He drew back and cupped her cheek.
"This morning's me loved you too," he said in a raw voice, and her heart stuttered, almost stopped. "Before any of this even began, I loved you. Don't let me tell you otherwise."
She kissed him again then, fingers pushing up into his hair, eyes squeezed shut, as she tried, desperately, to pretend that this didn't have to end.
But of course it did. She pulled back, their lips separating audibly in the silent room. Draco let her go, reluctantly, her waist slipping through his fingers until she'd backed right up against the open cupboard door.
She looked at the clock, still sat so serenely beneath the stairs. Even after their narrow escape and hasty scrabble into the cupboard, the water was still flowing; silent, clear, sparkling like diamond as it weaved around the goddess's long lithe body and the children for whom she'd sacrificed her life.
Surely this isn't what you intended, Hermione thought bitterly. Surely there was a way to save everybody. To get through this day without sacrificing anyone.
"Do it, Hermione," Draco said, resigned, and she realised that if there was a way, then it wasn't to be found today.
She lifted her wand and took aim. Right between Enekpe's eyes.
"Reducto," she said and, with a blinding flash of light and a violent rush of air, the clock ripped her mercilessly away.
...
A/N: My favourite chapter so far, I think. Please do drop me a review to let me know if you enjoyed it too. I appreciate the time you lovely reviewers put into encouraging me so much!