Draco couldn't quite understand when everything had gone so wrong.
Rose was on the floor, yet vividly alive. She was sobbing, clutching Granger's hand and other arm. Granger was entwined with her, refusing to leave her side.
Finally, Draco grabbed Padma and pulled her towards the door. Rose could hear them if she were trying, but Draco thought she probably wasn't.
Patil was making the same assumptions the rest of them were. Rose wouldn't die quite yet - it would take several agonising days to starve to death, if Draco's own experience were anything to go by.
Even so, Draco felt the need to speak to someone not connected to this particular horror. "Where is Zabini?"
Patil gave him a wary look. "On the way here."
In her defence, he tried to remind himself, he had been about to ask if Zabini could go check on the Manor. He wanted to give Granger proper reassurance that Potter and Weasley were alright. That O'Leary hadn't been freed, that Ronan's final mission had been completed.
Little consolation, he knew. Rose didn't give a shit about O'Leary and never had, not compared to Ronan's importance to her. She'd lost her mate to something she'd have never gambled on to begin with, and Draco couldn't imagine the feeling.
Fuck. Draco tried to think. The tenebris Manor was in flames. The survivors would need somewhere. His own Malfoy Manor made sense, at least for a few days. But he had to tell people.
Reluctantly, he knelt by Granger. "I have to go back there."
She responded in extreme panic, irrational fear. He'd never seen anything like it from his little Gryffindor Healer.
"No, no, you can't - you can't, you -"
"I have to bring people here. I'll bring Potter and Weasley. Alright?"
She was trying to stand and he put a heavy hand on her shoulder. With a loaded look at Rose, he said, "You need to stay. I'll be back. I'm not going to fight. I promise."
His own dead calm seemed to cut through. What was left, except them? He had to help her two remaining friends, and he wanted to ensure that Ronan had done what he meant to do. He knew they would be safe here, as long as she was focussed on Rose. He'd be back.
ooo
Draco landed back on the burning lawn, still half-numb. He reminded himself there were guns afoot, Muggle weapons his wings couldn't stop, but things seemed in disorganised chaos now. People were running scattered. He heard cracks of Disapparition.
Feeling Granger, seeing Rose - he had no desire to risk his life. He couldn't do that to her. He honestly wasn't here to fight. He was here to mitigate loss of life.
But his first goal had to be the cabins. Ronan had died for this. Rose would die for this. O'Leary couldn't go free.
Draco found that he was angry. Maybe it was pent-up hostility or maybe just a reaction of grief, but he hoped he ran into someone.
Hanz approached him from the woods, emerging almost without sound. He was in his human form. "Malfoy."
Draco turned. "Bring the pack to Malfoy Manor. Leave this place behind. Let the Aurors finish up."
His empty tone took Hanz aback. "We've been hunting in the woods but there aren't many left. I'll tell them."
"Tell the vampires, too. How many did you lose?"
Hanz's face scrunched in pain. "...Three."
Three more gone. Draco wondered how the vampires had fared. He exhaled heavily.
Disillusion yourself, screamed Granger, and Draco thought that was probably a solid idea.
Hanz melted away and Draco, newly invisible, made his way towards the cabins with as much urgency as he could muster. He was oddly torn between the critical nature of this trip and his own leaden feet, the dull blankness enveloping him. He wished he could find someone to hit, something to bring the anger back atop the lost black feeling he had.
His next stop served both of his purposes. Potter and Weasley were at the outbuildings, surveying damages and death. Upon closer inspection, Draco realised he couldn't see windows or doors on either of them. Well, no; he could. But they were sealed with the walls. The only change was the colour of them.
They were unbroken. The prisoners were still prisoners.
Ronan's body was on the ground.
Draco only just remembered to call out to Potter before removing his disillusionment. It wouldn't do to get attacked by Aurors now, not when things were almost over.
Both Aurors were hurt but standing. Weasley's face was half-covered in blood from some head injury or other. Potter had a noticeable limp and one arm was hanging by his side. But both were alive and Draco sent this back to Granger at once, taking solace of his own in her visceral relief.
"Potter, when you're done here, come to Malfoy Manor. Tell any of the others you see. I have to get back."
"Can we bring them?" Weasley gestured at the cabins. "We don't want to leave them unguarded, even though these wards held. And we don't want to leave anyone here to watch them tonight."
Draco considered and shrugged listlessly. "Whatever. We have plenty of room. We'll find somewhere."
He turned to go and saw Kingsley. He wondered at what point the Head Auror had arrived with reinforcements, and figured it didn't matter. Potter and Weasley couldn't have done it all alone.
Kingsley was looking down at Ronan. "Gods, he was an arsehole."
Draco punched him in the face.
ooo
James and Blaise arrived back first. Blaise had Healer Johnson with him and Hermione couldn't even muster the amusing image of the vampire carrying Johnson as he ran.
Padma had been trying to keep busy, getting a Floo connection reestablished. Many of the fireplaces had once been connected and it didn't take much fiddling to get one freshly lit. This could be their go-between to St Mungo's now.
In the meantime, the tenebris ones were starting to arrive. Hermione knew Draco was in the air and would be here any minute. Every time she felt the rush of relief at his safety, she'd look at Rose and the feeling would crush beneath her feet at once.
The female Veela was unresponsive, in the most basic sense. She was awake but turned into the couch, curled into a foetal position. Rose's eyes were fixed on the floral pattern of the fabric, her nose almost touching it. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She hadn't moved. She hadn't spoken.
Hermione had tried to hold her hand but Rose had pulled her arms tightly into her chest, forming the smallest possible ball on the couch.
Finally, Hermione had tucked a blanket around her and gone to try and make the Manor fit for an unexpected crowd, checking on Rose every few minutes.
Hermione's own grief was a confusing jumble. She knew what would happen to Rose, but the Veela looked physically fine. How must it feel to her, to know she had days to live?
Hermione swallowed hard, shoving past the lump in her throat. Healer Johnson and Padma were moving into quick hospital duties, assessing injuries as they came in. She should be, too. She should be helping. But she found she didn't want to speak with anyone just yet. She busied herself instead making the parlour area they were in resemble a makeshift hospital ward. She conjured beds and transfigured linens.
She waited. It wouldn't be long now. Draco was back; she felt him, but he was outside solidifying the Manor's protective enchantments. He was the heir. He could manipulate them as he needed. He'd be inside soon.
ooo
"What the hell are you doing?" James yelled, nearly unhinged. "You can't Floo with a concussion! Dammit, Parvati -"
"Oh, shove it, Rosier. We have a hospital here, too, as I understand it. Look, I'll even lay down on one of the cots." Parvati did just this, hopping up on one and crossing her legs at the ankles. "Healer Johnson can treat me here just as well. You can't have expected me to stay there when everyone else is here."
"Zabini could have brought you, you infuriating witch!"
Hermione saw Padma crack a bleak smile at this exchange, but she couldn't manage one herself. She moved across to treat one of the vampires to keep her mind occupied.
Finally, James stormed out and Hermione tentatively went over to Parvati's bedside. "How bad is it?" She reached a hand to Parvati's temple but didn't touch her.
The journalist flinched back slightly, her forehead a little scrunched. "Worse after the Floo," she admitted in a grudging whisper. "Do you have a pain relief potion?"
Hermione didn't, but Healer Johnson had come prepared from St Mungo's. He handed her one.
"Where did James go?"
"Back to the Manor. I know, I know," Parvati rushed on at Hermione's alarmed expression. "But he wants to find Mac. Mac or Mac's body; he doesn't care. And he's going to get my research, all my notes and drafts. If they're still there, that is."
She cringed at the thought that everything might be lost. Hermione could understand why. Parvati had been working on that book for almost a year. She hadn't given a second thought to it, herself, but of course Parvati would have. Hermione tried to think back to whether the cottage Parvati and James shared had been on fire. She couldn't recall. She just hadn't noticed.
A big commotion had started outside. Hermione's head lifted along with Parvati's and several others in the room. But most of them could hear what it was; the two witches couldn't. They exchanged a look and Parvati got back to her feet.
From the window, they could tell it was Ron, bloody and drained. He was dragging three levitating bodies behind him. Hermione struggled to make out what she was seeing.
Parvati sucked in a breath, then coughed out a short laugh.
"They brought them here," Hermione said in astonishment. She was moving towards the door when Draco intercepted Ron, talking with heads close together. He motioned inside and both witches ran to meet them.
The three prisoners were incarcerated, stunned, and tied together. Ron's wand kept them hovering in the air, and as he pulled on one, the other two followed. Draco led him into a side room and Ron deposited all three in a pile, not bothering to un-stun them.
They exited the room and Draco sealed the door before Ron added his own wards to it.
"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked, her worry beginning to rise again.
Draco cast a furtive look around and she felt the nudge in her mind. Where's Rose?
"Couch in the sitting room," she answered.
Harry was bringing Ronan's body back. Hermione's stomach clenched again. What were they going to do? What could they do? Whatever Rose wanted, she supposed. Gods, how had it come to this?
Draco wrapped her up in his arms, resting his chin on top of her head. She wanted so badly to go lay down in bed. She was exhausted, emotionally drained. Miserable. But there was so much still to do. A full accounting had to be made. Who wasn't back yet versus who wouldn't be coming back?
"What are we talking about?" Parvati asked. Hermione had quite forgotten she was there.
ooo
James could smell the smoke for kilometres. He ran at full pelt, paws landing hard and sure. He'd done everything else he could tonight: his mate was safe, his pack was no longer fighting. They'd lost several and James couldn't focus on that just yet. They'd mourn together as a group soon.
Now to please his mate, he'd retrieve her work. And hopefully, hopefully, he could take care of one other thing.
Mac. He'd told Parvati he was going to the Manor, that he wanted to 'contribute'.
James deeply hoped the man wasn't dead yet. He wouldn't mind an injury or two, but nothing debilitating. James wanted the pleasure for himself.
Coming from this direction, he passed the prisoner cabins first. He checked among the bodies but didn't see the photographer. That was encouraging; surely nothing would have impressed Raquel more than Mac actually being the one to free her. And if he'd tried, he'd failed. But the fact that he wasn't among Ronan's carnage here spoke to a lack of even trying.
James thought Mac was too big a coward to have faced Ronan - or the team of Aurors, for that matter. He could see the man hiding until an opportunity presented itself. To be the last one standing, maybe. He'd love to be Raquel's true last hope. And to that thought…
James sped off towards his own cottage. Mac knew about the book. Of course, he did. James didn't know if O'Leary would have been pleased with the idea of the book or not; he didn't waste that much time or effort trying to figure the woman out. Either possibility seemed likely. But maybe Mac thought she'd want it destroyed.
The Manor itself was a smouldering ruin. James didn't see any other living people. Kingsley's reinforcements had rounded up anyone else who had breached the property and arrested who they could. Many more had died.
He passed Felix's body, now, and paused for a moment of respectful silence. He transformed back to close the man's eyelids. Felix had moved out. He shouldn't have even been here. He'd come back for O'Leary, as they all had, and now many of them would never have another chance at a life outside the Manor.
While he was still, he tried to listen. Even in his human form, his hearing was beyond acute. The remnants of the fire still crackled. The smoke blew through the leaves of the trees around him. And suddenly like a crack through the air, he heard a cat's furious yowl.
He'd been listening so intently it almost hurt his ears. A second came, followed by a hiss of pain. James set off in the direction of it, suspecting he knew what he'd find.
ooo
He had it halfway right. The giant orange cat Parvati fed for Granger outside their cottage was being held up by the scruff of its neck. It was panting, mouth open.
"Put that cat down," James said irritably, astonishing himself with his focus on the animal over the man holding it. Evidently the creature part of him had a solid streak of empathy. "Adult cats aren't meant to be held like that. He'll suffocate."
Mac turned around, a malicious grin on his face. "Then he'll stop trying to slash me to ribbons."
The cat had, indeed, done some damage, James was pleased to note. It had never been overly fond of James but over the months it had come to tolerate him well enough. His mate had explained to him that it was half-Kneazle and that Kneazles were known for gauging character. James had a mark against him for being part-wolf, but a mark in his favour for being trustworthy.
He'd found this endlessly amusing at the time.
The cat had evidently deemed Mac untrustworthy. Well, spot on, James thought. He wondered how many times the cat had expressed disapproval of Mac in the past few months. It was a shame the creature couldn't talk.
"Were you trying to steal Parvati's drafts? All of her work? No wonder he's been taking you to task. Now, put him down."
Mac had to know it was over. All he had to make James hesitate was the cat, which locked vivid yellow eyes with James's red ones. In a flash, he understood.
Mac flung the cat at James's head and bolted for the door. James dodged. The orange ball of fur yowled, gasping in air as it landed on all fours on the floor behind James.
You've done a good job. Guard her things. James was going after Mac.
ooo
Another painful transformation later - James still felt these. None were as excruciating as the full moon transformations, but even so, it wasn't his favourite feeling - he slowly padded into the forest.
Mac had a good head start, but Mac was human. James wasn't in a hurry. He could track the man for kilometres if needed. James's only concern was Apparition but Mac hadn't had a wand in his hand in the cottage. Surely he'd have used it against the cat if he'd had it. He could have simply summoned Parvati's research.
James didn't know what had happened to it and didn't care. He was increasingly confident Mac was wandless, essentially defenceless, in the woods.
His anticipation grew. He could smell, hear, and see almost perfectly. His quarry was ahead a good ways and over to the left, trying to tuck himself behind a thick tree. He'd do better to climb it, James thought in amusement, even though James could easily wait him out. But he didn't think the dumpy little man was much of a tree climber.
To that note, he didn't think Mac was much of a marathon runner, either. Even if he wasn't terrified for his life, the man was audibly heaving breath. James could smell the fear in his sweat. It was delightful. He wanted to draw that out.
He deliberately slowed to a stalk, padding as quietly as he could manage between the trees.
He snuck up on Mac from the far side. He could see Mac eyeing the woods to his left, but James was approaching to his right. He crept up as close as he dared, not wanting Mac's human ears to notice him.
Tilting his head back, he bellowed loose a howl right behind the man's tree and enjoyed watching Mac nearly come out of his skin. As he flailed in shock, James's jaw clamped down on his forearm.
One vicious shake of his head and Mac's arm detached messily at the shoulder from the whiplash. He screamed in agony and fear, panic in his wide eyes.
James lunged. He flattened Mac beneath his paws and relished every drop of terror as he lowered his teeth to the next limb.
ooo
They'd wrapped Ronan's body in a silky green fabric Draco had rummaged out of a linen closet. It had been reasonably well-preserved from the dust and stagnant air of the Manor.
Rose still hadn't risen from the couch. She hadn't moved. Hermione checked on her periodically, brushing the blonde's hair from her face and squeezing her shoulder. But Rose never responded.
Harry had been shot in the shoulder, to Hermione's horror, but at least it gave her something to pass the time. His arm was hanging limply by his side and she'd hoped he'd only dislocated it, but no; he'd been shot and the bullet was still in there.
With a pain relief potion on hand and her wand, Hermione was able to get it out without doing much more damage. She hated that he'd been shot but she couldn't deny that it felt good to be useful. The tenebris ones who had been injured healed so fast - if they survived, that was.
Hermione couldn't bear to think about the other bodies still at the Manor, the ones they'd be retrieving tomorrow.
"What the hell?" Hermione heard Padma murmur, looking out the window. She looked up as Parvati joined her twin.
With Parvati's relieved exhale, Hermione knew James must be back at last. It had taken him a long time. They'd all been growing anxious all over again.
Hermione peered out the window closest to her and was similarly puzzled. The wolf had something strapped tightly to his chest and stomach, dangling just above the ground. Something was protruding from his mouth. Something else was on his back.
As James drew closer, Hermione burst into fresh tears. "Crookshanks!"
Her beloved old cat was riding atop James's furry shoulders looking rather pleased with himself. James wore a similar look of satisfaction. He padded inside and laid a severed arm at Parvati's feet.
Parvati scratched him behind the ears, a sight that should have been amusing under other circumstances: this enormous wolf, his head at her shoulders, stooping to receive pets like a good boy.
She reached around for the satchel draped across him, overstuffed with papers, folders, and notebooks. "Thank you," she said softly, her eyes glistening.
Crooks had received his own accolades with dignity before hopping down. Hermione had expected him to come twine between her legs, but he didn't. He went right to the couch and leapt up.
Choosing his footing carefully, Crooks stepped onto Rose and curled up right on top of her.
Rose's hands slowly emerged from the blanket to rest on Crookshank's back, feeling his soft fur. Finally, she clutched him to her chest, holding onto him like a life raft as her shoulders began to shake. Crooks took it all stoically, giving her what he could.
Hermione buried her face into Draco's arm, choking back a sob. He gripped her shoulders and shared in her despair.
ooo
Everyone was dead on their feet but Blaise and James called a meeting anyway. They collected everyone to discuss what to do with the three prisoners. Healer Johnson had gone back to St Mungo's and no one disturbed Rose, but the rest of them were gathered.
Clearly, they couldn't count on another of O'Leary's admirers not trying something else. The longer she was alive, the more motivation someone would have, and the more people she could potentially meet and sway to her cause - even from incarceration. They'd seen it.
She had to go. But how, and were people ready for that step? They'd had months with Jackson and Duncan, after all.
James, fresh off his hunting experience with Mac, proposed they be turned loose on the original Manor grounds at the next full moon. It was just over a week away. They could reestablish the wards by then; it was to be the designated werewolf transformation zone in future, after all.
Ron and Harry agreed. They'd run it by Kingsley, but they saw no issue with it. When the Ministry had agreed to hand over custody, it had relinquished the right to an opinion.
The wolves could dispose of them.
This was met with general acclaim and approval. The pack had also had the pleasure of hunting attackers that night and were eager for more.
Blaise topped off the plan. He suggested that each of the vampires feed from the prisoners daily until then. It was a gluttonous schedule and Hermione saw excited glances exchanged as whispering began.
Blaise turned to her for a medical opinion.
"It could be done," Hermione confirmed. "We'll need blood-replenishing potions for them, but that shouldn't be a problem. It would be if we planned to do it indefinitely, but we aren't."
It was determined next that they'd return to the tenebris Manor the following day. They couldn't live there any longer, and Draco offered Malfoy Manor for this purpose. But he didn't want the prisoners housed there until the next moon. The group consensus was that the less the three knew about what had happened, the better - especially O'Leary, who would be delighted by it.
Their own outbuildings were fully soundproofed but none of them were thick. They'd probably figured something was going on, but it was unlikely they knew what it all had been.
Harry and Ron would wait to rennervate the three until they Apparated them back to the tenebris Manor. The vampires could come and go as they liked to feed, and the prisoners would only be Healed to the extent that they could make it to the full moon.
At this, James protested. He didn't want them going into it injured. It would impede the hunt.
Hermione no longer felt any kind of reluctance around this. She just didn't care anymore. Maybe she was too tired to bother, maybe too bleak in her grief for Rose. Let the tenebris ones have their final fun, in whatever form it took.
So much pain and loss at the hands of those three, directly or indirectly. So much of it tonight, alone.
Bleed them dry. Tear them to pieces.
Whatever.
ooo
Draco apologised a little awkwardly for the condition of Malfoy Manor and its various guest rooms. No one minded.
The pack - less James - chose to bed down in the same large parlour, preferring the close proximity as a comfort of sorts. It took Hermione back to the earliest days on Ward 17 in St Mungo's, so long ago.
James and Parvati split off, as did Blaise and Padma. The other vampires selected various rooms here and there. Some were bedrooms, others had couches. No one seemed very particular.
Hermione was most concerned about Rose. She'd told Rose where they'd be if she needed anything, but Rose still hadn't spoken. She'd barely looked up, meeting Hermione's eyes for only the barest second before turning back to the couch. But Crookshanks was still curled up solidly on her chest, even now, and with a fair amount of reluctance, Hermione left Crooks in charge.
Draco led her upstairs to the third floor by the hand, the last to retire. She was so over-tired, she didn't know if she'd ever sleep.
He opened the door to his old bedroom uneasily. Hermione wondered if Veela had ever said anything about their visit here. It seemed like years ago she'd sat on this bed, looking at old letters and sorting through Hogwarts uniforms, trying to bring back 'Malfoy's' memory when Veela had been suppressing him the entire time.
They'd left a bit of a mess. She winced. The clothes were on the floor. At least she'd set the stack of letters back on his desk. Draco wandered over to it and lifted the one from the top. Hermione recalled it had been from Narcissa, worrying about Draco.
Letting him alone for a few minutes, Hermione set to cleaning the room of its dust and musty odour. She didn't quite know what she felt, if pressed to name it.
Exhaustion called it best. Hermione didn't know what tomorrow would bring and she didn't want to guess. She was always the type who prepared herself for what came next, but not now. In a daze, she realised Draco had pulled back the covers on the bed.
It was time to sleep, she knew. She just didn't know if she could. But he laid down after transfiguring the sheets, and gestured to her. Mutely, Hermione responded. She came to him as she always did, trusting and compliant.
Draco laid her on his chest, and breathed in and out deep, slowly. Rhythmically. Hermione let him, let the feeling wash over her. In and out, her whole body moving with him. His hands - his claws - stroked against her hair and her scalp, one occasionally moving up and down her bare back.
Half an hour went by. An hour. She lost track of time.
They didn't speak. They didn't need to. She felt his despair of the day, those they lost, of his parents. Of the Manor that was now his. Lord Malfoy, in charge. He'd known it, from a distance, but it felt different here. He felt a responsibility he hadn't a day ago.
She shared her own bleak depression, her anguish, over Rose. Over her friend, over the person who'd truly become a valued person in her life over the last months. Her time with Rose was special to her. It gave Hermione a unique perspective, a sounding board of intelligence, of opinion that she held apart from Hermione's own.
Rose was smart and cunning, clever, insightful. Hermione had looked forward to her time with Rose. She'd wanted it. She'd wanted to combine theories, speculations, and spend time together. Even if O'Leary had never existed, Hermione would have enjoyed her time alongside Rose.
Hermione had been proud to watch Rose gain confidence, come out of her shell. Speak up and out in front of the others, contribute views worth hearing. She'd wanted Rose to be able to study psychology if she wanted to. She'd wanted to attend Rose's wedding to Ronan.
Hermione caught a sob in her throat again and Draco's hand moved up and down her back, slowly. He tangled his claws in her hair, something that she usually relished, but not tonight.
Ronan's pale claws should be in Rose's blonde hair, straight though it was. Brown curls or straight blonde, there should be claws tangled up there. And there weren't.
Hermione's breath hitched again and Draco dragged her up high on his chest. He wrapped her up and let her cry. He breathed in and out, deeply, letting his chest move her whole body up and down. She felt his own despair.
She cried for what she'd lost, for what Rose had lost. For what Draco had lost. For all of them.