Nineteen
Canis Major
For three days, Hermione tests salve after salve until, finally, one mixture works.
Under the silencing charm set to stop Lady Marietta from triggering the rash's spread, she smiles for the first time as they finish applying the salve. It does not reverse the damage, but eases her pain. She relaxes in a relief Cho shares.
Cho has tended to her friend, leaving her side only at Hermione's command, and looks worse for wear from worry and fatigue. But still, she smiles. She is careful as she helps Marietta sit up. "Fresh air is what you need."
Hermione agrees, already making plans to make more salve as soon as possible.
Luna and Daphne follow Cho when she rushes off to gather elves to make a comfortable spot in the gardens.
Alicia remains by Marietta's side, looking thoughtful. "There must be a way to communicate without triggering the curse."
Writing and drawing only brought pain. Still, Marietta perks up, waving her hands, wanting to help.
"This is a problem we will revisit tomorrow. For now, you need comfort, food, and friends," Hermione says.
It is careful work helping Lady Marietta out of her chambers. She leans heavily on Alicia as they follow Hermione's guards to their destination.
"Will you stay with us in the gardens?" Alicia asks.
"The king is set to return within the hour. I am to meet him in the brewing room."
There is much to discuss privately.
Draco has spent the day with his knights, scouring the forest on a lead in the hunt for his uncle. There was an ambush last night, but it led to more captures than injuries. It was a relief to Hermione, but Harry was sidelined and frustrated that he was not there to fight alongside his comrades. Upon Goyle and Goldstein's return with captured Death Eaters in the dead of night, Hermione walked with him to the dungeons to see if she remembered their faces.
She did not, but they knew her.
Greyback sends his regards.
He grows fascinated by the one who cut down two of his wolves.
A reminiscent chill passes.
Hermione notices Alicia is watching expectantly. "I am fine."
"I know many things weigh on you."
"They do, but we must remain strong. As we are alone, please give me your report." Hermione glances at her. "I know you have spent time with the other Ladies."
"There has been much talk in all directions," Alicia warns. Marietta's silent expression grows concerned. "I understand matters here have distracted you, but you must not neglect them. In your absence and that of Lady Daphne's, Lavender has taken a leadership ranking along with Romilda and Leanne. Demelza is quiet."
"I will tell the others they will be allowed to decide on the feast and decorations for my upcoming birthday celebration." It is superficial enough but makes a statement about her trust in her Ladies. "Will that suffice?"
"It may."
Marietta nods enthusiastically.
"Then it is decided. I…" Hermione is momentarily distracted by the hound in the corner of her eye.
She has not seen it for weeks.
Alicia stops. "Is everything okay, Your Majesty?"
Marietta's brows furrow curiously.
"Yes." She brings a hand to her chest. "My apologies, I thought I saw something, but it was just my imagination."
"Very well." They begin again. "Several of the Ladies comment that members of His Majesty's Royal Council inquire about you. Lavender is most unamused, which makes me believe she has answered questions. The other Ladies express their concern. Those closest to you refuse to speak. It is the others I worry about. They seek information that only your Ladies might know. I can attest to this, as Lord Pucey asked me about you this very day."
This is not a surprise.
Pucey lurks in the periphery. She catches his sneer when Draco continues to deny him the campaign south into the MacMillian Kingdom. He has not approached her again to converse, but when she enters the room, he watches her.
This is not uncommon.
It is the same she sees with the others who do not care for her presence.
"Alicia, what did he—"
The zing of metal sends a sliding echo through the corridor.
A body slams into hers.
Alicia.
Her guards fall dead before either have time to react. Marietta stands frozen. Eyes wild with confusion, she looks down. Blood sprays from her neck.
She goes limp as Alicia lunges to catch her.
They fall.
Black ooze spreads from the fallen guards sprawled over the stones. Hermione drops to her knees beside the pair. Marietta's eyes are wide with shock as she clings to Alicia. Hermione tears a piece of her gown and applies pressure to the wound. Marietta gasps for air, staring into her eyes.
"It is okay." Hermione comforts in a shaky voice, trying to conceal the terror she feels. "Alicia, I need—"
"Hermione!"
Four masked figures stand before them, blocking their path.
Hermione turns sharply.
Four more block their retreat.
New fear blooms in the arches of her feet, the palms of her hands, and the set of her shoulders.
"Run," Alicia whispers.
Marietta's eyes close. Her body stills. Her grip on Alicia loosens.
Hermione is too stunned to scream.
The masked men rush them.
Alicia scrambles forward, a blood covered hand grabbing one of the fallen guard's wands. Hermione gets to her feet as Alicia's stunning spell goes wild, bouncing off the walls before striking one of their foes.
There is no counterspell, no defence, which means one thing.
No wands.
Hermione looks down at Marietta. She does not want to leave her, but they must.
"This way!"
She drags Alicia into a room that is connected to another and another, their gowns and shoes slow them down. Hermione counts four before she pulls open the chamber door and peeks out. They are now behind the men who once were in front of her.
Hermione takes her chance, dashing out.
It takes no time before they notice and give chase.
Pounding footsteps echo alongside voices shouting, "After them!"
Everything is a threat. Those who chase them grow closer, the sound of their pursuit thudding like an insidious heartbeat. Alicia tries another spell, cast on the move. It ricochets off a light orb and explodes, slowing their pursuers as they duck and dodge the white sparks.
Just when they reach the end of the corridor, a door opens and large hands cover Hermione's mouth and drag her off course.
She kicks and screams, the sound muffled behind her abductor's palm as he pulls her into the empty room with barely any effort. Struggling in panic, arms flailing, she tries to grab and pull and tug on something—anything.
It is no use. He is too strong.
What stops her fight is Alicia's screams and sobs. There is the rough crack of breaking bone as they force the wand from her hand.
One snaps it with ease, tossing the broken wood behind them.
The other six men appear, adding to the two who are gleeful to have captured their prize.
"Do not worry, Queen Hermione." The man's voice is distorted due to the mask, which only adds to her terror. The others laugh, but all Hermione cares about are Alicia's pained breaths. "I will make this quick, as my master wishes, and they will collect what is due."
Hermione bites down on his hand.
He yells in pain, striking her across the face, snapping Hermione's head up and back. Dazed, she falls to the floor, pain shooting up her side. Vision swimming, she blinks and breathes to regain her composure.
The man tears off his mask.
Dark hair, blue eyes, mouth twisted in a snarl. Hermione does not recognise him.
His features twist into something nasty and hateful as he stands over her. "Take the other and do what you wish before you cut her throat. The queen is mine."
Horror floods her senses.
Not only for herself, but for Alicia, who is dragged away, kicking and yelling and cursing. They kick the door open to the adjoining room and throw her inside. Six men follow.
The slamming door is a death toll.
"As for you." The stranger seizes her by the hair, jerking her head up.
Rage for Marietta, resolve for Alicia, defiance for herself—brick by brick, each emotion fills her every thought as she pants, ignoring the pain while subtly reaching into the pocket of her gown. Alicia's screams blot out her fear and reignite her determination.
"My Master, the Necromancer, he sends his regards." He stops suddenly, eyes widening not with fear but glee. "The Grim has come for you, Queen Hermione."
Hermione follows his gaze to the black hellhound.
Red eyes glowing, teeth bared, it is poised to attack.
"No," she says with a snarl, "it comes for you."
Hermione uses the distraction, her weight, her strength, her fury to seize up. She throws her body at him, and they collide, careening into the stone wall. Her assailant loses his breath, his head cracking hard against the stone while Hermione staggers back, heart pounding, blood roaring in her ears.
Her fingers close around the hilt of her dagger.
"You bitch!" The man surges, grabbing at her with an angry shout.
Hermione dodges, brings her arm around, and buries her weapon in his chest.
Then she rips it out.
Blood spreads quickly, staining his clothes and the stone floor. Blue eyes widen with shock. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to form words, but only gargled sounds escape. He coughs and spits blood onto his chin.
He falls to his knees before her.
She feels no victory.
"You… you… will rot for eternity with your tyrant king." The man struggles with each breath. "It… is my master's wish, it is his due."
Cold sinks into her bones as she grabs his hair and jerks his head back. "Your master will join you soon."
She cuts his throat from ear to ear.
The hound vanishes as blood sprays.
He falls dead at her feet.
Muffled noises from the room shake Hermione free from the shock.
"Winky!"
When the elf appears, she screams at the sight of Hermione, then at the man lying at her feet.
She grips the hilt of her dagger, shaking. "Alert the knights and summon my brother. Make haste!"
The panicked elf vanishes.
Hermione rushes to the door on instinct. Holding her hand flat against the wood, she focuses.
The heavy wood door shatters with one spell, one thought.
Staggering backwards from the force, Hermione collects herself for battle.
The dust settles, and Hermione hears coughing, sees fallen men gaining their feet. Alicia is on the bed, gagged and bound, her dress torn open. Her face is bloody, but more than terrified, she looks furious.
One man lies unconscious on the ground. His breeches are undone.
When the remaining see her in the doorway, they surge into action.
Hermione throws her dagger at the closest man, lodging it into the centre of his chest. She wills it with all her focus to return, and it does. She catches the hilt just in time for her to thrust it under the chin of the first man within her reach. It sticks in place when he falls over dead.
The last three rush her. She strikes one, but the other two grab her and throw her to the floor. Pain leaves her dizzy. She rolls to her side, struggling to focus, coughing and fighting for air.
"Kill her. We can still collect."
Ugly, garbled words spill from beneath the mask when he slaps her with what feels like every bit of strength he possesses. The blow leaves her sprawled, a copper taste in her mouth. One man stretches her hands above her head while the other straddles her, grabs her neck, and squeezes, cutting off her breath. Hermione fights back, kicking, twisting, searching desperately for leverage.
But there is nothing.
Only air and force as shaking hands squeeze harder and—
"Incarcerous!"
Gold binds wrap around the man atop her. He falls to the side, swearing until a booted person stomps on his head, rendering him unconscious. A second spell sends the man holding her hands flying across the room. Gasping with newfound air, Hermione's eyes fill with tears as she struggles to breathe.
All she sees next is the familiar, concerned green eyes of her brother.
"Hermione!"
She cannot speak. Relief makes her tremble and shed tears she cannot keep inside.
Harry sits her up. "Where are you bleeding?"
"It's not mine," Hermione rasps. Harry helps her to her feet, hugging her close. Hermione can hardly breathe but she holds him tight, closing her eyes, trying to calm herself down. She hears others enter the room.
She looks, for the first time, at the shattered mess of the chambers. Broken furniture, ripped canopy, stained floors. Goldstein has the last man bound. Goyle watches over two others. Sirius is freeing Alicia, speaking low words to the shaking woman as he takes off his cloak to protect her modesty.
"Did they—"
"No." Alicia swallows thickly as Sirius helps her out of the bed. "I—the queen—we—"
Hermione exhales. She should feel relieved that she was not too late, but she feels nothing.
Not even when Alicia spits on the unconscious man whose breeches remain open.
More guards appear.
"Marietta…"
Harry shakes his head.
Hermione's heart shatters as everything hits her like a blow to the stomach. "Find Cho. She—" Her voice cracks. "She is with Daphne and Luna. She—"
"Breathe." Comforting words accompany hands on her shoulders. To someone else he says, "Secure the others and bring them to the hall. The—"
A distant roar announces the arrival of the king.
Cho's sobs echo in the corridor.
Hermione stands in a different room.
Stoic. Numb.
Anger sparks and grows.
"Leave me."
Every Healer files out at her command.
Remus and Harry arrive with Ginny, who hugs her tight. She cannot return the affection. "How is Alicia?"
"Daphne is with her as Healers tend to her wounds. Luna is with Cho and Marietta's body."
Hermione feels sick.
"The lady did not give up without a fight," Remus assures her. "Even in death, she tried to tell the truth. She spelled out S-T-O-N-E in her blood."
"Stone?" Hermione frowns.
Goldstein sticks his head into the room. "The king has summoned you. Immediately."
Hermione nods and follows him.
She is the last to enter the hall.
The scene before her is surreal.
"They are all dosed with Veritaserum, Sire," Snape tells him. "You may proceed with the interrogation."
Draco addresses them all. "Who sent you?"
The Royal Council stands around the bound men who are hanging in suspension, feet off the ground. One on the end has a blue flame below his boot and keeps jerking his leg to keep from catching fire. The men are conscious, unmasked, and far from the monsters who attacked her and Alicia.
One is barely a man.
"We do not know the name," one answers in a strained voice. He fights against the potion, but it will do him no good. "Only orders and coins and the dead servant who came with us."
"Mercenaries without wands." Theo moves to stand beside Draco. "What were your orders?"
"To kill me," Hermione says.
All stills at the sound of her voice.
Draco turns and goes rigid when he sees her.
Still in her ruined gown, hair wild, dried blood coats her hands and arms and streaks her face. Every bruise is on display for all to see. Hermione makes a terrible sight and does not care.
Grey eyes snap from her to Harry, who stands beside her. They glint like the cold steel of the dagger, which is tucked safely back in the pocket of her gown.
Hermione's anger is molten like the inside of a volcano. But Draco's is glacial and cutting, something tightly restrained but deeply violent.
Silence stretches unbearably as the king approaches her.
"What happened?"
"We were ambushed. They knew where I was. Lady Marietta. She was killed. Alicia was hurt." Hermione recounts the entire ordeal in a low voice meant only for him. "The Necromancer sends his regards."
Draco's fists curl at his side.
"Is this blood yours?" His voice belies his visible restraint.
"A little."
Draco snaps a finger and the sound of fire erupts. The blood-curdling scream of a man rings out over shocked gasps. Burning flesh fills the air. Hermione does not dare look. Once the screams die, crackling flame remains. Draco touches her split lip with careful fingers. She hisses.
"Who did this?" he asks softly, edged sharp with danger.
"I—I cut his throat."
"Good." His thumb grazes the bruise on her cheek. "And this?"
"He is dead. A dagger to the chin."
Draco tilts her head, catching sight of her tender neck and the bruises on her cheek. Darkness settles over his mood like a coming storm. "Who did this?"
Hermione's eyes slip to the bound men.
Flames conceal the husk of burning flesh and bones.
"Answer me."
It is a request, not a command.
"He lives. Bound with the others."
Draco does not ask which.
The rush of energy simmers, leaving Hermione drained and exhausted. Even if her voice does not shake, her hands do. She curls them behind her, looking away when his finger leaves her chin.
"Potter. Make certain the queen is tended to," he commands with low ferocity indicative of the mercy he is not known for. "Take her to our chambers and stand guard. Do not let anyone in except me."
"Of course, Sire."
Hermione peers around him at the bound men, noticing the entire Royal Council watching them closely, focused as if trying to read their lips to interpret their words.
"What will you do to them?"
Draco does not answer. He turns and stalks towards the prisoners.
As if he knows what is to come, Harry quickly leads her to the doorway.
He is not fast enough.
Draco points his wand and summons a sword. It flies past him, flipping and plunging itself into the belly of the man who spoke.
"Sire!" Flint shouts. "You mustn't!"
But there is no stopping death.
It moves as swiftly as Draco, who pulls the sword from the dying man's belly, innards spilling on the floor for all to see. Theo steps back. Everyone watches in horror as he beheads the assailant with one deafening stroke.
Harry pulls her away when the spell releases and his body hits the floor.
"Now." Draco's cold voice booms. "Who is next?"
Hours pass.
Hermione is clean but refuses to be healed.
Winky brings word on Alicia's condition, which is much improved. She excuses Alicia from her duties, but when she tells Winky that Alicia is free to return home for her recovery, the elf returns with her Lady's refusal.
Alicia's stubbornness makes her smile.
Unable to eat or sit still, Hermione drinks wine and waits for Draco's arrival.
The doors to her chambers open well after dark.
Draco stands alone.
Blood covers his clothes, stains his skin, streaks his hair.
It is layered, both fresh and old.
He stalks into the chambers. The doors shut with a resounding slam.
Brittle, restless anger rolls off him in frigid waves that alarm her. Even after he is clean, following a bath and standing before her, Draco does not settle.
The aura around him grows darker. Worsens.
The bond twists and pulls, making her nauseous and nervous. Draco's emotions have never exploded through their bond like this. He does not touch her, but does not allow her to touch him either. Nor will he get into bed.
Fear is all she can feel from him.
Fear and rage.
Draco paces with gritted teeth, reminding her of a caged animal moments from attack.
Pulled taut. Ready to break. Ready to destroy.
Hermione does the only thing she can.
She sinks to her knees.
Her act of submission stuns Draco into stillness. "Why are you—what are you doing?"
"You are out of control, Draco. I feel it. It scares me." She offers her hand. "Touch me. It will help ground you."
He shakes his head, not trusting himself.
"I am here." Hermione touches him at last. "Breathe with me."
Draco tries to step back, but Hermione does not let him break free. She curls a hand around one calf, then the other.
She peers up at him. "Feel me."
Rising to her feet, she ignores the way he avoids her lips until she kisses the corner of his.
Hermione murmurs two words over and over again.
"Use me."
The fragile thread of Draco's control snaps at her command.
He surges forward, pulling her close, lips and hands everywhere. They pull and tug at each other's robes, and frustrated noises slip from Draco's lips until Hermione stops. She lets him take this control he not only wants but needs.
Brazen, unapologetic hands roam her body.
Aggressive, bruising kisses make her arch into him.
He covets and consumes what is his.
Hermione lets him.
There is no finesse, no foreplay, no teasing.
Draco bends her over the bed and is inside her with a stabbing pain that becomes heat.
"Do not ever—" he chokes out. "You cannot—"
Leave. Die. Go.
Hermione does not know which.
Nor does she care.
"I am here," she moans, arching back into him. "I am staying."
From there, they both fall silent as their bodies take over. Draco possesses her mind, claims her body and soul. It is nothing like Hermione expects. It is better. The world blurs. Rough sounds escape him as he fucks his aggression out, taking her from behind while she howls and grips the covers tight.
"Mine."
"Yours."
Who says what, Hermione cannot recall through Draco's mindless and frantic pace. All she knows is that pain and pleasure blur into one of the most intense orgasms she has ever felt.
Hermione sobs for air, shouts, squirms, keens as he pulls her hair, gnaws at her shoulder, reclaims every part of her. She is boneless, humming in one low chant while he pinches her nipples too hard and spills inside her with a wounded shout.
This freedom. This raw lust. This possession.
It is a rush greater than euphoria.
It is power.
The aftermath leaves Draco tranquil and apologetic when he notices the new bruises. But Hermione shakes her head. "It is fine. I wanted this."
He lies on top of her, wraps his arms around her, his head between her breasts as she combs a lazy hand through his hair. He does not let go. Does not move. Their breaths match, one after the other.
Peace after a storm.
"I do not act before I think, but today I tortured men as slow as I could before I could discover what I needed." Draco sounds disgusted with himself. "I could say I went mad like my father and recall nothing, but I remember everything. Enjoyed it, even. I did not hesitate. Am I—"
"You are not your father," Hermione tells him fiercely. "The penalty for treason is death."
"As is laying a hand on you."
It is not sentiment, only fact.
Yet she is silenced by his conviction.
Draco lifts his head, drawing her into a deep, vicious kiss, all tongue and teeth, demanding and passionate. "You are my queen, but I do not want you on your knees."
"I will for you because I know you will for me."
"You are right." His eyes are hard, while the hand that cups her jaw is soft. "And yet, I cannot risk this."
Hermione holds her breath during the long pause, dreading his next words. She is sure they will drive them apart, return them to solitude.
Misery returns where hope once stood.
Already, she mourns the loss, the hole his absence will bring.
But she refuses to let go quietly.
"Are we to return to how we used to be? It is your choice, but know it will change nothing. We remain better as one. United."
"I know." His omission is quiet but he feels angry in a different way. With himself. "I cannot leave your side. If anything, today has brought me closer to you."
The way he looks at her tells Hermione he can feel her relief. "I will be more careful."
"As will I."
Hermione recoils. "What do you mean?"
"It is too early, months too soon. The council will fight my decision, but I do not care." He is firm yet soft, rough yet tender. He delivers his decision in a whisper. "You will be wanded."
Canis Major was described by Manilius as "the dog with the blazing face" because the dog appears to hold Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, in its jaws.
A/N: Entering into the thick of it. RIP Marietta, she did her best and left a clue. Oh Cho. Jaxx rudely attacked me with her grief art at 6am *sobs* Alicia's close call and refusal to hide. Sirius covering her will live rent free in my head. Hermione's numbness was unsettling to write, but Draco's emotion-driven fury was so fun. When Jaxx and I conceptualized this chapter, I was giddy as hell. Still am. Now about this wanding...