Thank you MyPrivateInsanity for helping me edit this chapter!
A Rat in a Cage
Hermione woke up to a figure hovering over her with a halo of light surrounding his long blond hair.
The angel-monster from her nightmares.
Even without him speaking, she heard Lucius' voice echoing in her mind, threatening her father, planning to take her mother, telling the werewolf to do as he wished. For the first time in years, she remembered that night as a whole instead of in fragments.
What he'd done was unforgivable, and she hated that he'd ultimately gotten what he'd wanted.
"Get away from me." Unfortunately, she couldn't move to retreat from him
"I forbid you to descend into pointless hysterics," Lucius answered. "You're fortunate I even entertain this foolishness, and you're equally fortunate Draco cared enough to counteract the curse before it did permanent damage. Very few survive the dark variations of it without becoming mentally incapacitated, and Karkaroff's was known to be fatal."
The nerve curse. She remembered now. Draco had given her sunrise powder, and her mind had produced horrid visions— the corpse groaning in the doorway, Tabitha rising from the stairs, and her father's head rolling down the alleyway.
And then the final vision of walking through a bloody and burning world. She knew logically it had been fake, but it had felt too visceral to forget.
All night, she'd dreamed of her father. First with nightmares, where he'd died over and over, no matter how hard she tried to save him. Throughout each one, he seemed disappointed, as if he'd wanted so much more for her.
As her dreams went on, her mind dredged up deep memories. Her father reading her a bedtime story. A kiss on her cheek from her mother. A whispered prayer before dinner. Simple, ordinary moments that her brain had stored away until now. It might be easy to dismiss them as unimportant, but a life is nothing but a sum of such simple moments.
She had been loved as a child. No one could tell her differently. Desperately, achingly loved.
Her clearest memory had been at a creek. Hermione didn't remember why they'd gone there, only that she'd had fun. After jumping in the water, she'd gotten her dress wet and thought she'd get in trouble, but her mum only gave her a cheeky grin and splashed her again.
Later, at the edge of the water, she'd found a feather and held it up with her pudgy, dirty hands, running towards her father, shoving it to his chest.
"Daddy, look what I found!"
Her father had twirled it between two fingers, showing off the array of colours— white, yellow, and black.
"This is a message."
"A message?"
"Yes," her father hid his grin. "Each feather you find means something different."
"What is this one?"
"A goldfinch. Endurance on a long journey, I think. Perhaps you're about to go on an adventure. Keep it safe with you always."
Hermione had jumped up and down in excitement, grabbing her treasure and holding it close.
Now awakened, the precious memories slipped through Hermione's fingers like sand. A deep yearning poisoned her, wanting a piece of time forever lost.
Something the man hovering over her had stolen.
She hated him. And she hated that his son looked like him. She wished Lucius' appearance matched his cruel soul.
"Am I in St. Mungo's?"
"You are, though we had requested to bring you to the manor with a hired healer. They convinced Draco that they still need to watch your progress."
Lucius didn't elaborate why Draco would rather she heal in private, and she was too exhausted to create theories.
Hermione tried to raise a hand to her forehead to soothe the ache, but her wrists were weighted down. She managed to hide her surprise that the Obsidian shackles once again were snapped around her wrists, smothering her magic. At some point, Draco must have put them on.
Lucius curled his upper lip in disgust at her and cast several diagnostic charms, each flashing the correct colour, indicating she was healing. However, when he passed his wand over her head, it glowed pale red.
"You still need several more doses." Lucius grabbed an amber potion and placed it to her lips. She shivered at his proximity, but she drank it. It was foul, and she fought the desire to spit the nasty concoction back out. "This needs to enter the bloodstream every thirty minutes or the remaining damage will be finite."
"Every thirty minutes?" Hermione asked in surprise. "How long have I been healing?"
"Days," he answered. "And there will be a day more yet, I believe."
She assumed the intensive healing required for the curse contributed to the high death toll.
"Why are you the one giving me potions? Where's Draco, and where are the healers?"
"Draco didn't trust the potency of St. Mungo's potions or that they'd give the level of care necessary for a full recovery. This is of his own creation." Lucius nodded toward the empty vial, now on a table near the bed.
The potion began to work. It burned her veins, increased her headache, and made her limbs too heavy to move.
"So are you saying that Draco's been giving me every dose himself?"
Lucius glared at her, as if he blamed her for everything wrong. "He hasn't slept in days, force feeding you the potion when you struggled against the treatment, saving your silly little brain. I've told him that his efforts are excessive and unnecessary for a breeder, but he's determined to have you make a full recovery."
Lucius pointed to the other side of the room, and she finally noticed Draco sprawled on the chair in the corner, blond head tilted back, arms to the side. Even in sleep, he looked exhausted. His clothes rumpled. Skin pale, leeched of colour.
She imagined Draco forcing a potion down her throat every thirty minutes for days, delirious and ill with sleep deprivation. The only person he'd trusted to take over the task was his horrid father.
Warmth invaded her chest, an itchy feeling. It spread along her ribs, tumbling down into her stomach. She almost rubbed her sternum to chase away the odd ache. She'd experienced it around Draco frequently, but this time it sank deeper.
"Can I have food?"
"Not yet," he said. "In fact, I insist you sleep. I do not wish to converse with you."
She almost informed him that he was the last person in the world that she wanted to talk to as well, and in fact, she might hate him more than anyone, besides Blaise. She'd never forgive him for what he did to her parents, or for what he'd planned to do to her, and he was an evil, irredeemable monster.
But, as if sensing her disdain, Lucius tapped her forehead with his wand, and she collapsed into sleep.
This time, free of nightmares or memories.
When she woke up again, Titus sat in a chair beside her, arms crossed along his wide chest. Uncharacteristic scruff lined his jaw, and he seemed worn down, eyes duller than normal. He wore his auror uniform with his heavy armour underneath, Mediator badge shining bright gold.
A serious visit, then.
Hermione didn't bother pretending to sleep. He'd know.
"Sprite." His voice was rough.
She took a deep breath, staring at the man who she'd loved for most of her life. His face was set in a deep scowl.
Hermione tried to shrug off her exhaustion, knowing she'd need her mental capabilities for the conversation ahead.
"Where's Draco?"
"Malfoy made the mistake of returning to the manor for more potion."
Normally a very secure place, St. Mungo's forbade visitors without patient or family approval— unless it was auror business. That superseded patient confidentiality.
"Are you feeling okay?" he asked.
Her headache had abated, but sharp pains now ripped down her throat, and hunger seized her stomach.
But Hermione didn't want to entertain small talk. "Are you on duty?"
"Not officially, though the healers think I am."
He heaved a sigh and reached out to touch her hand, but she managed with great difficulty to tug it away after the barest of contact. A flash of emotion morphed his features into a frown, and then he smoothed it out into nothing. Curling his hand into a fist, he dropped it to his side.
"Why are you here?" she croaked and then grimaced with the pain.
"You were kidnapped. That needs to be investigated. Do you really think I wouldn't? It's important for me to know if the Order was involved in any way. The fact Malfoy is refusing basic questioning is… suspicious."
Hermione decided she could give him some information.
"I don't think they were the Order."
"Why not?"
She shrugged, or attempted to. "The men—well, I have no real reason. I just don't think they were involved with the Order."
Titus considered her. He didn't give any affirmation, but she knew he took what she said into account.
"Did you figure out their motive?"
"Karkaroff wanted to sell me to some wealthy families in the East. He needed galleons. Said I'd go for a high price at an auction. I didn't figure out much more before Draco rescued me."
Titus hissed out a hard sound and recrossed his arms. He lowered his head down a bit, blue eyes darkening.
After, he took out his wand and twirled it once. He tapped it a few times against his thigh.
"It's a shame he expired. I would have liked to have questioned him myself. Did Malfoy kill all of them?"
"No one escaped." She hadn't been able to sort through her feelings on her experience yet, especially the fact she'd killed a man. So far, she didn't feel the guilt and shame that she thought she would. Her heart held nothing. And why should it? Did Titus ever regret the times he had to kill? Did Draco? If they didn't, then neither would she.
Perhaps that meant she was broken, or perhaps that meant she was strong, but it was worthless to label herself as either.
"You've become skilled at answering without telling the whole truth." Titus stared at her for a long time, tapping away at his thigh, and then he glanced up and ran a hand along his face. "You killed one of them, didn't you?"
"No."
"Tell me the truth."
"It is the truth."
"Fuck, Sprite." He shook his head. "Here's what I've been told— you were kidnapped in the Leaky. Malfoy had turned his back, and then you were gone. No witnesses. He had a trace on you and followed you to Knockturn Alley where you were being held captive. From there, Draco somehow managed to kill five capable wizards—one of them a former Durmstrang headmaster. Not exactly an easy feat. It sounds… fantastical, and I don't believe the story at all."
Titus waited in silence after he'd finished, and Hermione almost squirmed in discomfort. Neither of them did anything to alleviate the accusation thrown between them.
"What Draco said is all true."
"Do you want to know why I don't believe him, or will you go ahead and give me the correct information?"
"I've already given you the correct information."
He narrowed his eyes. "The records indicate you exited the floos alone from the manor. I checked them myself. Draco's signature didn't exit until much later."
Even under polyjuice, the floo signature would show up as her name, since all types of travel were monitored by the ministry. They couldn't logistically keep track of movement between households, but the Leaky was public access. There wasn't much to be done about that. It never mattered before, since no one would bother to check— unless they were being investigated.
Hermione tried not to freeze.
"Records are not infallible."
"That's a weak retort."
"Why are you interrogating me and not Draco?"
"It would be a political nightmare. Right now, I'm running off intuition for most of my accusations, many of them based on my knowledge of Malfoy's inability to handle your rebellious spirit the way he should."
Titus broke her stare and glared at the window, lips thinned from pressure.
"I'm not sure what you're implying—"
"You've always been a terrible liar," he cut her off. "Your tells are all over the place, and you don't even try to control them. From the moment I walked in here, you've evaded my questions. It leaves me in a quandary." He sighed deeply. "As always when it comes to you, I know what I should do, but it's not what I want to do."
"What should you do?" Hermione tried to act brave, but there was a note of hesitancy in her voice.
"I should dig into your mind." He pocketed his wand. "But given that you somehow learned to cast both a patronus and a crucio without my knowledge, I have a feeling you know enough occlumency to put up a fight. I could crack whatever pathetic walls you'd conjure, but it might injure your brain in the process— more than it already is right now."
Hermione's heart sank at the suggestion, despite him not completing the task.
Titus leaned forward, grabbed her chin, tilting it toward him. Though everything about him was familiar, at the moment, he felt threatening.
"Your patronus came to the treehouse," he whispered, and she went still. "I hadn't been home, but Bitty saw it and retrieved the message. This whole time I've been hoping for the truth from you, but I'm starting to think you're incapable of it."
Hermione couldn't stop her sharp intake of breath, and Titus stared at her mouth with the intensity of a Dementor.
She'd sent the patronus to Draco, but it was a complicated spell. Most wizards couldn't even manage to cast it with a wand, so without a wand, the intention to send it beyond her senses proved past her capabilities. In her moment of desperation, she must have thought of the treehouse, of learning to cast it with her coven. It made sense that she'd send it to her previous sanctuary.
It hadn't been sent to Titus. That she knew. But it had gone to a place she'd once felt safe.
Titus had entered this room already knowing she'd produced a complicated spell, suggesting she didn't have her shackles on when she'd been kidnapped.
Hermione sat frozen, afraid any movement would give up more clues.
"No matter what Malfoy says, he wasn't with you. Not only that, but you somehow managed to send a patronus without a wand, when your magic was supposed to be subdued. The conclusion it leads me to is very disturbing."
The conclusion he suggested was the truth— that under polyjuice and fake papers, she'd wandered Diagon Alley without her shackles and without any supervision.
By his stern expression, so near to her, he knew.
"Are you going to arrest me?"
"You tell me, Sprite— what the fuck should I do?" He squeezed his eyes shut as if trying to gain control. "You won't believe me, but I've attempted to come to terms with your choice. I've tried—but Malfoy needs to understand that I'll put up with a great many things, but I refuse to see you in danger. And this is the last time I will allow it."
"Allow it? I'm Draco's," she seethed. "He gets to decide what to do with me. He gets to take care of me now, not you."
Instead of arguing with her, his expression hardened. A beep sounded near them. A charm meant to show she needed the potion again.
"Here," Titus said. "Let me."
He grabbed the vial on the side of the bed, uncapped it, and placed it toward her lips. Her arms still felt impossible to move with her exhaustion.
"I can wait until Draco's back."
"Just take it."
She had little choice. With her arms still leaden next to her, she opened her lips as he tipped it up. The horrid taste made her wish to spit it back out, but she managed to swallow.
When done, he pulled back and wiped a small amount of potion from her lips.
"You and Theo are all I have left." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, lingering a moment and taking a deep breath. With the potion bursting in her veins, she didn't have the strength to pull away. After, he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her eye to eye. "The thought of what those men could have done to you— there are no words to describe my rage. Please, for the love of Merlin, stop putting yourself in situations where I need to be an auror to you. Because next time, I might have to—"
The door burst open, and Draco entered, cheeks blotchy pink and forehead sweaty like he'd run the whole way here. He paused in the doorway, staring at them for only a second until his wand popped into his hand from his shirt sleeve, pointing it at Titus' head. "Get the fuck away from her."
A ripple of tension went down Titus' jaw, but he released her neck, brushing her cheek as he stood. With mechanical movements, he turned, walking stiffly to the door. When he got to Draco, he glared, ignoring the wand pointed at his nose.
"Under your watch, I've had to see Hermione in a ministry cell and now at St. Mungo's." His voice was caustic. "In my eyes, the only thing you're good for is keeping her safe, and you're even fucking that up. Control her." He loomed closer to him. "Or I will."
Draco pocketed his wand, a cocky grin spreading on his face.
"Control her? Why would I need to do that when—" He broke off the taunt he'd planned to say, looking at Hermione, as if remembering something. "As you wish, Nott. I'll be sure you never need to see her again."
Titus took a threatening step forward, fists clenched.
"Rest well, Sprite," he said and then left the room without even looking back.
Draco remained in the doorway until the click of Titus' boots went further down the corridor.
"I only left because you ran out of potions."
Ran out? She still tasted the bitter notes on her tongue.
"But Titus—"
"I think he stole your final vial somehow, so that I'd go to the manor for more. Did he do anything… untoward?"
Of course, Titus had manipulated the situation. He'd meant to force his way into her sick room the whole time. Taking the potion. Pretending to be on duty.
"Not really, but he knows the truth."
"Not well enough to do anything about it. I thought I had miscounted the vials, but I shouldn't have fallen for his tricks."
In a better state, Draco might have seen through the ploy. But his exhaustion dripped from every movement. The way he shuffled inside, almost bent forward. Shadows darkened under his eyes, skin paler than normal. His hair in disarray.
He reached her bed, and instead of sitting in the chair, he crawled in beside her. After sending a locking spell toward the door and plucking a few orange cat hairs off his jumper, he pressed his face to her neck and sighed.
"I'm going to request that you stop your muggle charity for now. It is more dangerous than I anticipated. You don't have—"
"Okay."
He blinked at her, as if he'd been expecting to convince her. "That was way too easy."
She'd been considering it even before he'd asked. Hermione was starting to realise she didn't understand the outside world enough to make the correct moves to keep everyone safe. Susan's death remained on her hands, and the insidious guilt it left ate through her confidence that she was doing the right thing.
"Perhaps we could still find a way to funnel Amy some money. She was— she was doing so well and happy."
"If you wish." Draco took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. "That was your last dose. Tell me you remember everything."
"More than everything."
He hummed against her skin, arm cinched around her waist, dragging her closer.
"You took that curse for me. It should have been me in your place."
"I'd do it again."
"I wouldn't allow you to be such a Gryffindor."
"I— well, thank you for healing me." That was insufficient for the days of worry and endurance he'd managed.
"Granger," he whispered, and she felt his grin on her neck. "I don't think you understand me."
Hermione didn't ask for clarification.
Fresh from her nightmares, Draco resembled Lucius to a stomach-turning degree. The part of her that recoiled from Lucius wished to do the same with his son. And maybe she would have obeyed the impulse if he'd stayed the same spoiled little boy who'd attended her father's execution. That night, Draco had tugged off his little mask, demanding to have her, as if she was just a pet to entertain him.
In many ways, Draco had gotten everything he'd wanted too. She should resent that. But when he finally passed out from exhaustion, mouth pressed to her neck, legs curled around her hips possessively, she did nothing except lean into the touch as much as possible and allow herself to rest in his embrace.
When she arrived back at the manor, she ate a giant meal and took a long bath, soaking until her fingers pruned. After, she combed her hair, styling it, and wrapped herself in a robe to head downstairs.
She found Draco in the library like he'd told her. He stood behind an old wooden table toward the back of the stacks, with a map laid out in front of him, pinned down with charms on the corners— the same map that had been in the decaying flat in Knockturn. The last time she'd seen it, blood had been splattered across the top. Draco must have cleaned and mended it.
The same lines encircled and shaded Europe and Asia.
Deep in thought, Draco had both his arms bracketed on the table, only glancing up at her arrival. Since she'd been injured, he'd stared at her the same— almost decadent in its appreciation. Roving up and down, savouring the sight of every curve and freckle and curl, as if he might never see it again.
"How did you get this?" Hermione walked forward, hesitant to touch it. Given what she'd gone through, the map felt haunted.
"On my first trip back to grab the potions, I returned to the flat and took their personal belongings. I knew it was only a matter of time before the aurors would investigate, so I needed to get there first." He placed a finger on the edge of France, following the zigzagging line. "This is something I don't understand, and I'd like your input."
"It has to do with the curse." Hermione slid into a chair across from him. She'd thought of it during her last day when she'd reviewed her memories. It was the only conclusion she could find. "Possibly it's all of the areas affected. I feel like Titus mentioned a boundary a time or two. He even said once that they monitor it, since unaffected countries have shut down any travel or diplomacy."
"My father told me something similar." Draco's finger trailed the red line again— bisecting Spain. "He said we've reinforced our borders with magical wards, making it so no one could cross. Either in or out. A necessary step to protect our people."
"Like wards for a manor? That would require a lot of magic." Hermione grabbed a wet curl and twisted it around her finger.
"It would." He traced up to Italy, hovering over the shaded parts. "In theory, if all of the old families and prestigious wizards from across the cursed countries were banned together, it would be possible. But I think we've both been lied to."
Hermione leaned closer, still avoiding touching the map.
"What do you mean?"
"Why does this divide Spain?" Draco pointing to the line. "Why doesn't it neatly line the coast? Why does it rest in the ocean around us, but it segues onto land in other places? It makes no sense."
Hermione blinked a few times, studying the map again. She'd thought it was strange the first time, but there had been too much going on to really think deep on it.
"You don't think it's strange that other countries haven't attempted to enter— or have ever succeeded to—even for trade?" Draco continued. "From what I've studied, before the curse, there was significant travel between us, even at the height of the dark wizarding and muggle wars. So why is it so closed off now?"
"What do you suspect?" Hermione whispered.
"I have some suspicions, and I've heard some rumours, but I want to see it for sure. I have a contact that I've reached out to that is willing to let us go here— for an enormous sum, of course." He pointed to Russia, near the red line that cut it in half. "My informant tells me it's the best place to go, because of the remote location. Many of the wizards and muggles have fled the old cities there, making it easier to move without detection."
Something bugged her until it made her stomach twist. Her brain snagged on something that caused a chill to zip across her skin.
"I understand why Titus would prevent me from knowing any of this. He never planned to let me know anything." She extended her arm over the map. "But why hasn't your father told you?"
"That's the part that makes me hesitate." Draco left the map and walked over, grabbing her chin, tilting her face up to his. "I have a feeling that once we understand this map that we'll wish we didn't know."
Again, he gave her the choice. She could know the truth or hide her head in the sand and pretend nothing else existed.
"I need to know."
Draco hesitated, but he nodded.
"Then let's go," he said. "I've been told that travel will be difficult. I've authorised special papers for the visit and bribed several people to let us pass through the checkpoints without detection, but it's still a risk. Once we make it out of the United Kingdom, it should be easier."
Despite the heavy reasons for travel, Hermione was excited at the idea of exiting the country. She'd never been anywhere besides the manors, the muggle world, and few places in wizarding Britain.
"When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow."
The journey happened much like he said. Instead of going into muggle London, they hopped through a floo again. From there, they met several checkpoints. It shocked Hermione how hard it was to travel. Draco explained his job let him into several cities, but not everywhere. She'd always thought the restrictions pertained to just people lower in the hierarchy, but they interrogated Malfoy too, searching over his papers until satisfied, and then they only let him through because he paid them. If someone like Malfoy, who had both a powerful last name and money, struggled to get around freely, then what chance did anyone else have?
She suspected, though, that Lucius got around with much more ease. And Titus had all the access in the world, so they must be well aware of what the map meant.
After getting out of wizarding Britain and into France, the travel became much easier, going through several connected floos until they landed in Russia. She didn't get much time to see the people or buildings before they transferred to the countryside. It amazed her how far a person could travel in an instant.
The last floo spit them out in a rundown building. It must have been pretty once— or at least, cleaner. The building was large and empty. Old rows of seats, a few ghost shops. Large windows took up one side, and giant contraptions rotted outside on the concrete. Hermione walked close to the window, looking out to a graveyard of muggle technology.
"What is this place?"
Draco walked forward, standing beside her. "This is where the aeroplanes took off into the sky and landed."
Hermione glanced around in fascination, recognizing the airport now from the movies. It produced an eerie feeling, as if looking through a time portal. A place like this should be bustling with people. The emptiness made something crawl down her spine.
The energy left over made her want to return home, heavy with loss in a way Hermione couldn't define, though she'd had little concept of a place like this beyond the movies they watched. Maybe it was the knowledge that this could have been her life had things not gone wrong. Would she have sat in seats similar to this, holding Hopper, next to her mother and father while they freely travelled the world?
What would it have been like to see the world and all of the places she'd read about?
The grief this time resembled claustrophobia, and she wished to move.
Luckily, their guide exited the floo not long after they arrived. He was a small man, shorter than average, and when he grinned, his teeth were stained dark. From what she'd seen, dental care must be in short supply outside pureblood circles.
"The Malfoy heir," he rasped with a hint of an accent. English obviously wasn't his first language, but he spoke it beautifully. "Welcome to the beautiful Krasnoyarsk."
"Lovely," Draco said, glancing at the crumbling interior. The sarcasm was easy to detect. Hermione suspected the old city it was situated beside was in a similar level of disrepair.
"Let's not linger. We only have a few hours before the floos close for the day, and then you'll be stuck here." The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a broom, enlarging it and handing it to Draco. "We'll have to fly, because this is where the network ends. Not many people even venture this far."
"Fly?" Hermione asked in alarm. Suddenly the trip didn't seem like such a great idea.
"Yes, pet, fly."
They dangled above the ground, the icy air lashing them, despite warming charms and impenetrable cloaks. But Hermione didn't care about the cold. She cared that her feet remained off the ground, floating at cloud level.
She clung to Draco's back like a baby monkey, feeling miserable and ill, wishing her curiosity hadn't been quite so strong.
Why did she care about the supposed border again? It was hard to remember through her terror. Despite Draco flying steadier and slower than normal, she knew he secretly enjoyed being in the air. If he hadn't been a potions master, she suspected he might have wanted to play professional quidditch.
Hermione groaned in relief when they finally began to descend. But as she did, all the hair on her neck stood up. There was a strange energy in the air. Like magic, but soured, rotten. If it had a smell, it would reek of sulphur.
They broke through the grey clouds and descended to the ground. The destination was moderately hilly where they planned to land, with white capped mountains in the distance. The only thing that stood out on the landscape was a line of low fog— dark wispy clouds, stretching in a snaking line for as far as she could see, sitting on top of vibrant green.
"What is that?" She asked, ears popping with the descent.
"I have a feeling it's what I fear." Draco didn't offer any other explanation.
The wall of greenish-grey didn't appear solid in a corporeal sense. She suspected she could reach out and wrap the wispy threads around her arm if she wished, though it looked as if it would be suffocating to walk through, reminding her of smoke, but more volatile.
They landed softly, and Draco made sure she had her footing before taking away their broom.
Their guide looked back at them. He hadn't given them a name yet, and she didn't think he would, wishing for anonymity.
"What's that?" Draco pointed toward the seething mass of fog.
"That," the guide answered, "is our death."
"Death?" Hermione asked, almost in a trance. Her whole body trembled at the word and the power displayed before her. The energy whipped her robes, hair lifting in the air, like stepping close to electricity. A faint buzz could be felt and heard. "What do you mean by that?"
"That's what you're staring at."
It wasn't fog at all, she realised. Magic— visible magic. Like an eternal spell. Except it wasn't reacting with a wand core. This had been dredged from the depths of Earth. Like mother nature, it didn't seem to be caring or nurturing, good or bad. It felt brutal and wild. Violent chaos and capricious destruction.
A realisation crashed over her— it wasn't a border made by wizards; it was a border made by the curse itself.
Draco glanced at her, and she'd never seen him so disturbed. The shock of whatever was in front of them stripped him of his occlumency shield, exposing his vulnerable disquiet.
"Can anyone get through it— or over it?" Draco asked.
"Not that we know of. When it first happened, muggle planes slammed into the boundary and dropped out of the sky. Part of that might be the interference with technology. It fried most of the muggles' hardware. Though some of it survived, of course. Over the years, different people have attempted to tunnel under, but— that hasn't worked either."
"So we're stuck inside it?" Draco once again stared at the seething mass of green-grey darkness.
"Even the largest wall has cracks. There's never been a mountain or a gate that humans haven't scaled— except this one."
"If it's made of magic, it must have a loophole," Hermione said.
The guide nodded. He ran his tongue along his teeth. "Tell that to the people who have been trying to get in or out for over a decade."
"In?" Hermione caught the word. "So the rest of the world is still out there?"
"At first, we didn't know," he admitted. "Until the technology became usable again, we assumed most of them to be dead. Not sure who made the first contact or how. From what little I know, the whole world fell into chaos after the curse. But things have stabilised. Now the outside world is doing much better than us, and people have been attempting to find their way inside. None of their methods have worked, as you see."
"There's no way they could keep this a secret from the general populace," Hermione said.
"They kept it from a cherub like you, didn't they?" He stared at her in a greedy way that made her uncomfortable, and she shifted closer to Draco. "There have always been leaked rumours of course, and most know of a boundary or border, but the authorities have created enough distrust and misinformation to keep the real information hidden. It helps that muggles are naturally repelled about a mile from the border. It causes them to forget and turn around, similar to other magical charms. Still, the muggle chaos after the curse— cut off from the support of technology— bled into the wizarding world, and then the purebloods ran out of food too. People were too hungry to care about truth or lies."
"Lack of food— that's the true reason why we decided to subdue the muggles," Draco surmised.
"I'm pretty sure your daddy was the architect of that plan." He gave a nod to Draco. "The other countries soon followed the example to varying degrees."
"But how did they manage that?" Hermione asked. "There were… so many of them."
"Muggles outnumber us normally, but the chaos at the beginning of the curse resulted in a slaughter. It's estimated that eighty percent of the population or more died within the first six months, mostly from starvation and lack of medical care, but also violence."
Hermione did remember her parents worrying about food. Remembered nights where they had nothing and the rows that followed. It was why she'd been so amazed at the food in Nott manor, served from heaping platters by crawling servingware.
"But it stabilised eventually?"
"Eventually, yes, when the purebloods gained strict control. They set up work camps, forcing the muggles to plant and grow food, along with producing other essential commodities. They created a ration system to feed everyone, but it's still not enough. The population's still starving."
"But how have they kept the border from the wizarding population?"
"Many wizards do know to an extent, but the wizards in charge try to keep the worst of it secret, especially from the younger generations. Only a few are granted access. They've implemented checkpoints and identity papers, and there are charms set up along the coast. It helps that much of the boundary for you is set in the ocean. And anyone found breaking the new statute of secrecy is obliviated. Sometimes killed."
It seemed excessive, and she knew there was more she was missing.
Hermione remembered her excursion into muggle London, the hassle to even step outside of Diagon Alley. And then the struggle to get out of the country, even with the Malfoy name.
"My father—" Draco started, then stopped, shaking his head. "What about other countries? Are they just as strict? I've been to France, but mostly stayed in our chateau."
"The UK is the worst. France and Germany might be next. Several of the Eastern European countries are less strict, since their borders don't scrape against the grey mist."
Bulgaria— Hermione was reminded of her conversations with Viktor. From what he suggested, the muggleborns were treated better there.
"So we could be trapped like this forever?" Hermione's voice trembled, suddenly understanding the enormity of what was before her.
The guide gave her an odd expression. Maybe one of fear. Maybe more disturbed. It set Hermione on edge.
"It might be more comforting if the answer was forever." The man glared at the border, voice lowering. "Since the beginning, the mist likes to shift spontaneously, mostly inward."
"What happens when it shifts?" Draco had put back up his occlumency shield, face hard, as if he also knew he'd need inner calm, and Hermione stiffened beside him, bracing herself.
"Last year, officials in China noticed the mist moving more than usual. It was odd enough that they considered evacuation. Before they could warn people, it snapped like a rubber band, swallowing half of the country in one go."
The shaded region on the map.
"What happened to the people and animals in the way?" Hermione's fingers felt numb with cold, and she pressed them together to retain feeling.
"No one knew at first, just that all contact had been lost. But slowly the reports came in." His eyes left the mist and went to Draco. "Miles of bodies and corpses—no one survived. Millions of people, gone in a second. Since then, the boundary has been even more unstable. A smaller snap happened in Greece and Italy. No one knows where to hide. Countries inland, like the Ukraine, have already shut down their borders as best they can to keep out refugees, but no one knows when or where it will happen next. All we know is that when it does snap, we'll all end up like this."
He reached in his pocket and took out a rat with a rope tied around its waist. It didn't squirm, so it seemed sedated, probably magically. Hermione opened her mouth to ask a question, but the guide threw the small mammal into the mist. It didn't even make a sound as it was swallowed. Hermione gasped, unable to stop or process what she'd just seen.
A moment later, he tugged until a desiccated carcass appeared. Only the shrivelled husk of a rat remained.
She and Draco stepped back at the same time, as if death was catching.
"You just killed it!" Hermione stepped forward in anger, but Draco tugged on her shoulder, reminding her that it wasn't the place or time.
"It was just a rat," the guide said, finding amusement in her outrage.
"So we're not just trapped." Draco's hand went out to hers, wrapping their fingers together. "We're trapped in a deadly cage that's closing in."
"They can't keep this secret," Hermione said. A panic attack brimmed just below the surface of her mind. "If this is a result of the curse, you would think everyone could work together to—"
The guide's loud, grating laugh cut her off.
"So precious. You must—"
"The secrecy is to control panic." Draco stared at the desiccated rat. "Knowing death is imminent and out of their control would destabilise everything. If they didn't manage the information, the chaos would have continued. There would probably be a mass exodus out of the UK, because we are close to the border, and it would overwhelm other countries. My father— he didn't want me to know, because there doesn't seem to be anything that can save us."
No way in. No way out.
After a moment of reflection, she understood.
Lucius had been protecting Draco's psyche from a nihilistic hopelessness, wanting him to live as normal a life as possible, while still preparing him for survival. After her ritual, the elder Malfoy had held the Venus statue, begging gods he didn't believe in to have mercy on them. It hadn't been for himself. She understood this now. It had been for Draco. Lucius wanted a world where his son had a future, and it seemed he'd do anything to obtain that.
Everything clicked together. All of the small interactions throughout her life bore a heavier weight than before.
She still hadn't forgiven Titus, but she understood his desperation to end the curse— for Theo and for her. He'd sacrificed her that night, thinking it would free everyone, and after it failed, he was devastated, knowing that her suffering— and his betrayal— had been for nothing.
Dolohov's motive became clear too. It wasn't about babies. Not for him. It was self-motivated survival, explaining his sickening disappointment displayed after her ritual had failed— one he'd put so much expectation into.
According to the basic laws, magic functioned on opposites. On and off. In and out. Stop and go. Every ward had a hole. Every curse had a countercurse. It made sense that an ancient Venus statue drenched in ancient creation magic, misused and out of control, had dredged up extinction as a cage.
The outside world wasn't callous, just irrelevant. While the curse did seem to cause infertility like Dumbledore intended, it also messed with ancient, deeper consequences— magic that should have never been tampered with.
The caste system of slavery the purebloods created provided a way to keep their peers fed, comfortable, and sated, serving them pleasure and hedonism with parties and excess. It gifted the purebloods a world where they got everything they wanted, uncontested. A false hope. An illusion for a mythical future where heirs still mattered. A future where a guillotine didn't hover over their necks, seconds away from snapping.
They used the barren hope as a tool for power, knowing people would endure any situation, as long as a sliver of hope remained that they could break free.
"I had planned to get us out." Draco's hand strangled her own as they kept their eyes on their future fate. Her heart hurt at the thought of escaping.
The daydream died inside her. They were in a giant fishbowl, unable to escape, with a border that killed on a whim. Trapped with sharks shaped like men who would eat them whole, if it meant staying alive and on top of the growing pile of corpses.
Hermione understood a bleak truth— if they didn't succeed in breaking the curse, then they would all soon be devoured.
Song Suggestion: Klergy- "The End"
"The truth is often avoided because it is ugly and unpleasant. Never appeal to truth and reality unless you are prepared for the anger that comes from disenchantment." Robert Greene, "The 48 Laws of Power"
Fun Fact: I based the survival rate of muggles on real information for EMPs. I actually lowered the number. If a powerful solar flare (or man made EMP) hit just right, the government estimates 90% of the population would die within a year, most within the first six months. Our systems are too fragile and intricate, and the countryside would be hunted to near extinction very quickly.
