A/N: Surprise, bitch. I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. Would you believe me if I said I've missed you? And I know you've missed our poor, tortured characters. So I won't keep you, but there is some good news for you at the end of the chapter.
Thank you, as always, to the wonderful Bree who has somehow managed to not murder me yet. We will see how that plays out though, as the story progresses. And also thank you to AdAsttra who did some last minute editing for me. This chapter is happening because of them.
Trigger warning: gore and… corpse mutilation?
Soundtrack: "Demons" by Missio and butterf(lies) by ALYSSAD
TWENTY SEVEN
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Hermione huffed out white puffs of breath as she ran. She should have gotten warmer as she moved, but the further she went, the colder it got. The icy air hit her lungs, making her seize and slowing her down, still; she forced herself on. She couldn't stop, not now.
It was right behind her.
Her nightmares had shifted and changed over time and somehow had found their way back to their earliest formation—Hermione, running away from a persistent foe. Only there were no smooth tiles from the Department of Mysteries or well worn stones of Hogwarts castle. These were crudely carved passageways that seemed almost as if they had been hewn from the rock.
And they were cold.
She had never felt cold like this before—not when she went skiing with her parents and not even hiding in the woods with Harry last winter. This was the kind of cold that seeped down into bones, stealing the warmth from the very marrow. This was the kind of cold that felt like once it got in, she would never be able to get it back out. It felt like…like hopelessness.
Like hell.
She came to the end of the passageway and saw a small set of winding stairs leading up. Taking a risk, Hermione glanced behind her. She couldn't see very far in the dark, but she could hear it.
A slow, but steady shuffling followed by a low and heavy groan.
It sounded almost… human. Almost.
Hermione's stomach tightened and she darted up the stairs. Near the top she slipped on a patch of ice, hitting the landing hard. The top step knocked into her middle and pushed the air from her lungs. Stunned for a moment, she watched it cloud and mist in the space in front of her. She needed to get up, to move. She couldn't stay here.
Hermione pushed herself up, tenderly breathing in and wincing when a sharp pain hit her side. It felt like a shard of frozen steel stabbing into her. Looking down, she didn't see any blood. A broken rib then, maybe a punctured lung. She braved the pain as she forced herself to get up again. She would be able to assess the damage once she was—
Something icy encircled her ankle and pulled her down hard. Hermione cried out as she hit the stairs again, hot tears springing to her eyes only to freeze before they even made it halfway down her cheek.
She struggled, trying to pull herself back up, but whatever had her was holding on tight.
It wouldn't let go.
Hermione kicked out at it wildly, but even the kicksones that made contact did nothing to stop what was holding her, what was pulling her back, pulling her down.
She let out a frustrated scream as she clawed at the frozen stone, ripping the skin from her fingers as it tugged her back down a step. There wasn't anything to grab onto, nothing that could help her. Hermione struggled and pulled herself back onto the top stair by leaning on her elbows, but as soon as she took a breath, the stabbing pain was back. She recoiled, falling back to where she was before.
Her mind spun, knowing what she needed to do, but unable to do anything to stop what was happening. She cried out again as it pulled her down a step, then another. Dragging her, kicking and screaming, all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
Hermione was bruised and bloody by the time she fell back to the dark passageway floor. It was bitterly cold and her whole body ached and shivered as the thing grabbed at her, turning her over to lay on her back.
She didn't want to open her eyes. She refused to. It was a childish thought, that if she couldn't see it, it couldn't hurt her. Hermione knew better than that, but she couldn't help herself. The thing was on top of her, holding her down with the weight of its body.
Hermione writhed, tossing her head from side to side as it settled down on top of her.
Its breath was like ice as it hovered above her face. "Open your eyes, pet."
Hermione stilled. She knew that voice, that deep, commanding voice. Hesitantly blinking one eye open, Hermione asked in a small voice, "D-Draco?"
The small glimpse she got from between her lashes was enough to make her mouth drop open and her eyes go wide. It was Draco, but at the same time, it wasn't him at all.
She stared up into the gaping dark hole where only the socket was left. The other eye was no longer the deep storm grey it usually was. A misty film covered it, blocking out any light or life that had once been behind it. This was Draco, but as she'd seen him in a past nightmare; as he never wanted her to see him in waking life… As an inferius.
"I told you I'd come for you," the dead Draco smirked, but only half his mouth moved. The other side stayed loose and limp. "I told you we'd be together forever. And we will be. Now hold still. This will only hurt for a moment…"
As he lowered his lips to hers, Hermione screamed.
.
Draco didn't know how or why and he didn't give a fuck. All he knew was that he was walking into his bedroom and his girl was laying on his bed. She was wearing one of the little lace dresses he had bought for her, partially to punish her for holding out on him, but mostly to punish himself for what he'd done to make her do that. None of that mattered right now, not when he could see the rise and fall of her chest and the pool of soft sheets around her waist.
The light from his study spilled behind him, marking him out as a dark figure as he moved further inside. His strides were long and determined. His hands were shaking as he pulled the thick coat off of his shoulders, not even bothering to charm it to hang itself up. It could lay on the floor in a fucking ball for all he cared.
She was here. Finally here.
And so was he. No more cold stone floors. No more mix of salt and snow. Nothing but her her her.
Hermione.
"Draco?" she called out sleepily and his breath caught in his throat at the sound of it.
"Yeah, Sweetheart," Draco said softly and crawled on top of the bed. "It's me."
He leaned down to kiss her, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.
Draco looked down. There was a chain attached to it.
Then he looked at his arm. The black skull's jaw opened wider as the snake slowly slithered from it.
How was that possible? His mark was back, branded onto his skin, like it had been for the last two years.
Draco looked back to Hermione, searching her face for some answer because of course she would have one, but only found furious tears lining her eyes, making them look like pools of melted chocolate.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, the words shaking as she spoke them.
"I… I love you," Draco said helplessly. It was all he could think of at the moment. He had missed her so much. More than he ever thought possible. It seemed like these words would work like a magic spell, that once he said them, everything would be alright again. The chains, his mark, it would all be gone and it would just be them. Him and her. Like it was supposed to be.
Hermione didn't say anything. She just let a single tear slip over her cheek and removed her hand. In its absence, Draco could feel a deep, bitter cold seeping into his chest. She turned over and laid back down, curling her body up into a ball and holding it together with the chain he had put on her.
Then Draco was looking at himself, watching himself on the bed, watching this play out in front of him. His form sank down next to her, blew out a long breath and ran his hand up into his hair before letting his arm fall next to him on the bed, baring the mark into the dark.
"I don't want someone like you to love me," the words came from beside him, not from the bed and Draco turned to see the glazed colorless eyes of Fake Granger smiling sweetly up at him. "And why would she? Look at you," Fake Granger motioned to the bed. "You're a mess."
When Draco looked back at the bed, he was different. His white shirt was stained with sweat and his trousers were splattered with mud. His head had already fallen to the side, mouth partially parted and a pink flush of alcohol marking his cheeks. He was drunk—wasted—and had climbed into the bed with Hermione and made her put up with him by chaining her to it.
That's what had really happened. Now he could see it. Now he knew.
"I… I don't remember this," Draco said softly and looked between the two people on the bed.
"Of course you don't." Fake Granger said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You blacked out. There are plenty of nights you don't remember. But she does." She nodded her head in the direction of the real… or… memory Hermione.
On the bed, Granger was holding back tears, screwing her eyes shut tight then opening them when she took deep breaths that shook her whole body, making the chain rattle ever so slightly.
Draco walked over to her side of the bed while the version of him in the bed laid motionless next to her. He couldn't leave her like this, he… he didn't want to. She shouldn't have had to deal with him when he was drunk. She shouldn't have had to go through half of the shit he put her through. And she had, but now, he was failing her again. He promised to get back to her, but he couldn't even get out of his own head long enough to even try to think of a plan.
Right now, he didn't want to. If she was stuck in here, then he wanted to be too.
"I'm sorry." He knelt down beside her. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I really mean it this time."
Hermione was biting her lip, trying not to cry. Then she slowly turned over, the chain clinking softly as it moved across the mattress. It rested on the curve of her waist, pulling the lace tight against her. He wondered if the chain was cold, if she was cold, when Hermione reached out and slid her finger less than an inch from the mark on his arm.
She trailed it down into his palm and then slipped her hand inside his. Her lips didn't move, but Draco heard the words anyway.
"I don't want someone like you to love me."
He didn't blame her. He was a drunken fuck who hurt her over and over and never took responsibility for it. How many times had he said he was going to stop lying to her or that he'd quit drinking? She'd forgiven him for coming at her in the kitchen after his Father had died. She'd forgiven him for leaving Weaselbee down there with McNair. She'd done more than forgive him, she had stood up for him, spoken for him, argued for his freedom.
All he'd done in return was left her alone, as he had done so many nights before when he was too drunk to comfort her. Too drunk to hold the girl, his girl, in his arms.
The all too sober Draco stood up. His hands shaking, not from lack of drink, but from hatred for the version of him in the bed. He was furious, so much that black spots danced in front of his eyes. He wanted to shake the Draco in the bed, wake him up, and beat the living shit out of him. He wanted to hurt himself. He wanted to kill himself.
"I want to go," he said in a firm voice.
"Aw, but we just got here." Fake Granger sidled up next to him. "And look how cute we are, all snuggled up together." She sighed wistfully. "We could slip right into them, right there, in the bed." She tried to put her hand inside his, but they were balled into fists at his sides. Fake Granger settled for wrapping her hands around his wrist and standing up on her toes to whisper in his ear, "I promise not to push you away if you try to kiss me."
Draco growled and grabbed her, slamming her into the wall beside them. Only now it wasn't his bedroom, it was his cell, and Fake Granger gasped as he pressed her into it hard. "You are not her," he said menacingly, lowering his head to stare hard into her colorless eyes. "You will never be her."
Fake Granger glared up at him. "And you'll never be him."
Draco searched her face for a moment. "Who?" It was wrong, but he couldn't help but feel the twinge of jealousy deep in his gut. This wasn't Hermione, but it was Hermione's lips that he had just watched say that.
Fake Granger lifted her chin and he tightened his hold on her. "The man she deserves. You might not have your mark anymore, but we both know what you really are."
Draco had to fight the urge to wrap his hands around her neck. As much as he wanted to make her hurt for what she had done to him, he didn't want to see Hermione in pain. Even this fucked up version of her.
"And what's that?" he spat back at her.
Fake Granger lifted herself up as high as she could go in her current position, until her lips were damn near touching his. What should have been warm breath crossed his face as cold wind.
"Useless," she snarled. "Do you really think she's waiting on you? You?! You can't even use magic anymore. How are you ever going to get out of here and back to her?"
Draco let go of her and backed up.
She pushed off from the wall. "She's a smart girl. She'll have figured it out by now."
"Figured out what?" Draco breathed. He didn't want to know, he really didn't fucking want to know, but… he had to. He was scared not to.
"That there's nothing worth waiting for."
Draco didn't argue back. He didn't even roll his eyes. Fake Granger was… right. Even if he somehow broke out of the most secure prison in the world and got back to Britain, what sort of life could he offer her? He'd have to rip her away from everything she'd ever known, everything she had fought for. She was the master of the Elder wand and a war hero. Maybe she was better off without him.
But what was he without her?
Fake Granger let out a sharp, disappointed exhale. "Like I said," she walked past him, apparently done with him. At least for a while. "Useless."
.
Sitting up in bed, Hermione clutched the silver ring against her chest. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body and the sheets clung to her, tangled around her legs from when she had tossed in her sleep. She was breathing heavily, her hair sticking to the sides of her neck and back as she tried to calm herself in the too-bright morning light.
It helped to dispel the cold darkness of her dream, but Draco's words hung in her head, echoing with every heavy beat of her heart. She could feel it fluttering in her chest, as if she really had been running down the frozen corridors of… Azkaban. She had nightmares like this several times over the past six months, but this was the first one where he had caught her, where she had seen him, felt him… like that.
Hermione's legs were unsteady as she pulled herself from the bed and wrapped Draco's coat around her to dispel the chill of the morning. She walked to the bathroom and started to brush her teeth, holding the brush in her mouth as she waved her wand at the bed for it to make itself. The thick duvet shook itself out and floated softly down on the straightening sheets. She had hoped the fresh bed would help her forget her troubled night, but just like Draco, it was holding onto her.
And she was holding on too. Holding on to the small ray of hope that was still burning in her chest. She'd done everything, everything, she possibly could and something had to work out for her. No. Not something, just one thing. She wasn't sure if she could live in this world if there wasn't a chance Draco could live in it with her.
Sometimes, in her weakest moments, in the dark and cold of the night, Hermione wished they had just run off together when they had the chance. But every time she started to wander down that line of thought, she would shake her head, dismissing it. She was glad she had fought for Harry; fought for all her friends who she had lost. She wouldn't be able to face herself if she hadn't.
Which was why she was still fighting for Draco, even after everything standing in her way, everything everyone said about him, and everything he had done, she wasn't going to give up. She might spend the next year, the next five years, or the rest of her life fighting to get him out, but she was willing to do it. Looking at herself in the mirror, Hermione wasn't sure there was anything she wouldn't do at this point.
Hermione rinsed off her toothbrush, washed her face, and walked back into the bedroom where Calix had dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet on the foot of the bed.
The black print on the rolled paper caught her eye and drew her towards it like a charm.
Without hesitation, she unspooled it and her eyes scanned the headline quickly.
"Minister of Magic Shacklebolt removed from office after Death Eater attack kills five."
Hermione was reading too fast to even blink. The DMLE had found a hidden nest of Death Eaters, but their attempts at capture had turned deadly after one of the Death Eaters had risen as an inferius. It killed an Auror and another Death Eater before it was dispatched. The cycle continued until the Aurors had lost half of their Death Eaters were dead, one had been captured alive, and one had escaped.
In an uproar, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had called for Kinglsey's resignation, Hermione could assume at wandpoint, and taken control of the Ministry's efforts of asserting power and control.
While a special election was being planned, Percy Weasley had been placed as the de facto head of the Ministry. According to the article, he had ordered for the captured Death Eater not to be sent to Azkaban, but instead to be put to death as a "safety concern for the public".
Hermione held her breath as she flipped through the pages, trying to continue the article and see what would be happening to the Death Eaters currently in Azkaban. When she did, her legs went weak underneath her. Sagging onto the broken chaise, Hermione felt her heart hammering in her chest…which was strange because there didn't seem to be enough blood in her head.
At least not enough to process what she had just read because the words just kept floating in front of her, over and over.
"Azkaban prison is to be closed and the current prisoners exiled to the island as they pose a threat to wizarding society in any form: dead or alive. 'Protection and preservation of the magical community is the main drive of the new Ministry administration,' says Weasley. 'Any threat will be dealt with efficiently and effectively and this includes threats we have already identified and imprisoned. We cannot allow such individuals to exist in our world any longer'."
Hermione set the paper down in a strangely calm manner. Maybe because she had spent the better part of the night crying out all the weakness within her, or maybe because she was just so tired of things being snatched away from her at the last moved to stand in front of the window, looking out at the grounds as she had done so many times before.
She had thought the lowest she could ever feel was last year at this time, when she had been trekking across the countryside, trying to survive a war that the love of her life was fighting on the other side of. But at least then she had her two best friends with her, at least then she knew that Draco was… maybe not okay, but better than he was now. And at least then she still had hope.
She still had hope that they could win the war, that there could be some sort of life for her and Draco after all of this, where they could be… them. And maybe one day, her friends could be happy for them too. Harry seemed close to it, before… Hermione breathed out heavily, watching it fog up the glass in front of her.
Draco had left her all of this, but… she didn't want it without him. What was all the gold in the vaults and the huge house and the grand estate without… without him? What was she without him? Hermione had always thought Draco had broken her heart and he did, but… he had always put it back together again. He had always fixed it, all of it, like he promised to.
But Draco wasn't here to do that now and Hermione was… waiting. She hadn't promised him that as he was hauled away, at least not out loud, but she meant it where it counted. In her heart. Draco had made promises to her too. Her fingers ran over the heavy ring again. They were supposed to be together; they were supposed to be happy.
But Hermione was as far from happy as she had ever been. And as far from Draco as well. If she couldn't help him come back, then… then what was left for her here? Only more heartache.
She wasn't the one locked away in Azkaban, but how she felt right now, she might as well be.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that Harry had sat on the beach beside her and told her that he wanted her to be happy. She hadn't seen it as a goodbye in the moment, but looking back now, it almost sounded like a final request. To give herself the chance to live her life how she wanted to—on her own terms. Not for him or Dumbledore or anyone else.
"...do something for yourself instead of trying to save the world all the time…"
Hermione narrowed her eyes. Draco hadn't been right when he said that, but he hadn't been wrong either. It was a paradox that she often found herself in when it came to him, and she actually found it quite annoying. And… a little endearing. Blaise was right, they were perfect for each other. Hermione smiled as the last of the fog cleared from the window pane.
And as she watched thick, colorless clouds gather in the distance, their cold autumn wind blowing the curls back off her shoulders, Hermione settled on the fact that the world that she had fought for, that Harry had died for, was not this one.
So she didn't want it anymore.
All she wanted was Draco.
The world could save itself, she was going to save him.
.
Hermione had not given much thought to the state of the Manor, but now knowing that she was about to have guests, she looked around with new eyes. The house was charmed and warded, but Death Eaters had made this place their headquarters and it showed the signs in every room. While the Malfoys had inhabited their Manor, it had been kept in form. She remembered how elegant everything had looked the few chances she got to see beyond Draco's room and study.
She thought often about the months she was kept captive here. She had barely ever been allowed out, but now she had free reign of the entire estate. More than that, she was now its… caretaker.
She wanted it to look presentable, for Draco's sake, when Blaise and Neville arrived. Even though she could do as she pleased now, Hermione had really just stuck to the few places she felt comfortable in. Her work was organized in neat piles on Draco's desk and a few books were stacked on the floor. In the evenings, when she would eventually become so exhausted she had to sleep, Hermione would retreat into Draco's room, lock the goblin wrought iron knob, and collapse into his—their—bed.
Other than that, Hermione had ignored the rest of the house. She hadn't even seen a house elf and often worried what might have befallen the poor creatures once their masters were no longer here to protect them from various Death Eaters tramping in and out. Once Lucius had died, Voldemort had taken the Manor as his residence and it was obvious that his followers had taken liberties in the Malfoy home.
Hermione peered in rooms, some untouched with the furniture still covered and others ransacked and ravaged. More than once she came across strange stains on the rugs, but the splatter marks and lingering smell gave away their true origin. Hermione knew blood stains when she saw them; the war had taught her some things too well.
When she got to the drawing room, Hermione stopped in the doorway, her legs locking up and taking her no further. She could still see it just as it had been the last time she was here, bleeding on the floor with Bellatrix leaning over her, carving into her skin. Hermione absentmindedly rubbed the scar on her arm. She could still feel the knife slicing into her; she hadn't thought four little cuts could hurt so much.
Hermione had tried to fight back and push Bellatix off, but she was already bruised and sore from what she and Draco had done that morning and she had tired quickly. Bellatrix's laugh had echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and mixing with her own scream and then… and then…
Hermione's eyes were locked on the spot where Crookshanks' body had lain. She didn't want to look at it anymore, didn't want to see it. When she forced her eyes closed, she saw Draco falling to the floor, blood dripping off his face and seeping through his shirt. His mouth was open in a silent scream, but his eyes… Goodness, his eyes, they had been a dark shade of swirling grey and focused solely on her. Like they were the only people in the room, just him and her…
She only pulled her eyes away from his to catch his wand, her wand after that moment. Draco had thrown it to her, for her. Hermione pulled the hawthorn wand out of her pocket and held it tight. He had given her so much more than a wand in that moment. He had given her… everything she had always wanted.
"I said… to get the fuck off my girl. She's mine."
His girl. She still was. And he would be her Draco, just as soon as she got him… well, maybe not home, but back. She was going to get everything back—that is, everything she still could. Some things were gone forever, but Hermione wasn't going to lose anything else, not while she was still able to fight.
She flicked her wand and the doors to the drawing room closed and locked. There was nothing she needed in there now and… and Neville would want to see the greenhouse anyway. She would have him and Blaise meet her there.
Closing her eyes, Hermione pushed through all the bad memories she had to the few good ones sitting in the shadowy corner of her mind. She pulled the one of Draco, with a red toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, to the forefront of her mind.
A wisp of bright light escaped the tip of her wand and her otter patronus swam through the air in front of her. Hermione flicked her wrist, sending it to stand outside and let her guests know where she was waiting for them.
As it bounded away, so did the image of Draco smiling down at her, grinning wide and bright. Her shoulders sank a little and she tried to distract herself by adding buying a new toothbrush to her list of things to do. If everything went well today, then she could do it on her way to London
Just a quick pop into a Muggle shop before breaking into the Ministry of Magic, yet again. Only this time, she would be on her own. Sort of. But she needed to focus on today first, and not get too far ahead of herself. It was easy for her thoughts to run away with her when she didn't have Harry to bounce them off of, or Ron to provide a counterpoint. Or Draco, to make them entirely. Not yet, at least.
On her way through the Manor, Hermione couldn't help but notice the layer of dust that had already started to accumulate on the various tables, vases, and paintings that lined the walls. When she had first arrived at the Manor, she had asked any elves to appear. When none had, she wasn't sure if it was because they didn't have to answer to her since she technically wasn't a Malfoy or if they were gone. Either way, the state of the halls were enough to tell her that they had either found a way out of their enslavement, which was unlikely, or had been the entertainment for some Death Eaters one night.
"Sometimes the snake ate people."
Is that what happened to the elves? Is that what happened to Crookshanks?
Oh God, oh God…
Is that what would have happened to her if Draco hadn't helped her?
Hermione felt a hard lump in her throat and swallowed against it. Anger bubbled up inside her, no, not just anger, but rage and fury. She had been so focused lately, but all of her work had led to nothing. At the very best, she had been given a 'consideration' for months of arguing Draco's case. She was tired of working with the system, of playing by their rules. She had done everything she was supposed to. In school, in the war, and now, and all she had gotten was…
Hermione opened the door to the greenhouse and looked in on what could only be described as a veritable jungle. While everything else around her had seemed to wither and die, this place… What had Draco called it? A conservatory? Whatever it was, it had become wild. Large flowers bloomed on vines that crawled up the glass panes, reaching for the crystalized dome that was the ceiling.
She couldn't help but gaze in wonder as she walked in. It was warm in here, so much more than the rest of the Manor. She didn't remember it being so hot but, then again, the rest of the Manor hadn't felt like a tomb while the Malfoys were living here.
Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that she shouldn't be here, at least not on her own. She had only been here once before, with Draco, the night he told her everything he had done for her. Everything that he was paying for now. Somewhere deep inside of her, she felt she should be paying for it too. Maybe that was why they were separated; some great cosmic force trying to balance out all the wrongs in the world with… even more wrongs?
No, that couldn't be right. Since the world wasn't going to help her, then she was going to do it herself and if it was up to her, then she was doing what felt right, deep down, in what she only could think were the far reaches of her soul—that she and Draco should be together, belonged together.
And if she had to go to the gates of Azkaban, to the very ends of the earth itself, by Godric, she would. Hermione had a plan, there were just a few things she needed first. It wasn't a question of if she would do it, it was a question of who could stop her.
Hermione made her way through the overgrown leaves, gently pushing them out of the way until she reached the center of the greenhouse.
Hermione looked up at the glass ceiling and the grey winter sky beyond it. It was while she was standing here with Draco on Valentine's night a year ago that she realized she didn't care. Whatever Draco had done, he had done for love. For her. He had done unthinkable, unforgivable things for her. Even after he thought she ran from him, even when he thought that she had left him and was fighting against him. Draco hadn't let anything stop him from getting her back.
"Wait for me. Don't run this time. Please, Sweetheart… Wait for me. I'll come back for you. I promise."
Hermione felt a chill run down her spine and shivered despite the heat of the greenhouse. She had waited. For months. For Draco. And he wasn't coming back. Any progress she might have possibly made to lessen his sentence didn't matter. The new regime would never let any concession for him pass.
Even if she was able to get him out or Draco miraculously found a way to break free, they would never let him come back home. The Ministry would kill him before they let an ex-Death Eater be a part of their new world.
But even so, Hermione knew Draco wouldn't break his promise this time, so neither was she.
Hermione wasn't going to run from him. Not this time.
No, this time, she was going to run to him. With him. She wasn't going to let anyone stop her and once she had the Elder wand, they wouldn't be able to.
She's done what she needed to, what she had to. It hadn't been pretty, but after the Ministry had collapsed into the feeble structure it was masquerading as, Hermione had started to make new plans. Or maybe, she had started forming them in the back of her mind months ago, just as a safety precaution, just in case. Either way, this was her only option now.
Without the Ministry functioning at full strength, there was a chance she would be able to break Draco out and they wouldn't be able to follow them. But they would still need somewhere to hide, somewhere to… stay. Because once she did this, Hermione would be guilty too.
There was only one place she could think of that they wouldn't find them, couldn't find them, and that was the island that the Malfoys had run to last summer. As much as the Order and the Ministry tried, they hadn't been able to locate them, because to find it, one needed Malfoy blood.
She had everything of the Malfoys'; their home, their land, their gold, but that was the one thing she, a Mudblood, would never have. She had never let that fact stop her in the past and she wasn't about to start to let it now. She might be a Mudblood, but she was so much more than that. Draco had shown her that and now she was going to prove it to everyone.
A noise behind Hermione caught her attention. Brushing through the thick leaves she saw Neville and Blaise walking in. Neville was looking around with wide eyes at the overgrown plants while Blaise picked a flower and tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket.
Hermione turned to face them. "Good. You're right on time."
.
It was only sleeting so Draco walked to the window and stuck his arms through the iron bars. When he first got here, however long ago that was, he could fit his arms up to the elbows in the slots, but now, he could slide his arms all the way through so his chest was flush with the wall. Frozen rain hit his skin, stinging like small sparks from a long dead, burnt out star.
Oh. It was night.
Draco slowly blinked and adjusted his eyes, trying to see past the storm tossed clouds, to the small fires of the stars, but it was useless. There was nothing up there, nothing out there, but more rain, more cold, more clouds. There was never anything different. The only thing that had changed, that would ever change, was him.
He almost cracked a smile at this, almost. Change was the one thing he had always fought against and anytime he actually did, it had always been too late. Now here, in this frozen fucking prison, he was forced to stay the same. See the same things. Feel the same feelings. Now the only change that he had coming for him was when he died, and even that change wouldn't matter because he would just come back.
And shuffle around this cell until one of these storms finally brought the tower down. Would he still be… alive down there? Under the rubble?
Would he be able to get to her then?
Draco leaned his face against the bars, letting the harsh iron burn against his cold skin, and rested his arms on the stone. He promised her… He promised he would find a way out and back to her. But she had never promised to wait. Last year he was only gone for two weeks and it had taken him six months to track her down. It had to have been months he was here. Even if he somehow produced a miracle and escaped, would she still be there? Or would she be gone too?
Or worse, would she be with someone else?
Draco's heart clenched so tightly, he felt his scars pull across his chest. No. She couldn't be with anyone else. Hermione was his girl. His only. And only his. She wouldn't…
But he couldn't help but picture Hermione taking comfort in… he couldn't remember the name anymore, but they were… someone. Someone she knew, someone she trusted. She might grow close with them again, open up to them. Fall into their arms when she needed comfort. Her lips parting, her eyes closing, her hands grasping, and her legs—
Fuck.
He gritted his teeth, and gripped the bars hard. He thought he was imagining it, but then… one of them… turned.
Draco nearly jumped back. His chest rose and fell quickly as short puffs of breath hovered in the air in front of him. He was almost too scared to try it again, but… what did he have to lose? Hope? He'd lost that long ago.
Draco wrapped his fist around it, flexing his fingers and then tilted his wrist. Oh shit. It moved again.
For the first time since he could remember, Draco felt his heart race. If he could get these bars off… If he actually could get back to her, to Hermione—
"I'm right here," her voice sounded from behind him.
Draco didn't bother to turn, he just kept working at the bar. "No, you're not." His thoughts had become heavier and every time he tried to pull something up, it fell away from him like a rock thrown in water. But he knew that she… whoever or what-the-fuck-ever she was, she was not Hermione. He knew it in the core of his being, as broken as that might be.
Fake Granger sighed. Heavily.
Draco started panting with his effort. He could feel it getting looser.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting the fuck away from you," he gritted out.
"Silly boy," Fake Granger's tone was saccharin. "Do you really think you can get out of here?"
Draco felt a faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead. "I think I can get back to her." He was so close now, he could feel it about ready to come out.
"All this time and you still have such… wonderful thoughts in your head."
What the fuck was she on about? It didn't matter. Nothing fucking mattered. Nothing but turning this bar. Dust from the stone was raining down on it, covering the rusted bar with a fine white coating.
"If you don't shut the fuck up, I'll show you some not so wonderful thoughts I have," Draco muttered under his breath. Then, for good measure, added, "Bitch."
Fake Granger laughed and the sound made him sick. He wanted her to stop. He didn't want to hear that sweet, ringing noise. He didn't want to hear Granger laughing when—Fake Granger.
Fake Granger.
She wasn't real. She wasn't her.
She wasn't…
She was standing right beside him, reaching her hand out to touch his. It was cold, much too cold to be something alive and most importantly, much too cold to be Hermione.
"Stop," she said.
Draco ignored her, turning the bar faster than ever.
"Stop," Fake Granger said a little louder. Her hand closed over his, stilling it. Draco tried to keep going, tried to keep turning it, but… It wasn't turning.
It wasn't turning.
It wasn't fucking turning.
It was just as still and frozen as it always had been. He had been working it for no reason. Nothing changed. Ever.
He'd always been locked in a cell, in one way or another. Maybe he was meant to come here.
Maybe he'd always been here, in his cell. He'd tried to lock her up with him, tried to keep her with him. And that was his punishment, his real sentence, to have her here with him now.
Fake Granger pulled his hand away from the bar and flipped his palm up.
It was red and raw. Lines of blood gathered in the creases from where the skin had rubbed off. His fingers were shaking, the tips burning a purplish-blue and two were stuck in a curled position. Hermione had broken them when she was clawing at his hand around her neck. He could still see where the joints were swollen from where they never properly healed. Such a simple thing that he had once taken for granted, being able to cast a quick episkey and set things right again.
Now, he couldn't fix anything. Maybe he never could.
Fake Granger cradled his hand in hers. Somehow, she was making it even colder than the bars had.
"I… I almost had it," he breathed out. "It was coming… coming loose."
Fake Granger smiled sadly at him. "Was it?"
Draco stopped breathing. He searched her dead looking eyes. "W-was it?" he asked. She looked so much like… He had lost his magic, maybe… maybe the color had never come back to his vision after his last crucio either. Had it? He tried to remember. Tried to think about Granger, how she had looked when… when…
When what? He couldn't remember that either, not now at least. Not with… her, whoever she was, this close to him.
Her curls bounced around her face when she shook her head. "There's nothing out there for you."
Draco's hand started to burn. It… it must have been because hers were… warm? But he thought they were cold. When he looked back down his hand was shaking and red. Was that because she was so warm? How else could it have gotten…
He looked back at the window. The bars were covered in frost, not stone dust.
"Nothing," he whispered, more to himself than to her.
She cupped his cheek and turned his face back to hers. Something told him to pull away, to not let her touch him, but… fuck… it had been so long since… since
"Her…"
"Yes?" she answered.
Draco looked down at her. It was Hermione, everything about her was the same, down to the tousled curls she never really could get control over. Everyfuckingthing. Except the fact that she was the same shades of grey and white as the walls of the cell.
His cell.
His girl.
Draco relaxed into her hand and closed his eyes.
"Hermione."
.
"How long have your hands been like this?"
Hermione pulled back as Blaise reached across the map for her.
"They're fine," she murmured, folding them in her lap. The skin around her nails was raw and red and the fingers on her right hand tilted in slightly the wrong direction. She wasn't sure if he had seen the burn mark on the palm of her left, but judging by Blaise's serious expression, he must have.
There had been so many more people who were wounded much worse than Hermione had been after the battle and she didn't want to take up any time with the Healers that could have gone to saving someone else's life. A stabilizing charm for the broken bones and a few dabs of dittany for the burn had taken the worst of the damage away from the hand Draco had broken holding onto her and the skin that had turned raw from the heat of residual heat of her wand while she had held the fiendfyre.
They had both been wounded in the battle, but the worst of the damage was what they had done to each other. Hermione pursed her lips at the irony of it. Blaise was looking over the top of his glasses, waiting on her to answer. She shook her head to wave him off. "It's not important."
Blaise was not easily dismissed though and tried to reach for her again, but stopped with his hand hanging over hers. "May I?"
Hermione bit her lip. She told herself that Blaise had healed her before and he was here helping her, but a strange part of her felt… nervous letting someone else touch her now. The war had left more scars than those on her hands. Slowly she held them out in front of her.
Blaise picked up his glasses from where they were resting next to the map and examined her fingers with scrutiny. "Do they hurt?"
Chocolate colored curls tossed on either side of her face as Hermione shook her head quickly. But that wasn't true, not entirely. She was just used to putting her needs to the side in an effort to make things easy and smooth for others. "Actually," she admitted, "a little. When it's cold, the ones that were broken sort of… ache on the inside."
Blaise nodded. "They weren't set correctly."
"I did the best I could," she said, trying to defend her work. She had healed Ron's arm after he was splinched and he turned out alright. It wasn't as if she didn't know what she was doing.
"You did fine, but fingers can be tricky," Blaise explained calmly. Professionally. "And if can cause some problems for you later on down the line with your wandwork."
Well… she didn't want that.
"Can you fix them?"
Blaise nodded sagely. "It'll hurt."
Hermione met his gaze. "I'm used to it."
"I'm sure you are." Blaise gave a soft, dismissive snort, but she didn't take offense at it. Strangely enough, his dry demeanor didn't bother her as it once might have. "Get ready," he warned, spreading her hand out on the table between them.
"I am—OW!"
Something crashed off to the side, distracting Hermione from the sudden and intense pain in her middle and ring finger. When she opened her eyes, it was to the sight of Neville rushing over, a trail of dirt in his wake.
"Hermione, are you okay?" he asked worriedly. "What did you do, Zabini?"
"I healed her," Blaise sneered. It wasn't quite as cruel as Draco's was, but it got the point across.
"It's… okay," Hermione said as she sucked in breath. "I'm okay, Neville." She looked down at her hand and her fingers were perfectly straight, as if nothing had ever touched them. "Thank you, Blaise."
He shrugged. "I'll send you a bill. And be warned, I don't come cheap."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Finish helping me with this," she pointed to the map, "and you and Neville can split whatever has been growing in here."
"Really?" Neville marveled. "Some of these bulbs are extremely rare. The Malfoys' had quite the collection." He looked around wistfully.
The conservatory was near bursting with leaves, vines, leaves, flowers, and roots. She had a hard time pulling Blaise and Neville's attention from it when they first arrived. Blaise looked at some of the plants growing here with a greedy gleam in his eyes while Neville looked like he might cry when he bent to smell a particularly exotic looking bloom.
"There's not much I can do for the other," Blaise admitted in a low voice. Hermione turned her palm up, exposing the thin red line running down the middle of it. "Cursed burns are… well, cursed."
"You don't have to be a Healer to figure that one out," Neville commented.
"There isn't… anything that can be done?" Hermione asked. She wasn't worried about her hand or the burn mark on it, but she was hoping that maybe Blaise had experimented with some sort of sap or petals and figured out a way to make wounds caused by dark magic, or curses, heal a little better. She only had a thin red line across her palm, Draco had almost the entirety of his left arm covered in scars. Not to mention all the others he had accumulated across his body.
Blaise started to stand up, stretching after the past few hours where they had sat hovered over the large map Hermione had found in Lucius Malfoy's study, of all places. She hadn't liked being in there. Heads of various creatures, magical and non-magical alike, lined the walls as trophies and while it had been ransacked the same as Draco's, the few things she had found had been… disturbing.
He had been a true Death Eater. If anyone deserved a lifetime in Azkaban, it would be him. Not Draco. But they had been working for hours and were no closer to freeing him than she had been in the last six months.
"I wish I could do more, Hermione, really I do, but—"
"You can't go!" Hermione's voice pitched up an octave as she cut Blaise off mid-sentence.. "Not yet! We still have to—"
"I told you, there were trace amounts of blood in the grooves of the ring, but not even the strongest blood replenishing potion would be able to produce enough to scry with." Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Blaise went on. "It's months old now anyway, who even knows it would happen if we tried? Probably nothing."
"But if we know what will happen if we don't!" Hermione retorted a bit too loudly. She was getting upset. It wasn't fair to not even try. "You said you would help me!"
The ring has been covered in Draco's blood, Malfoy blood, but that was months ago. She was honestly surprised there had even been the small bit left in the deep indentations around the silver M left when Blaise scraped them out with a wicked looking scalpel.
"And healing your hand isn't helping?" Blaise shot back. "Or sneaking out of work to come help you! I could get in a lot of trouble, I hope you know," he said sternly.
There was a time when the threat of misbehaving would have stopped Hermione, but no longer. She felt the creature in her chest rise up, claws out and digging into the ground dangerously.
"It isn't what I asked you to do!" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I asked you to come here for Draco—"
"I came here, Hermione, because you blackmailed me," Blaise said seriously. "And…" he sighed, "as a friend. I've done what I can, but blood replenishing potions are difficult to brew. If it's not done just right—"
"I know that," Hermione snapped. "But I've brewed complicated potions before and they turned out just fine!" She tried not to think about her disastrous experiment with polyjuice potion in her second year, but that hadn't been caused by careless brewing. Potions that needed personal additions were tricky, but not impossible.
"It takes three weeks to brew."
Hermione's mouth fell open slightly. "There are some studies that show it can be brewed within a week if you substitute in unicorn hair in place of—"
"Do you know where to get unicorn hair? Because the market is dry. It is even difficult for Mungo's to get it and I can't steal any more supplies. The hospital needs them," Blaise said with finality. "Even if we could get it, it probably wouldn't even work unless we had enough Malfoy blood to duplicate. Even then we don't know if replenished blood would even be good enough. I'd bet you all the bulbs in this place," Blaise waved his hand around, "that it has to be straight from the tap."
Hermione sank back down.
So that was it.
Without Draco's blood, they could never find a safe place for him, even if she could get him out. She didn't want to free him just to hand him back over to those who would lock him up again, or worse. It wouldn't be a rescue mission, it would be a death sentence.
"I suppose… we could still brew it and then once I get there, I could try and extract some safely from Draco in order to…" Hermione trailed off. It was a long shot, and one that even she didn't put much hope in. There were too many variables where this could go wrong and if she was able to rescue Draco, they would both be wanted after that. They would have to have somewhere safe to go or it was… useless.
Hermione's heart fell inside her chest and she felt her strength and energy draining from her quickly. How did it come to this?
"I never thought I'd say this," Neville blew out a breath, "but it's a shame there's not another Malfoy still around."
Blaise said something, but Hermione couldn't hear it. She saw his lips moving, but inside her head was too busy rushing with a new thought, a new idea, to process what the two people in front of her were talking about.
"...no one left with Malfoy blood?" Neville asked, sounding very far away even though he was right in front of her.
The Malfoy pages of The Sacred Twenty-Eight flashed in her mind. Their family had dwindled to just a single line in the past hundred years. In an effort to stay pure, they had nearly bred themselves out. Now they were paying for their unnatural selection. Or, at least Draco was.
"—closest relatives are Blacks and they are dead. Anyway, that's a separate bloodline. I doubt even Mrs. Malfoy's blood would work. They'd have to be born into it," Blaise finished explaining.
Hermione stood up as they continued discussing… something. Yes. Yes, this would work. He wasn't dead, not… really. And he was a Malfoy through and through.
"There is."
Blaise and Neville stopped talking and looked at her. Hermione's brain was racing so fast that she was having a hard time slowing it down enough to speak.
"What?" Neville asked.
"There is still a Malfoy left," Hermione rushed out.
Blaise looked at her questioningly.
"There is?" Neville asked.
Blaise shoved his glasses back on his face. "Who?"
Hermione noted her dry mouth as she looked out of the dirty window at the estate grounds before her eyes darted between the two of them.
Finally, she answered. "Lucius is still here."
.
Hermione had refused Neville's offer to help her. Not that she was particularly looking forward to doing this on her own, but she didn't want either of them to see… what Draco was capable of, what Draco had done. His relationship with his father hadn't been a good one, but Lucius was still the man who raised him and, more importantly, they were blood.
She hadn't given Lucius much thought since Draco told her what had become of him. He hadn't been allowed to destroy the inferius of his father, but he had done everything he could to subdue it. What had Draco said he'd done? Make it so Voldemort wouldn't be able to use him anymore? Which meant that Lucius Malfoy's reanimated corpse was still out there. She only had to find him.
Hermione ran onto the grounds without even a coat on in her excitement. Her teeth were soon chattering, but she plunged on, too driven by this idea to stop or turn around now.
She slowed as she passed the kennels. Draco spoke about how he loved hunting with his hounds; how he trained them, spending hours teaching them commands and making sure they were properly cared for. Now the cages stood empty, doors swinging open as a brisk wind blew them back and forth.
It was as if the crisp air and biting breeze cleared her mind of all the messy thoughts that had piled up. She honed in on everything Draco had told her about his home and parents and, just like when she sat an exam, the answers came to her, rushing forward so quickly she almost had to slow her pace to grasp at them.
Draco had loved his dogs, but his father… had loved the horses. He had been trying to chase them, Draco had told her, when he had…
"Out on the grounds just… shambling around. I think he was trying to get to the horses and they kept running away from him."
Hermione turned towards the large stables, long empty as well, and forced herself on. She was nearly numb by the time she reached them.
She was sheltered from the wind inside, but there was a different kind of chill in here, one that crept down her nerves, setting them on edge. She had felt this in the Manor when she first came back, the remnants of dark magic. Hermione plucked up her courage and strove on. She could hear him, in a far stall, trying to… to… well she wasn't entirely sure.
Was he still dangerous? Maybe she should have let Neville come along, but no. This was something she needed to do herself. Whatever was waiting for her, she would brave it. Reminding herself that this was for Draco, Hermione rounded the corner.
Lucius Malfoy, or what was left of him, was sprawled out on the ground, nearly bisected by the slices and lacerations across his chest and abdomen.
Good Godric… had… had Draco done… that?
He couldn't move much, but Lucius Malfoy's face held none of the malice she had known it to have in life. In death he looked… Well, there was no other word for it other than sad. His mouth hung open and a raspy noise came from the back of his throat. His long hair was matted into dark clumps and his eyes… They swiveled in his head, but did not blink and a film of hay dust covered them.
Hermione was nervous there wasn't any blood left in him, in this state. None of his wounds bled. The skin around them was just a morbid shade of black, surrounded by flaccid white flesh. Her stomach cramped as her gaze traced along the familiar lines. They were the same ones that marred Draco's chest. He'd cut his father with the same curse that had scarred him—Sectumsempra. Hermione wondered how many times Draco had cast it to cause that much damage.
She didn't want to know.
Hermione took a deep breath and immediately wished she hadn't as the smell of it hit her. She nearly keeled over, her body alternating between trying to breathe and holding back from gagging. Godric, it was… foul. Putrid. Rancid.
She would rather have to face another horcrux than force herself to get closer to body, but Hermione pressed the back of her hand to her mouth until her stomach settled and then, as best she could, pointed her wand at the man at her feet.
Hermione had no love lost for Lucius Malfoy.
He had attacked Draco and put her in chains. He was a purist and a loyal follower of Voldemort. Not to mention that he had been a failure of a father in more ways than she could say, but… she thought he could make up for it, if there was still something left in his heart for his only son and heir.
Hermione crouched over him. Lucius tried to lift an arm, but couldn't even bring it high enough to reach her.
"I made him useless. To the Dark Lord, at least."
But not to her. Hermione felt a strange sense of justice when she pressed the tip of Draco's wand into his father's chest and began to cut.
She tried not to think about what she was doing as she did it, but at the same time, she had to concentrate to make even lines. The slices that were already there were wild and brutal; Hermione's cuts were careful, decisive, and above all else, intentional.
It was a little strange, that the idea of letting Blaise hold her hand had sent shots of anxiety down her fingertips, but the act of cutting a human heart from a chest was done with surprisingly steady hands. Maybe it was some leftover instinct from the war, some effect of fighting in duels and battles, that when her mind had a task to accomplish, it pushed aside the complicated emotions that would otherwise hold her back.
She couldn't help but wonder if Draco felt like this—when he was torturing people for her, had his hands been steady? Had his mind been clear? Had he felt this… calm? She didn't have too long to ponder on this because thankfully, it didn't take her too much time to extract the organ.
Hermione didn't have to worry about damage to the surrounding tissue or trying to temper any bleeding. Not that there was any, but that fact didn't stop her. She had asked Blaise to give her a quick rundown of what she should look out for and what she would have to do. Hermione had always been very, very good at following directions, after all, and like many of the things she had put her mind to, she found that this came easy to her as well.
Lucius didn't have any reaction as his sternum cracked, he just tried to lift his arm again and then let it fall when he couldn't reach her. Hermione ignored him as she twisted the wand, severing his heart from the connective tissue and arteries.
It didn't beat. It just sat there, still and solid.
Hermione pulled the thick muscle from his chest cavity and held it up for him to see. "This is for Draco," she said placidly, although her hand was finally shaking, not out of nervousness, but excitement.
It was then, with the slight tremor, that Hermione saw a few drops of blood leak out of one of the ventricles. It made her own heart flutter in her chest. "You owe him this," she finished and Lucius gave another rasping noise that almost sounded too close to his tone when he was alive.
Maybe she should have put him out of his misery, but… something stopped her. Either a strange sense of pity or the small part of her that thought he deserved this but Hermione left him didn't deserve his fate, maybe Lucius did.
As she reached the long end of the stables, Hermione slowed and stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. She didn't think anyone would come looking for him, but… this way he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else. Not her, not Draco, not anyone.
The old ways were done; in their place a new world would rise. Instead of letting the house sit vacant and fall into ill-repair, she was going to offer it to Neville for him to use. There was only one reason he would need the money Blaise was funneling into him and that is if he was still working with what was left of the Order.
Maybe one day, she would finally get Draco's sentence repealed. Her own too.
Hermione raised her wand, straightened her shoulders, and spread her feet. She knew this stance well by now. Her words were drowned out by a gust of cold wind, but it didn't matter. Flames shot out of the end of her wand, lighting the stables on fire quicker than she would have thought. Feeling the heat blow back against her face, Hermione turned away from it.
Now that she had what she wanted there was no time to waste.
Hermione hurried back up to the Manor where she would find the answer she so desperately needed, so that she could not just rescue Draco, but… keep him safe, with her, once she had.
She didn't have a future here any more than he did.
He was her future. He was… hers.
She noted the missing ring that normally hung down on her chest. She had left it on the table where she had been working. But she would get it back. And then she would get Draco back. Her fingers dug into the thick muscle of the heart and she could feel her nails digging in. Hard.
Hermione burst into the conservatory with the heart grasped firmly in her hand. Malfoy blood ran through her fingers and dripped in thick globs.. She slammed the heart down onto the map. Hermione ignored the shocked looks on Blaise and Neville's faces.
"Give me my ring."
.
AN: I am sorry you had to wait so long for the update, but the good news is that I was writing a TON during that time and we should have regular updates until the end of the story. Thank you, dear reader, for coming back to this after all the long breaks and for all your support and love. You really don't know how much it means to me to see a comment simply saying how much they enjoyed it because this truly is a labor of love.
Xx, Ikorous.