The moonlight casted a ghostly glow over Hermione's room. The wind whistled softly against the glass of her window. It was not quite midnight. She was sitting on her bed, her back straight, hands clasped in her lap. A phantom pain continued to linger in her ankle, but the Healer had been quick and efficient with her. She had only been in the Hospital Wing for about one hour, where they rehydrated her and nursed her ankle.
One of her ligaments had torn.
She had showered on the way home, and hadn't bothered to eat.
The silence in her mind was eerie.
Her thoughts had fallen quiet, withdrawn into a corner of her head. Timid or perhaps frightened.
In her room, she looked at her uniform, still stained with blood, which she had thrown on the chair. She was waiting for midnight to see the cleaning happen. The sweat and bloodstains would be removed. The blood of others would be washed away.
She had heard a brief conversation in the corridor just before curfew. Two male voices speaking low, their voices reverberating through the floor. One of them sounded like Malfoy.
But she hadn't gone out.
If she closed her eyes, she could still hear the muffled rhythm of running steps somewhere in her head.
Blood was crusting the soles of her boots.
It seemed that a wet layer was wrapped around her lungs, hurting when she inhaled too deeply.
She had witnessed murders. Gory, awful murders, executed in very cold blood. In front of a crowd. In front of spectators eager to witness the splatter of red. Eager to satisfy their craving for violence, impatient to guess which player would be killed first.
And the worst thing about it all was that she'd have to see it again and again. The world would not stop turning. They would force them to train again. Feed them. Just so they could survive the macabre children's games to entertain other humans.
The Empire was hell on earth. A hell that she couldn't simply let burn elsewhere in the world. The hell created by the insanity of a monster, a homicidal reptile.
Hogwarts was the place where she had found her identity. Her home.
She was not going to let it become the place where she would be buried.
Apart from surviving the games, the only thing she had to focus on was Harry's task.
Destroying the Horcruxes.
And she had an advantage—she knew where the last one was.
Hermione was relieved that there was no training the next day. She had stayed in her bed for a long time, even once dawn streaked across the sky. The usual wake-up alarm had not been triggered, so she dozed off into a half-sleep all morning, dreaming that she was trying to outrun a Scavenger, but she was on a treadmill. Unable to gain any distance.
She missed breakfast—she wasn't hungry anyway. She didn't want to face what was on the other side of her closed door. She didn't want to go back to the 'normality' of the routine, when there was nothing normal about what had happened. There was nothing normal about running for hours and then freezing to a full stop. There was nothing normal about being murdered because you were exhausted, because you hadn't kept your balance. There was nothing normal about paying to see people die.
When the walls of her room began to shrink around her, she opened the bedroom door to leave. Her foot hit something on the floor.
Her water bottle had been left on her doorstep.
She picked it up and stared at it for a few seconds, unable to think of anything, before dropping it off in her room. She left the corridor at a brisk pace, avoiding the gaze of every person—uniform or player—she came across, and stepped out into the cold November air. Her ankle was no longer a burden, but the echo of pain lingered, pulsing when she made a sudden movement.
The sky was grey, but so bright that it dazzled her for a few moments. She didn't know exactly where she was going, but her feet carried her instinctively towards the Hogwarts Express' station, where students used to be dropped off before being taken by carriage to the castle.
She didn't know exactly where the Empire's border ended, but her tattoo itched whenever she neared an invisible line, so she adjusted her path. Her lungs had stretched with yesterday's run, and now they were sagging under the weight of her ribcage, releasing oxygen with a hint of rust in her mouth.
The village of Cindermore unfolded before her eyes, a little further on. Only the residential part was surrounded by iron fences, where the massive houses of the Death Eaters stood. The railway ran alongside the village, but the station was not a part of it.
Hearing a rustle behind her, she spun round and saw a white cat strolling across the grass. She had seen this exact cat on her birthday. It stopped when she did and stared at her. Their gazes locked together, and she crouched, holding out her hand.
"Hi, you." She tried to attract him, tutting and smooching softly.
The cat didn't move, and she gave up. As she resumed her stroll, she noticed that it was following her. She walked past Cindermore to the west, and the grass soon turned to soil, then stones. The mouth of the tunnel through which the Hogwarts Express emerged opened up to her left, black and wide as a cave, the railway tracks sticking out like a tongue. They stretched in front of her and to her right, disappearing somewhere into Cindermore.
The mouth of the tunnel was dug into a mound in the ground, covered in stones with weeds growing out of them, withered by the cold.
She imagined entering the tunnel and striding down into its darkness until she reached oblivion. She took a few steps inside, following the tracks. Daylight flooded the first few metres of the tunnel.
A sudden, sharp pain flared up in her arm and she took a few steps back, hissing in pain. She had just identified the border of the Empire.
Sighing, massaging the hot skin of her arm, she leaned against the wall of the tunnel and let her body slide to the ground. The white cat appeared at the entrance of the tunnel, stopping when it noticed her.
Hermione looked at it calmly, worried that she might scare it away.
When the cat tentatively advanced into the tunnel, she restrained from making a sound. She let it come slowly to her. It stopped beside her and looked at her for what seemed an interminable moment, its tail raised, wide green eyes unblinking.
Finally, it sat down, tail curling around its paws.
She reached out again, slowly, and her fingers scratched the top of his head, between his ears. The cat closed his eyes and purred. The more time passed, the more some part of her softened.
"What are you doing here?" Malfoy's voice echoed through the tunnel, deep and steadfast.
The cat flinched and bolted upright, motionless and undecided. Malfoy's figure was outlined in the luminous tunnel entrance, along with Keela. He was wearing his Trainer's uniform, with a long black coat that fell to his thighs.
She closed her eyes for a moment before looking away. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
He stepped into the tunnel, next to the wall opposite her, on the other side of the tracks. His dog followed suit, but she was more focused on the cat who had stayed close to her.
Malfoy leaned against the wall, but remained standing. His gaze settled on her, frowning, then slid to the cat. "Enjoying the company?"
She sighed. What was he doing here? "Did you follow me?"
She was surprised that her voice didn't sound frail. Keela finally decided to sit on her master's left, mouth closed, observing her with the same intensity as he did.
"I only spotted you from afar and I had the impression you were getting too close to the border."
"Don't worry," she stated tonelessly, "I figured out I couldn't go any further."
He offered no reply and crossed his arms. For a moment they did not speak. She went back to petting the cat, and Malfoy's eyes were glued to his boots, seemingly immersed in thought.
"What are you doing here?" She asked again.
"I told you, I—"
"I mean, why are you still here?" Her tone was dry, and her voice was magnified by the echo of the tunnel, but she refused to feel bad. She had every right to speak to him in that tone. There was no one around to watch their interaction.
He drew his wand and casted a Silencio around them.
She stupidly thought for a second that he had come to kill her. Her eyes were drawn to the movement of his wand, that little piece of wood that represented so much power. If she was quick, if she acted intelligently, she could grab it. Get the better of him. Force him to deactivate the magic of her tattoo, and then she would vanish into the darkness of the tunnel without ever looking back.
"I don't know," he replied.
And, like her, he slowly let himself slide against the wall of the tunnel, until he was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up. They were facing each other in exactly the same position, he in his blue uniform, she in her brown uniform, only three metres apart. He with a dog by his side, she with a cat.
"When did you meet Snowflake?" he asked, sounding sullen.
She blinked and glanced at him before looking at the cat. She stopped petting him in surprise. "Is he yours?"
"My mother's."
She nodded, but did not resume the caresses. It felt weird to touch something that belonged to Narcissa Malfoy. Instead, she wrung her hands and lowered them onto her lap. Malfoy continued to watch her. He looked tired and his hair was a mess.
After a moment, her gaze fell on Keela. The German shepherd had remained seated, and Malfoy's arm was pressed against her back, hand scratching her neck.
"How…" she began, then was stupid.
Why was she making small talk with Draco Malfoy? Why was she hanging out with the Trainer who taught them how to entertain the spectators who watched them die?
"Granger."
Her eyes flicked up to his. His face was hard, shrouded in that shade that betrayed his hauntings. His brows were drawn together. The left side of his face basked in the bright light of day, and the right side in darkness. He was like a chiaroscuro painting of Rembrandt.
Beautiful and mysterious and tepid.
"Whatever you want to say," he said darkly, "just say it."
She shook her head, taken aback. "You told me on my first day that I couldn't ask whatever I wanted. That I had to filter my questions when I spoke to you."
His gaze darkened. "Them."
She blinked. "What?"
"Again, them. I'm not them." He spaced each word to give them weight and meaning.
"It's hard to make that distinction when you're wearing the same uniform as them," she spat, "when you're performing the same tasks as them, and bearing the same mark on your arm."
Silence fell in the tunnel. She didn't regret her words, because they were the truth. The truth always deserved to be told.
She watched his jaw clench, his muscles clicking in his cheeks. "Every night, Granger." His voice had dropped a notch, sounding even lower, more raw than she'd ever heard it.
His grey eyes cut through her and she shivered under the steel of his features. "Every night I dream of our world. The world we lost."
Her lips parted and her breath hitched in surprise. She was unable to tear her gaze away from the Death Eater sitting before her, searching once again for the lie in his words.
A foreign feeling tightened her chest. It was part anger, part pity, part wonder. "Then why are you—"
"Are you fucking serious, right now?" His voice thundered over hers, mean and cold as gunmetal. "Thought you were smart."
Stunned, and perhaps a little hurt by his tone and words, she didn't know what to say immediately. Soon, only anger was left and it decided to bubble up in her throat like an eruption.
"You decided to stay!" she shouted. "You decided to participate in this Empire, to—"
"You don't know what you're talking about!" Malfoy leapt to his feet, venom in his eyes and voice.
She imitated him and stood up. "Because you won't let me ask questions!"
The cat, spooked by the loud voices, scurried out of the tunnel. They stood there staring at each other, each refusing to be the first to look away. Keela stood up, looking more alert.
"Ask me anything," he finally said through clenched teeth. But his voice hadn't shed its combative tone. "Keela, sit."
The dog sat.
She continued to stare at him, hoping there was enough fire in her eyes to make him feel small, guilty, anything. He was in the wrong. He wasn't going to manage to make himself look like a saint with no blame.
"Where do you stand?" she demanded. "If you're here, doing like everybody else, but you wish you weren't here, where's your allegiance?"
"Nothing is black or white."
"Some things are."
His nostrils flared and his chest heaved with a deep breath. "I am exactly where I need to be in order to survive and keep my mother safe."
She frowned. Not understanding. Not willing to—
"When you're born into a family that has already sworn allegiance to darkness, there are no heroic deeds you can do to escape it. It is what it is, and you do your best to not get him angry, not get killed."
She stammered. "You could've—"
He shut his eyes in annoyance and took a step towards her. "You are not understanding this, Granger, aren't you?"
"I—"
"How does it feel?" Before she could answer, his words kept pouring out. "How does it feel to never have questioned where you belonged?"
And suddenly, she refused to hear it. Something else came over her, an ugly Thing that she didn't recognize. She split the space between them and pushed him hard. "You questioned where I belonged!" she yelled, eyes flashing. Malfoy nearly stumbled and his back slammed into the wall behind him.
Keela growled and stepped in front of her, biting the air. Her ears were flatten on her head threateningly. Hermione took a step back, realising how much violence she had just displayed.
A wave of shame washed over her. "I—I'm sorry."
"Stop!" Malfoy ordered. She thought he was talking to her, before she realised he was talking to his dog. Keela looked back at him. "I'm fine, girl. Sit!"
Keela seemed unhappy. She snarled, huffing, but moved away.
Hermione carried on. "You questioned everything I was—in school." She was shaking, wondering where that violence had come from.
"I know."
She clamped her mouth shut. She had expected him to burst with anger and contradict her once again. The walls of the tunnel soaked up the echo of their words, and they said nothing for several moments.
"I'm here, Granger, because my family has always been part of the Dark Lord's inner circle. Once the fog started, leaving the Empire meant dying. I'm not here because I enjoy watching bloody competitions."
She opened her mouth to retort, but he was quicker. "Can I physically leave? Yes. I have the freedom to go wherever I want. But if I do, they'll hunt me down like a traitor, they'll make me watch my mother get killed, and then they'll kill Keela in front of me. Theo might die too. They will keep me for last. And when that happens, tell me, what was the point? What purpose will my pathetic and useless existence have served, if I am to die like a coward without having been able to make a difference?"
Her thoughts multiplied as if jinxed. She was trying to sort it out, to understand, to seize, to detect the truth. To understand what he was really trying to tell her.
"So you hate the Dark Lord?" she huffed.
His eyes glinted dangerously. "You have no idea."
She ran her hands over her face and rubbed her eyes, pressing on her lids until white spots appeared. "This is…" she inhaled, "—new."
He scoffed. "Come on, you're supposed to be clever. You couldn't possibly think I was in love with Voldemort."
"No, not like that, but I thought you pledged allegiance."
"I'm only here because it's the way I survive. There's no part of me that likes what I do. But if you ask me if I'm with the others, the outsiders, those who were in the Order, the answer is no. I don't belong anywhere."
Her heart clenched, drumming against her chest. Her thoughts whirled back and forth like a relentless hurricane. This was too much.
"Why are you telling me all this?" she blurted, lowering her hands.
His weary gaze lifted to her. "Because you're the one with the most reason to hate him."
"I... I can't help you, Malfoy."
His expression changed, twisting into something outraged. "Your help? I don't want your help, Granger." Long breath. "I'm the one who'll help you."
She scoffed at the absurdity of this whole conversation. "Help me what?"
"Win those fucking games."
Her mouth went dry and her lungs tightened, refusing to give her any more oxygen. "No matter how hard you try, I don't think I'm going to survive the other three games."
"Two."
She blinked. "What? We have three more—"
Malfoy raked a hand through his hair and spoke quickly, words tumbling out of his mouth. "They'll rig the games. They'll kill you if you win all of them."
A blow struck her chest, like a boulder crashing into her sternum. A shiver ran down her spine, freezing every nerve it encountered. The blood rushed to her head and her vision blurred for a moment.
Her knees buckled and she leaned back against the wall.
He closed the distance between them and caught her elbow in a firm grip. "I'm sorry," he said. But his voice wasn't clear, like he was speaking underwater.
"My parents…" she began, the world still spinning too fast around her.
"There was never any chance of them being freed."
Her heart was pounding in her chest, but her sight was beginning to clear. A surge of rage rolled over her, and once again she shoved him away abruptly.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she cried.
His jaw tightened. "I just did."
She felt tears stinging her eyes, but refused to cry in front of him—again. "This was doomed from the start."
"Just two games."
Still dazzled, she looked up to him. "What?"
"Survive two games. We'll… find a way to get them out before the last one."
She kept shaking her head, breathless, her throat dry. He said 'we', as if they were on the same side now. As if they were a team. As if there had never been any hate history between them. "How can I trust anything you say right now? How can I believe that you're not just saying that to buy my sympathy?"
"I don't give a fuck about your sympathy." His eyes were brimming with scorn. "I just told you something confidential that you were never supposed to know."
"Why?"
"To prove that you can trust me. Since you could very well sell me out."
She scoffed. "Thanks for the idea." Although the idea had never crossed her mind, and she would never do that.
"It doesn't matter what you think of me," he said. "I'm not the one you should be scared of."
"Well, you have all the power here. You have a role, a name, a wand. I have a cot, a number and a fork. Do you know how it feels to be deprived of magic?"
He said nothing. Keela had been sitting all this time, watching their exchange with ears twitching to the direction of the sound. Suddenly exhausted, Hermione decided to sit on the floor, directly on the train track.
So what if she wallowed in self-pity?
"We'll have to keep appearances," Malfoy said. "If we want it to work, if we don't want to risk anything. I still need to be your Trainer. And you still need to be number 41."
She nodded. "Okay."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a long minute. Her thoughts wandered to memories of her run the day before, the blood on the ground, the sound of footsteps. Of David. Just the thought of seeing David again at training tomorrow churned her stomach.
"Can I… pet Keela?" she unexpectedly asked to take her mind off things.
Malfoy went back to sitting with his back against the wall.
"Go ahead."
She held out her hand in front of her, hoping that Keela would come over to her. Intrigued, the animal looked at her master, who nodded, and walked over to her. Hermione stroked her head with one shy hand, before caressing her upper body with both hands. Keela opened her mouth to let her tongue out, licking her maw from time to time.
"She likes you," Malfoy uttered.
"How can you tell?"
"Because she lets you pet her."
"Because you gave her permission."
He shook his head. "No, it's different. She doesn' let herself be touched if she doesn't want to."
"Since when do you have her?"
"I found her five years ago. In a supermarket in Aberdeen. She was just a pup."
Hermione looked into Keela's hazel eyes. "She was all alone?"
"Yes. And starving."
Her tail was wagging now and she smiled. "And you trained her." This was more of a statement, so Malfoy didn't answer. He continued to watch them, like he had the strangest sight in front of him.
"Took a while before she trusted me fully, though," he said.
Her eyes flickered up to his. After a moment, she stopped petting Keela, dropping her arms. "I don't know how this works."
"What?"
She gestured with a back and forth motion between them. "This. Everything we talked about."
He held her eyes. "We'll figure it out."