Hermione didn't cross Wade until the next training session on Saturday. His bruises looked like hers, blotching his skin purple under his eyes. They hadn't spoken, each climbing their own tree. Draco didn't pair them for sparring.
She was paired with Reine.
Reine was now her favourite partner—she wasn't holding back on her, but also didn't try to harm her.
As Hermione dodged another vicious punch from her, she wiped the sweat off her brow. "What game do you think we'll play?" she asked breathlessly. "That involves climbing?"
Reine shrugged and lowered her fists. "Kids climb trees all the time. But I do not know of any game."
"Do you think we'll climb trees or something else?"
On the next mat, Arthur grunted, trying to squirm free of number 10's headlock. Hermione had told him about the meeting. He had the right to know, since his entire family was in the Order.
"Do you think Draco could get me a quill and a paper?" he had asked. In the next hour, Draco had left a sheet of parchment and a quill on his cot. Last night, Arthur had slipped a piece of parchment folded in three under her door. A letter. For his family.
"No time to chat!" Draco barked from his position in the training room, eyes boring right through them.
Reine rolled her eyes and they resumed sparring.
Hermione had also told Reine that she was somehow involved with "a resistance" and that the letter was them asking to meet. Reine had simply said 'When you have your plan to burn down this place, let me know.'
Since Draco had lost Keela four days ago, he came to her room at night instead of her to his room. He arrived when the sun was already down and way past curfew. They slept wrapped in each other's arms until he left quickly before dawn, searching for his dog.
They had decided that the best time to leave to meet the Order was after dinner on Sunday. Hermione had the habit of disappearing after her meal and for the rest of the evening. People, for those who acknowledged her whereabouts, if any, wouldn't notice if she wasn't there after dinner. Everyone, especially the players, kept to themselves and their own miserable routine. Nobody cared if one of them spent their day locked in their room, crying. Or roaming the grounds after sunset, hoping that a wild animal would snatch them.
When January 23rd came, Hermione shoved Arthur's letter in her uniform. Her hands were shaking, a bundle of nerves curling in her abdomen.
She hadn't seen these people in years.
And now, they supposedly found valuable information. They might be closer to Numberland's end than ever. In the silence of her room, she touched the cold metal of the fork and brought it in front of her face, examining it.
A tiny object—that had the potential to hurt so much. With the right angle.
She had stopped sleeping with the utensil in her fist for weeks—since she had started sharing a bed with Draco. Now, the fork remained innocent, hidden beneath her pillow. Still a utensil, without the smears of blood and skin on it.
She was always aware of its presence.
She brushed her hair with its prongs, breathing through the temptation. Maybe she should talk to Draco about it. But she was afraid that he was going to take it away from her. And she needed it. She needed the fork every day, to choose every day not to use it. She needed the possibility, the taunting. Remove that, and she was left with the powerless sensation that she couldn't deal with her pain.
She braided her hair, adjusted the sleeves of her uniform and left. She walked all the way to Cindermore's gates, avoiding looking at the Death Eaters on her path. People weren't paying attention to her anyway.
Draco and Theo were waiting at the gates. Draco was leaning against the metal, one hand in his pockets, his long coat grazing his calves. A black cloak was folded on top of his other arm. His tall and lean posture made her veins simmer with pride and want.
Especially when he peeled himself off the gate and met her halfway, wrapping her in his arms. The top of her head tucked under his chin, and their height difference made her feel safe. He kissed her forehead in greeting. She inhaled his smell, closing her eyes. As he pulled away, he draped the warm cloak on her shoulders.
"Don't want people to see your number from the back." His hand remained possessively on the small of her back even as he turned around.
"You guys make me sick." Theo mimicked disdainfully.
"Do you want a hug too?" she teased.
His face lit up. "That would be nice."
"No," Draco said sternly, tugging her closer. "Let's go."
"Who's apparating us?" she asked, looking at both of them.
"Me first," Draco answered. She slid one of her hand in his, and Theo took his remaining hand.
"You're okay with two human Side-Alongs?" She frowned.
"I can go up to four." He winked, and disapparated them. A loud crack boomed in her ears as they were uprooted from the Empire. A wire was tugging at her bellybutton and her stomach clenched. The world was spinning around them, and Draco squeezed her hand tighter.
They landed first in Coldstream, and crossed the bridge in two minutes to get to the other side of the border. The air smelled different—everything smelled different outside the Empire.
"Four?" she exclaimed.
"I'm a living testament to that," Theo said, extending his hands to them. "He's not kidding."
She was in awe of such magical resilience. His magic reservoir must be very deep. She extended her hand to him again for the second trip.
"Now it's my turn, actually," Theo said. "Draco never went there. I had to go first just to get a good sight. I have it clear in my head." He extended both of his hands to them. "Come to papa."
Draco grunted with annoyance and leaned in her ear. "If anything remotely suspicious happens or I feel that you're in danger, we're gone."
She nodded and squeezed his hand. "I know." Her palm slid into Theo's right hand, and she noticed how sweaty it was,
"The undefeated trio, reunited at once," Theo exclaimed and her heart panged. She had been part of a trio before. Twice. Harry and Ron. Neville and Ginny.
She sneaked a glance at Draco and swallowed. Theo was making more jokes than usual—his stress was showing, although he was trying to mask it behind humour.
They landed heavily on tarmac, shrouded in the shade of two airplanes. The sun had set already, and the sky was coated in a velvety blue. The faint hint of light still clung to the western horizon behind which the sun had gone to sleep.
Hermione looked around. It was deserted, and dark. The airstrips were bleak and empty, the planes abandoned in their spots like flightless metal birds. Some had been burned, and others had their wings broken beyond repair.
"Where to?" Draco said, drawing her softly closer.
"They're probably inside," Theo replied. "There are a lot of entrances and terminals."
She started walking toward the large airport and the nearest entrance, and the boys flanked her. It was weird not having Keela there. She couldn't imagine what Draco was feeling.
Both Theo and Draco had lit their wand with a Lumos.
"There." She pointed at a giant sign on the nearest glass wall. Welcome to Terminal 3. The letters were white, still readable in the falling night.
They marched right under a footbridge, toward a set of closed doors. She wondered how they would slide open if they had no power.
"Stop here." A voice reverberated around them.
The three of them stilled in the dark, and Draco pointed his wand to each side alternately.
"Kingsley?" Hermione exclaimed, not knowing where to look.
A gun cocked, and her spine chilled. Draco stepped closer to her.
"Have the decency to show yourself!" he snarled.
"We received a letter," Theo added. "We're here."
"Lower your wands," the voice said again, and she was sure it was Kingsley. A few pearls of sweat were coating her neck.
Reluctantly, both Draco and Theo lowered their arm, the tip of their wand casting a circle of light at their feet. The door slid open with a whoosh, absolute obscurity behind them.
They slipped into the darkness, and the doors closed behind them. The tingle of magic was travelling on her skin—this place was brimming with magic. For a few seconds, all she heard was their collective breathing. She could discern shapes in the airport, but nothing distinct.
Then, pink light flooded the building, pouring from nine giant hexagons on the high ceiling. The floor was covered with sparkling white tiles, stretching on each of their sides. Two escalators were in the middle of a seating area, much further away.
What unsettled her was the seven silhouettes in front of them. Her knees nearly buckled at the sight of their familiar faces—even if they were pointing their wands at them. Four of them had wands—Charlie, Kingsley, Dawlish and Fleur. Three of them, strangers, had guns. One woman and two men.
Hermione had the odd feeling that she knew that woman from somewhere. She was clutching a double-barrel shotgun with both hands, aiming right at her.
Draco instinctively pushed her behind him, shielding her from them. "Do not point those fucking things at her," he growled, the sound so low that it rumbled in his chest. He had lifted his wand again.
"It's just a precaution." Kingsley stepped toward them. He wasn't wearing a wizard's robe, but very normal-looking trousers, and a lime green tunic with brown and purple paisley patterns. "We've sent for two of you, and yet there are three people on our doorstep."
"Draco is a part of this." Theo's voice sliced through the airport. "He has ties and skills that I don't, and you'll need his help." All traces of humour had vanished.
Hermione stepped aside, away from Draco's shadow. "Kingsley," she breathed out.
Charlie readjusted his grip on his wand, and locked eyes with her. His face was blank, his skin almost white, contrasting with the brown of his numerous scars. "What is the last thing Hermione said at Harry's burial?"
At her side, Draco tensed and scoffed, like he couldn't believe what he heard. She knew the Order was doing the right thing—taking precautions. It's what everyone should do. It's what she always did with Ginny and Neville.
She inhaled calmly. "I wish I went in your place." Harry's burial was the last time she had seen these people, minus Dawlish.
Charlie's eyes softened, and his grip slackened. Then he gazed directly at Theo. "What memory did you show us, when you first met with us?"
"When I took Pansy Parkinson's place during a game," Theo answered, neutral.
Charlie finally lowered his wand, but the three Muggles were still pointing their gun at Draco.
"We can proceed," Kingsley said. "Just the two of you. He stays here."
"No." Her voice cut sharp. "Either he comes, or we leave. The three of us." She hadn't discussed this with Theo, but she had a feeling that he would agree with her choice.
"He's a Death Eater." Dawlish spoke for the first time.
"So am I," Theo fired back. "The three of us, or none of us."
Silence descended upon them. The lights were buzzing above them. Charlie glanced at Fleur. Fleur looked at Kingsley, then at Dawlish. Kingsley and Dawlish had a silent exchange. Charlie looked at the Muggles and nodded.
They lowered their weapon.
"Very well." Kingsley's decision sent a wave of relief in her veins.
Right then, she lunged at Fleur and wrapped her arms around her. They hugged for a long time, and Hermione shuddered against Gabrielle's big sister. Tears were prickling her eyes as she apologised, apologised and apologised.
Then dread filled her bones when she realised that maybe nobody knew who had died in Numberland.
She stilled and pulled away.
But Fleur's eyes were shining with tears too. "Theo told us a long time ago," she croaked, her thick French accent reminding her so much of Gabrielle.
Hermione nodded and wiped her nose. "If that means anything, she was number 45."
Fleur blinked quickly and looked away, acknowledging that useless piece of information.
Charlie came next, simply standing before her, frozen in place. "How's my dad?"
She was never close to Charlie—she had only seen him at Fleur's wedding, then Harry's burial, although Ron told them a lot about him.
But right now, the words were jammed in her throat. She couldn't say 'fine', because nobody was 'fine' in Numberland. Arthur was processing the fact that he might never make it out alive, and that he had killed people.
Draco's warm hand brushed on her back. "Resilient," he said blankly. She pressed herself in his touch.
Charlie's throat bobbed, and she scrambled the letter out of her uniform. "He wrote this for you. For your family."
He took it with shaking hands, and nodded. Stared at the folded and crinkled parchment for a second before tucking it away.
"Kingsley and Charlie will lead you to the meeting," Fleur said.
The group split in two as Fleur and Dawlish left with the Muggles. The rest of them walked away from the main area, veering right and entering deeper into the airport. They passed rows and rows of plastic chairs, overturned vending machines, looted gift shops.
Draco never left her side. At one point, he leaned into her, his hot breath on her face. "If one of them points a bloody gun at you again, things won't be pretty."
She swallowed shakily, before glancing at Theo on her other side. His expression was hard to read, his mouth only a thin line.
Kingsley and Charlie led them to a back room, right behind the departures' counter. She wondered how many muggle soldiers the Order was hiding in here. From what she had gathered, the Muggles seemed to answer to the Wizards.
When she entered the room, a body rammed into hers before she could situate herself. And she knew that body shape, those stabbing ribs, that iron grip.
Her blood froze in her veins. Ginny was sobbing against her.
Another layer of warmth spread against her back and recognized Neville's scent. Wrapping both of them in his arms. Hermione clung to him and for a few fleeting moments, nothing else existed except them. Her chosen family.
Sniffing, Ginny grabbed her face with both hands and planted two kisses on her temple, before scanning her whole body with red-rimmed eyes.
"How are you—are you hurt? Are you okay?"
Hermione didn't understand why she couldn't cry. She looked at both of them. "I'm not hurt." She didn't know how to answer the other question. Nobody truly wanted to hear 'no' when they asked if you were okay. Her chest was buzzing with a painful thrill.
Neville nodded, and hooked his arm around her shoulders to draw her close. He, too, pecked her right on the head. "I can't believe you're here," he said.
She didn't know Neville and Ginny had found the Order. Or that the Order had found them.
Murmurs were travelling around the room as she finally looked around. An employee break room, probably. Two rectangular tables were pressed together in the centre, forming one bigger rectangle table. There was a white board on the left wall. A tiny radio. An empty water cooler. Black folders' cabinet. The neon lights on the ceiling weren't stark white like she expected them to be. They were humming faintly with a pastel blue light.
And she couldn't tell if it was magic or electricity.
Stackable metal chairs were placed around the two rectangular tables. Some people were sitting, others were already standing up to hug her once Ginny and Neville stepped away.
She passed from one pair of arms to another, and she was overwhelmed. She was not used to being touched so much, not by any other person thanhimand she craved nothing more than to withdraw back into his embrace.
In the room were people she hadn't seen in too long. Her chest ached when she noticed the age painting their traits. Minerva McGonagall and Horace Slughorn were still patting her, and Slughorn was clasping her hand in both of his. She saw his eyes twitch when he noticed the game's symbol tattooed on her wrist.
Sitting at the table was a middle-aged man she had never seen before—he was bald and had a strong jaw, his face constantly in a frown. He was chewing on a toothpick, watching her intently.
"Okay, okay, leave her some air." Kingsley cleared his throat.
People scattered, everyone took back their seats. She looked at the tiny radio. Not on the table, but on a file cabinet in the corner. She could hear its white noise.
Hermione tried to muster some sense of calm in her body, but it was hot, and there were so many people she knew. She examined each face in turn, from left to right—Fleur, Neville, Ginny, Charlie, Kingsley, Minerva, Slughorn, the stranger. Where were the others? Where were Hagrid, Dean, Molly, George, Pavarti?
They were all staring at the little white number on the breast of her uniform, not quite hidden by the cloak.
There were two empty chairs at the table, on the same side. The other ten were placed around three sides.
"What's he doing here?" Neville pointed his chin at Draco.
"He'll attend, whether you like it or not," Theo shot back.
Kingsley sighed deeply and gestured for the empty seats. "Please." Then, he looked at Neville. "Theodore has already proven himself as a valuable ally, and he trusts Draco Malfoy."
"Itrust him too." Her voice interrupted the chatter. "I hope that means something to you."
Silence met her as every pair of eyes gawked at her. Ginny was confused. To add to her statement, Draco stepped up, shoulder to shoulder with her. He was so much taller, and he was staring everyone down with a deadly glare.
"What?" he snarled. "Do I need to make a grand gesture of some kind? Theo hasn't explained the rules very well."
Theo rolled his eyes at him. "Malfoy, just sit."
"Standing's good." He stepped to the first empty chair anyway and pulled it back. It scraped on the floor, and his eyes fell directly to hers.
He tilted his chin. Almost imperceptibly. An invitation.
She sat on the chair, ten stares burning her skin. Draco kept his hands on the backrest even as she pressed her shoulder blades against it. The shape of his fingers dug into her skin, but at least, she was close to him, and she could breathe better with his body right behind hers. Standing solid and tall like a bastion.
This was oddly intimate.
There was no turning back on that display of kindness. She had just proven something to them, and Draco was proving something by keeping his stance, his hands on her chair. I don't share what's mine.Now she believed him.
The flush of her cheeks was apparent.
Theo took the other seat beside her.
Ginny was staring right at her with intense, searching eyes. Hermione knew that look. Ginny was trying to understand, to read between the lines. And she would soon discover the truth. When she would, then Neville would feel it too.
She felt obligated to say something. The amount of distrust and suspicion she could read on everyone's face towards Draco was unbearable.
She swallowed her timidity and lifted her chin. "Draco has grown into himself. He's different from the teenagerhe was. He has offered me friendship and solace since my arrival there—both of them did. I would be long gone if it weren't for him, for them. I owe them both, and Draco made sure my parents were far and safe."
Draco's thumb gently pressed into her back, drawing circles. Making her blood simmer. They couldn't see it, fortunately.
Ginny's eyes softened, and she reached for Neville's hand on the table. Their fingers intertwined.
"Aww," Theo mewled, childlike.
The tension in the room seemed to diffuse.
"I suggest we do not waste time on irrelevant matters," Charlie said. "Malfoy is here with Hermione and Theo, therefore he's part of this. For now. Until we have the time to further investigate his allegiance."
"Agreed," McGonagall nodded.
Hermione blinked, taken aback. She had expected more resistance, more doubt.
Kingsley's eyes flitted up to him behind her. "Mr. Malfoy, will you answer our questions, if we have any?"
"Sure." His thumbs kept brushing her. "If you answer mine." There was a hint of mock in his voice, but she was unable to blame him for it.
Both Charlie and Ginny smiled, amused.
"I want to know who that man is," he added, pointing to the stranger on their right.
"That's Cole Murtaugh," Kingsley answered. "He's the head of our muggle liaison team."
"Pleasure," Murtaugh nodded curtly, lips smacking around his toothpick.
"So you really are working with Muggles?" she asked, frowning.
"We joined forces about three months ago." Charlies crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair.
"Why?" Draco's tone was sharp.
"We have a common enemy. There is strength in numbers."
"And guns."
Silence fell in the room as they all stared again at Draco.
"Yes, guns," Kingsley said. "It's the only way they can even the field again. Plus, it gives us a way to surprise and overwhelm our opponents. We defend them with spells, and they protect our blind spots."
The explanation was simple enough, and she tried to wrap her mind around it.
"Where have you been, for the past seven years?" Her windpipe was dry, voice starchy. She waited for an answer, and none came. "Why didn't you search for us, after Harry's burial?"
She had never thought too much about those matters. The Order was disbanded after the Battle of Hogwarts seven years ago. Over the years, she had only heard rumours through the radio that they were reforming. She hadn't realised that the uneasiness in her chest was moulded from anger.
"You were all there that day," she added, then glanced briefly at Murtaugh, "except him. What happened?"
Charlie exchanged a glance with Fleur, and McGonagall with Kingsley. Then Charlie and Kingsley locked eyes together. Neville and Ginny were still clutching hands, each of their gaze set on their legs under the table.
"It happened fast." Charlie was rubbing his chin. A nervous gesture, maybe. "When Death Eaters came, we didn't have time to prepare. Everyone fled for their own safety."
"Like at my wedding," Fleur added.
"I remember how chaotic it was." Hermione cursed her voice for sounding so squeaky, so tight. "That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking why, after the shock of it, you didn't search for us."
"We were all hiding underground at this point," Kingsley said. "Did you think that we, I mean myself, Charlie, Arthur, Minerva, Fleur and everyone else, were all together when we got separated? We each fled in our own direction. You grabbed the people that were physically closest to you and you fled, too. We did the same."
"Miss Granger, if I may." Slughorn lifted a shy wrinkled hand. He sounded even more old than he looked. "The fog came barely two weeks after the burial. And even before that, the Death Eaters were already destroying the cities."
Hermione glanced at Ginny and Neville, wondering if they had that discussion with the Order already. They, too, had been left alone.
"Did you forget that we couldn't communicate?" Charlie asked, and she noticed the spike in his voice. "We didn't know where you were. We didn't know where to look, and I bet you didn't either. You were as lost as we were."
Draco's thumbs stilled on her skin. "Watch your tone," he warned.
Fleur laid a soft hand on Charlie's arm, who was now glaring at Draco. Hermione wondered where Bill was.
"Mione," Neville said gently. "It's okay."
None of this was okay. She didn't feel that the Order was deep in the wrong, but a part of her still blamed them. For not trying sooner. For leaving the three of them striving to survive an inexplicable plague and still find a way to kill the Dark Lord.
The radio suddenly sputtered. "Hello everyone, we have a new list ready for you."Everyone listened. "Every reported Scavengers sighting in the last 24 hours goes as follows: London—4, Dundee—2, Bristol—2, Oxford—3, Paisley—2. Always stay alert, and avoid travelling alone. Stay safe."
The people in the room looked at each other.
Hermione sighed, inhaling slowly, letting oxygen swell her lungs. "I thought you were in Watford, though. Why are we here?"
"We have bases in different parts of the UK," Fleur answered calmly. "We coordinate better with Muggles this way and reclaim more territories at once. Once a month, we gather everyone in one place to plan ambushes. We do that especially when we notice a lot of Scavengers in one area."
"Soon enough," McGonagall joined her bony fingers together, "we are hoping to reach the borders of the Empire and reclaim it."
"They're reinforcing the wards, you know," Draco said flatly.
Charlie's smile turned snide. "That means they feel threatened. It's working."
"You don't understand." Theo laid his palm against the table, speaking for the first time in a while. "You won't be able to penetrate them."
"We have prominent Ward Breakers in our midst." Kingsley's reply was polite.
"We have excellent Ward Casters," Draco shot back.
"We can't discuss this yet," Hermione sighed impatiently. "We will not stage a siege if we don't have a plan to bring down the Dark Lord and free the players—and innocent parties. It has to happen all at once."
Charlie frowned. "What innocent parties?"
"Uh, hello?" Theo gestured wildly to himself and Draco. "Do you think that everyone in there is purely evil? What, you're just gonna come with your little army men and riddle everyone with bullets?" His eyes slid to the only Muggle in the room. "No offence, Murtaugh, you look very competent."
Murtaugh chuckled and shrugged. "S' fine."
Silence fell in the room, and Hermione exchanged a knowing look with Ginny. Draco's warm hand went to the back of her head, at the base of her scalp. His fingers brushed on her hair very slightly, imperceptibly.
Her skin tingled, her blood heating up. Ginny and Neville were watching her intently, their eyes flitting upward to Draco and back down to hers.
They know. They see.
She didn't know exactly why Draco had decided he would keep his hands on her publicly. She figured that it was either his way of showing them that they were Something or reminding her that he was fully present—body, mind and soul—with her, in this room.
Whichever it was, she liked it. She wasn't ashamed.
"Actually," Kingsley declared, "our priority has always been to prevent another wave of fog from happening, and to stop its flow. The fog has killed way more innocent people than Death Eaters have." He rubbed his hangs together, and his face hardened slightly. "That's why we focused on this task. The magical and non-magical worlds have never seen or experienced such a thing. We needed to know what it was, and how to stop it."
"Do you?" Draco's voice fired right away.
Kingsley reached for his pocket, fumbled with his tunic, and extracted a small, round glassy object. Its size was similar to a billiard ball. Hermione's heart burst into a sudden gallop.
Kingsley set the glass orb in front of him, and everyone's eyes fell on it, magnetised. The orb was completely black, like it was filled with night.
"Yes, we do," he said, but his brows were still creased.
She noticed the expression on her friends' faces. They looked haggard, stiff.
"What is it?"
"I will let Horace explain," Kingsley replied. "Listen carefully."
Her gaze flew to Slughorn, and Draco's fingers pressed on her skin, expectant. Her chest was beating wildly.
Slughorn cleared his throat, staring at the orb. "This is called a Nevercold Ember. It is a dark magic artefact used by master potioneers around the world. It's used to keep the cauldron permanently lit, therefore brewing whatever content it holds endlessly. Its first known use was during the Black Death in the mid 1300's—Healers infused antidotes, day and night, for months on end."
"Why is it a dark artefact?" She frowned. "It seems like a practical tool."
Slughorn blinked several times in succession, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Well, Miss Granger, it was a useful device. Nobody questioned its use for medical efficiency during global pandemics and plagues over the centuries. But it requires two ingredients, and the ethical nature of one of them was not questioned in emergency situations such as pandemics. In fact, the issue hasn't emerged since the Spanish flu."
Theo rubbed at his temples. "I don't understand."
Slughorn inhaled and extended his hand toward the orb. Kingsley pushed it, and it rolled on the table right in his palm. He gently took the glass orb between his index and thumb and showed them.
"The first ingredient the Nevercold Ember requires is fire. The second is the sanity of a human being."
She blinked, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. "I'm sorry?"
Around the table, the expressions were rigid, lips strained in a line.
"Our sanity is what keeps us functioning, stable, grounded in reality," Slughorn said, looking directly at the orb in his hand. "It's what keeps us alive and running, if I can phrase it this way. However, in situations like global pandemics, where the sick would not make it through the night, it didn't really matter in the practical sense if their sanity was taken away. Healers only took the sanity of those they were certain wouldn't survive."
Behind her, Draco's hands fell away, leaving a cold imprint on her. She couldn't even summon a single thought as she watched Slughorn's mouth move again.
"The more sanity the Ember contains, the more permanent its effect sanity of a single person can keep the Ember simmering hot for 777 days. That accounts for approximately two years. After that time, it remains hot but its climax lessens. However, it does not end, unless it is snatched away from the cauldron's underside."
"Okay." Theo flattened his palms against the table. "Okay, okay, wait. That's why the fog was permanently emanating from the Ministry for all those years?"
"Yes."
"And that's why the fog was stronger and more abundant for two years?"
"Yes."
There was a silence, and Hermione listened as the lights buzzed. She didn't know what she had expected—but it wasn't this. Her hands were clamming up and she wiped them on her thighs.
"What's—How do you take someone's sanity?"
Her question hovered above the tables, and it seemed that a few people held their breath. Neville drew a sharp breath in, and tensed on his seat. Ginny's eyes went sideways to him, and she reached for him under the table.
"There is… two ways," Charlie said, and his words were strained, like he held them back. He fumbled with his fingers. "The first one is the spell itself, Mentis Perditus. The second one is a component… or maybe more like a side effect of the Cruciatus Curse."
Her heart lurched as her stomach twisted. She remembered Bellatrix's ghostly body pressing against her, yelling in her face in the gloomy darkness of the Manor. She thought of Keela writhing and screaming on the floor, then she met Neville's eyes.
Neville leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling, staring at nothing. "The Cruciatus was crafted with Mentis Perditus," he said, platonically. "Like two strands entangling. The human mind cannot withstand physical torture forever. At one point, it breaks."
"With the Cruciatus curse," Charlie inhaled deeply, "the sanity spell is triggered after 9 minutes and 59 seconds. But it does not create an Ember."
"That's why my parents lost their mind." Neville gulped, his throat bobbing.
Her spine was ramrod straight—she couldn't relax her muscles. She had nothing to take notes with, and all of this conversation sounded awfully like something she should jot down.
"Historical accounts of the first uses of the spell tell that when one loses their sanity," Slughorn explained, "they do not lose all their faculties at once. The… descent, if I may call it that, is gradual. The speed at which a person loses their mind is determined by a number of factors, including the person's mental and emotional health when the spell hits and the amount of resistance they try to muster against it. The more you resist, the quicker the descent. For some, it takes weeks, months and even years. For others, mere days."
She glanced behind her. Draco was standing still two feet behind her chair. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes casted on the floor. A few blond strands of hair fell on his forehead. She could see the focused lines between his brows, or maybe it was anger or confusion. But he looked agitated, and unwell.
"So, the fog." She shook her head to gather her thoughts, although her mind was either empty or full. "The Dark Lord used a Nevercold Ember to keep the cauldron lit and spread the fog during all those years. He probably took the sanity of dead people at the Battle. To create a few Embers, that he spread around the world."
"That doesn't tell us how the fog was made," Theo added.
Slughorn cleared his throat, before adjusting his hat. "Our samples showed that it's composed of a metalloid, arsenic to be precise, and putrefied tissues of Thestrals. But the most interesting…" he swallowed, "is the Essence de Brume."
"It's French," Fleur specified. "Essence of mist, or fog, depending how you translate. It was created by Robert Duval, a French alchemist. It's extremely rare. Some legends say he hid the vials across France's arrows to God."
"What did you say?" Draco's sudden voice wasn't loud, but disbelieving.
Fleur blinked at him slowly. "Legends say that Robert Duval hid vials of the Essence across France's arrows to God."
"What does that mean?"
McGonagall was the one to purse her lips. "We are not sure yet. That's what we are trying to uncover since we learned the truth about the fog."
Hermione frowned at the enigma, filing it away in her head. "What does it do? The Essence?"
"It turns any liquid potions to its gas form," Slughorn answered. "Its use was prohibited by the International Wizarding Council of Potioneers in 1876. We haven't been able to put our hands on some yet. We are not sure what those arrows to God are. But we believe it might have something to do with churches."
She waited to see if other explanations would follow. Around the table, the faces were serious and grim. She could almost hear the whirring of their mind.
"We know it's a lot to take in." McGonagall's mouth twitched, deflated. "And to understand."
"Oh, I understand," Theo retorted. "Basically, the Dark Lord or someone in his ranks brewed a deadly poison with a rare ingredient that turned it into fog and then, stole the sanity of human beings to light a few Embers and therefore, make the fog endless everywhere."
"Sums it well," Ginny said darkly.
"Is it reversible?" Draco's harsh voice rose in the room. "Once the sanity is in the Ember, can it be extracted and returned to its vessel?"
Charlie held his breath and looked at his fingers when he answered. "Not that we know of. If the orb leaves the underside of the cauldron, it becomes null. Like this." He pointed at the blackened orb on the table. "Just a paperweight."
"How did you figure all of this out?" Hermione's voice lessened to a trickle. "The Nevercold Ember, the Essence, the sanity spell? How did you know?"
"We have researched tirelessly day and night," Kingsley answered quietly. "In this room are seated very skilled and knowledgeable Witches and Wizards—not to mention those who are not in this room. Muggle scientific methods of research were also very useful to examine the components of the samples."
She pressed her eyeballs deeper into her skull until white spots appeared behind her eyelids. Her heart wasn't beating fast anymore, but her brain was humming like a hive and morsels of information were spinning around her, waiting for her to grab them.
"But how did you find those specific informations?" she said.
McGonagall locked eyes with her. "Our search began the same year the fog arrived. At first, we looked for books on dark magic. Forbidden texts, forbidden theories, conspiracies, those kinds of things. It took a long time, because we travelled a lot to different libraries. And a lot of them were burned or destroyed. Then we figured it would be best to return to the source. The fog. Which is a plague. So we researched anything related to pandemics in the Wizarding World. That led us to specific books about the plagues and the potioneers through the centuries. The information about the sanity spell and the Nevercold Ember were in those books. Not in forbidden books or dark arts material, but in historical documents written by Healers."
"So everyone could have found out about it?" She was aghast.
"We were looking for anything useful about the fog. We were not expecting learning about the Nevercold Ember. When you don't know what to look for, you can't know where to look."
"What are we supposed to do with these information?" Theo voiced her concern.
"Like we said," Kingsley replied, "the important thing for now is to stop the fog that is still spreading in other countries. And prevent another one here."
"I—" she started, removing her fingers from her eyelids, "we have to think about this. About what this means, and what to do."
Fleur nodded slowly. "Of course."
"Knowing all of this now, I still think we can come up with a plan to prevent another fog and to bring down the Dark Lord."
"Hermione," Ginny said softly. "Is there any opening to the Horcrux? Any access?"
She sighed heavily, ready to answer, but Draco cut her short.
"The Dark Lord is barely there. The snake doesn't leave his side."
Neville and Ginny looked at each other, then Neville gawked at Kingsley directly. "What if we can't kill the last Horcrux?"
"I'll find a way," she pitched quickly, refusing to admit defeat. "There must be something I can do, I'll—"
"Hermione is not solely responsible for bringing the Dark Lord down." Draco interrupted, tone sharp like a blade. "If the snake can't be killed with the means we have at our disposal, then we'll think of something else."
"How much time can you give us?" Theo asked, eyes alternating between Charlie and Kingsley.
"Actually, we will adjust to your time," Charlie answered. "As long as the fog doesn't spread again. Meanwhile, now that we know we only need to remove the Ember from the cauldron's underside, we'll try to travel to the other affected countries."
"But how long can you sustain the attacks?"
Charlie looked at Murtaugh. "We can retreat until we have a clear plan."
Murtaugh agreed with a single nod.
"And for the love of Merlin, can you please not send your birds to the Empire?" Draco barked, and Hermione detected agitation in his demeanour. Something was troubling him. "Theo can come.Ican come. But not her. She's a player, for fuck's sake. Every minute she spends here is a minute she risks."
Neville suddenly jerked on his feet, chair scraping back. "I've got to ask. What's the matter with you?" Then, his eyes slid to her. "Mione, what's going on with him? With you? I don't understand."
Blood warmed her neck and her cheeks pinked. She didn't know how much she could tell, what was right to share, what was enough. Did Draco want her to tell the truth? Was she supposed to speak for both of them?
"Erm—we…" she stammered. "Draco and I… care for each other."
At this, Ginny's eyes widened with understanding, and Theo snorted at her side. She slapped him on the shoulder to shut him up.
"That's—" Neville blinked quickly, "I don't understand."
"In simpler words," Theo said lightly, "the sworn enemies have become—"
"My treatment of Hermione," Draco interrupted again, voice rough and cold, "is none of your fucking business. However, I understand that you're all close, or whatever. So you think it's your business. All I have to say is that I won't allow her to uselessly risk her life for you."
Neville was breathing heavily. "But the games… your parents—"
"Those are my decisions, Neville," Hermione offered. "There is much more at risk for both Draco and Theo if I don't participate. My safety is not the only thing that matters. Draco had and still has unbearable pressure about my performance, and he managed to bargain with the Dark Lord to have my parents released. He has already given me solutions and options to escape—I didn't take them."
She was warping the truth, but she didn't care. She was waiting for the sting of their disapproval. It didn't come. In fact, what they thought of her mattered, but not as much as she expected. Not compared to the bigger picture, and the thousand more important things at stake.
"We don't have all night, actually," Draco said coldly. "We have to get her back before anyone notices."
"Of course," Kingsley nodded and stood up. "We will stay in touch."
Everyone stood up, and Hermione found her knees wobbly. A flash of red rushed to her and Ginny's body slammed into her again. She hugged her tightly, face in her hair, arms wrapped tightly around her.
"I don't understand," she whispered, "but it's you, and I love you. I don't need to understand everything."
She squeezed her back. "Your dad misses you a lot."
Ginny shuddered in her arms.
"Are you taken care of?" she asked. "You and Neville?"
"Yes, do not even think about us."
"I think about you every day."
A warm, masculine hand splayed on her back. Ginny's eyes lifted to the silhouette behind her.
"You," she pointed at him intensely. "Even though you're apparently Draco now, you'll always be Malfoy to me. If anything happens to her, I'll volunteer for next year and kill you myself with—"
"If anything happens to her," Draco deadpanned, "then I won't resist if you end me."
Hermione's heart thundered in her chest, heat rising to her skin. She hugged Ginny again, then Neville, then everyone. She craved the cool air on her face. Fleur led them back to the entrance, and they walked in total silence.
She stepped outside, the automatic doors whooshing open, and she inhaled deeply. The doors closed shut behind the three of them, but Draco kept striding ahead. The night engulfed them in a calm, quiet embrace.
"Oh, my god," Theo was breathing quickly. "I can't process everything I've just heard."
"Me neither," she said.
Draco had finally stopped, a few feet in front of them. His back was to them, and he was facing the immobile planes in the distance.
"Draco?" she huffed. She walked to him.
He didn't look at her. His eyes were pinned in the void ahead.
"Mate?" Theo stepped to his side.
"What's going on?" she asked softly. "I know it was a lot to—"
"I'll kill them all."
His tone was piercing, slicing through the night.
"What?" she murmured. His shoulders were shaking. She knew Draco didn't like the Order or any of those people personally. But he couldn't do that.
A wide, broken smile stretched his mouth. But still, he didn't look at either of them.
"I will kill all of them," he repeated. "Everyone that made the last one of them."
She glanced at Theo, who frowned at her, baffled. Slowly, she slid her hand into Draco's. But still, still, he kept looking ahead. Lost in the darkness.
"They took my father's sanity," he said, lifeless. "It all makes sense sanity was in that orb, on the table."
