Hermione stood motionless in front of her window, watching the moon blanket the plains, mountains and lake with a bright coat. Her thoughts were buzzing like a beehive and she was trying to file them logically. If she had a filing cabinet, she'd make tabs. But she had nothing, not even a piece of parchment to write down her thoughts and keep track of them.
What was she supposed to think of Xenophilius?
Her train of thoughts was derailing. She couldn't remember everything he had said nor the exact order in which he said it. He said a lot of different things.
He had said something about trapping Voldemort.
She knew how to kill Voldemort. They didn't need to trap him. She just didn't have the means to kill him. Didn't have the sword, or Basilisk venom. She also wondered if killing the last Horcrux would do anything, because she wasn't part of the prophecy. She wasn't a boy, and she hadn't been born at the end of July.
She was tired of thinking about it alone. The Order was supposed to jump in. To do something.
Weren't they?
She couldn't shake the memory of Mr. Lovegood's white knuckles clutching the potted plant. The look in his eyes when he begged her to take it. Take Luna. As if he believed Luna was hidden somewhere in the leaves. As if he believed Lunawasthe plant.
Luna was dead—she knew she was. Xenophilius wouldn't be acting this way if she was alive.
Luna Lovegood was dead.
So was Harry.
So was Ron.
Her heart clenched at the thought of them, then Ginny and Neville. So far away.
She was surrounded by death in here. Utterly alone. She had witnessed too many people die already. She had seen unnatural angles. Broken bones. Lifeless eyes. Rivers of blood on the ground. She knew the sound of a blade when it lodged itself into a skull. The speed of blood flowing from a slit throat. The pain of running for three hours nonstop.
She really was Miss-know-it-all.
And to think it was all for nothing. Because they would rig the games at the very end to make sure she wouldn't win. She knew about it, but what could she do about it?
She was powerless. Even if Malfoy had said something about getting her parents out before the last game, even if they had a plan to prevent the Empire from rigging the games, or to cheat her way out of it, nothing was certain.
She could still die.
And after all that, there was the fog. It was still roaming over the world. Paving the way to establish Numberlands more easily.
So everything she was doing now, all the training, all the death, the numbers, the plain food, the exhaustion, the wandless humiliation—it could be for nothing. Her parents could and would probably be players in next year's games.
Maybe she should just give up.
Find a way to end it sooner.
The thought surprised her so much that she stopped breathing. Realisation sinking in, slowly, painfully, like poison in a wound.
The weight of it weakened her knees. She stumbled on her bed, curling up on herself.
No tears came. She waited for them.
An hour.
Two.
She couldn't summon them.
She felt—she was empty. Numb.
Had Numberland finally stolen her ability to feel?
His face popped into her mind. Gaunt, hardened features. A storm cloud in his eyes every time he looked at her. His lips opened to utter some words he had said before.
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?
Remembering them, something eased in her chest.
She wasn't the only one with a useless existence.
"I practically hear your mind working," Theo said, walking back with Draco to the dorms. They had just dropped Granger off after stopping at the Room of Requirement so she could shed the Scavenger clothes. Draco had to jinx her door since it had locked after curfew.
Keela was walking briskly beside him. She was getting fussy, growling and whining at him. He knew she was hungry.
"We're not talking to the Order, you know that?" Draco shot back. His strides were matching Theo's, both of them walking at the same the way back, Granger had suggested that maybe the Order knew more about Xenophilius' ramble, and Theo hadn't said anything to disagree.
Theo didn't reply right away, eyes trained on the cold grass. "Maybe we should try."
Something hot spiked in Draco's veins and he grabbed Theo's arm, stopping them both. "No. One wrong, careless move and we're dead."
Keela whined, circling them, trying to get his attention. He ignored her.
Theo remained calm and still. "They're sending me to Watford tomorrow. Maybe I'll find out something."
Draco released him, confused. "We have no idea if that's where they are."
"You heard the same rumours as me." Theo leaned closer and spoke in hushed tones, his icy breath mingling between them. "About Watford."
"The Order doesn't exist anymore." His voice was deep and low.
Theo's eyes sparked with interest, and his lips curled upwards. "Is that what they've been telling you?"
Keela barked once, sharply. Draco resumed his walk, allowing the silence to swell around them. His dog followed him eagerly, then Theo.
"Seriously, mate," Theo said behind him.
Draco entered the dorms, making a beeline for his room. Keela's empty yellow dish was waiting in a corner, the only spot of colour in his room. She hurried to it, looking at it, before huffing and barking at him again.
He opened his closet door and took out the dog food's bag. He filled her dish with hundreds of kibbles. Keela dove hungrily into it, the weight of her maw dragging the dish around the floor.
Now that that was done, he casted a Muffliato in his room and threw his wand on the bed. Theo was standing in the doorframe.
"Close the door," Draco ordered.
Theo came in and closed the door behind him. There was only the sound of munching and crunching.
"There's something you're not telling me." Draco removed his coat, draping it on his bed, before standing in front of his friend. He hoped his face was as serious as he felt.
Something twitched in Theo's left eye, and his expression morphed into worry before it hardened. "It's not the time to—"
"Tell me what the fuck is going on. Apparently, you know something I don't."
Their stare locked on each other, wallowing in the stillness of the room. Theo clenched his teeth.
"Just tell me," Draco's eyes narrowed on him. "Come on, it's me."
The corner of Theo's lips tugged upwards. A sneer. "I think you know."
"I want you to tell me."
"There are some thingsthatyouaren't telling me, I'm sure."
Draco rolled his eyes. "We're on the same fucking side, Nott."
Theo scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. "Sides… a funny concept, isn't it?"
"For fuck's sake."
Keela lifted her head when she heard him raise his voice, but returned quickly to her dinner.
Theo closed his eyes, features calm and calculating. Slowly, he picked an invisible lint on his cloak. "I'm—" he sighed, "helping them."
"Helping who, exactly?"
"Players. Muggles. Outsiders."
Draco showed no reaction whatsoever. He frowned. "Is that all?"
Theo, now, was confused. "Erm—"
"How?" Draco's voice lowered a notch, almost whispering. He backed a couple steps towards the desk, thinking it was a good idea to sit down. "Since when?"
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled. "It's… complicated."
"I heard that before."
Silence. Theo absentmindedly fiddled with the hem of his sleeve and pursed his lips, looking at his left arm. Rubbing his thumb over where the Dark Mark was.
"Since the very first year," he said, voice flat. "Since I saw the fog kill my mother."
Draco shuddered and dragged a long, burning inhale. Deciding he didn't want to revisit Day One of the fog. The beginning of the end.
Theo's eyes flared with a new intensity as he looked at his friend. Spoke with venom in his tone. "None of us actually agreed to his plan, you know? Do you remember any of us consenting to the Empire, to the games, to—"
"Yaxley did." Draco glared. He knew other followers had agreed too, but he understood what Theo meant. None of them actually wanted this to happen.
Theo ignored his comment. "No, I mean, it wasn't a collective decision. In fourth year, after Potter escaped him in the graveyard, you remember that?"
"Yes," Draco said darkly.
"There was a meeting, and that's the first time our fathers heard about it." He paused. "None of the circle said it was a good idea. He just—decided that's the way it would be. He said that if Potter lived or died, that was the destination. He wrote our future."
Draco had something to say, but Theo kept spewing words.
"He made us prisoners of his madness. Don't get me wrong, I—" he frowned, bit his tongue, speaking faster, "I admired his power and magic mastery for a while. Until that day. Until he unleashed the fog. I think I didn't believe he would actually do it. I didn't understand why he did it—I still don't, and it seemed very obvious then that he didn't want to bring a new order in the world, or make it better, or make the school for Purebloods only. I thought that's what he wanted, you know? I wouldn't have minded that. We all thought that's where he was headed. He hates mudbloods—yes, but he loves blood more—real blood, and fame, and control. I could have gotten behind him at one point, but not—he's not a dark lord. He's a fucking—he's hiding behind fog and games."
Theo was seething. A gaping hole had opened in the middle of Draco's chest, tugging at the seams, swallowing any sane thoughts. The centre of his ribcage quivered with nerves, shooting down his arms to his fingertips. He tried to breathe calmly through it all, but he was breathing hurricanes.
Then, some kind of relief bloomed in his veins, spreading through his body. A smile cracked his lips open. A laugh came out.
"Have you gone mad?" Theo muttered.
"I'm just—I thought you were going to tell me something worse."
Theo searched his face, trying to grasp the truth. "I thought you—wait, you're not… shocked about this?"
"Why the fuck would I be shocked?"
"You're… in more deep than me." His voice was disbelieving. "I thought you hated mudbloods and muggles, I thought you enjoyed the games, that—"
Draco rose from his chair with enough force that it smacked against the desk. "Enjoy them?" His eyes darkened. "They're sickening."
Theo was about to say something, but Draco continued. "I can't disagree with anything you said, Nott. I wasn't even able to realise I was having the same thoughts. I still—" He stopped, keeping his breath in. "Like you said, it's complicated." He raked a hand in his hair, noting how tired his muscles felt.
A few heartbeats passed before Theo nodded with an amused expression. "Well. I must say, I quite enjoyed this moving heart-to-heart."
"I'm not done," Draco snapped.
"By all means."
"I want to get out. I want to get my mother out. I want—" Another pause.
If there was a clock, they would hear it tick for a few seconds.
"You can say her name, Malfoy," Theo rolled his eyes. "I won't gasp."
"I want Granger to win the games," he said flatly.
Theo gasped dramatically.
"But she can't", Draco continued, "because they'll rig them. If she makes it to the last game, they'll rig it so she doesn't win." A knot still formed in his stomach when he thought of that. Even if Granger knew the truth.
"Why the fuck would they do that?" Theo retorted.
"The Dark Lord thinks she's a threat to his existence."
They looked at each other and Theo squinted. "Well… is she?"
"I think she knows things. Because of Potter. Crazy bloke said it, just now."
Keela finally stopped eating, her dish empty. She had vacuumed all the kibbles on the floor too. Now, licking her lips, she climbed on the bed, spinned four times in a circle, and settled on her stomach, resting her head on her front paws. Watching their conversation sleepy-eyed.
"My question is, Malfoy, do you want her to end him?" Theo walked to the bed, softly petting Keela on the head. She licked her maw, eyes closed, making an adorable soft-smacking sound.
For an exhilarating second, Draco only heard 'do you want her' and his heart spiked. He was shocked by the number of hours he wanted to spend simply staring at her.
"No," he answered the question nonetheless.
"There you go."
"No, I mean—I don't want her specifically to end him." There it was again, that punishing pair of words… 'want her'. His blood was simmering, humming in his veins.
No—no he didn't want Granger. He didn't—
"So you want him to end, then?"
Draco swallowed, and grabbed the wand he had thrown on his bed. Checked that the silencing spell was still holding strong.
"Don't you?" he murmured, trying to read Theo's face, his unyielding stare.
"Of fucking course."
They both fell silent, Theo stroking Keela, Draco leaning against the back of the door, watching his friend. It was an odd feeling—relief and confusion mixing, knowing that they had been harbouring the same thoughts. It was fucking exhilarating, knowing they both hated the Empire and above all, him. Of course Draco didn't particularly like muggles, they were mostly vain and he never understood how their pathetic magicless lifestyle worked. They didn't seem worthy of respect. But mudbloods—he still had to wrap his head around them. It wasn't about loving or hating them. It wasn't black or white. It was about how natural, how normal their existence was, although they weren't born from magical parents.
Like a rip in the fabric of the universe.
If magic was inherited by blood, then why did mudbloods exist?
It was confusing, racking his brain every time he went down that rabbit hole—that's what he hated about them. How confused they made him feel. How they made him doubt the purity, the clarity of magic.
"I think we should tell her," Theo broke the silence. "Granger."
Draco snapped his focus back to him. Keela was snoring on the bed, already limp. "Tell her what, exactly?"
"What we just talked about. She might not hate us so much."
"She doesn't—" He stopped, because in fact, he didn't know a fucking thing about her feelings towards him, towards them. He could guess, though. "I already tried explaining some of it to her." It was only yesterday. How was it only yesterday? "It'll take some time before she can trust us."
"You, you mean."
"What?"
"Before she can trust you."
Draco scowled. "You think she trusts you?"
"Like I said—I've been helping players in many ways."
He wanted to ask something about that, but Theo cut him off. "Besides, we don't really have time." His eyes narrowed on him. "The last game is the first of May. That leaves us… six months."
"It's enough."
"Is six months enough to convince Hermione Bloody Granger that we're on the same side, which means deconstructing every belief we ever forced her to have about us, then to make her trust us enough to tell us how to bring the Dark Lord down, then to actually do it and to plan our escape?"
Draco rubbed his eyelids. "Fuck. I'm so tired." His head was starting to throb.
"And that's assuming she makes it to the last game," Theo concluded. "So it might be less than six months. I don't know what you'll have to do, but you'll have to find a way to make her trust you. Or keep her alive."
"I already did everything. I told her the games were rigged. I brought her outside the Empire. I made her visit her parents, I—"
"Try harder."
"I can't, Theo!" His voice suddenly sharpened. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm a Trainer. HerTrainer. There's always people watching us. And for the few times we manage to be alone, you're fucking there."
"Not my decision, mate." Theo shrugged. "Let's… wait a few days. The first game roundup is about to end, and Yaxley will be clear about his expectations. I'm sure he'll mention a thing or two about Granger. She's the golden player."
Draco sighed. He didn't want to try anything with Granger. Except—
No.
He wouldn't let his mind travel there.
He simply wanted her to survive, although he wasn't sure why. It's not like he could, or would, celebrate her success if she did. He just felt responsible for her survival.
And it felt horrible.
Scotland, Hogwarts—May 1998
Draco's face was covered in soot, and smoke had climbed into his lungs. He coughed, his throat burning, the roar of the Fiendfyre behind his ears. They had just been ejected from the Room of Requirement, and the golden fucking trio hadsavedthem.
Potter, Granger and Weasley scurried away, leaving him, Goyle and Zabini on the floor with their burnt brooms. But Draco got what he wanted.
He got his wand back from Potter. Had snatched it while he clung at his broom behind him. Potter hadn't been using it—it was right there in his pocket.
Goyle grunted, getting back on his feet. "Fuck, Crabbe…"
Draco couldn't think of Crabbe right now. He pushed himself off the floor, ignoring his dirty clothes.
"I'll kill them!" Goyle roared, dashing in the corridor where the trio had disappeared.
Draco snatched his arm. "It's no use."
Zabini rubbed at his ribs. In a nearby staircase, they could hear the sound of battle. Spells exploding against rock, glass and frames breaking into shards. Shouts and yells were getting closer, but he didn't want to be caught.
As two figures emerged from the seventh floor staircase, panting, he pushed Zabini and Goyle back around the corner. Out of sight. He peeked over the wall's edge, and saw Lupin, Tonks and another Auror.
"I lost sight of Macnair!" the Auror said.
Somewhere close, Trelawney's cries echoed in the castle. She was throwing crystal orbs at Death Eaters.
"It doesn't matter!" Lupin replied, voice urgent. "We have to make sure the snake is separated from Voldemort!"
"Remus—" Tonks laid her hand on his arm. The purple strands of her hair were matted flat against her skull, sweat dripping down her temples. "I just saw Snape flying toward the Boat House."
Lupin wiped his forehead. "It's not—"
"Why would Snape go to the Boat House? Unless he has business there?" Tonks was frowning. "I have a bad feeling." Her hair slowly turned a deep shade of blue, starting from the roots.
Lupin nodded, then pointed at the Auror. "Go to the Boat House. Report back as soon as you can."
The Auror departed, and Lupin took Tonks' hand. They started to run down the corridor, away from them.
"The snake is the last one," Lupin exclaimed breathlessly. "We're closer than we think!"
Tonks replied something that Draco couldn't hear. Suddenly, Goyle exited his hiding spot and drew his wand at the corridor.
"Bombarda!" he yelled.
Draco smacked his arm down, but the spell rocketed through the corridor, hitting the ceiling. It exploded against cement, stone and boulders falling heavily on the couple running underneath, leaving a cloud of dust.
Goyle sneered, and Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from the mound. Expecting an arm to push through the rubble, showing proof of life. But it wouldn't.
"Why did you do that?" Zabini said between his teeth, staring at the spot.
A few seconds passed before a pool of blood started to extend from under the watched it expand, thoughtless and purposeless.
End Notes: If you've been following this story since the beginning, I just want to take a moment and thank you warmly. It means a lot to me that you give Numberland a chance! Don't hesitate to let me know what you think. It's harder to reply to comments/reviews on ff website, but if I could, I would! Know that if you leave a comment, I'll happily read it! Enjoy the rest of your reading x