Hermione was pacing the library, biting on her nails. Ginny and Neville were watching her, squirming on their seats.
"What are they doing to him?" she asked them.
Ginny sighed and looked at her feet. "Probably asking him a bunch of questions."
"What else, Gin?" she cut.
"They did the same with Theo the first time," she explained, looking uncomfortable. "I think they'll give him Veritaserum. I was surprised they didn't do it the first time they met Draco. At the airport."
Blood rushed to Hermione's cheeks, making her hot and cold at the same time. She dropped her hand away from her mouth. "That's unfair! Draco has nothing to hide!"
Neville's gaze was intense on her. "Nobody can really be sure, Mione, not even you."
She scoffed with disbelief. "I need some air."
Ginny sprung to her feet. "You—can't go outside. Unless, erm—unless you have a mission." She looked more uncomfortable than ever, fiddling nervously with her hands.
Hermione's neck prickled with ice. "We can't go outside?"
"There's a reason why they move once a week," Neville said. "Death Eaters are on the lookout more than ever, and the Rogues are tracking us for supplies and guns."
Her eyes flitted between the both of them, aghast. "The three of us were going outside when the fog was still there, when the Scavengers were roaming, when we needed food or clothes."
A flush of pink coloured Ginny's cheeks, tainting the tip of her ears. In the library, people were listening to their exchange. Some were standing, others were sitting. Two more had arrived since Draco had disappeared to another room.
"We've encountered Rogues before, too," Hermione added, staring at Ginny who still didn't look at her. A rift was widening between her and the girl she called her best friend.
Neville swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, and he stepped toward her. "We've wanted to find the Order for so long. And now we did. They found us. We're protected. This is bigger than us, Hermione. We're at war."
She breathed through her nose, heartbeat ramming against her ribcage. "Well, my mission is to get some air. I can't think in here."
She turned again to exit through the doors, but the two same men—Gabriel and Crawford—who had blocked her way to Draco before stepped in front of the doors again.
Embarrassment, injustice and rage flooded to her. She swivelled angrily toward Ginny and Neville. "Who hands out the missions?" she snapped.
"Kingsley," Ginny said.
She sat on the nearest chair and crossed her arms. "Of course it is." She mumbled. "Let's wait for him, then."
An hour later, Kingsley, Percy and Draco came back. Keela strode in quickly, her flank pressing against Draco's leg as they walked. She immediately noticed how tense Draco was by the way his shoulders were taut, his features closed, his hands clenching.
He marched right to her, eyes burning holes in the direction of Gabriel and Crawford, and she met him halfway. He curved his arm around her waist. "Did those bastards lay their hands on you?"
She shook her head and opened her mouth to ask him how he was doing.
Kingsley cleared his throat, catching the attention of every person in the room. "I know things are confusing right now." His presiding tone irked Hermione. "Which is why I believe we need to move up the meeting we had planned with the other camps. I'll be as fast as I can. In the meantime, continue to train and stay put." He turned, paused, and swivelled back. "Oh, and Draco Malfoy is clear. Treat him as such."
Muffled protests erupted at his last sentence, but nobody spoke up. Hermione hurried to Kingsley as he was fastening a cloak around his neck. "What are we supposed to do? We can't stay locked inside."
Kingsley narrowed his eyes at her, and she didn't understand the frigid intensity of his gaze. "Soon you will learn how we work, Miss Granger. We have to make sure everyone is safe." He pointed his chin in a direction. "Train with Anne and Gabriel."
Taken aback, her mouth opened, then closed. Train?
She spent months training. She was finally free of training.
"Give me a mission!" Her demanding tone surprised her, and she let the fire travelled through her veins. "Whatever it is you need outside, I can do it."
The tiniest flick of annoyance shone in Kingsley's eyes, then it was gone. "I'm afraid we can't do that. You'll have to stay inside until my return."
She wondered who was that 'we' he spoke about. He seemed like the only one to make the decisions.
Draco's body heat spread on her left side as he appeared beside her. "Sorry to teach you something about anatomy," he drawled at Kingsley, "but my dog will need to go outside. And you won't say a fucking thing about it."
Kingsley adjusted his sleeves, jaw clicking. "Okay, then, but Percy will go with you."
"Hermione will go with me," he corrected darkly.
"That is not your decision, Draco." Before anyone could reply, Kingsley disapparated with a crack.
Draco turned to Hermione, baffled. "Did he just…"
"Yes, he did." She thought of Theo, and Narcissa, and she wondered if they were okay.
By 'training', Kingsley referred to Muggles and Wizards duelling—wand against gun. Muggles had to adjust their fighting style against magical forces and Wizards had to learn how to battle while dodging bullets.
Hermione refused to partake in this form of training, and Anne didn't force her to. She stood on the other side of the door with Draco, watching from the window the emptied study hall, the space dedicated to training. There were six Muggles and five Wizards and Witches, excluding her and Draco. They weren't all training at the same time. They took rounds, duelling one against one or two against two.
The gunshots made her bones tremble and her jaw clench. Everytime a gunshot rang, her nails dug into her skin somewhere.
Keela was sitting at Draco's feet, mouth closed. "Am I the only one seeing it?" he said, eyes fixed on the training. "The resemblance?"
"I know." She swallowed. "But we need them for the plan. Otherwise, we're outnumbered."
Draco slowly turned to her, leaning a shoulder against the door, and tugged at her wrist to draw her close. The fresh, minty breath that pushed out of his teeth mixed with her air.
"If you want to leave, we'll leave."
"I won't stay with them." Her statement came out like a waterfall, uncontrolled and candid. "When this is over, and we did our job, I won't stay with the Order."
He nodded firmly and planted a tender, quick kiss on her lips. "Wherever you go, woman, that's where I'll be."
They moved again, only two days later. Hermione limited her interaction with both Ginny and Neville—she still cared for them deeply, but they couldn't understand her experience or relate to it. Her heart broke a little every time she thought of leaving the Order behind. But it filled with cold and fear every time she thought of staying.
She'd rather be a little bit broken rather than scared.
To make sure everyone reached the meeting's location in time, Kingsley chose a spot almost every Wizard visited at least once—this way they could easily apparate the Muggles.
The Ministry of Magic.
Hermione apparated in front of the building with Anne, followed closely by Draco and Keela.
"Bold choice," he sneered.
The fog had stopped pouring out of the Ministry months ago, but the smell wasn't particularly pleasant. Hermione scrunched up her nose. Around them, Wizards and Witches kept apparating with cracking sounds. The flood of people headed for the same place, rapidly increasing in size and clogging up the entrance.
Draco kept her hand locked in his. She could tell when people recognised who she was with. Their eyes lifted to the tall Death Eater at her side, then turned cold, treacherous, frightened. Their instincts kicked in, and they drew away, blending in the crowd.
She tightened her grip on his hand. Her other hand was at her thigh, above the wand sheath almost identical to the one Draco had. She used to keep her wand in her back pocket, but that had changed. People could steal wands from back pockets without her notice.
They made their way through the crowd and stopped when they couldn't push further. Kingsley was standing atop the wrecked stone statue in the middle. A good head taller than the crowd. The sight of him dressed in muggle clothing was odd.
"Please, we don't have much time." He amplified his voice by keeping the tip of his wand on his throat. In the Ministry, the hum slowly quieted down. "This was the easiest place, but not the safest."
She recognised the muggle man—Murtaugh, she recalled—standing at the front with Kingsley but not on the statue's plinth.
"If you're here," Kingsley started, eyes swimming over the heads, "it's because you want a chance at defeating the Empire once and for all."
Some whoops and clamours travelled through the mass of people.
"The plan we decided upon a few weeks ago still stands, although things have changed." Kingsley's lips thinned. "Two assets we had on the inside are out. We also had… complications with the third one, Theodore Nott."
Hermione's skin pricked with an irksome warmth. Was this what they were? Assets? Pieces on a chessboard? She bit the inside of her cheeks and Draco's palm pressed on her lower back as a way of reminding her of his presence. Reminding her that she was more than this.
Kingsley looked solemn. "Therefore, we have decided to rely as little as possible on Theodore, and we'll brew the Draught ourselves. We finally found information about how we can find the last ingredient we need, the Essence. Which means the plan will happen only if and when we have everything we need."
Her stomach sank to her feet, threatening to tug her through the ground. Some surprised murmurs broke into the crowd and Draco drew in a loud, angered breath. "Are they fucking kidding?" he growled through his teeth.
"This is a good thing," Kingsley continued, "because it means we will have more time to prepare. Our goal remains to be ready for March 1st, the day of the third game. That only leaves us nine days. But if we take time to properly prepare, we will be victorious."
Hermione uncrossed her arms, and Keela huffed at their feet, sensing her agitation. "This can't be true," she muttered, shocked. She caught Draco's eyes, and they stared at each other, sharing a stunned silence.
If they attacked after the third game, Arthur would likely be dead.
How could Charlie agree to this?
How could Ginny?
"In the meantime," Kingsley watched the crowd intently, "we have a lot of work to do. I have reformed the groups, and exceptionally, you won't change groups or locations until war day. Instead, we'll strengthen the shields where you are. Each group will focus on a different assignment. Before you leave, make sure to grab the assignment sheet from Percy to check which group you've been assigned to."
Hermione was at a loss for words. And thoughts. She was sweating. Kingsley dismissed them, and the crowd started to thin, streaming out like countless tiny soldiers breaking formation. The parchment crinkled in Percy's hands as he almost shoved the paper against her chest.
Her lungs felt smaller by the second. Draco cleared a path through the crowd and pulled her outside. Immediately, he guided them aside as her eyes danced on the assignment sheet, tracking for her name. For his name.
For their names to be side by side.
GROUP NUMBER: 6
LOCATION: 12 Grimmauld Place, London
ASSIGNMENT: Supplies (Task description: Gather as many supplies as possible. This includes, but is not limited to: food, clothing, potion ingredients, orphan wands, guns, ammunition, empty glass bottles, gas masks and protective equipment) *Communicate with Group 9 for coordination
MEMBERS: Cole Murtaugh (head, M), Bill Weasley (head, W), Fleur Delacour, George Weasley, Ethan Crawford, Seamus Finnigan, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Anne Podmore, Elsa Gowen, Timothy Jones, Rosalia Antwork
"Look at me, Hermione." Draco's urging, worried voice washed on her skin. She couldn't help but read every assignment that was given to every group. But her eyes were snatching on the numbers, and the names listed underneath.
"I have a number," she murmured, eyes still lost on the parchment. Her guts were twisting, chest caving in, leaving almost no room to breathe. "My number is 6."
"Hermione," he repeated, warm but firm.
Around them, Wizards and Witches disapparated with loud cracks.
"They gave me a number." Cold sweat was beading on the back of her neck. Her eyes finally lifted to him, filled with tears to the brim. "I don't want to be a number again."
He angled his body in front of her in order to shield her from everyone else's view. Keela rubbed her head against her calf. He snatched the parchment from her hand without looking at it.
"This has no fucking importance to me." He frowned, but still his eyes never left hers. "It's irrelevant. Nothing matters but you. I will not let a single fucking one of them make you do something you don't want to do. Just watch them try."
"They've put you with George."
"I don't fucking care."
The numbered boxes on the parchment were seared in her mind. "This was my plan," she said, tasting the anger on her tongue. "Theo is brewing the potion. Your mother found the Essence. They… They can't just—I don't understand!"
Draco studied her. "You have to decide which you want more. To leave the Order or to defeat the Empire." He leaned to catch her eyes. "And I already told you. I follow you. It's your call."
She knew the right thing to do. The greater good was more important—always had been. Draco's eyes finally slid to the parchment and she watched the frown deepening between his brows. She looked at the boxes from upside down, reading the assignments and catching a few names.
Group 1—Essence de Brume
Group 2—Potions
Group 3—Relationships with Allies
Group 4—Ward Breaking
Group 5—Ravens
Group 6—Supplies
Group 7—Patrols
Group 8—Intel
Group 9—Distribution
Group 10—Creatures
Group 11—Shelters
Group 12—Transportation
"Even the High Scavengers and Gamemasters weren't this organised." Draco's voice was trembling with irritation.
Draco was studying Hermione. Watching her slowly wilting again. They shared a room in that god-awful old and creaky place. Following the detailed schedule Bill was elaborating each day. Going out for supplies—scouring both Muggle and Wizards markets and stores. They even went to muggle houses, institutions, and establishments of various kinds; military, entertaining, cultural, political. They went in trios, two Wizards and a Muggle, and carried as many things as they could with shrinking charms and bags.
At least, Bill had the decency to pair Draco and Hermione together, along with a very ordinary muggle named Timothy Jones. And he allowed him to get Keela outside whenever he wanted for her basic needs.
It had only been four days, and still, Draco noticed how Hermione's shoulders were slumping a little more each day. Not because she was tired. But because this system wasn't working for her.
It wasn't working for him, if he was honest. If it wasn't for her, he would be long fucking gone. George would already be dead too.
Draco couldn't stand to be in the same room as him for more than a minute—otherwise, his train of thoughts always veered toward murder. Hermione hadn't said a single word to George since their arrival and he glowed with pride and warmth everytime he thought about it.
She was loyal to him. Draco Malfoy.
But still, each morning, she woke with a deeper frown than the day before. A stronger clench of her jaw. She had told him repeatedly that she wanted to go fetch supplies in the outside world. That she wanted to contribute—because it was easier for everyone this way.
But the third game was less than a week away and they still had nothing. Draco hadn't seen or heard about the Nevercold Ember since George had taken it from him. How many players survived or not didn't matter to him anymore. However, that wasn't true. He kind of wanted to get Arthur Weasley out of Numberland.
Because a father belonged with his son. And Arthur had to fix whatever broken shitshow George had turned out to be.
Hermione wouldn't forgive herself if they failed to get Arthur out in time. Considering he was still alive, he was the very last player of Draco's band.
It took everything he got every fucking day to not fly her away from the Order. He knew that her being away from them, from this regime, would be the best thing for her. But she had made the decision to stay. And he refused to take away her ability to choose. He wouldn't make choices for her.
The supplies they brought back accumulated in the living room area, forming a maze of things to weave through. Crates of glass bottles—Murtaugh said they were for Molotov cocktails, whatever that was—, a chest filled with guns and ammo, crates of canned food, crates of clothes, divided by gender and by size, a single wand box brimming with orphan wands. Even the grand piano was buried under clothes.
Yesterday, a team from the distribution group came to gather some supplies and left. Their assignment was to distribute those amongst all the other groups.
Draco had never been so fucking bored in all his life.
His insights, his talents and Hermione's wits and skills were wasted on supplies.
On the fifth night, as Hermione was counting their findings of the day with Fleur and Elsa, Keela was acting particularly fussy. She was whining and huffing at him everytime he looked away from her, pushing her nose in his calf to get his attention.
He went to see if she had food in her dish. She didn't.
Keela sat beside her dish, looking expectantly at him. "Sorry, Kee," he said, reaching for the cabinet where he kept her bag of food.
Only a handful of kibbles were left—barely enough for a meal. He was already out? He swore under his breath and gave her the remaining food. She watched him pour her meager meal and glanced back at him briefly, as if she wondered if that was all.
She dove into her dish anyway.
"I'll be back," he told her, sighing and leaving the kitchen. He crossed Ethan in the hallway. "Where's Bill?"
"Upstairs."
Draco found Bill in one of the upstairs rooms, hunched over a desk and scribbling on parchment. "I've to go out." He spoke shortly. "Keela's out of food and she'll need some in the morning."
Bill turned to him, his expression barely changing. His eyes swept to the window, then back on him. "It's already dark. We don't go out at night."
"I wasn't asking for your permission." Draco was ready to go back down the stairs. "Was just giving you the courtesy of knowing where I go."
Bill pursed his lips. "Is an hour enough?"
"Plenty". He went downstairs in a flash. Keela had already finished licking her dish clean and she panted at him, tongue out of her mouth.
"Won't be long, princess." He petted her head quickly and darted for the living room. "Hermione?"
She glared at him over a box of ammo. "You just made me lose count."
Elsa and Fleur didn't even lift their heads, focused on their pile.
"Sorry," he replied. "Would you mind watching Kee for a moment? I have to go out for her food."
Her brows quirked up. "Oh." She looked at the disarray around her. "Wait, I can come with you—"
"Don't, love," he said gently. "It won't be long. I'll be back shortly."
"You sure?"
"Can't go out after dark," Elsa muttered without looking away from the pile of clothes she was folding, and Draco rolled his eyes.
"I'll be back," he repeated to Hermione. There was a flash of disappointment on her face, but when he offered a soft smile, she smiled back.
"Okay, of course," she said. "Be careful."
He left Grimmauld Place with his wand in hand. He would have preferred Hermione's company, but he'd rather much more that she stayed inside. He'd be less focused on her safety and more on his task.
He walked in the deserted streets of Islington under a cloak of jet black sky. In the last few days, they had looted the surroundings. There was no animal food here. He had to look further, and be quick about it.
He apparated to Merton, which was a little more than ten miles away. As soon as his feet touched the pavement, he knew something was wrong.
A spell flew right over his head, and cracked on something behind.
"We got one here!" someone screamed.
Footsteps. Spells. Shouts.
A whoosh of wind above him. Black smoke twirling in the night. He didn't have time to react when he was tackled to the ground, stomach slamming on the concrete. Oxygen left his lungs with a oomph, and a boot crunched on his hand, immobilising his grip on his wand.
He grunted in pain as his knuckles cracked under the soles, the bones of his fingers threatening to break. His other arm was folded behind him in an armlock.
There was someone on his back and someone else stepping on his hand.
"If it isn't Draco Malfoy, missing in action."
He immediately recognised Darstan's gravelly voice.
There was no time to process what the fuck was happening to him. A cold sense of déjà vu washed over his spine as he knew what was about to happen.
"Oh, the Dark Lord will be delighted to see you again. As for me…" Darstan chuckled before breaking his arm with a strong twist.
Draco's cry of pain split the air, lost in a sweep of the wind.
Draco woke with crust at the corners of his eyes and a rippling pain shooting up his left arm. He recognised those damp stones, that metal gate, that murky smell. The dungeons. His skin felt different too.
Someone snorted on his right. "I'm surprised you already have yours."
Draco patted himself down with his right arm. The texture on his skin was fabric. A different fabric.
"I wonder what number I'll be," the same inmate said. "I think I'd prefer an even number. Looks more powerful."
His heart seized, turning rigid like stone under Medusa's gaze. The dungeons were dark, but he knew that what he was wearing wasn't black.
Draco was dressed in a brown jumpsuit bearing the number 0, and the Games' symbol was tattooed on his wrist.