A curtain of rain was falling over the Empire. Hermione's lashes were dotted with raindrops, and she was shivering. The line of wards had just hit the ground, and she made her way to the front, pushing people's shoulders.
"Draco?" she called in a panic. She had heard his voice moments ago.
She wiped blood and smoke from her face and weaved a path through the crowd of wizards that were shooting reinforcement charms at the wards. Until she finally broke through the front and spotted Draco.
Sobbing on his knees.
Her heart seized and she hurried to him, Keela following.
"Draco," she gasped with relief because he had made it out.He had made it out. "You're okay, we're okay." She wrapped her arms around him, mind scattered and shutting the other noise out. "Are you hurt?"
He kept sobbing, and Keela started to whimper, licking the side of his face.
She had never seen him cry this much and with this much hurt.
She kept her arms around his shoulders and rocked him back and forth. Back and forth. Their knees were in the mud, soaked and cold, and Keela's wet fur smelled tangy.
She didn't know what to think. What to feel. What to process.
What had happened?
Where was Theo?
Where was Narcissa?
Around her, behind her, on every side, people were stirring. Her eyes roamed in the crowd, registering the familiar faces that survived.
Wards were usually invisible, but since they were keeping the fog trapped inside, the domed shell above the Empire was an odd sight. A dome with black smoke and white mist curling together, slowly lifting to reach the top. The outline of the castle was gone.
And Voldemort was laying ten feet in front of them. Asleep.
A loud noise popped close to her. She startled, instinctively covering Draco's body with hers. But it was just empty crates being stacked.
She didn't try to pull him up. She didn't try to make him talk.
He'd made it out. He'd made a promise—and he'd kept it. But she knew something terrible had happened. Because Theo wasn't here and his best friend was sobbing in the mud. And so she kneeled with him, and held him as hard as she could until he could confirm what she was dreading.
She couldn't cry.
The battle hadn't caught up with her yet. She knew who they had lost—everyone in the Arena when the tower fell. Neville,herNeville, and Arthur, and Anne, and Murtaugh and countless others. But them being gone meant something too great, too deep for her to comprehend. Like a concept she hadn't grasped. Like she hadreadabout their death and had the knowledge of it.
And the players—
She couldn't even begin to think of them.
They had come to save them, and none of them had survived.Shehad concocted a plan to free them. And in the end, they had remained trapped. Wounded, asleep, or dead.
She had never experienced a greater shame than this.
She didn't realize at one point Draco stopped crying. All she wanted was to bring them far away from here.
Eventually, he got to his feet, helping her up at the same time. Around them, the crowd had scattered on the grass and the hills, crying over their losses or tending to their wounds.
Draco's bloodshot eyes roamed over her face, creasing. His eyes were glassy, and she knew that he wasn't fully present. His thumb pressed lightly on her cheek as the tip of his fingers grazed her forehead. Near a cut on her brow.
"We'll get that checked," he murmured, voice softening.
She nodded and pressed into his touch. She didn't know what to tell him. What meaningless words could possibly comfort him.
"What…" she started in a breath, "where's Theo?"
A flash of grief passed over Draco's face, and his eyes filled with tears again. "I tried—" A cry escaped. "I really tried, Hermione."
Then his entire body deflated and he collapsed in her arms. She caught him and held him in shock until realization settled inside her. Her lungs tightened and her world stopped.
Theo was gone.
Her knees trembled and this time, Draco held her up as she started to cry against him and him against her. Each wave of shock and grief was bigger than the last, rolling and crashing over her, drowning her world and muting her senses.
There was nothing left but the absence of Theo.
Sitting at their feet, with her face sheltered between their bodies, Keela was quiet and still. Like she, too, didn't know what to process. What to do with herself.
They held each other for a while, until Draco pulled away softly, and cradled her face. "He killed the snake," he whispered with sorrow. "He did it."
She didn't know what to say, what to feel, what to do—
"Draco." Kingsley's voice rose between the people, pushing his way to join them. The left side of his face was glistening with blood, but other than that, he looked okay.
He stopped short when he noticed them. Their posture. The absence of emotions on Draco's face, although his cheeks were still damp with tears. "Are you two okay? Anything hurt?"
Hermione shook her head, but Draco was the one to answer. "We're alive."
Kingsley paused, grim. "It wasn't pretty in the castle." His eyes darted back to Draco. "We've lost people. The Weasleys have some questions. About Arthur. If you could just follow me to—"
"No."
The syllable was lost to the rain. But it still echoed loudly like a gunshot. Draco's shoulders started to shake, and she slid her hand into his.
Kingsley frowned. "You were with him in the Arena. They need to know what happened."
His face remained expressionless. "He was fighting a Gamemaster at the top of the tower. As part of the game. He fell. That's all."
A lump clogged her throat when the image was summoned to her mind. It could have been her. She swallowed painfully. For a minute, she thought Kingsley would argue. Would drag Draco to the Weasley clan and demand that he recounts every detail. And she was ready to not let it happen.
Instead, he resigned himself and sighed. "Very well. I will tell them."
Hermione squeezed Draco's hand, and together, they started to walk away. Put a few more feet between the border and them. The rain had started to ease already.
"Stay close," Kingsley said in their back, "we're rallying everyone, and soon we'll give instructions for the next steps."
It was like a bucket of ice water was emptied on her head. She froze, turning to look back. Around them, a few bystanders were watching their interaction.
"What does that mean?" she asked coldly.
He gestured globally around him, looking tired. "We just had a war, Hermione. We need to understand what it means for our society, and determine what we do about it. We have to tally our losses. Some Death Eaters escaped too, but we managed to get a few Portkeys out. We'll have to travel to other countries to stop their fog." He pinched the bridge of his nose, and scrunched his eyes like he had a headache. "We'll hold a meeting at the Ministry, most likely. Just wait here, please."
"We're not coming." She held his gaze. Her heart tugged at the realisation that she had spoken for the both of them. But Draco squeezed her hand harder. Confirming. Backing her.
"What's happening?" Fleur said, emerging from somewhere. Hermione hadn't noticed her. "Why not?"
Hermione breathed deeply. Fingers twitching, aching to close in a fist. There were many 'because' she could give. But there was also nothing. No reason. She was blank. She simply didn't want to be with them. To be part of something bigger than her. To keep fighting for the world after she'd been plucked from the world in order to fight. She didn't want to represent an order. To have discussions about repairing the world, about rebuilding society, about fighting for her rights.
She wished the world didn't need her. She wished she'd never been labelled as the brightest witch of her age. She was just a girl.
And her friends were dead.
Draco had told her once that she wasn't a monster. That she wasn't broken.
But that wasn't true. She wasn't a monster to him. She wasn't broken in his eyes. But she still felt it inside. She wasn't whole. Something that once belonged to her had disappeared. She couldn't live with herself. She couldn't deal yet with what she had done, what she had gone through and who she had lost. She couldn't take care of a world that couldn't take care of her.
She wouldn't put her energy into rebuilding a world before she could figure out what part of herself exactly she had lost.
And she wouldn't live with other people unless she learned to live with herself.
"I don't want to be a part of it," she replied.
Kingsley's brows furrowed. "But there are still Scavengers outside. And Rogues. It's dangerous to be alone."
"She won't be alone," Draco cut in.
Fleur pursed her lips and nodded, but Kingsley's features didn't change. He studied them, eyes alternating between them.
"Where will you go?" he asked.
She didn't know, and she didn't answer.
The rain stopped.
The conversation ended without specific goodbyes. Kingsley said he would do his best to spread the word about Draco and Narcissa's allegiance. Hermione left her gas mask on the ground. Draco dropped the machine gun on the grass. At that moment, she spotted a blur of white near a grove of trees downhill.
Her heart jumped, and she ran.
She kneeled in the tall grass, extending her hand to Snowflake. She was afraid he would flee. Draco followed quietly.
She tutted repeatedly as tears were already gathering at her lower lids. Narcissa's white cat was wet and shivering, examining her. She could see how much he was afraid.
"Why is he here?" she croaked, voice breaking.
"Mother must have left a window open," Draco answered behind her back.
At last, Snowflake made tentative steps toward her. She thought of the tabby cat from under the porch at the farmhouse.
Theo—
The cat stayed put for one minute. She stood and made a step toward him, but he cowered. She stopped, and crouched again. His fur was stained with soot and dirt. She would never hurt him. Why wasn't he coming?
"He's scared." Draco's voice was just a whisper behind her. She could hear the lump in his throat. "He lost his home."
After a minute, Keela walked toward the cat. Hermione tried to call the dog back, afraid she would scare it away.
But the cat didn't run away.
Keela sniffed the little furry creature, licked it, and the cat meowed. Then, with a delicate, motherly bite, Keela grabbed the cat by the skin of its neck, and brought it to her. The cat didn't protest.
The dog deposited the cat at Hermione's feet like a gift. She drew her wand and applied a drying charm to him. Then, she scooped him up in her arms, and he didn't struggle. He cowered even deeper against her, terrified of his surroundings. She stroked him, and turned to Draco.
Tears were shining in his eyes again.
"Wait, Hermione!" Ginny was running to them. She had tied her wet hair back. Her bottom lip was split and a bruise covered the base of her jaw.
Hermione's pulse quickened, and grief started to pull her under. Her chest squeezed, keeping the words inside.
"Where are you going?" Ginny blurted out, crying. She threw her arms around her. Hermione kept the cat pressed against her, heart hammering.
"I can't stay, Ginny," she forced out.
Ginny wiped her eyes. "But we need you."
She closed her eyes and took a moment. When she opened them again, a knot had eased in her sternum. "I'm so sorry for your father. I loved him. We went through a lot together. I wish none of it happened. And Neville—" Her voice quivered, but she swallowed. "But I will not stay. I have to—I need to fix myself."
Ginny blinked her tears away, before nodding vigorously. "I know it wasn't easy for you," she said. "When you came back. I'm sorry—I should've been more present, more—"
"No, Gin." She inhaled deeply. "Let's not go there. Please."
She nodded again, and a veil of worry fell over her eyes. "We'll see each other again, right?"
Hermione didn't answer.
Tears pooled on Ginny's bottom eyelids. Then, she clamped a hand on her mouth to keep the sobs from pouring out.
"I just can't make promises anymore," Hermione whispered softly. "You have lost so much, Gin. Take care of your pain. Stay with your family, stay together."
Ginny glanced briefly at Draco, then at her. "And you go with him?"
Hermione nodded.
A moment of silence lingered. The wind blew in their hair. She wanted to lie down somewhere, in a dark room, and sleep. Sleep it off. Sleep the world off.
"Maybe when the world will be a little better," she said. Her sentence sounded unfinished, but it wasn't. For now, there were too many pieces to mend. The wound was too great, too deep. The bleeding needed to be stopped.
They hugged, with the cat between their bodies.
"I have one favour to ask," Hermione said, pulling away. "Do you have an extra wand?"
Ginny retrieved three wands from her back pocket. "You pick."
Hermione turned to Draco and invited him with a nod. Quietly, he approached, reaching out his hand. Before he could touch the wands, he stopped, looking at Ginny for permission.
She nodded.
He tried them one by one, and picked one. Ginny left, and Draco inched closer to her.
"Are you able to disapparate with the cat?" he asked softly.
She kissed the top of the cat's head and nodded. "You?"
He crouched and stroked Keela's collar. "If we can find another pain potion for me, yes. Where do you want to go?"
Germany, Darmstadt, Hessisches Landesmuseum—August 2005
Five months later.
The museum was empty. They were alone. That's what Draco had hoped. There were more people in the streets, but nothing looked normal. Even for the regular Muggles. He still spotted Muggles with guns on their back.
For the last five months, they'd been staying at the lodge in Yorkshire Dales with Keela and Snowflake. The emptiness and quiet of the land was what they'd needed. They'd fallen into a routine.
Draco had a constant ache in his chest. Buzzing in his bloodstream. At night, he still woke up covered in sweat, his hands imitating their position on the machine gun. A throb had permanently settled in the deepest parts of his soul, and he wasn't sure it would ever go away.
He hadn't had a good night of sleep in five months.
But Hermione hadn't cried in five months.
Sometimes he woke in the middle of the night with a tightness to his lungs, like the beginning of a panic attack, and he would scramble out of bed and out of the house. He'd stumble outside, gasping for air, and Keela followed him and tugged at his hand so he would sit down. And there on the damp, cold ground, he would catch his breath, pet his dog and think of Theo. Sometimes Hermione woke up too and she'd find him, sit on the grass with him and they would recite potions' recipes together under the moonlight.
He'd eventually go back to bed and never took potions to help him sleep. He needed the pain, the reminder, the burden.
He had killed his friend.
And the pain was too great to even begin tackling. So instead of focusing on his own grief, he focused on hers. He'd spend the last two months doing research in books at the muggle library. The mist of a long-forgotten memory had started to resurface. And now, he had finally found what he was looking for.
"Why did you bring me here?" Hermione asked, as he was pulling her deeper into the museum. She always carried a little radio that they'd found a month after the battle. It reported sightings of Death Eaters and Scavengers across Britain and gave some news about the Order.
Daylight streamed through the large windows. The inside architecture was intact and grandiose, ivory-coloured and elegant. Keela was following them happily, paws clicking on the floor. Snowflake preferred to stay home.
"I know it's here," he answered, "I just don't know where exactly."
She sighed but followed him through the many corridors, halls and exhibits.
The radio sputtered. "Here's a list of every reported Death Eaters and Scavenger sightings in the last 24 hours: Scotland—3, Ireland—1, England—2, Wales—1."
Until, at last, the painting jumped in Draco's peripheral vision. He backtracked and stopped. There was a bench in front of it, and he nudged Hermione to sit.
He sat beside her, and Keela roamed in the empty hall. The radio's white noise filled the space. "The specific cities are: Dundee, Mull, Dublin, Nottingham, Liverpool, Pembroke."
The painting in front of their eyes was wide. Sodom and Gomorrah afire, painted by Jacob de Wet II in 1680. It depicted a city in flames, with a few characters in the foreground.
"Have you ever heard the story of Sodom and Gomorrah?" he asked her, eyes set on the oil painting.
"If you'd like to offer your assistance in capturing the Dark resisters that escaped Numberland, please contact FM-034. The Order is ready to—"She turned the radio volume down to a minimum.
"No," she said calmly. "But I know it's biblical." He threw her a sidelong glance, watching her appreciation of the eyes were roaming over it, lingering on details.
Her back was slumped.
He swallowed. "If you don't mind, I'd like to tell you a story from a very old book."
She peered at him, brows quirking up. "The… Bible?"
"Yes. When I was young, and I mean before Hogwarts, I was homeschooled by a governess. We read a lot of literature."
She nodded, inviting him to continue.
"I remembered this story not so long ago, found an old Bible text of it and I'd like to tell you about it."
"Okay."
His eyes returned to the painting, and he inhaled. "Apparently, God wanted to destroy the city of Sodom and Gomorrah because the people's sins were too grievous. God told so to his servant Abraham, but Abraham bargained with him. He said, 'Will you sweep away the righteous with the wicked? What if there are fifty righteous people in the city?'. God said that if he found fifty righteous people in the city, he wouldn't wipe it away. Then Abraham said again, 'I know I'm only dust and ashes, but what if the number of righteous is five less than fifty? Will you destroy the whole city for lack of five people?', and God said 'If there is forty-five righteous, I will not destroy it' and so on. Until God agreed to not destroy the city if ten righteous people could be found in the city."
The hall amplified his voice. Hermione was still staring at the painting.
"Eventually," Draco continued, "God's angels travelled to the city and met with Lot, Abraham's nephew. They warned him about the destruction and told him to bring his family and flee to safety. They had specific instructions. For when they fled, they were to never look back on the city. Literally. Unfortunately, on their way up the mountains, Lot's wife looked back and turned to salt. But Lot made it out with his daughters. Of all of the people in the city, he was the only survivor."
He turned to Hermione and took her hand. She was rigid now, her spine straight like a rod. Her breathing was heavier.
"It's a stupid analogy." He rubbed his thumb on the back of her hand. "But I thought of Abraham. Bargaining with God, planning and hoping to save people from the destruction. And only one of them could make it out."
She blinked, still staring ahead. "What are you saying, exactly?"
"Your plan wasn't useless. You saved one player that day. Number 23 made it out. I saw it, I deactivated her tattoo. Her name is Aurelia."
She reeled back on the bench, pivoting abruptly to face him. "She's alive?" Her chest was heaving, her features cracking one by one. "You're—you're sure?"
"Yes." He had lost his notebook a long time ago, but he still remembered their names. Each one of them.
She covered her face with her hands and bursted into sobs. He pulled her against him, cradling her, and kissed the top of her head.
"I should have told you way sooner," he pushed out, rubbing circles on her back. "I—I don't know why I didn't think of—"
"T-Thank you…" she cried, slumping on his lap.
He held her, arms wrapped around her body. Her pain exuded from her like poison from a wound. And each of her sobs hurt and relieved him at the same time.
"You saved two players, Hermione," he murmured, stroking her hair back from her face.
She shuddered, turning her face away from him.
"You saved Aurelia," he said, "and you saved me. You came for us and you saved us."
Her tears doubled, but for the first time in five months, he felt hopeful. Like maybe the healing could truly start. Like if her healing started, his would follow.