Chapter 16
a greater woman has faith
"Stealing it, in a sick kind of sense, was like earning it."
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief
DRACO
Draco leaned heavily against the cold tiled wall of the bathroom, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
He hated this fucking potion.
Draco stared into the mirror, his reflection mocking him, gaunt and hollow-eyed, the dark shadows under his eyes making him look like a ghost. He hated this—hated feeling so helpless, so useless. Hermione was out there, and he couldn't protect her. The woman who was now his wife, bound to him by some cruel twist of fate and ancient magic, was out there alone, facing danger at every turn, and he was stuck here.
He felt like a caged animal, trapped in a place where his magic was stifled, where every move he made could mean life or death, not just for himself, but for his family. And for her.
Pacing the confines of the small, suffocating house, Draco's every step was heavy with frustration. His magic, the core of who he was, felt muted—tampered with in ways that made him feel powerless. Vulnerable. The walls seemed to close tighter with each passing moment, a constant reminder of his precarious situation.
How precarious and dangerous her situation had become.
Hermione.
That thought gnawed at him relentlessly. She'd left him in the dead of night with only a brief note. When he woke, he'd been confused at first, then enraged. He wanted to follow her, to grab her and pull her back to safety. And yet he couldn't. He didn't know where she was, even if he wasn't practically magic-less. The ring would only allow him to track her if she needed help.
He fisted the crumbled note, worn from misuse, in his pocket.
Then it came: the sharp crack of apparation. The sound cut through the silence like a knife, freezing him in place. His heart thudded against his ribs as his instincts roared to life. No one was supposed to find us here.
He grabbed his mother's wand from the table and crept into the corridor. The cool wood of the wand felt foreign in his hand, a poor substitute for his own. He knew it wouldn't work—not with his magical core as weak as it currently was—but it gave him a slight sense of control, however hollow.
He moved silently down the hall, his body tense, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. As he approached his room, the shadows flickered, and his mind raced through possibilities.
An ambush? A bounty hunter? Someone coming to drag him back to the Manor?
He rounded the corner, wand raised, poised to attack—only to falter.
It was her.
Hermione stood in the centre of their room, her hair wild from the wind, her chest rising and falling like she'd run a great distance. The sight of her hit him like a punch to the gut.
She was safe.
She was here—alive, safe, and standing in front of him after days of silence that had clawed at his sanity. But just as quickly as the relief came, it curdled into something sharper: hurt.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He lowered the wand, but not his guard.
"Draco?"
"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" He stepped toward her, his free hand gesturing angrily. "You left me with nothing but a note, Hermione. A note. Do you know what I've been through since you—?"
"What you've been through?" she interrupted, her chin lifting defiantly. "I left to find Harry and Ron, Draco! They're out there fighting for their lives, and I couldn't just sit here and do nothing while they—"
"You couldn't sit still," he cut in, his voice rising. "That's what this is really about, isn't it? You always have to play the hero. You think it's all on your shoulders, and damn anyone who gets in the way!"
She stepped closer, her brown eyes blazing. "You don't get to lecture me about selfish decisions, Draco. Not after everything you've done, not when you—"
"Everything I've done?" He barked a bitter laugh, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "You mean everything I've done to keep you safe? To make sure you're still breathing? I gave up everything I had for you, and you walked out like it didn't matter!"
"You think it was easy for me to leave?" Hermione shouted back, her voice cracking. "I didn't want to go, but I had to! They're my family, Draco. And so are you—"
Her words caught in her throat, and for a moment, neither spoke. Her voice's raw, unguarded emotion pierced through the fog of his anger, leaving him stunned. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding as he stared at her.
"You are," she repeated, her voice softer now. "You're my family too. But I couldn't let them down. I couldn't let you down by staying here and doing nothing."
Draco's shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. He looked away, his jaw tightening as he struggled to push past the whirlwind of emotions crashing through him. Relief. Pain. Love. Fear.
"I thought…" His voice was quieter now, rougher. "I thought I'd lost you."
Hermione reached out, her hand brushing against his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You'll never lose me, Draco. I always come back."
For a beat, the only sound between them was their breathing—heavy, uneven, both hearts racing like they'd been caught in a storm. The air crackled with everything unsaid: the anger, the longing, the fear. Then, as if some invisible thread snapped, pulling them together, they moved in unison.
Draco's lips crashed against hers, fierce and unrelenting, his hands gripping her as though she might vanish if he let go. The kiss was a clash of emotions: anger colliding with relief, love intertwined with desperation. Hermione responded with equal intensity, her fingers threading through his hair, clutching at him like he was her anchor in the chaos of her world.
There was nothing gentle about it, nothing soft. It was raw, frantic, and consuming. The kind of kiss that made time stand still. Their movements were feverish, each fuelled by the fear of losing each other and the relief of their reunion. Her nails scraped against his scalp, and he groaned into her mouth, a sound that sent shivers coursing through her. She pressed closer as if she could fuse herself to him, as if that might ease the ache that had built between them during her absence.
Draco pulled away for a fraction of a second, just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breath ragged. His hand lingered on her waist, grounding him. But his eyes were sharp as they met hers, a flicker of suspicion breaking through his relief.
"You're here for something," he said, his tone low but sure. "I know you. What do you need? What's the plan?"
Hermione hesitated for only a moment before squaring her shoulders.
"We're going to break into Gringotts."
Draco's blood ran cold.
"Are you mad?" he hissed. "Gringotts is a death trap. Do you have any idea what kind of enchantments are in place there? You could be killed—"
"I know," she cut him off, her eyes blazing with determination. "But we have to try. If we don't, he wins."
Draco's heart twisted painfully in his chest. He understood that fire in her eyes, that unyielding sense of right and wrong that had always been a part of who she was. It was one of the reasons he had fallen for her in the first place, even when he had tried to fight it, even when everything about her should have been the last thing he wanted.
But it was that same fire that terrified him now. He was so afraid he'd lose her to it.
"There's something hidden in Bellatrix's vault. You heard her at the manor." She tried to reason with him, but that only increased the rising dread threatening to suffocate him.
His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper.
"Please," he pleaded. "You can't. No one has ever successfully broken into Gringotts and got away. I know you think you're invincible, but you're not."
"I know that," she said sharply. "I'm planning for every possibility."
"Every possibility?" Draco scoffed. "The Lestrange vaults are nearly as deep as the Malfoys, Blacks and Notts. You don't know half of the enchantments that are down there. They aren't listed in anything you could get your hands on."
Her nose flared angrily, and he could tell he was hitting a raw nerve.
"Listen," he begged. "Please, I just need you to listen to me. Like that ring on your finger, trust that I know more about this magic than you do. I'll be happy to teach youanother timebut even Weasley won't be any help on this."
"That's why I came to you, Draco." She played with the necklace at her throat. "I need your help. We need to move fast."
Draco's stomach churned as he looked at her, her jaw set in that infuriatingly stubborn way he both hated and loved.
Fuck. She was going to do this—with or without his help—and that knowledge made him feel like the floor was crumbling beneath him. His brilliant, reckless wife, Hermione Malfoy, planned to walk straight into danger.
Again.
And there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop her.
He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as a storm of emotions swirled in his chest. Anger, frustration, love, and sheer terror all battled for dominance.
What if this was the time she didn't come back? What if her Gryffindor bravery got her killed? The thought of her lying lifeless because he wasn't strong enough to stop her was enough to make bile rise in his throat.
He was useless, a shell of the man he once was, bound by magic and circumstance. Every day, he felt weaker, the curse tethering him like a dog on a chain, powerless to protect her. And yet here she was, charging headfirst into danger as though his fear didn't matter. As though his heart wasn't already hanging by a thread.
"Do you have a time frame for this heist?" he asked, barely masking the panic clawing at his chest.
"Two days." She shifted, her fingers tapping against her thigh in her nervous habit.
"Two days?" His voice cracked, his composure slipping. "And you have a plan?"
Her hesitation was maddening. "I have the concept of a plan."
Draco let out a bitter laugh, running a hand down his face.
"How positively reassuring." His sarcasm was sharp enough to cut. It was easier to let his frustration out this way, more manageable than admitting how terrified he was of losing her.
Her glare was ice-cold, freezing him in place. "Will you help me or not?"
The air between them felt heavy, charged with hurt and fear. Draco took a shaky breath, his hands threading through his hair as he fought to rein in his emotions. She wasn't going to back down, no matter what he said. He knew her too well. She was like a force of nature—unstoppable, unyielding.
He loved her for it. He hated her for it.
"Of fucking course I will." He ran his hands through his hair. He couldn't let her do this alone. Even if it tore him apart and meant risking everything, he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. "Use my resources. You can access the deeper vaults whenever you want. You're a Malfoy—you have the key I gave you." He forced himself to meet her gaze, his tone softening despite the tension radiating from him. "Go down to the vaults. It'll give you at least some indication of what you're up against."
She nodded.
"The goblins don't care if you're a wanted criminal. They let my cousin access the Black vaults while he was on the run from Azkaban," he added dryly. "They only care about the gold and don't gossip about it—especially Malfoy gold. We have enough vaults down there to keep them quiet."
She swallowed, nodding once. He breathed a sigh of relief that she could still listen to reason. Clearly, she didn't have what she believed was a foolproof plan yet.
"And I want you to connect with my mother and Theo."
She frowned. "I could see why Narcissa would be useful in this situation. But why Theo?"
"He's not ahe's not tracked like I am," Draco said. "He doesn't have the Mark. As you know, he's a genius with magical devices. Gringotts employs a number of those, some designed specifically for the bank. Potter and Weasley may be more open to working with him."
She nodded again, worrying her bottom lip through her teeth. "I told them about you, you know?"
He stiffened, every muscle in his body locking up like a full-body bind. "What about me?"
"That we're married. That we've been together for a while," she huffed out a laugh.
"And… how did that go?"
"About as well as you'd expect," she sighed. "But they came around."
"They came around?"
"I mean, I doubt you're about to be invited to Weasley family functions," Hermione teased. "But I'm also fairly confident they won't hex you on sight."
"You really know how to put your husband's mind at ease, wife," Draco drawled, and she let out a little giggle. He was grateful to hear her laugh. It soothed an ache in his chest that was growing each minute they were apart.
"I wish I could go with you," he confessed. "Instead, I'm just a deadweight, stuck here at Hogwarts lambasting."
"You have saved me." Hermione's eyes softened, and she touched his cheek. "You've done more for me than anyone knows."
Draco laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and pained. "I can't save anyone. I can't even protect myself."
"I've said it before." Hermione's expression grew more serious. "I don't need you to protect me."
"I know," he cut in sharply, frustration bubbling inside him. "I just wish I could do more. I wish I could be there with you, fighting with you. But instead, I'm stuck here, waiting to see which of us is going to die first."
Hermione's eyes shimmered, and she shook her head.
"We're both going to survive this, Draco," she said. "We're going to see the end of it. I don't care how impossible it seems right now. We've come this far, haven't we? We'll find a way. Malfoys always come out on top, remember?"
Draco wanted to believe her. He tried to cling to her words like a lifeline, to trust that somehow, some way, they'd make it through this nightmare. But the doubt gnawed at him, a constant, corrosive presence in his mind. He felt like he was drowning, suffocated by the weight of everything he couldn't do, everything he couldn't change.
"I don't deserve you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I never did."
"I think that maybe we deserve each other." Hermione's lips twitched into a small, sad smile. "We're still standing, aren't we?"
She took his hand and moved it to the base of her throat, to the crescent necklace resting there. A reminder she wasn't alone.
"You're not alone," she said. "I'm here."
The words were simple but wrapped around his heart like a warm blanket, offering a small flicker of comfort in the darkness.
"Two days." His gaze flickered to hers.
"Two days." She nodded.
"Then we'd better get correspondence to Mother and Theo immediately."
Hermione smiled, offering him a brief but welcome kiss.
His wife was about to try to break into fucking Gringotts.
HERMIONE
The safe house Draco had designated was nestled in a quiet, forgotten corner of Wales, its charm blending old-world elegance with a touch of foreboding isolation. Hermione apparated first, her senses on high alert as she scanned the surroundings. The house was small but sturdy, its brickwork softened by climbing ivy. She opened the creaky gate, clutching a satchel of notes and Draco's latest scribblings.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, the faint scent of cedar and parchment lingering in the air. Hermione paced, the tension in her chest coiling tighter as she waited.
The first knock came sharply. Hermione opened the door to find Theo, his dark coat sweeping the ground, his sharp features set in an unimpressed scowl.
"Granger," he said, his tone clipped. "This better be good. Do you know how much trouble I'll be in if anyone realizes I'm not at school?"
Hermione straightened, meeting his skepticism with a firm stare. "I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important."
He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing. "Important enough to risk my neck? Go on then, I'm listening."
Before Hermione could reply, the door creaked open again, and Narcissa Malfoy stepped in with an air of calm authority. She was draped in an elegant black cloak, its hood casting shadows over her sharp features. Her eyes, piercing and calculating, swept over the room before settling on Hermione.
"Narcissa," Hermione greeted, inclining her head respectfully.
"Hermione," Narcissa said in greeting, her voice calm and controlled. She slid into the booth beside Theo, her presence commanding. "Theodore."
"Narcissa," Hermione replied, giving a respectful nod. "Thank you for coming."
"I'm here because Draco insisted," Narcissa replied, folding her hands in her lap. "And because I care for my son's well-being. I'm told you have some foolish notion about breaking into Gringotts."
Theo's eyes widened, his face paling. "Gringotts? Are you mad?"
Hermione squared her shoulders, her gaze unwavering. "I know how it sounds—But Bellatrix's"
"It sounds like you have a death wish," Theo interrupted, leaning forward, his eyes blazing with disbelief. "You realize that breaking into a vault in Gringotts, especially one belonging to the Lestranges, is as good as signing your death certificate?"
"I've been told," Hermione deadpanned.
Narcissa's lips tightened into a thin line, her expression of disapproval mixed with concern. "Gringotts is one of the most heavily fortified places in the wizarding world, Hermione. Even with my knowledge, the risks are monumental. Why would you even consider such a thing?"
"Because I have to," Hermione said. "There's something in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault that we need. Something crucial to stopping You Know Who. We can't afford to wait."
Theo shook his head, muttering before looking back at her. "You're serious about this. You actually plan to break into the Lestrange vault."
Hermione nodded. "I know it's dangerous, but nothing is impossible."
"No one has proven it possible, either." Theo rolled his eyes, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Narcissa exhaled slowly, her gaze fixed on Hermione. "If you're determined to go through with this, you must understand the magnitude of what you're attempting. The Lestrange vault is not just protected by goblin magic. The deeper vaults, especially those of old families like the Lestrange's, have their own protections. Some of them date back centuries."
Theo chimed in, his voice grim. "The goblins aren't playing around, Hermione. Some enchantments detect intruders, traps that could kill you in an instant, and illusions to disorient you. Rumour has it there's even a dragon guarding the deeper vaults."
Hermione listened carefully, her mind working quickly to absorb the information. "I understand that. But there has to be a way past them. There always is. I just need to know what I'm dealing with."
Narcissa glanced at Theo, who sighed heavily. "There are layers to these protections. The first ones are fairly straightforward—warding spells and basic traps to deter casual thieves. But for the old families, it gets more complicated."
"Blood wards," Narcissa explained, her tone grave. "The vault will only open for someone of the Lestrange bloodline or for someone carrying a special key—a key that would have to be made by the goblins themselves. And even if you manage to get past the blood wards, there are curses—lethal ones, meant to protect the darkest and most valuable secrets."
Theo nodded. "Think of it like a series of escalating challenges. The closer you get, the more perilous it becomes. One wrong step, and you could find yourself trapped in a curse that will kill you, or worse."
"Polyjuice Potion?" Hermione pressed. "Could it fool the wards if I impersonated Bellatrix?"
Narcissa's expression shifted, her lips pursing in thought. "No. Polyjuice might bypass the initial wards, but the deeper protections would require more. The magic tied to the Lestrange vault is ancient, Hermione. It's designed to recognize bloodline ties on a fundamental level."
Theo nodded in agreement. "Those spells are old and tied to the family. You'd need to find a way to trick the magic into believing you belong."
"Is there anything else?" Hermione pressed. "Any secret passageways or hidden methods that only those within the family might know about?"
"There is one thing…" Narcissa hesitated before speaking again. "The Lestranges have one of those special goblin-wrought keys."
"Do you know where it is?" Hermione asked, leaning forward.
Narcissa frowned. "It was kept at the Manor for me in case of an emergency, but I suspect Bellatrix took it with her. There's no telling where it is now."
Hermione exhaled, trying to contain her frustration. "Then I'll have to be prepared for every possible obstacle. Can either of you think of anything else? Anything at all?"
For a moment, silence fell over the room. Narcissa and Theo exchanged a glance, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of them.
Theo looked pained, his usual snarky humour replaced with genuine concern. "You're really set on this, aren't you?"
"I am," Hermione replied, her voice steady. "I don't have a choice."
There was a heavy silence, the weight of the danger looming over them like a dark cloud. Narcissa and Theo exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them.
"Very well," Narcissa said finally, her voice resolute. "If you're truly set on this path, promise me one thing, Hermione."
Hermione met her gaze. "What?"
Come back alive," Narcissa said, her voice low but firm. "For Draco's sake. For all of ours."
"I promise."
For the next few hours, they laid out every detail they could remember about Gringotts and its defences. Hermione committed it all to memory, knowing that every piece of knowledge could mean the difference between success and failure, between life and death.
As they parted ways, the enormity of her task weighed on her, but she refused to falter. She had made a promise—to Narcissa, to herself, and Draco. And she intended to keep it.
But Hermione had never backed down from a challenge. And she wasn't about to start now.
It was late into the night when Hermione returned to Draco at Grange Manor. He was still awake, waiting up for her. He seemed to move around more comfortably than earlier, the potion's effects waning. It was a double-edged sword. The waning effectiveness gave him a reprieve from the potion's side effects, but meant he would need to re-administer it soon.
Hermione leaned back against the worn kitchen table, watching Draco move around the space. The moonlight filtered through the windows, catching the light in his hair and illuminating it like snow. She couldn't help but smile as he opened the cupboard, looking perturbed.
"What is it?" she asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head.
Draco gave her a look, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "I'm just surprised by how little is here. Where did the house-elves hide all the good tea?"
She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Not everyone needs tea imported from the continent, you know. You're not at the Manor now."
He reached for the kettle, muttering, "A tragic fact I'm reminded of every day."
"Tragic?" She raised an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. "You're insufferable, you know that?"
Draco turned to face her, a mock-wounded look on his face. "Insufferable? You wound me, wife."
Hermione laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly as he drew closer, his face showing that he knew exactly what he was doing to her. "I'm your secret wife, remember?"
"Ah, yes." His voice lowered as he took another step, now standing close enough that she could feel his warmth. "My secret, brilliant, maddening wife."
She felt her pulse quicken as his hand moved to rest on the table, his body leaning toward hers.
"Very scandalous," she whispered, trying to keep the playful tone in her voice as her breath hitched. "Improper, even."
"Good thing I've never cared much for propriety." His voice sent a shiver down her spine.
She tilted her head, meeting his gaze, a smile tugging at her lips.
Draco's smirk widened as he leaned even closer.
Their eyes locked, the air between them charged with tension building in these hidden moments together. Her heart raced, her cheeks warming as she traced a finger along his collar, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath her touch.
The kettle started screaming, the water finally reaching boiling point.
"You should probably finish making that tea," she said, barely able to keep the tremor out of her voice.
"Tea can wait." His voice was rough, his hand sliding to her waist as he pulled her closer, his gaze darkening with something that sent her heartbeat racing. "You, however… I'm less inclined to wait for."
Her breath caught as his mouth found hers, soft but insistent, their teasing fading into a more profound, shared need. Her fingers slipped up to his hair, tangling in the silky strands, and he let out a quiet groan against her mouth, pressing her back against the table. She gasped, feeling the firm line of his body against hers, the heat of his hands trailing over her waist.
"Draco…" she whispered his name, a mix of need and laughter in her voice as he pulled back just slightly, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that left her dizzy.
"Still think I'm insufferable?" His lips grazed her jaw.
"Completely," she breathed, grinning as she pulled him back.
Draco's lips brushed hers again, softer this time, as if testing the boundaries of their stolen moment. His hands slid up her sides, warm and steady, resting just beneath her ribs as though anchoring her to him. Hermione leaned into his touch, her fingers curling tighter in his hair, the silky strands slipping through her grasp.
His breath was hot against her cheek when he whispered, "Fuck, you're beautiful."
Hermione slid a hand down to cup his face, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. "Prove it."
Draco's gaze burned into hers, a storm of emotions flickering across the grey depths—relief, longing, and love. Slowly, his lips descended to hers again, this time tender and deliberate, drawing her into him like he couldn't bear to let her go. His kiss wasn't just passion; it was devotion, an unspoken plea to hold on to the fleeting solace they found in one another.
He lifted her easily, setting her on the table's edge with a gentleness that belied the urgency between them. Hermione's legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, pulling him closer. His hands trailed down her sides, memorizing the curve of her body. His mouth left hers, tracing a line of kisses down her jaw, his stubble brushing against her sensitive skin. She tilted her head back with a soft gasp as his lips found the hollow of her throat, leaving a warm, tingling path in their wake.
"Draco…" Her voice was barely above a whisper, her fingers slipping down to trace the sharp lines of his jaw.
She guided him back up, her lips meeting his again, slow and deep, savouring how he responded to her every touch. He groaned against her mouth, the sound low and full of restrained hunger, his hands splaying against her back to press her closer to him.
For a moment, time seemed to stop. The world outside the safe house, with all its dangers and horrors, ceased to exist. In the dim light of the room, there was only them—their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison. Draco's hands slid beneath the hem of her shirt, his fingers trailing over her skin with reverence, as if she might vanish if he let go. Her breath hitched at his touch, her body responding to the warmth of his palms as they mapped every inch of her waist, back, and ribs.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breathing unsteady as he whispered, "You drive me mad, you know that?"
A soft smile played on Hermione's lips as her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, her fingers deftly undoing them one by one.
"Good," she said, her voice teasing yet filled with affection. "Wouldn't want you getting bored with me."
His laugh was husky, sending a shiver down her spine.
"Impossible." His lips brushed hers again, softer this time, and she could feel the smile lingering there.
They moved together like they had all the time in the world, their touches lingering, their kisses deepening as they let the moment stretch, unhurried. Draco's hands slid beneath her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as he carried her to the worn sofa near the fireplace. He laid her down with care, his eyes never leaving hers as he settled above her, one hand cradling her face while the other trailed down her arm, his touch light as a whisper.
Hermione reached up to trace the line of his collarbone, her fingers memorizing every detail of him as if trying to etch it into her memory. She felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, grounding her in the reality of their shared presence. No words passed between them as their lips met again, the world falling away once more.
In the safety of the dimly lit room, they let themselves fall into each other entirely. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath was a promise—a reminder that no matter how fractured their world had become, they still had this. They still had each other.
Sounds of clinking coins echoed in the vast marble hall of Gringotts as Hermione stood beside Theo, her hood pulled low over her face. She was calm on the surface—confident and composed—but her heart hammered into a frantic rhythm beneath the exterior. She could feel Theo shifting beside her, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Outwardly, he appeared bored, like he'd rather be elsewhere, but Hermione knew better. His sharp, darting eyes betrayed him. He scanned every goblin and passerby for the first sign of trouble.
"Relax," she said under her breath, barely moving her lips.
"I am relaxed." Theo's tone was clipped, but low enough not to draw attention. "I just prefer to keep my head attached to my body. Thank you very much."
Hermione didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the counter ahead. As they inched forward in line, her senses sharpened. Every sound—the scratching of quills, the shuffle of feet, the muted murmurs of clients—seemed amplified. She flexed her fingers at her sides, resisting the urge to fidget. Confidence was her greatest weapon here.
Beside her, Theo adjusted his cloak, his movements a touch too deliberate.
"You'd better know what you're doing, Granger." His voice lacked its usual bite. "Draco will kill me if I let something happen to you."
Hermione cast him a sideways glance, catching his fingers twitching near his wand pocket.
"We'll be fine," she said, though the words were as much for her benefit as his. "Just follow my lead."
"Follow you into certain doom. Splendid idea." The faint tremor in his voice undercut his sarcasm, and Hermione resisted the urge to squeeze his arm in reassurance.
Finally, they reached the counter. The goblin sitting there peered up at them with sharp, beady eyes. Theo shifted slightly, his posture straightening as if readying himself for confrontation. Hermione kept her expression neutral, deliberately sliding the Malfoy key across the polished surface.
"Good morning," she said, her tone steady. "I need access to my vault."
The goblin's eyes flicked from Hermione to Theo and back again, lingering long enough to make her skin prickle. To his credit, Theo gave the goblin a dismissive glance as if he were entirely unimpressed with the institution's grandeur.
"And which vault would that be?" The goblin's voice was oily and tinged with suspicion.
"Number 652." Hermione kept her voice level.
The goblin's sharp nails plucked the key from the counter, and he examined it with care, his pointed nose wrinkling as he turned it over in his hands. Theo's fingers twitched again, and Hermione looked at him, willing him to stay still.
"Identification." The goblin's eyes narrowed at her.
Hermione handed over her wand, and the goblin scrutinized it with the same intensity as the key. Standing just behind her shoulder, Theo tilted his head with a languid air, but she noticed his jaw clenching.
"This is taking an awfully long time," Theo's voice was laced with the haughty disdain only someone raised among pureblood elites could muster. "Surely you can see everything is in order. Or are delays simply part of the Gringotts experience these days?"
The goblin's eyes snapped to Theo, his lip curling slightly. Hermione held her breath, praying Theo hadn't pushed too far. After a moment, the goblin set the wand and key back on the counter.
"Follow me," he said curtly, hopping down from his stool.
Theo let out a quiet exhale beside her, but his shoulders remained taut as they followed the goblin through a narrow, dimly lit passageway. The walls seemed to close around them, and Hermione felt the weight of watchful eyes—other goblins, she was sure—hidden in the shadows. She kept her head high, her movements deliberate, while Theo's gaze darted to every dark corner, his posture tense despite the confident mask he wore.
When they reached the cart, Theo hesitated for a fraction of a second before climbing in after Hermione. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "deathtrap," and she bit back a smile. The cart lurched forward with a jarring jolt, and Theo's hand shot out to grip the edge.
"I fucking hate these things," he said, his knuckles whitening as the cart hurtled down the tracks.
Hermione focused on the path ahead, though her stomach flipped with every sharp turn and sudden drop. Beside her, Theo clung to the cart with one hand while the other hovered near his wand, his mouth set in a tight line.
"You're doing great," she said, her voice dry.
"Shut up, Granger."
When the cart finally screeched to a halt, Theo practically leapt out, smoothing his cloak as if that might restore his dignity. Hermione followed more cautiously, her eyes immediately drawn to the ornate door ahead. The Malfoy crest gleamed in the torchlight, and her breath hitched slightly at the sight.
Theo, still scanning the shadows, said, "This place reeks of old money and bad decisions."
"Just up your alley then." Hermione caught the grin Theo tried to hide.
Theo stayed close, his usual smirk replaced with a rare, jittery seriousness. He watched her insert the key and push the door open, the heavy creak echoing through the cavernous space beyond.
Hermione stepped inside and stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening in disbelief. She had expected wealth—of course, she had. The Malfoys were one of the oldest and most prominent pureblood families. But this… this was beyond anything she could have imagined.
The vault was massive, more like a grand hall than a room. Gold glittered in every corner—heaps of coins piled high, overflowing from ornate chests and spilling onto the stone floor like rivers of molten sunlight. Precious gems—rubies, sapphires, diamonds—were scattered throughout, their vibrant colours flashing in the torchlight. Delicate goblets studded with jewels and intricately crafted silverware lay among the riches, alongside ornate furniture that looked like it belonged in a royal palace.
"Bloody Malfoys," he breathed. "Richer than the King."
"Like you're one to talk." Hermione rolled her eyes. The Notts nearly matched the Malfoys in fortunes.
However, she had to admit that seeing the sheer scale of the Malfoy fortune laid out before her was overwhelming. And that didn't include real estate and property. Everything contained in the vault was liquid assets, and there was an alarming amount. The Malfoys weren't just wealthy; they were unimaginably rich.
Theo's footsteps were soft as he moved to stand beside her, his gaze sweeping over the glittering piles of gold and ancient artifacts. This wasn't just money; it was history. Ancient artifacts rested on pedestals—goblets encrusted with jewels, paintings by long-dead wizards, delicate tiaras that had adorned the heads of noble witches centuries ago. Each piece told a story; each artifact was a relic of a long, dark history of power and influence.
She approached a pedestal with a massive sapphire the size of her fist, set in a band of intricately wrought gold. The sapphire gleamed, almost hypnotically, in the dim light. She reached out a hand, hesitating just above its surface, but pulled back at the last second. She knew better than to touch anything in a vault like this without knowing the consequences.
The protective magic ran over her, scanning her and allowing her and her guest to pass. She could feel it prodding and poking, a sizzle of it over the current of her magic identifying her magical core. A heat from the ring on her finger.
Her gaze swept the room again, and she realized with dawning horror how impossible her task at the Lestrange vault would prove. She could feel the magic protections over her skin, layers and layers of them allowing her through as if she belonged there.
Because she did belong there.
If this were what a typical ancient pureblood family vault looked like—endless wealth, fortified with layers of curses and protections—the Lestrange vault would be a thousand times worse. Bellatrix Lestrange was known for her cruelty and paranoia; her vault would be a death trap.
She shivered, suddenly feeling very small amidst the vastness of the Malfoy fortune. This was the depth of the challenge she faced. This was the kind of ancient magic she was up against—magic that had been honed and perfected over centuries, guarded by the most cunning creatures in the wizarding world. She needed to navigate through that, find the horcrux, and get out alive.
And now she fully understood that she wouldn't have made it one step within the vault without the marriage between her and Draco. Not with only polyjuice potion, bravery and a barely strung-together plan.
Theo seemed to understand that, too, as he looked like he was a moment from relinquishing his lunch on the floor.
"Granger," Theo said finally, "whatever you're planning for the next vault, you'd better make it foolproof."
Hermione nodded, her resolve hardening. "It will be."
The goblin waiting near the cart cleared his throat, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Ma'am? If you're finished—"
To avoid being too suspicious, Hermione hastily grabbed a handful of the closest Galleons and shoved them into a small leather satchel she'd brought along.
"Yes," she said, her voice shakier than she intended. "I'm done."
She turned back toward the door, her mind spinning with a thousand thoughts. The enormity of what she had to do was more evident than ever now, and the reality of the danger she was facing sank in. This was no ordinary mission. This was a war against ancient, unyielding magic—a war she had no choice but to win.
As the goblin led Hermione and Theo back to the cart, Hermione steeled herself, knowing she had to be more prepared than ever. Because if she thought the Malfoy vault was daunting, the Lestrange vault would be nothing short of a nightmare.
The living room was bathed in the warm amber light of late afternoon, the sun casting long shadows across the walls. Hermione sat curled at one end of the worn sofa, a thick novel propped open in her lap, though her attention drifted between its pages and the man stretched across her.
Draco reclined with his head resting on her thighs, his pale hair spilling over her jeans like silk. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, though the faint crease between his brows betrayed the discomfort he refused to voice. The book balanced on his stomach—Quidditch Through the Ages, again—teetered slightly as his hand absently held the edge, his consciousness flickering in and out as he began to fade into a nap.
Hermione's fingers moved without thought, trailing gently through his hair, combing through the delicate strands in soothing, rhythmic strokes. His shoulders relaxed a little more with each pass of her hand, the tension melting away under her touch. A soft hum escaped him, so quiet she might have missed it if the room weren't so still.
She glanced down, catching how his lashes fluttered against his cheek and the faintest curve of his lips, a reluctant surrender to the comfort he found in her presence. A smile tugged at her lips as she returned to her book, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a well-worn blanket.
A sudden, soft pop broke the silence, and Narcissa Malfoy appeared in the corner of the room, her face set in grim determination. Hermione shot up from her seat, her heart pounding at the sudden arrival. Draco, jostled awake, followed quickly.
"I don't have long," Narcissa whispered urgently, her eyes darting around to ensure they were alone. She reached into the folds of her robes and pulled out a small, ornate key. "This is the key that grants entry to the Lestrange vault. She'd given it to me for safekeeping a while back. I had one of the house-elves return from France to retrieve it."
"Mother." Draco frowned at the key in Hermione's hand. "Aren't the house-elves currently under orders to follow?"
"Yes. But it was worth the risk."
Hermione took it, her fingers brushing against the cold metal. She could feel the enchantments woven into the key, buzzing against her skin like static.
"Thank you," she said, locking eyes with Narcissa. There was no time for sentiment, but she hoped the gratitude showed on her face.
Narcissa nodded, her gaze sweeping over Hermione. "You must go tonight. I've received intel that Bella has been on a mission since the night at the Manor, a punishment. She hasn't had time to check on the vault but returns tomorrow. Once you're inside, you're on your own. The protections are fierce and layered. The goblins are not to be underestimated."
The room seemed to darken with Narcissa's words, what lay ahead pressing down on Hermione's shoulders. Shadows stretched along the walls of Grange Manor, casting long, twisted shapes that felt like the harbingers of the danger to come. Hermione's grip tightened around the key, feeling the intricate metalwork bite into her palm as if it could anchor her to this relative calm before the storm.
She swallowed, her throat dry, and nodded.
"I know the risks," she said, though a shiver ran down her spine. The knowledge of the goblins' ruthlessness, of the traps and curses guarding the Lestrange vault, was no small matter. Her visit to the Malfoy vault was enlightening. The Lestrange's would be even worse.
Narcissa's eyes momentarily softened, her elegant façade cracking ever so slightly.
"Thank you for coming, for helping us," Hermione said.
Narcissa nodded in a small, almost imperceptible motion. She took a step closer, her eyes searching Hermione's face with an intensity that made Hermione feel exposed like Narcissa could see right through her.
"You are braver than I gave you credit for, Hermione," she said. "But you're also cunning and protective of those you love. You're more of a Malfoy than you realize."
Hermione's breath hitched. There was something in her tone—an acceptance Hermione hadn't anticipated. For the first time, a flicker of warmth stirred within her toward the woman who had once been a formidable figure from her past. A part of Hermione longed to believe that Narcissa truly saw her as family—not merely through the strange, tangled circumstances that now connected them, but in a genuine and deliberate way.
Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line, her hands trembling slightly as she reached out and squeezed Hermione's arm. "I hope you know what you're doing. I hope you know what this could cost."
"I'll get all of us through this," Hermione promised, her eyes locking with Narcissa's.
Narcissa didn't respond right away. She looked over Hermione's shoulder, staring into the dimly lit corners of the room, her expression distant and thoughtful. "My sister… Bellatrix… she is not one to be underestimated either. She is unhinged, yes, but she is also dangerously clever. She will sense something is wrong, and when she does, there will be no stopping her."
Hermione nodded, understanding the warning. She would have to move quickly, with every ounce of cunning and bravery she could muster. The clock was ticking, and they were running out of time.
A deep, lingering silence fell between them. Hermione felt the tension thrumming through her body, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead hung like an oppressive fog. Narcissa took a deep breath and seemed to steel herself.
"If anything happens to Harry Potter," she began, her voice trembling ever so slightly, "you must promise me, Hermione, you must promise me you'll save yourself."
Draco's eyes widened.
"I… I can't make that promise." Hermione shifted uncomfortably.
Narcissa's face was ashen, and the worry lines etched deeper into her features. "You must. Don't become a needless casualty. Not when we have the means to protect you."
Like escaping to France, it was inferred but not spoken aloud.
Hermione's breath hitched, but she nodded slowly, knowing there was no easy answer. "I'll do everything I can."
Narcissa looked at her for a long moment, something like acceptance crossing her features. Then she stepped back, preparing to disapparate.
"Good luck."
With a pop, she was gone, leaving Hermione standing with her husband in the silent, dim room. The key in her hand felt heavier now. It wasn't just metal—the gravity of every choice she'd made, every risk she was about to take, pressed on her. She slipped the key into her pocket, her fingers lingering for a moment as if to memorize the feel of it.
Draco's face was drawn. His eyes met hers, and they just stood there for a moment, saying nothing.
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, her voice breaking the stillness. The words hung in the air, clumsy and incomplete.
"You don't have to apologize," he said, but his voice trembled. "Just come back to me." His hands reached for her, but he stopped himself just short as if he knew better than to hold on too tight.
Hermione's heart tightened, but she didn't let herself break down. Not now.
"I will," she promised, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I will come back. I have to."
Draco's eyes searched hers for a long moment before he nodded, a small, resigned smile tugging at his lips.
She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She kissed him briefly, but with all the love, fear, and promise she could give him then. She pulled back, her hand lingering on his cheek.
"I'll see you soon, Draco," she said, her voice almost lost in the space between them.
"Be safe, Hermione." His voice was barely audible as if saying the words too loud would make it all too real.
And with one last look, she turned and left, her heart breaking with every step she took toward the future—toward a vault to break into, a dragon to free, and a war to finish. She had no time to lose, and there was no turning back.
She had a vault to break into, a dragon to free, and a war to win. And no time to lose.
Standing just outside the tall, white-marble facade of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, the trio paused momentarily, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in as they stared up at the marble dragon above the door. They moved quickly, staying close together under Harry's Invisibility Cloak until they reached the massive bronze doors. Hermione's heart raced as they approached; every step felt heavier than the last.
Once inside, they removed the cloak. All three were polyjuiced into three random people they'd grabbed the hairs from while cloaked in Diagon Alley. Hermione clutched the key tightly, feeling the pulse of its magic. She took a deep breath and approached the nearest goblin.
"We need to access the Lestrange vault," she said.
The goblin eyed them suspiciously, but when Hermione presented the key, his expression shifted, begrudgingly respectful.
"Follow me," he grunted.
They were led through the main hall, the air cold and foreboding. The clink of coins and whispers of enchanted items filled the space as the trio walked past countless other vaults. The goblin stopped at a rickety cart perched on twisted tracks that disappeared into the dark abyss below.
"In," the goblin instructed curtly.
The three of them climbed into the cart, and with a jerk, it took off, speeding down the tracks at a breakneck pace. The cold air whipped past them as the cart twisted and turned, delving deeper into the tunnels beneath the bank. Hermione clutched the sides of the cart, her knuckles white, the weight of the key still heavy in her pocket.
As they careened deeper underground, the dim light from above faded entirely, replaced by the eerie glow of enchanted torches lining the walls. The air grew colder, damper, and thick with the scent of earth and old magic.
The cart finally screeched to a halt in front of a massive stone door marked with the Lestrange crest. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight—the door was imposing, covered in dark runes that pulsed with sinister energy.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exited the cart, whereupon they saw an aged, half-blind dragon guarding the vault. The goblin escorting them subdued the dragon by using the Clankers; Hermione felt a surge of pity as she guessed that the cowering Dragon associated the noise of Clankers with pain.
The goblin eyed them, a calculating glint in his eyes. "The vault will be opened with the key. Be warned—the Lestrange vault is known for its… surprises." He waited a moment longer, then backed away into the shadows.
Hermione took a deep breath and then held up the key. She could feel the protective charms around the vault prickling at her skin. She pressed the key to the stone door, and with a low, grinding rumble, the door began to creak open.
"Quickly," Harry said, pulling his wand. "We don't have much time."
They slipped inside, the vault stretching before them like a dragon's hoard, a glittering mass of treasures beyond imagination. Gold piled high, jewels glinted in the dim light, and dark, ancient artifacts sat among it all—each one a reminder of the looming danger. The vault closed shut behind them with a resounding thud.
"Harry, do you feel anything?" Hermione scanned the vast room, alert for any sign of movement, any trap waiting to spring.
"I—" Harry stopped mid-sentence, his eyes furrowing in concentration. "Yes. Yes, there's one here."
Hermione's heart rate spiked. She knew that meant a trap or a curse was near, but the vault was so packed with wealth that it was nearly impossible to distinguish what was harmless and what was not.
"Be careful," she warned, her voice low. "Don't touch anything except the thing we need."
They edged forward. Harry led the way, his footsteps growing more confident with each step as he moved through the dangerous labyrinth of treasure.
"There!" Harry pointed sharply, urgency in his voice. "That's it, I'm sure of it. That cup."
Hermione's gaze snapped to where he was pointing. There, almost hidden among the piles of glittering gold, was a small, unassuming golden cup. It gleamed faintly in the torchlight, tucked away from view. She knew immediately what it was—Helga Hufflepuff's cup, one of Voldemort's horcruxes.
Her breath caught. It was so small, so easy to overlook amidst the mountains of riches. But its significance made her pulse quicken.
They moved forward, every step cautious, wary of the curses and traps lurking in the shadows. Hermione's eyes darted from one pile to another, scanning for hidden dangers, and she could almost feel the ancient magic thrumming in the air.
But just as they neared the cup, disaster struck. Hermione's foot landed too hard on an intricately decorated shield, and a harsh, metallic grinding noise echoed through the vault. The sound was followed by a sudden shift—a flood of gold began to move, shifting and swirling as it multiplied at an alarming rate. Coins tumbled, rolling and multiplying like a tidal wave, covering the floor in an unstoppable torrent.
"Move!" Hermione shouted, her voice rising with panic. She reached for the cup, her fingers brushing its handle. But the gold was already pouring over her, the treasure rearranging itself, pulling the cup away just as she tried to grasp it.
The floor turned treacherous as the gold cascaded, multiplying faster and faster, transforming the space into a nightmarish sea of metal. The coins seemed to move of their own accord, swirling and twisting in every direction, creating an avalanche that piled higher and higher, pressing in from all sides.
"Accio cup!" Hermione cried, desperate, thrusting her wand forward. But the spell faltered, the cup remaining stubbornly in place as the gold reacted violently, spewing out even more coins.
"Bloody hell!" Ron shouted, struggling to keep footing as the flood of gold reached their knees. The weight of it was unbearable, making every step harder than the last.
Harry acted without hesitation, darting through the chaos, narrowly avoiding sharp-edged goblets and shields that flew past him like lethal projectiles. His eyes locked on the cup, and with a final burst of speed, he lunged forward, his fingers closing around the handle.
"I've got it!" Harry shouted, his voice triumphant, though his face was tight with fear. He held the cup high above the storm of gold, but the avalanche didn't stop. It only grew worse. More coins poured in, faster, surging up the walls and threatening to bury them.
"Get out! Now!" Hermione shouted, her voice cracking with urgency as she struggled to keep her footing. The weight of the gold was becoming unbearable, each coin like molten lead. She could barely move, the mound of treasure climbing higher by the second.
"Back to the door!" Harry yelled, clutching the cup with both hands, his eyes wide with determination.
But the path to the vault door was now buried beneath a sea of multiplying gold. They had to scramble over it, their movements growing more frantic by the second.
"We're going to get buried!" Ron bellowed, his voice thick with panic, as he stumbled over the slippery coins.
Hermione's mind raced, eyes darting around the room. "There has to be another way!" She couldn't think, the danger too overwhelming. "Think, think!"
And then, a spark of realization hit her. She spotted the gleaming goblin-made armour hanging along the walls—suits of enchanted plate mail designed to withstand the most powerful curses.
"Climb! Climb up the shelves!" Hermione screamed, pointing frantically to the metal racks above the chaos below.
Harry and Ron didn't hesitate. They lunged toward the shelves, rapidly scaling the racks as the gold rose higher, now threatening to swallow the room whole. Hermione followed closely, pushing herself upward with all her strength, her fingers digging into the cool metal as the weight of the gold tugged at her.
Together, they climbed higher, their hearts pounding, breath ragged as they hoisted themselves onto a narrow ledge, safe—at least for now—from the relentless flood of multiplying gold below. The vault churned like a cursed tide, the treasures grinding and spilling over themselves in a chaotic cascade.
Ron's panicked voice broke the tense silence. "What now? We can't just sit here waiting to drown in gold!"
"If we triggered a thievery alarm, the goblins might open the vault to stop us," Hermione said.
"Might?" Harry shot her a look. "Brilliant plan—'maybe the goblins save us, or maybe we get buried alive.' Do we get bonus points for originality?"
Hermione glared at him. "Have a better idea, Harry?"
Before he could answer, a wave of multiplying coins surged dangerously close to their feet, spurring her into action. She aimed her wand at a nearby shield hanging from the wall and cast a series of bright, snapping spells designed to disrupt defensive enchantments. A thunderous ringing erupted through the vault, shaking the walls as the alarm activated.
The multiplying treasures froze mid-motion, and an eerie silence fell, only to be shattered moments later by grinding mechanisms. The vault door creaked open, and a flood of goblins rushed in, armed to the teeth, followed closely by several wand-wielding wizards. They shouted commands, the harsh Gobbledegook echoing against the stone walls.
The magic trapping the trio dissipated suddenly, leaving them awkwardly perched on the ledge like birds caught in a snare. Suspended high above the churning hoard, they were painfully exposed as the goblins' sharp eyes turned to them.
Hermione's stomach churned. The absence of the gold showed how high they had climbed.
"Well, this is cozy," Ron said under his breath, gripping the ledge tightly.
Hermione's gaze swept the room, adrenaline sharpening her mind. She spotted it then—a massive, white-scaled dragon chained to the far wall just outside the vault, its eyes wild with panic.
"The dragon," Hermione said, pointing toward the massive, chained beast. "We can use it to escape! Remember what Charlie said about them?"
Ron nodded, pale but resolute. "He said, 'Don't get eaten.' Helpful advice right about now."
"But before that, he showed us where to climb to ride it." Harry shot Ron a look.
Hermione looked back to Harry and Ron, from the infuriated dragon to the goblins and wizards. Maybe Draco had been rightthis was a suicide mission.
"So we just have to fight through goblins and armed security wizards, release a dragon and then ride it through Gringotts?"
"That's an excellent plan, Hermione." Harry, despite the tension, smirked faintly. "Let's not die while executing it."
As the goblins advanced, their sharp cries echoing, the trio unleashed Stunning Spells and curses, creating chaos in the ranks. Sparks and bursts of light filled the vault as the goblins fought back, brandishing daggers and hurling defensive spells.
Harry ran towards the dragon thrashing against its restraints, its pale, scarred hide glistening under the torchlight.
Raising his wand, he shouted, "Relashio!"
A sharp blast of magic struck the chains, and with a deafening roar, the dragon wrenched itself free. Its claws clattered against the stone floor as it swung its head toward the advancing goblins and unleashed a torrent of fire.
The trio scrambled onto its back, Hermione nearly slipping before Ron caught her wrist and hauled her up. The dragon surged forward, its enormous wings snapping open in the cramped vault. Flames licked the walls as the goblins screamed and scattered, throwing blades in desperation. One dagger grazed Harry's shoulder, but he barely flinched, focusing on gripping the dragon's rough scales.
The passage was too narrow for the dragon's wings to extend fully.
"Defindo!" Hermione slashed her wand through the air.
Stone cracked and fell away as the passage widened slightly. Harry and Ron followed suit, their spells carving a jagged path. The dragon thrashed violently, forcing its way forward, its tail smashing through barriers and sending rubble crashing to the floor.
The dragon broke into the main hallway with a final burst of force. Shrieks and chaos erupted as witches and wizards fled, diving for cover. Gold and debris rained as the dragon barrelled through Gringotts' massive doors, leaving the once-imposing entrance in shambles.
Sunlight blinded them as the dragon spread its wings wide, launching into the open air. With a thunderous roar, it ascended into the sky, the trio clinging tightly to its back as Diagon Alley shrank below them.
As they soared away on the dragon's back, the sudden freedom hit Hermione. They had done it. They had robbed the Lestrange vault, freed a dragon, and escaped Gringotts—alive.
Fuck, she hated flying.