Chapter Text
Hermione had no nightmares that night.
She slept rather soundly, waking only once when Draco stole all the covers, and she shivered in the chilly Manor air. She smiled at his sleeping form and snuggled back into his warm embrace.
Without waking, he hugged her closer.
Hermione woke to her reality being a new dream: Draco’s cheekbones soaked in soft sunlight that snuck between the dark curtains. She drew a deep breath, thinking to herself that this was serenity.
“Draco!” a voice called, bursting through the door, and shattering the illusion of her quiet morning. “I was thinking –”
Blaise’s words died on his tongue when his eyes met Hermione’s before she pulled the covers up over her bare shoulders.
“Bugger off Blaise,” Draco groaned, his arms winding around Hermione’s bare skin tighter.
“Well good morning to you two,” Blaise said, decidedly staying. From under the covers, Hermione could hear the grin on his face. Draco shifted next to her, pulling his pillow from beneath his head.
Hermione heard a soft “Oof!” from Blaise as it connected.
“Right, well if you’ve managed to sort things out with Granger. I suppose I’ll just tell your mum you’ll both be down to eat soon.”
Draco groaned in response.
“Or do you need a bit longer? I can –”
“Zabini, I will hex you if you don’t leave this room this instant!” threatened Hermione from beneath the sheets. She hadn’t the foggiest idea where her wand was. But it was an empty threat anyway.
Blaise laughed. “As you were!”
The door clicked shut behind him and Draco nuzzled back into her neck. His hands began to roam and it took all of her willpower to not sink into his touch.
“Is he really going to tell your mum?” she asked, scooting herself away from him.
Draco shrugged and tried to pull her closer.
“Nuh-uh,” Hermione said, prying herself out of his grasp. “Up you get. Blaise just reminded me that I was rather cross with you still.”
At that, Draco’s eyes fluttered open to find a teasing pout on Hermione’s lips. She pulled her discarded pajamas on quickly and shot him a grin as she turned for the door.
“Oi – wait!” he called, jumping out of bed and searching for his own clothes.
Hermione paused, one handle on the door, watching a half-naked Draco bounce around the room in search of his shirt.
She rather liked the image, she thought. Then a second thought settled in, had they fixed everything with another wonderful night together? Did that forgive how absolutely bloody idiotic he’d been lately?
Draco stuffed his arms through his shirt and stepped up beside her.
“Good morning,” he said, leaning in to kiss her softly. “You can be mad if you like. But you’ve lost your chance to rid yourself of me.”
He kissed her again, and Hermione decided that perhaps it wasn’t as simple as her brain was trying to make it out to be.
“We’ll see about that,” she said, narrowing her eyes into a glare before kissing him again.
She turned the door handle and they spilled into the hall, giddy with smiles as they ran squarely into Daphne, who emerged from a different door, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Daphne took one look at the two of them and her eyes brightened with life.
“Yes, yes, whatever Daph,” Draco said, taking Hermione’s hand and pulling her along in the direction they’d come from last night.
Hermione laughed and squeezed Draco’s hand as Daphne jogged to catch up to them.
“So you worked it out then? And he apologized?”
“I’m right here.”
“Shut up, I’m talking to Hermione.”
Hermione laughed, “Yes, he apologized quite thoroughly. He’s an idiot and I’m perfect and he’s quite sorry for the whole ordeal.”
Draco scoffed quietly, but squeezed her hand tighter. Hermione felt strange, making a joke out of his tender feelings from the night before. She pulsed his hand in hers. Some things were better not shared.
“You should have strung him along a bit,” Daphne said, tying her hair up into a bun. “Make him taste his own medicine.”
“It was a long night,” Hermione said, as they approached the dining room. “And he was there in the end.”
Because he had been, hadn’t he? He’d been there all along. Or never far from what she could tell.
“That reminds me,” she started, as Draco held open the door, and Hermione saw an obscene breakfast spread of pastries, tea, and fruit on the table as Scout reappeared, holding dishes of eggs and sausage. It was more than an army could feed, nevermind the lot of them. Hermione blinked at the spread a few times, clocking Ron and Ginny already tucking in to loaded plates. Harry was also seated at the table, next to Blaise, they were both smiling at her with an all-too-knowing glint to their eyes. Her thought nearly died, as Daphne and Dennis pushed past her into the room. “Right,” she said instead. Questioning Draco about what on earth he was doing with Harry would have to wait.
“Scout had a little trouble sleeping,” Narcissa said, by way of explanation, as Hermione took her seat. Draco had held out the chair for her, and made a show of pushing it in. His mother nodded in approval, while Blaise snorted, and Ron stared.
“Scout thought maybe Mistress’ guests would be hungry after a long night! Scout wanted to make sure everyone had enough food!” the elf said, his apron covered in flour and a rainbow of sticky substances.
“Did you make these all from scratch?” Hermione asked, picking up one of the tarts.
Scout nodded. “Oh! The croissants!” he cried, before disappearing with a pop.
Narcissa sighed and reached over to pour tea for the newcomers. “He bakes when he worries. And we haven’t had company in so long.”
“Well the Manor looks like it’s ready to go,” Daphne said, gesturing to the room around them.
Narcissa smiled softly, “Yes, I was thinking of if there was an upcoming occasion we might open our doors for.”
“New Year’s Eve?” asked Daphne, her voice brimming with hope.
Narcissa glanced at Draco, who merely shrugged. “Either that,” she mused, “Or perhaps your graduation. I’m not sure we want quite the spotlight yet.”
Her answer was so lofty and noncommittal, that Hermione figured Narcissa had some grand plan she wasn’t quite yet ready to clue the rest of the room in on. And Daphne simply smiled and moved the conversation along.
There were many reasons that the Malfoy family might not want the spotlight, Hermione thought, turning over the idea in her mind. Lucius’ sentence, for one, nevermind their intertwined ankles beneath the table.
It gave her hope, though, that Narcissa was planning something in the not too distant future. Something that she was pretty sure she’d at least get an invitation to, if nothing else.
Draco, as if sensing that she was pulling away from the conversation, tapped his knee against hers. He turned to her, eyes clear and searching as he asked, “Alright?”
He found her looking back, out of her mind and in the moment.
“Oh here we bloody go with the looks again,” Ron groaned. Then an, “Oof!”
Then Ginny, “Shut it. It’s sweet.”
Hermione heard them, and it probably was a bit ridiculous, but she never wanted to look away.
***
They finished breakfast and packed their bags as the Eighth Years, Ron, and Harry made their way back towards the Floo.
“Harry – would you wait for me?” Hermione asked, to a grumbling Ginny and a laugh from Ron.
“I don’t know how you’re not used to it yet,” Ron teased. “You don’t see me working myself up.”
“Well that’s your own –” Ginny’s complaint was cut short by the roar of green flames, as Harry pulled her along.
When it was just Narcissa and Draco left, Hermione clutched her bag and let out an exhale. “I just wanted to say thank you again, for everything. Beyond last night, you’ve given me so much help over the past few months. I feel more like myself than I have in an age, and closer to whoever it is I want to be.”
Narcissa brought a hand to her chest and a smile, a real, honest smile, spread across her face before she pulled Hermione into a hug. “It’s been my absolute pleasure. You’re truly welcome at any time. To run, or use the library, if you want a snack, or to –”
“Mum, she gets it,” Draco sighed.
Narcissa scowled at him. But Hermione interjected, “I appreciate it. So much. And I’d like to take you up on it, if you’re sure it’s okay. To run and to use the library.”
She wasn’t sure she’d ever be so comfortable in the Malfoy Manor as to make herself at home, but she suspected it would mean a lot to Narcissa if she tried. That, and the call of the Manor’s offerings was strong. Hermione was fighting the urge to run out over the hills, the main thing stopping her was a lack of a change of clothes.
Narcissa beamed at her as Hermione stepped through the Floo and back into Hog’s Head.
Aberforth greeted her with a smile as he polished glasses behind the bar. “Well there you are,” he said, rather cryptically when she met his eye.
“I’ve only been gone a day,” she said with a laugh.
Aberforth raised his eyebrows and Hermione felt the unsettling stare of a Dumbledore sink into her. Of course he’d noticed her state of mind, she realized. And she heaved a sigh that made them both smile again, because Dumbledores always had a way of knowing the truth, she surmised, even if they didn’t say it.
Harry was waiting for her by the bar, and as the fire glowed green behind her she grabbed Draco and Harry’s hands and pulled them both up to her room.
“Hermione,” Harry said, with a grin. “I get you two have patched things up but I don’t think Ginny will like this very much.”
Draco snorted, and Hermione’s eye twitched at the thought of Draco laughing at Harry’s terrible jokes.
“What on earth are you two up to?” she demanded, pulling out her wand and casting a silencing spell around the room.
The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched up and Hermione beat back the memory of his breathless panting. You can only use that if you’re with me. She locked it in a snowglobe and pushed it into safety within the walls of Shell Cottage. She was, technically, with him right now. But acknowledging that would only further dive into Harry’s joke, which she couldn’t support.
She turned on Harry instead. To an outside viewer, it might’ve looked like Hermione was attempting Legilimency on her friend. But really it was just her sternest look, that had the same effect.
“Oh fine!” Harry exclaimed, throwing up his hands.
“What?” asked Draco. “Aren’t you an Auror?”
Harry shrugged and took a seat. “She’s relentless. Better you know it now.”
Draco frowned and began pacing, as Hermione took the seat next to Harry’s.
“So, right, we went to go visit Lucius in Azkaban.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“How?”
“Polyjuice potion. I thought you would have got that.”
“That’s not supposed to work on the guards. Isn’t there a –”
“It does if you Confundus the guards,” drawled Draco, interrupting their back and forth.
“You can’t –!” Hermione started, but Harry held up his hand.
“I had special orders that I could! Hermione, you won’t believe what Aurors can get authorizations to do.”
She sighed. “Why then?”
“Do they get special authori–”
“No Harry. Why did you need to see Lucius?”
“Oh, right. For the Devourers.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows and waited for him to continue. But it was Draco who sighed, and stopped pacing long enough to answer, “There’s been movement in the prison circles, old Death Eaters and radicalists who’ve been contacted by the Devourers for their inherent beliefs. My father happens to be one of the people they targeted, especially after you and I – well, the Devourers were under the impression that my father was a pureblood bigot who wouldn’t want to see you and I together.”
She held her breath, not consciously, just in anticipation for whatever words he would say next. If there was a war brewing, or a conflict rising, some attack about to be planned because the two of them had been pictured together. Her scar began to pulse deep within her forearm. The critical difference of why she and Draco would never work.
“He passed along the message to my mother the last time she visited, that he was being contacted. Recruited really.”
Draco glanced over to Harry and Hermione watched a silent baton be passed between them. “That was about a month ago? I’d say? You were still in your coma when Narcissa reached out and Draco offered to help.”
“Offered to help?” Hermione asked, breathing a long exhale out. Both men shrugged, and she wanted to throttle them both. “I don’t understand.”
Draco nodded, “Family members only get one visit a month, so after my mum got word, I went after we talked to the Auror office about how to position him, and how to protect him, of course.” There was a hint of a smile in his of course , Hermione clocked, which made perfect sense, given he was his mother’s son.
“So Lucius is an informant?” she asked, finally, eyes shifting between the two of them.
“ Was an informant,” Harry corrected. “By tomorrow he’ll have blown his cover and he’ll be moved to a different prison.”
“Out of Azkaban?”
Harry nodded. “Helped us catch the guy who did you in. Got us the name and the next mission. Sorry we waited to tell you the good news, but we brought him in last night.”
Hermione blinked, what felt like several hundred times, before the ringing in her ears cleared. “Who was it?”
Harry shrugged. “A pureblood out of Somerset. We’re still gathering intel now. He’s one of the manifesto writers though. A real nutjob.”
Draco nodded, and Hermione’s brain caught on another detail.
“You said we ? Do you mean the Auror department?”
“I told you she’d work it out,” Harry said with a grin, as he looked over at Draco. Hermione felt her definition of the world shift in front of her eyes again as Draco sighed and then looked at her.
“You two?!”
“He’s also one to not leave things alone,” Harry said, shrugging again. How he could be so cavalier about Draco joining him on an Auror mission, Hermione couldn’t possibly fathom. And even if it helped explain where the hell he’d been the past few weeks… “Helps that most of this was off-books. Jennings okayed it all, but since I don’t have a partner…I needed backup. And he’s bloody good with a wand.”
Draco dropped his head. “I just wanted to help,” he said softly, but a smile grew on his lips.
“Mate, you did more than that.” Harry shook his head and turned to Hermione, “Convince him to join the squad. I could use him.”
It was ridiculous, Hermione thought. So absolutely ridiculous, the thought of Harry and Draco as partners. The thought of Draco, bullying his way into an investigation…into Harry’s investigation…about her attack. It was as ridiculous as the thought of Hermione and Draco together, she imagined suddenly, which is to say, it actually made perfect sense.
There was no one in the world she trusted more to have the other’s back.
“Wow,” was all she said though. “That’s…that’s pretty incredible.”
Harry grinned at her and stood up. “Speaking of, I have to get back to it. But seriously, after graduation mate…” he turned to Hermione. “Do the glare thing with him. It’s a good idea and you know it.” And then he left.
Hermione stared between the door and Draco for a minute before standing up once more and crossing to where Draco stood.
“I was going to tell you,” Draco said, quietly. “Once Harry and I had the chance to –”
She cut him off with a kiss. “I love you, you know?”
Draco smiled. “I wasn’t sure what you were going to think.”
“Of your vigilante Auror-ing?”
He nodded.
“I think I love that too. And Harry’s right, you’d be a brilliant Auror, but I don’t want you to leave school.”
Draco shook his head. “I’d still like to graduate. And they might not even have me…given, you know, my past.”
A wave of relief rolled through her shoulders. She wouldn’t lose Draco just yet. “Harry is Harry though. He has a way of persuading.”
She thought of the letter that Jennings wrote her all those weeks back. “I suppose I might be able to put in a good word too.”
Draco laughed at that.
“What now?” she asked him, their hands intertwined.
Draco looked away for a moment and Hermione’s mind began to flick through the roll of tasks that lay in wait for her – papers that needed writing, news to catch up on. Surely she couldn’t spend the whole day staring into his eyes.
“I’d like to share my memory,” Draco said, eyes steady, but the slightest waver in his voice. “Of that night. Unless you’d prefer my mother’s, I’d-I’d like it to be mine.”
“Oh!” Hermione said, taking a small step backwards. She’d almost forgotten about Narcissa’s offer, and the night before. “Maybe,” she said, her hand extracting from his and coiling into her hair. “I– I really need to talk to Lorena about it.”
“Just think on it,” he implored. “Whenever you’re ready. If ever, it’s there for you.”
A smile twisted on her face. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get tired of his insistence to be by her side, but she rather loved it in the meantime. “Thank you. Should we go to the library instead? I have an idea on the runes paper.”
Draco laughed at her and shook his head, agreeing all the same, as Hermione picked up the bag she’d just set down, grabbed her warmest sweater, and started back towards the door.
He left her to change and grab his own things, meeting back downstairs by the portrait.
At this, Hermione flushed, and stammered, “Oh, I–I meant the one in the Manor? If that’s – if you think that would be –”
Draco’s smile told her everything as he laughed, pulling her hand towards the fireplace. “My mum will be absolutely delighted.”
They stepped through green flames not even an hour after they’d departed. This time, when the Manor’s crisp air greeted Hermione, she simply pulled on her sweater and started down the hall.
“Should we tell her we’re back?” she asked, at a slight whisper.
Draco shook her head, “She’ll know.”
Hermione decided there were some Malfoy family secrets that she wasn’t quite ready to know, and would only cause her a distraction, as they walked towards the library. The stacks welcomed them in and Hermione found the same peace in studying that she’d found the day before, as she traced the stacks looking for the reference texts the Advanced Curses and Countercurses listed.
Draco helped her search, when he wasn’t nose-deep in his own book, and Hermione couldn’t think of a better way to spend her day than penning a qualitative comparison of the geo-bound properties of runic bound curses with Draco by her side.
It became something of a habit, over the next week, as Draco became the most proper of suitors Hermione could have dreamed of, and her courseload waxed on, preparing for midterm exams. She’d Floo over for a run and be pushed into the bathroom by Tanny, where the water was already heated and she couldn’t possibly let it go to waste, only to have her hair magically dried and styled before Scout would appear, pulling her to the dining room where her favorite breakfast was already made. She couldn’t possibly let that go to waste either.
Nevermind her outright dread of disappointing either of the elves.
Narcissa didn’t even look surprised, when each morning she saw Hermione sitting at her table, reading a book from their library. She merely opened the morning paper and ate her breakfast, occasionally asking how she’d slept or what she was reading.
Draco joined them every day, as he wasn’t yet convinced that his mother wasn’t launching some masterful and elaborate plan to manipulate Hermione into helping them somehow. But Hermione decided she was rather fine with whatever Narcissa may or may not (but most likely did) have in store. And if it were a carefully laid trap, Draco’s attendance might as well have catapulted them into it.
Not that she minded, of course. He went where she went, always by her side, and in the privacy of the Manor she could take his hand or curl up beside him.
They weren’t quite together , per se, as their hands released when they entered Hogsmeade, or walked on the streets. At least, they’d agreed, until Harry had more information about the Devourers future plans or their motivations.
If they had been aggravated by Hermione and Draco, it wouldn’t do the investigation much good to bait them. Unintentionally, that is.
But Draco still threw an arm over her chair at nights by the fire, to soft smiles from Daphne and groans from Blaise. And each night, he did the gentlemanly honor of walking her up to her room, even if the commotion still rang on downstairs. He’d kiss her cheek and remind her to Occlude before bed before whispering “Sweet dreams,” and waiting for her to slip behind her door and cast her enchantments.
Hermione rather wanted to invite him in, but the knowledge that he’d come running if she needed anything was enough, for now.
For now, only because she wasn’t sure how to be with him yet. How to balance the exhaustion of her studies (which grew more rigorous each day, thanks to the Malfoy library) with her growing anxiety after she accepted Draco’s offer to share his memories of that night.
She wanted to be with him. But she needed to know if he considered her broken.
She didn’t want to be his pet project. Another thing to protect and keep safe. She wanted more from him.
Which only served to double her anxieties, as she took to pacing in Lorena’s office, talking herself in frenetic circles, as they upped their weekly sessions to every other day in preparation for the memory review.
“It’s alright to need time and space,” Lorena reassured her. “Starting a relationship at this point in time, while it’s so connected to your trauma –” Hermione bristled at the word, but ever since she told Lorena about the night, the witch simply would not shy away from the large words that Hermione suspected were somewhat accurate. “-- is going to be a challenge!”
Talking about that night with Lorena was somehow easier, yet worse, than when Aubrey had drilled her for cross examination.
Because Lorena was patient and gentle, and allowed Hermione to sniffle and rage and lose herself in the waves that battered Shell Cottage’s shoreline, before offering a tissue and a cup of tea, and pressing on.
“Narcissa misspoke,” Lorena said, on a Thursday, with a small laugh. “Memories aren’t objective in the slightest, but a different subjective lens will show a different set of feelings around the event.”
Hermione sighed. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know what Draco thought while she was…well…during that time. But her own attempt to strip the emotions, the pain, from her memory was fruitless.
“You know how he feels about you now,” Lorena told her, when she shared this concern. “And is that a bad thing?”
“No,” Hermione said, as a smile grew on her face.
Knowing that Draco loved her was one of her most cherished thoughts in the world. She kept it stored deep in the hearth, protecting it with every beat of her heart in one of the more complex sub-chambers of Shell Cottage she’d ever designed. She was, after all, getting quite better at understanding curse construction.
“Remember that’s now ,” Lorena said, shutting her notebook. “Whatever you see in his memory, that’s the past.”
***
They met on Saturday morning. Just a week since her nightmare, and the longest week of Hermione’s life.
It felt too formal, she thought, as she made her way with Draco and Narcissa from breakfast in the Manor, to Hog’s Head, and to Hogwarts, where they met Lorena and ascended the staircase to Professor McGonagall’s office. Tea was laid out, the soft, soothing smell of chamomile in the air, that fought against the brewing anxiety in Hermione’s stomach as the Pensieve floated ominously in its gleaming case.
“We extracted the memory this morning,” Narcissa said, with a hand on Draco’s shoulder.
Hermione had asked them to be present when she reviewed the memory, much to Harry and Ron’s chagrin. They wanted to be the ones by her side, as they were the ones who helped her in the aftermath.
But this was something that Hermione needed to handle the way she saw fit.
Which meant that only she and Lorena would dive into the memory. Narcissa and Draco would wait nearby. And Hermione really wasn’t sure what would come next. If she’d want to talk about it, or end up in some comatose or blubbering state.
“Remember,” Lorena said, breaking up her thoughts. “This exercise is meant to distance yourself from the memory. Not strengthen it. If at any point it becomes too much, just leave.”
Draco poured his memory into the basin, where it dissipated like a cloud of smoke, as Hermione lowered her face.
The office gave way to the Malfoy Manor, the old parlor, with dark marble, before Narcissa’s renovations, yet still mostly absent of furniture.
It was cold as she’d ever left it, with Death Eaters staggered about the room, guarding each exit.
Draco sat in the middle of the memory, a skeleton of the man he was now, eyeing his mother carefully as she opened the doors to the parlors. There were bodies behind her, and she shot her son a warning look before Hermione registered the figures behind her as herself, Ron, and Harry – face swollen with the Stinging Jinx.
“What is this?” Lucius asked, his arm reaching out towards Draco. Hermione hadn’t had a visual of the two of them before, but she saw now how Lucius squeezed him carefully.
“They say they’ve got Potter. Draco, come here.”
Draco stood, drawing a shaky breath as Lucius’ grip on him gave way. There was a hiss over his shoulder, and she couldn’t tell from who.
His footsteps clacked against the marble as he approached, leaning in close to Harry’s face. Draco’s eyebrows knitted together, because the jinx wasn’t enough to distort his scar, and even if it had, Hermione could tell as Draco did, that it was Harry Potter.
“Well Draco?”
“I can’t –” he cleared his throat and tried again. “I can’t be sure.”
Conversation muffled around Draco as she watched his eyelids flutter. The voices muffled and distorted as something of a mist covered the room.
Hermione leaned in closer and noticed Draco’s shallow breathing. It was the only thing in the room she could see clearly. He was nearing on a panic attack, she realized.
Then all of a sudden, voices and crisp edges returned “..Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?”
Lucius leaned in next to his son, his hand clasped tight on his shoulder and squeezing.
“I don’t know,” Draco said, standing up again and turning towards Narcissa.
“We had better be certain, Lucius,” Narcissa said, coolly, as she reached an arm out for Draco as he approached. Her words muffled into the sounds of hissing as suddenly the fire became the clearest sensation in the room.
Sound ceased again as the fire crackled, and Hermione realized he wasn’t panicking, he was Occluding. This was before the Room of Requirement, she thought suddenly, glancing to Lorena, who stood back, carefully considering the memory. Lorena, the consummate professional she was, betrayed nothing on her face. But Hermione rounded on the memory of Draco’s eyes. They were undeniably clouded.
A gurgled voice asked, “What about the Mudblood, then?” And all sense left her brain as her blood ran cold.
Narcissa exclaimed something, raking her son’s hand with her nails as she turned him back towards the prisoners. “Isn’t it the Granger girl?”
But Draco’s eyes never left the fire. “I…maybe…yeah.”
They rounded on Ron next, but Draco never looked back. Hermione watched his eye twitch ever so slightly in the flicker of the fire, as a new voice entered the room.
She knew what came next with an accuracy that nearly paralyzed her to the spot, as Lorena stepped up beside her in the memory, and took her hand.
“Are you doing alright?” she asked, as the voices started to return.
Hermione didn’t really have the chance to think about how she was doing, as the voice that haunted her nightmares sliced through the fog like a knife. “All except…except for the Mudblood.”
And Draco’s eyes ignited as his breath hitched, and he turned to his mother.
Recognition flickered across Narcissa’s face and she hissed. “Go, take the bodies, get out!”
There was a commotion as Ron and Harry were dragged away, bellowing after her, and Hermione turned to see herself, cowering on the floor.
“On second thought,” Bellatrix sneered, scowling at the now-unconscious Snatchers on the floor. “Stay. In case she says anything useful.”
Narcissa scoffed, “Bella, I hardly think –”
But her sentence died, as Hermione’s first scream echoed through the air.
Lorena gasped, and Hermione stared, in open-mouthed horror, beside the three Malfoys who watched her body stiffen and contort at once. The phantom of the curse twitched through her fingers and she felt suddenly quite detached from any sensation whatsoever.
“You are lying!” Bellatrix screamed, as she turned her wand again, and the memory of her body writhed once more.
“Breathe,” came a voice, but when Hermione turned, she saw it was not Lorena instructing her, but Narcissa instructing her son as his throat bobbled before her.
The mist rolled back out of the fireplace and dimmed the screams that started anew as Bellatrix threw herself on top of Hermione. She bunched her hair in her hands as Draco Occluded once more, and Hermione’s cries morphed into muffled noises.
“Less,” Narcissa instructed sharply, and the room came back into focus with Lucius now on his other side.
“Get a hold of yourself, son. You’ve seen worse.”
“Lucius!” scolded Narcissa, sharply as Hermione had ever heard her.
“What would you have me do?” Lucius countered, before Hermione screamed again.
“It’s a copy, just a copy!” she was pleading, on the floor.
“Oh, a likely story!”
“But we can find out easily!” Lucius said, breezing past his son and shielding him from his aunt for his mother to lean in and whisper. “You’re a memory witness.”
His jaw trembled before it set, firmly clenched.
“Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not.”
His memory moved in a daze, yet deliberately, out of the parlor. Hermione turned once to find Lorena, but the other witch was gone. She couldn’t tell if it was her brain, or his, that felt so adrift as he moved through the darkness, but it was terrifying.
“Stand back,” Draco instructed, as shapes slowly took form in the darkness. “Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you.” But his voice wavered as Hermione’s screams started up again and everyone hissed and gasped and Ron cried out for her.
The door slammed shut with a crack, uncharacteristic of metal, but Draco marched away.
“They’re going to escape you know,” Griphook whispered. “I don’t want to die in this Manor.”
“Shut up,” commanded Draco, prodding the goblin along. There was hardly a flicker across his face, as they approached the doors behind which Hermione’s screams were blending with her sobs.
Draco pushed Griphook inside. And this time, his breath did hitch as he stutter stepped inside.
Bellatrix’ head turned, enraged with anger and fear, as she beckoned the goblin over.
Hermione had a vague idea of what happened next, but her head was twisted on the floor, looking out over her blood on the tile. She didn’t see Griphook examine the sword, like she never saw Draco watching her so intently.
Her blood looked like water, puddled on the floor, except for how viscous the shape stood. And the smell that tinged the air. His eyes shifted to Greyback, licking his lips.
There were sounds and voices at a distance. But Draco’s eyes simply shifted back to her.
Hermione could see the atrocity that lay before her – the crumpled ball of a woman, or of a girl really, twitching through the seizures of a curse applied for too long, hanging onto her consciousness by a thread.
She had never known that there was a moment where Bellatrix didn’t restrain her. She could only remember the crushing weight of her lungs, attempting to suck in air.
Then again, the dream was just a fleeting moment. Her potions bottle bright, instant pain.
This memory was an eternity.
It made no sense, that it could be her, laying there on the floor. A feeling she couldn’t distinguish from herself, or from Draco, as his breath hitched again and again.
He left feelings in his memory, Hermione realized, in the same moment she felt Narcissa’s touch from across the room. “Stay calm,” Narcissa whispered, though her lips never moved. “There’s no room for error here.”
Hermione stilled beside Draco’s memory, wondering if she ought to be surprised that Narcissa were telepathic, or so easily capable of complex Legilimency. Instead she wondered how Narcissa knew her son needed her in that moment, when his face was so outwardly stoic.
Then, Bellatrix sneered. “We can dispose of the Mudblood –”
But before anyone could possibly react, a scream: “NO!” and a flash of red she knows is Ron.
She never saw this part before, Hermione thought as she turned, with Draco to watch his father drop. Then back to Bellatrix, who hauled Hermione’s body up to her feet, knife against her neck, to scream out, “STOP OR SHE DIES!”
Hermione couldn’t help but bring a hand to her own throat as the room stuttered into pause.
“Draco, pick them up!” Bellatrix commanded, and Draco nearly fell to the floor, fingers trembling as he grabbed at their wands, before staggering to his mother’s side.
A single squeak, before the memory swirled into chaos and confusion. Glass shattered all around her as pain erupted and the wands clatter to the floor.
She watched the memory tint itself red as blood bloomed across his face. And Narcissa, the only Malfoy standing, sheilded Draco with her body from his aunt’s screams.
Hermione didn’t turn to watch Bellatrix throw the knife that will kill Dobby. Through the blood, she watches Narcissa press her thumbs into his face to clear his eyes.
Her eyes burned with a rage that Hermione felt herself as she growled out, “Go! Take your father and go!”
“But –”
“Go!”
Draco didn’t argue. Her memory, alongside Ron and Harry’s were already gone. Draco stumbled to Lucius’ crumpled form and lifted him, best he can, to drag him out of the hall.
“Bella!” Narcissa screamed, whirling around as more glass shattered over his shoulder. Hermione wished she could help him shoulder his father’s limp weight. “This is still my house!”
“Oh your bloody –” but Bellatrix’ yell was cut short by the heavy doors swinging shut and Draco’s grunts as he pulled his father along. Through the hall and into the bathroom that Hermione fled to during dinner barely a week ago.
Draco doused Lucius with water until his eyes flickered. Then, Draco pressed a washcloth to his own bloody face, for just a moment before promptly turning around and vomiting into the toilet.
The bathroom was too small for three people, Hermione thought, pressing herself into the wall as Draco heaved again.
A feeble hand found his shoulder as a final heave gives way to sobs. “Good work Draco,” Lucius mustered, his voice so faint and both men so pale. Lucius patted his back and took a deep breath. “You were strong. Now go to your room until I fetch you myself.”
And Hermione rather got the sense that Voldemort would hear of this as fear flooded through her body, but she was back in McGonagall’s office, sputtering out of the Pensieve.
As she found her footing and caught her breath, she understood now, Narcissa and Draco’s hesitance to being in the room while Hermione submerged herself in the memory. Because they had acted in ways that were never discussed, never brought before the Wizengamot. Things Harry and Hermione hadn’t known, about how the Malfoys acted that night.
Hermione let out a deep, shuddering breath, and took in the sight of Lorena, sitting on the couch, pale as a sheet, and pinching the bridge of her nose as Narcissa held out a cup of tea.
Draco paced on the far side of the room, until he realized that she was looking at him. She couldn’t help her mouth from falling open, slightly agape, at what he’d been willing to show her. Beyond his involvement, that she only could hope that he was processing with Lorena, but the vulnerability of his feelings that night.
“You knew it was Harry,” she whipped at him, when he crossed the room to her. Her tone was biting and accusatory, though of course she’d always suspected.
He nodded, though she hadn’t asked a question.
“You all knew. But…what was that whole charade?”
Draco shrugged, though Narcissa scoffed from the couch. It was a little late to try to be coy about that evening, she thought in what she imagined was agreement.
Draco evidently reached the same conclusion, and he sighed. “It was a horrible time in the ranks. I don’t need to tell you that, the Order likely knew it. But we had a list of allies, my family that is, not the Death Eaters.”
He paused to glance at his mother, who gave him a subtle nod of either encouragement or permission, Hermione wasn’t sure.
He continued, “When Bellatrix singled you out, I – I inadvertently added you to the list.”
Hermione frowned, “But we weren’t allies. We were nothing.”
Draco opened his mouth and closed it a few times before Lorena came to his rescue. Color had returned to her face as she cleared her throat. “Why don’t we all take a seat?”
And in that moment, Hermione realized how rigid she was standing, hand gripped tightly on the rim of the basin. She wasn’t sure she could move until Draco held out his hand.
She took it and let him pull her to the couch, where her body sunk into the softness of the pillows and a steaming cup of tea was placed in her hands.
“If we had seen the signal sooner,” Narcissa said, drawing a long inhale. “If we’d known, Hermione I wish I could say we would have tried harder to stop it. They were horrible times.”
Hermione nodded. “We could tell when we arrived. Lucius looked terrible.” She turned to Draco, “You both did, really. I suspect that’s why Harry testified, and I know it’s why I did. The desperation in the room was palpable.”
“It doesn’t excuse –”
“What your aunt did. No. It doesn’t.”
“I’m sorry for my role in it too,” Narcissa said, bowing her head. “I’m not proud of many decisions we made in that year, but –”
“Actually,” Lorena said, shaking her head loose and holding up a hand. “I’d like to stop us there for a moment. To give the floor back to Hermione. This isn’t a mediation. There’s no need for apologies or explanations.”
A hint of pink colored Narcissa’s cheeks as she bowed her head lower. It was a strange sight, Hermione realized, but its gravity was not lost on her.
Narcissa’s shame counteracted everything she’d told Hermione since they met. That she did absolutely everything for her family yet here she was, feeling guilty about taking care of her son. The thought nearly stumped her, until the gears started to click forward again, because Draco had just given her the key. With one look, he’d changed the goal – from the Malfoys’ survival, to including hers.
Narcissa’s shame was because she’d nearly failed.
“Right,” Hermione said, her tongue feeling dry in her throat. “Thank you for sharing all that. The memory and the explanations, I-I…”
She had no bloody idea how she felt. Because if it hadn’t been clear from her own distorted visage, Draco’s memory showed it clear as day. She’d nearly died in that room. From torture.
Actual, horrific, bloody torture.
Because surely Draco had seen many actually horrific things in the Manor over the course of the war. His resolve was one of the most impressive and formidable forces she’d come across so far in this life. And watching her scream had nearly broken it. When the stakes could not have been higher. Narcissa was right then too, there was no room for error.
He needed to hold it together. Narcissa needed him to hold it together.
Lucius knew , she thought, as tears sprang to her eyes. She wasn’t sure when and how the baton was passed between the family but they tried to get him out of the room. They obscured his view. They knew that it was breaking him, and they worked together to protect him, and no doubt her. For if Bellatrix had seen Draco worked up about a mudblood , her mind staggered again.
Because the waves of truth she already knew crashed over her once more. There was nothing that anyone could have done to stop it. There was only gritting one’s teeth and bearing witness.
“I personally couldn’t stand it,” Lorena said, glancing up from her teacup. “I know I promised you. But I couldn’t do it. We’re way beyond my wheelhouse now.”
Hermione chuckled. “It was quite horrible, wasn’t it?”
To which Draco snorted. “An understatement.”
Her laughter grew exponentially as the cloudy skies cleared in her mind. Because she was safe now. She was no longer a crumpled ball, motionless in the Manor. She was having tea with a former Death Eater, and his mother, and their shared therapist.
The world was bloody insane, she reckoned, wiping the tears that leaked out of her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to cry, she really, really didn’t want to. But there was something so sad that transpired in that room. Something she hadn’t quite had a word for before, as she thought about her life before that night, and after.
And she’d never be able to get past that night, if she didn’t acknowledge that there was something else to mourn from that night, beyond Dobby. That part of herself, and part of Draco, and evidently Narcissa and Lucius too, that died on that floor.
The room itself no longer existed in the same way, and neither, for that matter, did she.
“I don’t particularly feel like belaboring the point,” Hermione said softly, wiping away her tears. “I think I’d like to go take a walk, and be in the sunshine.”
She stood, and the others followed, nodding in agreement.
“Should we meet this afternoon?” Lorena asked, with a raised eyebrow and Hermione almost laughed again, because she’d never get away with not addressing this.
“And I’ll expect you tomorrow?” Narcissa asked, gathering her purse.
“Yes,” Hermione told each witch, as they nodded in approval, before taking their leave.
And she was alone with Draco, whether by design or by accident, she couldn’t be sure.
She took his hand, and squeezed it in her own.
“I get why you want to keep me safe,” she said, softly, turning her head to find his eyes. “But I’m not that broken…shell…on the floor.”
He nodded, and brought his hand to cup her face. “I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll never let that happen to you again.”
She leaned her cheek into his touch, “You can’t possibly promise that.”
Draco huffed and Hermione raised her eyebrows, “Well,” she said, feeling rather cheeky as her face broke into a smile. “I suppose you could become and Auror and help Harry tackle the rest of the bad guys out there.”
Draco scoffed, “You’re mad.” Then, softer. “As if they’d ever take me.”
Which might as well have been a personal challenge for Hermione, who had initially intended it to be a joke, a bit of a lightener for their dreary morning, but was now emboldened to prove just how much the world had changed.
Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, could be an Auror if he wanted to.
Like she, Hermione Granger, Potter’s best friend, brightest witch of her age, could throw caution to the wind and become a cursebreaker, if she so chose.
There was no roadmap beyond school and being a child soldier hadn’t particularly trained either of them to think about the future.
So she did so choose. After turning in her midterm papers, her professors wrote to their colleagues, and owls began to descend on the Manor (where she took her breakfast most days) with job offers and funded expeditions all clamoring for her support. She could fund any research initiative she wanted, whether by St Mungos, the Ministry, or even Gringotts for that matter. They had opened a non-profit initiative, provided she do occasionally consult on the cursed vaults they happened across.
Which is all to say, that Hermione was doing well, considering.
Considering that some nights, she still woke to the eerie feeling of the potions closet rattling around.
Considering that sometimes, when she Occluded, the faint trace of someone else’s magic lurked in the corners of Shell Cottage.
Considering that in the past year she’d been tortured, and now the same boy who’d watched, was the man who woke her in the middle of the night, when she started to toss and turn, to rub circles into her back and murmur sweet thoughts in her ear.
Considering that even without a grand announcement, or a formal discussion about it, she was with Draco. And though it was rather obvious when they walked the halls together, hands intertwined until the moment they stepped back into Hogsmeade, no one mentioned it. No papers printed it.
Considering that one of the reasons her relationship, if she dared to call it that, was kept a secret, was a Ministry embargo while the Death Devourers continued to grow their ranks out in the countryside.
Harry said it was nothing to worry about. The Ministry had it all under control.
Which, of course, was no comfort as all, as they all laughed nervously and poured another round of Firewhiskey, until their anxieties eased into comfort, surrounded once more by each other as they made it through another day.
***
One such day, gave way into night, where Hermione found herself alone with Blaise in a rare moment of silence before the festivities would begin.
And the festivities were planned for the evening. Because while Narcissa had decided to hold off on her grand New Year’s gala, Blaise had decided to rent out Hog’s Head for an unnaturally exclusive celebration of the people they hung out with every single night.
It was an occasion he told them repeatedly. A fresh start.
It sounded rather like a great waste of galleons to Hermione, but as he heaved another long sigh while waiting for the others, Hermione remembered she owed him an interrogation.
“I approve, you know,” she said, not looking up from her book. It was the third journal of Septimus Malfoy that she’d had the chance to read, and she was now absolutely certain she’d read the lot.
“What’s this now?” Blaise countered, narrowing his eyes and lifting his glass of Firewhiskey.
“I approve,” Hermione said, extending her glass to his.
Blaise tapped the rims together and they both took a drink. “Fine,” he said, with the hint of a grin. “You’ve caught my intrigue.”
“Daphne. You fancy her.” She was mostly certain of the statement, though part of Blaise would forever elude her.
Blaise scoffed. “I do not.” But he raised his glass again, which Hermione knew to be one of his tells.
“Merlin, you do!” she exclaimed, slamming the journal shut and leaning forward on the table.
“I don’t!”
“Why not?” Hermione countered, pretending to frown. “She’s lovely.”
“Granger, what game is this? Is it because I gave you a hard time with Malfoy? Because that was purely –”
“Have you told her?”
Blaise laughed. “That’s rich Hermione, honestly. Coming from you?”
Hermione rolled her eyes, because surely her friends weren’t as dumb as she and Draco had been. Her cheeks were warm from the Firewhiskey she’d been sipping. So he was going to be difficult? She employed the Harry method, and narrowed her eyes intently.
Blaise scoffed to himself but Hermione didn’t waver.
“You think this would work? On me?”
Hermione shrugged, because Blaise was quite a different mind than Harry. “Guess you don’t want to have an honest conversation then,” she huffed, picking back up the journal.
That tactic worked, as Blaise frowned and cocked his head. “Well do you have something to share?”
Hermione shrugged and flipped a page.
He was silent for a moment, stewing in his curiosity, before he broke. “Do you think she could magically forget all the immaculate things I’ve said about women in front of her, quite explicitly, over the years?”
“Absolutely not. But she knows you. That’s part of the deal.”
Blaise frowned, “I don’t understand how this is helpful.”
Hermione closed the journal. “I never said I’d be helpful. I just told you what you already know. And anyway, that’s not your real concern.”
Blaise frown deepened, “And what is then?”
Perhaps it was something else she could blame on alcohol, she thought suddenly, if Daphne ever found out the next words off her lips. Or perhaps it was something else, a gut feeling, or else a power in meddling in other’s affairs.
Whatever it was, Hermione let herself grin devilishly as the words slipped out, “Your real problem will be Dennis then.”
“Dennis?” Blaise asked, all humor lost from his voice.
“I’ve said too much.”
“Hermione.”
“Nevermind it, Blaise.”
“Hermione Jean.”
She’d have to kill Ginny, one day, for giving him that ammunition.
“Dennis Creevey?!” his voice was shrill and surprised. And for such a smart man, Hermione was somewhat surprised that Blaise was so astonished Daphne could be attracted to the sweet, strong man that they’d all come to know over the months. The wave of blasphemous disbelief that poured out of him was enough for Hermione to think about Stunning him so that he might take an honest breath of air.
Instead, she sipped her drink and wondered when Daphne was arriving for the evening. Since she probably, definitely, really needed to talk to her before Blaise set his sights on her this evening.
Sure enough, when Daphne arrived, dusted in the light snow, perfectly timed with the winter holiday, arm in arm with Dennis, their noses and cheeks a rosy delight, Hermione watched Blaise transform into a monster of sarcasm and jealousy.
Daphne, being an intelligent and emotionally aware witch, clocked it immediately. But instead of being annoyed, she almost seemed to relish in it, as Dennis got her a drink and Blaise pouted blatantly.
The door burst open again, with Harry and Ginny arriving as the snow came down harder outside. They greeted everyone and took the seats closest to the fire as Aberforth brought over a new bottle.
“Y’know, when they told me students would be staying here this year, I had half a mind to fight it,” he said, in a rare moment of sharing. It was New Year’s Eve though, and so instead of taking his spot behind the bar, he pulled up a chair in the empty tavern.
“We’re so glad to be here,” Ginny said, extending over to hand him a glass.
Which caused a laugh since Ginny, still, did not actually live in Hog’s Head. Despite it being where she spent most of her time.
The door burst open once more as Draco entered, brushing thick clumps of snow off his black jacket and using the rest to slick back his hair.
He’d come from another meeting with Jennings, who Hermione suspected was pushing Draco’s commitment to joining the department by calling him at random, yet always inconvenient times. New Year’s Eve, apparently, had been no exception. He shrugged off his jacket and ran upstairs to change, before slipping into the bench beside Hermione and snaking an arm behind her back to pull her closer to him.
“Missed you,” he murmured, placing a kiss on her cheek.
Instead of warmth filling her, the hollowness took over. The feeling of her stomach plummeting into the earth as she looked for the second shoe to drop.
Surely drinking and laughing so openly, with this crew of all, was dangerous. They were basically asking for an attack, she thought.
She glanced over at Harry, wondering when the Devourers would come for him next. Because it was inevitable, despite his, and Jennings’, and soon to be Draco’s, efforts to fight it.
After all, wars never ended. They just changed.
Lorena stopped fighting her on this fact, and instead worked on storm shutters for Shell Cottage and breathing techniques to weather it out.
Because there would always be danger. Whether or not she was Hermione Granger. And whether or not she dated Draco Malfoy.
Any time she laughed in public with her friends could be a security risk. She closed the shutters and tried to remind herself that Blaise had prevented anyone else from coming in tonight. She had a skilled Auror on one side and Draco on the other.
Most of all, she wanted to stay out by the fire. She wanted so badly to put her worries aside and join in on the merriment. It would only be letting them win, if she hid herself away in shadows.
That wasn’t a life. That was just –
“Hey,” Draco’s voice interrupted, nudging her side and cutting through the fog that settled around her mind. His lips pressed a kiss against her hairline as she took a final look around.
The storm shutters held. The sky had cleared. Shell Cottage would be okay.
“Coming back soon?” Draco whispered in her ear, reaching out to take her hand in his.
Hermione drew a deep breath.
She was perfectly safe in this moment.
She opened her eyes to Draco watching her carefully, the depths of his eyes reaching out through space to find her.
He squeezed her hand as the conversation faded back in. Ginny delivered a punchline. Hermione had missed the whole joke, but she laughed with the group anyway.