Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: The Effect of War

Carkitt Market used to be a place filled with laughs. Once upon a time, children would run through the covered market, laughing as they ran to Sugarplum’s Sweets Shop. There would be someone standing outside Wands by Gregorovitch, arguing with the shopkeeper that they could get a better deal at Ollivanders. Hermione even missed Eternelle’s Elixir of Refreshment because at least then, she knew what to expect. 

Atrocious concoctions. Sometimes it would be a babbling potion gone awry and other times it would be a bevvy that made the drinker fart through their nose. 

Now, this place was filled with nothing, but hooded figures walking with their heads down. Hermione wore a similar black clock with a hood that covered most of her face. Her boots hit the ground silently, not wanting any attention to be casted her way. 

The United Kingdom was officially no man’s land. Neither the Order nor the Dark Lord’s Legion had enough of a foothold in the country to officially declare it as their territory. And honestly, Hermione was sure the only reason they didn’t was because of the dragons. 

With a stalemate in the War between Pureblood fascists and everyone else who wanted to go back to fucking normal; neither side had the means to turn the tide. Voldemort’s legion of narcissistic morons didn’t care about the infrastructure. Resources on their side were drying up fast and now they were desperate. Not to mention Fenrir Greyback was also trying to raise a tertiary army—a subdivision of werewolves that would fight for the Dark Lord until they amassed numbers to take over themselves. 

Stupid of them to think that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named would ever give them the opportunity. Once the werewolves found themselves too populated, they would be handled. In addition to the lack of resources on their end, the Dark Lord couldn’t control people with fear forever. All minds, no matter how strong… eventually broke. 

The Order and Dumbledore’s Army weren’t fairing much better either. Being hit with curses that made your skin fall off or Merlin forbid—the ones that got into your head—the ones that had you replaying your worst fears until you killed yourself—those sorts of curses instilled psychological damage on all fronts. 

It didn’t matter if you were a healer; you were privy to the carnage. 

It didn’t matter if you planned battles; you were contributing to the carnage. 

It didn’t matter if you fought in the battles; you were the carnage. 

Everyone was afflicted by the War. Even those who didn’t fight… Should anyone from the Dark Lord’s Legion or one of his Death Eaters appear; it was never safe for anyone. No man, woman, or child was safe. 

At least with Dumbledore’s Army, they didn’t kill someone for the simple sake of not being offered enough wine at supper. 

Hermione huffed silently, irritated with where her thoughts were. There was no point in trying to strategize when either side had no progress to make. The spells were already deadly. The death counts already astronomical. The other countries didn’t allow for travel between Europe and themselves because they wanted to stay out of the clusterfuck that was Europe. 

The sound of a small bell chiming caught her attention. There were a few brave wizards sitting outside, but Hermione wasn’t going to take the chance. She walked into the Hopping Pot, a wizarding pub in Carkitt Market that was owned by Bowman E. Wright Blacksmith. 

On the outside, he believed that a galleon was a galleon. He’d serve Wizard’s Brew, draught beer, or Pumpkin juice to anyone that had money to spend. In reality, he… 

Hermione briefly flickered her gaze up towards the bar to see Bowman Blacksmith being magically bound to the wall on the far end of it. Blood dripped down his forehead and both his eyes were bruised. Hermione couldn’t tell what wasn’t broken at this distance. What she could see and read were the words cut into his chest. 

Mudblood Sympathizer. 

In reality, he’d been feeding the Order information. 

At the sight of it, she could see Thomas Nott and Antonin Dolohov laughing over a couple bottles of spiced mead. Everyone seated was frozen in their seats. None of them dared to move. 

Hermione swallowed, refusing the innate urge to run. There were Death Eaters in here. Why the fuck were there Death Eaters when there was supposed to be a meeting between her and a chemist that studied under Nicholas Flamel back in the day. Hermione had read about a time where Flamel was able to cast a spell that put constraints on protego diabolica. 

The protective dark charm incinerated enemies of the caster while leaving their allies unharmed. It could also take the appearance of winged creatures, capable of immense destruction, if the caster was powerful enough. 

On the battlefield, this could be the determination factor on who won or lost. 

It made her jaw clench to admit that most people in the Army weren’t willing to practice the Dark Arts in order to protect themselves which made them easy targets. 

Fodder. 

Hermione used to be like that. 

“Hey you—” Her hood was tugged back and there were a few gasps when her face was revealed. Her gaze snapped up to see Thomas Nott, “Well, well. What do we—”

She pointed his wand to his abdomen, “Reducto!” 

Blood poured out of his mouth as the wizard glanced down. There was a gaping hole where his stomach should be. Entrails were slowly slipping out of him and she could see bone fragments mixed in. 

“Granger!” Dolohov appeared in front of her and she cursed under her breath. “The Dark Lord will be pleased—”

“Diffindo!” Hermione scowled, stepping back as Nott fell to the floor dead, “That’s the problem with all you Death Eaters. Not only are you all delusional, but you talk too bloody much.” 

The dark haired wizard’s eyes blackened with anger, “You fucking cunt—”

“Not very nice.” Hermione smiled placidly before sending another a bombarda charm towards Dolohov. 

She’d purposely missed and then dove for the floor. You see, Dolohov had his back to the bar and he’d looked at her, briefly smug when he’d thought her aim was off. To prove a point, he hadn’t moved. 

But Hermione hadn’t been aiming for him in the first place. 

The explosive charm set fire to the highly flammable liquors behind him, causing the glass bottles to burst. Glass shrapnel was fired in all directions. Hermione barely got the protego charm out, sheltering herself from the glass that embedded itself anywhere it could. Patrons gasped, casting their own spells or disapparating. Part of her had begun to feel guilty when she realized that Blacksmith would be vulnerable to any attacks; but when she glanced up briefly—she saw that he was dead. 

One of them had underlined the ‘mudblood sympathizer’ inscription and in doing so, had made the poor bastard bleed out. 

Anger made her blood roar in her ears, but there was a glint of satisfaction in seeing Dolohov screaming as his back caught on fire and there was glass embedded in his skin. 

When he saw her stand, he was foaming at the mouth with wrath, “When I get my hands on you, Mudblood—I’m going to make you wish you were dead.” 

She smirked, leaving him to suffer in pain rather than kill him outright. He didn’t deserve any mercy for the things she’d seen him do.

Last month in Belarus, she’d read a report that Dolohov and Rodolphus Lestrange inflicted a child with Cerebrumous Spattergroit. A particularly severe sub-strain of the infectious fungus spattergroit. Purple pustules formed on the skin and when they exploded; acid shot out. The two Death Eaters had placed the child in a refugee camp and let it spread faster than the Black Death. Once everyone had been infected, they’d released propaganda that Muggle-borns were a disease on Wizardkind and to avoid at all costs.

What sickened her more than anything was that refugee camp in particular only housed children affected by the War. There wasn’t anyone there above the age of six besides Healers. And they’d given their lives to see it through that the children died comfortably. 

Unfortunately, fear was a useful friend to manipulation. 

It’s caused the parts of Eastern Europe to turns its back on Dumbledore’s Army because of the terror that they were infected with a sickness the Legion had created. 

Hermione accio’d the brute’s wand, taking it in her hand, and snapping it over her thigh. “Here’s your opportunity to eat Death, Dolohov. I hope you fucking choke.” 

The witch pulled her hood over her head and disapparated to a nearby alley. She could see more wizards and witches apparating outside the Hopping Pot which was going to be an issue. These were clearly people affiliated with the Dark Arts because they all wore the same robe designs. 

Heavy, black robes that were hemmed with gold, and the emblem of Nagini on the back. Of course, the Death Eaters were more elaborate and had their family crests on the back. None of them cared about hiding who they were or trying to avoid being a target because they didn’t believe Dumbledore’s Army had it in them to kill. 

Killing was something Hermione had grown numb to because if she didn’t, then who would? Shacklebolt fought to disarm and win battles. Hermione fought to kill and win a war. It was the one thing they disagreed about, but Harry was only alive because she’d darkened her soul for him. 

Harry would be the light to motivate people while she stayed in the shadows. 

A flicker of irritation sparked in her as she walked away from the Hopping Pot. News would travel fast on both sides that Antonin Dolohov and Thomas Nott were dead. Two prominent Death Eaters which meant that the Dark Lord was going to counterattack those two losses with hundreds. 

Hermione sighed. Shacklebolt was going to lose his bloody mind. Again. 

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“Have you lost your damn mind?” 

“That was reckless!” 

“What’s the Dark Lord going to do now that they’re dead?” 

“She’s doomed us!” 

“We’ll lose the U.K. because of this. Mark my words.” 

Hermione rolled her neck, glancing sideways at Percy Weasley. “Is that a bet? Because I’m a bit strapped for galleons at the moment. I bet five that we don’t.” 

The red-haired goody two-shoes glanced at Shacklebolt for assistance. The same ‘Leader of the Order' who appeared to be wondering if she had in fact lost her damn mind. 

“You had no right to be there. You were supposed to be safe-guarding him.” He pointed towards Harry who looked as if he’d rather be anywhere, but in the meeting room. “You’ve proven that you can’t follow orders on the field and now you can’t follow orders to stay in one fucking spot.” 

“That’s the issue.” Hermione snapped, her blood beginning to boil, “While you direct our forces to protect U.K. at all costs, we’re losing everything else. We need to go on the offensive—”

“You’re not in charge.” Shacklebolt bellowed, his hands slamming on the table, “Know your place.” 

“I think you both need to cool down…” Harry attempted to interject, but she wasn’t listening to him and neither was he. “Fighting like this isn’t going to solve anything.” 

Hermione grinned at that, but it wasn’t kind in the slightest. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Knowing that most of the Order was here, she wasn’t afraid to undermine his authority. “Fighting under your command isn’t going to solve anything. We’ll be lucky to last another two years at this point. Unless you step down and appoint anyone else, we’re all fucking dead.” 

“And you think you can win the War? Under your command?” 

“No.” Hermione said easily, “I haven’t spent the last five years studying battle tactics and the Art of War. But you haven’t either.” She stepped off to the side of the room where a large table of meats, cheeses, and wine all sat in pretty golden plates. With a wave of her hand, the table was thrown upside down; spilling food and alcohol everywhere. “You’ve been getting fat off wine and meats while the people actually fighting on the frontlines are wondering where there next meal will come from—”

She wanted to say more, but several members of the Order had their wands out. All of a sudden, they looked at her like she was the enemy. 

Harry obviously saw it too and grabbed her hand,  “We’re gonna go cool down. Be back later.” He all but rushed her out of the underground safehouse, and towards the surface.  

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They were a good distance away in the woods outside of Pierrefitt-sur Sauldre near Château de Falase. The castle was built early on in the 12th century and had been abandoned since 1840. It was the first place they’d gone to after the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione had been reading a book on William the Conqueror and there was a slim chance of them losing France right off the bat, so she’d hidden Harry here first. 

Gradually, she’d brought more people, and now it was the Order’s main safehouse. Absolutely no one else was allowed to visit—if there was a meeting with generals or diplomats, they did it within London where the Death Eaters assumed their main locations were. 

After watching Harry almost trip over a loose branch, she sighed heavily. 

He turned around, looking bloody pissed. “What were you thinking?” 

“I think that’s obvious. I said out loud everything I was thinking, that’s why—”

“Hermione. Please.” He sounded too exhausted to give into pleading with her so early on in their quarrel, “Do you know what you’ve just done? Yes you do—you’re practically a genius. Shacklebolt’s going to punish you for acting out in front of a crowd. I know you don’t agree with how he’s running things, but there’s no one else to be the figure head. If it looks like he steps down or gives up—How do you think the frontlines are going to take it?” 

“I don’t understand how they have the willpower at all.” Hermione all, but shouted. She casted a cave inimicum spell along with a muffliato to be extra sure they would be safe. Out of sight and not have to worry about being murdered by either side. “Harry—He doesn’t have any more plans. He’s running out of ideas and it’s showing. How many more people need to die before this War can end?” 

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and looking around as if the answer would come out of the woodworks and hit him in the face. “I don’t know. I don’t have the answer for you. But fighting won’t fix anything.” 

“We have to do something. If we were more abrasive—how many more Death Eaters could we kill? Because I’ve killed two in a single day.” 

“Do you want a gold star? A ribbon?” Harry’s hair was sticking up from running his hand through it again, “You were kicked off the frontlines for disobeying orders in Belarus—”

“I’m the reason why it’s considered No-Mans-Land and not Legion territory.” 

Harry nodded, “I won’t refute that. You also unleashed a wave of Fiendfyre—”

“I told you I didn’t—”

“I’m not arguing about this again.” Harry interrupted, sending her a firm glance. “You know how to win battles, Hermione. You’re a great duellist. But when you didn’t follow a General’s command, you were sent back to the Order. Kingsley put you as my personal guard and I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re supposed to guard the person you’ve been instructed to protect.” 

“You were the one that told me to go to London.” 

“Fair point. But I didn’t tell you to kill two Death Eaters at the Hopping Pot.” 

“No you wanted me to.” 

“Ugh. I’m terrible at this.” Harry shook his head, looking at her with a glint of desperation in his eyes, “Hermione, I’m worried about you. If you make an enemy officially out of Kingsley, then you won’t have Dumbledore’s Army. If you don’t have the Army and you’re sure as hell never going to join the Legion—then you’ll die out there. You can’t win this War by yourself.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Harry—I can’t sit by and watch us lose.” She felt her shoulders sag, burdened by the responsibility of trying to win a War, and not having the leadership she needed, “You haven’t seen it in a while, Harry. The deprivation of War, the innocent people being slaughtered, our own people losing the fight in their heads. I had to watch two months ago as Luna was forced to drink unicorn blood until she couldn’t take it anymore and impaled herself with the horn.” 

His hands started trembling and he quickly shoved them in his trouser pockets, “And I almost lost you too. If it was Bellatrix—if it was anyone other than one of the Carrow siblings—then you would have died alongside her.” 

“But I didn’t. You found me in that storage room.” She huffed out a laugh, remembering how relieved she’d felt. “I couldn’t believe Kingsley actually let you out to come find me.” 

“He didn’t know about it.” Harry looked briefly nervous discussing it and changed the subject, “I don’t want us to be at a standstill. Will you lie low until Kingsley can think of a plan you find satisfactory?” 

She placed two fingers on either side of her temple, deterring the headache that was beginning to form, “I want to say no, but I don’t want to be kicked out of the Order anymore than you want to see me trying to win a War alone. He’s got two weeks to come up with something, Harry. If he continues getting fat off wine, then I’ll avada myself.” 

It was a joke, but the wizard winced, “Yeah—That’s probably not a good idea either. If you die, then we’ll definitely lose the war.” 

“You have too much faith in me.” Hermione muttered before taking a deep breath. 

The forest was quiet and she felt safer here within her own spell work than she did in the tunnels near Château de Falase. The different varieties of quartz and limestone often had the place smelling of sulfur which smelled like rotten eggs after a rainstorm. 

What she smelled now—fresh air and what she heard—silence—was a rarity. 

She continued in a quiet tone, staring up at the blue sky, framed by treetops. “Do you ever think about how life might be different if we had won that night?”

It had to be cruel for the day to be so pretty and yet she could never fully enjoy the day when someone somewhere was dying a horrible death. 

“The Battle of Hogwarts?” Harry rubbed his arm awkwardly, “Well I’d have married Ginny instead of burying her.” 

A pang of grief hit her the way a lightening strike hit the tallest tree. It branched out and consumed her so quickly. “I’m sorry.” 

“Wasn’t your fault. I didn’t get to her quick enough that night. When we were all evacuating it was a pick and choose who survived—and I picked Ron.” 

“And I picked you.” 

“We all made our own choices that night.” Harry glanced down, kicking a rock before it bounced against the invisible shield, “I hope you’re not upset with me.” 

“You want to keep me safe. How could I be upset with you?” 

“Because I know you wanted me to be on your side in there.” 

Hermione shook her head, “If you’re on bad terms with Kingsley, then things would be a lot worse. You’re the one destined to defeat Voldemort, Harry.” 

“Ugh. It’s times like this I wish that Neville had been the Chosen One.” 

She grinned, “Speaking of him, he’s still trying to grow the perfect Mimbulus mimbletonia, isn’t he?” 

“The last I heard, he’d created a hybrid which shot out an acidic mucus that ate away at the body.” 

“Really? A few months ago it was one that released a nerve paralyzing gas.” 

Harry chuckled, “He’s come a long way from being petrified and yelling at us for losing House points. He’d have made a great Chosen One.” 

“I would have made a great Muggle.” She quipped back, “23? I’d have finished Uni and probably ended up as a dentist like my parents.” 

“You? A dentist?” He rolled his eyes, “You’d have been bored.” 

“No I wouldn’t have. I wouldn’t know curses or magic or any of this. I’d have graduated, started research on how to open up my own practice, and maybe found a nice boy to settle down with.” 

“Ron’s still available.” 

“Pass.” 

“He still fancies you.” Harry pointed out, “He’s still confused why you broke up with him the same night everything went to shit. The last time I talked to him, he’s trying to give you space to think things over, but it’s been five bloody years.” 

She shrugged, not understanding it either, but the spark was gone. What she felt now for Ron was nothing more than… Well… Nothing. He ran correspondence for Kingsley as a trusted member of the Order. She saw him every few weeks, but that was it. 

A rustling occurred by the trees and suddenly Harry and Hermione could both hear voices. The first figure that stepped through the tree line into the small clearing was a Legion member. Someone unimportant enough for her not to recognize, but a Legion member all the same. 

His hair was long, dark and greasy. A cut on his face, but that was the only part of him she could see as he was wearing long, black robes. Beside him, standing a few inches shorter was the man, the moron, the messenger. 

Ronald Weasley. 

It had been a couple weeks, hadn’t it? 

“You said it’s here?” The wizard asked gruffly. 

Ron looked nervous under his gaze, his face conforming into that god awful crying one he always found himself wearing when faced with spiders. “Yes, but I need my wand—to reveal the hide out, you see.” 

Harry and her shared a look. Where was he going with this? 

The Legion member eyed him warily before handing over his wand with a snap of his fingers, “Any funny business and I’ll—”

“Incarcerous.” She stepped through the spell barrier, watching as the older wizard fumbled his spells in surprise. She didn’t even want to play with this one. 

The ropes that spouted at the end of her wand grew tighter around the wizard until it stole his last breath and they tightened until bones were broken, skin torn through, and organs popped like water balloons. She wouldn’t be taking any chance of him remaining alive so close to their real safehouse. 

Lifting her chin, Hermione glared over at the red-headed man. “Ronald. What are you doing here?” 

He grimaced, reaching into his brown satchel by his side, and pulling out a letter. “I’m on time as always. News from the front.” His grimace turned into a somber frown. “It’s not good. At this rate, we’re going to lose Belarus.” 

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3.23.25 Author's note 

Here we go! This is my third Dramione fic, I hope you enjoy it! - Sallows 

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: News from the Front

“Let me see the letter.” She held out her hand expectantly. 

Ron looked at her sourly, dismay glinting in his eyes. He looked like he’d been through hell with mud and dirt covering half his face. There was a tear in his jeans above his left knee and a bit of blood on his thigh like he’d wiped his hands. Speaking of his hands, his knuckles were bruised. He must have gotten into the scuffle with the greasy bastard. 

“Demanding as always, aren’t you?” Ron inquired, his tone biting. “No, ‘How are you?’ Or ‘Good to see you, again’?” 

Hermione smiled at him sweetly. “If it was good do see you, I’d say so. If I cared about how you were doing, I’d ask. Are we done playing 20 questions?” 

“And you said I have the emotional range of a teaspoon.” He grumbled, but handed over the letter, “It’s from Seamus. He’s running out of material for explosives, so he’s asking if he should get back on the front lines or train people to do what he can.” 

This made her frown. She read over the letter, hearing the panic in his rough strokes against the parchment that almost made it rip.  

It was the most inappropriate thing to do, but she laughed. Harry glanced at her oddly, probably thinking that she was a nutter. 

“Tell your precious shacklebolt, that I’m wanted back on the frontlines.” Hermione mused, glancing down at herself. Jeans. Hoodie. Jacket. Boots. What better time for a trip to Belarus than now? “He’s in Mykovo?” 

“You could tell him yourself.” Harry suggested, but seeing her raised eyebrow, he sighed loudly. “You’re going now, aren’t you?” 

“It’s a beautiful day to kill someone.” She murmured wistfully, “And I’ve heard that Belarus is lovely this time of year.” 

Ron stared at her incredulously, “It’s raining with a chance of Death Eaters kicking mooncalves for fun. Not exactly fucking rainbows and sunshine, ‘Mione.” 

She smiled in response, “I’ve grown tired of sunny days.” Case in point, the weather today that contradicted with the storm brewing inside her. “I’m going to talk to that port key smugger in Versailles.” 

“They’re watching the floos and tracking apparition magic.” Ron argued, pointing to himself, “How are you going to get there?” 

“Muggle means.” 

“I’m quite sure my dad’s Ford Anglia is still in the Forbidden Forest somewhere.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Motorcycle, dumbarse. I have my license.” 

She’d already started to walk away when she heard Ron mutter over to Harry, “When did she get her license?” 

Harry must have shrugged because there was silence for a split second, “This is the same girl that used a time turner to take more classes in a day. Fuck if I know.” 

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Learning how to ride a motorcycle had saved her life in more ways than one. It was the adrenaline, the feeling of having control that had convinced her to learn. Wizard transportation wasn’t safe at all and public transport was risky. 

The Dark Lord cared about keeping a pure race within Wizardkind—he didn’t inherently hate Muggles by themselves. He simply wanted the two ‘species’ separate. To intermingle and copulate with them was the abomination. So when it came to using Muggles in order to strike at the Order; he had no qualms. 

At first, a train derailing was thought to be an accident. 

But then there was the plane dive bombing. 

The bus crashing because the driver spun it around into oncoming traffic. 

Each time, there was a notable member of Dumbledore’s Army aboard that was on the Legion’s Undesirable list. 

Hermione had been the first to point it out and it took Shacklebolt’s second twice removed cousin to die before he listened to her. 

She twisted the throttle, accelerating and weaving through traffic. Leaning forward, she felt her hair whipping in the wind—what was left out underneath her black helmet. She would have much preferred something in red and bold, but she wasn’t trying to draw attention to herself. 

As a car cut her off, she swore and pushed to the right side, trying to veer towards the shoulder just in case the l’idiot decided to slam his breaks. But then she didn’t have an opportunity to because now another car was speeding up on her right.

What the fuck? Why was someone speeding up in the right lane?

As the bike leaned, Hermione slowly rolled the throttle to increase the speed and kept accelerating. She turned her head, but she couldn’t see the drivers. Were they Muggle? Wizard? Was she being followed? They couldn’t tell it was her, could they? 

Playing it safe, she followed A88 to D511 in Saint-Martin-de-Mieux. As she got off on Exit 11, she only had about three kilometers before she reached Versailles, but if someone was tailing her, then she needed to make a detour. 

Waiting until the last possible second, Hermione veered off on the exit and watched over her shoulder as the cars almost crashed trying to make the same sharp turn, but they crashed into the guardrail. 

A smirk rose up on her lips, a wand-less bombarda maxima ensuring there wouldn’t be any survivors. Had they been following her since the Château? Was the Legion member who’d kidnapped Ron not the only one? Her eyebrows furrowed and she pulled off on the side of the road to check her phone. 

Nothing. 

If something had happened to Harry, he’d have gotten a message out to her. There were so many tunnels and ways to get out of that safehouse that there was no way he’d be caught by surprise. Worry gnawed at her, but she sent him a message. He replied almost immediately which eased the worry.  

That settled it. Shacklebolt was probably furious that she’d left Harry alone again and was now racing off towards the frontlines. Not that he could do anything about it. 

She kicked off, determined now more than ever to make it Belarus. 

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If she was low on Galleons before, then Hermione was broke after paying the illegal Portkey dealer. The bastard was stingier than usual. She doubted she even had money for Draniki and stealing from Muggles always put a bad taste in her mouth.

Despite her bad luck, Mykovo was pretty after sun down. Lights illuminated the small town and there wasn’t any snow yet which Hermione was thankful for. She wouldn’t have to worry about leaving tracks.

She’d transfigured her helmet into a scarf earlier and now pulled it up to cover half her face. It was a bit chilly tonight which allowed for her to pull her hood up as well. Only her eyes and a few wisps of hair were visible. 

In his letter, Seamus had mentioned the Daugava River. Not that it really helped specify where he was seeing as the river measured 1,020 kilometers long. But at least knowing it was the riverside closest to Mykovo allowed for her to narrow in on their location. 

As Hermione walked through the small town, she started to notice the stares. They were speaking Eastern Slavic, languages she had no clue how to speak. If it wasn’t sarcasm, dark humor, or English—she probably wouldn’t be able to understand it. 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

Snapping her head towards the East, she could see smoke and flames rising. Interest sparked in her chest, but it was morbid curiosity that fed the fire. She might only speak English fluently, but she was rather proficient at speaking bedlam. 

Hermione darted into an alley before using up part of her magic to Apparate towards the Riverbanks. A mistake to not Apparate nearby, but she learned her lesson when she had to drop to the ground to avoid a stray Avada. 

A hand grabbed her by the back of her jacket, “Hermione?! What the fuck?” 

She beamed, turning to face Finnegan. His hair was standing up straight and there was black powder on his cheeks. He really hadn’t changed. “Heard you needed some morale?” 

“Shacklebolt let you out?” 

“Something like that. What’s the situation?” 

Immediately, he was no longer the friend she hadn’t seen in a while. He was Seamus Finnegan; explosives expert. “There were several boats carrying supplies and resources for the Dark Lord headed to the Russian border. We think that they were to stop periodically along the River at supply stops of sorts—to help support their efforts in securing Belarus.” 

“How many fighters survived your explosion?” 

“Six—”

A figure appeared behind them and Hermione pointed her wand at the ground below the assailant, “Deprimo!” Magic shot from her wand, blasting a hole into the ground that swallowed the Legion fighter. He screamed as he fell, but it quieted when she casted, “Herbiviscus,” and the hole was sealed forever as greenery grew over it. 

“Make that five.” Seamus corrected with a grin, “I forgot how ruthless you are. Shacklebolt says we’re to ask them to surrender first. Lethality after diplomacy.” 

Hermione scoffed. “As if they’d give you the same courtesy.” 

“No it’s typically how we’d fancy dying or in which manner they should do it? Painfully or divulge information on Harry Potter and still die painfully?” 

“How generous.” She murmured, watching as a man around the age of forty sent a non-fatal wound to one of the Legion fighters left. Green magic crackled from the end of the fighter’s wand and Hermione disarmed him with a flick of her wrist. “Relashio.” 

The elder soldier was able to take down the Legion fighter and appeared to be questioning him. Whatever. 

“I opened your letter which is why I’m here first.” Hermione informed Seamus, watching as his expression shifted from at ease to anxious, “Don’t give me that look.” 

“The Minister’s going to expect me to escort you back.” 

“The Minister can suck my non-existent bollocks.” 

Seamus grinned at that, “You know, I think you’re the only one who would say that to his face. You have bigger bollocks that most of the people here.” 

But most of the people here were here. Fighting for their lives. While she was normally confined to the castle’s underground chambers, keeping Harry alive. The only adversaries found underground—besides Shacklebolt—were the stray mosquitos or odd smells from the limestone. 

Within no time at all, the wizards from the Dark Lord’s Legion were disarmed, dead, or on the brink of it. They were taken away to Merlin know’s where and she was left standing there unsure. 

“From your letter, I thought that things were more… Dire.” Hermione glanced around, happy that it seemed like people were in a good mood, but… “Your letter said you thought you were going to lose Belarus.” 

“I did think that. And then we got told about this major supply run.” He jerked his head towards the boats which were either on fire or being ransacked, “It’ll help us last a lot longer on the Front.” 

That was a relief, but at the same time, now she felt as if she’d caused a scene and ran away for nothing. There was still this bubbling anxiety and frustration inside her with no chance of freedom from it. Hermione wanted the rush of battle and the aching of limbs. She wanted to be so tired and worn out that she could collapse in a bed and sleep till morning. 

“Good.” She sent Seamus a fake smile, “Still not going back yet.” 

He sighed heavily, throwing his arm over her shoulders. “Fine. Well the least we can do is thank you for coming out. Plus I think everyone wants to celebrate.” 

They started walking in the direction of the town, but they’d have to cut through a couple acres of woods first. 

“You sure that’s for the best?” Hermione tilted her head, moving from underneath his arm as they passed through the tree line. “An attack on their supply line might cause them to—”

“You worry too much.” 

“It’s what’s kept Harry alive this long.” 

“We work in shifts. There’s always a group of us on guard. It’ll be fine.” 

Hermione resisted the urge to scoff again. “You do realize—in books, whenever the character says ‘Don’t worry’ or ‘everything will work out,’ things normally go to shite, don’t you?” 

“Hermione, I’ve spend the last three months hungry and confident I’d be dead next week. Give me a break.” He wiped at his face, finally noticing all the explosive powder on his face, “Scourgify. Can you believe it’s been a little over five years since that night?” 

“Not really. You haven’t changed at all.” 

“You have.” He looked over at her, eyes a bit somber. “I remember fighting with you the night we lost Albania. It was the first night—”

“—I used an Unforgivable.” She finished, keeping her tone steady. “If I recall correctly, that avada saved your life Finnegan. Are you going to complain about it now? If so, save the oxygen. I already hear enough about how my…tactics aren’t a good reflection on Dumbledore’s Army nor the Order.” 

“Yeah, maybe you haven’t changed at all. You’re still fighting with the Minster.” He chuckled, “No chance of getting along with him?” 

“About the same chance of Snape wearing a tutu and throwing flowers into the air.” 

“He’s dead.” 

“Exactly.” She pulled out her phone, sending Harry a quick message to let him know the situation in Belarus and that she wouldn’t be back tonight. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if she’d be back tomorrow. “The Minister has lost sense of reality. He gets fat off food and wine while everyone is risking their lives day and night.” 

Seamus scratched his head, “That’s not very comforting to hear.” 

“It’s the truth.” Her answer was blunt, but she could be with Seamus. “When was the last time you saw him on the field?” 

“The Minister shouldn’t be. He’s technically a public official.” 

“Fine.” She conceded, “Public officials tour hospitals, refugee camps, and bases to instill hope into the soldiers. When was the last time you saw him in person.” 

“I went to—” He stopped short, seeing her glare. He knows he wasn’t allowed to speak of it the Château out loud, “—Um, there was a meeting there a while ago. I saw him then… But no. I haven’t seen him out in public in a long time.” 

She shrugged her shoulder while avoiding a fallen log, “He’s a shitty leader.” 

“That’s not very nice.” 

A new voice had her spinning around to face someone none other than Theodore Nott.  Under the cover of night and dim moonlight, she saw his dark hair disheveled from Apparition. He wasn’t wearing the robes that Legion members typically donned, but his robes still soaked up any light with its black fabric. His eyes were alight with mischief, but there was determination set in his gaze. 

“Nott.” Hermione smiled blithely, “Here to earn a spot in Hell like your father? If you ask nicely, I might make it more painless than his.” 

“Tempting, golden girl.” Theo’s head tilted, smirking. “But I prefer it when the woman begs, not the other way around.” 

She readied her wand, sliding back her right foot as she got into a dueling position, “What do you want, Nott?” 

He made no move to take his wand out, keeping his hands in his robe pockets. Despite his nonchalant posture, Hermione saw his jaw clench and a wild look in his gaze. “You have something I want.” 

“And what would—”

Hermione was cut off as the most ferocious roar she’d ever heard tore through the night. The tops of the trees shook and there was a bright light from the water’s edge where they’d been. Silence had fallen for a split second before shouts and screams littered the area. 

Theo sighed heavily, “Drama queen.” 

He went to Apparate when Hermione darted forward. She grabbed his arm as he Apparated and saw his eyes widen before they both appeared almost twenty meters above the river. 

She released his arm, sending a depulso towards him. Theo shouted a curse as the trajectory had him falling now on one of the flaming boats instead of the river water. 

“What the fuck?!” Theo shouted, aiming his wand towards her. 

“Why would you Apparate to mid-air?!” She shouted back, rearing her wand back towards him when suddenly something grabbed her. 

Talons swallowed her frame, wrapping themselves around her body. She looked up, but she couldn’t see anything. The dragon blended in with the night. All she could see was the creature’s scaled chest. Looking over, Theo was in the same predicament. His demeanor was a bit less than pleased—But he didn’t look afraid which meant that either he was used to this sort of treatment or the dragon was his. 

Glaring, Hermione refused to go down like this. Being a midnight snack for this dragon wasn’t on her list of ways she thought she’d die. 

Avada? Sure. Very likely. 

Death due to sexual frustration? Also very, very likely. It turns out when you’re either playing guard duty or trying not to die on the frontlines; sex isn’t a priority. 

Wiggling her body, Hermione was able to get the dagger she kept in the waistband of her trousers out. Dragons might be resistant to spells, but they weren’t immune to sharp, pointy objects. Thrusting the blade into the dragon’s front foot, she gasped as it let out a shriek and then dropped her. 

Drop might have been a nice term for it. 

It was more like it flung her towards the water and she barely had enough time to cast a cushioning charm against the waters surface before she was flung several meters down. Had she not done it, the force would have broken several of her bones. Even now, she knew that her body was going to be sore in the morning if she didn’t get a Wiggenweld in tonight. 

From below the surface, she could see the flames dancing on the supply boats. Seamus wasn’t going to be happy about that—they were supposed to be able to salvage some stuff for the everyone. Now it was all gone. 

Her lungs began to burn and she started swimming towards the surface. By the time she made it, she was already coughing and wiping at her eyes. Up ahead, there was no dragon. She blinked, trying to clear the water from her vision. There was a figure by the water’s edge. She thought she saw a flash of pale hair, but it was gone as quickly as she’d thought she something. 

Instead, Seamus was running to the river’s edge as she made her way over. He helped her out of the water, casting a drying charm on her. 

“Bloody hell, Hermione.” He took one glance at her and then up towards the sky, “Where the fuck did you come from?” 

“Nott Apparated above the river when I tried to get him.” She spat out water, wiping her mouth. “Since when did the bastard have a dragon?” 

Seamus stared at her oddly, “Nott has nothing to do with dragons. That’s all Malfoy.” 

“Malfoy? The Malfoys are dead.” 

Hermione remembered it clearly. It was almost immediately after the Battle of Hogwarts, there was a public execution for them. She didn’t attend, but she’d been told that Lucius and Narcissa died embracing each other. Now that she was thinking about it, she hadn’t heard when or how Draco died. How had that slipped her mind? 

“Is Draco Malfoy alive?” 

Seamus nodded, “The Dark Lord spared him at the last second. Decided that he would personally see to Malfoy’s development. He was kept out of the War until he was ordered to lead the attack on Romania. Something happened, but he fled. And when he fled, the dragon’s went with him. Since then, whenever there’s been a dragon sighting, Malfoy’s usually in attendance.” 

“Are you saying that Malfoy attacked tonight?” 

“He was by the water’s edge looking to attack you until I showed up.” Seamus grinned, “Must have scared him.” 

Hermione frowned, but didn’t comment on that. “Why am I only now finding out about Malfoy?” 

Seamus shrugged his shoulders, “It’s not classified, but it’s not as if people speak about him. He’s been neutral and out of sight for the most part. Out of sight, out of mind.” 

Nodding slowly, Hermione glanced up towards the sky again. 

Dragon’s huh? 

With a power like that… She bit the inside of her cheek. A powerful force like dragons would definitely turn the tides of War. If the dragons were on their side and not Malfoy’s, then maybe this War could be over sooner than they expected. But then again, stabbing one of them in the foot didn’t exactly bode well for any future relations. 

Not that any would come to fruition. 

_________________________________

3.23.25 Author's note 

(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ Something new to me is adding images of letters/text messages. Very minor spoiler: we'll see how Draco handles texting in this fic. Would you rather I just use italicized font or do you like the texting images! Feel free to let me know - I'm interested in what you have to say! 

I hope the start to HOAaWOG isn't too slow, but a bit of world building is necessary to establish how this AU differs from others. But it's already chapter 2 and someone familiar has already made an appearance haha. 

Thank you for reading and I hope you have the best day! - Sallows 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: A Precarious Proposition 

It felt like Yuletide. 

Like Christmas. 

How else was she supposed to interpret the silent treatment from Kingsley Shacklebolt the past couple days? She’d come back the next morning and the Minister hadn’t even spared her a glance. Either he was too angry or too preoccupied with something else, but Hermione relished in the silence. She’d spent the rest of the day recounting to Harry what had happened in Mykovo and how the Dark Lord’s supply run had dried up. 

Though the murder of two Death Eaters and the supply run gone wrong hadn’t been without its consequences. Hermione was named as the Legion’s number one undesirable. Any Legion fighter who caught her would have the opportunity to join his rank of Death Eaters. Today say that it was too dangerous for Hermione to even breathe outside without charms was not an exaggeration. 

So maybe it shouldn’t have felt like Christmas, but the way she saw it—They’d have killed her on sight regardless. Then and now. No Legion fighters were stopping mid-fight to invite her for a butterbeer after. So how was anything different now?  

As always, Harry nagged and that’s what he was doing now as they walked towards the big chamber for lunch to meet with the rest of the Order. If there was some extravagant display of food, she was going to throw a roast at the Minister’s head. 

“Don’t you understand what this means?” Harry hissed under his breath, “There will be people actively looking for you. Kingsley’s not going to find you fit to guard me anymore—not that I needed one in the first place—but he might reassign you.” 

“I haven’t listened to his orders before, why would I start now?” 

He sent her a flat look, “Do you have a death wish?” 

“Does a wish for all Death Eaters to die count?” 

Her best friend ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He mumbled something under his breath before saying, “I mean you must want to die since you have no problem rushing off to danger—”

“If I recall correctly, you were always the one rushing off into danger, and I was the one saving our arses.” 

“Yeah you really saved me when you got yourself petrified Second Year.” 

Hermione looked at him indignantly, “You act as if the book page in my hand didn’t help you figure out it was Slytherin’s basilisk on the loose.” 

“You don’t even remember how that page got in your hand.” He said pointedly, pushing his glasses up his nose, “You told me you were on the way to confront Justin Finch-Fletchley for being a tosser after he accused me of being the Heir of Slytherin.” 

“I was. I think.” She shrugged, having accepted the lapse in memory from being attacked, “All I remember is green apples. I was probably trying to throw one at his head when the snake attacked.” 

“Justin was already petrified.” Harry raised an eyebrow, “So that timeline doesn’t work at all.” 

She stopped, midway in the corridor, as if realizing it now. 

No. 

It didn’t line up. So why….? 

“Come on.” Harry hooked his arm through hers, pulling her forward. “Let’s not worry about the past when the future has yet to happen. Do you think—”

They both stopped as they walked through the threshold to the chamber and found a large wooden table stacked with fresh slices of meats, cheeses, and vegetables. Loaves of bread stacked in the front. It seemed everyone was grabbing a quick lunch and hightailing it out of the room. McGonagall, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fleur, George, Hagrid, Dedalus, Elphias—They were all heading towards the meeting room with a makeshift sandwich on paper plates. 

“Where’s everyone going?” Hermione stopped Hagrid, knowing the half-giant was the worst at lying. 

It seemed he didn’t even realize she wasn’t supposed to know as he said, “Kingsley called a meeting. Did you forget?” 

McGonagall sighed and shook her head, not even bothering to address it. She placed a hand on Hagrid’s arm, “Off to the meeting, you. As for you both, make sure to get some lunch. I’m afraid that it’ll be harder to come across good food here while the Death Eater’s and the Dark Lord’s Legion are out and about looking for you both.” 

“If there’s a meeting, then Harry should be invited at the very least.” Hermione interjected, “It’s his Order.” 

“Technically it’s Dumbledore’s and it’s his army.” She replied gently. 

Her temper flared, “Dumbledore’s dead.” 

“As we all know. I know I do. I was there when Snape killed him.” Harry smiled awkwardly, trying to fill the silence, “We’ll grab some lunch after the meeting.” 

McGonagall nodded, but had a look in her eyes that had Hermione wondering what sort of meeting they were crashing. As they all headed for the nearby room, Harry was muttering under his breath. 

“You should be on your best behavior if we’re not supposed to be there.” 

“I’m always on my best behavior.” She grumbled back. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Right and nargles don’t exist.” 

She didn’t reply to that, never one to comment on nargles. Luna believed in them and she missed the eccentric witch. Hermione had been staring at the Death Eaters as they had her drink the Unicorn blood with such hatred, but she couldn’t even shed a tear. Hermione hadn’t cried in a long time. Not since the night she thought everyone was going to die, but then remembered the book on William the Conqueror. 

Their steps were loud and the stare from Kingsley Shacklebolt even louder as they walked into the quaint meeting room. Her little disruption from earlier was cleared. Fresh food and wine replaced, Hermione was tempted to find out if he’d placed a sticking charm to keep the table on the ground. 

There was a letter, already open, but too far away from where she stood to see what the contents were. 

“Harry.” Kingsley nodded and added in a curt tone, “ Miss Granger.” 

She smiled, but didn’t intend to return his greeting until Harry nudged her with his elbow. The witch spoke through gritted teeth like it physically hurt to be civil with him, “Shacklebolt.” 

“Minister.” Molly corrected next to Arthur, “This is an official meeting.” 

Had all their other meetings been for nothing? 

Her smile grew wider, “I must have missed the official election then too.” Another elbow to her side, this time a bit harder. If Harry didn’t stop, he was going to be the Chosen One on the receiving end of her fist. “My sincerest apologies, Minister.” 

Shacklebolt sent her a terse scowl back before addressing the room, “As you all know, in light of recent events, both sides of the War have been scrambling to gain a foothold over the other. For Dumbledore’s Army, the supply ships would have been a huge victory, but due to the appearance of a dragon… We didn’t salvage as much as we hoped. For the Dark Lord’s Legion, it has almost costed them Belarus. The last few battles should be in our favor and then we can count on Belarus as being the Order’s territory.” 

“Do we know why there was a dragon?” Fleur spoke up, gripping her husband’s arm tightly, “I thought they’d allied themselves with Malfoy. Seamus mentioned he saw the Dark Lord’s ward there, non?” 

  The Dark Lord’s ward. 

Hermione’s lip curled in distaste. She didn’t know Draco Malfoy outside of him being a Pureblood elitist and school bully, but she did know how much the Malfoys cared for each other. Him fleeing the Legion as a rogue Death Eater had to be attributed to the fact that the Dark Lord was responsible for his parents’ deaths. 

“We have reason to believe Malfoy was there because of Theodore Nott.” He’d intentionally chose his words carefully. Hermione could tell because his eyes had flickered to her for a moment before answering. “The Malfoys and Notts have always had a close… Partnership.” 

He was hiding something. 

“Accio letter.” Hermione flicked her wand towards the table, using a nonverbal spell to speed read. Her eyes skimmed the letters, the thoughts forming only after Shacklebolt set it on fire, and she had to quickly let go before her fingers were burned.  

“Malfoy sent over a letter?” Hermione met Shacklebolt’s glower with one of her own, “What letter did he send before? Did he attack Mykovo because you didn’t answer him?” Her temper steadily grew, “We could have secured Belarus if you hadn’t hesitated.” 

“And give him what?” Shacklebolt shouted angrily, “A member of the Order? Any representative we send could be the same as sending them straight to the Dark Lord himself. Malfoy is a Death Eater.” 

“Was.” Hermione corrected icily, “I’m sure daddy’s not too pleased he disobeyed direct orders to lead his Legion into War, only to flee the moment his collar was taken off.” 

She knew that she was getting into dangerous territory with Shacklebolt again when his eyes had that sinister glint where she swore he wished she would just die. Despite being the reason why some battles were won, Kingsley cared more about his own power and the kind of reputation he had. Tarnishing him in public numbered her days as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. 

“Then who should we send? Fleur?!” He gestured to the witch who was now holding even tighter to her husband’s arm with blatant apprehension and fear exploding inside her, “The least she could do is seduce him to our side.” 

Inexplicable rage had wrath welcoming her with open arms. “You would volunteer another woman’s body to suit your purpose?” Her chin raised slightly and she felt the ends of her hair lift as her magic became energy as it crackled around her, “You are no better than—”

“Say it.” Shacklebolt threatened, pulling out his wand from his dress robe, “And it will be the last words you ever say, Hermione Granger.” 

“Enough.” McGonagall cut in, glancing between the two who refused to take their eyes off each other, “I think the best thing to do would be to send Hermione as a representative.” 

Now the bastard broke off his glare to stare at the old Headmistress, “You agree with Harry, then?” 

With Harry? 

Then… “You thought I should go?” Her voice was quiet, upset that he hadn’t brought this up to her before. “Why…?” Why did you keep this from me? 

Harry inclined his head towards the on-going conversation, “Listen.” 

“Hermione has always been a bright girl. She will always do what’s right.” McGonagall said simply, allowing a burst of pride to erupt in her chest, “She’s also not afraid to take drastic measures. Malfoy is… Unpredictable to say the least. We’ve angered him and he’s destroyed a vital victory for us out of spite.” 

Shacklebolt gestured to Hermione without looking at her, “All she’s good for is angering people. What makes you think we’d want to anger him further?” 

Rude. 

She was also good for winning wars. 

“Malfoy turned Fleur down once already.” Harry winced at Fleur’s embarrassed glare, adjusting his glasses as he always did when he was nervous, before clearing his throat, “Hermione is your best shot at convincing Malfoy. Anyone else in this room would be dragon fodder by breakfast.” 

Her eyebrows drew together, momentarily befuddled by Harry’s confidence in her. Typically, there was always hesitation following closely behind him. He would make a great leader, but he tended to doubt himself a lot. It’s what made Shacklebolt the better figurehead between the two. Because even when the bastard was wrong, he was confidently wrong. Enough so that people would follow his dumbarse commands… So it prompted her to ask herself again: Why was Harry confident about this decision?

“Do you think you can do this?” Shacklebolt asked, scorn buried deep in his tone. 

Hermione resisted the urge to mock him. “Has anyone asked Malfoy why he wants to be involved in the War? I doubt he has good intentions if this is out of nowhere. Why would someone who purposefully left the War behind want to re-enter it?” 

The silence told her everything she needed to know. 

No one had asked the bloody question because they were too preoccupied with who would be best to go. Or not go. 

“Leek.” She called out in a loud voice. 

Instantly, a House Elf appeared. He was draped in a clean, black and green striped fabric with the Malfoy insignia pinned to his chest. He wore it like it was his badge of honor and in his hand he held a silver platter. 

Timidly, he glanced around the room until his large eyes found Hermione and she saw his ears perk up a bit. She offered him a kind smile as he walked towards her, “Leek believes that Miss Granger has a letter for Master Draco.” 

“Do you have a quill and piece of paper?” 

Leek nodded, snapping his fingers. A peacock quill appeared followed by a piece of parchment with the Malfoy crest present in the corner. How obsessed did someone have to be with their family emblem? Or maybe it was his way of honoring… Hermione shook her head briefly, clearing her thoughts. 

“Before you send it, I’ll need to read it.” Shacklebolt called out. 

Hermione was going to fuss at Malfoy for not giving her all the information necessary before making a decision, but the Minister had sealed her fate as she impulsively  wrote him back. 

“Here. Thank you, Leek.” She offered him another gentle smile before the House Elf grinned back and disappeared. 

“Wait—” The Minister’s words were cut off as Leek was already gone. His eyes landed on Hermione’s with renewed disdain, “What did I say?! How do I know you haven’t doomed us all?” 

“A bit melodramatic, no? Why aren’t you more concerned with how Malfoy’s House Elf knew where to be and how he was able to get past the wards.” She laughed, her voice strangled with bewilderment, “Have you not realized from this action alone that the safe house has been compromised? Your magic isn’t strong enough to keep out a House Elf never mind a determined Death Eater.” 

Panic jumped from member to member around the Order as they realized Hermione was right. Shacklebolt’s teeth were clenched so hard she was surprised that he hadn’t broken one yet. This was another public display of his incompetency. 

“Everyone get your things in order. We’ll be leaving for the next safehouse.” 

Another one? She didn’t recall… “What safe house? Where?” 

“You’ll be living with the enemy soon enough.” The Minister dismissed her with a wave of her hand, “Harry’s safety is no longer your concern.” 

“It’s been the Order’s concern since he was born. As a member—”

“You may represent the Order, but that doesn’t mean you have a place here.” His voice boomed, echoing around the dirt walls. “If we’re lucky, Malfoy will give you a clean death. This is no doubt a ploy to hand someone of value to the Dark Lord in order to get back into his good graces.” 

Hermione’s heart thundered against her chest. For him to admit it so blatantly in front of every Order member that he wanted her dead was quite bold. She would have liked to think that the rest of the Order held her in high regard. But as she looked around the room, the only one that would meet her gaze was McGonagall, Harry, and George. 

Arthur and Molly stared down at the floor. She wasn’t dating Ron anymore, why would they care about her? In fact, Molly had kicked her out when she saw how heartbroken her youngest son was. 

George offered her a sad smile while the rest of the Weasleys kept their heads down. 

Most of them kept their heads down, not wanting to be on the Minister’s shit list. 

McGonagall conveyed worry, but a fierceness to her pinched expression. As if she knew Hermione’s fate was undetermined, but she had some belief that a prior student of hers wouldn’t be so cruel as to kill her. A bit naive, maybe—but the fact that she had hope for Malfoy was a testament to her resolve. To Dumbledore’s resolve that even in the darkest of places, there could be light. 

Harry’s…. Harry’s expression confused her. It was relief and he was trying not to smile. He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. She expected him to say something—anything—but he didn’t… And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Did she expect him to defend her? Perhaps a little, but he’d never really spoken out against Shacklebolt either. Only fussed and nagged at her to be careful. 

“Well,” She started off cheerfully and then kept her tone optimistic, “I’d say getting eaten by a dragon or tortured to death by the Dark Lord himself sounds fantastic in comparison to having to listen to you and your ridiculous directions each day.” 

Without further delay, she left the meeting room. 

There was no point antagonizing the Minister any further nor did she want to be on the receiving end of sad stares. Fleur acted like she had already been sent to her death. She did have to admit though that it hurt realizing she wasn’t valued when she’d given up everything for the Order—even her own morality. 

She’s killed, slaughtered, tricked, and done what needed to be done when the rest of the Army wouldn’t. None of them wanted to be ‘like a Death Eater’ and kill people, but how else would they win a War against homicidal purists? 

And why did she have to be the villain in order to get anyone to listen to her? 

Why did she have to try so hard when it felt like no one gave a fuck? 

Frustrated tears prickled, but Hermione tried to blink them away. She’d never regretted joining the War efforts since it was the natural thing to do having protected Harry since they were eleven, but she found herself jealous of Malfoy. 

He must have spent the last few years basking in peace with his magical creatures. What was it like—where he’s been staying? She didn’t even realize he was alive. Where his new Manor or whatever the fuck sort of place he lived—was a secret. Otherwise the Dark Lord would have dragged him back to his side already. 

What did his days consist of? Why did he want to rejoin the War efforts? Did he also ask for a representative from the Dark Lord to convince him? Was that why Nott was with him? Was she expected to convince him over his mate from Hogwarts? 

Was this a fucking trap like Shacklebolt said it was?

Hermione groaned, unlocking her door with a nonverbal alohomora. She’s been impulsive in agreeing to Malfoy’s request and she was to pay the price for—

She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw a letter on her pillow. Glancing around, Hermione didn’t see anything else disturbed. Leek must have dropped it off. Biting her lip, she walked closer, and gingerly picked up the parchment paper like it had teeth, and would bite her any second now. Though, the crying sensation she’d felt earlier disappeared as amusement replaced her frustration. It seemed that maybe seeing Malfoy again wouldn’t be a terrible decision after all. 

_______________________________

3.29.25 Author's Note

The banter is already starting. How did you feel reading Hermione's thoughts about how isolating and alone she feels? I thought it'd be really depressing to give so much of yourself and have no one appreciate the lengths you go to--to fight. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed the letters D/H exchanged! 

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Meeting Malfoy

“Don’t forget your thermal socks.” 

“Uh-huh…” 

“Or your winter coat.” 

“Yep.” 

“And don’t forget—”

“Harry.” Hermione pointed towards the small wardrobe which had been emptied for the most part, “I’ve spent the past few years living out of this wardrobe. I don’t have much.” 

The nagging wizard cocked an eyebrow, shaking his head before pushing back dark locks away from his forehead. It was getting long again, but he didn’t trust her with a haircut after almost shaving his head some time ago. “Merlin forbid I want to make sure you pack the necessities and not those erotic books you keep hidden—in plain sight—in your nightstand.” 

A rush of embarrassment made her cheeks warm as shock rooted her to where she stood halfway between the bed and the wardrobe. “Why were you snooping?” 

“I wanted snacks, didn’t have anymore, you were gone, and Shacklebolt wouldn’t let me go to the nearest le marché for Cheetos.” 

Hermione wasn’t even going to bring up the subject that she had certain toys in said nightstand and her best friend more than likely spotted them, and then shut the door with too much force. It would explain the crack on the side of the drawer she’d noticed a few weeks ago, but assumed she’d done it when she was… excited for lack of a better word.

“When this War is over, I’ll buy you a whole pallet full of Cheetos if you don’t go snooping through my drawers.” 

The wizard scrunched his nose, “When this War is over, I hope that we’ll have separate flats. I love you ‘Mione, but I’ll be glad to not have to worry about you getting yourself killed or feeling like a burden because Kingsley tried to glue you to my side.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he hastily added, “I know, I know. ‘Protecting’ me has never been the issue, it’s that it’s his orders to do so that annoy you. You’ve been doing it since you were eleven—I know. Still, it’ll be nice to feel like just a friend to you.” 

Hermione mulled his words over in her mind, understanding where he was coming from, but he also didn’t realize that he gave her a purpose too. 

If she had no one to protect and was a mere fighter in this war, she’d probably have lost herself a long time ago. If fighting was her only purpose, she’d sink closer to the oblivion of insanity which  she already felt on the cusp of her mind. 

This war had gone on too long. If she could convince Malfoy to use his Dragons for the Order and Dumbledore’s Army, then they could wipe out the Death Eaters and finally live happily ever after. 

Sensing the silence, Harry must have felt the need to fill it. “Have you ever thought about Malfoy since the Battle of Hogwarts?” 

Hermione thought about it for a moment, but couldn’t recall any specific time other than, “Only the mention of his parents’ public execution. Seamus had to tell me about how he ran away from the frontlines in Romania.” She turned to him, “I don’t understand why I haven’t thought about him, actually. He was such a big part of our childhood and yet… I feel like he was nothing more than a schoolyard bully with a complex.” She shrugged and walked over to her nightstand, resisting the urge to tease him when he purposefully glanced away. She packed up her books and toys into the luggage bag with an extension charm built inside it, “If anything, I feel sad for him.” 

Harry nodded, but didn’t have much to add which was rare. The boy Who Nagged always had something to say, but he ran a hand through his hair. 

She continued, “You’re going to text me when Kingsley picks a new safehouse right? I need to know where you are.” 

“You know I will.” 

“He’s going to ask for your phone so,” She reopened her bag only to pull out one of the spares she had, “Take this and don’t let him know you have it.” 

His brows furrowed, “Should I be worried you have a small arsenal of burner phones?” 

“Better prepared than not.” Hermione took a few steps back to lean back against the wardrobe while Harry gave her a sad smile, “Why do you look like that?” 

“…Like what?” 

“You were apparently the loudest one about me going to convince Malfoy so you shouldn’t look like you’re sending me off to my death.” 

Harry frowned and she felt like there was a dark shadow over him. He was oddly quieter since the meeting and she couldn’t tell if he was happy or sad she was leaving. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem as transparent as he normally was. 

She let out a harsh exhale. “What is it Harry? Are you hiding something else from me?” 

“You’re mad I hid the issue about the letter, huh?” 

“No, shite.” Hermione wanted to stay on the subject, but figuring out what was bothering Harry seemed like it was more important than this. “But you’re clearly on edge, you’re fidgeting, and if I hold your gaze for more than five seconds, you look away. So what is it?” 

“Let it go, Hermione.” He rubbed his arms, uncomfortable now to even look at her which she had to admit hurt a bit. “I’m just in my head about everything. Failing at Hogwarts. That the war’s gone this long. Gin’s gone. Fuck, many of our friends have died horrible deaths. I’m wondering what I could have—”

“Don’t.” Hermione snapped, pushing off the wardrobe, her voice rising. “Living in the past isn’t going to help the people you can save now.” 

“Aren’t you the one who’s always going through past battle plans to see what could be done better for the next one?” Harry grumbled sourly. 

Yes, but that was different right? Wasn’t it? 

“Look…” Harry bowed his head as if he was ashamed, but didn’t meet her eyes as he spoke, “I appreciate everything—”

“Nope.” 

“What?” 

“No.” Her voice was flat. “You’re not speaking like we aren’t going to see each other again. I don’t know what the fuck is going on to have put you in such a mood—if it’s Shacklebolt—just tell me. But, this?” She gestured up and down to him, “Is putting me on edge. I wasn’t even all that concerned about seeing Malfoy again, but now I feel like you’re sending me to someone who wants to kill me.” 

“To be fair, there is a small list of people who want you alive.” 

“That was an arsehole thing to say.” 

“You’re not exactly sunshine and rainbows.” 

“Now you sound like Ronald.” 

Harry huffed a laugh, “Try to get along with Malfoy, alright? For the sake of winning his dragons.” 

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Harry shook his head, a begrudging smile forming on his face, “Your best behavior is worse than my worst behavior.” 

Hermione shrugged, surveying the room with a sense of loss heightening as she took in the small details of the room. The tic-tac-toe game her and Harry left undone, burned into the wall because he refused to lose. He was pissed that she’d gotten the top two corners and the middle, leaving him to lose no matter what. 

“You’re exaggerating.” She grabbed the luggage, taking a moment to acknowledge the unease forming in the pit of her stomach. Why did she feel so sad now about leaving this room she hated being in? Why was Harry’s demeanor bothering her so much? Was it because she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him? After being by his side for over a decade, she liked to think she was a subject matter expert on all things Harry Potter. So to find out she wasn’t and that he was capable of keeping secrets from her—it was unsettling. 

She bit her lip, adding in a murmur. “It’s going to be alright, Harry.” Even with a tapestry of mental scars lining the corners of her mind, Hermione truly believed it. “We haven’t been fighting this long for it to be futile in the end.” 

But it seemed that Harry found the weight of hope to be too heavy because he offered her another lighter, yet heartbreaking smile. “Right. Of course it will.” 

Hermione didn’t believe it for a moment, but she couldn’t shatter the fragility of the moment. That’s fine. Her hope could carry the both of them. They would win this War. 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Hours later, Hermione was cutting the engine to a sleek, black Yamaha YZF-R6. The forest of Rambouillet was located to the West of Paris where a small town, Rambouillet, sat on its Southern edge. Malfoy hadn’t specified where in the National Forest he wanted to meet which gave her the inclination that he’d be able to find her. 

If he planned to use a tracking spell; he’d be searching all night for her. The necklace she’d bought in an antique shop almost four years ago proved to be effective. It was a simple little thing. A teardrop of moonstone on a delicate silver chain. The magic infused in the stone deterred any tracking or divination spells. Helpful when thousands of people wanted to kill her to please a delusional blood purist. 

The etang du coupe gorge was part of a 7.2 km trail that she’d spent the last hour riding around until she saw the pond. Splashes of orange, red, and yellow peppered the trees under the gentle moonlight. Part of her wished she’d found this place during the day, but she’d tried to spend as much time as she could with Harry without it feeling like their time together was forced. The inevitable could only be prolonged for so long. 

The dirt crackled beneath her boots as she headed towards the tree line to lean against one of the thicker trunks. With her luggage bag in hand, she surveyed the area. The lights were cut off so it would definitely be hard for Malfoy to find—

WOOOOOOSHHHHHHHHHH

The smaller trees snapped and the autumn leaves whirled past her as the harsh beat of wings sounded overhead. Hermione dropped to bag to cover her face with her arm, annoyed that her jeans were covered in dirt from the gusts of wind actively assaulting her senses. She drew her wand, but as she did, she heard a heavy thump, and then the unmistakable sound of metal crunching. 

She spun on her feet to see a familiar large, black dragon that blended in with the night. The creature was easily—Merlin—six meters tall. Hermione had to crane her neck even at this distance to see glowing amber eyes staring back at her. The black dragon might have been a Hungarian Horntail. It was similar to the one Harry had fought against in the Triwizard Tournament and she noticed the horde of spikes on its head. 

It let out a steam of smoke from its nostrils. If it meant to make her cough, then the dragon had succeeded because she had to wave her hand to clear the air around her. 

“That’s not very nice.” She bit out, clearing her throat. 

“Neither was stabbing her in the foot, Granger.” 

The glacial, aloof voice startled her. Hermione spun around, her fist expecting to meet a chest or a face—something tangible, but instead a larger hand wrapped around her wrist. The hold on it tightened almost painfully before her assailant used her momentum, twisted her arm behind her back, and shoved her face against the tree she’d previously been leaning against. Her cheek scraped against the rough bark and she felt a drop of blood slide down her cheek. 

Anger lit through her nervous system, causing her heart rate to become flighty and her trauma response to take over. She threw her head back, but that caused the pressure on her arm to increase and she grunted in pain. The witch reared back with her leg, muttering a spell that had the tip of a knife blade appearing from the back of her heel. 

“Fuck—” 

The once apathetic voice, now cursed in surprise and maybe amazement. He caught her calve; stopping her from sinking the blade into his thigh, but he’d dropped her arm which was a big mistake. 

Hermione’s elbow connected and she heard an audible crack. 

“—Mother fucker—” 

When she turned to grab her wand, she realized who was holding his bleeding nose. Malfoy stood there in a black leather bomber jacket. His trousers and an undershirt were the same shade of midnight which was a stark contrast to his fair skin and platinum hair. He didn’t wear it slicked back like he used to as a kid. 

As the moonlight caught the edges of his artfully disheveled hair, it seemed to leave him in a halo of light. The few pieces that fell a sliver past his eyebrows somehow had gotten blood on them from his gushing nosebleed. It painted his skin red as he brushed the pieces back irritably. 

“—Stand down, Scilla.” He snarled, shifting his icy gaze from her to the spot next to her. 

Hermione turned and saw that the black Horntail had its jaws open a meter from her—like it was about to bite her head off. She took a startled step back, hitting the trunk again while almost tripping over her small bag. 

“Tell your overgrown lizard to keep her teeth away from me.” 

Malfoy’s lips parted slightly as if stunned by her words or her audacity. Probably both.  The silence was loud, almost deafening as smoke pummeled from Scilla’s nostrils. The wizard in front of her didn’t even flinch at the charred smell before he grabbed his wand from the harness on his right left arm, and pointed an episkey to his nose. 

The crack made Hermione wince, but she wasn’t apologetic.

He must have thought she was. “You’re welcome for saving your life.” 

“You’re the one bleeding.” She pointed out flatly, “Why should I thank you?” 

“Because Scilla wants nothing more than to make you a midnight snack.” He lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe the blood from his cupid’s bow and chin. She pointedly ignored the way the moonlight danced across sculpted abs. “And I have half a mind to let her. When did you get so violent?” 

When did he get so… Attractive?

Hermione cleared her throat, crossing her arms to put a barrier between herself and the British version of Adonis in front of her. Sharp features, a strong jaw line; Malfoy had clearly filled out in the years they’d been apart. He had a sophisticated grace about him even as he was clearly eyeing her as well. But whatever he saw, she couldn’t discern because as quick as the emotions appeared in his eyes, they melted into a grey oblivion. 

“When did you get so handsy?” 

“Don’t act like you didn’t throw the first punch.” Humor briefly lit his expression, “Only this time, I know how to stop your fist from meeting my face.” 

“Pity. Considering how well acquainted they are.” She reflected in a bratty tone, noticing the muscles in his jaw flex. His eyes flickered over to Scilla long enough to pin the dragon with a harsh glare before that same glare landed on her. “What?” 

“We need to get going.” Malfoy kept shifting his attention to the dragon, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he caught her scrutinizing stare, “I hope you didn’t fancy a ride back on your Muggle contraption. We need to get back as soon as possible.” 

Hermione took a step forward, absently making the small bag disappear. She’d conjure it again later when they were at their destination. “Malfoy Manor?” 

For the briefest moment, she thought there was a flash of pain in his eyes, but then he redirected his features into something haughty. “No. Somewhere better.” He pointed behind the overgrown lizard, “And you won’t be needing that anymore.” 

Now that she’d stepped closer to him and farther from Scilla, Hermione was able to see that the crash of metal earlier had been the dragon landing on her motorcycle. Her mouth fell open and she landed a heated glower on the dragon who…. Looked like it was smiling? The corner of the dragon’s mouth were pulled higher than its resting expression. 

“Is this payback?” 

Another puff of smoke had her eyes burning. 

“No, she wanted blood for blood.” Malfoy pointed to his cheek, “And that’s why your face met the tree. Really, you should be thanking me. What she had in mind was much worse.” 

An indignant huff left the dragon before she turned her back to them and looked at Malfoy over her shoulder. Hermione watched as amber eyes trailed from him to her, and then back to the blond wizard. 

“Why do I feel like you’re arguing with that—”

“For your sake, I’d refrain from the lizard comments, Granger. I can only save your life so many times.” Malfoy said tiredly. He ran a hand through fair strands of hair, causing them to fall haphazardly against his forehead. “We need to get going. It’s dangerous being outside the wards for her.” 

Wards? 

What wards was he talking about? 

“Where are we going?” Hermione didn’t move from her spot, crossing her arms. Was she supposed to trust that Malfoy wasn’t going to kill her? Shacklebolt probably agreed to this on the basis that the aristocrat in front of her was unpredictable. He probably hoped that Malfoy would have his overgrown lizard eat her and then be done with it all. “If you’re so worried about her being outside the wards, then I can’t imagine you would be willing to have them fight in the War. Which means this entire arrangement of yours where Theo and I are expected to sway your opinion is a bloody hoax and a trap.” 

Scilla made another huff and then a throaty sound that might have been the dragon version of a laugh. 

Malfoy glared at her, his lips tightening in a firm line. “If I haven’t said it before, it’s annoying how astute you are. But I can’t explain it—” 

“Here I’ll do it for you. You want me to come with you and you’re expecting me to simply agree with that.” She let out a humorless laugh, taking a step back from him, “I didn’t survive this long because I’m naive, Malfoy.” Hermione’s wand was at her hand in an instant, “If you had no intentions of using the dragon’s for war to begin with then I don’t have a reason to go with you.” 

He went to say something, blatantly frustrated—but that sentimental response was what distracted him from the smoky apparition from behind him. What chilled her wasn’t the fact that it was clearly someone who wanted to kill them. It wasn’t even the legion robes reflecting under the moonlight. 

What made her freeze was the pink scarf around his neck. The snatcher took a deep breath, inhaling as several more apparitions appeared around them. 

“You still smell of Vanilla. And it’s still my favourite. You and I have some unfinished business, Hermione Granger.” 

Malfoy whirled around, the end of his wand sparking a malignant green color as a roar of flames encircled the area. “Avada Kedavra!” 

Scabior disappeared in the blink of an eye, but the curse landed on another one of his snatchers. There were eight from what Hermione could quickly see, but she was focused on the one that still haunted her nightmares. 

The one that made her run every morning. 

The one that made her study and master Krav Maga. 

The one that had reappeared beside her, but before he could point his wand in her direction, she’d knocked it out of his hand, and brought her leg up; kicking him straight in the chest. He tumbled backwards, tripping over a root, and she heard the splash from the pond water. 

She wanted to go after him, but Malfoy was there, wrapping an arm around her waist from behind and lifting her off her feet. Rage spiraled through her and she threw her elbow into his abdomen. He grunted, but didn’t stop walking; half-dragging her towards the overgrown lizard who was currently biting the head off some wizard and spitting it out on another. 

If she wasn’t so fucking angry that Malfoy had grabbed her, she might have laughed. 

“Let me go, you insufferable prat.” She snarled, getting ready to throw another elbow into his abdomen. 

“Keep your bony fucking elbows away from me.” Malfoy bit out, shoving her towards the dragon who still looked a bit displeased to have Hermione near her back, “Get on the fucking dragon, Granger.” 

“No.” 

“Look. Shacklebolt had someone follow you. And now snatchers know where the fuck we are. How long do you think it’ll take before more dangerous wizards start appearing?” Malfoy was in her face now, shouting and pointing towards Scilla, “Get on the fucking dragon. I won’t lose Scilla because you want to be a fucking brat right now. You can hate me when we get to where we need to go.” 

Hermione still wanted to argue, but she was a bit caught off guard by the ire burning in his eyes, and the protective sweep of his gaze as he launched a bombarda towards someone who’d raised their wand towards the dragon. She bit the inside of her cheek, sending him a brief glare before climbing onto the back of the dragon that she was more or less convinced wanted to kill her. 

The scales were surprisingly smooth and warm. In some parts they almost felt hot to the touch. Malfoy sat right beside her, his longer legs and muscled thighs bracketing her. Wings batted once, twice, and then the ground disappeared as Scilla launched upwards. Hermione knew for a fact she’d have slipped off had Malfoy not wrapped his arms around her front and forced her to learn forward by putting a hand on her back between her shoulders. 

“The wind isn’t so bad if you lean towards her.” He shouted over the roar she let out as someone on a broom flew past them. “Fuck.” He aimed his wand towards the wizard, launching a fire bolt that had the end of the broom bursting into flames.  

Hermione watched as another soared past them, launching a severing charm towards the dragon’s side, but she parried it. The wizard got too close to Scilla and she snapped her head towards the man, sinking her teeth into his chest cavity. 

If the wind wasn’t so loud, she’d have been able to hear the cracking and snapping of his bones, but she was able to watch as entrails spilled out as parts of the man fell in mid air.  She was sure that Scilla might have had intestines stuck to the side of her mouth, but Malfoy was there with a cleaning charm. 

“Aren’t you considerate?” She grumbled, disgusted by the spray of blood that had landed on the dragon’s side. At least before the wizard behind her cleaned that too. “Where are we going?” 

“To the Dragon’s Den, Granger.” His voice was next to her ear and she could feel the heat of his body pressed against her. It was better than feeling the cold wind. Hermione suppressed a shiver as she felt his lips brush against her ear, “You’d better be on your best behavior. The dragon’s don’t take kindly to disrespect.” 

Hermione swallowed. “You or the dragons?” 

There was a silent rumble of laughter she felt against her back. His voice was sly and almost teasing. “Misbehave and find out.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Quid Pro Quo

She wasn’t sure how long they’d been flying, but it had to be at least six hours with the threat of dawn on the horizon. Hermione hadn’t even realized she’d dozed off. Malfoy’s arms were wrapped around her front, hands resting against her hips. Her back was fully leaning against him and her head tucked under his chin. He must have felt her stir because his hold on her loosened a bit and she felt his body grow a bit tense like he was preparing for a fight. Did he expect her to be pissed? She was the one who’d fallen asleep against him. 

“How much longer?” Hermione called out over the wind which wasn’t as loud as it was before now that Scilla’s wings were languidly sailing through the air, “I don’t imagine there’s a continental breakfast on lizard airlines.” 

“For fuck’s sake—” 

Malfoy lurched forward and her upper body came into contact with Scilla’s hard scales. He gripped the the sharp spines sticking out of her body and then muttered a sticking charm just as Scilla stopped flying. Her wings tucked in close enough that they almost hit Hermione in the face and then the dragon was nose diving down. 

They were all spiraling down. 

If it weren’t for the sticking charm and Malfoy’s quick reflexes, she would have slipped off completely and been plummeting towards a dense forest. Hermione’s heartbeat was racing as the tops of the trees were getting steadily closer. 

“Apologize.” He shouted above her, “Because she’s stubborn enough to kill all three of us.” 

“For what?!” 

“The lizard comment you bloody brat.” He snapped, “Hurry.” 

“Okay—Okay! I'm sorry! You’re not an overgrown lizard.” 

A reasonably grown one. That didn’t stop Scilla. The trees were even closer. She could see branches now even with the lowlight of dawn. 

Malfoy cursed loudly, “Need I remind you that dragons can read thoughts? If you’re being a fucking brat in your head—she can hear you plenty fine.” 

Ah fuck. Okay. Hermione inwardly cringed. Look, truce? She thought a bit remorsefully, I’m a bit on edge; what with there being a War and Malfoy’s presence doesn’t help. 

There was silence and she was sure they were all going to die. 

But then a crisp, hauntingly pretty voice filtered in through her mind. 

I’d have thought Draco’s presence would have helped… considering you’ve been lusting over him since the moment you saw him in the woods, witch. 

Hermione’s cheeks heated considerably, but Scilla’s throaty amusement was drowned out by the sound of her wings unfolding and beating fast to gain altitude. She had begun to soar upwards when she let out a devastating war cry that had Malfoy letting out an equally agonized shout. She spun to look at him, but all she saw was carnal anger and wrath warring on his face. 

“Stay.” He growled, moving to a crouch before Scilla leveled out and they were upright again, but something was off. The dragon beneath them was wobbling and Malfoy stood up on the dragon’s back in mid-air. His expression was pinched with anger and worry, but he managed to lean over the side of her without falling off. “She’s hurt.” 

The anger did a well enough job of hiding the fear and distress in his voice, but Hermione could see it in his expression. The lines formed between his eyebrow and a vein she could see on the side of his neck pulsed with what she could easily assume was anxiety. 

“Badly?” 

Malfoy nodded, appearing distracted for a few precious seconds before sitting back down. “Scilla’s not going to make it to the Dragon’s Den, but she’ll make it into the wards. Someone was hiding in the woods waiting.” 

Hermione wanted to ask more questions. Badly—Was it fatal?—is what she really wanted to know, but Malfoy didn’t seem to be paying her any attention now. Even when she glanced back at him, his eyes were a deep, stormy grey, and he didn’t take his gaze off Scilla whose head kept rising and falling. 

Eventually, it didn’t go back up, and her wings were no longer taut against the wind. They fell against her body as that too went limp. Wind caught in her lifeless wings had them tumbling and turning unnaturally midair. They were falling from the sky and Hermione went to rush to a standing position, but Malfoy deliberately gripped her hips. 

Fear seized her, unsure of what his plans were, but then she felt it. 

The familiar tug of Apparition sent her stomach plummeting. When they reappeared on the forest floor, it was close enough to see Scilla’s scaled body hitting the ground hard. She crashed into the woodland, her tail smashing against a tree. Hermione and Malfoy hastily broke apart, narrowly missing the tree that fell down between them. A cloud of dust and debris puffed up; blocking her view of the fallen dragon. When it disappeared, she could see Malfoy already standing, and striding forward. 

Hermione watched from a few meters away as the dragon’s eyes stayed closed. Scilla must have already been dead before hitting the ground. There was a large gash along her underbelly where scales were torn off. A rich, deep red liquid seeped into the ground, sprouting purple flowers where blood kissed the ground. 

She stood while Malfoy knelt down beside the dragon’s neck. His hand gently stroked her jaw like Scilla was sleeping and not dead. Strong shoulders were wracked with stress and misery. His left hand clutched his wand with a death grip. 

“I’m sorry. I failed you.” Malfoy’s voice was audible because the dragon could no longer hear his thoughts. That realization made it feel like a block of ice was sinking from her chest to the pit of her stomach. 

Part of Hermione felt like she was intruding on a private moment between Draco and Scilla. Whatever his relationship with the dragons, it was strong enough that he’d disobeyed direct orders from the Dark Lord and had become a ghost to the War.  

Hermione wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder. 

And say what? 

‘I’m sorry that Scilla and I were bickering and it led to her death’? Should she feel guilty that Scilla lost her life because of it? Was this something to feel guilty for? It hadn’t been her decision for Scilla to nosedive where spells could hit her, but it sure felt like her fault. Did Malfoy think it was her fault? Did he blame her? Was she making this about her now? 

She took a step back, shifting her weight from one side to the next. Hermione resisted the urge to fidget again, choosing to glance around in the event someone wanted to make an unexpected appearance. Something she realized a bit too late was the fact that it was November and the air here was… warm. 

The flowers were sprouting where the creature’s body laid; beginning to cover Scilla entirely. Hermione made a mental note to ask Malfoy about it later when he wasn’t grieving the loss of a… Friend? A gentle spring breeze danced through the trees, running through her hair. She smelled the flowers in the wind, a sweet almost citrusy scent. 

Without any warning, the blond rose and sighed inaudibly. He looked over at her and she automatically steeled her nerves—waiting to be blamed. Malfoy’s expression grew pensive and pinched, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead he nodded towards what she thought was an arbitrary direction, “The cottage is a couple miles ahead on foot. You go on, I’ll need to stay behind and… explain this.” 

Cottage? Not a Manor?

“I’m not leaving you.” The admission made an unreadable expression cross his face before it was gone as quickly as it’d appeared. Hermione clarified, “I don’t know these woods and you said we’d be within the wards—does that mean—”

“You won’t find Order or Legion here that aren’t allowed.” 

“Allowed..? Who determines that?” 

“C—The Dragons.” 

She narrowed her eyes, catching his brief little slip. “Are you lying?” 

“No. The dragons do meet to discuss who may be allowed on the lands. It’s their magic protecting the Den after all.” 

“Then why did it sound like you were going to say something else?” 

Malfoy sent her a scathing glance. “Go, Granger. Theo will be at the cottage waiting for you. You can’t be here.” 

“Because you think I had a hand in her death.” 

“Because you don’t exactly play nice with dragons and when they or he arrive, I doubt you’ll keep your mouth—” Malfoy was cut off as wind hurdled their way. 

The wizard backed up to where she stood as a giant figured shadowed overhead; blocking out the thin strokes of daylight. She stumbled backward, falling on her arse as Malfoy stood tall with a slight bend in his knees. It allowed himself to brace against the harsh winds. Hermione wished she’d known about that. 

He threw up a simple protego charm as more debris flew in their direction. A dragon, a bit larger than Scilla landed in front of them. Its scales were black too, but as early dawn filtered in through the gaps in the treetops, Hermione could see a bit of emerald in its scales. Horns stuck out sharply from its skull and the sides of its face. Instead of yellow and amber, its eyes were a daunting emerald color that reminded her of Dark magic. Viridescent like the color casted from an avada circled in its eyes; framed by smaller, protruding horns. 

It almost resembled the Hungarian Horntail that Harry had fought against during the TriWizard Tournament, but this dragon had ridges along its back. 

She knew exactly what this creature was. 

A Norwegian Ridgeback. Like Norbert. Or Norberta considering Hagrid had gotten it wrong the first time. Hermione knew that the more brown in texture the scales were, the less hostile a dragon was supposed to have. Well. This clearly wasn’t the run of the mill ridgeback. Besides the slight green tinge, this dragon’s scales were a Stygian brown color—nearly black. The sort of black voidness that consumed light. 

Did that mean this dragon was hostile? Extremely hostile? Enough so that Malfoy wanted her gone before ‘he’ showed up? 

Upon seeing Scilla dead on the ground, almost completely covered by purple flowers, the Norwegian Ridgeback stalked towards Malfoy and bent his head. In Malfoy’s face, it let out the most ferocious roar that had the blond’s hair windswept in seconds and his cheeks a burning red color from the sudden heat in its breath. Weren’t Norwegian Ridgebacks venomous? For a moment, Hermione thought he was going to roast Malfoy for something he had nothing to do with. 

An unfamiliar wave of terror capsized her ability to think rationally. Hermione scrambled up as Malfoy glared at her sideways, “Sit the fuck down.” 

Oh goody. 

Now indignation replaced her very minute, very momentary concern for his behalf. She ignored his command, standing only a couple steps behind him. The dragon in question was no long roaring in Malfoy’s face, but its teeth were bared. While the dragon’s teeth in the front were serrated and shorter, they got longer towards the back of its mouth. Midway where the teeth were the longest and curved; there were venom glands and right above in its gums—venom ducts. 

Despite this seething, hostile dragon, Malfoy was staring straight into its eyes. His chin was lifted and Hermione wondered if they were communicating like Scilla had earlier to her. She hadn’t even been aware that dragons could speak to humans. It made her wonder if the Horntail had ever said anything to Harry and if so, what? 

She stood there, silent as a grave. 

Glancing from the dragon to Malfoy, the witch wondered what they might be discussing. There was an exhale of steam from the dragon’s nose and she resisted the urge to cough or wipe her eyes from the smoke. Malfoy didn’t so much as blink, but he did nod once. 

Hermione counted 49 heart beats before the Dragon reared his head towards Scilla. In a surprisingly intimate gesture, the dragon stalked forward until he could rest his forehead against the female dragon’s. 

And then he let loose a fire that would make Hestia’s appear cold and brittle. 

She resisted the urge to take a step backwards and it helped that Malfoy steadied her by placing a hand on the small of her back. 

His voice was low, barely heard over the loud roaring of flames consuming dragon flesh. “Don’t. Cadeyrn will see it as a slight and he’s not as nice as Scilla is—was.” 

Scilla was nice? 

By the time the dragon had been reduced to ashes, Hermione felt like her cheeks were on fire. With Malfoy’s fair complexion, he looked like he was blushing up a storm; but the moment his cold gaze landed on her; all soft features disappeared. He wasn’t blushing, he was burning from the flames of a friend who’d just been killed. 

Guilt tugged at her chest, trying to crawl in and make a nest for itself. The dragon now known as Cadeyrn met Malfoy’s gaze one last time before launching itself into the air. Neither one of them said anything until the dust settled. 

“He seemed nice.” 

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what he was thinking.” 

She grimaced. “Nothing worse than what a Death Eater probably thinks when they see me.” 

“I doubt that.” Hermione was gearing up to verbally spar with him when he spoke up before she could, “We won’t be able to Apparate to the cottage. Cadeyrn’s temporarily restricted the ability to use magic in this area to ensure no one tries to break through the ancient wards.” 

Malfoy didn’t wait for her confirmation or a sign of understanding before he started heading in the direction he’d pointed out earlier. Right. The cottage. 

After an insufferable thirty seconds of silence, she broke it. “I’m sorry about Scilla.” 

He didn’t look at her. Instead, he put his wand back in the holster at his forearm and kept his gaze on the forest ahead of them. “Are you saying that because she was important to me or because you feel guilty about her death?” 

Why make a distinction? “Both.” 

“I’ll accept your condolences, but not your guilt.” Malfoy shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, seeming almost fidgety. Hermione didn’t know him well enough to follow  where his thoughts might be leading him to. “No one commands a dragon except for another dragon.” 

“Cadeyrn. Is he the leader amongst them?” Malfoy sighed and nodded, prompting her to ask another question, “Then he’s who decides who’s allowed here, isn’t he? It sounded like you were going to say a ‘c’ name before you changed your mind.” 

“I hate how intuitive you are sometimes.” 

“You also hate my right hook, but they both meet their mark.” The witch said seamlessly, watching with a twinge of surprise as his mouth twitched fighting a… smile? “Why would Cadeyrn agree to me being here?” 

“Because I asked him to.” 

“Why?” 

“You’re the Order’s representative, are you not?” His head tilted, “Aren’t you supposed to convince me that the dragon’s should aide you?” 

Hermione thought back to the Order and how she’d been treated. The isolation. The surprisingly harsh treatment and cold shoulder which left her feeling numb with frostbite. 

“I don’t see why you would choose me over your best friend.” Hermione stepped over a log which was riddled with enough bugs to make her feel like she needed to be hosed down. Funny how she’d seen the cruelty of war and yet bugs grossed her out more than a three week old decaying body. “The way I see it, my days are numbered.” 

“All our days are numbered, Granger.” 

She didn’t think he was wrong about that. “You will pick Nott, won’t you?” 

“Not unless you convince me to choose you.” 

Her eyes narrowed at the side of his face, “I won’t use my body to do it.” Evidently caught off guard, Malfoy jerked his head towards her to see her smirking. “Oh good, you do know how to look at someone when they’re speaking to you. For a moment, I thought I’d turned into a Gorgon.” 

“With curls like yours, you’re not far off. Especially after plummeting to the ground.” Malfoy reached out, grabbing one of her wind blown curls between his forefinger and thumb. “I’m surprised you haven’t cut your hair off and turned into G.I. Jane yet.” 

Now she was the one surprised. “How do you know about G.I. Jane?” If she was right, that only came out at the end of the 90’s and she was sure that the Dark Lord didn’t host Muggle Movie night with his warm and cozy Death Eaters. If he did, what did he season the popcorn with? Hypocrisy, fascism and prejudice? At least he couldn’t smell such a disgusting concoction.

“Theo brought over a telly and in the evenings, he makes me watch all of his favourite movies and sitcoms.” 

Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott watched sitcoms? Movies? They were busy watching Friends meanwhile most of Europe was busy fighting for their lives. The thought annoyed her as much as it amused her. Also, they were both on the opposing side of the War. One that hated the idea of Muggles and magic mixing. So why did Malfoy have a television? 

“You fled the war to watch Ross cheat on Rachel?”  

Malfoy shot her a look like she’d just turned his breakfast cereal into flobberworms. “No one likes a wet blanket, Granger.” 

Wet blanket? Did she spoil the show for him? She was sure it was still airing, so it’s not like she spoiled the ending. 

“No one likes a enigmatic host who sends a letter to two opposing sides in a war, demanding why he should side with them, when he’s pointedly stayed out of the war for years. Seriously, Malfoy? What’s your angle here? What was the point of all this? I told you already, I won’t use—”

“If you say ‘my body’ again, I’m going to feed you to Cadeyrn.” He interrupted curtly, kicking a stick out of his way. His jaw was tense again and she wondered what was going through his mind. "You reacted a bit oddly when Scabior showed earlier. You flinched at his name just now too.” His shrewd gaze was locked on her. “What did he do?” 

Hermione briefly wondered if this was something she wanted to open up to Malfoy about. Did he know about the Horcruxes? He had to have. Nagini was the last known horcrux that Voldemort created. When Neville was about to grab the sword of Gryffindor and possibly attack the snake, the Dark Lord had almost killed him. Hermione remembered the ground shaking. Half of Hogwarts falling—all the stones from the towers came crashing down and it was anarchy for a moment. It was the distraction they’d needed to make a quick exist. To flee. 

“A question for a question. But you have to be honest.” She bargained. 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, looking up ahead at the path they were on. “I’m always honest.” She could still see nothing, but forest up ahead. “Keep that in mind when you ask your question.” 

Cryptic. And a bit unnerving. 

Hermione nodded, feeling that ice in her stomach return as she thought of Scabior. “Before Harry, Ron and I were snatched and brought to the Manor, we were caught in the woods. Scabior found my scarf by our campsite. The same one he was wearing today. He tracked us down using it and when we were brought before Bellatrix, she promised Greyback and Scabior that they could do whatever they wanted with me. I don’t think you were in the room yet when she’d said that. Greyback specialized in biting and indoctrinating children, so I knew then that he didn’t plan to turn me. If he didn’t want to make me a werewolf, then I’m sure you can guess what he wanted to use me for. Same thing with Scabior. Apparently Muggle-borns are dirty mudbloods except when it comes to nonconsensual sexual activities.” 

Hermione didn’t think it was possible, but Malfoy’s complexion seemed to pale a little more. The sunlight was halfway through the trees, slowly making its ascent, and fabricating Malfoy’s hair to look more like honey rather than silver or white. 

The brunette looked away, not wanting to see an expression of pity on his face. She wasn’t even sure if he would pity her or did pity her, but it was something she didn’t want from him. Clearing her throat, she continued, “It’s fine. That’s why I know self-defense that goes farther than defensive spells.” 

“You don’t say.” He subconsciously touched his nose, but when he caught her gaze, Malfoy smirked. It didn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t think breaking my nose was an accident.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

That made his smirk grow, becoming somewhat genuinely amused, until she asked her question, “Why did you send those letters, Malfoy? What was the point in bringing me here?” 

A silence bloomed between them. It flowered and she thought he wouldn’t answer her question until he sighed. “You revealed the safe house to them.” 

“To who?” 

“The Dark Lord.” 

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed, “No I didn’t.” 

“In the woods of Pierrefitt-sur Sauldre. You were speaking to Potter and you said he-who-shall-not-be-named. Right after, Weasley appeared, caught by a Legion fighter, no? Perhaps you thought it was a one off, but he was sent by Bellatrix to investigate who was speaking about him. When the fighter didn’t return, my aunt knew it was a lead. Theo told me that they were planning on attacking Château de Falase last night.” 

“Last night—but they were packing and getting ready leave—Harry—”

“They got out fine. By the time a small army apparated there and worked through the wards; everyone was gone.” 

Hermione felt stupider than a River Troll. If she were to sit in front of an exam and her opponent was the troll who’d attacked her when she was eleven; the troll would score higher than her. Even if he took his quill and stuffed it in his nose. The troll be a lot smarter than her because at least he wouldn’t have said Voldemort out loud. 

“I didn’t even realize…” She barely spoke above a whisper, disbelief and self-loathing competing to eat her alive. “How do you know they’re safe? That Harry made it out alive?” 

Malfoy didn’t answer her. He nodded his head and she saw that they were approaching a clearing in the woods. No, not a clearing. It was the line of the forest. It opened up to a large open field with a quaint little cottage in its midst. From what she could see, the right side of the house was made with stone. There were two sweeping arches that revealed a quaint patio area. The front facing side of the house was white with green shutters and decorative wood casings around the windows. 

English Ivy crawled up the stone and the front of the house. She could see a few gardens on the right side of the cottage where the patio was. There were so many different vegetables and some fruits growing. 

Tomatoes. Squash. Green beans. Carrots. Peppers. A couple pumpkins. Potatoes. And if she was right, lots of herbs. Even a few magical plants—dittany. 

Gods, Dittany was like gold these days. 

Hermione saw something flit in her peripheral and she stopped, dead in her tracks. She reached for her wand out of instinct, but Malfoy grabbed her wrist. 

“Don’t.” And then his tone turned a bit musing, “I don’t think he’d fancy you turning him into dust after he’s been waiting for you for so long.” 

The little creature was closer now, bounding towards her with bright eyes. 

Crookshanks. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: How Do You Fancy Your Eggs?

The half-kneazle soared into her arms, nuzzling his squashed face into the crook of her neck, and purring loudly. Hermione felt something heavy in her chest. She hadn’t seen him since before the battle when she’d placed him on her bed. That night, Hermione had been naive to think that good would prevail and she’d see him again. She’d spent many nights wondering about him and crying—hoping that the creature was alive and safe. Right now, Crookshanks represented a part of her life she wanted to go back to. 

“How…” Her voice was embarrassingly nostalgic before she cleared her throat, “How is he here?” She spotted his tail, “And what happened?” 

His long, bottle-brush tail was now… Shorter. 

A lot shorter. 

Less than half of what it was before. 

Malfoy reached over, scratching Crooks behind his right ear like he’d done it a thousand times. Back in school, she remembered the cat scratching him whenever he came too close, but now the little traitor closed his eyes and leaned into Malfoy’s touch. The corner of the blond’s lip ghosted upwards, “When Cadeyrn was barely out of his shell, he lived in the cottage. I took a bit longer than necessary to bring him a cut of meat one night and the next thing I know—Crookshanks is screaming like a banshee from the other room. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move so fast. Come to find out, Cadeyrn has no patience whatsoever and tried to eat him.” 

“You poor thing.” 

The ‘poor thing’ appeared to be basking in the glow of his—Wait. 

Hermione pointed to him while Malfoy’s hand retreated back to his side. “You might know his favorite spots to be petted, but you’re barely step-dad material. He loves me more.” 

He looked genuinely affronted by the decision. “I saved him from the rubble. I’m definitely in the league of 'cat dad’ now.” 

“Crooks got his tail eaten while in your care. You’re a negligent dad at best.” She accused, resisting the urge to smile at the way his glacial eyes narrowed at her.. 

“At least I’m not the mom that went to get milk. You weren’t in his life for 5 years,” Malfoy quipped back, “I’d say at best we’re negligent parents.” 

That made her insides unnaturally warm and something akin to amusement sparked in her. She hadn’t verbally sparred with anyone like this in… Godric knows how long. “I refuse to share custody with you.” 

“If it wasn’t for me, our son would be dead.” Malfoy pointed out, smirking faintly. “And he loves me, so you’re going to have to deal with it.” 

Hermione opened her mouth for a rebuttal when the doors opened and closed near the patio. From where they stood; Nott was walking out. He was dressed casually, in joggers and a black t-shirt with Fran Fine from The Nanny plastered across the front. A far cry from what he’d been wearing in Mykovo. 

“It’s about time. Where’s ol’ girl?” Ol’ girl? Nott ran a hand through his messy brown hair, “I told her I’d save the biggest sheep for her—” He stopped short, seeing something on Malfoy’s face that Hermione didn’t. “What happened?” 

Any trace of lightheartedness left his face, his voice, and his body. His demeanor was taut again, jaw clenching before he spoke. “She’d dead. They sliced through her side when she was flying.” 

Malfoy didn’t bring up that she’d been bickering with Scilla, so maybe he really didn’t blame her. Instead, she shifted her attention over to Nott who had a dark look on his face. Wordlessly, she watched as smoke rose from the ground, covering his body, and then she realized he was wearing a Death Eater’s robe. 

There was a manic grin on his face. “Time to go hunting then.” 

“Cadeyrn upped the wards temporarily. You won’t be able to apparate.” He started walking again, so Hermione followed next to him as they approached the flat. “I’m going to make breakfast. Why don’t you show Granger a tour of the cottage?” 

The Death Eater robes disappeared, allowing Hermione to relax a bit, but she was still very suspicious of Nott. He’d been trying to tell her something in the woods. Now would be the time to question him about it. 

Glancing her way, Nott looked her up and down. “Depends. Are you going to try and slice my stomach open like dear old dad? Because I don’t know if you know this, but I prefer my insides staying inside.” 

“Well that depends. Are you in the habit of torturing Muggles?” Hermione retorted, watching as Crooks’ head turned as Malfoy reached for him. 

“Theo’s only habit is torturing me.” He scooped up a traitorously willing half-kneazle before striding into the cottage without another world. 

Hermione scowled, “I’m beginning to think Draco Malfoy stole my cat.” 

“No,” Nott stared after where Malfoy disappeared, “Crooks just fancies bacon.” 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The cottage was surprisingly homey. There was a white sectional with several pillows on it that varied shades of beige and sage. A white rug on a light colored wooden floor. There was the telly she’d heard so much about paused on an episode of The Nanny. One wall was stone whereas the other three were wooden, but two of them had shelves littering them. Books both Muggle and magical decorated the shelving and her fingers itched to filter through them. 

One large framed windows allowed for plenty of natural light to filter in now that the sun had risen. She heard the sound of pans clattering in what was likely the kitchen, but Nott led her down a hallway with four doors and one at the end of the hall. He pointed to the two doors to their left. 

“That one is an exercise room. Lots of heavy things that Draco likes to lift up and put down. Me, on the other hand, I much prefer lifting popcorn to my mouth, and brainstorming how to end this stupid war. Next to it is my room. Across the hall is the staircase leading down to the potion’s room. And this…” He walked to the room next to the staircase, opening the door to reveal a bedroom. “This is your room.” 

A plush bed with silk red sheets. Pale wooden walls that were almost white. There was a wardrobe with a vanity and a nightstand next to her desk. Candles floated overhead. There was a vase on the nightstand with flowers that had starry, white petals and yellow dotting the center. She didn’t know what type of flower they were, but they were pretty. 

Hermione noticed that there was clearly an extension charm on the room because a large bathroom peeked through an open doorway. 

“What about the door at the end of the hall?” Hermione inquired, using nonverbal magic to make her luggage bag appear. After using just a simple spell, she felt like her magic was gone—like it was suppressed. Did this have to do with the dragon and the wards he’d put up? She sighed inwardly, eyes flickering to the luggage. She’d put everything away later. “You didn’t mention that one. Is it an evil torture chamber?” 

“You keep bringing up torture, I’m beginning to think you’re a masochist.” Nott leaned against the doorframe; not having stepped into her room. “That’s Draco’s room.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “What were you trying to say in the forest?” 

She watched as his eyes glimmered with twisted delight. “I was wondering how long it’d take before you asked. I’m glad you didn’t say anything in front of him.” 

Draco was him, that much she guessed. “Why?” 

“Because he doesn’t want you to know.” 

“Know… What?” 

Nott’s smile was tight. “Draco thinks that you’re going to run off the moment you learn about Pansy and he asked me specifically not to say anything. But what sort of host would I be if I ignored your questions while giving you a tour?” Before Hermione could ask the question, the wizard ran a hand through his brown hair. Locks circled around his fingers as he clarified, “Kingsley has Pansy.” 

Kingsley… has… Pansy?  

“Explain.” 

“A few weeks ago, Pansy disappeared from her Estate. I wasn’t given many details by her parents, but the House Elves told me they saw someone from the Order snatching her in the gardens.” Hermione had never seen someone pull off looking murderous and dangerous in a Fran Fine t-shirt, but there was a dark look in his eyes as he gazed back at her, “I asked Draco if he could come out to take a look and it turned out that it was Kingsley.” 

Lines formed as confusion bloomed inside her. “How would you be able to tell?” 

“At Malfoy Manor, there’s items there that belong to each of the Order members. Once Scilla was able to scent out the magic signature left behind, Draco brought her all the items. She was the one to determine who kidnapped Pansy.” 

Hermione was both surprised and amazed. “I didn’t realize dragons could do that.” 

“Not all can. Scilla was very powerful.” There was a mourning note to his voice as he sighed and crossed his arms, “She was important to all of us. And she’s the only one I trust with Draco going to battle. Cadeyrn’s old enough now that he sways the other dragons—I doubt any will step forward.” 

“Step forward? What do you mean?” 

“It’s nothing.” Nott ended that conversation, but referred to a past one, “If Kingsley took my fiancé, I’m going to kill him.” 

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, “By all means. I don’t blame you.” 

Surprise flickered across his face. “You don’t care if I do?” 

“Not at all.” The witch snorted inwardly, “And while I would love to run and save Pansy, I can’t. Don’t look at me like that—it’s not because I don’t want to, it’s because they moved safe houses when Malfoy sent them letters. The place was compromised.” And then in a sour note, she added, “And I also fucked up. I said his name and there was an attack—”

“I know. Who do you think told Draco as soon as he heard about it?” Nott smirked when her lips parted; indicating that this was news to her. “When the snatcher didn’t return, Bella knew there was something worth investigating. By the time they’d arrived and broken the wards; everyone was gone. The place was empty.” 

“You were there?” 

“I was.” He nodded, biting his lip as his expression grew pensive, “Do you have any idea where the Order would have moved to?” 

Slowly, she shook her head. “Let me think and if I find anything, I’ll tell you. But I did give Harry a burner phone, he’s supposed to text me the new address of the safe house. When I get it, we can go look for Pansy.” 

“You can’t call him now?” 

“I don’t have the number.” 

Nott’s shoulder’s sagged. “And here I was, excited that you’d go all Gryffindor and we’d be off to save Pansy by lunch.” 

Hermione frowned, frustrated. Not by his quip at the end, but rather by the idea that Kingsley had kidnapped a woman and all of them had no idea. Had he hidden her in one of the tunnels? Why would he kidnap Pansy Parkinson? 

“Nott, is there—”

“Theo.” When he noticed her blank look, he added, “Everyone referred to my father as Nott. I’d rather not be reminded by him.” 

She blinked, “You weren’t close to him? I thought—”

“There’s a lot that you think, but that’s kind of difficult when you don’t know.” 

“Know what?” 

“Anything, golden girl.” Theo replied blandly, pushing off the door frame as he straightened out, “I’m sure you want to freshen up. There’s shampoo and a bunch of girl shite in the bathroom. I remember a lot of products that Pansy used, so I included them in there, but if you need anything else just call out for Leek.” 

She remembered the kind looking House Elf, “Is he here?” 

“He stays at Malfoy Manor. Sometimes he’s here, but he prefers to play guard.” 

Which brought up more questions. “Why do you have items from all the members of the Order? Can you trace us? Why haven’t you already? Does the Dark Lord know about this?” 

“Do you think you’d be alive if he did?” 

“Then why—”

“You have a lot of questions.” Theo pointed out, before gesturing to the hallway, “And I don’t fancy answering them on an empty stomach. Go shower. Draco gets snappy when his food isn’t eaten hot.” 

Without saying anything further, he shut the door behind him, and Hermione was left in the room by herself. Since she’d arrived, it felt like whiplash. Meeting Malfoy and Scilla, then witnessing a dragon’s death. She’d seen vastly different sides to him that she never would have expected: Mourning dragon rider and persistent cat dad. Now he was making her breakfast? It also seemed like there were some things hidden from her and she didn’t particularly trust either of them yet. 

Hermione walked into the bathroom, noticing an array of products. Facial cleansers, scrubs—there was even leave-in conditioner and hair spray. She turned to the shower and saw an array of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. They all had the same scent. Vanilla and jasmine. It was the same type of wash she’d used in school. The same wash she bought now. There was some she’d packed away, not thinking that Malfoy—or Theo—would care about providing basic necessities for her. 

Instead, they’d gone above and beyond. 

Why? 

What was the catch? 

The only logical reason she could think of was that they wanted to get on her good side so she’d tell them the location of the next safe house to save Pansy… But was that also a trap? Were they planning on killing Harry themselves? 

But they’ve had several chances already, haven’t they? 

An item from each member of the Order, capable of being tracked. Why hadn’t Theo asked for Malfoy to go back to the Manor then? To find Kingsley and drag Pansy back? 

There were a lot of unanswered questions and she was beginning to get a headache. Stripping off her clothes, Hermione wasn’t sure how long it’d take Malfoy to make breakfast, so she hurried. Her questions would be answered soon enough. 

She would make sure of it. 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Malfoy had managed to shower quickly if the black joggers and white t-shirt he now wore were anything to go off. That and besides the bacon frying in the pain, she could smell a trace of citrus and sage in the air. It wasn’t Theo because he was in the living room cackling like a gremlin over a one liner from Niles. 

The kitchen itself was decorated similarly to the living room. Pale floors and walls, but while the countertops were white; the cabinetry was green. Muggle appliances were scattered around, also white. Surprise was the feeling of the day because she felt it again when she saw a microwave and a box of popcorn on top of it. 

It was so normal it was almost unnerving. The same white flowers were in a vase on the windowsill, but the petals were blue. 

He was standing by the stove, using a fork to flip over bacon while Crooks sat on the counter and tried to reach over with his paw, and snag a piece. Malfoy swatted his hand away, pointing the fork at him. 

“Will you quit it? If you get burned, then she’s going to blame me.” 

“Maybe don’t have the cat right next to the stove then.” Hermione noted sarcastically, walking up beside him to remove the cat from the stove, “You’re not using magic to cook?” 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t want to think.” Malfoy said simply, before nodding towards the refrigerator, “Will you grab the milk? And the basket of eggs next to it?” 

Basket? “Not a carton?” 

“I don’t buy my eggs, Granger.” 

She let Crooks down, feeling a vague sense of annoyance when the cat started rubbing himself against Malfoy’s ankle’s to get him to drop a piece of bacon. He was such a glutton. But what also annoyed her was the surprise that managed to sneak inside her again. 

“Do you have hens?” 

“The cottage is self-sufficient between animals and the gardens.” Malfoy explained, but he didn’t look her way as he focused on the pan in front of him. She retrieved both the milk and the black iron basket which held over a dozen eggs. She placed them on the table behind him, meaning to accio a bowl, but then realized her magic was nullified. “Theo has to come in and out all the time for Death Eater business, but it’s a risk if I leave.” 

“You can’t polyjuice and get away with leaving?” 

“It’s not a matter of if I’d be able to hide myself. If I die—who’s going to take care of the animals? If the Dragon’s don’t have a food source, they’re as good as dead too.” 

“Animals? How many animals do you have here?” Not wanting to feel useless, she asked, “How many eggs do you want me to crack?” 

“Besides Theo?” She heard the smirk in his voice and was tempted to turn around to see it. Another thing she didn’t expect to do today was stand back to back with Draco Malfoy, making breakfast with him, and having a decent conversation. “A few cows, pigs, flock of hens, a rooster that makes me want to strangle him every day, and then there’s a whole herd of sheep down the ways. The sheep are what feed the dragons and the occasional cow, but I’ve already told Cadeyrn to stop the younger dragons from antagonizing them.” 

She almost felt dizzy and had to turn around now. “You left the War to be a homesteader? With bloody dragons?” 

He looked back at her over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow. “Don’t be daft. Do you think I could ever truly leave the war? With this?” 

Wearing a t-shirt, his left forearm was visible. She was distracted for a moment by the red and gold threaded bracelet he wore. It was minimalist, but the gold within the red strings shimmered. It was beautiful and not something she expected him to wear. 

Then she saw what he was talking about. The Dark Mark. The sight of it had her breath catching and a bout of anger shooting inside her like lightening straight to her heart. It branched through her body, making her blood boil. Hermione flashed her eyes to Malfoy’s, noticing his smile. It wasn’t kind and didn’t hold any warmth. 

“Exactly.” He said quietly, “I’m still in this as much as you are.” Glancing behind her, he nodded towards the bowl where she’d started cracking eggs, “Crack four more. I’m starving.” 

Hermione turned back to the table, feeling unable to meet his gaze any longer. “Did you set the stores on fire in Mykovo because Kingsley didn’t get back to you?” 

“I did.” 

“Those stores would have been huge for Dumbledore’s Army. They’re probably starving—”

“So is the legion.” 

“I don’t give a fuck about the legion.” 

“And I don’t give a fuck about the Order.” He said it nonchalantly like he was saying he didn’t fancy capers or beans on toast, “Kingsley was ignoring my letters which pissed me off and he should have known better.” 

“Because you hate being ignored?” 

There had been a plate in front of her as she finished cracking the eggs. Hermione hadn’t been sure what it was for until Malfoy stood behind her, reaching for it. He must have planned to put the bacon on it. Still, he was close enough to where she could feel the heat of his body, but it wasn’t inherently inappropriate—he wasn’t pressed against her. His right arm brushed hers as he grabbed the plate, but then she heard the whisper by her ear. 

“Because I’m not someone you want to make an enemy out of, Granger.” 

It took everything in her not to react as his deep voice alone warranted a shiver running down her spine. Awareness welcomed her with open arms, but she focused on opening the milk as he returned to the stove. Her pounding heart was the only indication he’d ever been close to her. 

“I’m assuming the milk is to add into the eggs. It helps—”

“—to prevent the eggs from becoming tough. Makes them richer.” Malfoy interjected with a musing lilt to his voice, “I’m aware.” 

“How did you learn to cook?” She inquired before grabbing a whisk she spotted by the stove, and saw him placing the crispy bacon over a paper towel that was on the plate. He casted a warming charm as she turned back to her post, “And why can you still use your magic? Some of it at least. Theo could too.” 

The smirk was back in his voice. “Books. How else? Gardening from Seed, Favorite Comfort Food, Gardening 101, Annual Recipes—Martha has been very helpful.” 

She almost dropped the whisk. “Malfoy, are you telling me that Martha Stewart taught you how to cook? And garden?” 

For a moment, it was so silent she could only hear Crooks’ incessant purrs on the floor to convince one of them to drop a piece of bacon for him. One that Malfoy listened to as he snapped off a small bit of bacon and blew on it to cool it down. Then he crouched and gave her a smirk that would have had her stomach flipping and cheeks burning if she wasn’t so—so flabbergasted. 

His eyes danced with amusement as Crookshanks ran off with the small piece of bacon, “You look as if you’ve seen a Dementor.” 

Hermione turned to him, “I’m trying to imagine you sitting by the fire with a stack of Martha Stewart books—trying to figure out how to make the world’s best apple pie.” 

“Come now, we’re British. I at least looked up how to make the world’s best sticky toffee pudding.” He rose up, walking to her side, and standing close enough that her elbow brushed his abdomen as he leaned forward. Her heart did that stupid little dance again where it went off beat. Malfoy reached for the bowl so she stopped whisking the eggs, “Don’t over whisk. You’ll curdle the eggs.” 

Draco Malfoy was now giving her cooking lessons. 

She had gone off her rocker, hadn’t she? 

But he didn’t move away, not at first. She looked up to see that his smirk had grown into something wicked, something devilishly amusing. 

“If you’re going to imagine me, Granger, I can think of more interesting scenarios. But if you’re interested in learning some new dishes,” He leaned down and she felt his breath fan across her ear. This time she did shiver and by the heady tone in his voice; he’d noticed. “My library is well endowed with all sorts of recipes. You’d only have to ask to see it.” 

He pulled back, exhaling sharply in amusement at either her expression or the seeping redness into her cheeks. Likely both. She leveled him with a glare, but the bastard wasn’t even looking at her. Malfoy was too busy making scrambled eggs. 

And here she was wanting him to scramble her insides instead. 

There was something seriously wrong about today. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Never Let Theo Cook

They both sat on bar stools that Malfoy conjured, another annoying display of magic that he could use at the moment, but not her. There were three barstools, all lined up to the table with Malfoy in the middle and Theo presumably on his right since she took the seat to his left. The gremlin in question was walking into the room after having heard ‘Theo, breakfast is ready. Get your arse in here.’

Remembering the comment about Malfoy hating it when his food was eaten cold, she wasn’t surprised to see Theo had immediately obeyed and strolled in. What had surprised her was Theo leaning over and landing a giant smack worthy kiss on Malfoy’s lips. “Thanks, Handsome. I’ll make it up to you later.” 

Her fork had actually clattered to the plate and an unfamiliar emotion swelled in her, startling her more than the actual kiss.“You both are—”

“—Don’t finish that sentence, Granger.” 

There was the briefest pause and then Theo grinned widely, seeing her expression. “Bisexual.” Theo said pointing to himself, then a grumpy Malfoy. “He’s not.” 

She looked at Malfoy inquisitively, “Then you’re g—”

“—going to be very annoyed with the both of you if you don’t start fucking eating.” He pointed to the open window and then back at Theo, “You get to shovel the stalls today while I wash my mouth out with bleach.” 

Theo looked insulted, “I did it last week. It’s your turn.” 

Hermione watched as Malfoy gave him an asinine smile that unnerved her. There was a quiet rage in the way he speared his eggs, but paused before bringing the fork to his mouth, “If you’ve forgotten, I’ve been quite busy the last few days. Cad’s also bothering the shite out of me right now. I’ve been up all night flying, I’m starving, and—”

Without any warning, there was a heavy thump that shook the cottage. Malfoy’s words caught in his throat as his eyes seemed to glaze over and then he was out of his seat. Hermione briefly noted the plate of untouched food left behind and afterwards at Theo who looked pensieve. The wizard hadn’t even sat down yet either and he was off following Malfoy to see where he’d gone. Hermione lifted off her seat to follow both wizards towards the front entrance and saw a dragon waiting. It wasn’t Cadeyrn.  

“I wouldn’t.” Theo held his arm out at the doorway, blocking her from exiting the cottage. “Celebrían doesn’t take kindly to strangers. She was also very close to Scilla. Who is, you know, dead.” 

“No shite.” Hermione grumbled before gazing out at Malfoy approaching the large metallic-silver dragon. “It’s a Ukrainian Iron belly.”  

It wasn’t a question and Theo didn’t answer her. Malfoy stood in front of the dragon, engaged in some sort of silent conversation with it. She watched closely as his posture stiffened and then black smoke lifted from the ground. Like Theo’s had earlier, Malfoy’s Death Eater robe swallowed him until they materialized. Against his back, serpentine creatures framed the Malfoy crest. Emeralds and black diamonds decorated the shield. When he moved, the snakes on his back did too. Was Dark magic stitched into the fabric? He was a vision of death and it was a very obvious display of lavishness, and rank that Malfoy had been the Dark Lord’s favourite. She knew the more decorated a robe, the less expendable a person. Voldemort wouldn’t waste resources over a common crook. 

When her eyes drifted lower, scripture caught her eye, making her go still. 

Purity will Always conquer was written across the crest in Latin. A startling reminder to Hermione that Malfoy and Theo—however domesticated they appeared to be in the middle of Godric knows where—were the enemy. 

When he turned, she couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a metallic mask that looked similar to a Death Eater’s Mask, but instead of runes and swirls, there were dragon scales carved into it. Fitting, but why? Had the Dark Lord always intended for him to take control of the dragons? His name was ‘Draco’ after all. 

Malfoy’s wand appeared in his hand and he placed the tip to the side of his throat. The wizard must have casted sonorous because when he spoke, his voice was amplified over the dragon’s wings beginning to beat. “There’s a gathering at the Northeastern boarder by Neshcherdo. I’ll be gone until later tonight.”  

“Let me come with you.” All humor evaporated from Theo’s tone. He no longer sounded like the mischievous imp who watched The Nanny, but now he sounded like someone who commanded… Legions. Another gut punch to Hermione when she realized how quickly she’d felt at ease around him, but he fought for the wrong side. “How many is a gathering?” 

“Enough.” Malfoy snapped, shoving his wand back into its holster at his forearm and then scaled up the side of Celebrían’s side where he pulled himself onto her back with confident, purposeful moves. 

She watched him murmur something to Celebrían, but the sound of wings flapping was louder than him, and they launched into the air. Loose dirt and clumps of grass flew from the sudden wind and the two were left staring after the dragon before it disappeared into the sky. A tense silent began to drift in like a creeping fog. 

“By gatherings, what did he mean?” Hermione broke the silence first. 

“If he donned on his Death Eater robes, then there must be wizards attacking from Dumbledore’s Army.” Theo explained, furrowing his brow. He turned to Hermione then, looking rather chagrined. “Why the fuck have you all decided to start searching for the dragons like this? Shouldn’t you—”

Hermione interrupted him, not fancying his tone in the slightest. “First off, talk to me like that again and I’ll—”

Without any warning, she felt the weight of Theo’s forearm against her collarbone and she was pressed against the doorframe. Wood painfully dug into her shoulder blades. His eyes were searching hers, lips parted to say something, but then his arse was over his head. Not having enough room to slide her foot back, she’d simply bent down and her arm hooked underneath his left leg. Then using her left hand, Hermione placed it on the back of his right thigh; above the bend in his knee. 

She used her trained muscles to lift him, turning arse over head, as he fell outside the cottage with an audible groan once his shoulder hit the dirt. 

Adrenaline swam in every vein, igniting a feminine rage inside of her, “What the fuck, Nott? Were you trying to kill the competition while Malfoy’s gone? Do you really think that Malfoy would ever choose me over you? I should be trying to kill you!” 

There was a hard set to Theo’s jaw, but he stood up, dusting himself off. “That was supposed to be the part where I looked down at you in an intimidating manner and I’d say something along the lines of ‘don’t lie to me, I know you know about the attacks trying to find the dragons,’ or something to that effect. Honestly, Draco left out the fact that you could put a man on his arse in ten seconds flat. For Salazar’s sake, I think I actually landed on my shoulder. What have you been doing the last five years? Studying WWE moves?” 

Right now, she was going to ignore the fact that Theo was versed in world wrestling. Hermione glared at him as he walked up to her. She didn’t trust him and she shouldn’t have felt so innately comfortable around them so quickly. It was a stupid mistake she wasn’t going to make again. Honestly, she was a bit irritated at herself for how the last few hours went and if kicking Theo’s arse made her feel better; than she’d gladly do it again.

He eyed her. “You know, you’re kind of scary when you’re mad.” 

“Kind of? I’ll try harder next time.” 

Theo raised his hands in self-defense as he passed by Hermione, walking over to Draco’s plate of food and casting a warming charm on it before placing it inside the microwave. There was a little frown on his face. “Did you truly not know about the attacks from Dumbledore’s ridiculous army or are you lying to me? Be honest. It’s not like I can do anything to you either way.” 

“No. I don’t. As far as I know, Kingsley gives out orders via Ron to the different posts on the front lines and never once has he mentioned trying to take the dragons or anything of the like by force. Hell, I didn’t even know Malfoy left with the dragons until Seamus told me in Mykovo.” 

“You didn’t think about Draco at all?” Theo’s frown deepened, glancing over at her. 

Hermione tilted her head. “No. Why would I? You were all boorish in school. Am I supposed to remember how fondly you all called me a mudblood? If so, enlighten me how having ‘dirty’ blood is a compliment.” 

“Could be worse. You could have pure blood and then be groomed to fight for a war you don’t really care about.” Theo pointed out, leaning back against the countertop. “I’m not in the mood to make this a ‘whose childhood sucked more’ debate, but not everything is black and white, Hermione.” 

She wasn’t sure if he was patronizing or unintentionally condescending, but it still pissed her off. “You think that I don’t know that? I know there’s no ‘good’ side to this war—I’ve known that for quite a while. Did you forget I killed your father? I’ve killed a lot of people because the bloody Order is filled with a bunch of pansies—”

“I quite adore pansies. Engaged to one actually.” 

The witch ignored Theo’s comment for her own sanity, “—who don’t seem to realize that it takes bloodshed to stop more bloodshed. Peace can’t exist without knowing what war is.” 

He cocked his head, arms crossed as if trying to get an accurate read on her. “You expect me to believe that you—the Golden Girl—the brightest witch of her generation—and one of the founding members of the new Order—fancies getting your hands dirty now?” 

“I don’t need to prove myself to you, Nott.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed, “What I will tell you is that I haven’t considered myself truly part of the Order for quite some time now.” If ever, she thought absently. There was always the feeling of being used for her wits, but never allowed to have a direct impact on decisions. It was like the Order made decisions, but it was her responsibility to figure out how to see it thorough. At least it used to be until her and Shacklebolt started their own internal war. “As I said before, I didn’t know about the Order attacking the borders to try and get to the dragons.” 

Hermione did wonder for a moment what shady shite Shacklebolt had been up to. Was McGonagall in on this? Was Harry? 

“Hm.” Was all Theo said for a moment, still staring at her. “Earlier, I told you that Kingsley has Pansy. I mentioned that Draco said you’d want to go save her if that was the case. Your only rebuttal was that you didn’t know where the new safe house is.” 

“Is there a point to this?” 

“Why would you even care to save her? Weren’t you and Pansy enemies in school?” 

There was something off about his tone. Hermione felt a crawling sensation along her skin like there were hundreds of anxiety filled ants attacking her. The infestation was unavoidable with someone like Theodore Nott. From what little she knew about him, he was a wildcard. He was willing to watch 90’s sitcoms and laugh like a gremlin, and he also donned on Death Eater robes to ‘go hunting’ as if killing people were a sport. 

On the other side, Draco Malfoy was suddenly a homesteader that read Martha Stewart books to learn how to cook, and he was the self-proclaimed dad to Crooks. She didn’t find herself on edge around him as much as she did Theo, but wouldn’t Malfoy have more reason to want her dead? He was supposed to be Voldemort’s weapon and she was the perfect prize to deliver if he wanted forgiveness. For Godric’s sake, the man also answered to ancient creatures and led the dragons into war—whilst wearing his Death Eater robes. Diamonds and emeralds decorated the fabric, but how many people had died at his hand? How many people had died at hers? Was she any different to them when her wand was so drenched in dark magic it sang in her veins? 

Indecision plagued her and she could feel the early onset rotting of ambivalence. For the brightest witch of her generation, she sure felt fucking stupid for being in this position. 

“Why am I here?” She crossed her arms, mimicking his stance as she leaned against the counter next to the stove. She’d seen the knives on the counter and quickly deduced that her ability to throw a knife rivaled her ability to cast a hasty diffindo. “I tried asking Malfoy, but Scilla dying kind of delayed that. There’s no chance in Hell of him choosing me over you so what is this all about? Keeping me alive until you’re both ready to deliver me to the Dark Lord?” 

“You’re the untrustworthy sort, aren’t you?” 

“Theodore.” 

“Careful, the full name always get me hard.” 

“You’re deflecting and it’s fucking irritating.” 

Theo grinned widely, “Lucky for you, ‘fucking irritating’ is half my personality.” 

Hermione cocked her head, “What’s the other half?” 

“Pansy’s fiancé.” 

She didn’t have a rebuttal to that immediately. Instead, she mulled that over. If Theo loved Pansy so much, why was he staying here like an obedient dog. “Why haven’t you gone to save her yet? You love her, don’t you?” A silence fell over them. An uncomfortable one on Hermione’s end which made her feel as if she needed to justify her question. “I’m sorry if I’m naive about this, but wouldn’t people who love each other want to protect the other? If you knew where our safehouse was located, why didn’t you come sooner? That night in the forest, you just left when Malfoy called for you.” 

“Draco has saved my life more times than I care to think about. I owe him my loyalty, but don’t think that I’m on the end of this leash without testing its boundaries. And don’t look at me like that, it’s a complicated history that I don’t intend on enlightening you about. More so because it’s confusing, you’d have too many questions that I don’t care about answering, I’m hungry, and I want to continue watching the telly.” Theo waved off her critical glance, “Potter has been making sure she’s well taken care of.” 

“Harry knows?” 

“Potter knows because if the—” He stopped himself short, seeming frustrated for a brief second before he continued, “Knowing that Pansy was alright was the only thing keeping me from tearing down those castle walls of yours. If you can’t establish contact with Potter soon and I don’t hear from my love, then I will be act as Draco’s substitute and burn down the highlands like he wasn’t able to do.” 

Her head cocked to the side a bit, “What do you mean? You’re Malfoy’s substitute? For what? And why would you do what he couldn’t?” 

“Did you think that the position stayed open when he left the front lines? The moment Draco had his collar off from the Dark Lord, my father volunteered me to take his place.” 

“Then you’re the Dark Lord’s weapon..?” 

“For now.” His smile wasn’t kind. “Until and unless he snaps his collar back onto Draco. Then the blond bastard will take my place and I can go back to being someone no one fucking cared about except for my future wife.” He paused, a feral glint in his gaze. “That sounds extremely self-deprecating, but when your father is abusive and your boss is a genocidal sociopath—being ignored is precisely what I want. I didn’t have to get the Dark Mark until Draco left.” 

Hermione had to summarize it to keep track, “The Dark Lord kills Malfoy’s parents so he flees the moment he’s able to. He escapes with the dragons and you take his place. Somehow in the mix of things, Pansy gets kidnapped by Kingsley. You’re in cahoots with Harry to make sure she’s safe. Malfoy decides to enlist the use of his dragons—that—mind you—he has no control over to help with the war, but he has to pick between the two of us?” She rubbed her temples, “There’s more to the story that you’re not telling me. Like why would Harry allow us to stay at the castle if he knew you both were aware of where we were hiding? That doesn’t make sense.” 

“You’re not wrong.” Theo flickered his gaze towards the window, a stormy expression forming on his face. 

It filled her with a sense of dread that had her asking, “Any chance of you telling me what’s really going on?” 

“Nope.” He gestured to her breakfast, “But I recommend you finish your food and get some rest. I doubt Draco will be back any time soon, but if he finds out you didn’t eat breakfast; his already foul mood will be unbearable.”

Hermione expected him to join her at the table, but he took his plate, and headed towards the living room. Not a second later did she here the television turn on. 

A woman’s high pitched, American accent echoed from the room. "What we need here is compromise.”

There was some shuffling until a man’s voice retorted, "Meaning I do what you want and compromise my integrity.”

"That's democracy in action."

It was then that Theo snorted a laugh before she heard him grumble, “You and me both Mr. Sheffield.” 

With several questions weighing on her mind, Hermione decided that it was best to ignore them until she could get Malfoy alone and interrogate him. Right now she needed some food in her stomach and then she intended to take a very long nap. For Godric’s sake, she was exhausted, and she’d taken a nap on the way here. 

When was the last time Malfoy had gotten any rest? 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

It was almost three in the afternoon and when Hermione finally emerged from her slumber. More so because her stomach was growling and she figured that if Draco had become the Death Eater version of Martha, he should have the fridge sufficiently stocked. 

And truth be told, he might have if Theo didn’t have the entire table lined with ingredients that made absolutely no sense. 

Sourdough loaf. Tomatoes. Carrots. Soy sauce. Raw chicken. Grape Jelly. Cucumbers. Squash. Eggs. A plethora of seasonings in glass spheres with a small lid on each one. Was that durian fruit? Is that what the smell was? Where the hell did he get that?

“Theo.” 

He glanced up and she wasn’t sure if it was confectionary sugar or flour on the right side of his face. “Hermione.” He held up a jar of peanut butter in one hand and oyster sauce in the other, “What do you think it’d taste like if I mixed these two together?” 

What kind of question was that? 

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

The wizard’s gaze drifted to Crookshanks who was plopped onto one of the chairs, overlooking the ingredients, and probably looking for something delicious to snag. It was almost comical how ridiculous this moment was, but then her stomach growled. 

Theo’s attention shifted back to her, “Hungry? Me too. Which is why i’m going to make us supper.” 

Weary and grumpy, Hermione arched an eyebrow. “What are you trying to cook?” 

“No idea.” 

“Have you ever cooked before?” 

“Sometimes Draco lets me.” 

She paused. “And does that end? Does he eat your food?” 

“He only threw up once the last time.” 

That made her decision pretty easy, “I’ll make supper. Just put all the ingredients back in the fridge or the cupboards, and I’ll think of something. He’s been gone for a long time. Do you think you should head out there?” 

“If Draco was in trouble, I’d know about it.” 

“How?” 

“You have a lot of questions.” Theo reflected, using simple levitation magic to throw everything back in the cupboards. “What are you going to make for supper?” 

Hermione’s gaze narrowed. What was it with this guy and deflecting? “Answer the question and I’ll tell you.” 

“The dragons.” His answer was forthcoming if a little jaded. A sign that he wasn’t trying to hide things from her. Maybe he really didn’t fancy answering a bunch of questions. Or he was as famished and as grumpy as she was. “It’s going to be cold when he gets back. Do you think you could make a stew? Or something hot? Do you think cucumbers and jam would work in a soup?” 

“Now I understand why you’re tired of answering questions.” Hermione said in lieu of acknowledging the latter inquiries, “There’s plenty here for chicken soup. I can add rice since he’s probably exhausted from fighting. Is there anything he doesn’t fancy? Spices?” 

The wizard gave her a lofty smile. “You want him to enjoy it?” 

Did she want Draco Malfoy to enjoy her cooking? Truth be told, she felt a little guilty for not knowing about the attacks on the borders. If she hadn’t heard about dragons attacking Dumbledore’s Army before Mykovo, then that meant that Malfoy didn’t act unless provoked. Shacklebolt had provoked him, but she wasn’t sure how. She wasn’t sure why. And she was beginning to wonder how much she didn’t know. 

Harry had been keeping a lot from her. 

And that revelation hurt a lot. 

She had stuck by his side since the day she’d stepped onto the train. Cleaned his glasses for him and then spent the next how-ever-many years cleaning up after his blunders. She could have gone back to the Muggle world, forgotten about the Wizarding World, and enjoyed a simple life with her parents. Instead, she’d supported him, and even when she felt she had a valid reason to be upset with him—Hermione felt she was being overly emotional. 

“Hello? Earth to Hermione?” Theo was suddenly in front of her, knocking on her head in the most obnoxious manner, “Is anyone home?” 

The witch pushed him away, taking a step back. “I’m about to make only enough portions for him and I if you don’t keep your hands to yourself. Do I care about what Malfoy fancies in his soup? No.” It was honest-ish., “Not really. But I won’t deny that he’s been a good host since I’ve arrived. The room isn’t in a cramped space or a cell. It’s clean and it has more amenities than I need. He made breakfast this morning for us despite being exhausted and he didn’t complain—”

Theo opened his mouth to argue, but she beat him to it. 

“—Until you antagonized him. You kissed him on the mouth.” 

He smirked. “You looked jealous.” The wizard grinned and she already knew from the diabolical glimmer in his eyes, that he was about to say some stupid shite. “I’m sure you appreciated the sight of him making breakfast this morning. Now try it with him wearing an apron and nothing more. Marriage material, no?” 

When the war was over and even if Dumbledore’s army lost, her one last request was going to be for Theodore Nott to undergo a psyche exam. The man was unhinged. 

“You’re mistaking horror and disgust, for jealousy.” And before Theo could spout anymore nonsense, she pointed to the doorway, “Go. I think you and Mr. Sheffield have some more bonding time to do before Malfoy gets back. Is he allergic to anything or not? Are you?” 

Theo’s smirk grew, but he started heading towards the doorway, “No, we’re not allergic to anything.” She nodded in response and he paused at the doorway, “But if you’d like to make him happy, his mother used to make him grilled cheese sandwiches with his soup when he didn’t feel good as a child.” 

Nothing else was said and Theo gravitated back to his beloved telly. Hermione rubbed the spot over her heart, feeling an aching pang. 

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each beat more painful than the last. Was she feeling sorry for Malfoy? The same git who’d called her a Mudblood growing up also had a mother who made him food when he was sick. Then he had to watch her be publicly executed with his father. A father who absolutely despised her because she was Muggle-born and the Weasleys because they didn’t adhere to traditional pureblood values. 

It puzzled her how monsters could appear human. 

It puzzled her even more how she still felt sympathy for said monsters. 

Hermione eyed the sourdough loaf with apprehension like it was going to attack her. Sure, she didn’t have the answers she wanted yet… But she at least could thank Malfoy for his hospitality. A large, comfy bed was better than a stone floor or a prison. 

With a begrudging sigh, Hermione walked over to the fridge, and started pulling out the ingredients for chicken soup. This was only because she was thanking him—for treating her well despite their flawed past—That’s all. 

It was like a mantra she had to repeat to herself because she didn’t want to think about Theo’s words either. And when she grabbed a couple different types of cheese from the bottom drawer; that was also because she was thanking him. Not because she wanted to make him happy after what was indisputably… A terrible day for him. 

___________________________

4.20.25 Authors Note:

Meanwhile in Theo's head as he's antagonizing Hermione: 

Artist Credit: Stein_0806 on Tumblr  

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Be Careful; Don’t Lose Your Head

Theo had eaten his soup and sandwich on the patio, waiting impatiently for Malfoy to come back. Hermione hadn’t even made one for him, Theo had stolen one after she asked him to place a warming charm on it for Malfoy. She hoped the back of his hand was still red from where she’d slapped him with the end of a spatula. 

It was already almost ten o’clock at night and there were two bowls of soup and one sandwich for the blond bastard who was taking far too long to return. She sat at the table, tapping her nails against the wood. 

For the past hour, her mind had managed to make a hell of heaven. Well maybe that wasn’t completely the truth. Her mind had never been anything close heaven, but a dark academia. Regardless, who was she supposed to root here for? 

Dumbledore’s Army or a Death Eater? 

Soldiers following orders or a man protecting his home? 

Luckily, it seemed that her head would receive a break once she heard Theo shout. Her heart, on the other hand, lurched and she found herself out of her seat in an instant. Whatever this place was, it was charmed to feel like spring, but where Malfoy had come from; it seemed it’d snowed. 

The dragon didn’t crouch, her scales gleaming proudly in the moonlight. Malfoy jumped down, wincing as he placed a hand to his side. His robes fell off him in a wispy manner, sinking into the ground. Without another word, Celebrían disappeared into the night. She looked like a silver star soaring through the air once she picked up speed. Theo crossed the distance after spotting a splash of blood across Malfoy’s left side. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“Not anymore, just sore.” Malfoy sighed and glanced at Hermione briefly before shifting his attention back to Theo. “Please tell me you didn’t make a mess in the kitchen. I don’t have the energy to clean up tonight.” 

Hermione gazed back at his stained white t-shirt, “Trying to add a scar to match the one Harry gave you?” 

The blond wizard cocked an eyebrow, walking past her with a snide comment to greet her. “As if anyone in your army could wound me.”

It wasn’t—

“Who was there?” Theo inquired sharply, on the other lad’s heels as they all headed back inside, “McNair? He’s been trying to get on the Dark Lord’s good side since that night at the graveyard in Little Hangleton. Little bugger even tried to—” One sideways glance at Hermione stopped him from saying more.  

McNair? Hermione recalled the trash that had held a wand to Luna’s neck at the Department of Mysteries. Her lips formed a scowl as she waited for Malfoy’s response. 

“Have you two eaten? I can make—”

“You’re going to eat what Hermione made and then wash up.” Theo interrupted, crossing his arms. “I haven’t been sitting here for over twelve fucking hours worried about your stupid arse only to have you pass out while trying to make something.” He scratched at a few days scruff on his face, muttering to himself about needing to shave before speaking up, “And before you ask, I took care of the chores with the animals whilst this one got her beauty rest. So I’m tired and if you’re not going to answer any of my questions, I’m going to bed.” 

They both watched Theo stalk off down the hall, but then moved to the kitchen. Malfoy stopped, seeing the chicken soup with rice and the grilled cheese, but she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Shyness wasn’t an emotion she was familiar with these days so it was strange she felt it now. 

“I figured you’d need carbs after flying again and Godric knows what else, so there’s also a sandwich for you.” Seeing the brief worry on his face, Hermione clarified, “Theo turned on the telly while I cooked. The only one in here with me was Crooks, so you only have cat hair in your food to worry about.” 

He sat down at the barstool, but she found herself too antsy to sit next to him. Hermione pulled her bowl towards her, choosing to stand across from him. 

“Perhaps I’m more worried that you poisoned the bloody thing.” Malfoy noted in a sour tone. There was an undeniable trace of exhaustion in his voice and now that she could see him clearer in the light… She didn’t know how he was still awake. He looked dead on his feet. Purplish bruising underneath his eyes. Blond hair windswept and disheveled from flying. “You know, this is normally the part where you deny it.” 

She snapped out of it, “Deny what?” 

Malfoy’s lip rose faintly, glancing down at his food. He dipped his spoon into the soup, before bringing it to his mouth. Right before taking his first bite, he said, “Poisoning me.” Then he pushed the spoon past his lips, savored the taste of the food for a few seconds, and then swallowed. 

Wouldn’t it be a moot point now if she did poison him? 

“If Theo’s still alive, then I think you have nothing to worry about.” She pointed out, her scowl deepening. This wasn’t the right time to interrogate him. He was eating purely for the energy and then was likely going to crash into bed. But she had to know. “Is there anyone I know that died?” 

“Do you really want to know?” He asked after a moment. 

Before the first bite, he’d hesitated trying the soup. Now it was like he couldn’t get enough. Hermione didn’t even try to pretend that it didn’t fill her with a warm pride that he fancied her cooking—or at least her soup at the very least. 

“Yes.” 

Malfoy paused to look her straight in the eye. “Finnegan.” 

“Hermione, I’ve spend the last three months hungry and confident I’d be dead next week. Give me a break.”

He was finally getting that break he wanted. Unfortunately, it would be a long one. She met Malfoy’s gaze steadily. “Why?” 

“I blew his head off the moment I saw him teaching some younger wizards how to set off explosives that would have wounded my dragons if they came near that border.” The Death Eater didn’t sound the least apologetic about it. “There was one or two we might have gone to school with, but I think they were in a different year. Hard to tell with the snow storm that’d been brewing.” 

Soup had been the perfect idea. Bringing her own spoon up to her mouth, Hermione refrained from any questions. He seemed to appreciate that, letting out a quiet sigh. It wasn’t aggravated or upset, but content. Home. Food. Safe. He was likely ready to catch up on some much needed rest. 

They finished their soup around the same time and he used his magic to place them in the sink with a cleaning charm. She realized then that he didn’t even touch the grilled cheese. 

Hermione nodded her head towards it, “Are you full?” 

“I don’t fancy grilled cheese.” If she hadn’t known otherwise, she’d have believed the lie quite easily. He didn’t blink or give any indication that he wasn’t telling the truth. That unsettled her because now how was she supposed to know when he was lying again? Had he already? “You can have it if you’re still hungry. I’m going to bed.” 

She didn’t say anything, but tipped her head in a acknowledgement. In her peripheral, Hermione thought she saw him pause at the doorway, but when she looked, he was already gone from sight. He didn’t make a sound, walking like a ghost in his own home. 

Hermione grabbed the plate with the sandwich and was heading towards the rubbish bin when footsteps sounded towards her. Theo popped in, his shoulders sagging when he saw what she was doing. 

“Don’t throw that away. It was good. I’ll eat it.” 

She held out the plate to him, “I thought you were going to bed.” 

“I was hoping to antagonize Draco a bit, but it seems he already went to his room.” 

Hermione nodded, placing the plate down on the end of the table. She didn’t spot Crooks anywhere and figured he was already in the room, kneading biscuits into her pillow. “Yeah he seemed tired. Anyway, I’ll see you in the morning. I’m going to head to bed as well.” 

“Night.”

“Night.” The witch murmured absently, before taking her leave. 

She glanced briefly at the end of the hall, noticing the light and shadows that moved beneath the doorframe. The man in there had murdered Seamus Finnegan. A good friend of hers and someone who had dedicated his life to the war. She should feel sad and angry that he’d been murdered by a Death Eater, but all she felt was numbness. 

Instead, her mind took it as a loss in the form of power. He’d been an explosives expert. That knowledge died with him and she wasn’t sure who else knew how to do what he did so effortlessly. Seamus had killed a lot of people too with his creations. Maybe even more than Malfoy. She still didn’t know how much blood was on his hands, but that also didn’t matter. 

Her hands were stained too. 

Pushing the door open, Hermione was surprised to see that Crooks wasn’t in her room. He hadn’t been in the kitchen or the living room. Hadn’t went outside—the cat must hate dragons now because of what Cadeyrn did to him as a baby. 

It wasn’t until she thought of Malfoy again that she realized the little bacon-eating monster had likely gone to sleep in his room tonight. 

Fine. 

She’d sleep alone tonight. 

Fucking traitor. 

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Hermione had slept so much yesterday that she was awake before the sun had broke the tree line. All she could see was twilight transitioning the night sky to one that made her heart ache. Dawn felt like the loneliest time for her. She remembered the Battle of Hogwarts; what it felt like to know that many of her friends, and people she cared about were dead. They wouldn’t get a proper funeral. 

After she’d escaped with Harry, Ron, and a few others from the Order—she’d sat outside the Château de Falase, sobbing. The news of who’d lived, who’d died, and who’d escaped would filter in eventually. Each death would be like pouring hydrogen peroxide or ethanol on a fresh wound. Unfortunately, the wound became numb to her. 

Her mudblood scar stared back at her, as if mocking the witch that she did have wounds yet to close. Ones that made her get up before dawn and grab a pair of running shorts and an old t-shirt. Picking one in particular, she’d chosen her favourite old Gryffindor t-shirt to wear since it always brought on a sense of comfort—especially since it was a tad bit too long. 

Though she didn’t know the area, she doubted that an area controlled by the dragons and ancient magic would be too difficult to navigate. Hermione reached into the luggage bag, pulling out her running shoes, and holding onto them as she quietly walked out of her room. 

Considering how domesticated Malfoy was, he probably had a rule about wearing trainers in the house. The thought amused her as much as it still surprised her. Dragon riding, Martha Stewart reading, Death Eater Draco Malfoy was not what she expected and worse in some ways. 

For example. The man made her breakfast and murdered one of her oldest friends in the same day. And she’d welcomed him back to the cottage with soup and a grilled cheese. 

Yep. Her head was fucked up. 

The house was still pretty dark, but there was a single candlelight emanating from the living room. She peered into it, but there was no one there. Only a tattered copy of In the Heart of the Sea remained on the sectional with a fiery red phoenix feather to mark the page. Her curiosity was piqued and she made a mental note to ask about it later. 

She headed over to the door, swinging it open. Warm, spring air greeted her, and it was still alarming to feel. Why did the dragon’s manipulate the weather? Did they just hate the cold? There was a rush of wind through the blades of grass, catching her attention. 

And then there was a sleep-deprived, gloriously disheveled Malfoy in front of her. A gloriously pissed off Malfoy that yawned, covering his mouth as his grey eyes turned a bit watery. The bloke really had apparated from his bedroom because he wasn’t wearing trainers. Just a pair of flannel green pajamas and a plain, black t-shirt. 

“Get inside, Granger.” He made a shoo motion like she was something to be herded. “If you’re trying to go for a run, wait a few hours.” 

She frowned at that, slipping on the shoes with a dismissive glance towards him. “It’ll be too warm by then.” 

“Then wait until tonight.” Malfoy frowned, “I’ll go for a run with you.” 

“I don’t want you to come with me.” It wasn’t that she was trying to be a brat, but her head was a mess of emotions and thoughts, and running first thing in the morning helped. Straightening out, she leveled him with a deeper scowl. “Step aside, Malfoy.” 

He didn’t move an inch. “Get. Inside.” 

She took a step forward, glaring up at him. “I don’t take orders from you.” 

The blond arched an eyebrow, “You do when it’s my fucking dragons you want to use in a war. Get your arse inside and find another way to entertain yourself until it’s a decent fucking hour.” 

“No.” 

Both his eyebrows raised in surprise. Malfoy crossed his arms and she ignored the corded muscles that made his biceps flex and the veins appearing on his forearms. No, she was focusing on the icy temper which caused the Slytherin’s pupils to dilate. “No?” 

“No.” She sneered, brushing past him. Before she could continue down the grassy path, the wizard apparated in front of her. That made her pause, “Did that dragon lessen up on the restrictions within the wards?” 

“For me, yes. You still won’t—”

Hermione’s lips formed a tight line and she walked past him again. It seemed he was tired of being patient because his hand wrapped around her wrist. Her temper flared as it always did when the touching wasn’t welcomed. When the touching made her mind flash back to a forest where she was pinned against a tree. Where someone sniffed her neck and then later tried to bargain for her body after Bellatrix was done with her. 

If her anger was the lit match, then it fell into an endless pit of turpentine rage. 

Malfoy had grabbed her left wrist and so her left hand formed a fist. Her right hand smacked flat into her fist—similar to how a child would play rock, paper, scissors. Paper came up, wrapping around rock, and then she rolled her elbow with her body weight; seamlessly ruining his grip on her. Hermione pivoted on her heel to run. His eyes widened a fraction of an inch before he casted a wand-less ‘colloshoo’ that had her trainers hexed to the ground. 

They’d been laced tight and now she fell forward. Her palms hit the grass as she fell into an awkward plank position. 

Hermione glared up, finding Malfoy crouching in front of her. Her fiery rage met a glacial, calm indifference, and she feared that steam would begin to form between them. Not a steamy tension because he looked far too attractive first thing in the morning, but steam due to a sizzling clash of perspectives. 

She didn’t disagree with his logic. It wasn’t safe. She didn’t know how to get back without magic and the witch didn’t know what she’d encounter in the forest. 

But he didn’t understand that she was a hollow house of pent-up aggression and emotions with no room to place them in. 

Because how was she supposed to feel right now? 

“Granger.” Malfoy’s voice, sharp and curt caught her attention. “What’s wrong?” 

A humorless laugh left her as she pushed up to her knees. He’d undone the hex and she was thankful for his amazing display of generosity and mercy. Sarcasm intended. 

“You killed Seamus. And I welcomed you back with supper ready.” Maybe the anger wasn’t just at him, but also at herself because she couldn’t understand what she was doing here. “How the fuck do you expect me to answer ‘what’s wrong’? I need to go for a run because I go every morning to clear my bloody head, Malfoy.” 

He stared blankly down at her, still looking exhausted as he ran a hand through his fair hair, disheveling it more. Did it feel soft? “Can’t you learn how to meditate? Pilates? Something other than running through a forest filled with carnivorous, ancient creatures?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Now there’s an idea.” He said deadpanned, “Unfortunately, I’m a wee bit tired. Ask me again later.” 

“I wasn’t asking.” 

He smirked, opening his mouth to no doubt say something dirty. Part of her was tempted not to do what she planned to do next—just to see what he’d say. Hermione dug her hands into the soft ground, ripping out a wad of grass and dirt before flinging it his way. Malfoy reacted quick enough, bringing his arm up to cover his eyes, but by the spitting sounds—she knew he’d gotten dirt in his mouth. 

Good. 

That’s what he deserved for talking dirty. 

Hermione had risen up to her feet and Malfoy snapped. “Granger, if you step so much as one fucking foot into the forest, I will imperio your arse to stay in the fucking house.” 

The dam holding her anger back crumbled, allowing her hatred to swim in her voice. It mixed in with the waves of resentment. How dare he threaten her with a spell that took away her consent—her ability to be anything other than a mindless doll? It was the jovial reminder she needed that Malfoy was and always would be a Death Eater.

“You son of a bitch.” She snarled, pivoting on her heel and sending a roundhouse kick to Malfoy’s side. 

He grunted as the kick connected with his side, but he wrapped his around her leg before she could pull it back, and yanked her body towards him. She stumbled for only a moment, but it was all Malfoy needed before he had her pinned to the ground. A brief flash of terror transpired through her and she wondered if he saw it. His stare grew cold, the previous fury dying down as he looked down at her. 

Her wrists were pinned above her head with one of his hands. His other was on her knee to stop her from kneeing him in the bollocks. But she had two. Before she could shift her hips to knee him with her free leg, his hips pressed down against hers. 

“I’m not going to fucking hurt you, Granger.” Malfoy’s lip was curled in distaste, “If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m trying to stop you from getting yourself hurt.” 

“You have a funny way of showing it.” She bit out, struggling underneath him. 

The blond was too strong and his body was much larger than hers. She felt like a small bunny pinned down by a wolf and the feeling of helplessness only heightened her flight or fight response. 

Her next words were scathing, “But what else should I expect from a Death Eater who threatens to use Imperio on a Muggle-born?” 

His jaw ticked. She saw the muscles flex there and went to respond when there was a ‘meow’ by the doorway. They both looked to see Crookshanks padding down the front entry, towards where they laid in the grass. 

Reaching them, the half-kneazle rubbed his face against Hermione’s while purring. 

“That was wrong of me to say.” Malfoy admitted, hesitating to let go of her, “If I let you go, are you going to try to run? Knee me in the bollocks?” 

Crookshanks licked her cheek, the scratchy feeling distracting her from her anger. It was gradual, almost non-existent, but rage melted away from Hermione’s vision. 

“Malfoy, on a good day, I want to knee you in the bollocks.” 

He tilted his head, “Then what’s today looking like?” 

“Like Crooks is about to be fatherless.” 

Lips twitching as if he was fighting a smile, he didn’t move. “You wouldn’t do that to our son. He loves me.” 

“He loves me more.” 

“Remind me again, who’d he sleep with last night?” He quipped, turning his head to face Benedict Arnold if he was a cat. 

Crooks started purring louder and rubbing against his face too, stepping on her arm to get closer to him. Seriously? 

“I don’t understand. He didn’t even want to be around you in school.” Hermione pointed out in a flat tone, eyeing the traitorous beast. “Did you give my cat love potion? Catmortentia? It’s disturbing how fond he is of you.” 

“Your cats amortentia is bacon.” Malfoy shook his head, a disgusted look on his face. “I think there’s cat hair and dirt in my mouth now. I’m getting up. If you want breakfast at a reasonable hour this morning, you’re not going to be a brat and run.” 

“Fine.” Hermione sighed in defeat, bitterly. Only feeling slightly better when his weight lifted off her and she didn’t feel the faint remnants of terror anymore from an outcome that never happened. “Heard loud and clear.” 

He nodded, looking relieved as he got off her. Crookshanks sat to the side, glancing up between the two with his tail swishing nervously. Animals always did have the better instincts. 

Hermione lifted her leg and instead of kneeing him in the bollocks, she landed a kick straight to his chest that had him hitting the ground behind him pretty hard. 

Then she scrambled up. 

And she ran. 

The witch didn’t stop until the cottage was out of sight, hands on her knees as she bent over, trying to catch her breath. 

Fuck being safe. 

Fucking doing what the smart or right thing to do was. 

Hermione might have been the golden girl once, but she’d been smudged since then. When she decided she needed a run, that was that. It wasn’t anyone else’s decision to make.  And she certainly wasn’t going to stay put like a good little girl. 

Shacklebolt had tried to make her bend to his will through peer pressure, but gold didn’t bend easily. Not when she was so stubborn. Gold, however, was susceptible to melting… If she wasn’t careful around Malfoy and the attraction she’d caught herself in once or twice, then he would melt her defenses. 

With the way the world was and his position as the man who could change the tides of war—Hermione knew that any attraction to Malfoy could be detrimental. Not when it was so clear that he would choose his best friend over the girl he’d picked on as a child. Not when it was so clear that the dragons didn’t seem to want any part in the war. 

It made her think again. 

What was she really here for? 

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Journey to the Past

Hermione slowed to a jog, keeping the sun on her left side so she knew which direction to run back. Malfoy was probably livid or maybe he didn’t care. If she died, that made his choice that much easier, right? 

Ignoring the cramp forming in her side, Hermione thought about the facts she’d gathered in a short 24 hours. Shacklebolt kidnapped Pansy. Malfoy and Theo knew where to find the Slytherin witch because they had an item from each member of the Order stored at Malfoy Manor. This meant that they’d had the capability to track them down this entire time. And was the Dark Lord unaware of this? For how long? 

Leek ‘played guard’ so did that mean the Dark Lord was no longer staying at Malfoy Manor? Where was he staying then? Was he no longer in London? 

McGonagall and Harry both agreed that she should be the one to represent the Order—yet the Order didn’t take her opinions into consideration anymore. Why would the Professor have wanted her to go then? If Harry knew about Pansy, why didn’t he tell Hermione? He would have known better than anyone—after what happened with Scabior—that Hermione would have broken her out. The witch would have delivered Pansy straight to Malfoy and Theo even before all of this. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t gotten along in school—but wait. Even as Hermione thought that, she couldn’t remember a time where her and Pansy had outright fought. Not like her and Malfoy had—or even with the Goyles. 

But why hadn’t Harry said anything? What all did Harry know? 

Again—Why was she here? 

Hermione slowed, resting against a tree as she came to an open field.  There were tracks in the mud ranging from small taloned feet to much larger ones. If there were dragons nearby, she didn’t want to bother any of them. 

‘And yet your incessant thoughts have managed to bother me.’  

The voice in her mind lacked intonation. It was flat and on the gravelly side, indicative that whoever had spoken to her was in a bad mood. 

“Who’s there?” Hermione called out, standing back up. 

She placed her palm on the trunk of the tree, scanning the field for any signs of a dragon. It was intimidating to be in the presence of something powerful and unable to use magic should the witch need to get away.

‘If it’s any consolation, I’d be able to end your life with or without magic, witch.’  

Well that was just plain rude. 

“That makes me feel so much better.” She muttered sarcastically before spotting movement in the trees. 

What stepped out made her a bit nervous. It was the Norwegian Ridgeback which Malfoy had squared off against after the death of Scilla. Its head rose once it was out of the tree line and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. His emerald eyes gleamed with distaste and his lip curled, revealing the sharp, jagged teeth. This dragon definitely would have been able to kill her. With or without magic. 

‘I don’t recall asking for your consensus.’

“I don’t remember inviting you into my head.” Hermione snarked back, crossing her arms. She eyed the devilish creature, ignoring the panic when a bit of steam huffed out as he registered her tone, “You’re Cadeyrn, correct?’ 

I am. His teeth bared more. And you are the infamous Hermione Granger that I’ve heard so much about since I was a hatchling.’

How much has he heard? What did he know? Who talked about her? 

‘He was right. You are too inquisitive for your own good.’

“Again. I don’t remember inviting—wait who said that? Malfoy?” Hermione narrowed her gaze, frowning at this. “What has he told you about me?” 

‘Quite a lot. But if you want answers, then I want you to recount the war to me, and what it’s like outside the wards.’ 

There was silence for a moment. Hermione regarded the dragon and noticed how his eyes were entirely focused on her. It didn’t even seem like he was breathing. The steam halted from his nostrils and she realized this was important to him. Which meant.. 

“You’ve never been outside the wards?” 

‘I have.’

“Then you ought to know.” Hermione zeroed in on his lack of enlightenment, “Has Malfoy never allowed you outside?” 

The dragon stepped forward until he was within an arm’s length and she could see every shade of green in his eyes. His tone was utterly devoid of any emotion. ‘Let’s be clear about something, witch. The Scion does not tell me what I can or cannot do.’

She resisted the urge to scoff. “That makes two of us, doesn’t it?” Despite the words slipping past her mouth without her permission, it didn’t seemed as if Cadeyrn was intent on killing her. Much. 

‘Much.’ The nosy cad agreed. Steam and smoke hit her face as he exhaled in annoyance. ‘Your memories. Recount them in order.’ Hermione frowned and Cadeyrn added, ‘Don’t you feel the slightest bit guilty for killing my kin? It’s the least you could do.’

That made bile creep up her throat. “You blame me for her death?” 

‘Not particularly, but if it sways your decision then I’ll use what I have available. Guilt for the action of others is such a powerful, human emotion.’

A nosy, manipulative cad. 

‘I can’t tell if you’re stupid or bold.’ He lamented, in tuned with her thoughts. 

Hermione shrugged. “A bit of both. Which is why, if I’m to hand you over my memories, then I want something in return.” 

The dragon pulled away, forcing her to crane her neck again as he gazed down at her. Was that to make her feel small or remind her who was actually in charge? 

‘How does staying alive, sound? If you’d strayed off path any more, you’d have been where the hatchlings typically cause mischief. Those whelps would have eaten you.’ 

Not good enough. “You ate my cat’s tail. I think you owe me.” 

‘You owe me for the emotional turmoil it caused. Kneazles are supposed to taste good. That thing was too greasy.’  

Had Malfoy fed Crookshanks too much bacon that now her cat’s arteries were clogged with grease? They were going to have words when she got back. She cleared her throat. “Lead me back to the cottage and allow me to use magic. Those are my terms for handing over my memories.” 

‘You want to fly?’

“Godric, no. I hate flying.” 

‘You want me to lead you back on foot? What do you think I am?’ 

Hermione grimaced. “A very sound dragon capable of negotiation with a mere human. It doesn’t sound as if giving me my magic back is an option, yet you have someone like Theo partially able to use his.” 

‘Memories, witch. I’m growing tired of this conversation. And before you bore me with any more details, yes. I’ll walk you back to the cottage.’ 

Fair enough. “So what do I do? Just think about everything that’s happened in my life? Or is it like legilimency and you can read through them as you like?” 

‘Think about the moment you stepped on that human contraption. The metal dragon for the first time. Then I’ll lead your memories into telling me more.’ 

Metal dragon? Wait was he talking about the Hogwarts Express? 

That was surprisingly wholesome. 

‘It’s going to be wholesome when I eat you in one bite.’ 

That was surprisingly not wholesome.  

Sighing, Hermione sat down next to the tree. This would take a while. But she closed her eyes and thought about the moment stood on Platform 9 3/4 for the first time.  

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September 1st, 1991 

Despite being the first one to show up, Hermione wasn’t the first to get on the train. She gazed up at steam train, knowing the clock was ticking. It was almost eleven and the trainman had been eyeing her the last thirty minutes, having asked twice now if she was going to get on or not. 

“Nervous?” 

She turned to see a blond boy walking towards her with hair so fair, it looked almost white. It was parted to the side and slicked back in a way that reminded her of hairstyles in the 1930’s that she’d seen in her old textbooks as school. 

Her old school. 

The non-magical one she should have started today and been annoyed the moment Jimmy Davies pulled on her ‘wild curls’ from his seat behind her. The boy now standing in front of her was a few inches taller with storm-grey eyes she found interesting. Almost immediately she felt a bit shy around him. He had this confidence about him and here she was too afraid to get on the train.  

“A bit.” She admitted, glancing back towards it. 

“Don’t be.” He said easily, then added a cheeky grin which made his eyes light up. “The train and Hogwarts are far more easier to navigate than Diagon Alley. My father says the worst thing you have to worry about on the train is meeting a Mudblood.” 

Before she could respond, a cane came down between them, almost knocking her off balance. She looked up to see a man with blond hair, similar to the boy’s beside her, but it was longer. There was an elder woman behind him looking a bit cautious followed by a young girl with black hair and a boy whose brown hair was disheveled like he’d woken up late. The latter two appeared to be around her age—eleven. The man with a cane and the woman next to him were clearly the boy’s parents. Most of his features were like his mother’s… Straight nose, curve of his lips, the dark lashes that framed his pale eyes… Those eyes were the same shade as his fathers as was his hair. But they didn’t seem as cold in this moment. 

“I didn’t say go on ahead so you could interact with filth, Draco.” The boy looked fearful for a moment, but had a stubborn tilt to his chin that his father clearly didn’t find endearing. “You were supposed to go on ahead and reserve a compartment because someone decided to sleep like an inferius this morning. Theodore.” 

The brown haired boy yawned hugely in response, earning a light slap on the arm from the dark haired girl. Who Hermione assumed was ‘Theodore’ apologized, “Sorry, Uncle. We stayed up too late talking about the sorting feast.” 

“As if you three would be anything, but natural Slytherins.” The elder woman beside him mused. 

Her eyes caught the long-haired man’s gaze, “What are you still doing here, Mudblood? Either get on the train or go home, but stay away from my boy.” 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

May 8th, 1993

Hours. 

She’d spent hours and she was no closer to finding out the reason for the incidents around Hogwarts than she was finding the cure to Spattergoit or how to find blond bullies not cute. Hermione stared at the textbook on Magical creatures and then at her Arithmancy homework which wasn’t even close to being done. It was due next week. She’d looked ahead in the syllabus and was barely ahead with all the time she’d spend helping Harry recently. 

Overwhelmed was a familiar feeling and she sighed, placing her head in her hands. The library would be closing soon and she didn’t have much to go off of. 

“Lost, Granger?” 

The smell of green apples greeted her and she looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing there, munching on an apple when the sign clearly said no snacks in the library. 

“Go away, Malfoy. I don’t have time for how many languages you can call me a mudblood in.” She bit out, turning the page a bit harshly. It almost ripped and that would have absolutely been the last straw. “Unless you have an answer for what’s happening around this bloody place, I’m not interested in what you have to say.” 

She’d looked back down at the textbook, irritated at the sight of a mooncalf staring back at her. That wasn’t fair to mooncalves. Delightful creatures, but she doubted—

“Ouch.” A lock of her curls had been tugged on and she looked up to see the prat in question eyeing the bouncy wisp, “Malfoy, can you please bugger off?” 

He bit into his apple, smirking as he chewed, and let go of her hair. “Whatever, Granger. Try not to stay in the library too long, you’re an eyesore this late at night.” 

Hermione resisted the urge to throw the book at him. Why was she the eyesore? She’d been minding her own business. Frustrated, she glanced down to see the picture of a serpent with its jaw open wide. Fangs protruding down and its eyes closed, Hermione immediately felt a shiver run down her spine. 

She must have turned the page when Malfoy yanked on her hair, but it didn’t make sense that the title at the top was ‘MOST MACABRE MONSTROSITIES.’ She saw unfamiliar handwriting, scrawled at the bottom and underlined. ‘Pipes’. 

Frowning, she read the first few lines. ‘Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, none is more deathly than the Basilisk. Capable of living for hundreds of years, instant death waits any who meet this giant serpents eye. Spiders flee before it and the crowing of the rooster can kill it. The snake known as the King of Serpents, may reach gigantic size and is born from hatching a chickens egg, only a fresh chickens egg, hatched from beneath a toad. Climatic conditions are vital to the procreation of this beast, requiring a damp environment for the gestation period & a graduate secretion of air particles surrounding the unhatched eggs. 

Page 724. Her frown deepened. How did…? 

Never mind. This explained everything. She had to get this to Harry and Ron before she forgot. Noticing a forgotten mirror on another table, Hermione snatched it. Someone’s rotten luck forgetting this was her saving grace. She’d have to be careful navigating the castle this late. 

Lest she be the next victim to the Basilisk hiding in Hogwarts.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

September 19th, 1993 

There wasn’t enough time in the day and if she had to deal—oof. She fell the floor, her quills and books scattering to the ground. 

“Sorry. Oh, it’s you, Granger.” 

Hermione glanced across the way to see Parkinson rubbing her tailbone as Nott helped to pick up the Slytherin’s books. The Gryffindor glanced down to see her phoenix quill, the nib broken and staining the bottom of the feather. Well that was as good as gone. 

She resisted the urge to sigh, “Sorry, Parkinson. I didn’t see you there.” 

“No shite. We rounded the corner, but why are you in such a hurry?” She dusted off her skirt, thanking the tall boy beside her, “Potter in some life or death situation again?” 

That made her lip curl up, despite not being on the best terms with present company. “That’s often the case isn’t it?” 

“Come along, Pans. No need to be friendly with the Mudblood.” Nott eyed her, but Hermione couldn’t see a trace of real anger or disgust in his eyes. In fact, it looked like worry instead. “You’d do well to stay away from Malfoy.” 

She’d do well to stay from Malfoy? Hermione glared at him. “If it’s not obvious, I try to stay away from you lot.” With only an apologetic glance towards Parkinson, she muttered another apology for running into her. 

Even if Malfoy and Nott were complete and utter arseholes, Parkinson had never been outright rude to her. Though she never did defend the witch either—so wasn’t she just as guilty? 

Godric’s heart. Sometimes she really wanted to punch something. 

That something being Malfoy.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

August 18th, 1994 

His black suit almost blended in with the night. She almost hadn’t seen him, but she’d been looking for Harry. Arthur demanded that Ron take Ginny with Fred and George—but the youngest red haired wizard had looked distraught. 

Torn between the duty to his best friend and to his family. 

Hermione had encouraged him to go. 

She could handle this. 

She was bright. 

That was until someone had launched a bombarda charm and disoriented her. She scrambled up on shaky knees, Malfoy’s figure darting through the flames. He stared down at her murderously and for a moment, she truly felt afraid. 

“Was my warning earlier not good enough? You understand what they’re doing to Muggles, don’t you? Especially Muggle women?” Malfoy practically snarled, grabbing her arm, and hoisting her up. He glanced around, his fringe plastered against the front of his face as sweat formed due to the proximity of the flames. 

There was a burn on his forearm, an angry red color with clear fluid forming over it. 

“You’re hurt—I can—”

“You need to get out of here, Granger.” His head whipped to the side, seeing something first, and forcing her to the ground. Malfoy’s body partially covered hers, his hand on her head, “Stay down. Don’t look.” 

“Why—”

A scream tore through the night. 

One of many. 

Malfoy made her lay there in the debris, listening to screams that she promised she’d force herself to forget. The pain, the noises, the suffering—it was a poisonous concoction she was forced to drink in as he laid there next to her. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but then he lifted off her. 

His voice was a bit shaky, but stern. A natural leader’s deportment that she’d have admired for a moment if she wasn’t scared witless. “Stay. You’ll know when to run.” 

Peeking up, Hermione saw him join a group of—of—Death Eaters—several meters away. There was one that he stopped in front of, pointing towards the opposite direction, and saying something to the group. They all stopped and then turned their backs towards Hermione’s direction. 

She bit back a cry, ignoring the bodies on the ground nearby, and ran. 

She needed to find Harry and Ron. And maybe forget about the screams she’d been forced to listen through even if it did mean… Malfoy might have saved her from the same fate. 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

October 7th, 1995 

“All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded. An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled.” Hermione read aloud, placing her hands on her hips. “Has she gone mad? Should I stop by Bethlehem and book her a room? I could use a transfiguration spell to make it pink.”  

She was alone and talking to herself. Perhaps she needed the room herself. Or she at least thought she was alone. 

Pansy Parkinson had strolled up at some point, looking mildly irked. “With all that pink, you’d think she was my boggart walking around freely.” 

Hermione rolled her head to give the Slytherin a dry look. “I don’t think even your boggart could be as terrifying as that woman.” She spotted a blond and shaggy haired wizard headed their way down the corridor, “Ugh. But now I think I see mine coming this way.” 

The witch grabbed Hermione’s wrist before she could fully turn to walk away, prompting Hermione to stare at her oddly. 

Pansy grimaced, letting go. “Sorry. It’s just…” 

“What are you doing here, Granger? Don’t you have some S.P.E.W. club to dissemble?” Malfoy inquired, sending her a glacial stare. There wasn’t any emotion on his face, none that reminded her of how scared he’d been at the beginning of last year. Part of her was beginning to think she’d imagined it or mistaken what happened if not for the long sleeves he always wore now. “Pansy, did you cast a confundus or has she been this distracted the whole time?” 

Nott took Pansy by the arm, gesturing for her to follow him. Over his shoulder, he sent Hermione a look that would have made her shite bricks if she wasn’t so damn used to it. Malfoy followed her gaze, meeting Notts, and then they were out of sight. 

She looked at him now, “I don’t need to justify where I am in the castle to you, Malfoy. It’s a public corridor in front of a wall that for some reason now houses Educational Decrees that make absolutely no sense.” 

“I can sound out the words for you if you’re having trouble understanding them.” The blond quipped, “You’d do well to stay out of Umbridge’s sight, but considering you and your idiot mates consistently end up in places where you’re not supposed to be—at least try to lie low.” 

Hermione leveled him with a cold glance of her own. “Why do you sound almost helpful when there’s no one around to witness it and then you’re off calling me every Muggle-born slur in the book when people are about? Your mood changes so often it gives me whiplash.” 

“Moods are meant to change, Granger.” He pretended to think, appearing pensive. “Like before, I was in a rather good mood. About to cause some chaos with Theo in the Common Room. Now I’m standing next to you and I feel agitated. You always give me the sense that you’re speaking from the coffin or close to it.” 

What an odd thing to say. “Why do you think that?” 

“Because you’re always placing that swotty nose where it doesn’t belong.” His voice turned serious and it felt like the world had died away. As she looked at him with the light of the torches reflecting a bit off his white hair, Hermione thought he almost looked regal. But despite his hair being so fair, he was a dark night, and not a prince. “Stay away from Umbridge. She’s not someone you want to be in detention with.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Can’t you take my word at face value?” 

“Not when your word means nothing to me.” 

Malfoy’s lip curled in distaste, clearly unamused by her sharp tongue. “Fine.” And then under his breath, he muttered something along the lines of ‘As if you’ll remember this warning anyway’ before disappearing.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Hermione recounted the Horcrux hunt along with the Battle of Hogwarts, feeling it difficult to remember some parts. It wasn’t that she’d blocked them out like she had the night at the Quidditch final, but there were things there that didn’t make sense. 

Cadeyrn seemed to be less than impressed, ‘Your memory is unreliable, witch.’ 

“My memory?” She repeated, clenching her fists by her side. Hermione knew the answer and yet she asked it anyway, “What are you saying?” 

‘I am saying,’ The dragon breathed out a steam of hot smoke that burned her face a bit, ‘Someone tampered with your memories. I broke through the barriers, but some of your memories are completely gone. There was weak magic hiding those gaps in your memory. What you think you know to be the truth might be the biggest lie in this War.’ 

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Forging an Alliance

She stared back at the dragon like he’d told her the War was over and the Dark Lord wanted to invite them all over for supper to formally apologize. Cadeyrn appeared to be less than thrilled with her analogy as he huffed and eyed the witch. She wasn’t exactly a magizoologist so she couldn’t tell what he was thinking by his body language. 

‘I’m thinking that you’re an inconvenience.’ He told her in an almost sweet, pleasant tone. 

Hermione snapped out of her stupor, “Did you know about the blocks in my memory? Is that why you wanted to see them?” 

‘The Scion deems it too dangerous for me to be outside the wards. Those two wizards are quite capable—even to keep out a dragon—I needed to see for myself what the War looked like from someone whose been outside recently.’ He said simply. 

“I thought Malfoy didn’t allow you—” Another wave of steam rushed over and she knew without a doubt that he was annoyed at the insinuation, “—Listen, I’m trying to understand, alright? Why do you listen to him?” 

‘The Dragon’s Den is my birthright. If I fall, the wards fall.’ 

Then Cadeyrn was the ruler of the other dragons? Like a prince? 

‘Your human terms bore me.’ For a second, she thought she saw the edges of his lips rise. It could have been amusement from her irritated expression or from the grievance over the lack of privacy in her mind, ‘A bit of both. I think you know that the Scion was correct about not running off into the forest without him. He was clearly trying to warn you.’ 

She didn’t want the reminder that Malfoy had been right. It seemed like she had been close to being dragon food had Cadeyrn not intercepted her. Would the dragon understand how she felt? 

‘You think that I, of all dragons, would not understand what it’s like to want to help and do more for my kin, but I’m stuck inside this cage? Watching as my kind fall and I do nothing, but stay safe?’ His anger was potent, sending a heat wave ghosting over her as his voice shook. ‘Your Order and his Legion are both powers that should have no control over the world. Both are parasites.’ 

Wow. 

She’d never heard anyone claim that the Order and the Legion were plagues before, but she could see it. The War wasn’t based on good nor evil, but rather the lesser of the two. Another thought occurred to her then, one she vocalized because Cadeyrn was bound to hear it anyway if he was still listening to her thoughts. 

“My Order and his Legion? Malfoy’s legion?” 

‘Don’t tell me you’re realizing just now if the Dark Lord were to fall, the Scion would be expected to take over?’ 

Malfoy. That’s what he meant by scion. Not that he was the Malfoy heir, but he was the heir to inheriting the Legion she was committed to destroying. 

“Why wouldn’t Theo take over?” 

Cadeyrn didn’t bother to answer her question, merely staring at her. It was a fair question, but she didn’t know the dynamics between Theo and the other Death Eaters. Thankfully, the magical creature enlightened her. 

‘They both wear the Mark, witch. If the Nott boy fails, the Legion will kill him. If the Legion finds the Scion unsuitable anymore, then he too shall die.” 

All because of the Death Eater marks they wear. Then what was this besides a horse and pony show? Shouldn’t she run away? 

‘Because that worked out so well for you.’ 

“I’m not daft for thinking it’s not safe here.” Hermione retorted, feeling defensive over her line of thinking, “There’s no reason for me to think I’m here for any other reason, but to… to…” Her eyebrows scrunched together as she tried to logically think things out again, “Unless Malfoy made this decision to buy time—to figure out a plan. Does he want to destroy the Order and the Dark Lord?” 

Instead of giving her a direct answer, Cadeyrn lifted his head towards the sky. Less than a few moments later, something silver flew overhead, but didn’t stop or land anywhere near them. Hermione wondered if it was like an established patrol since they were close to all the younger dragons. Had that been the Ukrainian Iron belly, Celebrían? 

‘Maybe you aren’t as daft as I thought you to be.’

Thanks? 

‘Keep your gratitude. I’m bound to lose your favor soon. Like watch out for that whelp.” 

Whelp? 

Something barreled into her from behind, causing Hermione to land awkwardly on her tailbone. A root had been sticking out and she let out a curse before spotting the culprit. A red dragon with a mushroom shaped snout was prancing around Cadeyrn’s legs like a happy puppy. 

Cadeyrn eyed it, sending out a steam of disapproval before the youngling’s eyes dipped, and he ran away. Hermione frowned. Was it normal for the young dragons to be out and about like this? What if they got into danger? 

‘There’s nothing for them to fear as long as I am alive.’ Cadeyrn reflected gruffly, walking past her. ‘Come. It’s time to return the human.’ 

They walked side by side, trying to press the dragon for answers, but he often ignored her. It wasn’t until she started asking questions that didn’t relate to the War that he began to humor her. 

“How long have you been here?” 

‘Since the beginning of the War.’ 

Roughly five years. Malfoy had mentioned that Cadeyrn had been here terrorizing Crooks since he was ‘barely out of his shell.’ Did that mean he was only five years old? Why did he sound older when in reality, he—

‘I don’t believe I need to tell you to watch your thoughts, do I? I’m not as tolerate as Scilla was.’ 

—Never mind. 

“Do you fancy this place?” 

‘Does anyone care for a cage regardless of how beautiful it may appear to be?’ 

Another indirect answer, but she could deduce from his unhappy tone that he was conflicted. This place was indeed beautiful, but it was still a cage to someone who wanted to go out there to the frontlines and fight. Hermione could understand that thinking, especially when Shacklebolt had all, but locked her up with Harry to make sure he stayed protected. 

“Why is the magic tied to you?” 

‘Blood.’ 

“And your parents?” 

‘Dead.’ 

Ah. She knew that feeling well. Her parents weren’t dead, but they didn’t remember her. She’d casted an obliviate-like spell in a way that would keep them safe from the Death Eaters, but it did come at a price. She hadn’t seen them since before the Battle of Hogwarts. 

“They died because of the war?” Cadeyrn didn’t answer so she persisted, “If that’s the case, at least you know they died with the knowledge of them loving you.” She fiddled with the moonstone around her neck, rubbing it and thankful when her anxiety slowly dwindled away. “I miss mine and it hurts knowing they have no collection of who I am.” 

‘Do you have a collection of who you are?” The dragon quipped, unkind and detached. 

A collection of missing memories, apparently. “You never did answer my question. Did you know about the blocks in my memory?” 

‘Your mind was full of fog. I’m sure Scilla noticed it too.’ He replied, cryptic as ever. When it was her turn not to say anything, he continued. ‘Does it not relieve you to know that your memory has been tampered with?’ 

“Why would that relieve me?” Hermione tried not to snap, but it was difficult not to. “Could the Order have done it? After the Battle of Hogwarts? Maybe when they thought that I was being too reckless—they caught me off guard—and managed to take them away from me. What do you think?” 

‘I think…’ He began, ‘…that we’re almost to the cottage and then you’re going to have other pressing situations to deal with. Mainly with the Scion.’

“None as important as this one.” 

‘Someone disagrees with you.’ 

They cleared the tree line as the front door opened, and Malfoy leaned against the threshold. His arms were crossed and now that she knew he’d been burned back in Fourth year; she was surprised not to see any marks. Unless… Did he glamour them? Stop her from seeing it? 

She didn’t hesitate to march right over to him, pointing to his right arm. “Let me see.” 

He didn’t bother glancing down, “At least buy me supper, first.” 

“Your arm.” 

“My comment still stands.” 

“Malfoy.” 

“Granger.” 

“Theo.” The wizard popped up behind Malfoy, glancing between her and Cadeyrn whom appeared less than pleased in the front yard. Theo let out a low whistle, “Trouble follows you, doesn’t it, Granger?” 

“Always. With its sidekicks called reckless abandonment and lunacy.” Malfoy regarded her levelly, cold and followed her gaze down to his arm, “What are you on about?” 

“Fourth year. You saved me from the Death Eaters and made sure I got away. You were burned in the process. Why is your arm glamoured?” She said astutely, trying to notice every facial expression of Malfoy’s no matter how miniscule. The prat didn’t give anything away, but Theo’s eyes did flicker towards Cadeyrn’s momentarily. “Unless you had something to do with the barriers in my mind.” 

He cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t know what’s going on in that swotty mind of yours, but have you thought that it’s purely out of narcissism that I don’t want anyone seeing this?”

It was a shimmer of magic around his arm that gave way to a nasty looking burn that started from the center of his forearm and almost reached his bicep. Malfoy must have been in agonizing pain when it’d happened, but she didn’t remember that. She remembered the confidence in his movements and how his focus had been on pushing her to the ground before the group of Death Eaters had spotted her. 

Hermione noticed that his other arm was no longer under glamour as well. But instead of burn marks, black ink decorated his arm. There was the Death Eater mark that was always visible, but also an inked snake and a dragon wrapped around his arm. They tangled in a mess of limbs, but they were charmed, and able to move slightly. She saw the snake’s tongue flicker and the dragon’s head rear towards her. Along with the ink, he still wore that thin gold and red threaded bracelet she’d seen before. 

“You have tattoos.” She said dumbfounded. 

Theo held out his left arm, showing his Dark Mark. “Matching ones. You interested in making it a trio?” 

Hermione sent him a flat stare, “That’s not even funny.” 

Malfoy shook his head, but then shifted his focus towards Cadeyrn. They were having a silent conversation and it seemed to be a bit heated because the dragon let out a quiet snarl that brought the scent of charcoal barreling towards them. The blond didn’t even look perturbed until Cadeyrn’s voice slipped into all their minds. 

‘Mark my words, Scion. This War cannot last forever. Either find a way to end it or I will.’ The dragon’s eyes slid to hers now, ‘You’d do well to find your missing memories, witch. I’m interested in seeing the whole picture.’ 

“I’ll get right on that.” She remarked dryly. 

The dragon’s lip curled over sharp teeth before he swiveled his head towards the garden and flapped his wings—harder than necessary. Hermione watched as tomatoes fell from the vines, a few splattering to the ground. 

A long sigh escaped Malfoy as Cadeyrn flew off, “The bugger knew I was waiting for those. Fucker.” 

She went to walk past Malfoy, but then Theo stood there, appraising her. “Why was Cadeyrn in your head?” 

“Do you think I put out the welcome mat and invited him in?” Hermione inquired, gesturing for him to move aside. “I didn’t have a choice. It’s not like I’m an Occlumens.” 

“Oh we know. Only Gryffindor Snape bothered training was Potter.” Theo chirped, moving to the side. She eyed him wearily, but he wasn’t looking at her now. He was staring at Malfoy, “Time for work, boss?” 

Malfoy answered him, “I wouldn’t bother going for a shower, Granger. You can muck up the stalls with Theo while I take care of the animals.” 

She blinked, turning around to face them. “What? We’re doing farm chores?” 

“The dragons need to eat and so do we.” He replied, then added, “I’ll tell you why I glamoured the scar and my tattoos if you do a good job with Theo today.” 

Hermione bristled at the condescending tone. “I’ll sooner set this place on fire.” 

“You don’t have your magic.” 

“I don’t need magic to rub two sticks together. I was a brownie once.” 

Theo cocked his head, “What is that? A sexual awakening? Do you like women, Hermione?” 

“Being around the two of you, I’m starting to.” She said flatly, before enlightening the two perplexed men. To clarify, Malfoy was confused—Theo looked scandalously interested, “Girl Scouts. Hello? It’s Muggle. My parents wanted me to be independent so I learned a few skills—we’re off track now. Fine. You want me to go shovel shite this morning? I will. But I will get those answers, Malfoy.”  

He rolled his eyes before walking back towards his room. Theo was already dressed to go and that’s where he seemed to be heading before she’d arrived at the cottage with Cadeyrn. 

“So what did you and Cadeyrn discuss?” Theo inquired nosily, leading her towards the patio. She didn’t say anything as they passed the gardens and then picked up a trail which headed in a Southern direction from the cottage, “Seems like it had something to do with missing memories from what he said.” 

“You heard that last line from Cadeyrn?” 

“We all did.” 

Hermione nodded, “He had me recount my years at Hogwarts and I guess I’d forgotten some things. Well not so much as forgotten as they’d been pushed to the back of my mind with barriers, but he was able to break through them easily. Actually, he did say that I had whole gaps in my memory missing. As in someone must have obliviated me or done something.” 

Theo mulled this over, a pensive expression on his face. “Do you think it was the Order? Potter? Even Shacklebolt?” 

That gave her a bad feeling. Like what if the Order had been responsible for taking memories she had no idea about? What else had they taken from her? Why hadn’t they done more when Shacklebolt visibly hated her? 

“I”m not sure.” Was the only answer she could muster. Instead of building on it, she asked him a different question. “You were always at Pansy’s side or nearby. I remembered something from Third year and Fifth. You told me to stay away from Malfoy when we were 13. Why?” 

“Why would I tell you, Harry Potter’s best friend, to stay away from Draco? Is this really a question?” Theo glanced down at her, then back at the trail before them. The leaves were an impossible shade of green, looking vibrant with the sunlight dancing on its leaves. “You know what his father was up to. If the Dark Lord had any doubts that night in Little Hangleton when he rose again, then Lucius would have been killed. Draco would have had to step up sooner and prove his loyalty even earlier than he was already forced to.” 

Hm. She hadn’t thought about it like that. There were consequences for everything, weren’t there? Take for example the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. Despite being hurt by Dolohov, the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters had been forced to retreat. Some had been captured. Like Lucius. What was a victory for her was detrimental for the Malfoys. 

Theo spoke up again, hearing the loud silence between them. “Aunty Cissa worked hard to keep Draco in favor with the Dark Lord whilst Lucius was detained. That meant telling Draco to allow the bastard to use Malfoy Manor as he pleased despite it being Draco’s birthright and a great symbol of pride.” 

“Did he…” Her eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to word the question well, “Cadeyrn led me to believe that Malfoy wants to destroy the Order and the Dark Lord. Along with the Legion and Armies of course. Am I here as a means to buy time?”

Theo cursed, something about poisoning all the sheep with laxatives right before the next dragon feeding time. “Cadeyrn has a big mouth.” 

“I’m sure he’d appreciate that comment.” 

“He’d burn me to a crisp for it.” The wizard reflected, kicking a branch out of his path. “I’m willing to bet every galleon I own that you’re wondering why we didn’t try to stop the rise of the Dark Lord? When we were younger?” 

“I used to.” She admitted, pushing a stray curl behind her ear and focusing on the path as well. “But we were children, Theo. All of us were. We were a bunch of preadolescents, running around looking for a powerful stone, how to stop a basilisk from killing people in school, and Godric knows what else. Plus, from what I can remember, Lucius and Narcissa didn’t seem like the warm parenting type. I doubt it was easy to ask those sorts of questions to them.” 

“You didn’t know them like we did.” Theo didn’t sound mad or defensive, just matter of fact. “You lot also thought the worst of Snape, but he was there for us when our parents weren’t. I can’t tell you how many times Draco or I… How he comforted us when we were at our wit’s end and terrified about how to interact in a world too cruel for any child to know exists. There were many late night Common Rooms chats, I’ll leave it at that.” 

That… That was remarkably human of Theo to admit. 

“Snape wasn’t all bad. He tried to protect Harry from Professor Quirrel. He informed the Order as soon as he thought Harry was missing… Prevented the Death Eaters from getting Harry, and then gave us valuable information right before he died from Nagini.” 

“He was a wanker, but he was a wanker who cared.” Theo wrinkled his nose, “Can’t believe he had a thing for Potter’s mum, though.” Seeing her inquisitive stare, he explained. “I’ve never seen a photo of her, but I’ve seen the Muggle sister. Not fit at all.” 

“How did you know Aunt Petunia?” 

“We were given a list of all family members that are currently alive. Including your Muggle healer parents, Granger.” The corner of his mouth quirked up, “Did you think that I wouldn’t find them hiding out in Australia?” 

Shock filled her lungs, making the breath catch in her throat. “Theo, I swear to Merlin, if you hurt them, I’ll—”

“Relax.” He waved her off dismissively, “As far as the Dark Lord knows, they were already obliviated and not worth the effort of bringing in. He thinks they’re six feet under.” 

That didn’t necessarily make her feel all warm and cozy. “Why would the Dark Lord pick you after Malfoy? Weren’t there other Death Eaters high up on his favor list?” 

“Yes, but he wants Draco.” 

“Why?” 

“Isn’t that the million galleon question?” 

Hermione frowned at his sudden crypticism, “Well taking a guess, it has to do with the dragons.” 

“He made Draco his second-in-command even before we knew Draco would have allegiance with them.” 

“Then… I have no clue. Maybe because he was young? Moldable?” 

Theo snorted inwardly, “If you think Draco’s submissive in any sense of the word, then you really don’t know him.” 

“He is quite honestly a homesteader who reads Martha Stewart cook books and tends to cute little farm animals.” Hermione pointed out as they reached a wide, open field. There were sheep, free roaming everywhere and a small white barn in the distance. “Not to mention he’s stolen the affections of my cat from me.” 

“He’s also the same person that defied direct orders, broke an Imperius Curse from the Dark Lord himself, and commanded every dragon in the heat of battle to put their faith in him.” Theo’s words chilled her because she knew that he wasn’t exaggerating. He was stating more facts, “Do you think the Dark Lord would tolerate Draco’s antics if he didn’t think that there was a chance of him coming back to him?” 

His questions were starting to annoy her because it felt like he was leading her to a conclusion, but she couldn’t see the thread that connected everything together. She’d mull over it later. While he was being chatty, Hermione had questions for him. 

“Why did you allow Pansy to get captured?” At the mention of her name, Theo’s demeanor changed a bit. Before he’d been serious, but still had that tame quality about him. Now he looked at her with a glint of something twisted and feral. The way a caged animal might look at a hunter who’d trapped him. “I know, I know. You said that Pansy had been at her Estate and you didn’t get many details, but I saw how you treated her in my memories. I don’t believe for a moment that you would be standing idly by if Malfoy had helped you locate her. So I’ll ask again. Why did you allow her to get captured?” 

Theo had stopped in his tracks, facing her, and she’d come to the same stop. 

She opened her mouth again to speak, “She’s your fiancée. You’ve loved her since you were kids. The only reason I could think that you would leave her is because… she wasn’t safe anymore with the Legion or her family.” 

The wizard nodded. “The Dark Lord was going to break my engagement to her for not convincing Draco quickly enough to hand over the dragons.” 

That was unfortunate, but she didn’t think that was all of it. “What else?” 

“Don’t make me say it, Hermione.” Theo’s voice was hard. His jaw clenching so hard she was surprised he hadn’t chipped a tooth. “Pansy being locked up from everyone is a better outcome then her being exposed to everyone.” 

Is he saying that Pansy would have been… used? Violated by the Death Eaters? Surely not. Surely—the look in his eyes made her stop trying to make excuses. Because, yes, they were that terrible. Yes, they’d violated Muggle women despite hating mudbloods. These people were ruled by a man who was obsessed with blood purity, yet wasn’t a pureblood himself. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, remembering the smallest moments of time with the dark haired witch. They’d cracked a joke together. The witch had apologized for running into her once. Sure they weren’t the best of friends, but she was a fellow witch. Someone Theo cared about and Godric knows how she was being treated. 

“What if we kidnap her back?” Hermione inquired, “Bring her back here. The Dark Lord wouldn’t have to know that you rescued her back and while the Order’s setting up another safe house—now might be the best time. Do it before the wards become stronger or they move again. He’ll know they’re frantic to be ‘safe’ again so Pansy wouldn’t be a priority for them—her ‘loss’ wouldn’t be something to look twice at.” 

Theo raised an eyebrow, “You’d willingly go save her? Why? It’s not going to make me fancy you any more or less. I think you’re abrasive and a stubborn pain in the arse.” 

“Wow,” She touched her chest over her heart, “I think that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me. Godric’s heart, how will I recover knowing what you think of me now?” 

His lip twitched. “Draco’s not going to want you to leave the wards.” 

“Malfoy doesn’t control me.” 

“No he doesn’t.” Theo’s voice was resigned like he’d come to this conclusion a long time ago. “He’s not going to be happy about this either.” 

“Don’t care. Pansy shouldn’t be sitting in some cell or being shipped around like cattle, waiting for Merlin know’s what to happen.” 

He tilted his head, “Had it been roles reversed, I wouldn’t want to go save you. I don’t think I’d bother.” 

“Are you trying to rile me up?” Hermione rubbed her temples, feeling the oncoming headache from simply being in Theo’s presence. “I don’t care if you would or wouldn’t save me. I don’t need saving. What I care about right now is that there’s a witch being held hostage by a bastard that I know is also evil lurking beneath his pretty words of good faith and order.” 

“You’re saying you want to save Pansy because you think she deserves better? Even though she’s a snake? Even though I wouldn’t have allowed her to go save you?” 

Hermione wanted to slap the shite out of him. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, so listen up, Theodore. I want to bring Pansy here. I don’t want her anywhere near Shacklebolt.” 

“That’s something we can agree on.” He smiled cheerfully, “Well, now we simply have to worry about convincing the orneriest dragon to let us go.” 

“You mean Cadeyrn? I suppose we would need the help of a dragon if we’re to track down Pansy without knowing where Harry is. He hasn’t messaged me at all.” Suddenly there were a lot more moving parts to her plan than just ‘save Pansy.’ “I’m assuming you already having something of hers.”  

“I do, but that’s not whom I’m referring to,” Theo chuckled darkly, “Draco is going to have an absolute fit about you leaving the Dragon’s Den.” 

Hermione’s frown deepened. She repeated what she thought was common knowledge at this point. “He doesn’t control me.” 

“No, he’s never been able to.” Theo admitted, looking out towards the open field. “Alright, Hermione. I’ll bite. Place a bit of faith in you again. But if we’re going to want to deal with an angry Draco Malfoy later, we’re going to have to be on our best behavior.” 

“And how do you propose we do that?” 

“By shoveling sheep shite for the next couple hours and tending to the animals. You wouldn’t believe it, but he’s currently in a feud with the chickens. We’ll save him the task of collecting eggs. I hope you don’t mind smelling like a dugbog’s arsehole by day’s end.” 

Hermione eyed Theo wearily. There were still so many things that didn’t make sense to her, but she could focus on one thing at a time. Right now, saving pansy felt essential—like something in the deepest parts of her soul wanted her to do. Though she couldn’t remember many good scenarios with the witch, Hermione now knew that her memory was unreliable. 

It was why she was trusting her gut feeling now. 

Saving Pansy would put her in good graces with Theo, but it’d probably hurt her already unstable and terrible acquaintanceship with Malfoy. If the dragons were something she’d have to convince him for, this certainly wasn’t the way to do it. If Malfoy was as ornery as Theo’d described, then a lifetime probably wouldn’t be enough to convince him. So what other option did she have? What was the right way to go about this? What was the right thing to do? 

Oh fuck it. 

Instead of thinking of this alone, she should ask Malfoy later if he was interested in joining sides because it seems like they had the same goal. 

Hermione walked past Theo into the barn, calling out, “If you get sheep shite all over me, I’m going to avada first, questions later.” At that, she felt something warm hit the back of one of her calves. “If that got in my hair, I’m really going to kill you.” 

Theo snickered, calling her bluff, but she didn’t look at him as she grabbed a shovel off a hook. She only heard his diabolical cackle and his words of encouragement. 

“Don’t worry. That’s what sham-poo is for.”

Yep. Theo Nott was dying today. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Don’t Disappoint Martha Fucking Stewart

A dugbog’s arse probably smelled better than Hermione right now. There’d been a little backpack strapped to Crookshanks around lunch and they found sandwiches. BLT’s to be specific and Crooks ended up stealing a piece of bacon from Theo’s sandwich so really he had a… LT? Hold the B? 

Regardless, she was really hoping that it was mud caked onto her left calve and not sheep shite. Her and Theo were bickering on their way back with Crookshanks having gone back a long time ago. He probably couldn’t stand the smell either. 

“You’re telling me that after discovering television, books are superior to films?” Theo repeated the argument they’d been having all afternoon and the reason why there was cracked egg in his hair. Hermione had launched it the moment he’d said that there wasn’t a point for books anymore, “Why would I want to sit there and read something when I could watch, listen, and multi-task the entire time? Films are more efficient.” 

The cottage was in sight and Hermione was tempted to break the rest of the eggs she was carrying in a woven bag over the git’s head, but that wouldn’t be conducive to to their ultimate goal this evening: convince Malfoy to let them outside the wards to save Pansy. 

“That just tells me you have no imagination.” She was sick of the argument and was at the point where she was certain that Theo was riling her up on purpose. 

The dark haired wizard glanced at her, offended. “No imagination? Do you know how imaginative I’ve gotten, killing people? Avadas get boring after a while.” 

“That’s not imagination, that’s sadism.” 

She saw something orange scurrying towards them from the gardens and saw a horrified expression on Crookshanks’ face. The cat was making Godric awful noises, making it sound like someone had tried to eat his tail. Oh wait, that already happened. 

“Crooks—” Hermione barely managed to keep the bag of eggs from dropping as the half-kneazle jumped into her arms and dug its claws into her shoulder. “Ow—that hurts. What is going on with you?” 

A figure appeared then, Malfoy who was brushing dirt off his trousers, and held a basket of mixed vegetables. It seemed that Cadeyrn hadn’t destroyed all the tomatoes after all. She saw his grey eyes trail over her and then flicker to Theo. Hermione could only imagine that they looked terrible, having been mucking stalls all day. 

“He’s being dramatic.” Malfoy reflected, scowling at the shaking beast in her arms, “I let him sniff one of the broccoli heads and suggested he switch out his weekly bacon for a vegetable. Damned creature acted like I’d told him he was being fed to the dragons.” 

She bit back a smirk, scratching Crookshanks behind the ear, “What a cruel father, huh? If you want bacon, I’ll get you some.” 

The cat’s ears perked up. 

Malfoy’s scowl deepened. “Don’t listen to her. She’s trying to earn your affection back through high cholesterol. I’m still the favourite.” 

“I wouldn’t feed you broccoli.” That’s all it took for the orange cat to start rubbing his face underneath her chin, purring like she’d restored his faith in the world. Her gaze was drawn back to Malfoy and she couldn’t help the beaming smile that graced her lips. “He loves me more.” 

The blond’s eyes darkened, “I doubt that, Granger.” 

He sounded to sure, so positive that she peered at him with a frown. Did he bond with Crooks that much that he was jealous over the affections of a cat? Theo chuckled wryly, drawing the attention to him. “Unless you’d like for me to cook, why don’t we start supper? I’m starving. That one talked my ear off all day about nonsensical things.” 

“Nonsensical?” Hermione gestured to Theo with the hand that wasn’t holding Crookshanks, “He’d tried to tell me that films are better than books.” 

Theo shook his head, making a ‘tut’ noise with his tone, “Don’t change up your tune now that you’re in front of Draco. All afternoon she kept spewing how productive she could be if a film was on—”

“You bloody liar!” She was utterly affronted, gesturing to him again, but looking at Malfoy, “He’s lying—”

Her words caught in her throat, seeing the surprisingly boyish grin on Malfoy’s face. It made his features lighter, the impish glint in his eyes as he watched them bicker, and Theo’s gremlin laugh fill the air. There was still a tinge of sadness she could spot behind the brief flash of amusement, and Hermione knew without a doubt that it was either because Pansy wasn’t here or he was still internally mourning Scilla. Maybe it was both. 

No it was both. 

She realized quickly that she was staring at him when his eyes flickered to hers with a question and she latched onto the first thing she thought of as she looked at Theo. “You’re lucky I can’t use magic right now or you’d be covered in more shite than we already are.” 

At the mention of it, Crookshanks seemed to finally smell her and the traitorous bastard gagged. He let go and started running towards his father that held a hand out, “Don’t even think about it fur ball. You’re not coming anywhere near me until you get a bath.” 

Hermione couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out of her lips, “Does he still hate them?” 

Nodding, it seemed that Malfoy couldn’t help the smile that toyed on his lips too, “It’s a fucking nightmare every month. And I just gave him one last week.” 

“I’ll help you this time.” Hermione proposed, before glancing down at herself, “But I think Theo and I both need a shower first.” 

“Why don’t we save water and—” The witch’s eyes had been on the dark haired wizard so she had the perfect view to watch the zucchini hit him square in the face. Theo yelped, stumbling back, and holding his now bleeding nose. “What the fuck—mate—You couldn’t have thrown a tomato? Something softer?”  

Hermione held a hand to her mouth, smothering her laugh as Malfoy wandlessly accio’d the dropped zucchini. He turned to walk back into the cottage, but not before looking back to say, “I wouldn’t waste a precious tomato on you. I’m not a monster.” 

Theo muttered a curse, following after Malfoy, and Hermione followed suit. She was going to take a long shower after mucking the stalls all day. But it had also been good—the physical exercise aspect of it. Her mind had kept busy and she’d felt accomplished helping the animals by the end of it. It wasn’t a terrible first day so far.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Apparently they’d all had a shower, but hers was definitely longer. Her hair was wet, but she could smell the vanilla and jasmine of her conditioner, and it had a calming affect. The scent was familiar to her, one she’d used in school, and if she closed her eyes—she could maybe even imagine that the last five years had all been a bad nightmare. She had her last year of Hogwarts to attend and she was going to strive for a job in the Ministry.

She walked into the kitchen, wearing a pair of comfy red shorts and an oversized beige sweatshirt from Oxford. She found Malfoy and Theo dressed somewhat similar in joggers, but whereas Theo’s was grey, Malfoy’s was black again. Did he have an unlimited supply of comfy joggers? This time, Theo was wearing a shirt from That’s 70’s Show meanwhile Malfoy wore a ‘Make Peace Not War’ shirt. 

Hermione snorted inwardly, “I need to find better shirts if I’m to keep up with the both of you.” She watched as Malfoy was dicing tomatoes with ease the Muggle way. He had a glass bowl next to him and a block of parmesan cheese, balsamic oil along with olive, and what looked like freshly picked basil. Theo was standing by the stove with a box of fettuccine and looked as bored as could be. “Is your job putting the pasta in the water?” 

“It’s the only thing he trusts me with.” Theo said blandly, “When I could be watching my show instead.” 

“You wanted to help, this is you helping.” Malfoy replied, unbothered. He used the knife to scoop up the tomatoes he’d diced, placing it into the bowl. He glanced up at her, “I was thinking pasta for supper, but I’m not sure what sort of sauce to make. Any ideas?” 

She frowned, momentarily perplexed by the normalcy of his question. One wouldn’t think that such a question was hard to answer, but she never expected Draco Malfoy to ask her what she wanted for supper. Hermione treated it like an olive branch, wanting to be more cordial. She didn’t trust him, but that didn’t mean she needed to pick needless fights with him. 

“There’s a recipe my Nan taught me…” She offered, thinking out loud to list the ingredients, “All it takes is chicken stock, heavy whipping cream, cheese. Everything you’d need for a basic Alfredo sauce, but she’d never tolerate anyone calling it by anything other than ‘Nan’s famous Alfredo.’” 

“Sounds riveting.” Theo drawled, sarcasm heavy in his voice. 

Hermione shot him a sour look as Malfoy smirked, “Take a look through the fridge. I’m sure everything you need is inside.” 

As she walked over to the fridge, Theo decided to grace them with his rambles about how they’d done today in the stalls, “By the way, the chickens still hate you, but they were glad to see us.” 

It sounded like he was chopping the garlic by the steady sound of the blade hitting the cutting board while Hermione pulled out the ingredients she needed to prepare the sauce, “They need to get over themselves.” 

“You did shake them. And not in a cute way, like I think you gave them an eternal vertigo session. The black one with the brown feathers at the end of its left wing—you know—that one—it walks crooked still—to this day—and it’s been months.” 

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows as she turned around to set everything on the table, “Do I want to know why?” 

“No you don’t.” 

“I think she does.” 

“I don’t.” 

Theo’s eyebrows raised as he glanced over quickly to check if the water was boiling yet. It wasn’t. He swiveled his head back, “Because you don’t want to look like an idiot in front of Hermione?” 

“If it helps, you look like a proper idiot to me all the time.” She noted sweetly. 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at her, but his reply wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “It’s how I thought you got eggs. From the chickens. I thought you shook them when you needed eggs and they’d, well, pop out.” 

He… Those poor chickens… 

“You were just winging it, huh?” 

Theo cackled and Malfoy’s lips twitched as he clearly fought another smirk. “Don’t encourage him. We’ll be listening to chicken puns for the rest of the night.” 

Hermione smiled at that and for a few minutes, there was an easy atmosphere as Theo and Malfoy spoke about the animals, and what food they should stock up on the next time they have to go to the market for things that Malfoy can’t make or grow. 

Yorkshire tea was one of the high priority items this time because he needed some and he refused to even touch Theo’s supply of PG Tips. Hermione had to agree silently with Malfoy. PG Tips was rubbish. 

She stole a bit of the garlic Malfoy was using for the what she now knew was bruschetta, but her life was saved when she explained to him she needed it for the sauce. There was a bit of easy going playfulness that she found herself asking, “I may be missing memories, but did we ever get along? When we were younger?” She swallowed, turning her gaze to the pan as she sautéed the garlic, “I might be crazy, but this atmosphere almost feels too easy to slip into.” 

Hearing silence, she looked up to see Theo glancing at the box of pasta like he was unsure of something. With a shrug, he dumped the entire thing in. Looking over to Malfoy, the blond wizard was stirring the bruschetta mixture and his tone was as steady as his movements, “What do you think, Granger? Theo and I were off being groomed to inevitably  become Death Eaters. Do you really think we had time to become friends while you were busy saving Potter’s life every five minutes?” 

“I don’t know.” She admitted and it pained her to do so, “That’s why I’m asking. Instead of trying to turn the question on me, why don’t you answer it?” 

Theo made a small scoffing noise, but it was more out of entertainment than anything. “How long did the Sorting hat take when it was your turn?” 

“Four minutes. And it was between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, so don’t even try to include me in your den of snakes.” Hermione remarked, but didn’t take her eyes off of Malfoy as she asked again, “Are there memories of the three or four of us missing from me?” 

While Theo opened his mouth and then closed it, Malfoy spoke clearly. “How would I know what is and isn’t missing from your mind? Do I think you and I were friends when we were younger? Absolutely not. I had no interest in being friends with you.” 

There were times when members of the Legion had screamed atrocious things at her. Ways they’d use her body while she was still alive and then dead. How slowly they’d kill her. Some of the things they said gave her nightmares. How they’d use Muggle tools to torture her rather than a cruciatus—to make it more intimate. 

And yet, what Malfoy said now affected her more than heinous threats. He was a Death Eater. Technically still was, but she knew that he didn’t want to be. Had he ever?

“What about now?” She asked, still holding out a bit of hope although it seemed a bit like waiting for an Augurey in the desert. A bit futile, but not impossible. “Cadeyrn led me to believe that you want to destroy the Order and the Dark Lord. Did you facilitate this?” Hermione gestured to Theo beside her and then herself, “As a ruse to buy yourself more time? Because if it is—I could help.” 

Wait for it. 

Wait for the ‘I don’t need your help’ or the ‘stay out of it’ speech that she was so used to receiving from the Order. 

Wait for the shunning and the complete and utter disregard for—

“I don’t doubt your abilities,” Malfoy said smoothly, meeting her gaze again. Her breath caught by the intensity there, but his mouth was twisted in a solemn frown which made her know it wasn’t an answer she was going to be fond of, “But you aren’t an Occulumens, Granger. If the Dark Lord were to discover what you know as it is—Theo and I would be killed instantly. The Dark Mark would steal our lives faster than he could steal your thoughts.” 

Her heart was pounding in her chest. “Can’t you teach me?” 

“Teach you to control your curious personality?” His tone was devoid of any fondness or joviality, “What makes you think that I have the time for that? There’s several acres of land to take care of, dragons to mind, and a War at our doorstep.” 

She didn’t have anything more to say to that. Theo tried to lighten the mood, talking about one of the episodes he’d recently watched, but she wasn’t listening. As she stirred the sauce, mindlessly adding cheese to it to her heart’s content, Hermione tried not to fall into that timeless place of despair. When everything felt too bleak or she felt she wasn’t doing enough; it beckoned her. It whispered at her to give in to the hopelessness. 

It felt like she was on the losing side of the War when the ones in charge didn’t fight to win—and after a while—that weighed on a person—and—

“Granger.” 

Hermione glanced up, realizing that Malfoy was holding a pan of sliced baguettes, ready to throw them in the oven where she was standing. She realized vaguely that Theo was no longer in the kitchen, the water containing the pasta was almost boiling over, and her sauce was on the verge of being overcooked if she didn’t take it off the heat. 

“Oh. Sorry.” The murmur left her lips as she moved the pan to an unused burner and then lifted the boiling pot off the stove. She walked over to the sink, trying to meticulously pour the water without losing any of the noodles. “Godric’s heart. Did he put enough pasta in?” 

The comment was sarcastic and rhetoric, but Malfoy still replied as he shut the oven, “He does his best to help. I think.” 

“I think he’s chaotic so you’ll tell him to go watch his show instead of helping.” Despite not asking for his help, Malfoy was at her side with a pasta strainer. Like this, it was easier to simply pour everything into the sink and not have to worry about losing any of the noddles. “Thanks.” 

When he didn’t move, Hermione glanced up to see his earnest expression. “What I said was harsh.” 

“But not entirely wrong.” She pointed out, hating that even she could hear the disappointment in her voice. “I would like to point out that even knowing what I know now could be detrimental if the Dark Lord was to ever get ahold of me. But—”

“If you say you would avada yourself, I’m going to avada you.” He reached forward, grabbing the pasta strainer and shaking it a bit so excess water fell out from the bottom, “Should you fall, so will the Order. The entire fucking world will.” 

Hermione frowned at that, watching him pour the fettuccine into her sauce pan. She walked over to him, using a wooden spoon to start mixing everything together. “I’m a bit hesitant to point this out, but…” 

“What is it?” 

She met his gaze, feeling her heart race with trepidation. Was there any other way to say this other than bluntly? “When you said that it was dangerous for me to know as much as I do, it made me… think that you might have obliviated my memories. Did you? Do it? Did I find something out that I wasn’t supposed to and this was the safest way?” 

His posture didn’t stiffen. His features didn’t tighten. His chest didn’t change as his breathing didn’t hitch or stutter. Malfoy was unbothered by her direct question which either meant he had absolutely nothing to do with her memory… or he obliviated her once and he was about to do it again.  

“I didn’t obliviate your memories, Granger.” He said adamantly, in a clear tone. “Back then, if you had found out anything significant, I’m confident the Dark Lord would have been the first to know about it.” There was a hard set to his jaw as his brows knitted together, “We were just kids back then. And he was in Potter’s head too. It’s a miracle any of us are still alive.” 

“Swear it.” 

He blinked, cautious as he asked, “You want an Unbreakable Vow?” 

Did she? “No.” Hermione searched his eyes, feeling a bit vulnerable, “Swear it right now that you didn’t take my memories.” 

Malfoy gazed back at her, pensive. “You would believe me?” 

“I’m making the choice to believe you.” Hermione admitted just as cautious before her voice burned with a promise, “But if I do find out that you lied and you took my memories, then I’m going to make the Cruciatus Curse look like a Rictusempra by the time I’m done with you.” 

The corner of his lip rose in a half-smirk, “What happened to the Granger who got defensive over a tailless whip scorpion being harmed?” 

“That creature didn’t deserve it. You would.” She answered callously, eyeing him. He still looked so at ease whilst the severity of the conversation was astronomical. “Answer the question, Malfoy.” 

“I swear, Hermione Granger, that I did not take your memories.” Hearing her first name on his tongue coaxed a warm sensation into her chest, causing her to shift her weight from one foot to the other. His eyes flickered down, tracking the movement before meeting her eyes again, “Happy?” 

She rip her gaze from his grey eyes to the pasta that was still needing to be mixed. Her Nan would have been nagging at her about making sure the sauce didn’t cool down too much or else they’d be eating cold Alfredo. She turned the heat back on low before finally speaking up, “I don’t think I’ll be happy until the Dark Lord is destroyed with no chance of coming back, every Legion member’s head is on a stake, and—” The rest of her words were stuck in her throat as she realized that they weren’t completely true. 

—and every Death Eater brutally slaughtered. 

Hermione had spent the day with Theo—and as annoying as the bugger was—she found herself saddened by the idea of his death. She hadn’t thought of Malfoy in years and now the idea of him dying left her visibly shaken. Was that part of the magic that had been in her mind? Did it keep all thoughts of Malfoy away? 

Why else wouldn’t she have thought of the Dark Lord’s weapon—even if it was to remember his position as his previous second-in-command. It made sense, but it was frustrating to know that something had affected her like that. What else—what other information was she missing? And who had infiltrated her mind? 

“Granger.” She looked up and saw Malfoy searching her expression now, a line forming between his eyebrows as he pensively stared at her. He reached up and she watched him wearily; flinching as his hand raised towards her. His eyes hardened, his expression growing distant for a moment before he seemed to refocus, and gently tapped her temple, “You got lost again. You had that same look when I pinned you earlier.” 

Should she lie? There wasn’t any harm in being brutally honest. “What Scabior said to me in the woods and what happened at Malfoy Manor still haunt me. Disturbing experiences like that don’t just go away on their own.” It was another vulnerable moment to admit one was traumatized, but how did someone go through War without having their soul torn apart? Without having their morals compromised? “I don’t fancy being grabbed against my will. I don’t think any woman does.” 

He didn’t say anything for a few moments before agreeing. “No. They don’t just go away on their own.” Malfoy made it sound like there was more he wanted to say, but he switched the conversation around. “Is your Nan’s pasta done? 

“It is. What about your bruschetta?” 

His eyes seemed to brighten, like sunlight hitting a glacier. “You could tell what it was?” 

Hermione’s lips twitched. There was that boyish charm she didn’t expect from him. “I might be a Muggle-born witch from Oxfordshire, but I’m cultured enough to know what bruschetta looks like. My Nan adored Italian food—she always made it for family suppers.” 

“Right.” He grimaced, running a hand through his hair. “It’s got a few more minutes before it’s done.” 

She crossed her arms, leaning her hip against the counter as she kept her gaze on the enigma in front of her. Draco Malfoy appeared before her like Pandora’s Box. She’d found out all sorts of things so far that she didn’t expect from him. It was a humbling experience. He wasn’t the person she thought he was and she wondered if he thought the same about her. 

“You’re staring at me.” He pointed out bluntly. A bit of smugness as he added, “Again.” 

“You’re not what I expected.” Hermione replied honestly. 

He arched an eyebrow, “Because I’m a Death Eater?” 

“Because you’ve tried to compromise with me rather than tell me ‘no’ flat out or try to control me.” Her voice was firm and definitive. There was no room to argue and she wasn’t looking to flatter him. In fact, she shouldn’t have to thank him for hearing her out or giving her the littlest inclination of respect. She was a capable witch and she did have a brilliant mind. Granted, she tended to do stupid shite despite that brilliant mind, but she also knew she’d acted out because of it. Hermione wasn’t used to decent conversation, she was used to asking for forgiveness rather than permission—and even then—the forgiveness was a facade. “Shacklebolt tried to control me. Harry always tried to get me to place nice… to not cause trouble with the Order… to stay quiet when I should have been even louder. What if I knew something important and the Order stole it away? Harry was hiding things from me. That I’m sure of now.” 

Malfoy tilted his head slightly. “You think Potter snatched your memories?” 

“It would have to be someone close to me. Do you think I’d have lowered my defenses if it wasn’t? I’m always on edge around Shacklebolt.” 

He took a deep breath. “You don’t think he… tried to do anything to you, do you? You are always on edge at the mention of him. He didn’t try to…” 

“Touch me?” Her skin felt like there were bugs crawling all over her and she absently pushed back her right sleeve, scratching her arm. Hermione didn’t even noticed she’d started to do that until Malfoy reached forward to stop her, but his hand hesitated above hers. He said nothing as he retracted his hand and waited for her to speak, “I don’t think so. I’ve never even gotten that impression from him—he hates me. He’d rather see me dead—I know he wants that.” Hermione’s mind spiraled from there, “What if I found out something about Shacklebolt and he took memories from me?” 

Malfoy didn’t agree or disagree, his eyes were still on her wrist that was slightly red from her nails. He visibly swallowed, looking troubled before he met her eyes. “I can understand that this entire situation might have taken you by surprise. We were never mates, we didn’t get along casually like you and Theo do, but I hope know that I would never take advantage of you like that. I’ll speak to Theo about keeping his hands to himself, but the bloke would never force himself on you.” 

“He loves Pansy.” 

“He’s in love with Pansy. She’s the air he breathes.” Malfoy reflected, no ounce of hesitation in his voice, “He’s always wanted to be by her side.” 

“Did you ever have anyone like that? At school?” 

“Do you think that I had the time to?” 

“Are you ever going to answer my questions with a straight answer or is deflection a proud achievement of yours?” Hermione inquired, miffed. “Because it’s fucking annoying.” 

He smirked at that. The light in the kitchen was making his hair shine like a halo, but there was nothing angelic about his expression. It was almost devilish. But Lucifer was also beautiful and God’s favourite. Hermione didn’t even know she cared about religious euphemisms until she realized that Malfoy didn’t fit nicely into any category in her mind. Again, he was like Pandora’s box. Always full of surprises, but he somehow kept hope tucked away all these years in the idea that he could take down the Dark Lord and the Order. 

“You never used to swear this much.” 

“I like to think of them as sentence enhancers.” Her lips formed an impish smile and she saw the moment Malfoy’s gaze became scrutinizing—and his body subtly stiffened like he knew she was going to send him a blow with her words. Not the blow he might want if she was right about the way he’d stared at her lips for a moment too long. “Here’s an example.” Clearing her throat, she took a step forward so that there was barely any distance between them as she looked up into his steel colored eyes. “We’re going to save Pansy and get her away from the fucking Order. And you’re not going to tell Theo and I ‘no’ because you don’t fucking control me and he’s your best mate. He deserves to have the air returned to his lungs and Pansy deserves her freedom.” 

There was a creak to her left and she spotted Theo walking in. Malfoy might have noticed it too, but his stare never left Hermione’s. Theo was watching the blond carefully too, but it was like he didn’t know which direction Malfoy would go in. 

To be with them. Or against them. 

She felt two fingers push against her cheek and her gaze was redirected to Malfoy. “Is that so?” A wicked smile formed on his lips as he slid those fingers to tilt her chin up. There was a low, authoritative tone to his voice next that had her cheeks warming, and she dared not look Theo’s way. “Fine, Granger. Have it your fucking way. But the saving is going to have to wait until after supper. I refuse to let Martha down by burning the bruschetta recipe I found in her cookbook.” 

Godric forbid they disappoint Martha Fucking Stewart. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Tomorrow be Ours

They ate in the living room which was apparently a big concession from Malfoy because he didn’t allow food other than the kitchen. It wasn’t even because he was afraid that Theo would make a mess—it was because he believed that meals were best enjoyed with company, and not being forced to stare at a screen the entire time. That was surprisingly sentimental of him, but Theo had explained it was his Mum’s rule, not his. 

There was a map on the coffee table with a plate of bruschetta covering part of Northern Africa. Malfoy balanced a bowl of Alfredo in one hand as he pointed to Spain, “Fuente de Orfeo está en la Plaza de la Provincia de Madrid.” 

“In English, Michelangelo.” Theo chastised, shoving a large bite of fettuccine into his mouth. 

“He’s Italian.” Hermione and Malfoy both corrected in a dumbfounded tone before eyeing each other. Malfoy added, “You couldn’t have at least used a Spanish artist? Picasso? Dalí? Cabellut?” 

Theo rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. Ideally he couldn’t, there was sauce on both corners of his mouth, and he looked like a chipmunk. 

Malfoy accio’d a napkin from the kitchen, handing it to him as he explained, “The fountain of Orpheus in Madrid is the closest safehouse the Order has access to. It was built in January of 1998.” 

“That’s only a few months before the Battle of Hogwarts. Was that intentional?” Hermione noticed, reaching for a helping of bruschetta before Theo ate all of that too. When he nodded with a praising glint in his eyes, she continued, “Why? Did you coordinate that for the Legion?” 

Instead of him answering, Theo swallowed and snorted inwardly, “Do you think Malfoy would want to protect him? The wizard who tried to collar him? That was for us.” 

“You, him, and Pansy?” Hermione guessed, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Why didn’t you after the Battle?” 

“It was for my parents too.” Malfoy said quietly, a distant almost sad look in his eyes before they hardened to steel and he tapped the map again, “Potter would have taken them there. That place can’t be accessed with a Portkey, so he would have had to travel via muggle means because Apparition would have been too risky.” 

Because of the tracking spells. Hermione toyed with her necklace, running the pad of her thumb against the moonstone teardrop and drew Theo’s attention. He was gaping at her, “Where the fuck did you get that?” 

“This? An antique shop…” Hermione thought hard about it, trying to remember details about it, but she realized she couldn’t. “I… I’ve always known it was an antique shop, but now that I’m trying to remember what led me to buy it… The magic infused in the stone is supposed to deter any tracking or divination spells… but now I’ve just wondered why none of the Order wear anything like this.” She looked at Malfoy, “Do you think it was Harry that gave it to me and messed with my memories if I can’t remember something as simple as this?” 

Theo quickly interjected, “That teardrop has nothing to do with Potter, it’s a Black family heirloom.” He shifted his gaze to Malfoy who was busy eating the Alfredo and staring down at the map, “Something tells me it was from a private grotto by the Black Lake. The same one you said you didn’t find a ring I looking for.” 

“I already told you it wasn’t there.” He retorted, scowling. 

Hermione frowned at the exchange, glancing at Malfoy pointedly. “Did you give me this?” 

“You remember buying it, no? Obviously I didn’t give it to you. I dropped it off at an antique shop, evidently the one you went to.” The blond gestured back to the map again, “We’ll likely have to go tonight if we’re to catch them before they enter the fountain. I can’t be seen by anyone in the Order lest one of them ever gets kidnapped and the Dark Lord sees what I’m really up to in my free time.” 

An almost hesitant smile formed on the gremlin’s lips, “Then it’s true? We’re really going to get Pansy? I’ll see her tonight?’ 

Malfoy returned his smile, but there was another emotion there that Hermione couldn’t decipher. It weighed down on him, making his smile not reach his eyes, “Yes—”

A pained hiss escaped the both of them. Two bowls of Nan’s Alfredo hit the floor, the ceramic pieces breaking, and scattering across the floor. Crookshanks let out a loud meow, excited by the prospect of food on the floor for him. Before he could pass Malfoy, the wizard picked up the struggling cat. 

“You could accidentally inhale a shard with the way you devour food—you’re not eating off the floor.” He wrapped both arms around Crookshanks, ignoring the latter’s claws digging into his arm, “I thought we talked about being a gentleman, you bloody lard.” 

Hermione noticed Theo standing up and his Death Eater robes fell around him like shadows being drawn to him, “Did he use the Dark Mark to call you?” 

“He did.” Theo’s voice was heavy with sorrow, “I can’t disobey him.” 

“I know,” Malfoy stood up and Hermione held out her arms as he handed off their naughty son, “It doesn’t change anything. Come back safe and Pansy will be waiting here for you. At home.” He offered a more genuine smile that did reach his eyes this time, “Good luck convincing her to muck the stalls with you tomorrow.” 

Theo chuckled, but the sound was a bit forced. Not like one of his diabolical gremlin cackles she was surprisingly used to hearing now. The mask that formed over his face didn’t look like Malfoy’s. There weren’t dragon scales or anything of the like, it was solid black except for the five petals scratched into where his right cheek was. Immediately, Hermione knew it was a pansy and it was likely his reminder of why he took the Mark in the first place. 

“Don’t die, Theo.” Hermione said in lieu of goodbye, “I refuse to clean the stalls alone.” 

He nodded, but looked at his fellow Death Eater. “Keep Granger out of danger. She’s the only one I trust out of the two of you to grab the eggs from the coop.”  

Without another word, he was gone. That surprised her. 

“Did Cadeyrn lower the wards so he could Disapparate?” 

Malfoy nodded, but didn’t say anything as he started to clean up the mess with wand-less magic. She didn’t think he was going to say anything until it was all cleaned up. “I’m going to get another bowl. Do you need anything from the kitchen?” 

“No…” 

She waited for almost fifteen minutes, anxiety causing her to eat three pieces of bruschetta while she wondered what was going on with him. When Crookshanks decided he’d had enough of being held, he started pawing at her cheek. Maybe it wasn’t so much as annoyance at being held, but rather he was worried about Malfoy too. 

Hermione stood up, Crookshank’s head turning towards the direction of the kitchen like he knew exactly where she was headed. The little traitor knew her well. 

Walking into the kitchen, she spotted the wizard standing in front of the sink, peering down into a glass of water he’d gotten for himself. There was a bowl of food next to him, but no heating charm which meant that it was getting cold if it wasn’t already.

If he knew she’d entered the kitchen, he gave no acknowledgement or inclination that he was aware of it. Instead, Hermione found that he looked the way she imagined Odysseus did moments after witnessing his crew be drowned at the wrath of Poseidon. 

He was in mourning despite the different masks he put on. Tension weighed heavy on his shoulders, causing them to bow forward slightly. His right hand was gripping the sink with too much force. There was a stormy expression in his eyes that didn’t go away when he finally looked over at her. She was all too willing to be caught in his gales. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, unsure of this was the right move to make, but talking things out was supposed to help. That’s what all the self-help books informed her when she struggled to keep her own emotions in check. “What was she like?” 

“Who?” 

“Scilla.” The witch tilted her head slightly, “She was important to you, wasn’t she?” 

Malfoy nodded slowly as if the memories still had a fierce grip on him, but he managed to say, “She still is. She’s the one who got me out when Cadeyrn’s mum died in the battle.” 

“The battle you left.” Hermione perked up at the information, bending down to drop Crooks down to the floor. She watched as he scampered up to one of the kitchen chairs, but before he could jump onto the table—Malfoy stopped him with a fatherly glare. One the impish cat had received a hundred times considering he stayed on the chair and his tail flicked with thinly veiled displeasure. “Theo said that you broke an Imperius Curse placed on you by the Dark Lord himself and then commanded all the dragons whilst in the heat of battle to follow you.” 

“Did he?” An undertone of amusement was overshadowed by grief. “It probably wasn’t as grand as he described it. When I was able to break through his curse, Scilla and I were standing opposite of each other. Cadeyrn’s father had sacrificed himself to establish the  Dragon’s den. Every ounce of magic needed to protect this place consumed his entire being. The purple snapdragons are said to be Emyr’s welcoming of a brave soul back to the land.” 

“That’s what those purple flowers were? Snapdragon’s?” She recalled the way the beautiful flowers had grown over Scilla’s body, “Before Cadeyrn burned them away.” 

“He was giving her a proper burial rite for their kind.” Malfoy explained shortly before taking a drink of his water. He gaze lingered on the water before looking her way again, “The Dragon’s Den is quite honestly the only reason Theo and I are still alive.” 

Why? Hermione wanted to figure it out, not fancying the idea of Malfoy explaining everything to her. She’d lost her memories, she hadn’t lost the wit she was known for. What made the Dragon Den desirable? Why would the Dark Lord want such a place that can’t be—

“For the wizard who split apart his soul to achieve mock immortality—he would be untouchable here. No one can break these wards unless Cadeyrn falls. He’d keep the dragon in a cage, wouldn’t he?” 

Malfoy nodded, another praising look in his eyes that made heat roll over her. She ignored it, crossing her arms, and trying not to put too much attention on how her body was starting to react to him. Though ‘starting’ wasn’t exactly true. It’d been from the moment she’d laid eyes on him in France. “It’s difficult to say how Cadeyrn would react. He’s brave and stubborn to a fault, but he takes his duties seriously despite being young. The creature has earned the respect of his kin by being ruthless to a fault. He helps out with patrols, he’s always trying to barge in my fucking mind—” At that, Malfoy’s lips pressed into a tight, irritated smile like he was reminded of something, “But his priority will always be his kin before any witch or wizard. He might stay alive and allow the Dark Lord to use him as a weapon too if it meant guaranteeing the safety of his family. But neither of us are interested in testing that theory out.” 

“He said the Legion and the Order are parasites.” 

That made his smile a bit more genuine, but still sharper. “He’s like a child that repeats what he—oww.” The bloke held his head, glancing out the window sharply. “Don’t fucking eavesdrop then.” 

“He can hear you?” 

Malfoy looked back at her with a flat expression, “He’s able to cause a headache, but he’s not listening to me. Not in the way you’re thinking. He’s listening to you.” 

What? 

Hermione thought out loud, Cadeyrn, are you being a nosy git?

A huff echoed in her mind. I still haven’t decided if you’re stupid or brave. 

Just you wait. I’ll learn how to reinforce my mental shields and block you out too. 

There was a throaty noise which might have been a laugh. Don’t worry, witch. I’ll take my departure before I have to listen to you lust over the Scion again. 

Dragon fire was likely the shade of her cheeks. Malfoy set his water down, likely noticing the flaming blush that had seeped into her face. “Why are you blushing?” 

“I’m not.” 

“Right. Your face is normally the same shade as the tomatoes picked earlier.” He squinted at her, curious. “What did Cadeyrn say? I’m assuming you talked to him.” 

Not. One. Word. Cad.  

There was silence, so it was safe to say that the dragon had left her mind. A bit of amusement picked at her and then she was a bit sad because Scilla and Cadeyrn would have took the mickey out of her for her thoughts regarding Malfoy. 

“He’s just being a cheeky bugger.” 

Malfoy blinked. “I hope you didn’t call him that. 

“I didn’t.” His shoulders relaxed. “I called him a nosy git.” 

He looked incredulous for a moment before shaking his head. A weariness pulled at his features and he gazed at her with an unreadable expression on his face. “You have a death wish.” 

“I do. For others.” She smiled at that, but then it faltered. “I wish that I got to know Scilla better.” 

He snorted inwardly, waving his hand over the bowl of pasta as a heating charm was wordlessly casted, “You two would have annoyed the shite out of me. She was like you, in a way.” 

“Smart?” 

“Reckless.” He replied with a pointed stare, “And when we go out tonight, you’re going to be on your best behavior.” 

“Can’t promise that. You see, Shacklebolt and my best behavior don’t exactly get along.” Malfoy’s lip quirked up at that, but he said nothing as he accio’d a fork, and started eating the pasta she’d made, “Does Cadeyrn know that we’re going to be leaving tonight?” 

“I was talking to him for a few minutes. Before you came in.” He clarified, glancing back towards the window, “If you were allowed, I’d have shown you the real Dragon’s Den. When they lose someone, the dragons get together and tell stories about who they’d lost. For Cadeyrn, this is often how he learns about his kin because he’s still young.” 

They were having a funeral of sorts? 

“Why didn’t you go? I’m assuming you would be allowed to.” When Malfoy didn’t say anything, she connected the dots. “Please don’t tell me you missed this opportunity because of Theo and I. I could have made supper without his help, you didn’t have to—”

“I don’t have to do anything.” He interrupted her, his voice a bit cold. The storm raged on in his eyes, a hard set to his jaw. “Scilla and I were a team. If I’d been paying attention more, I might have been able to see the stray curse headed our way.” 

He didn’t blame her, he blamed himself. 

A quiet sigh escaped her. “Guilt’s a cheeky thing. It finds us whether we deserve it or not, no?” He didn’t answer her audibly, but he gave a slight nod. Hermione could tell him all day that it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t believe it. That was his battle to fight and she hoped he won. If he wanted her validation, he’d have asked her what she thought. “Take it for what it is—your nosy prior classmate’s opinion—but I think that you should go. At least for a little while before we decide to leave. If time’s of the essence, then while you’re at the Dragon’s Den I can pack for the both of us. Theo told me that there was a potion’s room. I can pack us some dittany if you have a bag with an extension charm handy.” 

There was that lingering expectation of waiting to be told no or questioning her judgement.

“There’s a black backpack down there.” He said finally, shoving the last bite of pasta into his mouth before setting his bowl into the sink. He casted a cleaning charm and she watched as the bowl was cleaned while he spoke, “I’ll be back in an hour.” Hermione nodded, watching as he stepped forward and started scratching Crookshanks behind his ear. “You stay out of trouble while I’m gone. And don’t think I’ve forgotten the fact that you need another bath when we come back.” 

Crookshanks’ tail flicked, but he leaned into Malfoy’s touch, purring. It made her smile against her will as she muttered, “What a traitor he’s become.” 

Malfoy smirked at that, dropping his hand, and walking past her. Hermione turned around when she heard him pause at the doorway. He wasn’t looking at her. “The pasta. Your Nan’s recipe. You’re right, it was delicious.” 

He left then and she found herself smiling. Nan’s recipe was always a people pleaser. With a determined glance down at her favourite traitor, she scooped him up. “You do kind of stink now. But let’s go. It’s time to bring back Pansy.” 

If the witch had been cordial with her once upon a time, then perhaps she might know who or when her memories were taken.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“Cras es noster.” 

Tomorrow be Ours. 

A phrase that typically irritated Theodore Nott to no end now held a new meaning. Draco and Hermione were intending to capture his heart. Not the one currently pounding against his chest as the gothic castle’s double doors opened. But instead, the one one with hair like a Raven’s feather and a viper tongue that entertained him like no other. 

Pansy would be home soon. His Pansy. 

Swallowing hard, he worked on calming down his anxiety as a throne room was revealed. All the Death Eaters were in tow, lined up before the Dark Lord who rose from his silver throne. The very sight of him, his pale skin, red eyes that burned with wrath, terrified him. 

But he couldn’t be scared. 

Greyback. Bellatrix. Rabastan. Augustus. Thorfinn. Barty Jr. Rodolphus. Even the walking half-burned corpse of Antonin Dolohov stared at him like they were trying to find any weakness to exploit in front of the Dark Lord. 

“Theodore…” The Dark Lord smiled without a trace of warmth. The bastard reminded Theo of a shark who was constantly inhaling the scent of blood. Dilated pupils, the red irises—everything about this thing terrified him. “We’ve been waiting for you.” 

He walked until he stood in the center with a row of death eaters on either side of him. He ignored the power hungry creatures and took his mask off, staring the Dark Lord straight into his eyes. “My lord.” 

“Crucio.” 

Bella was the first one to do it. Each of the Death Eaters tortured him while the Dark Lord smiled and stood over him. When had he hit the floor? He could barely think when every cell of his being felt like it was on fire. There was no numbness look forward to. 

The Dark Lord ensured he felt everything. 

A wand pressed to the side of his head and he felt the parasite in his mind, flipping through memories. Draco with his arms crossed, standing as he listened to both Theo and Hermione tell their sides of the story. Draco as he eyed Hermione with disgust and curled his lip with blatant hatred for the woman. Then he saw the memory of Draco nodding in his approval as Theo reasoned that the Dark Lord would welcome him back into his ranks and he could take his place back as the rightful heir—The Dark Lord’s weapon. 

Theo gasped as he was rooted again to the throne room’s cold floor. He focused on the cracks he could see in the stone, the smell of damp Earth, the decay and rot that filled the cracks. They’d tortured someone here recently, but whoever it was hadn’t made it out alive or in one piece. 

“It appears you’re making progress.” The Dark Lord reflected, but the wand hadn’t moved from his temple. Not yet. “Slow, but I can see the way he looks at that Mudblood. Though I still don’t understand why he’s giving her a chance.” 

Theo swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “Would it not please my Lord to see her begin to trust him only to see the moment he betrays her? Draco and I thought it would be entertaining. To put on this show for you.” 

A cruel, disparaging smile rose to the wizard’s face. Pointed, jagged, and rotted teeth were revealed. When he began to laugh, so did the Death Eaters. They joined him all except for Antonin who looked like he’d keel over if he did too much. His skin was jagged and all wrong. One of his eyes was missing, the socket not even there anymore. It’d drooped down a bit and part of his skeletal nose was revealed. He had no lips so Theo could see his teeth. When he noticed the younger wizard staring, Antonin sent a crucio his way. Theo writhed in pain, but he didn’t make a sound. 

Blood filled his mouth as he bit into his cheek. 

“Touchy, Antonin? You have unfinished business with the mudblood.” The Dark Lord reflected, almost gleeful seeing the other wizard’s clear hatred. The clenched fists, the grunt that rumbled through his chest. “Most of you do. I can’t wait to see what delicious torture you all have in mind.” He turned around, walking back to his throne. Once he sat down, Nagini slithered past them all to lay at her master’s feet. “I’ve seen the boy’s memories. Our young Draco controls the dragons we need to finally bring down this pathetic rebellion and he’s earning the mudblood’s trust to destroy her. He’s finally becoming the cruel monster I trained him myself to be. However… In this game of his, Theodore, ensure that he doesn’t breed her. I think Fenrir wants to do that.” There was clear disgust in his voice about the latter, but Theo wasn’t sure if it was because of the lycanthropy or the Muggle-born issue. “I’ll allow Draco to have his time playing with her, but I’ve waited a long time already. Soon the filth will be removed from the Wizarding World and the Pure will rule.” 

Chortles and chants filled the throne room. Theo kneeled, hating every moment of this. He hated how weak he was, but fuck—was he grateful for Malfoy’s ability to plant false memories so perfectly into his head. It was the only thing saving him right now. 

“Does my Lord have a message for Draco?” 

“Leaving so soon?” The Dark Lord leaned forward and it felt like he was staring straight into his soul, “Why when I have a gift for you?” 

The double doors opened again and a brunette was thrown into the room followed by a couple werewolves. Scabior was grinning, fiddling with a pink scarf as he walked into the room. Theo saw the girl his age, practically dressed in nothing, but yellow lingerie. He felt nothing for his fellow classmate. If he was correct, Megan Jones was a half-blood. 

If the Dark Lord kept this up, the Wizarding Population would suffer again. Unless he was breeding her. There were marks on her skin, but she didn’t appear pregnant. Tears soaked her cheeks and her knees were all scraped up. This is what would have happened to Pansy if he hadn’t orchestrated the Order to ‘kidnap’ her. Bollocks, this is nice compared to what they’d do if they got their hands on Hermione. 

Theo raised his wand towards the witch who shrieked, but glanced over at the Dark Lord. “I have no desire to sully my lineage. If it pleases my Lord, I’d rather fill this room with her screams.” 

Bellatrix cackled, her wild hair falling around her face as she bounced up and down on her heels. “I would expect nothing else from the wizard who sent my great-nephew into a Mudblood camp.” 

“Do with her as you wish.” The Dark Lord sat back, eagerly awaiting what Theo had in mind. 

At Bellatrix’s words, he was reminded again that there was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do to ensure their safety. The people he cared about. If that meant inflicting a child with a severe sub-strain of Cerebrumous Spattergoit and forcing that child to walk into a refugee camp, then that’s exactly what he’d do. What he’d already done, but he was under the suspicion that Dolohov and Lestrange had taken the credit for that one. No matter. As long as the Dark Lord thought he was cruel, he could pretend to be. 

He could pretend that it wasn’t Edward “Teddy” Lupin who he’d sent into the camp. 

He could pretend that torturing this witch wasn’t taking another shred of his soul. 

He could pretend to be the Dark Lord’s weapon while the real one conspired to turn on the Dark Lord himself. Theo drowned out the screams with Pansy’s laughter. He drowned out the gut-churning laughter with her soft declarations of love for him. 

Please Draco. Hermione. Please bring her back to me. 

The woman he’d loved since they were in nappies was the last untainted part of his soul left. And to think what the Dark Lord had made Draco done while wearing his leash had been infinitely worse. 

Theo walked over to the girl, knowing that hours had likely passed since he’d started torturing her. Blood, vomit, tears, sweat—they drenched the floor. The girl was strong to have not clawed out her own throat. But she was close to doing it and he feared the way she looked at him now would haunt his nightmares. 

All he could do was offer her a brief, lasting kindness to save her from this inescapable fate. 

“Avada Kedavra. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Murder is a Great Way to Relieve Stress

Hermione wasn’t in the Potions room when Malfoy found her, she was in her room with the door open. She heard his footsteps stop outside the doorway as she was leaned over the black backpack, placing a clean pair of sweats and a hoodie into it. 

“Think you’ll get cold?” 

She’d changed into a pair of jeans and kept her Oxford sweatshirt with trainers. If they were headed to France in November, that meant that the weather would be 2-10 degrees Celsius. Even lower during the night. 

“This is for Pansy.” Hermione answered, turning around to spot him in a similar outfit to the other night. Black trousers, a black undershirt, and a black bomber jacket. The only color she spotted was the red and gold threaded bracelet on his arm. She scrutinized his expression for a brief moment, wondering how he was fairing after meeting with the dragons, but his walls were fully up. Not a sliver of emotion snuck past the ice in his expression. “I’ve seen a bit what the Legion makes females wear. What if Shacklebolt has her in something vulgar?” That made her pause. “How are they traveling that they’re able to hide her? I can’t imagine McGonagall allowing this to happen.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorframe now. “That could be said about her imprisoning the snakes too.” When she didn’t say anything to that, he admitted, “If I had to guess, he lied to the rest of the Order with some excuse that they shouldn’t travel together. We’ll find Shacklebolt, Pansy, likely Potter and someone else he trusts implicitly.” 

From the Order? It’d have to be someone that always backed him or… someone who was swayed by fear. Someone who could possibly charm Pansy into behaving so she didn’t get away. 

Hermione stiffened. “Fleur?” 

“She is Veela. But more importantly, she shows her emotions clearly. If Shacklebolt threatens to send her little sister or her husband to the frontlines, then of course she’ll agree to anything.” He explained, then gestured to her bag. “It’s thoughtful of you to think about Pansy in that manner, but I’m quite certain she’d rather die than wear sweats.” 

“If she’s that affronted, she can transfigure the clothing into something more her style.” Hermione said blandly before asking, “You think that Shacklebolt would really blackmail her like that?” 

Malfoy pushed off the wall, “We’re in the midst of a War, Granger. When you’re a major player, the enemy will always try to find out what you care about most, and use it against you.”

The way he said it, the heaviness in his voice, led her to believe that something had been taken away from him already. His parents, no? They were executed, but why? If the Dark Lord wanted Malfoy so dearly, wouldn’t he have known that murdering his parents would have hurt his relationship with the younger wizard? If the Dark Lord wanted to control him, then shouldn’t he have kept his parents alive to use them as blackmail? Or had they done something so terrible that the Dark Lord decreed them unredeemable? 

What if—

“Granger.” She looked up and Malfoy was standing in front of her. “You got lost again.” 

Her nose wrinkled a bit, unnerved by how easily she dropped her guard around him. “We should get going. Do you have any idea of where they might be? Will we be Apparating or riding one of the dragons?” 

“None of them will leave tonight. There’s a floo network that Theo created that’s mostly undetectable. It’s risky and I don’t particularly fancy using it, but it’s the fastest way to intercept them.” He explained, zipping up the backpack, and hoisting it over his shoulder. “If we’re too early, we can hide in a tasca that I own.  

Was that Spanish? “Tasca?” She repeated the foreign word with a tilt to her head. 

There was a ghost of a smile on his face, but it was more noticeable in his eyes. The steel colored grey had warmed a bit, reminding her more of the tide at dusk. Still silver, but with flecks of a blue-grey color blended in. 

“A tavern, but it’s a bit more modern. They sell paellas, bocadillos, and I think a few other dishes.” He started heading out, gesturing for her to follow. “We need to hurry. Cadeyrn’s said if we aren’t back by sunrise, he’s sending Arsyn after us.” 

Hermione blinked, “That’s quite the name. Take it he’s a fan of fire?” 

Malfoy grimaced, turning his back to her as he was out of the cottage first. “Why else would Belarus be considered No-Mans-Land?” 

Those words jogged a memory with Harry from only a few days ago. When they’d been arguing. 

“We have to do something. If we were more abrasive—how many more Death Eaters could we kill? Because I’ve killed two in a single day.” 

“Do you want a gold star? A ribbon?” Harry’s hair was sticking up from running his hand through it again, “You were kicked off the frontlines for disobeying orders in Belarus—”

“I’m the reason why it’s considered No-Mans-Land and not Legion territory.” 

Harry nodded, “I won’t refute that. You also unleashed a wave of Fiendfyre—”

“I told you I didn’t—”

“I’m not arguing about this again.” Harry interrupted, sending her a firm glance. “You know how to win battles, Hermione. You’re a great duellist. But when you didn’t follow a General’s command, you were sent back to the Order. Kingsley put you as my personal guard and I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re supposed to guard the person you’ve been instructed to protect.” 

“You were the one that told me to go to London.” 

Hermione wanted to stop in her tracks, but time was of the essence. The second best thing was to catch up with Malfoy despite his annoyingly long strides. She was almost jogging to match his pace. “Hold on. The Fiendfyre that swallowed up a good portion of the Legion and a few squads of Dumbledore’s Army was your doing?” 

“Of course not. It was Arsyn and I’s doing.” He flashed a grin at her and with the moonlight falling around them like silk, she had to look away. He looked like a dark knight from one of her stories, dressed in black, but bathed in moonlight. “Don’t be upset. We only leveled the playing field. You lot were about to be wiped out by the tidal wave of Death Eaters about to appear.” 

She didn’t remember reading anything about there being an ambush, but she didn’t doubt him. If he knew, then it was because Theo had relayed the Dark Lord’s secret plans.

“How did the Dark Lord react when you ‘leveled the playing field?’” 

“No one even remembers me being there.” Malfoy said casually as if that didn’t imply he used what had to have been extremely powerful magic, “And no, I’m not going to explain to you how I did it.” 

A scowl slipped onto her face, “Why not?” 

“Because you’re going to have a lot of questions and we simply don’t have the time.” He explained as they continued walking down a dirt path that was barely lit. 

She almost stumbled a couple times, but Malfoy walked confidently like he’d been down this path hundreds of times. He probably had. 

Instead of trying to convince him that he should change his mind, Hermione knew there was a time and place for it. Plus from the way he made it sound, it wasn’t a definitive no. Simply not right now. “Is it safe enough to cast a lumos? I feel like I’m going to bloody—”

Jinx. 

The witch let out a startled yelp as she fell forward, bracing her hands to catch her fall, but Malfoy turned on his heel, and caught her around the front of her waist. Her chest hit his side and he exhaled sharply, clearly amused at her lack of night vision. 

“—trip.” She finished lamely. 

“Hold on to the back of my jacket.” 

Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and sheepishness. Here she was, Hermione Granger, resident Undesirable No. 1—and she had to hold onto Draco fucking Malfoy’s jacket to get her to the floo. 

Odd how you’re having to convince yourself, isn’t it, witch? 

She sighed heavily, earning herself a raised eyebrow from Malfoy. “That nosy git is at it again.” 

There was a shooting pain that erupted in her mind, like the most insufferable type of migraine. Her grip on Malfoy tightened as she waited for the pain to pass by, but it settled in her mind. 

okay, okay, I’m sorry. No more nosy git comments. 

A throaty humph echoed in her mind. The witch can be trained. Good to know. 

“Distract me before I think of something awfully rude to say back to him.” Hermione pleaded, willing herself not to say what she really wanted to. Having a headache for the rest of this rescue mission was the last thing either of them needed. “Where will the floo take us?” 

He faced back towards the path, understanding that the pain was from Cadeyrn and not tripping over something again. “There’s a side street—Calle de la Fresa. There’s a couple stores, La Iguana and some two-star hotel if I remember correctly. It’ll spit us out by some clothing racks that should hide our arrival.” 

Interesting… “Why did you pick the Statue of Orpheus?” 

“Are you familiar with Greek Mythology?” 

She nodded, accidentally smiling at the memory. “My Mum bought me a huge book on all sorts of Greek myths for my tenth birthday.” 

“Only you would get so excited for a book at ten years old.” He teased lightly. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Oh please. It wasn’t Theo reading In the Heart of the Sea. Let me guess. You’re catching up on all the Muggle books you’ve always been interested in reading, but never had the opportunity to because it wasn’t allowed at home nor in the Slytherin Common Room?” 

His silence was her answer. 

They landed in a comfortable silence, whilst she focused on not stumbling over the thick roots. She wanted to ask questions about the Dragon Den and know more about it, but she feared that tonight or any night might not be the right time to ask him about it. Or Cadeyrn really. What did stand out clearly was that she wished she’d gotten to know Scilla. 

She would have liked to ask her what made her trust Malfoy? Why did she make the decision—what did she see in him that convinced her Malfoy would be their salvation? Did Cadeyrn have a choice in it? 

I wasn’t out of my shell yet. Came his reply. 

Why aren’t you paying attention to the funeral? Isn’t everyone telling stories? Hermione inquired silently, eyebrows scrunching together. 

Have you ever heard of multitasking, witch?  

For Godric’s sake. “I blame you.” She said aloud to Malfoy. He half-turned his head, waiting for an explanation. “Cadeyrn. The dragon is so bloody snarky and broody, he’s just like you.” 

That’s an interesting way to say intelligent and clever.

He arched an eyebrow, his voice noticeably quieter, and she wondered how close they were to the floo now. “I’m snarky and broody?” 

Amongst other things. 

She heard a dragon sigh in her mind. This is the part where I leave again. 

Oh great. At least she knew the sure fire way to keep Cadeyrn out of her mind was to think about Malfoy. Would that work with the Dark Lord too? The wizard came to an abrupt halt, causing her to smack into his back. Instantly, she was on high alert. Her eyes tried to search the dark, but a green flame at the base of an old, large tree startled her. 

Malfoy reached behind him, holding out his hand, but he didn’t look at her. “Ready, Granger?” 

For a moment, the idea of this being a trap crossed her mind. Her anxiety caused her to spiral with ideas. But there was another part of her that whispered that she could trust him—And it wasn’t in Cadeyrn’s voice, so she at least knew the dragon wasn’t fucking with her. 

“Ready.” Hermione said firmly, placing her hand in his. 

His fingers laced with hers and the flames swallowed them both.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Like Malfoy had explained earlier, they were spat out into a clothing store which was still open, but there weren’t any customers. They both casted a disillusionment charm and Hermione felt thrilled to have her magic back. It was like a large piece of her had laid dormant and now she finally felt like herself. 

He hadn’t let go of her hand and she rationalized it was because they were both mostly invisible. Only a small trick of the light indicated that they were remotely visible. They crouched with their right sides against the stone and Hermione saw the statue of Orpheus from here. 

The plaza was surprisingly empty for an evening in Spain. She would have thought the cobblestone square would have been alight with music and laughter, and every beautiful thing that Spain was known for. Its artists, its singers—the life of the country. 

Something was wrong. She stood up from her crouch to look at the clothing store and realized the shopkeeper was asleep near a register. Her head leaned against the wall, but her chest was rising and falling—the only indication she was alive. 

“Malfoy…” She whispered, ducking down again, and squeezing his hand, “Where is everyone?” 

He squeezed her hand lightly in acknowledgement, but didn’t speak. It was then that she spotted the fountain. It had an octagonal base with grand pillars rising in the center. Standing on top of the pillars was the muse himself, Orpheus. He held a violin that came to life before their eyes. 

The water drained, disappearing, and the muse played the sweetest melody she’d ever heard. Hermione watched, entranced as the front of the fountain shook before giving way to a staircase that descended quite far—enough so that at the angle she was staring—she couldn’t see the bottom floor. Granted, they were quite far. 

Four people Apparated into the square. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry Potter. Fleur Delacour. …Pansy Parkinson. 

Whether he meant to or not, Malfoy’s hand gripped hers harder. She could almost imagine the tension in his shoulders, and knew without a doubt that he was on edge. Pansy wasn’t wearing lingerie or anything provocative. She wore slacks, flats, and a fancy emerald blouse. Her hair was styled, falling just above her shoulders, and Hermione could see that the witch was wearing a dark color on her lips. If she didn’t know the witch had been ‘kidnapped,’ she would have thought the Slytherin was with the group willingly. 

The larger group was still several meters away from the fountain. 

“Hurry up.” Shacklebolt barked out, “Every minute we’re out here, we’re at risk to be seen. The Muggle repelling charm can only hold for so long in a place like this.” 

She saw Harry’s displeased expression, but the wizard glanced back towards Pansy. “You’ll be safe here—”

“I’m not safe anywhere near you cretins.” Pansy snapped, her lip curling in disgust. “There’s only two people I feel safe with and neither of them are you.” 

Malfoy’s hand slipped from hers and she knew without a doubt that he was making the first move. She saw a flash of magic erupt from his wand, launching towards Fleur first. “Petrificus Totalus.” 

The part-veela with stiffened, standing straight up before she fell forward. Harry caught her, looking bewildered as Malfoy appeared. The violin still played in the background, a stark contrast to the Dark wizard whose personal melody would be melancholic. 

“Malfoy.” Shacklebolt snarled, brandishing his wand. “How did you find us?” The wizard’s stare flashed to Harry’s, “Did you tell Granger about this safehouse? He probably used legilimency on that useless fucking witch.” 

There was no time in between the Minister’s accusation and the wordless severingcharmsent his way. It sliced into his neck, but it was only a knick. Malfoy hadn’t hit his arterial pulse points or done lasting damage. Pity.

“Speak about her like that again in front of me and you’ll lose your fucking vocal cords.” He reflected in a cool, matter-of-fact voice, holding out his hand to her. “Pansy, if you’ll please.” 

“Finally. A gentleman.” She mused, walking towards Malfoy. 

Shacklebolt’s hand reached out, grabbing her wrist, and jerking her back towards him. “You’re not taking our leverage against Nott.” 

Hermione disapparated, appearing next to Pansy, and staring up at Kingsley as she pointed her wand towards his wrist. She beamed up at the Minister. “Sectumsempra.” 

There was a deafening silence as Pansy shrieked in disgust before scurrying forward. Shacklebolt’s severed hand hit the cobblestone with a sickening thump. Blood began to gush out and she casted a protective charm that stopped his blood from coating her. 

Before he could start screaming in agony, Hermione kept up her smile. “This useless fucking witch is here to remind you that men don’t touch women without their consent.” 

“Hermione.” Harry sounded aghast, staring at her as he held Fleur, “How could… If he dies, the Order will—”

“Whether I die or not,” A bellow of pain escaped him as he stopped the bleeding by casting a spell that burned his flesh, sealing the wound. His body shook with pain, but when Shacklebolt sneered at her, it was with pure, unadulterated hatred. Hermione stepped back, not out of fear, but to block his direct path to Pansy as she went to Malfoy’s side. “It changes nothing. You are no longer a representative of the Order and I will ensure that every bloody soldier knows that you’re to be captured and tried for your War crimes.” 

“Do that,” Malfoy called out, his tone still glacially cold, but she could hear the rage simmering beneath it, “And the Dark Lord will have the fucking dragons at his beck and call by morning.” It was then that his tone became malicious, “And what the Dark Lord will do to you will be ten times worse than what Granger has done. But if you put a hand on her, like I know your mind is tempted to do, then I’ll put you in so much fucking pain, that you’ll want to kill yourself. And I’ll make sure you’re strapped down and feel every bit of my rage. The Dark Lord may have indoctrinated me, but I am his worst nightmare.” 

Shacklebolt’s nostrils flared as he swept his gaze from Hermione to Malfoy. She had to admit that even his declaration had sent a shiver down her spine. Probably for all the wrong reasons, but the idea of Malfoy being the Dark Lord’s worst nightmare meant that the latter had put him through some terrible things—and not just the public execution of his parents. He’d made a weapon out of Malfoy and now he was terrified that weapon would turn on him. Little did he know, that weapon was never his to wield. 

Harry cut in, “Go Hermione. You and Malfoy have Pansy. Kingsley and I will say we ran into some trouble.” 

“And the French girl? She can still hear everything.” Pansy pointed out. 

Surprisingly, Harry didn’t hesitate, pointing his own want to the girl’s skull. “Obliviate.” 

The wizard shifted his grip, carrying the unconscious girl bridal style. He glanced over at Hermione, an unreadable expression in his eyes. But he didn’t say anything to her and that hurt more. There was a lot they needed to talk about and no time at all to do so. “We need to go. McGonagall will be here soon with the others and we can get your hand—er—arm looked at.” 

It wasn’t Hermione, but Kingsley’s hand erupted into a ball of fire. Charred flesh made her nauseous and she took another few steps back, covering her nose. The witch glanced over at Malfoy, but he was looking at Pansy with mirth. Guess it hadn’t been him that set the hand on fire, but Pansy. 

No more words were exchanged as both wizards and a still unconscious Fleur traveled into the fountain, leading them to another safehouse. Once Shacklebolt passed through, the pillar rose, and the music stopped. 

“Well, well, well,” Pansy drawled, smirking over at her, “When did you become so ruthless, Granger?” 

“Around the same time half my friends were murdered in one night.” She replied casually, “And Shacklebolt’s had that coming for a long time.” 

Pansy snorted inwardly, “I’ll say. The git kept thinking I’d reveal anything about my darling Theo.” She reached up, pinching Malfoy’s cheek. “You’re not so bad yourself. Thank you for coming to rescue me.” 

An odd pang hit her chest and she swallowed down what was definitely not jealousy. She’d just eaten too much earlier. Malfoy sent the Slytherin witch a genuine smile, ruffling her hair affectionately. 

“There’s someone whose been looking forward to seeing you for quite some time now.” He told her, a sly grin forming when Pansy’s eyes watered. “Come. It’s time to go home.” 

Home. 

Hermione’s heart sank into her stomach as it felt like doxies fluttered around in there. Anxiety wrecked havoc on her mind, making her wonder if she belonged to the place that Malfoy had called home. Her cat was there. That was the only connection she—

“Granger.” She looked up, realizing they’d started walking away, but she’d been too lost in her thoughts to realize it. Malfoy tilted his head, a questioning look in his eyes, but he nodded towards the store where the hidden floo was. “Are you coming?” It was rhetoric and she knew that. Of course she’d be joining along. But it was Malfoy adding, “Or do you intend to abandon our son again?” That made her smile.  

No, she wouldn’t be abandoning that little traitor. 

“I can’t. With your lack of parenting skills, Cadeyrn might actually eat him.” She quipped back and walked next to Pansy. 

The other witch laughed, grinning at her. “It’s good to have you back, Hermione. I missed your humor.” 

While she didn’t physically stop, that did make her pause. Was she right? Had they been friends? Did she know something about why her memories were missing? Hermione swallowed hard. 

Did she know who took them away? 

“I’ll take Pansy through first, and then I’ll come back.” Malfoy explained as Pansy laid her hand on the crook of his arm. “Only two at a time through these floos.” 

Hermione hid her fear and apprehension with dark humor, “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can get into some sort of trouble with the heartbeats you’re gone for.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Malfoy muttered, shooting her a scathing glance. 

“Well the longer we stay out here chatting, the more likely trouble is to follow. Let’s go, Draco.” 

Malfoy ripped his gaze from hers, seemingly reluctant, but it was the best thing for Pansy to go first. Hermione wasn’t sure how skilled the witch was, but it didn’t sound like she’d been on the frontlines before. At least she had the experience if something were to happen. 

In a flash, they disappeared with emerald flames engulfing them. 

In another flash, the wordless bombarda had the floo exploding. The force of the blast had her stumbling backwards and she felt the back of her collar wrenching her back more; causing her to hit the ground. She glanced up, her fingers curling around her wand as she saw three legion fighters with their wands pointed at her. 

“Gentleman…” Hermione said coyly, a smile forming on her face. “Don’t you know it’s rude to point your wands at a lady?” 

One of them stepped forward, pulling down his hood to reveal Gregory Goyle. “Well look at what we have here. We followed Apparition magic from Shacklebolt only to find a Mudblood instead. With this, he’ll definitely accept us as Death Eaters.” 

Another came beside him, revealing herself to be Tracey Davis. The other had yet to unveil themselves, but Hermione wasn’t intimidated in the least. It was time to show her classmates that she wasn’t the same Hermione Granger they’d known in school. This ‘Mudblood’ wasn’t afraid to kill people in cold blood. 

In fact, she sort of looked forward to getting her rage out in a ‘healthy’ manner. 

Murder was a form of exercise, right? 

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Flirting with Death

Kingsley had used Apparition magic like the coward he was. 

It’d quite clearly alerted nearby Legion fighters to investigate what could be a trace of the ‘British Minister’s’ magic. But instead of finding the Minister, they’d found Hermione. 

Now, she logically determined she had the following choices: 

Plan Avada kedavra - Kill these bitches. The Dark Magic might unleash a signature and alert any Death Eaters or Legion fighters within a certain radius. 

Plan Bombarda - Blow up these bitches. Would definitely alert any magical beings within the area and in such close proximity—she might lose a finger. 

Plan Crucio - Not as fun as the name implies, it involves running and hoping that Malfoy finds her. But that was definitely not an option seeing as she had the anti-tracking necklace on and she’d rather eat troll bogeys than risk taking it off. 

Magic was a gamble, but a small spell wouldn’t hurt, right? She murmured an incantation, allowing for the tip of a knife blade to appear at the front of her trainers. Hermione got to her feet, spinning on the ball of her foot to land a high kick to Tracey Davis. She was the closest one to her and as her leg came back down—the unnamed legion fighter launched a depulso. 

It made contact with Hermione, throwing her back several meters. She rolled a couple times, the sting of her lip splitting as she accidentally bit into it. The metallic taste spread across her tongue, but her gaze was trained on the scene before her. 

Goyle was smirking as if she’d made a misstep. 

The unnamed Legion fighter was solely paying attention to Davis. 

And Davis… Davis was gasping for air because her throat was slit. 

Hermione had done exactly what she’d intended to do. The cut was deep enough that an episkey wouldn’t repair the damage quick enough. Too much blood was spurting from her throat, now coating the unnamed wizard. Goyle turned, panicking immediately when he saw the witch bleeding out quickly. 

Well it was now or never. Hermione ignored the stinging of her hands from the scrapes and ran into the nearby alley where her and Malfoy had been waiting for the Order. To the left and right, there were windows that peered into different tiendas. Different stores that sold clothes and tourist trap items. She didn’t exactly have much time to look when there were shouts, and then Goyle was chasing her. 

  The alley opened up to a passenger street where no cars were able to access. No cars, but there was… A wicked smile formed on her face. There was a motorcycle. 

A sign called Plaza Manor ~ 1790 ~ lit up in flames from the wayward confringo spell. 

“When I catch you, I’m going to make you fucking pay—”

“When your fat arse can actually run, then I’ll be scared—” Hermione ducked as another flame spell was thrown over her, “Didn’t you learn from Crabbe not to play with fire?” 

That only enraged him more and she could see the ire burning in his eyes. Good. An overly emotional fighter made mistakes. Goyle’s magic would be the only one in the area, but if  he made such a ruckus, then it’d all be pointless. The legion would come eventually. 

She was close to the motorcycle, careful not to run in a straight line towards it—Godric forbid the git lights that on fire too. Goyle was about to raise his wand towards her again, green magic crackling at the tip, when hands reached out from the dark behind him. One hand settled on his left jaw and the other on the right side of his head. 

A quick snap echoed before the wizard dropped to the ground; his neck twisted at an odd angle. Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, able to see the blood trickling out of the wizard’s nostrils before she glanced up to see Malfoy. 

He was… not happy for lack of a better word. 

His blond hair was a bit disheveled and his chest was rising and falling quickly as if he’d been running too. With his long legs, he marched over to her within a few strides. Despite his cold expression, anger heated his voice making it a bit husky. “One minute. You couldn’t go one fucking minute without someone trying to kill you?” 

She grinned sheepishly, wincing when her split lip caused a sharp pain to hit her, “It’s a talent. One I could do without. Did you just come from near the fountain?” 

His eyebrows furrowed, “Yes. That shop I own, did you not think I’d have an extra floo located there?” 

“Didn’t you see the legion fighters? Are they still there?” 

“I saw Davis on the ground, but no one—”

There was a light behind him and Hermione didn’t hesitate. She reached out, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, and practically tackled him to the ground. Malfoy swore, turning them so he took the brunt of the fall, and Hermione had her wand pointed forward. 

“Protego!” 

Thankfully it wasn’t an Unforgivable because those couldn’t be blocked with simple protection spells, but whatever this legion fighter wanted to do; it was theoretically worse than an unforgivable. The magic bounced back, hitting a stray chair that was outside a store. The chair was metal, but it grew red in color, and the metal melted until it was nothing more than a puddle of steel and aluminum alloy. 

Malfoy gripped her hip, turning them over and launched a silent curse at their attacker. He started screaming and Hermione turned her head in time to see him lift his mask and throw it to the ground. His eyes were bulging out and his skin was bubbling, but she could tell exactly who it was. 

Terrence Higgs. 

He’d played against Harry as Slytherin’s Seeker when they were First Years—before Malfoy had replaced him on the team. She knew the bloke had held a special vendetta for Malfoy since then—thinking that Lucius had paid for his spot on the team. Unfortunately for Higgs, Malfoy—Draco—was naturally talented on the broom. If she remembered correctly, he hadn’t even wanted to play on the Quidditch team which made her wonder briefly why he’d ended up joining in the first place. 

Regardless, Terrence and Tracey were lovers.

“I sort of feel bad for murdering his girlfriend.” 

Malfoy snorted inwardly, planting his hands on either side of her as he pushed off. “If it makes you feel better, they were planning on getting married next month.” 

Hermione baulked, sitting up, “That doesn’t make me feel better. Worse actually.” 

“Good. Then maybe next time you’ll think about not getting in trouble.” He held his hand out for her, but she blatantly ignored it as she stood up, and dusted herself off. 

“You act as if I chose to get ambushed.” She tilted her head up to look at him, stubborn and defiant in her stance. “I was waiting patiently for you to come back until they destroyed the floo.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but his head whipped to the side as a body of smoke soared overhead. It blended in almost perfectly with the dark and she’d have completely missed it if not for Malfoy. But smoke apparition was not a good sign. It meant a Death Eater was en route. 

“We need to go.” 

“If we use Apparition magic, it’ll alert more. This one probably caught wind of Kingsley’s magic like the other three did.” 

Malfoy glared at her, but she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her. “Then what do you suppose we do? Because if they find out it’s me here, they’re going to expect me to turn you over.” 

Hermione conjured a motorcycle helmet that was mostly black, but there was a clear ‘Gryffindors are badass’ scrawled in red across the side. She held it up to him with another grin. “So we drive. Well—I drive. I doubt you know how to drive a motorcycle.” 

“I’d rather get my head cut off than wear that. And before you go all delusional on me, it’s not the blatant lie written on the damned thing, it’s my hair.” 

“It’s your lucky day because that’s about to happen to both of us if you keep arguing.” She didn’t wait for him to agree, before placing the helmet over his head, and slamming the black visor down. A minor configuration spell conjured a key that fit into the motorcycle perfectly. She hitched her leg over the bike, turning the engine on, and revving as she glanced back at Malfoy. “Will you hurry up? Or else I’m leaving you and telling Cadeyrn you died.” 

He seemed to be staring at the seat, “Where am I supposed to sit?” 

“Behind me. Channel your inner backpack and hold onto me.” He hesitated before sitting behind her and she had to roll her eyes when he gripped the sides of the seat. The prat was going to fall off and the Death Eater was about to make his or her landing. It was aiming for the spot next to where Terrance laid in a bloody pool. Hermione had to resist rolling her eyes again before she grabbed Malfoy’s left hand and pulled it forward, forcing him to wrap and arm around her. “Hold on and do me a favor. Don’t miss whoever that is.” 

She twisted the throttle, increasing the engine’s power rapidly. Up ahead were two stone columns that she could fit the motorcycle through, but it led out to the street, and she didn’t really want to deal with Muggle vehicular traffic. There was also a staircase descending into an underground parking lot which she didn’t want to drive down into by accident. 

“Get back here, Granger! I’d know that hair anywhere!” 

It was Alecto Carrow, cackling after them. There was a brief relief that it wasn’t Bellatrix, Barty Crouch Jr., or Fenrir who was, for obvious reasons, a master tracker. Hermione didn’t bother with retort, turning sharply to the right. Malfoy gripped her waist as the tires squealed and she heard an explosion behind them. 

Unsure if it was Malfoy or Carrow destroying the general public, she sped past more restaurants and shops. The Muggle repelling charm was still active here, but up ahead, she could see a crowd of people walking past the street they were currently on—Calle de Postas.  

“You’re gonna have to finish this quick before we hit the intersection.” She grumbled, hoping he heard her despite the helmet. 

His head wasn’t turned towards her, but she felt him move reflexively. His arm gripped her tighter and she could feel his fingers digging into her waist, doing some real damage to her imagination. She focused on the shops ahead, the approaching jamoneria, Posada, and Antigua Relojeria. 

Had it been any other day, she’d have loved to make a stop inside. Antique shops were her favourite. 

Another wordless curse must have left his wand because she heard Carrow screech. Hermione slowed to a stop by the intersection, near a multi-level, red bricked building. She earned a few irritated looks from passing Muggles, but none of them were able to see the woman burning to death in they alley they’d recently come from. 

“Burned to death like Dolohov.” She murmured as Malfoy ripped the helmet off like the damned thing was burning him, and tossed it to the ground. “Hey, I worked hard on that.” 

“Dolohov isn’t dead, Granger.” He informed her snidely, eyeing the helmet on the ground like it was a boomslang about to bite him, “But I’m sure he wishes he was.” Before she could ask a question, he explained, “If Filtch and Umbridge had a love child, and that love child had a kid with a troll, it’d still look better than Dolohov. From what Theo told me, it’s a wonder he can still breathe.” 

Hermione shook her head, briefly irritated. “So annoying.” 

“That Death Eaters aren’t easy to kill?” 

“Yes.” 

He exhaled sharply amused and she felt a pressure on her shoulder. “Sorry to disappoint, Granger.” 

She turned her head partially, unexpectedly seeing Malfoy up close. The sounds of Madrid seemed to fade into the background. Shopkeepers standing outside their shops, greeting customers. Friends seated together, laughing as they enjoyed paellas and croquetas at a nearby restaurant. Passersby's chatting excitedly amongst themselves. The euphony of the birds singing all faded away because there was him, resting his chin on her shoulder, and sending a charming grin her way as he joked with her. 

The witch sharply turned back, looking straight ahead. She ignored the proximity of their bodies, ignored the heart palpitations making it difficult to breathe, and adamantly tried to ignore the fact that she hadn’t realized how many different hues of charcoal shaded his eyes. 

“We need to leave before more show up. Should we go back to that restaurant you own?” She inquired, glancing around. 

Hermione was being tactical. Keeping on the alert. Pointedly ensuring that she didn’t look to her left and come face to face with the most attract—Nope. Not going there, she thought a bit desperately. 

Malfoy’s head was off her shoulder and she was very aware of the fact that his arm was still around her front. Suddenly she wished that she wasn’t wearing such a thick sweatshirt. “Staying around here is too risky and I don’t want that floo compromised. They’re a pain in the arse to set up and it already takes a lot of energy to make them undetectable.” 

“It took over six hours to fly to the Dragon’s Den from France. We’re in bloody Spain. Where do you propose, we drive this motorcycle? We’ll be there in…” Hermione paused. “Where is the Dragon’s Den?” 

She heard him scoff in amusement, “Not telling you.” 

“Because it’s a secret?” 

“Because it’ll annoy you not to know.” Hermione went to elbow him, but he must have felt her intentions with how she drew her elbow forward. The blond used his left arm that was already still wrapped around her front, and curled his fingers around her elbow to keep it pressed to her side. She felt him shift again and then his voice was right next to her ear. “Behave, Granger.” 

Hermione relaxed, shivering as his lips accidentally brushed the shell of her ear. It was an accident, right? There was no way Malfoy was under the same spell as her. It’d just been a while. Since she’d been with someone. How long? Well she couldn’t exactly remember the last time she’d shared a bed with something that wasn’t her vibra—enough. 

Thank Godric Cadeyrn wasn’t within ear-shot. Mind-shot? 

When she didn’t say anything, Malfoy loosened his grip on her, “There’s one last floo, but it’s a ten minute broom ride.” His voice sounded a bit deeper before he cleared it, “How fast will it take for this blasted thing to go 50km?” 

Hermione smirked, partially turning to see his expression, “I can go fast. Are you good with giving directions, Malfoy?” 

Malfoy’s head cocked to the side slightly, a wicked smile slowly appearing on his lips. There was a feral quality about it that made her want to clench her legs. She didn’t, knowing that he would notice, and she wouldn’t know what to say if he called her out on it. He gazed at her like a seeker determined to catch the golden snitch. Resolution bled into his lofty tone, “Are you good with receiving instructions, Granger?” 

A flame of carnal desire sparked in her lower abdomen and she looked at him under her lashes, “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we? But you’re gonna have to hold on if we’re going to… go fast.” 

Tension and awareness pooled between them and as much as Hermione didn’t want to admit it even to herself, they were clearly flirting. Malfoy met her tit-for-tat, wrapping his arm tighter around her waist, and pulling her roughly against his chest. 

She swallowed, looking forward, and rolling on the throttle. The old Sanglas 500 S2 V5 roared to life, but it didn’t drown out all the licentious thoughts forming in her head. He smelled like eucalyptus and spearmint. She couldn’t feel his muscles which she knew were defined from the t-shirts he wore, but she could feel his thighs bracketing her hips. Hermione didn’t want to think about what else she might feel if she wiggled her arse. 

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

They were almost to the next floo when Hermione decided she couldn’t take it anymore. Hearing his voice over the wind, close to her ear. Feeling the heat of his body through her sweatshirt. It was cold as fuck and both of them were too stubborn to cast a warming charm in the chance that it could be traced. Hermione couldn’t be tracked, but that didn’t mean Malfoy couldn’t be. 

If that wasn’t enough, his left arm was still wrapped around her, but his right hand had rested against against the top of her leg, close to her knee. Key word: Had. 

Apparently, the bugger had a mind of its own because right now, it was farther up her thigh. And it was no longer resting, he was gripping her firmly—but maybe it was due to the sharp turn she’d taken when she was so distracted by him, she’d almost missed the turn he’d told her to take. But since then, his grip hadn’t loosened, and she was all too aware of the heat from the palm of his hand. 

To make matters worse, the pad of his thumb was rubbing against the fabric of her jeans in what she felt were slow, teasing, circles. Every time his thumb dipped between her thighs, she felt like she was going to combust, but the cool air whipping past them managed to keep the flame in check. 

“There, make this left turn, and then we’ll arrive at the Chocolateria.” Malfoy directed, removing his hand from her thigh to point towards an opening to a side street. 

Speaking another language was quite honestly not helping, either. And then he might as well have cast a bombarda because she was about to explode from the casual ‘good girl’ that left his lips when she finally parked across from the dessert shop. 

“Here?” As they both got off the motorcycle, she couldn’t help glancing around with a bit of awe in her gaze. “It smells so good—I’ve always wanted to try real churros.” 

The chocolateria was nestled into a narrow corridor and besides the neon lighting of the store, the tall buildings were so colorful. Warm tones of orange and yellow decorated the buildings. She saw black ironed balconies and a woman draping blankets over a railing. Then there was the smell of the sweets wafting from a single doorway where people were crowded. 

Although they’d had supper before they’d left, Hermione found herself wanting a snack. Malfoy must have seen the look on her face because he stepped in front of her, looking down with a knowing glint in his eyes. 

“Do you want me to grab some before we head back to the cottage?” 

“No, it’s fine.” Hermione faked a reassuring smile, pushing aside her wants and needs, and focusing on what was most important: getting back to the Dragon’s Den. “I’m full from supper.” 

He held out his hand and a bit of disappointment washed over her. Though that felt silly. They’d both killed people tonight and she was upset about not getting to try churros. Hermione grabbed Malfoy’s hand, expecting him to take her to the floo, but she was alarmed to see him head towards the entryway to the sweet shop. 

Mindful of the Muggles, she walked closer to his back, glancing up at him. “Is the floo in the shop?” 

He shook his head, “Nearby in the tunnel.” He jerked his head towards the right. 

That made her frown. “Then what are we doing in here?” 

She saw him cut the short line, walking to the glass barrier where a man was rolling out dough on a workbench dusted with flour. His hair was slicked back and he appeared to be a bit older—about 60. The moment that Malfoy stood in front of him, his head raised to see who it was. 

“Eh?” The man blinked, before wiping the flour from his hands off on his white apron, “¡Dios mío! Draco, it’s been—long time!” 

“Solamente seis años, my friend.” Malfoy sent him an apologetic smile, “Lo siento pero—I’m in a hurry. Would you mind packing your best churros y chocolates to go?” 

The elder gentleman nodded before glancing over at Hermione. His gaze felt a bit heavy, but not in an uncomfortable way. It just felt a bit too…meaningful for someone she’d never met. The man lowered his stare to where their hands were still joined and then back to Malfoy. A single nod from the wizard made a smile break out on the other man’s face. 

“Seré rápido.” The man turned, barking orders out in Spanish before retrieving a to-go box. 

Hermione squeezed his hand, a frown still present on her face. “You didn’t have to do this—What about Pansy?” 

“Cadeyrn would have helped her to the cottage. He knows what she looks like and he’s given his permission for her to be on the property.” He explained shortly. 

Her frown deepened, shifting her weight to her right foot as she felt nervousness prickle her skin. This was an unnecessary risk. “There’s more important things to do than this.” 

“Granger.” When she met his eyes, Malfoy spoke again, “The War will still be there when we leave. If trying churros from Spain has been something you’ve always wanted to do, then I think it’s only right that we make the stop before leaving. Who knows when we’ll be here again?” 

At that, Hermione had to nod, but then her mind sharpened. “How did you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone.”

“You told me.” He said simply and without hesitating, leading her to believe it was the truth. “But you don’t remember.” 

Did she not remember because it was a trivial conversation when they were young or was it one of the memories that had disappeared from her? Hermione felt a bit unsteady, trying to come to terms with the mind that had always been revered—now felt like a stranger. How could someone’s own mind become unfamiliar? Dodgy?  

Pushing the trauma that was her memories being snatched aside, she focused on how easy Malfoy chatted with the man behind the counter. There was a familiarity there that surprised her and she wondered how they met. It wasn’t long before a big box was exchanged and he had to let go of her hand to take the parcel from the shopkeeper. 

Was she excited about trying the sweets? Absolutely. 

Was she disappointed that Malfoy had let go of her hand? Absolutely. 

Was she in deep trouble? Abso-fucking-lutely. 

Malfoy glanced down at her, nodding his head towards the exit. “Time to go home.” The words he’d sent to Pansy were now directed at her. But then his stare raked down her body in a way he hadn’t done to the other witch. The corner of his lip quirked up, “And this time, I’m not letting you out of my sight, Granger. We make it back together or not at all.”  

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Pity Party of One

Thankfully there were no more Death Eater jump scares. Malfoy and her went through the Floo Flame, reappearing near the wards. As soon as they stepped back into the wards, she heard Cadeyrn’s voice booming through her head. 

‘Take it back.’ 

“What?” Hermione said aloud, sending the blond next to her a confused glance. She let go of his hand, ignoring the sense of loss that came with it. “Did you hear that too?” 

Malfoy nodded, “I asked him what’s going on.” 

‘The creature you brought. It’s trying to pet me.’ Cadeyrn snarked back. ‘And it keeps asking where the Nott boy is.’ 

“Theo’s not back yet?” Hermione knew they’d been gone a couple hours now, “Do you have any idea what he wanted? If your arm was hurting, doesn’t that mean he wanted you there too?” 

Before she could find herself tripping again, she reached for the back of his jacket to hold onto, but was caught off-guard when he intercepted, and grabbed her hand instead. Their fingers didn’t lace together—there was nothing romantic or intimate about it. 

He was… just helping to make sure she didn’t fall on her face. 

That’s all. 

“I’d know if he was in any trouble.” Malfoy said after a few minutes of walking. The moonlight was partially hidden behind the clouds and she was quietly amazed he could even tell where to go in the thick forest. “If I had to guess, he’s torturing someone for the Dark Lord.” 

Hermione felt her shoulders sag a bit, wondering if she knew who was dying. Was it one of her friends? Someone she knew? Was he making it quick? Probably not if it was still going on. “How can you be so sure?” 

“Because he’s taken my place and that’s all I used to do.” With how easily he admitted the atrocity, Hermione thought she could have been asking what his favorite honeydukes sweet was. “What we should be worried about right now is how much patience Cadeyrn has before he’s tempted to take a bite out of Pansy.” 

‘She’s more tolerable than the witch next to you.’ Cadeyrn pointed out flatly. 

Hermione bristled, thinking out loud, “Sometimes I think you’d make a good wall—”

Malfoy let go of her hand, dropping his right arm over her shoulders, and covering her mouth with his hand, “Pansy is more agreeable, Cadeyrn. But if you didn’t find Granger so amusing, you wouldn’t be in her head all the time.” 

‘What do you know, Scion?’

“I know well enough considering I was the one cleaning up your accidents when you were just a—” Malfoy winced, letting go of her to hold his head, and scoffed, grumbling too low for her ears to catch what he was saying. 

At least it was nice to know she wasn’t the only one on his shite list. “I think he’s also curious to see what happened while we were gone.” Hermione thought about slicing off Shacklebolt’s hand and the joy she’d felt from it—but then she remembered Harry’s expression. “He obliviated Fleur. Harry—with no hesitation. Do you think that he’s the one who took my memories?” 

The wizard didn’t answer and she couldn’t see his expression in the dark well enough to know what sort of face he had on. All she had to go off was his voice, but it was devoid of any emotion, “He had to obliviate her. Fleur wouldn’t have kept her mouth shut about what happened.” 

“You think Harry will?” 

As they approached the edge of the forest, the cottage was in the distance. She could see the lights were turned on and Cadeyrn was a hulking figure, laying out front. His tail was curled around his body and she could see from the glow of the lights that his eyes were closed. Was he sleeping? 

“Aren’t you Potter’s closest friend?” Malfoy noted, challenging her. “Shouldn’t you be able to answer that?” 

“How am I supposed to trust what I think I know—if I’m missing memories?” She snapped back, anger and resentment both staining her tone. 

It would have been more dramatic—walking ahead of Malfoy if he didn’t catch up with her shorter strides so effortlessly.

“Granger—”

“Don’t want to hear it.” 

An irritated noise escaped him. She felt a hand on her hip and then she was facing Malfoy. His grip was on her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Narrowed gazes locked on each other and Hermione was running through all the moves to make him land on his back. 

“I’m well aware that having your memories stolen is a bit of an inconvenience.” He bit out, his voice lowering from the ire simmering in his tone, “But being a brat about it isn’t going to make your memories come back.” 

“Thank you for the lecture, Professor.” Her sarcasm was heavy and her dissatisfaction even more so, but none of it seemed to push Malfoy over the edge. Whatever he was feeling was behind a controlled mask that only allowed for a bit of his irritation to bleed through. Part of her wanted to continue being a ‘brat’ if only to break that stupid fucking mask of his. “But I’m really not interested in a lesson.” 

His hand slid down from her chin, but Hermione didn’t take her eyes off him for a second. Then she felt his palm against the base of her throat and his fingers on the sides of her neck. His thumb was pressing against her artery. 

Could he feel her pulse quickening? 

Malfoy had his hand wrapped around her neck and instead of thinking about how he’d used these same hands to snap Gregory Goyle’s neck, she was wondering why women spent money on diamonds when hands made great necklaces too. 

“Your memories aren’t in your head. Big fucking deal. Not having all the information has never stopped you from trying to solve a problem before. When you’re done with your pity party, I’ll be inside.” 

He let go of her, not bothering to look over his shoulder. Any earlier flame of lust for him died faster than any avada kedavra. He was such a fucking arse. What was she supposed to be feeling? Happy? Ready for a God damned challenge? 

It was her head someone has messed with. 

Hermione had been terrified as a teenager when vile men had said disgusting comments about her body. But knowing now that someone had been inside her head—she couldn’t imagine a scenario where that had been consensual. Harry certainly didn’t ask Fleur before he obliviated her. 

‘Are you going to stand there all night in a stupor or do you intend to go inside, witch?’ 

She walked over to the dragon, sitting down a couple meters away from where his face was resting on his right foreclaw. It was night, but the cool spring night helped to cool the burning in her chest. Steam escaped his nostrils like he was less than thrilled for her to be sitting next to him. 

‘I am less than thrilled. Go inside.’ 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re grumpy for a five year old? Or is it like dogs where you’re not five, but thirty five? How many human years is one dragon year?” 

Cadeyrn’s lip raised, revealing sharp teeth. The muscles around his venom glands contracted, releasing clear fluid that glided down his serrated, curved teeth. ‘If you compare me to a dog again, I’ll tell you how many human years you have left.’ 

“No need. I feel the answer will be zero.” Hermione remarked, trying not to think about how Norwegian Ridgeback venom was predominantly neurotoxic. Blurred vision, dysarthria, shortness of breath, ataxia, respiratory paralysis… The more general symptoms weren’t pleasant either. Pain, nausea, vomiting to name a few. She might actually have a death wish for herself if she kept provoking him. “Why are you here?” 

‘I could ask the same of you.’ 

Annoyance piqued. His inherent ability to deflect questions was exactly like Malfoy. Unable to ask the question out loud, she asked in her mind. ‘Do you think I’m being pathetic for being upset about my memories?’ 

For almost a minute, Cadeyrn didn’t answer her. 

Was Malfoy fucking with her or was it a brush of honesty? 

‘You have a right to be upset.’ Cadeyrn said finally, albeit a bit quieter. Not necessarily gentler, but more contemplative like he was treating her like an equal. ‘The Scion is worried about the Nott boy and lashed out. You both share that type of behavior. But I do agree with what’s done is done, you need to focus on how to end the War before I do.’ 

Hermione leaned back on her elbows, looking up at the few stars that shone bright enough to evade the pesky clouds. “At this point, I’m almost ready to let you burn Europe to the ground.” 

‘I believe you’d feel different once you realize how many innocent lives I’ll sacrifice for the good of my kind.’ Cadeyrn mused darkly, not the faintest inkling of remorse in his tone. 

He shifted a bit and she caught the sight of green in his scales. It was like the first time she’d saw him. “Norberta didn’t have green in her scales.” 

‘What a ridiculous name.’ 

She ignored that comment, “Were both your parents Norwegian Ridgebacks?” 

Cadeyrn closed his eyes, but answered her question. ‘My father was. My mother was a Welsh Green.’ There was a pause and another exhale of steam from his mouth, but it came off as… mournful… to Hermione. ‘Scilla told me once that my father heard her roar and crossed a great distance to find the dragon who had the lovely voice.’ 

That’s sweet, she thought. “What was her name?” 

‘Seren.’ 

Pretty. Hermione smiled a bit, “Almost sounds like siren.”

And he said she had a pretty voice. Welsh Greens were known to have musical roars. What was it like for Cadeyrn’s father to hear such a distinct voice and then find her? Hermione never knew that dragons were romantics. 

Cadeyrn huffed, baring his teeth again. But his body language was still rather relaxed and Hermione felt that he was putting on a tough-dragon-act. At that, he lifted his head and she came face to face with his snarl. ‘The only thing tough around here will be the meat on your bones.’ 

Hermione beamed, grinning at the two emerald eyes with slits for eyes. “Are you saying I’m muscular? You know I do work out. I do Krav Maga.” 

‘…I still can’t tell if you’re afraid of me or not.’ 

“Do you want me to be afraid of you?” 

‘Yes. I can kill you. Very easily.’ 

She tilted her head slightly, “Cadeyrn, there’s a lot of people that want to kill me. There’s a couple that could kill me—and I hate to admit this—quite easily when I’m not allowed to use my magic. Dumb and dumber for example.” 

‘The Scion has no intention of harming you.’ 

Maybe not right now, but he sure had a way of hurting her with his words. ‘Pity party’ was still living in her head, making her wonder if she was being dramatic. But it was no use losing sleep over it, right? Cadeyrn had said that she was justified in her anger, but she couldn’t dwell over it for too much longer. 

Decidedly, she changed the subject, “How are dragon names chosen? I understand that you were still in your shell when your mum passed away, but did she name you?” 

‘My father did. Emyr means ‘king.’ Whereas my name means ‘battle-prince.’ He knew that I would one day rule over the Dragon’s Den that he gave his life to in order to protect our kind.’ 

There was a pride mixed in with that sorrow and Hermione wished that the dragon had been able to meet his father. She wished he’d been able to meet both his parents. They sounded like incredible beings—she wanted to know them—and Scilla—and that just made everything more tragic. 

It made sense why Cadeyrn wanted this War over and thought the two sides were parasites. Because of Wizardkind, Cadeyrn lost part of his family. Despite it not being her fault, Hermione apologized. Not for the War itself, but for not finding a way to end it yet.

He didn’t acknowledge her apology, but did speak. ‘Seren, my mother’s name, means the stars. One of the reasons that Scilla hesitated in killing the Scion was due to his name.’ 

“The constellation. Draco.” Hermione guessed, wishing she could take the words back almost immediately. Because the moment they left her tongue, Malfoy appeared walking out the door. He’d looked irritated and distant like he’d been earlier, but hearing his given name had him wearing a careful, unreadable expression. She couldn’t see any of his crossness now. “What are you doing out here?” 

“I was coming out to ask you if you were intending on staying out here all night.” He retorted, crossing his arms as he eyed Cadeyrn. 

Not a word was said which is why Hermione was under the assumption that they were talking to each other in their heads. 

“Cad and I were having a lovely conversation before you ruined it.” She reflected, not making the slightest move to get up. But then she remembered Pansy and her worry was more powerful than a fleeting thing like hurt feelings, “Is Pansy alright?” 

The Slytherin witch was a safe topic because his cold demeanor warmed. Though not by much—it was still like a glacius charm wrapped around his deportment. “She’s showering and then I think she planned on waiting in the living room until Theo is back.” 

Hermione nodded, switching her attention back to the dragon. “Is that why you’re out here looking at the stars? Because of your mum?” 

‘I’m out here because the Scion asked me to deliver the creature to the cottage. A favor that will not go unpaid.’ He lifted his head, gazing down at Malfoy like he was daring him to say no. 

“I already agreed, did I not?” The wizard shrugged off his bomber jacket, tossing it to the ground, and he sat down on Cadeyrn’s other side, but still relatively close to Hermione. If she leaned forward all the way, she’d be able to reach him. “More patrols from Theo and I due to the uptake of Wizardkind activity around the border.” 

Hermione perked up, “I can help. It doesn’t have to be only you two.” 

“Do what you want, Granger.” He said airily and a bit distracted. His grey, somber eyes were trained on the cottage, “You lessened the restrictions, correct? Theo will be able to apparate directly here?” 

‘If you’re so worried about him, go get him. I have more important things to do than validate your concerns.’ Cadeyrn said gruffly, his tail moving as his annoyance grew. 

“Crooks does the same thing. Moves his tail like that when he’s annoyed. It looks like you got bad habits from Malfoy and Cr—”

‘He tastes disgusting, but I will eat him out of spite if you finish that sentence.’ 

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow, glaring over at her, “Worst. Mum. Ever.” 

“Oh shut up.” She scowled, returning his glare, “Let’s not forget you let him get his tail eaten.” 

“Theo was supposed to be watching Cadeyrn. Blame him.” 

At the sound of her lover’s name, Pansy came out in a pair of satin pajamas bottoms, but the top was clearly Theo’s by the 90’s sitcom decorating the front. She wasn’t fashionable by any means right now, but Hermione thought that she was wearing a shirt that smelled like him. She missed him. The witch was clearly as worried as Malfoy, if not more so. 

“It’s rude to blame someone who isn’t here to defend themselves.” Pansy murmured. 

Malfoy used wand-less magic to turn his bomber jacket into a small blanket for Pansy to sit on. Cadeyrn rolled his eyes. His voice snaking through all their minds. 

‘Shouldn’t humans wait in the human dwelling?’ 

“Why would we, when we know you’re worried too?” Malfoy threw up a charm to block the steam escaping the dragon’s angry version of a sigh, “I told you, it’s rude to huff at people when your saliva is quite literally, venomous.” 

‘Don’t blame me for you cretins being weak.’ 

“Your bite can kill other dragons, are you calling your kin weak?” Hermione remarked, smirking when his emerald eyes lit with annoyance. 

Such a grumpy git. 

‘Shall I share with the group the sort of thoughts lately you’ve had about the Scion?’ 

Hermione’s head whipped towards Cadeyrn and she gave him a scathing glare that promised revenge. She wouldn’t know how she’d do it, but—

“What? What’d he say?” Pansy inquired, pointing to her left cheek, “Your face is all sorts of flushed.” 

It took all of her willpower to not even glance towards Malfoy, lest he get too curious about what the Cad had threatened her with. “Nothing, besides threatening to eat Crooks again.” She wrinkled her nose a bit, “Where is he, by the way?” 

“He won’t come outside while Cadeyrn is out here.” Malfoy answered, before redirecting his attention on Pansy, “What was it like with the Order?” 

Pansy frowned, her fingers fiddling with the hem of the oversized shirt, “For the most part, boring. Shacklebolt would come down and try to get information from me. Potter was always there, so you can wipe that worry off your face. He didn’t do anything besides basic interrogation. If he so much as shouted at me, Potter stepped in.” 

Malfoy made a ‘hmph’ noise, not impressed in the slightest. “What information did he want?” 

“Any weaknesses that I knew of—specifically about the Dragon’s Den.” A growl made the ground shake as Cadeyrn’s displeasure emanated from his hulking body, “He wanted to know how likely Malfoy would be to pick Hermione over Theo when it came to making a decision—”

Hermione snorted inwardly, “Did you tell him ‘a bowtruckle’s chance in hell’ of that happening?” 

Pansy’s lips curved up in a secret smile, but didn’t answer her question. “—and he wanted to know if I knew anything about the Dark Lord’s whereabouts.” 

“Which you don’t.” 

“Says who?” Pansy cocked an eyebrow and examined her nails, “When you stay quiet, people tend to talk around you. How else would I have found out about yours and Theo’s plans when we were younger?” 

That’s where Hermione messed up. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut up. 

‘Self-awareness is wasted when you don’t change.’ Cadeyrn’s voice sounded almost smug. 

Hermione eyed him deplorably, “Look who’s calling the cauldron black.” She felt Pansy and Malfoy’s eyes on the two of them and realized that Cadeyrn had only spoken to her again. She ignored the inquisitive looks in favor of asking a question, “I’m sorry that you had to deal with Shacklebolt and Harry the past few weeks. If I had any idea—”

“It’s better that you didn’t.” Pansy said simply, “You would have gotten me out and then what?” She turned to the wizard beside her, “Speaking of which, you should have messed with their heads and changed their memories around.” 

What? 

Hermione’s nonexistent filter failed her again, “You can alter memories?” 

“I swear, Hermione Granger, that I did not take your memories.”

This bastard. He might have sworn that he didn’t take her bloody memories, but he’d never sworn that he hadn’t altered them. She stood up, not sparing him a single glance as she headed back into the cottage. 

There were degrees to being angry and she was at the stage where it was blinding. Sure, there was common sense staging an intervention to reminder her to ask him first if he’d done anything—but not knowing he could change memories like recreating a painting made her so impulsively furious. She stormed through down the hallway to the room she was staying in and found Crookshanks resting on the bed. 

“Let me guess, you knew he could alter memories too.” 

Crooks winked his eyes open, seemed to bristle, and then stood up like he was about to leave. Note to self: Crookshanks didn’t like being accused. She also still owed him a lifetime of apologies for not realizing he’d been trying to catch Pettigrew their Fourth Year. 

“He does. But he clearly had every memory of you correct considering I’d never seen him run so fast for someone that wasn’t a dropped piece of bacon.” 

She turned to face Malfoy, leaning up against the doorframe with a half-smirk, and his arms crossed. The witch pressed her lips together, fighting the oh-so bad habit that Cadeyrn had called her out on earlier. 

Malfoy continued speaking, seeing the expression on her face. “Pansy said she was going to keep Cadeyrn company. It appears we may have something to talk about.” 

Hermione decided to come right out with it. “Have you ever altered my memories?” 

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”  

Stunned to silence, she needed a moment before she could ask, “How many times?” 

“Twice.” 

Reaching down for the first thing she could grab that wasn’t her cat—a pillow—she threw it at Malfoy, watching as it hit his chest. “You absolute spoon!” 

The towering blond blinked as Crookshanks let out an annoyed meow, darting off her bed and knocking over her luggage bag which had been laying on the edge, “Spoon? The entire Oxford dictionary at your call and you decide to call me a—“

He stopped as something small and red hit the ground, rolling until it hit his boot. Hermione watched as his eyes fell to the small, silicon object. He bent down, picking up the rose-like device. Hermione decided in that moment, she wanted to die. 

Because Draco fucking Malfoy, was holding her vibrator. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Toyed With 

Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.

Hermione felt that there were actually ten circles of Hell, not nine like Dante’s Inferno had originally portrayed. There was fraud, there was treachery, and then there was mortification. Screw the icy rain or being consumed by a pit of smelting gold. 

That was nothing compared to the humiliation she felt, and to make things worse—a brief confusion flickered across Malfoy’s face. “What is this?” 

Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.

“Nothing.” Fuck. That was too quick. She wrinkled her nose in dismay. “It’s a back massager. It, er, helps me relax.”  

Malfoy studied her for a moment too long, then glanced down at the rose toy. “I’m not sure if you’ve realized this yet, but I’m a Death Eater.” 

“News to me. I thought that Dark Mark was a sticker you found in a box of Mudblood O’s.” She replied in a bratty tone, but it was kind of ineffective when she knew the tops of her cheeks were scalding red. 

She walked past him to where the door was—ready to tell him to get out and snatch the silicon sex toy from his grasp. Only she wasn’t prepared for him to spin her around. Hermione looked up at him in surprise, staggering back a step, and closing the door with her body. Her back was pressed against the door while he stood, towering over her. His normally glacial eyes had melted, giving life to grey-blue flames. All too quickly, his gaze was heady and full of determination. 

“As a Death Eater, I’ve become quite adept at knowing when people are lying to me. Your tell, Granger, is that you wrinkle your nose when you’re lying.” He reflected, still studying her in a way that made her feel like he could see straight into her soul. His head tilted as he stared down at her. “What is this?” 

Well fuck. “I wasn’t lying when I said it was massager. Your interrogative skills are clearly lacking.” 

It wasn’t a lie. It massaged in seven different settings. Though some settings were more suction than vibration. And it theoretically could be used on her back… But it was more designed for clitoral stimulation… Nipple play… She shifted her weight, realizing she’d clenched her thighs thinking about all the ways the sex toy could be used, and Malfoy was still in front of her. Still so close to her that he could feel the shifts in her movement. 

“You were also lying when Pansy asked you what Cadeyrn said. Not because of your tell, but because Cadeyrn would rather become a vegan than eat any part of Crooks again. You know what. I know that. And I know you’re lying to me. Right. Now.” 

He stayed in front of her, but redirected his gaze to the small red object in his hands. Turning it over, he spotted the only button on there, and pressed it. The quiet buzzing was a comical bad omen. And what’s worse is that her body must have had a Pavlov-ic response. 

Small, buzzing noise meant fun time. Fun time meant release. Release meant pure, orgasmic euphoria and there was an—unfortunately—very attractive man in front of her. They were in a room alone. Already, her mind was betraying her with all the possible situations this could end up in. 

“Your breathing is uneven.” He pointed out, knowingly. She realized that while his face was still pointed down towards the toy, he was looking at her in the corner of his eyes. He’d been wanting to see what kind of reaction she’d have to it. And by the looks of things, he wasn’t disappointed. “And you keep clenching your thighs, Granger. I wonder why.” 

Malfoy was too damn attentive. Although that wasn’t a bad thing, maybe that meant he was very mindful of how his touch—Nope. No. Not going there. We agreed in Spain what we weren’t going anywhere near—

“So quiet.” He mused darkly, taking a step closer. 

His body was almost pinning hers. She glanced up and almost wished she didn’t. This close, she could see every fleck of grey and blue in his eyes. She could see the speculation in his eyes and his gaze was almost palpable as it drifted from her face down to her chest which was rising and falling in small, short, pants. 

“I think this isn’t used on your back at all, Granger.” He placed his boot between her trainers, lightly kicking the inner side. Her balance was thrown as her legs were spread more, and she gripped the front of his t-shirt to stay upright. “I think,” He began, clicking the button again, and appeared nothing less than smug when the vibration grew in power, “—that this has a much funner use than simply being a back massager.” 

Hermione swallowed, but didn’t break eye contact with him. She was wearing trousers, surely she wouldn’t be able to feel it as much. Right? But she’d also never had it on the highest setting he’d put on. She enjoyed clitoral stimulation not clitoral seismic activity. 

Malfoy’s voice was lower than before, almost husky. Tension had already been established, but now there was intent forming as he spoke. “If you don’t want me to confirm what I think this is, Granger. Then tell me to stop. Tell me to back away. Tell me to leave the room and I’ll never bring this up again.” 

She kept her mouth shut for once. 

A novelty, honestly. Maybe she could get her award floo’d—Hermione inhaled sharply as all coherent thoughts melted from her mind. The hand she realized was still gripping the front of Malfoy’s shirt tightened as he placed the rose toy between her legs. There was the issue of fabric, but with the setting so high, she was able to feel the vibration against her center like there was nothing there. 

Hermione’s heart was racing as her head tilted back against the door and then Malfoy was bending his head to whisper against her ear. His lips tickled the shell, causing her to shiver. “Naughty girl.” He drawled, pushing the toy closer against her. “Is this how you’ve been getting your rocks off the past few years? Muggle sex toys?” 

“Dating is a bit hard when you’re fight—fighting a war.” Her voice was a bit breathless, embarrassingly so. 

The spark of carnal desire she’d felt for him earlier was nothing compared to the wildfire he’d incited. He tilted the angle of the toy, causing the vibrations to directly reverberate over her clit. A whimper tore from her lips and she tried to shift her hips to get away from it. 

Malfoy wasn’t allowing that. He pinned her body against the door, his left hand coming to settle on her hip. She could feel his fingers digging into her and she could… She could feel his erection forming against her lower stomach. She didn’t think he was fully hard, but he was still big. It made her wonder how big he was and how he’d feel inside her. 

“Poor, Granger.” He teased, not sounding sympathetic at all. She felt something hot and wet slide against a spot underneath her ear where she was sensitive. Her eyes fluttered shut and his scent was like an aphrodisiac. She wanted to bury her face into his chest and inhale his woodsy and citrusy smell that clung to him. “All this pent-up frustration and only a mere toy to help you through it.” 

Fuck, Hermione wanted him to bury himself inside her. 

She felt his teeth nip against that spot and her hips bucked against him, causing the most sinful noise to leave Malfoy. His words were a heavy praise that made her eyes open again, but it was a hooded stare—too drunk on desire. “So sensitive. So well-behaved for me. Don’t think you could be like this all the time, could you?”

Clarity and defiance pulled her out of her lust-filled lucidity. 

She turned her head to look at him, mind going blank for a moment as their lips almost brushed, but she glared up at him. “Fuck you.” 

The corners of his lip curved up to form a wicked, clever smile. “What’s the incantation for the transfiguration spell to make things vanish?” 

Hermione frowned, perplexed. Caught off guard by such a question if she was being honest. Draco Malfoy was intelligent enough to know the basic incantation for the vanishing spell. It was ‘evanesco.’ There was no possible way he ‘forgot.’ The prat could probably cast it wordlessly and without his wand. 

So why did he ask it? 

Was this a real question? 

What did he want to make disappear? 

His wrist rolled in a circle, drawing her attention to the sex toy. Godric—it felt so good, but there was still the issue of her trousers. She would never get off—Get. Off. He wanted her trousers gone. This wasn’t a question about what the incantation was, but rather a real question of consent. Because he could have done it without asking, but he was not only cognizant of her trauma—he was a man who understood consent. 

“It’s… evanesco.” She told him, looking into her eyes as she answered him. 

She willed him to understand that she was fine with crossing this boundary. Would she regret it later? Possibly. Would her brain remind her of how needy she was and make her feel mortified? Very likely. But right now, that traitor had moved from her head down to her vagina and so that part of her was making all the decisions. And right now, it wanted Draco fucking Malfoy to touch her. Sleazy bitch. 

“I’ll have to practice.” The wicked smile was still on his lips, but there was a feral quality about it now. “Evanesco.” Her trainers were gone. “Evanesco.” Her socks. He paused. Her grip on his shirt had her pulling him closer—but he was already pinning his body against her. “Evanesco.” Her trousers. All that was left was her Oxford sweater and the lace between the sex toy and her—

Hermione cursed, her back arching, but she couldn’t move despite the vibrations now being overwhelming. Her voice was an acolyte’s plea to a God that wouldn’t listen. A prayer that would go unfulfilled, “Malfoy—it’s too much.” 

Distractedly, she could feel his cock growing harder. His voice was by her ear again, “I think I like hearing you beg.” He rolled his wrist again, forcing her to half-moan, half-reprimand him, “Beg for me, Granger. Show me those pretty lips aren’t only used for being a brat.” 

Submissive wasn’t in her vocabulary, no matter how tempting he was right now. 

Instead, she flirted with him back. She reached up on the balls of her feet, to take her turn and whisper in his ear, “I’m beginning to think you spend lots of time thinking about these pretty lips… and what they could be wrapped around…” 

Malfoy. Fucking. Shivered. 

And she realized that she hadn’t been the only one affected by the tension brewing between them the past couple days. That realization should have been like cold water doused over her. Instead, it was a love—lust potion injected straight into her veins that almost pushed her own. 

“How can I…” Malfoy murmured back, pulling his head away to look her straight in the eyes. His head tilted, eyes briefly flickering down to her lips as he continued, “…When all that time is spent thinking how to keep you alive?” 

She found her own gaze falling to mouth, subconsciously sliding her tongue against her lower lip in anticipation. Malfoy bent lower, their lips just a hairsbreadth away from each other. Everything inside her was buzzing, encouraging her to close the distance. To feel his lips against hers and give in. Hermione finally understood how Circe was able to lure all those men and turn them into pigs. Malfoy had her waiting on every word. 

“Focus, Granger.” There was a cooing smile in his voice as he rocked the sex toy against her center exactly how his hips were making the same motion, but it was more muted. But it was enough for her to be reminded that his cock was hard and throbbing with its own desire to fill her. And she couldn’t get the image of her on all fours with Malfoy gripping her hips, and— “What am I going to do with you when every time I turn around, someone’s trying to kill you?” 

Malfoy’s shirt twisted more as her orgasm was building. Hermione felt the weightlessness start in her legs and she was ready for the wave to crash over. Before she could, the prat pulled the toy away. The wave receded and she was left wanting. 

Hermione looked up at him, irritated. “Malfoy.” 

If he leaned in any closer, she could probably have felt that devious smile against her lips. “Yes?” 

She bit back her pride, revealing her desperation, “I was close.” 

Delighted, he even pulled his head away to look down at her fully. “Close to what?” Her cheeks had to be every shade of red. Was he going to make her say it? Amusement swam in his eyes as he turned the damned thing off, but didn’t step away. “You’re mad at me and you’re on the edge of an orgasm. Imagine what it’d feel like if you gave me the opportunity to explain myself. Then I might let you come.” 

Right.  

Memories. He can alter memories. 

“Maybe you can alter this one too. Let me think that I actually enjoyed it.” She retorted, wanting to cross her arms, but there wasn’t any distance between them. 

She felt his cock throb against her lower abdomen and she had the sneaking suspicion that every time she was a brat, he wanted to do something about it. But just like before, he was holding himself back. 

The feral smile he wore told her that he didn’t believe her words in the slightest. He only confirmed it, “All it would take is for me to get on my knees, place your leg over my shoulder, and find out how much you really enjoyed that.” The prat felt her squirm under the weight of his words and he told her, “I didn’t lie to you, Granger.” 

“No, you withheld information.” She corrected. 

His laugh was humorless, “I’m withholding a lot of information. It’s something you have to accept because it isn’t going to change. This is a War and I’m playing to fucking win, Granger. I can’t have anyone knowing every move of mine.” 

“You don’t think I could help you?” 

“Did I say that?” 

“No, but—” She let out a frustrated noise, allowing some vulnerability to sneak into her voice. “Do you realize how useless it makes me feel when I can’t put the one thing I’m good for to use? My mind? What good am I doing here if you, Theo, and Pansy don’t need me? I’m a waste of space in this place. And don’t try to argue because I’m not looking for any validation. It’s how I feel and I’m not going to apologize for it.” 

He was quiet, but there was so much in his gaze—it was like he was searching for the right thing to say. “I can understand that.” He said gently, surprising her with such a soft tone. “But you being here has changed things.” 

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “What have I done here besides given you an erection and almost died from sexual frustration? Speaking of which, give me that back if you’re not going to use it.” 

“Evanesco.” A lofty smirk rose on his face when her mouth dropped open. “That’s a good look for you, Granger. Perhaps you should try it while on your knees.” 

“Malfoy that was thirty pounds.” 

“What? It was not that heavy.” 

Hermione stared at him for a moment, “The Muggle currency, you smug git.” She pointed her finger into his chest, even angrier when her finger hurt from hitting strong muscle, “If you can’t conjure that back, I don’t care how embarrassing it is, you’re buying me another one.” 

With the smirk never disappearing, she knew he wanted to rile her up, and she’d fallen for it. “You still haven’t asked me.” 

“Asked you what?” 

“What the two memories I altered were.” 

“Would you…” She prepared for the immediate rejection, “Would you tell me if I asked?” 

“I would.” He took a step back from her, “But only when you start to trust me more.” 

Hermione scowled at him, resting every urge to not glance down at his trousers where his erection was strained against the fabric. It was like a mantra she had to repeat. 

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. 

“How am I supposed to trust you, knowing that you’ve altered my memories twice? How do I know you’re not going to alter this one?” 

Malfoy reached forward, yanking the front of her sweater towards him. She crashed against his chest, glaring up at him indignantly. With his free hand, he grabbed her chin. “Don’t worry, Granger. I have no plans of changing this memory for you. I think I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that you’re sexually frustrated because of me.” 

She didn’t back down. “I can’t wait to ruin your night.” 

Her desire was mirrored in his expression like he wanted to watch her spite him. “You wouldn’t do that.” 

“And why not?” 

The prat leaned down, a playful grin on his face when she’d inadvertently tilted her face to accept his kiss. One he didn’t plan on giving to her. “Because right when you’re about to come, my face is going to appear behind those pretty eyes of yours, and you’re too stubborn to give me your orgasm when I’m not there.” 

Feeling bold and because her curiosity couldn’t be tamed anymore, Hermione reached towards and stroked him outside his trousers. His eyes flickered with surprise and she heard him swallow as the muscles in his jaw flexed. 

“And what are you going to do?” She squeezed him lightly, causing him to inhale sharply. “Stroke your cock to the thought of me? Think about what my ‘pretty lips’ could have been used for?” 

Hermione waited for the scoff, but instead she got an amused glance. Without words, she could read it blatantly across his face. Wouldn’t be the first time. Then he was brushing past her and walking out the room. The door closed behind him and she was left there, in just her sweater and underwear; flabbergasted. 

Did she read his expression right? 

Had he thought about her like that before? 

But he’d never—he’d never found her pretty—

A memory unravelled before her eyes.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

September 1st, 1991 

Despite being the first one to show up, Hermione wasn’t the first to get on the train. She gazed up at steam train, knowing the clock was ticking. It was almost eleven and the trainman had been eyeing her the last thirty minutes, having asked twice now if she was going to get on or not. 

“Nervous?” 

She turned to see a blond boy walking towards her with hair so fair, it looked almost white. It was parted to the side and slicked back in a way that reminded her of hairstyles in the 1930’s that she’d seen in her old textbooks at school. 

Her old school. 

The non-magical one she should have started today and been annoyed the moment Jimmy Davies pulled on her ‘wild curls’ from his seat behind her. The boy now standing in front of her was a few inches taller with storm-grey eyes she found interesting. Almost immediately she felt a bit shy around him. He had this confidence about him and here she was too afraid to get on the train.  

“A bit.” She admitted, glancing back towards it. 

“Don’t be.” He said easily, then added a cheeky grin which made his eyes light up. “The train and Hogwarts are far more easier to navigate than Diagon Alley. My father says the worst thing you have to worry about on the train is meeting a pretty girl and not being able to sit next to her. If you don’t have anywhere to sit, you can sit by me.” 

Before she could respond, a cane came down between them, almost knocking her off balance. She looked up to see a man with blond hair, similar to the boy’s beside her, but it was longer. There was an elder woman behind him looking a bit cautious followed by a young girl with black hair and a boy whose brown hair was disheveled like he’d woken up late. The latter two appeared to be around her age—eleven. The man with a cane and the woman next to him were clearly the boy’s parents. Most of his features were like his mother’s… Straight nose, curve of his lips, the dark lashes that framed his pale eyes… Those eyes were the same shade as his fathers as was his hair. But they didn’t seem as cold in this moment. 

“I didn’t say go on ahead so you could interact with filth, Draco.” The boy looked fearful for a moment, but had a stubborn tilt to his chin that his father clearly didn’t find endearing. “You were supposed to go on ahead and reserve a compartment because someone decided to sleep like an inferius this morning. Theodore.” 

The brown haired boy yawned hugely in response, earning a light slap on the arm from the dark haired girl. Who, Hermione assumed was ‘Theodore,’ apologized, “Sorry, Uncle. We stayed up too late talking about the sorting feast.” 

“As if you three would be anything, but natural Slytherins.” The elder woman beside him mused. 

Her eyes caught the long-haired man’s gaze, “What are you still doing here, Mudblood? Either get on the train or go home, but stay away from my boy.”  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

That stubborn tilt to the boy’s chin finally made sense. She hadn’t understood it or paid too much attention to it the first time the memory came to light—but now… Malfoy hadn’t realized she was Muggle-born. He’d found her pretty at first sight. It was his father who told him not to interact with her and he’d disagreed immediately. 

Then he’d… Always found her attractive. 

No question this time. Especially after the teasing they’d just done to each other. This must be one of the memories he’d altered. Hermione went over to the dresser, begrudgingly changing her underwear and purposefully ignoring how wet he’d made her. She grabbed the sleep shorts from earlier and headed back outside to see Cadeyrn and Pansy still waiting. 

“Still mad about the whole altering memories ordeal?” Pansy inquired, tapping the space next to her. 

Hermione sat down, not wanting to think about what had just transpired in front of a nosy dragon. Cadeyrn’s eyes were closed, but he opened them to eye her. With what was the equivalent of a dragon eye roll, he closed his eyes again, and allowed a cloud of smoke to exit his nostrils. 

“Not as mad as before.” 

Which was the truth. She was mad about her vibrator though. 

“Whatever it was, I’m sure Draco had good reason.” She said dismissively. 

A comfortable silence stayed between them. Not ten minutes later, Malfoy was joining them with his hair still wet. Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from smirking when she realized he’d taken a cold shower. Despite what happened, there wasn’t any tension other than a new awareness. They both found each other physically attractive. 

That was it. 

Cadeyrn’s eyes opened and he stood up at the same time Malfoy stiffened. Pansy and Hermione were rising in surprise, scrambling up when an apparition appeared in front of them. Seeing the Death Eater robes, she felt fear strike a deep chord inside her. 

Then she saw the flower etched into the mask and the robes disappeared to reveal Theo. Unharmed. Grinning. His hair wild from the apparition and clearly tired from the magic it took to enter the Dragon’s Den. 

“Hi love.” He said in the softest voice she’d ever heard from him. 

Pansy bursted into tears, running toward, and launching herself into his chest. Theo laughed, catching her, but they both tumbled to the ground in front of the dragon. Tears were running down Theo’s cheeks too, but he was clearly unashamed. His arms were wrapped around the Slytherin witch so tightly—like he was afraid someone was going to take her from him. 

He looked up at Hermione, smiling genuinely. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing her back to me.” 

“But you being here has changed things.”

Malfoy’s words drifted into her mind. It was true that she’d been the one to tell him that they were going to get Pansy back. Hermione’s gaze drifted to Malfoy who wore a secret smile. As if knowing where her mind had gone, he nodded once. 

It’s true, his expression said. 

At that, she smiled at him. The first genuine one, in what felt like years. “It was a team effort.” She admitted before reluctantly fixating back on the happy couple. 

In this moment, Hermione knew that everything outside the Dragon’s Den was in shambles. The war front was raging, the tides never auspicious nor in her favour, and she didn’t know how maiming Shacklebolt would affect her in the future. 

What she did know, is that in this moment… 

Everything felt right. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Love Changes People

Cadeyrn left almost as soon as Theo was confirmed to be alive and unharmed. He made a snarky comment about it being a shame he didn’t die, but no one was fooled. In return, Cadeyrn gave out death threats as easily as McGonagall used to give Harry detention before he launched into the air, and disappeared into the night. 

Hermione thought there might be a celebration or a nice moment to commemorate Theo being back, but nope. The wizard winked at Malfoy, lifted Pansy into his arms, and marched into the cottage without a second thought. 

“Cast a silencing charm, you wanker.” Malfoy shouted after him, shaking his head. He tried to sound stern, but there was no bite to his tone. He was just as happy for them as Cadeyrn pretended he wasn’t. “I was going to invite them to try the churro’s we brought back.” 

Hermione scoffed, walking towards the house with Malfoy following her. “I’m quite sure that the only churro Pansy wants right now is Theo’s.” Her lips twitched and she fought against the burst of pride that flared inside her as Malfoy chuckled. It was a freeing, lighthearted laugh that didn’t reflect the Malfoy she thought she knew. But she’d begun to learn a lot about him recently, hadn’t she? Cock size aside. She walked over to the kitchen table where he’d set the parcel down earlier. “I suppose that means more for us. How did you come across that shop? It seems like he knew you well.” 

“We met a while ago while I was visiting Spain.” He replied easily, walking over to the cupboard to pull out two plates. “I was in the area, wanted to check out some shops instead of doing shite I didn’t care for, and we stumbled upon each other really. He was receiving a shipment of Cara Cara naval oranges from Venezuela when the truck had a flat up the street. I had absolutely no idea how to change a Muggle tire and conveniently neither did he, so we pushed the truck all the way to his friend’s flat nearby who knew how to change a tire.” 

“You didn’t use magic?” 

“Of course I did. It was bloody hot out, I was wearing a suit, and I pretended to push the damn thing while casting wingardium leviosa.” Malfoy set the plates down, giving her an incredulous stare. “Do you really think I’d scratch my Oxfords for oranges?” 

No. She didn’t. But the thought of it put a permanent smile on her face that refused to disappear. He waved his wand, a couple churros flying out of the box, and landing on each plate. A chocolate joined each churro, stamped with the Chocolateria’s trademarked crest. 

Hermione pointed to it curiously, “You mentioned oranges. Are these citrus chocolates?” 

The blond nodded, waving his wand towards his plate. “I dislike chocolate with fruit inside them. You can have mine—and whatever’s left in the box.” 

“Picky.” She murmured, but didn’t meet his eyes. 

There was hesitation and timidity floating in the air that threatened to latch onto her. They threatened to seep into her skin and become tangible feelings that would be difficult to get rid of. Fighting them almost seemed more difficult than accepting them both altogether. Malfoy had grabbed her vibrator and while he didn’t directly touch her bare skin, it’d still been an intimate moment. The feelings he’d brought to the surface, the control he’d kept a steady reign on… 

It’d felt like… 

That first breath of air after breaking the surface. 

That rush of wind and adrenaline while riding. 

It’d felt like freedom. 

“I’m going to start thinking I’m terrible company if you keep zoning out on me, Granger.” Hermione looked up to see him taking a bite of the churro, glancing at her thoughtfully while he chewed. Her mouth felt like it was dry, not knowing that to say and the silence prompted him to speak again, “If you’re overthinking about what happened earlier, don’t.” 

Her mind wanted to play tricks on her, so she asked the bluntest question possible to stop the tricks from winning. “You regret it?” 

“There’s a lot I regret. That’s not one of them.” His answer was both cryptic and simple, but it put her warring mind to ease. “Do you?” 

“No.” Hermione was sure of that and she almost thought his shoulders relaxed slightly. Did Malfoy think she had been regretting it this entire time? Maybe it was time to ease the tension with a quip, “Well actually—” There it was. His throat bobbed faintly and his movements halted like he was preparing for war, “—considering you did it only to tease me and then vanished my vibrator so I couldn’t finish the job—perhaps I am upset with you.” 

She watched him relax again and was delighted to feel that he’d placed a warming charm on the churros. She took her first bite, smiling almost immediately at the taste. Hermione beamed up at him after swallowing, “They’re delicious.” 

Malfoy stared at her, dazed for a moment before returning the smile—albeit more muted than the one she’d sent him. There was a reservedness about it that tinged the edges and he looked away. “Those chocolates have been in Álvaro’s family for generations. He’s quite proud of them. Make sure to try one.” 

Hermione nodded, lifting one to her mouth when they both heard a feminine moan coming from down the hall. She dropped the chocolate, muffling a laugh with the back of her hand as a look of dread swarmed the other wizard’s face. 

“Not again.” He grumbled walking towards the living room where he disappeared. 

As soon as Malfoy’s figure disappeared, another one reappeared in front of her. 

Theo. 

The little shite was reaching for the chocolates, grabbing all, but the one on Hermione’s plate. 

“What are you doing?” She inquired flatly, “It’s rude not to share.” 

“Tell Draco that.” 

She raised her eyebrows, “What are you talking about? You could have had some snacks with us, but instead you’re making a snack out of your fiancée!” 

“And how delicious she is.” Theo grinned naughtily before lifting the chocolates in his hand, “This is only fair.” 

“You stealing all the sweets? How so?” 

“Because every time I tell Draco to save me one, they’re all gone before he walks through the damn doorway. I’m convinced he starts eating them as soon as he leaves the floo and takes his time walking all the way here.” 

Hermione scowled, “You’re being paranoid, Malfoy doesn’t even fancy these chocolates?” 

“You’re right.” Theo rolled his eyes, “He’s bloody obsessed with them.” 

Without another word, the cheeky little shit disapparated, and Malfoy walked back through looking annoyed. Hermione gathered the little incident wasn’t the lack of a silencing charm, but a diversion tactic. 

“Pansy was waiting for you, wasn’t she?” 

He nodded, peering at her curiously as Crookshanks weaved between his legs, walking in too. “How’d you know?” 

The witch gestured to the parcel which had an astonishing lack of chocolates, “You got outsmarted.” 

Understanding swam in his gaze, “I’m going to kill him.” 

“No, you won’t. You’ve spent the last hour or so worried about him.” Hermione dismissed the casual death threat, ignoring the chocolate left on her plate to finish the churro. 

As she chewed, she thought about what the Dark Lord and what he might’ve had Theo do. Whatever it was, Malfoy wouldn’t know because Theo didn’t stop to enlighten him on anything. And was the Dark Lord someone that she wanted to talk about right now? For what felt like the first time ever—but she couldn’t confirm—Hermione felt like her and Malfoy were having a decent conversation.

There was no anger, frustration, or hesitation. 

It was like two friends speaking together after a long time apart. 

Malfoy spoke clearly. “How would I know what is and isn’t missing from your mind? Do I think you and I were friends when we were younger? Absolutely not. I had no interest in being friends with you.”

Friends he clearly never was with her. But then she’d never think he thought her pretty until he’d revealed that altered memory after she’d trusted him enough to touch her… So what did she really know about how they used to be? What more should she doubt? 

“You know,” She began, thinking back to a conversation with Theo recently, “He once told me ‘if Draco was in trouble, I’d know about it’ and you said something similar earlier tonight.” 

“Have I ever told you, you’re annoyingly perceptive?” 

“Don’t say things I’m not supposed to know about—then we wouldn’t be in this predicament.” She didn’t bat an eyelash, asking, “How? Is it magic? Does it have something to do with that threaded bracelet you wear? Though I’ve got to be honest, I never thought that red and gold were your colors. Although thought it was green and silver.” 

Reaching down, Malfoy picked up Crookshanks who was—to no one’s surprise—eying the chocolate left on her plate. “Don’t even think about it, you greedy bugger.” To Hermione he said, “How can I not be a fan of red when his hair is bloody everywhere. I could use every cleaning charm in the books and still find cat hair on my pillow.” 

“Have I ever told you, you’re annoyingly deflective?” 

That got a smirk out of him, “Once or twice.” He replied before answering her original question, “Theo and I took an Unbreakable Vow.” 

“To..?” 

“Not die.” 

Hermione stared at him. “You both took an Unbreakable Vow… Not to die.” 

“Correct.” His smirk grew, “We both vowed not to die before the War is over.” 

She tried to reason it aloud, but still found them both to be bloody idiots about taking such a vow, “If one of you were to die, then the other would be alerted by the magic that the Vow’s been broken… But because the other person would have already had to have died, it’s not like the magic can make you deader…” She paused. “I don’t know whether to think that’s brilliant or absolutely insane.” 

“Both work. It was Theo’s idea of course.” 

“Then he’s got one with Pansy, too?” 

Malfoy shook his head, “Theo’s convinced that if Pansy were to ever die—he’d somehow know about it. He’d feel it in his heart.” 

“That sounds impossible.” 

He shrugged one shoulder, running his fingers through Crookshanks’ fur. For someone who was picky about cat hair, he sure didn’t mind humoring his son who was craning his head to redirect Malfoy’s pets, “It’s what he believes. When you’re around those two for long enough, you start to see it. The way they subconsciously move around each other and how the first reaction in the room Theo looks for is hers.” He put Crooks down, “But it’s always been like that. Growing up too even when we were kids.” 

“What was it like being raised in a Pureblood household?” 

If the question surprised him, Malfoy didn’t show it. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His biceps strained against his t-shirt in a way that Hermione definitely didn’t notice. Nor did she notice the way his forearms flexed—

“Galas, fancy suppers—things you’d expect from my father. He enjoyed the finer things in life, but there was—”

“A side to him that no one knew about?” Hermione interjected a bit sarcastically. 

He sent her a bemused glance and she mimicked zipping her lips closed, and throwing away the Daedalian key. 

“I’m not excusing his actions so listen until I’m done. but my father came from a long line of cold fathers that never showed their sons any warmth. My grandfather, Abraxas, was part of the social elite that hated Muggles and the like. He was someone that demanded great things from my father and he was well respected within Wizarding Society—and he held a lot of influence over the Ministry. Sound familiar? When the first Muggle-born Minister for Magic held office—Yes, my grandfather had a hand in doing his early retirement. It was something that only my father knew about and he eventually told me when I was younger. He told me that there will be times where my beliefs and values are challenged, and I’ll have to fight to protect them. Like Grandfather did.” 

Convincing a young child that attempted murder is acceptable if it means you believe in it. Father of the year award. 

‘Stay quiet and listen.’ Cadeyrn grumbled into her mind, ‘The Scion isn’t a chatty person.’ 

Hermione kept her expression clear as she snapped back, ‘I’m going to start charging you rent if you keep living in my mind.’ 

Cadeyrn breathed a huff and the witch wondered if the dragon had tuned in because he was curious about the wizard who’d raised him. Did Malfoy not have these sorts of talks with him? 

‘Not since I was a whelp.’ 

Malfoy continued, unaware of the conversation with her unwelcome guest. “As you know, he became a Death Eater and rose through the ranks during the First Wizarding War. Winning and glory had been the only things my father had ever cared about until my mother gave birth to me. That’s when his perspective started to shift—family became the most important thing to him. Truth be told, I think he was glad when he thought the killing curse had killed off the Dark Lord. He had already been blackmailing and bribing important Ministry Officials—but he did whatever he could to make sure he didn’t go to Azkaban so he could stay with us. He wanted to be a present father. That’s where he differed from my grandfather and my mother helped to make him more of a family man rather than a bigot dedicated to a cause. Love changes people.” When she didn’t say anything, Malfoy’s humor was thinly veiled behind a snark-ish comment, “Go on. Say whatever it is you’re thinking.” 

“He can be a family man and still be a bloody bigot dedicated to a stupid, genocidal cause. He’s the one that almost got Ginny killed when we were Second Years.” 

The blond didn’t deny it. “The basilisk being loose was one of the main reasons my father wanted me to go to Durmstrang. He always knew he was going to release it into the school and he was worried about my safety.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Mother didn’t fancy the idea of me going to school so far away. Plus that would have been terrible for our owls at the time who brought me sweets daily.” 

“Even with a giant serpent on the loose?” 

That made him smile, his eyes clouding over like a memory had resurfaced. “Mother wasn’t too pleased when she learned of what was happening. Threatened to beat him with his own cane. She tried to convince me to come home, but Theo and Pansy were ordered to stay at Hogwarts so I stayed as well.” 

“Why were they ordered to stay?” 

“The Nott and Parkinson family would have rather risked their children’s lives than be seen as intimidated by murders at a school.” His jaw set and she wondered if another, irritating memory this time had snuck up on him. “Thankfully Potter was able to defeat the bloody thing. Pansy had nightmares and usually recruited Theo and I for slumber parties.” 

The idea of the three Slytherin’s huddling together as if they could defeat a basilisk by innocently sleeping together in the same bed was laughable. A touch of sadness did creep up inside her. One that even Malfoy seemed to be able to detect. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“The way the three of you are.” Hermione slid her gaze over to the open doorway, feeling a bit too vulnerable to look at Malfoy as she spoke, “I thought that Harry, Ron, and I were close—but it feels so superficial compared to what the lot of you have. You said earlier that I’m Harry’s best friend and I should be able to answer these questions—but you’ve already taught me in the span of a couple days that Harry isn’t the person I thought him to be. I never realized he was taking care of Pansy and watching over her while Shacklebolt tried to get information out of her. I didn’t know he could cast such quick, effective obliviation spells.” She paused, looking at him again, “Did Ron know about all this?” 

Malfoy’s head tilted, “If Potter kept you unaware of it and Weasley was already entrusted with Shacklebolt’s errands and correspondence, then I’m willing to bet he confided in the wanker. Have you ever known Potter to keep things to himself?” 

No. Hermione shook her head. Ron and her were always at his side—and he always asked them for their opinions on matters. Hermione especially seeing as she had been the Order’s resident problem solver. Now she was just the problem. 

“I guess the simple answer is—I’m jealous. Harry and Ron always had each other. Maybe they just found me useful like the rest of the Order until I wasn’t.” 

The wizard waited a for few moments, allowing the words to stew in the air until they were putrid, and Hermione felt embarrassed at having even said them out loud. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it, “I don’t believe that to be the case. For all the moments you did help them, I’m confident there were moments of genuine friendship between the three of you.” 

“What about with Pansy? She missed my humor, the vague memories I do have with her—were we friends? You would know.” 

“Ask her.” He answered around her question again and she was tempted to throw the bit of chocolate at him, “No point in asking me all the questions you have about your friendship with her when you can ask her in the morning. If they ever decide to leave the bedroom. Guess you’ll have to take care of the animals alone tomorrow.” 

Her nose scrunched with dismay. “I suppose the chickens would feel relieved not having to see you another day. They might even throw a party in the coop.” 

“Ha. Ha.” He said dryly, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. 

“What are you going to be doing?” 

“Since Pansy’s here, I’ll have her take care of the gardens. Theo may or may not join me, but I need to start doing more patrols around the Dragon Den.” He shrugged as if the idea of possibly getting into life or death fights didn’t bother him in the slightest. 

Cadeyrn had made him agree to more patrols… Had their been more attacks since she’d been there? More activity? 

‘Yes.’ The short reply travelled through her mind. It almost sounded sleepy. ‘I am tired of listening to you all day. Go sleep. Without the Scion.’ 

…All day? Did—Do—

‘No. I know when not to listen. Sleep.’

That answered that. There was the closest thing to bemusement and disgust in his tone and it likely had to do with what she was going to ask him. If he’d been around in her mind when a certain incident earlier had transpired. 

“I’ll help with the animals—I’m more than willing to help around here. But I also want to help with the patrols.” Her tone let him know that it was more matter of fact than a question, “If Cadeyrn allows me to use magic within the Dragon’s Den, then I could be more effective while making the rounds.” 

“You don’t know the layout.” 

“Teach me.” 

“You won’t be able to harm anyone in Dumbledore’s Army.” 

“You don’t know what I'm capable of.” 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, “If Cadeyrn gave you the order to kill one of your friends, would you be able to do that?” 

“If… If there was no other way—”

“He doesn’t give a fuck if there’s another way. This is Cadeyrn’s birthright and his kin are here. He has a duty that he trusts me to be ruthless with. If you can’t—”

Annoyance brewed mixed with resentment. “You’re willing to tell me that if one of your friends—”

“He knows that the only people I care about are in this cottage.” 

She frowned, “Theo and Pansy—”

The blond wizard cut her off, igniting the annoyance to a new level. “Cadeyrn knows that I would die before jeopardizing his kin. He’s trying to understand you too, Granger. Why do you think he’s in your head so much? He doesn’t trust you.” 

“I thought it was because I’m not an occulumens.” 

“That too.” He admitted, adding, “But it’s predominantly because he’s monitoring you. If he thought for a moment that you were a liability, we’d both be dead.” 

“Why would we both we dead?” 

“Because you were the one I chose to represent the Order.” His answer was flawless and his tone smooth, but she was starting to become more familiar with his body language, and his subtle tells. Right now, his eyes were like slated steel. No emotion passed through his walls. If he didn’t have anything to hide, she’d be able to see more flecks of ice and grey-blue of the tides. Hermione was becoming more familiar with every shade of of grey in his eyes and she didn’t know what to do with that information. But right now, the windows to his soul were boarded up with goblin metal. “If you betray me, then it’s a lack of judgement on my part. Which means that Cadeyrn would have no reason to trust me anymore.” 

Was he lying? Or was he speaking in half-truths? 

Draco Malfoy was a Prince of Slytherin and he had the same serpent tongue that Satan did convincing Eve to eat the apple. Only Hermione was more like Lilith than Eve and his serpentine nature didn’t intimidate her. 

“Cadeyrn will make his own judgement. But you said it yourself, if he didn’t fancy my company—then I’d have been dead a long time ago.” 

“A couple days is hardly a long time.” 

“The point is, Cadeyrn will decide that he can trust me. You clearly do otherwise you wouldn’t have agreed with bringing back Pansy.” She added on the last part, seeing his lips part with a retort on his tongue. “I’m not sitting back, Malfoy. I’m not going to take care of the animals or the gardens while you continue to put yourself in danger for the sake of everyone else, and you can’t expect me to be okay with that. If you try and keep me locked up, then you’re no better than Shacklebolt. But at least he was willing to admit that’s exactly what he was going.” 

He was fuming. There was a rosiness to his cheeks that were seated with fury. Theo said a lot, but he listened to Malfoy, and that made her wonder if she was the only one that genuinely stood up to him. If she was the only one that fought him at every turn. His chest rose and fell with purposeful breaths. He was trying to calm himself down. 

Fuck. That. 

She stepped away from the counter, standing in front of him. Her own arms were crossed now and she looked up at him with a mirrored, scathing glare. 

“What’s it going to be, Malfoy?” Her eyebrows raised slightly, “Are you going to try to keep me in a cage or are you going to let me fight at your side?” 

The heat in his glare didn’t dwindle. Not in the slightest. “Have I ever told you, that you’re the most infuriating witch I’ve ever met?” 

“Glad I’m at the top of your list, Malfoy. Can’t say you’re at the top of any of mine.” 

“I’m confident I’m the most attractive wizard you’ve ever seen. Or do you wear those ‘fuck-me’ eyes for every man you come across? Because I’ve never seen you look at anyone else like that.” 

She willed her body not to stiffen and betray her, but she was caught off guard by his brashness. He saw through her facade, smirking at her astonishment. Of course he fucking noticed. 

Hermione lept for the first thing that came across her mind, “How would you know the sort of glances I give men when you haven’t been around the past five bloody years?” 

“That you remember.” 

Malfoy hit her where it hurt because he knew she didn’t trust her mind. Didn’t trust her memories. “Fuck. You.” 

“No thanks.” He said smugly, lowering his arms to his sides. “It’s been a long night and I’ve already taken one cold shower today.” 

Hermione’s cheeks warmed, but she turned away before he could hopefully see it. “It has been a long night. I’m going to bed.” 

She was almost to the door way when his words caught her off guard again, “Granger. The chocolate. Didn’t you want to try it?” 

“He’s fucking obsessed with them.”

Theo’s words danced in her mind. She shook her head, not bothering to turn around. “I’ve had enough sweets for the night, but you should eat it out of spite so that Theo doesn’t get to have them all.” 

And then she was heading towards her room with her favorite little traitor still in the kitchen with his negligent father. She would have loved to try the chocolate with the fresh bits of fruit inside. 

However, as Hermione closed the door to her room behind her, she knew she wasn’t willing to admit yet… She wanted him to have the chocolate if only to make him happy. 

They’d had a long day. He deserved it. 

But that still didn’t change the fact that she was going to protect the Dragon’s Den with her life. She liked it here. She liked the way Cadeyrn talked about his parents and the way he diligently watched over the place despite being very young. 

This place was quickly becoming special to her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Appearances are Deceiving 

THUMP

BANG

The sound of a door slamming against the wall as it was thrown open jostled Hermione awake. The conditioned response to unexpected loud noises and the subsequent shouts that followed was grabbing her wand and running out the room. The commotion seemed to be coming from the kitchen and at first glance, she didn’t understand what to make of the situation. 

There were pancakes. Stuck to the ceiling. 

Several of them. One of them fell, landing on Theo who was covered in flour from his cheeks down to his thighs. There were handprints smudged all over the front of his shirt where he’d wiped his hands off. 

Pansy was sitting at the table, eating one of the left over churro’s from last night with an amused, smitten look on her face. There wasn’t a lick of flour on her and she was only wearing one of Theo’s shirts that came down to her thigh. Her black hair was neat and styled, but the red marks on her neck clearly proved she’d had a rough night. 

Malfoy was a couple steps ahead and off to the side. He was only wearing pajama pants that slung low on his hips and gave Hermione the completely unnecessary knowledge that he had dimples of Apollo. Two little indentations right above his arse. His back was muscular with a few scars and she saw that his dragon and snake tattoo extended to the back of his shoulder. He still wore that threaded bracelet, but what unexpectedly pleased her was that he wasn’t glamouring his scars. From this angle, she could see that his white-blond hair was disheveled like he’d run out of bed too. 

“Theo. What are you doing?” Malfoy inquired slowly, enunciating his words carefully. 

The other wizard turned his head, completely unbothered by the dark smoke beginning to build over the pan, “Making pancakes.” 

“No, you’re attempting to make pancakes.” He pointed to the ceiling, the litter of dishes, and then broken eggs shells on the floor, “What you’re actually doing is making a fucking mess.” 

Pansy let out an amused giggle, “Come now, Draco. He’s doing his best.” 

“His best is wasting food.” Malfoy replied sourly before seeming to realize that Hermione had also reacted to the earlier noise. He partially turned towards her and she could almost feel his gaze raking over. What did he see? Her bed head? The cotton Nirvana t-shirt she’d bought on sale at Old Navy a few years ago? His eyes landed briefly on her pajama bottoms and she resisted the urge to look down as well. They were yellow to match the smiley on her shirt, but even she had to admit that they’d gotten tighter since her legs had become more toned. They were a bit snug against her arse too, but that wasn’t a problem right now since she was facing him. When his gaze met hers again, she boldly arched an eyebrow and Malfoy’s smirk was shameless. “Morning, Granger.” 

The rich timbre combined with the faint huskiness of barely being awake meant Draco Malfoy had the sexiest voice first thing in the morning. The awareness she’d had of him since they first met again had been annoying, but now to know it was reciprocated was a… problem. It made her wonder what he thought of her. 

Why did she care? 

“Morning.” She murmured, forcing her gaze back to Theo who was trying to impress Pansy by flipping the pancake without using the spatula. Only that didn’t work when the pancake was smoking and clearly burned into the pan. “Do you need help?” 

“Hermione, it’s bloody pancakes. Do you think I can’t manage making pancakes for my darling fiancée?” 

“Yes.” Malfoy and Hermione both stated in a flat tone, her adding, “You used all the eggs, didn’t you?” 

Theo nodded, “Uh-huh. If you want to save the girls from the wrath of Draco, you better hop to it.” 

“I better hop to it?!” 

The gremlin grinned, gesturing to Pansy with the spatula, “You wouldn’t make me leave my fiancée’s side after we’ve only just been reunited, would you? Plus there’s not a puffskein’s chance in Hell of Draco letting me leave this room without cleaning it first.” 

“By hand.” The blond agreed, crossing his arms. “And maybe you’ll think about finding an adult first before trying to destroy the ceiling.” He pointed to the ceiling where the poor pancake sacrifices disappeared, “You can get the rest. I’ll help Granger collect the eggs.” 

“I’m not letting you near those poor girls.” 

“Then I’ll carry the basket.” He said placidly, shooting her a heated glare. 

Pansy laughed, “Go on you two. I’m starving. The food the Order made me eat was disgusting.” 

Hermione scowled at that, her eyebrows furrowing together. There was always too much food. “I’m going to go brush my teeth and grab my trainers.” 

She didn’t pay attention to any conversation after that, heading back to her room. She didn’t bother closing the door, only heading to the bathroom where she started putting toothpaste on her brush. She’d only brought it to her mouth when a knock sounded at the door. 

The witch began brushing her teeth, but peered out to see Malfoy standing in the doorway. She’d made a silent promise with herself that she wouldn’t be distracted by any more muscles and then he had to show off abs that Michelangelo himself would have had trouble recreating. It didn’t help that Malfoy had scripture written in ink right next the ‘V’ indentation on his lower abdomen. 

‘Fair is foul, and foul is fair.’ 

She took the brush out of her mouth to say, “Appearances are deceiving?” 

He glanced down at where her eyes had fallen to and then nodded when he understood, “Sometimes what’s good is actually bad.” 

The Order. 

“And what appears bad is actually good?” She looked pointedly at him and then the direction where two other snakes were probably sitting in the kitchen, goofing off. 

“No,” Malfoy smirked, “I don’t make excuses for my actions.” Meaning he was bad and he wasn’t afraid of being the villain. He switched topics as she went back to brushing her teeth, “You looked a bit disturbed leaving the kitchen. If you don’t want me to come with you, I won’t. I had only figured you might want company trekking there by yourself.” 

Hermione held up her index finger, telling him to wait while she rinsed her mouth out in the bathroom. Returning, she clarified, “That wasn’t why I was upset. Pansy wasn’t eating good food? Shacklebolt had fresh meats, cheeses—all the gluttony you could think of—available to him. Was he such a waste of oxygen that he couldn’t have brought her a proper, nourishing meal? What did he make her eat?” 

“I doubt Potter would have allowed her to eat anything rank. Pansy’s used to fine dining and anything that Theo convinces her to eat. Which if he made it—might actually be rank.” He jested before seeing her serious expression, “Granger, don’t let her words convince you to think that she was abused with food or any of the like. She might have been dissatisfied, but you can see that she’s healthy, and there weren’t any scrapes or marks on her skin. Potter had to be sure he treated her well.” 

“Because he’d face the wrath of you and Theo if he didn’t?” 

“Because you’re here and he wants the best treatment for you.” 

He wants the best treatment and yet he was at the top of her suspect list for stealing her memories? What if it was Shacklebolt or Minerva or someone else in the Order that had caught her by surprise? Was it someone like McGonagall with Harry presiding over the whole thing? Or reversed? 

“You’re getting lost on me, again.” 

She sighed, walking over to the drawer to grab a pair of socks and slip them on, along with her trainers. “Because it’s frustrating not knowing what I’ve lost—and I’m not trying to have a pity party or be annoying by bringing it all up again.” She looked at him from where she was seated on the edge of the bed. “But it must have been important. And something inside me feels like it’s tearing me apart by not remembering. Why is it that despite being the Dark Lord’s weapon, I didn’t think about you for five years? Wouldn’t you have at least come up in conversation? I feel like this was purposeful and I don’t know why.” 

Malfoy stared at her. That wall was back again. 

She continued, but her voice was barely above a whisper. “Why do I think that my memories were taken to forget something about you?” 

Cracks formed in his walls and she saw a bit of agony bleed into his gaze. Slivers of ice that cut him deep and made him take a step back. “I think Theo might need more help than he can manage. He won’t let Pansy help him clean. I’ll see if she’ll go with you instead.” 

His footsteps were silent as he disappeared and Hermione couldn’t help, but feel a similar pain explode in her chest. It had to be something to do with Malfoy or Theo or even Pansy. After all, how else could she explain remembering everything else about the war, her friends—but not the snakes. She still remembered the horcruxes and what needed to be done about Nagini. She was the last one left. That memory was still in tact. 

Why were the ones about Malfoy not? Why did he alter the first memory she had of him? Where he hadn’t indirectly called her a mudblood. He’d thought she was pretty.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Pansy was wearing more than a t-shirt as Hermione walked into the chicken coop. She wore trousers shrunk to her size and boots that went all the way up to her ankle. She looked more ready to collect eggs than Hermione who was still in her pajamas. 

The Slytherin whistled as the other witch bent over to collect a few eggs, “What exercises do you do to get that? I want one.” 

Hermione turned her head partially, finding Pansy staring directly at her arse. She snorted inwardly, “Turns out, running for your life is great cardio. I could teach you Krav Maga.” 

“I’m not a fan of sweating.” 

“I’m sure you sweated a lot last night.” She quipped, smiling when she heard Pansy’s laughter. 

There was something familiar and diabolical about it—that reminded her of Theo. That made her smile grow because how could two people so be in love—and be so open about it? So unashamedly in love that they were twin flames. It was the kind of love people fought wars over. Hermione couldn’t ever imagine loving someone so much, so infinitely. If she were ever to feel an all consuming, unconditional love like that, Hermione was sure she’d do whatever she could to protect it. 

“We had a lot of pent up emotions to let out.” She grinned happily, “Thank Salazar that Theo was even able to snatch up some of those chocolates. I hope he left some for you and Draco.” 

“It’s true then? He fancies those chocolates?” 

“To say he fancies them is underwhelming. If the cottage was getting attacked and Theo and I were in danger, Draco would save the chocolates first before coming to help us.” 

“Malfoy told me he didn’t fancy fruit in chocolate.” 

Pansy stared at her like she’d suggested cracking the eggs over their heads, “You’re lying.” 

“He did.” 

“Makes sense, Theo said you’d mentioned something odd about Draco not fancying them. He’d brushed it off.” Pansy waved her hand, clearing the thought like it was directly in front of her, “Never mind it. That’s sweet, is it not? Draco wanted you to eat as many as you wanted—even if it meant not having any for himself.” 

Hermione wasn’t daft, she’d come to the same conclusion. “Why would he do that?” A more pointed question, “Pansy, were the memories taken from me have something to do with memories about Malfoy?” 

“I can’t answer that.” 

“Cant? Or won’t?” Hermione challenged. 

Pansy’s smile never left her face, “Because I don’t know what memories were stolen from you. They could be those truly embarrassing moments that you try to forget until you’re about to close your eyes to sleep, and your brain picks that moment to remind you of them. I can’t say what your lost memories are about if I don’t know what’s been taken in the first place.” 

…That made sense…. She supposed… 

But if she was being honest, she still had the sneaking suspicion that they were connected to Malfoy somehow. Even if she hadn’t been close to him, why would her mind not thought of him once in five years? 

They chatted amicably, falling into conversation about what a nutter Shacklebolt was, and Hermione was unsurprised to find that their friendship seemed natural. They were almost to the cottage when they heard Theo shout. 

Pansy booked it, Hermione following closely behind. 

That’s when she was met with the second comical scene of the day. Malfoy was holding a spatula, the same one that Theo had been using earlier, and there was a red imprint of said utensil on Theo’s left cheek. The wizard pointed to the blond, staring at his Fiancé with pleading eyes. 

“Draco’s being a bully.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, “What else is new.” 

That earned her another heated glance from the blond. At least they seemed to be back to normal. There wasn’t pain, but a playful anger in his eyes when he glanced at her. 

“What’d Draco do now?” The woman beside her inquired, clearly humoring her lover. 

“Draco,” Malfoy began condescendingly, “Told him to mop the floor before he goes into the living room and starts watching that blasted television.” 

“I was watching our show, love. We can start from the first episode together.” Theo told her animatedly, grinning when Pansy nodded. 

Malfoy was about to interrupt their happiness when Hermione cut in, “Go watch the Nanny with Pansy. I’ll help Malfoy clean up.” 

Theo ruffled her hair affectionately as he passed her, “Thanks. Watch out for the spatula, it hurts more than you’d think.” A sly glance towards Malfoy, “Depending where it’s aimed.”  

She watched the two leave to the other room while Malfoy casted cleaning charms in quick succession. “Him cleaning up was more to teach him a lesson, you know. What if he had tried to use the oven? We would have all died from the explosion.” 

“You’re being dramatic.” She set the basket of eggs down on the counter, noticing that the kitchen was spotless within seconds, and it would have taken Theo at least thirty minutes to wipe, swab, and put everything away. “The chickens are safe for another day.” 

“Now who’s being dramatic?” He inquired dryly, walking over to her side where the basket laid. He close enough to where she could almost feel the heat from his body. Malfoy still hadn’t put a shirt on, but she could smell Eucalyptus and Spearmint from him. Was that from his cold shower last night? “What should we make? The usual eggs and bacon?” 

She glanced up at him, “It’s quick and easy. I can start breaking the eggs if you want to lay out the bacon.” 

“I’ll help.” He replied, pulling out his wand to cast a spell that had the bacon laying itself onto a sheet pan before preheating the oven. Malfoy then grabbed a bowl, settling it between them both, and proceeded to start cracking eggs with her. “Today should be relatively simple. Just need to check that the cows and pigs have enough food. The sheep are self-sufficient for the most part, but I occasionally buy hay and set it out for them.” 

“Farmer Malfoy. Who would have thought?” 

“All thanks to Miss Martha Stewart.” 

“You’re thanking a Muggle for your achievements?” Hermione’s eyes widened a bit, “The world must be ending.” 

It might as well have been with how awful things were out there. 

“Watch it.” That playful tone was back in his voice, “Or Theo won’t be the only one getting swatted with the spatula. But I have to agree with his comment earlier. There’s more creative places where I’d use it.” 

With you. The words were unspoken, but still hung in the air. He was flirting with her again? There he was, giving her whiplash again. 

The corner of Hermione’s mouth quirked up, “I don’t think Theo would be opposed to having his arse smacked if you ask him nicely.” 

“What if I asked you nicely?” 

She really shouldn’t flirt with him. Hermione looked at him, glancing at him beneath her lashes. “Depends. A little begging always goes a long way.” 

The egg he’d been cracking hit the corner of the table a bit too hard and she felt the yolk her upper thigh where it slid down to her knee. 

“Malfoy.” She pointed to her leg, “Martha Stewart at least taught you that the yolk goes into the bowl, no? Not all over my bloody leg.” His lips twitched and he walked over to the sink where he grabbed a small kitchen towel. “What are you doing? Cast a tergeo.”

He wet the towel, wringing it out before he walked over to her. He’d given her plenty of heated looks in the past twenty-four hours, but the one he gave now threatened to scorch her where she stood. She felt anticipation pool inside her as Malfoy put a hand on her hip, turning her so that her back was to the table, and she was standing in front of him. 

“Malfoy…” 

“Relax, Granger.” His hand was off her hip, but he bent his head down until their faces were closer than they should have been. Closer than what she deemed appropriate. “I’m cleaning up my mess.” 

She felt it then. The fabric of the towel starting at the bend above her knee. He slowly wiped the yolk off by bring the towel up. Her body was hyperaware of his hand working its way up her inner thigh with drawn out, precise movements. His face was just above hers and she could smell the spearmint on his breath. Their breaths exchanged, giving each other life. Hermione’s heart was pumping faster now, feeling him between her thighs. Her shorts were barely over the curve of her arse and Malfoy glanced down at her body to see his hand couldn’t move. Her thighs had clenched, feeling the fabric close to her center. 

She didn’t even realize she’d done that. 

Malfoy’s voice was right next to her ear again as he whispered, “Behave and spread those legs, Granger. There’s still a bit left to clean up.” Lust made her brain hazy and obedient. She shifted her stance, allowing his hand access. That husky quality to his voice was back as he praised her, “Good girl.” 

“Malfoy.” Hermione warned, her breathing uneven. “What are you doing?” 

“I already told you.” There was a wicked note to his voice, “Cleaning my mess.” 

He’d brought the towel up and down the length of her thigh a couple times, “I think the yolk is gone now.” 

Malfoy hummed quietly in agreement, pulling back enough only to see her expression. She gazed into his eyes, wondering if the heat she felt in her cheeks was visible. “I said my mess, Granger. It’s not just the yolk.” 

“What other mess did you make?” It would have sounded more bold, more challenging, if there wasn’t that pesky, eager note hiding in her voice. 

One that Malfoy could clearly pick up. The towel disappeared, leaving her to feel his fingers against her bare skin. Against the hem of her shorts where his fingers tugged on the fabric teasingly. Pushing it to the side where he’d find out… 

There. 

His index and middle finger grazed her upper, inner thigh where her underwear would have met her bikini line and his fingers. 

If she was wearing any. 

Malfoy stilled, the realization dawning on him too. “You want to know what other mess I caused?” He said, looking down at her. She nodded and her eyes almost fluttered close when she felt him move painfully slow towards her center. When she felt again against her folds, her eyes widened a bit when his he applied pressure with his middle finger to slip between them, and stroke her once. Twice. “It’s the same mess I caused last night. You’re wet, Granger.” 

Her hand shot out, gripping his arm when he pushed more to gather her arousal, sliding it up her sensitive clit. He stroked her in small, slow circles; drinking in every reaction of hers. From the way her hand squeezed his bicep, to the way her lips pressed together; holding in a moan, and how her eyes fell to his mouth. 

She wanted to kiss him.

She needed to muffle her sounds if Malfoy was going to keep stroking her clit and applying the exact right amount that made her head dizzy. 

Malfoy looked at her like a painter whose gaze couldn’t be ripped from his favorite muse. He swallowed her details whole and whatever picture he’d drawn in his mind, it was affecting him too. She wanted to look down and see if it was his long, thick erection now  pushing against her, but she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want to ruin this moment where their gazes were transfixed on each other. 

“Soaking wet for me, Granger.” Malfoy teased, able to stroke her from her clit to her entrance with added ease, “I bet you’d feel so good squeezing my fingers with your cunt. Your skin is burning up. Would you come around my fingers like the naughty swot you are? With Theo and Pansy in the other room?” 

Instead of being bashful, Hermione found herself in desperate need of a release. Last night hadn’t been enough. She needed to finish. “Why don’t you find out?” 

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give her any ample warning before he sank one finger into her while his other hand came and clamped over her mouth before she could make a noise. His finger wasn’t his cock and she realized with stunning clarity that she wanted to have sex with Malfoy. She wanted his cock inside her, fucking her as she bent over this table. 

That was an abrupt change from almost stabbing him with a blade three days ago. Now she wanted to be the one stabbed. Hermione’s whimper against his hand was muted but she felt his thumb brush against the underside of her chin—almost an affectionate gesture. Meanwhile he was adding another finger, curving them both to stroke the inner channel of her walls. Hermione felt his knuckles sliding deeper into her, then he made a twirling motion inside her. Her hips bucked, needing more, and the corners of his mouth rose faintly in approval. 

“You’re squeezing my fingers, Granger.” He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them—only for her to see that scorching heat become devastating, “Do you want to know what I’m thinking?” 

She barely managed a nod. 

“Of course you do. You always want to know more than you should.” A secret smile grew on his lips before it twisted into something the devil would flinch at, “I want to sink my cock into you while I smack this arse of yours for being so fucking bratty all the time. The next time you mouth off to me, I want you to lower yourself to your knees, and wrap those pretty lips around my cock. Put them to good use instead of fighting me. Then I want you to swallow around me and thank me for giving you such a good use of your time.” He started fingering her faster, pumping in and out of her cunt with an almost frantic pace, “I want to hold you down and fuck the attitude out of your body until you’re in a submissive headspace, and want nothing more than for me to fill you with my cum.” 

She tightened around him, her orgasm close. She was practically panting against his hand and her hips were were meeting every thrust of his fingers. 

“I’m going to ask you a question and you’re going to nod or shake your head. Your answer will make me decide if I want you to come or not today.” He reflected, slowing his ministrations. 

Hermione would agree to anything if it meant finally having that orgasm that was stolen from her last night. 

“Forget wanting to go on patrols.” 

Except that.  

Her eyes narrowed and she bit his hand, causing him to swear. His hips pushed against hers at the brief pain and now she knew it was his erection pressing against her. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed into daggers and he pulled his fingers out of her, “Naughty girls don’t get to come, Granger.” 

Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?

She was at the point where she was so sexually frustrated that she could throw a tantrum, but that wouldn’t help the brat tendency. He took a step back from her and smirked at her, bringing the two fingers that had been inside her, to his mouth. He made a show of sliding his tongue against them, licking her arousal off his hand. “Problem, Granger?” 

“No.” She said flatly, trying to even her breathing. “I’m going to go take a shower while you finish breakfast.” The witch never let her gaze fall from his, giving him a deadly sweet smile “And then after we eat breakfast and I feed the animals, I’ll be joining you on patrol.” 

She didn’t wait for his answer before walking out of the room. 

Twice. 

Twice he’d brought her close to an orgasm only to leave her hanging. 

Hermione wasn’t above being vindictive. He wanted to flirt? He wanted to touch her?  Fine. She was consenting. She found him ungodly attractive and even more so—bloody infuriating. 

But those feelings were reciprocated. 

Malfoy wanted to play? Fine. 

Fair is foul, foul is fair. 

She was going to beat him at his own game and go on patrol. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Heads Will Roll 

Theo joined her in feeding the animals, but it was more so because she couldn’t use basic magic like he could, and the bags of food for the animals were heavy. 

“Do you think he wanted us to milk the cows?” 

“Have you ever milked a cow, Hermione?” 

She didn’t have to think about it long, “Nope.” 

“Neither have I and I don’t intend to start today.” Theo took his wand, casting the severing charm to the bags of feed for the pigs and cows. 

It was the fastest, most efficient she’d ever seen him work. She went extra slow, wanting to irritate him because it was typically Theo who did the irritating. And now that she had the opportunity to take the mickey, she wasn’t going to miss. 

“Hermione, I swear to whatever Muggle deity you believed in growing up, that I will throw your arse onto that pile of pig shite if you don’t hurry the fuck up.” He pointed his wand threateningly at her as she poured the last bag of feed into the pig pen. 

She arched an eyebrow, “And I swear to whatever elitist bullshit you believed in, I’ll convince Pansy to do a girl’s slumber party in my room just so she doesn’t stay with you tonight.” 

Theo’s pupils were practically slits. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.” 

“Try me, Nott.” 

“I’ll avada you right here on the spot.” 

“You can’t even cast a curse. Knobhead.” 

“You can’t even use magic. Numpty.” 

Foot steps echoed in, Pansy and the wizard who had finally made it to the top of her list as public enemy number one. According to her vagina. She was about to draft up her own cease and desist letter for what he’d put her through in the last twenty-four hours. At this rate, maybe she’ll have to add in a retraining order too. 

“Sounds like they’re getting along.” Pansy mused with a hum, her eyes brightening as Theo came into view, “Working hard?” 

“Trying to get back to you, love. But someone,” He shot Hermione a sneer while she shot him the bird, “Is taking her time.” 

“Didn’t realize not being able to use magic means I’m taking my time. It’s called practically being a Muggle, you bloody oaf.” 

Theo swished his wand and Hermione had to jump back, almost stepping into a bucket as she dodged the pig shite thrown her way. 

“At least she didn’t call you a spoon,” Malfoy reflected wryly, disgust briefly flickering across his face as he eyed the shite nearby. Pansy didn’t look too impressed either, pinching her nose. “I fear your feelings would be hurt then. You might even cry into your pillow tonight.” 

“The only person crying into a pillow tonight is—”

“Theo.” 

One word from his fiancé and the wizard’s words twisted, “—me if I don’t leave here soon.” 

Malfoy nodded over to Pansy, “You’re free as long as the animals are fed.” 

The Slytherin witch nodded, pushing a lock of her dark hair back. “I didn’t want to walk alone. Draco needs to leave. I guess there’s some activity.” 

“Do you need help?” Theo inquired, a scowl forming on his face. “Legion or Disorder?” 

“Both I think. I don’t—”

“I’ll come.” Hermione took a step forward, looking at him expectantly. 

A glint of thinly-veiled annoyance was what she expected. What she got instead was a knowing glimmer of amusement. “I think we’ve established you won’t be today.” 

“Hermione could help.” Pansy stepped in, clearly trying to help the other witch. “You shouldn’t go alone, Draco—especially if there’s no need for it.” 

She watched as he didn’t say anything, his gaze locked on hers with a faint curve to his lip that implied his words were an innuendo. A sexual innuendo. 

“Naughty girls don’t get to come, Granger.” 

Hermione’s temper sparked to life and she pinned him with a no bullshite stare, “There’s two ways this can go, Malfoy. Either you let me go with you and we can handle whatever is trying to attack the Dragon’s Den together. Or you can leave, I’ll try to follow, inevitably get caught up in some sort of trouble, and even if I don’t—you’re going to spend the entire time paranoid that I am. Because whether you like it or not, you need me alive to continue buying time until we figure out a plan to defeat the Dark Lord.” 

Theo let out a low whistle, “Trouble always has a way of finding you, Hermione.” He walked past Malfoy, clapping him on the back. “Good luck, mate. I’ll help Pansy in the garden. Anything specific you need for tonight?” 

Malfoy shook his head once, muttering a goodbye before he leveled Hermione with his own, no bullshite glance. He repeated the same question he’d asked her in Madrid, but added more to it. “Are you good with receiving instructions, Granger? Because I don’t care who is out there or whose side they’re on. If Cadeyrn determines that they’re not allowed on his land or gives the order to kill them, I will obey him. He’s the only reason why—” He cut himself off, his jaw flexing with irritation. Almost seamlessly, that stupid mask of his was back on his face. No emotion peeked through. “I need to be able to trust you out there and know that you won’t try to play the hero to multiple sides. Here, there is only one, and it’s the dragon’s.” 

She didn’t want to make promises she didn’t know if she could keep. What she could say was that, “Harry’s always been better at playing the hero. I’ve always done what I thought was necessary. You know that.” 

“As long as it doesn’t end up with you dying or being captured, I think I can handle it.” He reflected wearily. 

The witch was glad that he wasn’t wearing his Death Eater robes, but instead the usual attire of dragon leathers. He had a display of knives strapped to his shin and his belt. His wand handle was attached to his inner left forearm. She glanced down at her trousers and white Levi’s t-shirt she had on. 

Malfoy was dressed to kill, appearing before her like the most attractive devil released from Hell. 

Hermione looked like she was ready to sell clothes at a TK Maxx while simultaneously fighting for affordable livable wages in the U.K.. 

Understanding her momentary dilemma, Malfoy raised his left arm, grabbing his wand that was tucked away, and slid it out of the handle. He pointed his wand at her and Hermione felt a startling lack of regard for her own life. She didn’t flinch as the material was transfigured into black leather. Not dragon, but normal black leathers. Her shoes were boots that went to her knees, the leather pants form fitting, but surprisingly easy to move in. Her Levi top was the same shade of black and was long sleeved to protect her. 

The ability to use magic would be a better way to protect her. 

‘Not an option.’ Cadeyrn breathed into her mind, sounding grumpy. ‘You and the Scion need to move faster. I’m sending in Rhain.’ 

Hermione blinked, looking at the blond who had an appreciative note in his expression. She snapped her fingers, bringing back his focus from wherever it’d disappeared. “Enough with the dominatrix fantasies. Did you hear Cadeyrn?” 

Malfoy exhaled sharply, blatantly entertained by her snarky tongue. “Yes, he was talking to me about where to head.” He beckoned for her to follow him out of the barn and she was thankful for the promise of fresh air. One could only smell pig arse for so long. “And Rhain was in my head too. He’ll be here soon.” 

“Rhain? What sort of dragon is he?” 

“An Antipodean Opaleye.” He said shortly while they came to a half a few meters from the barn. He took the opportunity to enlighten her, “I’m not sure how versed you are in dragons, but dragons like Rhain have pearly scales and they’re native to New Zealand. They’re not as aggressive as dragons like Celebrían or Arsyn, but don’t mistake their tolerance for weakness. His flame is a vivid red color that will have the skin melting off your bones within a heartbeat or two.” 

Hermione wrinkled her nose, “Sounds lovely.” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, a glittering object fell from the sky, landing right in front of them. As Malfoy had said, the dragon’s scales shined beautifully against the sunlight. Its eyes had no pupils, but they were graceful and multicolored. Rhain was twice as big as Cadeyrn—

‘He’s older.’ The rebuttal shot through her head, causing a ringing in her ears that made her flinch. 

Malfoy side eyed her, but didn’t comment on it. He probably assumed she’d said something indirectly sarcastic or rude—but she was simply making an observation. Hermione didn’t reply back to Cadeyrn, keeping her gaze on the dragon. If they were doing surveillance, would they want to be seen? Wasn’t this dragon too flashy? 

The dragon’s head turned towards Hermione and she wondered briefly if this was the end. However, Rhain revealed his teeth in what could have been the dragon’s version of a welcoming smile. 

‘Nice to see you again, Dragon-heart. I was beginning to think you preferred Scilla over me.” 

Malfoy grinned up at the dragon, walking forward. Rhain bowed his head and the wizard placed his hand on the side of his face, looking into the creature’s eyes. “You know I could never choose, but it did help that Scilla blended in with the night sky most times. I’m glad Cadeyrn allowed you to have some time off to spend with Ffion and Jac. How’s the whelp doing?” 

‘Always in some sort of trouble. I heard he almost took out our other resident trouble maker.’ Rhain’s head turned slightly towards Hermione, cocking at an angle. ‘Apologies for my dear son. I like to say he takes after his mother when he’s misbehaving, but don’t tell her I said that. Liondragon’s tend to have a nasty temper when provoked. Aren’t you the same?’

Hermione’s smile was tight. “Something tells me you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be. If Cadeyrn had given you time off, then I’m guessing you were supposed to be watching your whelp when he strayed too far from the path.” 

‘It seems we have another lion-heart in our midst.’ Rhain said begrudgingly at the same time a huff of amusement scattered through their minds. Cadeyrn. The Antipodean Opaleye lifted his head to the sky as a familiar Norwegian Ridgeback soared high above, “Don’t encourage the humans by thinking they’re amusing. They’ll start to believe they’re funny instead of a thorn in our sides.’ 

Rhain was peculiar, but Hermione found that she enjoyed the verbal sparring.

Malfoy placed a hand on her lower back, encouraging her towards the glittering dragon, “Up you go. Let’s not waste any more time.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering a ‘Yes, Sir’ with a fake two finger salute. She felt his hand slide down a bit, just above her arse at her words, but she ignored it. Part of her had already clocked that he appeared to be a lot more… dominant than she remembered in school… But at the same time—he’d always been the sort of natural leader. Lucius trusted him to get to the train first to reserve a compartment for Theo and Pansy. The latter two listened to him. The whole Slytherin house did and then for a time—so did the Dark Lord’s Legion. If there was anyone that disobeyed him or fought him… Hermione could only think of one person: herself. 

Clearing her mind of the blond and his hands on her waist as he helped her onto the back of the dragon, Hermione focused on what was important. The patrol. 

As soon as Malfoy was behind her, his longer legs bracketing her hips, she asked, “How do these patrols normally go for you? How often do you run into…?” 

Rhain spread his wings and she was momentarily entranced by the sunlight bouncing off them. Then he launched into the air. For a moment, she was terrified that she was going to slide off, but then she heard Malfoy whisper the spell by ear. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he could have casted the spell wordlessly, but it was the reassurance she needed to know she wasn’t going to fall hundreds of meters to her death. 

Hermione allowed herself the vulnerability to lean back into him, not feeling scared anymore. Malfoy’s left arm wrapped around her front in a loose embrace while his other hand drew distracting circles on her thigh. She felt him shifting constantly behind her and then realized he was on the alert. 

He was being proactive and trying to watch from every angle so that what happened to Scilla would not happen to Rhain. The mindless circles being drawn on her thigh was grounding him or perhaps a way to channel his anxiety. The dragon’s wings rhythmically flapped until they were high enough for him to soar. In spite of being so high up, it appeared that Malfoy hadn’t dropped his guard. He was still taking the time to glance all around them as if searching. She didn’t even know how he could see. 

She turned to ask him a question when she saw that his eyes were slitted. There were the flecks of grey she recognized, but his pupils were much like a dragon’s, and the same pearl shade as Rhain’s. 

“There are bonds that dragons can make with riders. I know you have a lot of questions, but I don’t want to be too distracted.” Malfoy explained shortly, keeping most of his attention on surveillance, “Rhain’s allowing me to use his sight to see around us.” 

That sounded neat. Hermione was a bit jealous. 

‘Yes, we dragons are superior in many ways.’ Rhain replied, spreading his wings ostentatiously as they flew.

“That’s surprising.” Hermione mused cryptically. 

Malfoy made a ‘hm’ noise and she took it as a question. 

She smirked, “I didn’t think I’d ever find someone more arrogant than you. Then Rhain dropped from the sky.” 

“Arrogance is an inflated sense of one’s abilities.” Malfoy enlightened her, the hand on her thigh no longer rubbing those addictive, small circles, “Him and I are superior in respect to our kinds. Cadeyrn wouldn’t allow him by the borders if he wasn’t. And I think we both know that I’m not exaggerating when I say that if I find out someone’s been trying to break into the wards, I don’t care whose side they’re on—they’re going to die. Painfully.” 

Rhain cocked his head to the side, ‘You made her heartbeat faster, Dragon-heart.’

Hermione glared at the creature’s head, ‘You’re no better than Cadeyrn about the teasing.’ 

‘No, there’s a difference. Cadeyrn only speaks to you when he’s teasing. I let Dragon-heart hear everything.’ 

Malfoy leaned forward at the same time pulling his left arm around her tighter, “What does Cadeyrn say? What’s he referring to?” 

“Nothing.” 

‘She’s lying.’ Rhain reflected in a sing-song voice. 

Hermione wanted to turn him into a wallet. She wondered if Cadeyrn was listening, ‘Don’t you think he’d make a good wallet?’ 

‘You can make him into whatever you want.’ Cadeyrn grumbled, ‘Then I wouldn’t have to hear about him trying to convince the Scion to make a bigger waterfall by the West Waterfall so it’s ‘easier to keep his scales clean and beautiful.’’  

Rhain made an egregious noise out loud, steam dispersing from the wind almost immediately, ‘How dare you take the Lion-heart’s side? We’re kin.’ 

‘Don’t remind me.’ 

Hermione smiled at that, but decided not to converse anymore with the dragons. It wasn’t that she didn’t fancy talking to them, it was because the last time she’d distracted a dragon—Scilla had died. Even if it wasn’t directly her fault, guilt never took into account the details of a situation when latching onto someone. Hermione was all too willing to hold on just as tight too. So she kept her mouth shut and waited until they got to the border where Cadeyrn had instructed Malfoy to go check out.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

It took almost an hour before she felt Malfoy tense up and then Rhain was tilting to the left. The air rushed past her cheeks, turning them a rosy color while Malfoy’s arm tightened around her, and he had his wand clutched in his right hand. 

She felt him lean forward, “There’s someone from Dumbledore’s Army and Legion down there. Not Death Eater—that’s for sure. Rhain’s going to descend and then I’m going to Apparate us off him. It’ll be a bit disorienting the first time, but if you start to feel sick—tell me.” 

Hermione nodded at Malfoy’s instructions, keeping quiet again as to not distract him nor the dragon. Rhain dipped, flying straight towards the ground in a spiral. Her stomach felt like it was in her throat and then it was yanked back down as Malfoy apparated them. 

She staggered, covering her mouth as Malfoy stood in front of her. 

“Are you going to vomit?” 

Hermione went to shake her head, but that made her dizzier, and she almost fell backwards if not for him hooking two fingers into her belt-loop to keep her upright. 

“I’ll be fine.” She said unconvincingly, but also determined not to be a hindrance, “We have a job to do, remember?” 

In other words, stop nagging. Malfoy scowled, but nodded. He glanced to his left and she turned her head right in time to see a tree catching on fire. Someone was thrown over a thicket, branches snapping, and swears thrown between parties. Hermione watched as Malfoy walked over to Justin Steele, a Ravenclaw around their age. He was wearing Legion robes and looked mostly unharmed except for the leaves stuck to the fabric. 

“Malfoy?” Justin was blond too, but more honey than silver. His skin was fair, but he looked even paler as the Death Eater strode towards him. He hastily began to back away, hitting the bushes he’d just fallen over. He waved his arms, “I-I wasn’t trying to break into the Dragon’s Den, I was following them!” 

‘Them’ turned out to be two people. An elder woman with brown hair and green eyes. She wore a faded green jacket and blue trousers. Hermione recognized her almost immediately. The witch was an Unspeakable, but also taught D.A.D.A. the year prior to Quirinus Quirrell. This was Olivia Green. Hermione also recognized the man next to her. Closer in age to Olivia, the redhead was over 50 years old, and had an odd interest in rubber duckies. 

It was Arthur Weasley. Faded cobalt blue coat, dirt covering his face, and eyes that used to hold an inkling of wonder now held resentment. The balding, lanky man had seen better days, and Hermione couldn’t blame him. His family—whom he cared deeply about—was in the middle of a war and he’d already lost one son. The prior Unspeakable pointed her wand towards Malfoy and Hermione felt her finger twitch to use her magic, but she wasn’t past the wards yet. 

One step. Two. 

Malfoy flicked his wand towards the witch, binding her against the tree with the roots snaking around the woman’s body. Arthur reared his wand towards Malfoy, but Hermione—feeling her magic return to her—threw her hand out. 

It was a wand-less expelliarmus, not hurting Arthur in the slightest, but he looked at Hermione as if she’d sent an avada his way. Before he could say anything, the man known as the Dark Lord’s true weapon spoke. 

“Do you think I care about what you were trying to do?” The voice Malfoy used wasn’t the one who’d spoken to her over late night churros and chocolates. Nor was it the one that whispered behind her while they made breakfast. Instead, it was dead and gravelly. One that showed no empathy or understanding, but promised death. “The way I see it, you strayed a little too close to the sun, and now you’re going to understand what the repercussions are.” 

“But Malfoy—”

Before the wizard could get another word out, his body was swallowed by blue flames. The protego diabolica consumed Justin’s robes first. Then Hermione watched as they licked up his neck to his face where the skin was exposed. Justin let out an agonized scream as the surface of his skin charred instantly. The muscles in his jaw were exposed before the fire ate away at those too. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and then he was nothing, but ash. Gone with the wind and only a mere memory. 

Malfoy regarded Arthur Weasley with the same cool indifference. “What’s your excuse?” 

Weasley spat on the ground in front of Malfoy. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, boy.” 

At that, Malfoy smiled coldly and nodded. He pointed his wand in a lazy fashion towards the witch who was still bound to a tree and the vines began squeezing her. She started to scream as snapping noises crackled through the air. Arthur’s eyes widened as he swiveled his head from Professor Green and then to Hermione. 

“You’re going to let him do this?” He was infuriated—so much so that spit foamed on his mouth, “To someone in Dumbledore’s army?! You were sent to be the Order’s representative and you disarmed me so he could torture an innocent woman?” 

Innocent? 

Hermione’s head cocked to the side. Malfoy didn’t spare her a glance meanwhile Arthur looked like he was trying to burn her with his glare. The witch was still screaming, but now blood was dripping down the corner of her mouth and her nostrils. She had internal bleeding. The vines probably cracked a rib or two. Hopefully they didn’t puncture her lung or heart. She’d be dead within minutes. 

“This is War, Mr. Weasley.” She pointed out, walking forward to stand beside Malfoy. She felt his gaze on her, but she didn’t buckle under the pressure or hesitate as she added, “And he asked you a question. The Order and Dumbledore’s Army shouldn’t have any business near here. Unless Shacklebolt has plans—like trying to steal a dragon. Is Charlie the lead of this operation? He did have that sanctuary in Romania.” 

Arthur stared at her in disbelief. “I thought you were smart. It’s been mere days and you’re already in league with the Death Eaters? They want mudbloods—”

“Sectumsempra.” 

The man in from of them cowered to the ground, holding his hands over his head as if that would protect him from a curse created by Severus Snape himself. Instead, another’s head hit the ground, rolling towards him. Olivia Green’s eyes were wide, her mouth open in a started, silent scream. 

Malfoy’s cold smile grew in a haunting, sinister way. “You still have your head because I think you know more than Green did. But don’t mistake what I just did for benevolence. You’re useful to me right now.” He shrugged one shoulder. “The moment you aren’t, I’m going to cut your tongue out and shove it up your arse. Then you’ll realize that you spew shite from both ends.” His demeanor hardened and his voice quaked with a quiet rage, “Speak to Granger like that again and I’ll deliver your head to the Order myself.” 

Arthur looked terrified. 

Once again, he looked at Hermione for assistance. 

It was funny that the Order only needed Hermione when they thought that she was the only one who could save their lives. Any other time, she was a waste of space or someone who’d dabbled a bit too much in the Dark Arts. 

She was through pretending to be someone she wasn’t. 

When Hermione spoke, it was clear and authoritative. “Answer his question, Mr. Weasley.” She nodded towards the headless, bleeding body of the Professor that was still strapped to a tree. “Or I think you’ll find yourself in the same situation as her.” 

Arthur stood up on shaky legs, but it wasn’t out of fear. Not all of it at least. He was still shaking with anger with what she could assume was her lack of care for the dead. “You would let him kill me?” 

Hermione thought back to Cadeyrn and the stories he revealed to her about his family. The ones he probably kept close to his chest, but confided in her about. 

She thought back to the mischievous little whelp that turned out to be Rhain’s son. 

There were real families here. Dragon kind that were innocent and didn’t deserve to be used as weapons. Hell, they didn’t deserve to be seen as weapons either. 

And they didn’t deserve to die because of a war brought on by Wizardkind. 

Hermione smiled. A cold, apathetic feeling flooded her veins and she accepted the darkness which had been brewing for years now. No more pretending. 

“I’d take his wand and do it myself.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: Weasley á La Mode

While Arthur had this dumbfounded look on his face that reminded her of Grawp when Hagrid told him it wasn’t nice to try and eat the Mooncalves, Malfoy still looked like a fallen angel ready to storm the gates of Heaven. He stood with his back straight, arms crossed, and regarded the Weasley Patriarch without a trace of empathy. 

“Shacklebolt,” He finally began, contempt stirring under the hatred in his voice, “Wants us to steal dragon eggs and raise the dragons to fight for us.” 

‘They want to enslave whelps?’ Cadeyrn bellowed, his anger so powerful it sent a brief flash of pain through her. She flinched, but Malfoy was unmoving. ‘He is not to leave without a permanent reminder that one does not steal from a dragon. I want a message sent back to the rest of those parasites.’ 

“Shacklebolt must have put Charlie in charge of raising them. And Hagrid.” Hermione assumed, her lips turning down in a frown. “But why send the two of you?” 

“Charlie’s skillset is important. They’re expendable.” The blond wizard drawled. His arms fell at his side, “Does the Order have any dragons currently? Any eggs from elsewhere?” 

“That’s none—” 

Malfoy flicked his wrist in a small diagonal motion and all three of them watched as two fingers hit the floor from Arthur’s right hand. Inconveniently, it was his thumb and his index finger. 

Shrieking in pain, the elder wizard tried to stop the pain with weak healing charms, but he eventually had to place his hand underneath his armpit to lessen the blood flow. “O-One! We found one recently in Romania.” 

“A Romanian Longhorn?” Malfoy guessed, “How close is it to hatching?” 

“Do I look like a bloody dragon expert?” Arthur shouted, his face turning almost as red as his hair, “You’ve maimed my bloody hand—how am I supposed to protect my family now?” He turned his spite on Hermione, “And you. We took you in because your parents were Muggles and didn’t know how to care for a child with magic running through her blood. You’ve spent summers with us, when the Dark Lord came back—We let you live with us. You dated our son—”

“She never dated him.” Malfoy’s voice was uncharacteristically… resentful. It was turbulent. He was ripping off the facade to show that he was truly aggravated now. 

Hermione thought back to the words she’d shared with Harry only days ago. 

“He still fancies you.” Harry pointed out, “He’s still confused why you broke up with him the same night everything went to shit. The last time I talked to him, he’s trying to give you space to think things over, but it’s been five bloody years.” 

She shrugged, not understanding it either, but the spark was gone. What she felt now for Ron was nothing more than… Well… Nothing. He ran correspondence for Kingsley as a trusted member of the Order. She saw him every few weeks, but that was it. 

Had they broken up? Had they been together? When she tried to focus, she couldn’t remember anything romantic in a sense between them. Sure, he flirted with her—she could remember that much. But intimacy? Touching? Kissing? She couldn’t remember any of it. 

But if Harry thought that they were together, then did that mean there was something he didn’t know? Or was he sussing out her memory? Trying to gain an understanding of how much she did or didn’t remember? Did he do that often? 

She was pulled out of her internal monologue as Malfoy persisted, “Don’t stand there and think you’re some sort of fucking hero for helping a child.” He took a menacing step towards Arthur, “When in reality, you did it because you thought it made you look good. You lot wore blood traitor like it was a fucking Prefect badge. You paraded her, objectified her, and don’t think I hadn’t heard you say numerous times while at the Ministry with my Father that she was ‘quite brilliant for a Muggle-born.’ Just because you hide your casual elitism behind ‘stays in the burrow’ and ‘ hand-painted freedom,’ does not mean she owes you anything.” 

Holy. Fuck. 

Was she dissociating? 

She was definitely dissociating. 

Hermione felt completely separate from her body and felt the need to pinch herself. She didn’t even know how to properly react to Malfoy’s words because… No one had ever defended her like that before. 

People—Harry mostly—had come to her defense before when someone called her a mudblood or implied she was lesser than, but that wasn’t what Malfoy was defending right now. He was saying that she didn’t owe them anything when a part of her thought she did. They’d helped her navigate Diagon Alley even though she was capable of using a map. But more importantly, they had taken her in during the War and she couldn’t refute that. She was thankful they gave her a place to stay when the Burrow was so full already. 

Thanks to her inner turmoil, she caught sight of something that Malfoy didn’t because he was too concentrated on Arthur’s bullshite and was in the middle of casting a wand-less charm to sever more fingers. 

Percy was there, leaping out from behind a tree with an offensive spell crackling at the tip of his wand. With Malfoy right next to her, it was nothing to grab his wand out of his hand, and launch a bombarda towards Percy. Instead of deflecting the spell coming their way, Hermione’s brain short-circuited, and the first thing she thought to do was to shove Malfoy out of the way. 

Protego, expelliarmus, impedimenta, and langlock had slipped her mind like she wasn’t one of the most capable witches of Dumbledore’s Army. 

It was almost funny. Dueling in the Room of Requirement was child’s play. She knew what spells to expect and the perfect way to counter it. There was no threat of any real harm. But in a live duel? In the midst of battle? Decisions had to be made—life changing ones—and in the heat of the moment; Hermione let instinct take over. 

Except her instinct was driven by fear. Terror at a burst of unknown magic being thrown at Malfoy and it caused panic to explode inside her mind. The brilliant one most people revered her for. It all went to mush at the thought of him getting hurt. It was like a part of her that had been hidden in the very depths of her soul clawed out of the dark abyss to take control of her body. 

Thick ropes bounded her arms to her sides and she hit the ground hard. Unable to catch her fall, she felt temple smack against the Earth, and a ringing started in her ears. Her vision swam, blurry as the pain took a temporary hold on her. 

Fuck. That hurt. 

It was also embarrassing because she was 90 percent sure there was blood dripping down from the side of her head. Not spurting or steadily falling, but she’d have a nasty scrape until she could borrow Malfoy’s wand to cast an episkey. 

As the ringing faded and her vision sharpened—she caught sight of a most peculiar scene. Malfoy was kneeling next to her, cutting through the ropes with one of his daggers, and trying to get her to sit up. Meanwhile, Rhain and Cadeyrn were side by side. Only, one of Rhain’s fore claws was on Arthur Weasley’s back. The ringing was actually his screaming, but from the pure despair rattling in his bellow—Hermione didn’t think he was that injured. 

She glanced over at Cadeyrn—noticing late that the front of his black scales were shining with a dark liquid as the sunlight draped over him. He bared his teeth and Hermione  felt nauseous seeing a such a vibrant display of red against serrated teeth. She glanced down and saw that a large bite had been taken from Percy’s leg. He was on his belly, trying to crawl towards his father when Cadeyrn let out a roar that shook the ground. Power seeped from his war cry and then he bent his head—sinking his teeth around Percy’s chest, and shaking from side to side. Blood sprayed, splashing across the older wizard’s face. 

‘It’s considered rude to play with your food.’ Rhain bared his teeth, ‘I’m going to need to bathe after this.’ 

“NO!” Arthur’s scream was full of heartbreak. 

It was a father’s scream of anguish as he watched his son die a brutal death. Hermione had never fancied Percy very much, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to die in such a savage way. At the same time, she was well aware of the fact that it wasn’t her choice. Hermione felt Malfoy’s wand near her temple and she flinched, thinking it would hit the sore spot on her head. 

“It’s a healing charm, not a memory one.” Malfoy commenting, his voice a bit hard. “I told you I didn’t take your memories and I admitted to you that I altered two.” 

A cooling sensation passed over the wound and she didn’t feel nauseous anymore. Maybe she had a concussion. Percy à la mode wasn’t enough to make her throw up, but the rough fall had almost been. She murmured a ‘thanks,’ but Malfoy said nothing in reply. He stood up, walking over to the blubbering man still being held down by Rhain. 

The spell Malfoy casted was too low under his breath for Hermione to identify it, but she watched as a blue light was pulled from Arthur’s temple. Malfoy held steady with his wand, but with his left hand it almost looked like he was picking apart threads of magic and weaving them in a new pattern. 

He was altering Arthur Weasley’s memory. 

But why? 

‘He defended you. That is a weakness he can’t afford to let anyone else see.’ Cadeyrn pointed out, the dragon’s voice still teeming with unbridled rage. 

Was he talking to her or the both of them? 

‘The Scion is busy. He can’t be distracted right now. Memory altering is a lost craft amongst Wizardkind.’ 

Is it? She’d been able to obliviate her parents. How did he learn it? 

‘It’s a type of magic amongst magical creatures. Wampus cats know Legilimency. Dragons are skilled at memory-weaving. It’s how we’ve kept many of our secrets from Wizardkind.’ 

Huh. Well that certainly wasn’t taught in Beasts Class. The concept of being able to learn craft and magic from ancient creatures like dragons was exciting. Enthralling, even. How difficult was it to learn? Malfoy was likely one of the only wizards alive who could memory-weave. Hermione’s mind began to conjure ideas almost immediately. 

What if they used mind-weaving to take down the Dark Lord? 

They’d have to get close enough. The bastard was skilled at both legilimency and occumulency. Would this type of magic even work on him? 

‘Cadeyrn, what will Arthur remember?’ Hermione inquired, keeping the communication silent in an effort not to distract Malfoy. 

His shoulders were tense and his eyebrows furrowed as he focused solely on the blue strand of magic in front of his face. She was sure that he was seeing things she couldn’t. His fingers slowly danced between the glowing magic, once again removing a strand of magic that fell to the ground listlessly. 

It sank into the ground, but she did notice that as it passed by his wrist—the red and gold bracelet briefly glowed before dimming. It was like the wayward piece of magic was drawn in towards the bracelet, but then it pulsed, and it was sent backwards until it fell to the ground. 

That was… Odd. 

‘He will remember everything except for the part where the Scion rose to your defense. It was replaced with cruelty and unbecoming behavior I would rather not inform you of.’ 

If Cadeyrn didn’t want to describe it, then did it have something to do with her? Was Malfoy sending Arthur with a memory that made it look like she wasn’t being treated well here? What would be the purpose of that? Or was it simply more acts of torture? 

Letting out a quiet sigh, Hermione knew that this might take a while. Especially if it had to look like his memory was real. 

After twenty minutes, the blond wizard stood up and backed away. Arthur had looked unconscious as his memory was tampered with, but then started shaking as he grew conscious. His eyes flitted open, head raising and turning from side to side—searching for the body at Cadeyrn’s fore claws. 

Rhain stepped back at what must have been a silent command because his head tilted in the other dragon’s direction before nodding. As soon as Arthur was let go, he ran forward, collapsing at his son’s side, and looked at Malfoy with a promise of vengeance. 

“I’ll kill you for this.” 

In response, Malfoy smirked. “Good luck.” 

Arthur disapparated, but the dragon rider didn’t relax. Instead, he turned on his heel and crossed his arms as he glared at her. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t transfigure you into an otter and make a little kiddie pool by the garden for you to keep busy with for the rest of your life?” 

That was oddly specific. “How do you know what a kiddie pool is?” 

“Why do you think?” Ah. Theo. Figures. Maybe with Pansy here, he’d stop watching the Nanny and get a real hobby. Or he’d indoctrinate her into the complex world of Muggle sitcoms. Malfoy continued after hearing the silence, “What if that had been the Killing Curse?” 

Hermione shrugged, offering a grin. “The dead can’t worry. Sirius went pretty quick.” 

She watched as his gaze darkened. The muscle in his jaw ticked with blatant frustration. “The Cruciatus Curse?” 

“Nothing your aunt hasn’t done to me before.” 

Rhain made a huffing sound that might have been a laugh. Cadeyrn was looking between the two like it was a quidditch match. She couldn’t tell if he was amused or not, but she still saw blood caked to his scales. He was the one that needed a kiddie pool out of the lot of the them. 

“You’re annoying.” Malfoy said flatly. 

“That’s a weird way to say ‘Thanks, Hermione.’ If that had been an avada, I would have saved your life.” If possible, her tone was even flatter than his. 

Rhain’s head turned to Cadeyrn again, ‘Do they always argue like this?’  

‘Always. Don’t pretend you and Ffion aren’t as annoying to be around. I’m starting to think you like irritating her just to chase her tail afterwards.’ The grumpy dragon reflected. He started walking away, his black wings spreading out. ‘I want that egg before it hatches, Scion. Dragons have no business being raised to be used as weapons by Wizardkind.’

At that, the pearlescent dragon nodded his head. ‘I can’t imagine my Jac being trained in such a disgusting manner. I’ll go with you.’ 

“Unless Cadeyrn says otherwise, you should stay here. I can get the egg back by myself.” Malfoy said in a pointed way with a harsh look in her direction that made her want to throw him off the back of a dragon. “I need to meet with Potter as it stands anyway.” 

“You’re meeting with Harry? I’m going.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Malfoy.” 

“I don’t fucking care, Granger.” He was standing in front of her now, but she knew he must have said something to Rhain because the dragon snorted and launched into the air without a word with Cadeyrn. He turned his attention back on her, absolutely seething. “What the fuck were you thinking? Jumping in front of me like that? You could have gotten seriously injured.” 

Hermione pressed her lips together in a tight smile and leveled him with an equally scathing glower. She probably looked murderous, but he was a proper nutter if he thought he had the authority to tell her where she could go and what she was allowed to do all because he was mad that she’d been reckless. “I’m sorry.” 

“You—” Malfoy stopped short. His chest was rising and falling with anger that was now receding like waves at low tide. “What?” 

“You were already hesitant about me coming out here with you and instead of being logical—casting a protective charm because we both know the Order’s too bloody incompetent to cast anything nasty—I was reckless in grabbing your wand and shoving you back. Arthur could have snapped, accio’d his wand, and hurt us both. I’m sorry for behaving rash, but I’m not going to apologize for risking my life. We’re in a War, Malfoy, as you like to point out often. This isn’t the first time I’ve risked my life and I can guarantee you it won’t be the last. You don’t end up on the Dark Lord’s shite list because you’re smart.” 

The last comment was wry and it hit her that even if the Order won the War, there would always be Death Eater sympathizers. There would always be one group of people who thought that they were better than the other. Muggle or Magical, prejudice was a plague on all social groups. Hermione would always be a target and that was the price to pay for having such a pivotal role in this War. 

Because she was willing to do what the Order wasn’t; whatever it takes to win. 

Malfoy regarded her with a look she didn’t recognize. His expression was pinched, studying her, but also like he was searching for something. It didn’t make sense. When it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything soon, she continued. 

“I can’t tell if you’re going to avada me yourself or turn me into Cadeyrn’s dessert.” 

“I’m a bit caught off-guard.” He admitted, sounding reluctant to do so. “Having a healthy conversation isn’t something that we do. You do something infuriating, I get pratty about it, we lash out at each other, and—”

“And what? You end up fingering me in the kitchen while Theo and Pansy are watching the Nanny?” She inquired dryly, placing a hand on her hip as she cocked to the side a bit. Whereas she was completely shameless about it, Malfoy was stupefied. Not magically—he was still conscious—but he looked at her with dumbfounded amazement that had her snorting inwardly. “What? Is ignoring the blatant boundaries we shouldn’t have crossed something we do too? Because you clearly didn’t mind it when you were practically rutting against my thigh.” 

In a rare display, warmth flushed across Malfoy’s face. “I do not rut. I’m not a fucking werewolf, Granger.” 

“No, you’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met who is also hiding secrets and I don’t know what the right questions are to ask to get any closer. But let’s start with one.” She straightened out, raising her chin stubbornly as she narrowed her eyes up at him. She pointed at him, her finger pressing against his chest. The dragon leather was a tough material and he likely didn’t even feel her touching him. “What do you mean I never dated Ronald Weasley? Why was I under the impression that I did, but—”

“—But can’t remember a single memory?” 

Her shoulders sagged. “Was that an altered memory you did too? The second one?” 

“No.” His answer surprised her, “A lot happened that night, Granger. Weasley was under the impression that you fancied him back and it sounds as if he thought the two of you were together. I don’t know. I don’t pretend to know how a half-wit thinks.” 

She didn’t buy that. “That sounds like a partial truth. You do know something.” 

“We've established that I know several somethings.” He brushed past her now, her shoulder coming into contact with his chest as he walked past her, “Haven’t you realized yet that maybe it’s best you don’t know everything?” 

Hermione crossed her arms, turning to face him, but not joining him. She called out after him, “No because I’m a nosy twat and I need to know everything.” 

Malfoy didn’t face her, but raised his right hand over his shoulder in a lazy goodbye, “Then stew about it on the walk home.” 

Now she did start trekking after him, “Walk? Why are walking back to the cottage?” 

“Because you’re upset and need to cool down. Meanwhile I need the fresh air to think how the fuck I’m going to steal a dragon egg from the Order.” 

“You need to talk to Harry, just have him bring it.” 

Malfoy’s voice was sarcastic, “Brilliant idea, why the fuck didn’t I think of that? Let’s have Potter break Shacklebolt’s trust in him that he’s meticulously spent building for the past five years.” 

As she caught up to him, she felt herself pass through the wards. It was like a cold sensation that caused her to shiver as her magic became repressed. It only added more fuel to the fire sparking inside her. The one that made her feel the need to be a brat and lash out because the world was too fucking confusing with an unreliable memory of what it her life at Hogwarts had really been like. 

“Harry told me that Ron is trying to give me space since I supposedly broke up with him that night. It makes me think that Harry was also under the impression I was dating him. Or maybe he wanted to know what I remembered. What do you think that means?” 

“That your friends are delusional.” Malfoy snarked, slipping his wand back into the holster attached to his arm, “Completely useless and the bane of my bloody existence half the time.” 

“What’s the other half?” 

“You.” He was growing snarkier by the second and she’d had enough. 

‘Cadeyrn.’ She cooed innocently. A huff of acknowledgment filled her mind. That was the best she was going to get, ‘I did save Malfoy’s life—we didn’t know it was going to be a binding charm. Don’t I deserve a reward? Like perhaps my magic back?’ Before he could irrefutably say no, she added, ‘Give me 30 seconds. I won’t kill him.’ 

‘Am I supposed to trust you, witch?’ 

‘Even you can tell he’s being a grumpy old git. Give me 30 seconds and you might even get a laugh out of it.’ She showed him what she had in mind. 

There was no sign of acknowledgement or even a ‘break a wand’ for good luck. Instead, a familiar warmth flooded her veins. The feeling of her magic reigniting inside of her was euphoric. 

Almost as euphoric as how Malfoy was going to pay for being a grumpy wanker. 

“Malfoy.” Hermione said innocently, slowing down so that the radius of her attack wouldn’t backfire. Not that she really doubted he’d be able to parry a spell he would never expect coming. “Do you remember when you threatened to turn me into otter all because you were upset with me?” 

“What a mistake that would have been.” His back was still to her, completely unbothered. “They make these little bird-like chirps and growling noises when they’re trying to communicate. Squeak when they’re afraid. Listening to you pester me is already annoying enough.” 

Hmph. Well if she was going to regret what she was about to do—his snappiness definitely lowered the possibility dramatically. 

“Yes, well. At this point,” She wiggled her fingers and out flew his wand from the holster and into her hand, “I think I prefer little squeaks compared to your bloody attitude.” 

Hermione casted the transfiguration spell, turning him in the blink of an eye from a gorgeous, blond wizard over six feet tall—to a white ferret that was standing up on its hind legs with its sharp little teeth bared at her. She squatted down, pointing his own wand at him, and bounced him up and down in the air like Barty Crouch Jr. did during their Fourth year. 

As she did so, she was saying, “You foul, loathsome evil little—”

Without any warning, the coldness returned, and it was like the magic snapped. The intent was broken and Malfoy transfigured back to normal. She was still squatted, blinking in surprise, his wand falling from her fingertips. 

‘Cad—that was not 30 seconds. I was definitely going to run with the last five.’ Hermione practically shrieked in her head. 

A boring tone called back to her, ‘Time is relative.’ 

She was eye level with his legs and had to crane her neck up to see that Malfoy was angry. No—change that. He got angry at her plenty of times. More than she could count really. He’d even been infuriated with her earlier after pushing him out of the way. The way he looked down at her now was downright predatory. 

He was seething. His outline was stark against the sun peeking beneath the branches. Malfoy’s eyes were burning with retribution. And a promise. 

“You have ten seconds to run, Granger. Because when I catch you—and I promise you I fucking will—your arse is going to be so red, you’re going to have trouble sitting down. So here’s your one and only chance. Run, little otter.” 

Malfoy had been right. 

Otters do squeak when they’re afraid. 

Only she was human and turning around to run away from him. Leaves and branches flew from the bottom of her shoes as she took off. She didn’t look behind her, but remembered the look on his face just before she’d turned away. 

It was the gaze of a predator—of a snake—who wanted to sink his fangs into her.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: The Reclaiming 

Sticks and leaves crunched beneath her feet as she ran. It’d been a few minutes and she had the sneaking suspicion that Malfoy was letting her tire herself out. Was he going to Apparate out of nowhere? Would he use a jinx to trip her? A hex to stop her? 

Hermione’s heart was beating fast, but it wasn’t out of fear. It felt more like anticipation. The corners of her lips were turned up and when she realized it, she quickly tapered her expression. 

This wasn’t fun. This wasn’t exciting. 

She shouldn’t be smiling. 

The sound of leaves shuffling in the wind caught her attention and she hastily looked back to see Malfoy several meters behind her. He was walking, but his apparition was appearing a few meters closer each time she blinked. It was like he was purposefully taunting her that he could get her whenever he wanted. 

Annoyance flickered across her face and she practically skidded to a stop, bending down to grab the largest stick she could find. It was about the length of her leg and she didn’t hesitate to launch it in his direction. Malfoy threw up his forearm, the stick cracking in half against his forearm. 

His lip curved, a menacing glint in his eyes. She stiffened, but a blink later, she was crashing to the ground. Hermione let out a sharp, startled cry—more out of surprise than pain. Malfoy took the brunt of the fall, caging her in his arms as they hit the ground. She peeked, noticing how his biceps bulged as he flexed against the pain. 

Not giving him a moment of reprieve for the little chase he started, Hermione shoved off him. A bit of delight twinkled in her eyes as he looked surprised by it—as if she’d want to be in his arms. That joy was short-lived when his hand shot out and caught her ankle. 

This time she didn’t have Malfoy’s body to brace her fall and she hit the ground—barely managing to put out her hands first. Stray little sticks and rocks scraped against her palms, but she was more focused on getting away from Malfoy. 

Hermione sank her fingers into the ground, pulling out a wad of dirt and threw it backwards. He let go of her to throw up a simple protego—refusing to get dirt on him, yet they’d already rolled around in the dirt a bit. 

The blond prat must have recovered quickly because before she could get a head start, the front of his right arm was wrapping over her shoulder, and across the front of her chest. His hand wasn’t groping her—it was actually still respectfully lifted off her other shoulder despite the fact that he’d threatened to spank her. 

Hermione didn’t care much about manners. She couldn’t see his expression, so she hoped she managed to surprise him again when she reached up behind her, and grabbed the collar of his dragon leather jacket. Bending forward, she braced her legs to get a steady balance, and then threw Malfoy over her shoulder by using his body weight against him.

Hermione grinned, hearing him curse out loud because she had caught him off guard. Although her smile left pretty quick when she saw him reach for his wand. She darted forward, her knee hitting his abdomen as she reached for the handle where his wand laid. 

The bastard must have used a nonverbal spell because it slid past her fingers and her hand was grasping an empty case. She glared down at him, her brown curls slipping forward past her shoulders, “That’s cheating, you prat.” 

Malfoy smirked up at her, a predatory hunger lurking in his expression. “We didn’t establish any rules when I threatened to spank your arse, Granger.” 

She felt her cheeks warming at the blunt speech, but she wasn’t ready to give up. Applying more pressure on his abdomen, she heard a grunt escape him, and then she was reaching out for his wand. Malfoy grabbed both of her forearms, his fingers wrapping around them easily. He yanked forward, throwing her off balance. 

Hermione scrambled, but the bastard rolled them over. She went for the easy kick to the groin, but his hips were there; pinning her against the ground. Fuck, if he got her wrists again—she was screwed. 

She tried to buck him off, but that did nothing except press her front against his groin and reveal that he was very pleased to be in this sort of position with her. Malfoy’s hands reached for her wrists, but she surprised him by straightening her hand, and hitting the side of his neck. 

It was a nice throat chop. If she’d applied more pressure or went for the jugular; she’d have broken his windpipe. Right now, she flirted between actually hurting him, and vicious foreplay. Hermione exhaled sharply in amusement when he started coughing, turning over on her stomach to crawl away from him. 

What she didn’t take into account was that Malfoy would hook his fingers into the back of her trousers; and then all of a sudden her knickers were exposed. She felt the spring-like breeze brush against her skin as well as the blue lace hem of her underwear. She turned her head, sending a scathing glare to the wizard who’d tugged her trousers off. 

“I’ll still kick your arse, only wearing knickers—Malfoy.” 

The corners of his lips turned up in a naughty smile, “What a brilliant idea, Granger.” 

She felt the cool air whisper along her back and realized that he’d vanished her shirt. Now she was in just her bra and knickers. She sat up, backing away from him, only to hit the base of a tree, “That wasn’t an invitation, you damn pervert.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it even.” He reached behind him, tugging off the dragon leather top he’d dawned over his head. 

Hermione felt her mouth go dry at the sight before her. The light danced across his muscles and also created shadows; adding depth to the corded muscles. His left arm was completely inked with the Dark Mark surrounded by his snake and dragon tattoos. His skin wasn’t perfect; it was littered with scars and his right arm had the burn from the night he saved her just before their Fourth Year. 

His body told a story. 

A life filled with pain and jagged scars. 

But his expression didn’t share the same woes. His expression told her he wanted her. She could tell with the way his cock was strained against the trousers he wore and how he kneeled down, reaching for her ankles. She pulled them up to her chest, eyes searching around for something. 

Something else..to look at..? 

…Or maybe… 

Instead of something to defend herself with it was more like she was avoiding looking at him and the truth that was there—staring at her. 

She wanted him too. 

And not in a romantic sense of deep rooted feelings even though she knew for a fact she didn’t hate or dislike him. Hermione wasn’t even sure if she fancied him or what his feelings were like besides the physical foreplay. 

She wanted him the way flames combusted after reacting to fuel, oxygen, and heat. The teasing, getting to know him in such a short amount of time, and the feelings he managed to pry out of her—fuck. 

Hermione swallowed hard, still staring at him. Perhaps this wasn’t just sex, but she didn’t have time to dignify those feelings or understand the depth of them with how he was reaching towards her. She understood in the back of her mind that he’d given her plenty of time to stop whatever this was and there was a silent understanding that he would stop if she wanted him to. 

She knew that. To a degree, she trusted him. His fingers wrapped around her upper arm, pulling her forward. Too far forward—she gasped—almost hitting the ground, but then she understood what he’d intended. 

Her lower half was over his lap as he settled back, a rough hand sliding against one of her arse cheeks. Hermione went to rear her elbow back, but vines shot up out of the ground. They pulled her wrists together, wrenching her forward.

Trying to squirm her way out of this, Hermione’s efforts were quickly shut down when the first smack was delivered against her arse. She yelped in a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and pain. Her feelings were just as confusing as what response she was supposed to have to this. 

“That’s for kneeing me in the bloody abdomen early.” He said, not paying her a single glance. His eyes were taking in her figure like she was something to be worshiped and he was her most loyal disciple, “This,” She watched as his hand raised off her skin and then came down with a punishing amount of force that made her let out a small whimper, “—is for pushing me out of the bloody way. Do you understand how pathetic it would have been to die by a fucking Weasley?” 

Now she sort of wanted to laugh. That’s what he thought was bad about her almost dying? Not the being dead part, but the matter of being killed by a Weasley. 

That urge to laugh disappeared as he delivered another blow to her arse. She had some fucked up pain receptors if her thighs were slick with want. He soothed the pain by rubbing her skin in a pacifying motion. 

“What was that for?” She snarked over her shoulder, “Because quite frankly, you’re a pain in my arse too. You deflect better than any God damned protego. You’re hiding all these secrets and I never know where you stand.” 

Malfoy leered at her, “I’m not standing, I’m sitting. Quite comfortable, actually.” 

“See.” Hermione tried to shift her hips so she could at least knee him somewhere painfully sensitive. It didn’t work as he used his free hand to trap her legs against him. “You are such a control freak.” 

He snorted inwardly, “I suppose that’s better than ‘absolute spoon.’” She felt his hand slid down from her the curve of her arse and resisted the urge to look forward when his hand dipped between her thighs. She felt his fingers brush against her sex, wishing that the fabric wasn’t in the way. That didn’t stop him from trailing his fingers up and down the seam, making her shiver. “Of course I want control. I want control over the War. I want control over what happens to the people I care about. I want control over a frustrating witch who never takes herself into account when she’s off doing Salazar knows what, for a leader that doesn’t give a shite about her.” 

She arched an eyebrow, keeping her gaze locked on him. “Too bad because you’re never going to control me, Malfoy. 

“I’ve never been able to. Didn’t think I’d start now.” He mused, adding a bit of pressure as he rubbed exactly where her clit was, but not enough to directly touch it. Plus there was still the fabric in the way. 

“No, he’s never been able to.” Theo admitted, looking out towards the open field. “Alright, Hermione. I’ll bite. Place a bit of faith in you again. But if we’re going to want to deal with an angry Draco Malfoy later, we’re going to have to be on our best behavior.” 

Theo chose an awkward time to pop back into her head, but Malfoy’s words had reminded her. She did catch onto a bit of odd wording she hadn’t caught onto the first time. ‘Place a bit of—‘

Her thoughts were muddled as she jerked against his hold. Malfoy had nudged the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing her with an obvious, smug smirk on his face. 

“How exactly are you getting lost in your head again when your arse is a pretty shade of red and I’m touching you?” 

Instead of giving him a proper answer, the best course of action was always to be cheeky. “You’re not touching me, you’re touching my kn—”

“Do you want me to touch your cunt, Granger?” The words fell from his tongue so easily and there was satisfaction dripping from his tone. “Please try to deny it. Because I’d love to prove you wrong by finding out how wet you are for me right now.” 

“I’m surprised you’re even asking.” 

“My wand’s been next to you this whole time.” It had been. The vines were tight, but loose enough that she could grab it. She was just blatantly ignoring it because she didn’t want him to stop. Or ask if she was honest—and that troubled her. “What is it?” 

Of course he noticed. He could read her like a bloody book sometimes and it was aggravating. “Are you sure you’re not using legilimency on me?” 

“I don’t need legilimency to know you, Granger.” There was a reluctant admittance there like he wanted her to know that, but still held back. What was he holding back? “Will you tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Will you tell me all of your secrets?” 

“No.” 

“Then no.” 

“Is it related to your trauma? Me touching you like this?” 

The hammer came down on the nail. He knew exactly what was bothering her before she could even really identify her feelings about it. Had he kept her trauma in mind when he’d started this whole thing? Knowing that taking her against he ground like this—even if he wasn’t fucking her—could be triggering? 

She swallowed, looking forward; too ashamed to look at him now. “I shouldn’t fancy this sort of treatment.” 

“Not from anyone else.” There was a possessive note that had her turning back to look at him. This time, he wasn’t looking at her. His fingers were trailing the curve of her arse, towards the small of her back like he was mapping out all her small scars and freckles. “I won’t pretend to understand your trauma, but I can understand not having control, and being afraid of what that entails. The snatchers and the other pathetic fucks in the Dark Lord’s army stole a bit of your innocence that night. I’m not talking about your virginity.” He added quickly, seeing her tense up. “That night, at the World Quidditch Cup Final, I tried to protect you from the fear that those women felt. I know you understood what was happening to them and perhaps it was wrong of me, but I wanted you to focus more on being afraid of dying rather than being sexually assaulted. I couldn’t protect you in that forest, but I tried to by not identifying Potter that night. Clearly I’ve done a shitty job at protecting all the people important in my life.” 

He let out a laugh, muttering ‘pathetic’ to himself. She knew without a doubt that the insult was directed at himself. And he was still avoiding her gaze by tracing a small scar now on her calve, “Look, what I’m trying to say is that this is a part of you that you can reclaim. If you want to. We can continue to play this game, but it won’t mean anything other than a release, and you taking back what they stole that night.” 

What they stole? Hermione thought about it for a moment, thinking back to the last time she’d had… well… sex. She’d used toys—sure. Found her release in the safety of her own room and alone. There hadn’t ever been any blood so she didn’t think she was a virgin, but she couldn’t remember her first time either. If she hadn’t dated Ronald, then it couldn’t have been with him. She was too young to do anything more than kiss Viktor and that had been a peck on the cheek. 

Did she want this? Physically, yes. 

Emotionally, would this complicate things? Did she want there to be any emotional interaction here? The answer was simple. No. They were in the middle of a War and Malfoy was supposed to either side with her or Theo. Granted, he didn’t want to—he wanted to buy time to figure out a way to destroy both sides; but things were too stressful to even consider anything else… Like that what she was starting to feel for him could lead to something deeper and more meaningful. 

Hermione closed that part of her mind off, eyeing him. “Are you sure you’re not saying all these pretty words because you want to fuck me?” 

“I don’t need to say ‘pretty words’ to say I want to fuck you, Granger.” His lips twitched, clearly fighting a smile at her startled expression. “You’re breath-taking and intelligent. You looked at a wizard less than an hour ago and stood beside me while threatening to kill him. Of course I’m attracted to you.” 

“Hm. That’s a lot better than Mudblood.” 

“And you really know how to ruin a moment.” His voice was flat. 

That made a small, genuine smile appear. “Is that what we’re having? A moment?” 

“No. I think we’re having a quick discussion before I strip you naked and fuck you against that tree so we can continue arguing.” A wicked grin appeared on his face, eyes bright with anticipation. The vines loosened around her wrists, “Are you interested, Granger?” 

Interested? She let out an incredulous noise. “Why don’t you find out?” 

Her quiet, suggestive tone made determination settle in his gaze. Malfoy’s attention shifted to her arse as he let his hand fall to the waiting space between her legs. The spell fell from his lips and her knickers were gone. She jerked against the vines, letting them fall away as he slid two fingers between her folds; finding out exactly how interested she was. 

The noise Malfoy made was guttural and somewhere between a groan and a moan. “You’re soaked, Granger.” 

Even her own voice was a bit higher than she’d have fancied. “Maybe if you didn’t edge me twice in the past 24 fucking hours, I wouldn’t be starving for more attention.” 

The prat was downright smug. She could feel the hold on her legs loosening and she understood now that was free to move as she wanted. Hermione tried to, but another smack to her arse had her legs giving out. 

Her face warmed, “What was that for?” 

“I wasn’t done admiring you. I quite like my handprint on your arse.” 

“You’re a sadist, Malfoy.” 

“And you’re a masochist, Granger.”

“I am not.” 

He made a quiet scoffing sound as his fingers found her clit with ease, stroking her in soft then hard, slow then fast motions. It was maddening, unable to guess what sensations he’d coax on her. The sounds that were ripped from her mouth were all of pleasure with undertones of yearning mixed with desire. “You love it when I touch you even if it means I might leave you wanting more. Your cunt is dripping from me chasing you through the woods and spanking your arse. Tell me more about how you’re not a masochist. I’m interested to hear it.” 

“I’m more interested in being fucked against that tree, but—”

She knew that brat in her would draw out the dominance in him. What she didn’t expect was the feral quality to his movements. He slid out from under her, her stomach touching the grass. It tickled her skin, but she was raising onto her knees when she felt his boot on her back, pressing her down. “Stay.” 

A small ‘oof’ escaped her and then her head was whipping to the side to glare at him. “Malfoy, I’m going to fucking kill you.” 

“If your cunt squeezes the life out of me, I’ll die happy.” He said casually, reaching for his belt, unbuckling the metal clasp. 

There was something to be said about watching a fiercely attractive man taking off his clothes with rays of sunlight dancing between the trees behind him. He would have given Lucifer a run for his galleons even if the former was the favourite angel of God’s. Malfoy would have given Azrael a run while he was at it too. He wasn’t your run of the mill Death Eater. As demonstrated earlier, Malfoy didn’t give a fuck who he killed as long as it fit his agenda. Precisely like the Angel of Death. 

“That was crass.” Hermione noted, her voice deadpanned. 

She was far too busy watching him strip and her eyes were trailing down his chest. The way his muscles rippled and flexed as he undid the button to his trousers. Her gaze snagged on the thin trail of blond hair that led down and disappeared into his waistband… that he had his fingers hooked into and was about to push down. 

“Your thighs are squeezing together.” Malfoy reflected, unashamedly ridding himself of the last article of clothing. “Stand up.” 

That cease and desist letter she’d joked about this morning was up in flames. How could it not? His cock was a work of art like the rest of him. Long and just the right amount of thickness that she knew she was going to struggle a bit taking him. Her sex toys didn’t prepare her for that. She noticed a drop of pre-cum beading on the tip of his cock. The image of her on her knees in front of him—

“Granger.” Husky and deep, Malfoy’s growl pulled her out of the fantasy, “If you keep looking at me like that, I will fuck your mouth first. Stand up.” 

As much as she wanted that too, her nerves were wrung too tight. Too laced with sexual frustration and now that she saw him aroused for her—she needed him. 

Fast. Hard. Now. 

Hermione stood up, backing up to the tree while Malfoy stalked towards her. His gaze was watching the rise and fall of her chest. They caught on her nipples and then fell down to her cunt where he actually bit his lip. His teeth scraped against his bottom lip as he stared at her like he was starving and she was a Michelin star meal. 

She saw him go to kneel before her, but she grabbed his arm, shaking her head. He arched an eyebrow at her in a silent question, but straightened out. At this point, she was sure that her cheeks were ablaze, but Hermione felt safe enough to be a bit vulnerable. 

“Not this time. I need you.” 

He reached forward, placing his hands on her waist. The feeling of his hands on her bare skin gave her a slight shiver. They stared at each other for a moment, both consumed by their thoughts. Malfoy’s eyes were the lightest shade of grey she’d ever seen them. They were searching hers, no walls in sight. 

“Are you implying that you want to have sex again? After this?” 

Hermione tilted her head, studying him just as closely. “Do you think once is enough? Are you going to be tired of me already?” 

Malfoy reached down to cup the back of her thighs with both hands and she got the silent cue to jump. He caught her, pressing her back into the bark. Her breath caught as he pushed his hips forward and his cock was there, grinding against her. He was covering himself in her arousal with each push and pull of his hips; ready to fuck her against this tree as he’d promised. 

The look he was giving her now melted away any doubts she had before. If she wanted him terribly right now, Malfoy wanted her the way Eros wanted Psyche. He looked at her the way Ares might’ve gazed at Aphrodite. 

“Granger,” There was a soft admission in his tone as he lined up his cock to her entrance. She felt the crown of his cock push against her and anticipation took hold of her, “I will never have enough of you.” 

Her eyes widened at the same time he gripped her hips tighter, and Malfoy took that first plunge forward.

Chapter Text

Commissioned Art, please do not repost without permission.

Artist: ArtofCrumbs  

Chapter 22: Forget-Me-Not

Buried inside her, Malfoy catalogued every curve and swell he could reach with his tongue. The included dipping his head to capture her nipple between his lips, scraping his teeth against the hardened peak. She grabbed at his wrist, arching her back to accept his cock further inside her. There was a brief flare of pain as she stretched around him, her walls clamping down on him. Malfoy let out a pleased groan, swirling his tongue around her nipple. Hermione’s eyes slid shut in the throes of ecstasy that greeted her—but found something surprising instead. 

An image exploded behind her mind, wrenching her from her own body like an out of body experience. 

“Are you sure you want this? With me?”  

It sounded like Malfoy, but when he was younger. She couldn’t make out any faces in the darkness, but she knew someone was braced on his forearms on top of her. She could almost feel the intensity of his gaze and the way his fingertips brush against her cheek. 

With his question hanging in the air, a soft giggle cut through the one-sided tension. “You’re the only one here who thinks you aren’t good enough. I want this. I want you. All of you.” 

A quiet scoff echoed. “I don’t want you to regret this. Me.” 

Silence followed for a few heartbeats. “I won’t. It’s both of our first times, Draco. If anything, I’m worried I’m going to terrible at this and you’ll need to find someone else to satisfy your needs.” 

“Hermione,” The voice was so wry yet incredulous. “You are all I need. And I’ll never have enough of you.” 

The image felt like a hazy memory ripped away from her as Malfoy caught her nipple and bit down hard enough to make her yelp. She glared down at him as he soothed the pain with the gentleness of his tongue. 

He didn’t pull fully away, his boyish grin against her breast, “Out of all the times you zone out on me, Granger. This one hurts my feelings the most.” 

Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t capable of feelings. The scathing reply was on the tip of her tongue. The way his cock dragged against her walls made her want to whimper and a guttural groan left through his lips as she tightened around him. His greedy mouth took a bold possession of her other nipple, tracing the peak in slow then fast circles while his cock pumped in and out of her. 

Malfoy kneaded her arse, the pads of his fingers digging in. Hermione threw her head back as one particular thrust hit a deep part inside her. “I’m still mad about the ferret transfiguration.” 

The corners of her mouth curled up as he continued to drive his hips relentlessly into her. Her voice was almost coming out in pants whereas Malfoy—who was doing all the work and pressing her against the tree—sounded completely fine. Like he wasn’t breaching her every defense and surging his body into hers with feral desperation. 

“I’m still mad about you keeping secrets.” Her head tilted back sharply and she felt his quick shift as his hand came up to smack her arse. Pleasure shot through her at the stinging sensation and she couldn’t help, but let it slip, “Especially after we lost our virginities to each other.” 

The blond’s eyes narrowed to half mast, nipping at the swell of her breast, and devastating her when he stilled while still inside her, “Why would you think that?” 

“When you said those words. And I grabbed onto your wrist from the feeling of you inside me.” He wasn’t immune to her words because she felt his cock twitch inside her. She didn’t let it falter her tirade, but noticed his gaze strayed from hers for a moment, glancing at his left wrist, and then back to her with an unreadable expression, “It was like a memory sprang to the front of my mind. I remember you asking me if I was sure—if this is what I wanted. Then the last thing you said was that you’d never have enough of me.” Her head cocked, feeling his left hand go back to her arse cheek, “Was that real?” 

He swallowed visibly. “It was.” 

Shock colored her tone. “You’re not going to try to lie?” 

“You had your memories taken. I think that’s difficult enough to deal with without me lying to you about which memories are true or not.” He admitted quietly, grey eyes darkening with indecision or uncertainty. She wasn’t sure what about. Whether it was telling her the truth or being intimate with her. But by the feeling of his hips beginning to move in slow, purposeful movements; it was clear that he wanted this. “I’m sure you have questions.” 

“What do you think, Granger? Theo and I were off being groomed to inevitably  become Death Eaters. Do you really think we had time to become friends while you were busy saving Potter’s life every five minutes?” 

It was hard to concentrate when he was fucking her with such slow, deep strokes. She said as much, “You give me too much credit if you think I can focus right now.” 

That brought out another grin of his and as he pressed a kiss to the top of her breast.  Hermione raked a hand through his hair; pulling him closer. He got the hint, stimulating her right nipple with his tongue. The languid way he caressed the sensitive bud with his tongue made her squeeze around him. Because how would his mouth feel on her? How would his tongue feel gliding against her slit and toying with her clit? 

Gravely, husky words were uttered against her skin. “What are you thinking about, Granger? Your cunt is holding onto my cock like you’re afraid I’m going to pull out. I promise you there’s no where I’d rather be right now than inside you.” 

She bucked her hips, nails digging into his shoulders. His breathing deepened and his pace grew more frantic. Hermione found her gaze falling to his lips and she knew she wanted to kiss him. As if knowing where her thoughts were, Malfoy pulled out before she could give in to the pleasure which had been building. 

He pulled her back from the tree, letting her naked body slide down the front of his. She felt his throbbing erection against her stomach and she took a calming breath. Her voice was anything, but calm. “Malfoy. If you deny me another orgasm, I will use the Cruciatus Curse on you.” 

“That’s an interesting foreplay idea.” He winked, but then all traces of humor disappeared on his face. “On your knees, Granger.” 

She blinked, but slowly dropped to her knees without another word. 

He reached forward, pressing his thumb against the seam of her lips. Her heart raced as she parted her lips and felt his finger slide into her mouth. “Good girl. I love it when you’re obedient like this.” With his free hand, he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and stroked himself, “My submissive, good girl.” 

Her eyes narrowed and she bit down gently on his finger to prove a point. 

Instead of appearing angry or annoyed, his grin was diabolical. “I knew that’d piss you off.” He withdrew his hand from her mouth, “I was counting on it. All fours, Granger. I don’t think your arse is red enough for my liking.” 

She did as he said, dropping down to the ground. Her forearms braced against the soft grass and she arched her back so her arse was up in the air. Malfoy let out a low, appreciative noise and she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He was still standing, pumping his cock as his eyes were trained on her. 

Embarrassed and knowing that he was staring at her cunt too, she shifted so that her knees were close together. 

“Don’t hide from me, Granger.” He stepped forward, kneeling down, and pushing her thighs apart. He reached over her, pressing down on the space between her shoulder blades, and then settled back to look at her again. “Fuck, I need to be inside you again.” 

There was a desperation there that made her arse wiggle in anticipation. Malfoy didn’t tease her as he lined the tip of his cock against her entrance and then slowly pushed forward, inch by tantalizing inch. With this angle, she felt much more full. She stretch around his cock, feeling every ridge and tremor. 

A bit of awe was in his voice as he whispered to her, “You are, without a doubt, going to be my undoing, Granger.” 

She huffed a quiet laugh, but a familiar sentiment was blooming inside her chest. “You must say that to all the witches you bed.” 

“There’s only been you.” Malfoy admitted unashamedly, the palm of his hand sliding along the curve of her arse, “The only person that can get me hard is the same woman who turns me into a fucking ferret by consorting with a dragon.” 

With a few inches left, he caught her off guard by grabbing her hips and jerking her back into him at the same time he plunged forward. A gasp escaped her, followed by a loud moan as he didn’t give her an opportunity to reply. 

Smack. “Listen to me.” 

Hermione’s fingers pressed into the ground, digging into the dirt. “I am. I’ve followed—mostly—every order you’ve given me since I’ve been here.” 

Smack. “With a bratty attitude.” 

Throwing him an incredulous look, she wasn’t the least bit surprised to find his stare on her reddening arse cheek. “Because you’re a ray of sunshine, Malfoy. You are so fucking broody that any time I ask you about the past—you push me away.” 

He pushed down on her arse and she went with the flow, lowering until her stomach was flat against the ground. Malfoy’s towering body curved over her back and she felt him kiss the back of her shoulder as he found a rhythm in this newfound position. It was lewd thing to go legless over, but his pace was picking up faster, and she could feel his bollocks slack against her cunt. 

“You fancy my broody personality. It’s what drew you to me in the first place.” He reflected smugly, but she could hear the faint panting in his voice. He wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be, especially when he was ravaging her cunt with harsher thrusts, “I felt every glance you sent my way in the Great Hall. I heard the whispers of you defending me to your mates. You and Pansy’s friendship—getting on Theo’s nerves, no matter how many times I tried to push you away… You never let me go. You never pushed me away. You just wrinkled your nose when you said that I was an insufferable prat. But then you were still there in the library—up reading late with snacks on the nights you didn’t see me at supper.” 

Malfoy was painting pictures in her mind and her heart hurt. A pang of agony cascaded through her because these memories felt dear to her, and she had no recollection of them. 

She pushed back on him, matching his rhythm as the pacing grew desperate and sloppy; both chasing a release now. “I want them. I want them back. I want… I want to know what we had. Why I wanted you from the moment I saw you again.” 

“I’m an attractive bloke, Granger.” 

“Malfoy.” He chuckled as she felt that pressure building again. She was writhing against the ground, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. “I’m—Gods—I’m so close. Don’t you fucking stop.” 

Smack. “Such a naughty mouth on you.” 

“Says the one who daydreams about filling my mouth with his cock.” 

The wizard’s sharp inhale told her she’d successfully driven him over the edge. If she thought he was fucking her roughly before, this was feral. He was holding her down and driving into her with such force that she was almost screaming. A tingling sensation coiled up her legs and then she felt it. 

And she gave in. 

“M—” He covered her mouth with his hand as she came. 

Pleasure wracked her body as he rocked into her, drawing out her orgasm. Hermione was happy that she was already lying on the ground because her legs would have definitely gave out. She shuddered as Malfoy bit the back of her shoulder and his hips stuttered. He moaned as his cum filled her cunt and she could feel the heat of him inside her. He was breathing hard as he shifted behind her. 

She expected him to pull out, but instead, he jerked his hips forward. It was like he wanted to push his cum deeper inside her and a low, sultry keening noise left her. This felt possessive. Like he wanted to leave a part of himself engrained into her. And it also felt domineering. Like he demanded that her cunt take him and everything he had to give. 

Hermione heard the shaky breath leave him when he was done. 

A knowing smile fell on her lips as she raised onto her elbows, and peered behind her. A few drops of sweat slid down the side of his face. The sunshine making his hair reflect the light in an angelic glow. The look he was giving her was the complete opposite. Burning and greedy, she was reminded once again that Lucifer was an angel too. 

“What was that about not rutting, again?” 

He barked out a laugh. The freeing sound making her cunt quiver. Amusement settled in his eyes as he’d felt her clench. “Don’t pretend you don’t fancy the feeling of my cock inside you, Granger. I think you’re a big fan.” 

“I think you have a big—”

“—Cock?” 

“Ego.” Her voice was flat, but then it softened. “What you said. Those things. The library and… and being friends with Pansy. Those were true?” 

Malfoy nodded, pulling out of her. She winced and concern tugged at his features. “I’m sorry, was that too much?”

“It’s just been a while, I suppose.” Her eyebrows drew together, “I guess… Since the last time we were… Intimate.” 

“I know.” 

“You know?” She stood up, glancing down when she felt something leaking out of her. Her cheeks warmed, realizing what it was. It didn’t help that Malfoy had followed her gaze and now was smirking with approval written clearly across his face. “Focus.” 

“I am very focused.” He noted, closing the distance.

Malfoy’s hand was outstretched, his middle finger and ring finger gliding up the inside of her thigh. They moved easily, gathering their combined release, and she flushed when he pushed those two fingers into her. His ring brushed against her sensitive clit, forcing a half-moan, half-whine out of her. Hermione grabbed his wrist, noticing that the bracelet he normally wore had a torn thread sticking out. It was small and slight, but she felt bad considering it was something she saw him often. 

“You are not.” Before she could get carried away by his ministrations, Hermione took a step back. “Her—” She pointed down at her cunt, “She’s putting in a cease and desist letter against him.” She pointed at his cock that was semi-hard and looked like he could be ready for another round in seconds. “I’m already going to be needing a dittany paste for my arse and a contraceptive potion.” 

He winced at that, looked reserved for the first time. “I should have asked.” 

“You should have.” She agreed, but her voice was gentler than it had been moments before. “But the end result would have been the same. And before you look smug—” Her go to response would have been ‘I’m still angry with you.’ Or something defensive and abrasive, but she was standing in the middle of a forest naked. With Draco Malfoy. She sighed, “I’m sorry about turning you into a ferret.” 

His lip curled, amused. “Did I fu—”

“Choose your words carefully. I don’t need magic to knee you in the bollocks.” 

Malfoy believed that, coughing. His amusement turned softer, “I can admit now it was a bit funny. Though if you do it again, I won’t turn you into an otter. It’ll be a flobberworm or something equally as gross.” 

She shook her head, “I can’t believe I lost my virginity to you. Did you spank me then too?” 

“Not that time. I was nice.” 

‘That time,’ huh? A heavy sigh escaped her as she met his gaze again. “I want to remember, Malfoy. I want to… remember what we were to each other.” 

He didn’t answer her. He turned back towards the discarded clothing, grabbing hers first. When her hand closed around the outstretched fabric, he finally spoke, but it was so quiet she wasn’t even sure if she’d heard him correctly.

“I want you to remember too.”  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

There was nothing more embarrassing than asking Cadeyrn if he or Rhain was in the area. Could Malfoy Apparate? Sure. But he was already tired and the distance was too great for just one apparition. Apparting multiple times led to a vertigo that could last days. Neither of them had that luxury when Cadeyrn wanted them to go capture the dragon’s egg that the Order had stolen. 

The broody dragon sent Rhain who was currently working to earn Hermione’s designation as public enemy number one. After too many inappropriate mating jibes, Rhain was dropping in altitude as they approached the area outside the cottage. 

“Thank you for the ride, Rhain.” Malfoy said warily as the dragon’s fore claws touched the ground. 

Rhain let out a fiery snort as Malfoy disapparated with her off the Dragon. She held onto his arm, steadying herself, and ignoring the ache between her thighs. 

‘Just remember how nice I was to come pick you both up when it’s time to name the child.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” It was nice to see the redness creeping along Malfoy’s cheeks for once. Hers were already beet red from the twenty minutes of ‘mating talk’ earlier. “She’s not pregnant.” 

‘These things take time, Dragon-heart. You’ll learn it’s not a situation where you can simply fill the lion-heart’s womb—”

‘Rhain. Don’t forget that when you’re torturing them, you’re also torturing me.’ Cad growled, sounding completely disgusted. 

‘I’m simply doing my part as one of the elders here. I need to ensure that the dragon-heart takes responsibility for lion-heart’s whelps.’ The pearl dragon said with mock innocence. 

The door opened as Malfoy argued, “We’re quite familiar how sex works, we don’t need your guidance in this matter, Rhain. And if she were to ever get pregnant, I would take—”

“I feel like I’ve walked in on a very interesting conversation.” Theo piped up, grinning. Pansy’s eyebrows were raised, but she was smirking over at Hermione. “You two shagged?” 

Rhain let out a cloud of smoke from his nose—perhaps the equivalent of a dragon’s laugh before launching into the air, and taking off. Theo’s grin had morphed into a smirk and Hermione could see the wheels turning in his mind. It wasn’t to say anything informative or productive; the mischievous glint told her he was going to take the mickey out of them. 

Malfoy didn’t seem concerned about it or perhaps he didn’t care. He regarded them with a lightness that always settled in his voice when they were around, “One of the Weasley’s are dead and someone from the Legion. It appears that the Order has a dragon egg. They were snooping around the wards to try and capture a whelp.” 

“Cadeyrn couldn’t have been pleased about that.” Pansy murmured, leaning her head against Theo’s arm. He moved, wrapping his arm around her shoulders so that she could rest her head against his chest, “You’re both alright?”

“I’d say they’re more than alright.” Theo’s amusement was palpable, his mirth directed at Malfoy first, but settled on Hermione. 

He opened his mouth to speak and Hermione shook her head, “Did you forget that I had you arse over head, hitting the ground the first morning I was here? Would you care for a repeat?” 

Theo effectively shut up while Pansy laughed and the man beside her smirked. There was a mixture of pride there that made that stupid organ in her chest clench painfully. Vehemently ignoring it, she noted out loud that she was going to go shower, and then started heading inside. Malfoy didn’t follow her and for that—she was thankful. She needed some breathing room not to freak out about this latest development. 

Not only did they fuck, but his words triggered a memory. A startling one. Her? Malfoy? Losing their virginities to each other? He’d… He’d called her Hermione. And she’d called him Draco. Were they… Had they been lovers? 

Even the idea of it sounded preposterous. If Draco and her had been dating or something akin to it—He wouldn’t have stayed away these past five years, right? …Or did something terrible happen and they broke up? 

Crookshanks was meowing loudly outside Malfoy’s door. It snapped her out of depressing thoughts. She walked to the end of the hall, glancing behind her when footsteps neared. That wasn’t much time for breathing room. 

The blond raised an eyebrow at her as she reached for his doorknob. “So you are interested in another round?” 

Hermione sent him a flat stare, “Do you not hear him crying in there?” 

“Must have heard us outside.”

She cracked the door open, but Crookshanks didn’t come out immediately. Pushing it open wider, Hermione was startled to see that this… wasn’t a bedroom. There was a large table in the center of the room with a map of Europe. Different colored pawn pieces decorated the map. Countries were color coded. Major sites that were supposed to be secret for the Order were labelled on Malfoy’s map. She noted a few Legion ones and there was a black pawn with the symbol of the Dark Mark decorating a remote piece of Germany. 

Besides the table, there was a room adjacent—a personal bathroom no doubt. There was a bookcase littered with books and parchments. She would take a look at that later, but her eyes were drawn to a small couch. A normal loveseat that would definitely be too small for the towering blond to sleep on. However… 

There was a pillow. 

There was a quilt. 

She swallowed. Her heart rate picked up. There was the exercise room. Theo’s room. What was supposed to be Malfoy’s room was revealed to be a war-planning room. The potions lab she’d yet to explore. This meant he’d given her his own room then. Possibly decorated it in a manner that she fancied. Had he placed those flowers by the bedside too? 

Hermione turned to him, her voice quiet. “What kind of flowers are in my room?” 

Malfoy held her gaze for a long moment. Indecision clouded his features, but it cleared by the time he spoke. “Forget-me-nots, Granger. They’re forget-me-nots.” 

His words drifted into her mind again.

‘I want you to remember too.’ 

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Pining and Pathetic

After a shower, Hermione was still mulling over the forget-me-nots which stared at her as she towel dried her hair. If she were to… invite him to sleep with her, wouldn’t that be clingy? He fucks her for the first time and now she wants him to sleep with her? 

But that wasn’t exactly the case either, was it? They’d been something to each other once. Something that included declarations in the dark and being each other’s firsts. Having snacks for him in the library? Mates with Pansy? It was nice to know she’d gotten on Theo’s nerves. Perhaps his boorish attitude towards her was payback for something she wasn’t aware of. 

Regardless, the thought of Dr—Malfoy sleeping on a cramped loveseat bothered her more than she wanted to admit. 

‘I risk entering your mind to see if you lot are making plans on how to recapture the egg and here I find you pathetic and pining over the Scion.’ Cadeyrn reflected. 

She could almost imagine him rolling his eyes. 

‘I am not pining.’ Hermione immediately refuted. 

A snort of amusement echoed throughout her mind. ‘But you are pathetic?’ 

‘You have ten seconds before I think about sex—’ There was a sharp burst of pain in her head that left her with a dull, throbbing headache. ‘Could you not?’ 

‘I’m telling the Scion I want a plan by nightfall.’ 

Okay? ’Do you want a cookie?’ 

‘Do you want your cat to end up in my stomach?’ 

Hermione opened the door, making a disgusted noise. Theo was passing, looking like he was on his way to Malfoy’s room when he stopped. “Now that’s just rude.” He pointed towards the door at the end of the hallway, “Should I ask if he’s in his room or yours? When do I break out the wedding china?” 

“Around the same time you stop being a wanker.” 

“So… Never?” He said thoughtfully before sending her a grin. 

He was about to walk off when they both turned to see the door leading down to the potions lab opening. He hadn’t showered yet and it was just now that Hermione was realizing there was a small leaf in his hair. Theo hadn’t missed it because he sent her a look that had her glaring at him. 

“There you are,” Theo reflected, “I thought you’d have showered already. Pansy’s making lunch for us.” 

“It’s no wonder she kicked you out of the kitchen then.” Malfoy smirked before holding a small vial full of shimmering gold liquid towards Hermione. 

She stared at it for a moment, confused. 

Then Theo opened his mouth, “Unless you want little curly, blond hellions running around practicing martial arts on unsuspecting people, I suggest you drink that.”

Instead of speaking to Cadeyrn in her head, she spoke out loud as she took the vial from Malfoy, “You know, Cad. I give you full permission to eat him. Think of him as a palette cleanser after Percy.” 

At that, Theo’s eyebrow raised. “I think I found you more tolerable when you were a pacifist and all ‘Merlin save the Centaurs.’” 

“Now we know that’s not true.” Hermione capped the vial, handing it back to Malfoy with a murmured ‘thank you’ when he held out his hand. He didn’t say anything. “Because apparently, I got on your nerves back then too.” 

She didn’t miss how Theo’s eyes flickered to Malfoy’s. She was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. They all had a piece of her that she knew absolutely nothing about. Memories that made her out to be another person. 

One who wouldn’t resort to Dark Magic. 

One that would have cared that Percy Weasley was dead. Hell, cared that Arthur Weasley now hated her with every fiber of his being. 

Instead she was more concerned with retrieving the egg for Cad and not having little blond, curly haired babies. 

“I’m going to let you shower then, we’ll talk after.” Theo said to Malfoy who made no move to leave. 

Taking the social cue to leave, Theo turned back down the hall—no doubt leaving to go annoy Pansy in the kitchen. If she let him step foot inside. She shifted her attention back to Malfoy, unsure of what to say. The first time she’d overthought about what they did in her—his room—she’d asked him bluntly if he’d regretted it. He hadn’t and she didn’t think he’d start now. 

“You deflected when I asked if were friends.” Hermione pointed out, “But we were… dating weren’t we? At Hogwarts?” 

“Is that what you think?” 

She crossed her arms. “For someone who admitted you want me to remember, you sure don’t act like it.” 

A wry smile crossed his face and that’s when he started to walk past her. She grabbed his wrist, feeling the soft threads of the bracelet underneath her hand. Malfoy stopped, but he didn’t pull his hand from her. Instead, he regarded her with a curious, if not guarded, expression. Truth be told, she didn’t even know why she grabbed him. 

It just felt… Right. 

Her eyebrows furrowed, feeling a bit helpless to the feeling inside her. Instead of trying to understand it herself, she decided to allow a bit more of vulnerability sneak past her walls. “I don’t need you to answer the question about whether or not we were dating. It almost seems trivial now to wonder. But when I thought you were going to get hurt from Percy’s spell…” 

Her scowl deepened as a headache began to form. The dull ache left her tired and severely in need of a nap. Or that was because she’d recently had one of the best orgasms of her life…that she could remember. 

She continued, grateful that he allowed her the time to sort out what she was trying to say without interrupting, “…Whatever we were to each other, I think it ran deeper than being a collection of memories. I’m the first one to run into danger, but I was terrified when I thought you were going to get hurt. I don’t remember ever being that scared. Not even when Scabior and Greyback were looking at me like I was their new chew toy.” 

Would he tease her? 

Make a sarcastic remark? 

And maybe the worst reaction she could think of; would he dismiss her? 

Hermione let go of him and his hand dropped back to his side. Holding his gaze, she watched as different emotions colored his eyes. Understanding. Sorrow. Relief. It seemed like he settled on the former, the corner of his lip rising faintly. “I’m pleased to know you finally understand how I feel every time I let you out of my sight, Granger.” 

Malfoy left her standing in the hallway with his admission. 

Sometimes he spoke the truth as easy as breathing and other times trying to pry anything out of him was like Cadeyrn being nice. 

‘I heard that, witch.’ Cadeyrn growled, ‘I am nice. Just not to you.’ 

‘And what did I do to you?’ 

‘Exist.’ 

Hermione rolled her eyes, walking towards the kitchen where she could hear Pansy humming to a tune she didn’t recognize. ‘You are the grumpiest five year old in existence.’ 

‘You might have lived longer, but you sure aren’t smarter.’ 

“Did you just call me dumb?” She inquired out loud, startled. 

Pansy turned to her as she rounded the corner, head tilting in a bit of confusion. “No? Was I supposed to?” 

Cadeyrn’s reply was a rumble in her mind. Hermione shook her head, “I was talking to Cad.” 

The other witch’s eyes lit up, “I wish I could talk to him. I’d have so many questions.” 

‘I don’t wish that.’ Cadeyrn pointed out flatly. 

Hermione’s lips curved up, “I’m confident he feels the same way. What are you making?” 

Whatever Pansy was making, it was better than the mess Theo had left earlier. There were a few cracked eggs in the bin beside her and potato skins littered inside. Hermione was confident in the witch until her eyes fell on the pie dish resting on the table. It clearly hadn’t been cooked yet considering the dough was malleable and pale. But what caught her eye was the four fish heads sticking out of the crust. 

Any smile she had before dropped, “Pansy. What is that?” 

“Stargazy pie. Before he got fired—or killed now that I think about it, one of the House Elves in the Estate swore that it was nutritious and brought about good luck. You three are going to go collects eggs, no? This will be good luck.” 

Hermione was still staring at the fish heads. “It’s not going to be good luck if we’re all—”

“—too full from such a delicious meal.” She turned to see Theo propped against the doorway, “That’s what you were going to say, right?” 

Was that glower supposed to scare her? 

“No, I was going to say it’s not going to be good luck if we’re all shitting ourselves.” Hermione spoke about as flatly as Cadeyrn had earlier, “Are those sardines?” 

“Pilchards.” 

“Same thing.” She felt distinctly ill watching Pansy open the head of the fish and stuff herbs down their dead throats, “Explain to me how you dress in such a sophisticated manner,” She waved at the witch’s satin blouse and slacks, “And yet make dishes that belong in the 18th century?” 

Footsteps came closer and Pansy held out a wooden spoon in a menacing manner, “Don’t you dare.” 

“I’m not going to—Fuck.” 

Hermione jumped as she watched Theo slip on an oily wet spot in the kitchen. She had the sneaking suspicion that it was fish oil from the sardines. Regardless of what the mystery oil was, she watched as Theo reached for the edge of the table, but fell backwards at the same time his foot was sliding forward, and the table toppled over on top of him. She and the other witch winced at the loud crashing sound. Both her and Pansy peered over to see the pie in ruins and there was a fish head smack-dab across his forehead. He spit out a piece of—what Hermione could only guess—was Colliander. 

“Remember when I said not to enter the kitchen?” Pansy huffed, placing her hands on her hips, “This—” she gestured to the mess, “—is why.” 

“I didn’t see the spilt oil, love.” 

She scoffed, “Clearly.” 

Hermione smiled at the interaction, not one to miss an opportunity to make fun of Theo. “The Dark Lord’s shiny new weapon gets defeated by fish oil. Wow. He really chose well, huh?” 

He grabbed the fish head off his face, launching it towards Hermione who ducked. It landed somewhere in the living room and she heard Crookshanks make an unholy meow. She could almost imagine him pouncing onto it like a little, crabby lion.  

“That’s real funny coming from the same witch who choked on pea soup when Draco winked at her in the Great Hall.” 

She frowned, “Did not.” 

Pansy sent her a sympathetic look, “You definitely did.” 

“If I can’t remember it, it didn’t happen.” Hermione said with a shrug, but her heart was beating fast with second hand embarrassment. 

No, she wasn’t someone who choked on pea soup over Draco Malfoy. She was a martial arts knowing, bad arse motherfucker, who practiced the Dark Arts and sent Legion Fighters to early graves. And apparently someone who shagged hot wizards in the woods like a naughty role-play of Adam and Lilith. 

“Is that how that works?” Theo reflected in a rhetorical tone as Hermione and Pansy lifted the table off him enough for him to scoot backwards. 

He probably didn’t need the help, but Hermione wasn’t sure how much magic he was able to use. She wondered if Cad and Dr—Malfoy would ever be comfortable with her having her magic. Was it not enough to prove that she’d die for him? 

‘It’s easy to die for someone.’ Cadeyrn noted, ‘Even easier to kill. It’s much harder to choose to live for someone.’ 

To choose to live for someone? He wasn’t making sense. ’What do you mean?’ 

‘I’m starting to understand why your memories were taken away.’ 

What? How? 

‘Having the ability to read someone’s thoughts is helpful.’ The sarcastic wanker shot back. ‘With you around, everyone is reminiscing.’ 

She scoffed, crossing her arms. ‘Care to enlighten me?’ 

‘No.’ He replied smugly. 

“You are so annoying.” Hermione snapped, irritated. 

Pansy and Theo blinked at her, the former asking, “Who? Him?” She pointed at Theo, “He’s quite lovable once you get to know him properly.” 

“I doubt that. And no, I was talking to Cad.” She scowled, “He thinks he knows why my memories were taken, but he won’t tell me why.” The thought occurred to her that she never asked Pansy directly. “Do you know who took my memories? I don’’t believe I’ve asked you yet.” 

Pansy grimaced. “I might have an idea.” 

Hermione stiffened. She stared at the witch, feeling time slow down. She barely paid any attention to Theo who was picking up scattered, left over ingredients from the raw stargazy pie on the floor. “Who?” 

“That’s a question you should ask Potter.” Theo interjected, tossing the pan into the rubbish. “Pansy says she may have an idea, but the truth is that we all are thinking it—aren’t we? That Potter had something to do with it.” 

Well that was true. Pansy was looking at Theo now with a slight purse in her lips. Hermione tracked the look, seeing Theo’s slight shake of his head. It made a line form between her brows. “Maybe you’re both lucky that I don’t have my magic. Because it’s incredibly fucking annoying when it appears that everyone has a piece of me and I don’t even know which ones are missing. You—-” She pointed at Pansy, “Know something. And you—” Hermione gestured to Theo, “—The Dark Lord chose you so I think you’re a lot more cunning and ruthless than you pretend not to be.” 

“Was that a compliment? Consider me tickled pink.” He turned to his lover, “I learned that in last night’s episode.” 

“Of course you did, dear.” 

They bickered lightly back and forth while Hermione stewed in her anger. She wanted to know more. If she asked Harry, would he recall the time she choked on soup over a Slytherin winking at her from across the Great Hall? Why did Ron think they were dating?

“Did Malfoy memory weave Ron into thinking that him and I were dating? And not Malfoy and I?” She must have asked it out of the blue because they both looked thoroughly shocked, “What? I know you both know he can alter memories.” 

“Yes, but I didn’t think he’d mention memory weaving.” 

“Oh, Cadeyrn told me about it.” 

“Cadeyrn told you about it?” Theo looked even more shocked, “It took him months to trust me with that detail. He’s known you for less than a week.” 

“You also slipped on fish oil, bringing down the dining room table like this was a Bugs Bunny cartoon.” Hermione reflected in a coy voice, “All that’s missing is the audience applause.” 

It was Theo’s turn to look confused. “What is a Bugs Bunny?” 

“So much to learn.” She murmured before she saw movement in the corner of her eye. 

Malfoy was walking into the kitchen, wearing only a pair of black joggers. His white towel was draped over his shoulder and he was holding Crookshanks away from his body. The cat had a half eaten pilchard in his mouth, looking delightfully happy with himself.  

He settled his gaze on her first, “What have you been letting our son eat?” Then it seemed he finally focused on the kitchen, “What the fuck happened here?” 

Wordlessly, Pansy and Hermione both pointed at Theo. The dark haired wizard looked aghast, “Et tu, Brute?” 

The blond set down Crooks who then scurried towards the rubbish bin like he’d found a treasure chest… of fish, egg shells, and potato skins. Malfoy vanished the trash with a lazy wave of his hand. When his treasure disappeared, Crooks’ head swung towards Malfoy. Hermione smothered a giggle behind her hand, turning only to see a soft expression on the wizard’s face. She did a double take only to see that it was gone. And he wasn’t looking at her anymore, he was summoning Leek with a single word. 

She watched as the House Elf appeared, smiling up at him like an old friend. Malfoy held out a letter towards him, “Please make sure this gets to Harry Potter in secret. He’s at the safe house underneath the Orpheus Fountain in Madrid.” 

“Yes, Master Draco.” The House Elf took the letter before bowing and disappearing. 

Pansy let out a sad sigh, “I hope he’s fairing well at the Manor. I bet he misses us.” 

“Of course he does. We’re a joy to be around.” Theo went to touch her when Pansy held out her hand, pinching her nose. “Fine, I’ll go shower. Or perhaps we will.” 

Theo wrapped his arm around Pansy, lifting her over his shoulder with a grin, and saluted Malfoy. “We’ll be back shortly. Can’t have you and Hermione outdoing us.” 

Hermione shook her head slowly, watching him leave with Pansy laughing, “There is seriously something wrong with him.” 

“Perhaps. But he’s the most loyal friend a guy could have.” He pulled his wand out from his pocket, swishing it to clean up the mess, and return the kitchen to how it was before, “Although I bet he just wanted me to clean up his mess and took Pansy to keep him company.” 

She wanted to bring up the fact that Pansy had said she might know who took her memories to him, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. “What did you say in your letter to Harry?” 

“Set up a meeting. Above the Chocolateria, there’s rooms for rent. I own the building as a side investment in the Muggle world. The man—my friend who makes the chocolates? I hired him on as a property manager.” Figured I ought to have some investments in case this all turns to shite and we have to hide for a while.” Malfoy added, seeing her questioning expression. He ran a hand through his wet hair. “He’ll meet us in Room 203.” 

“With the egg?” 

He nodded firmly, “With the egg.” 

Malfoy might have gone to say more, but it was Pansy coming back through the doorway with a panicked expression that had him stopping. “Theo. The Dark Lord. He’s called him.” 

“Fuck.” 

Hermione watched him race out the room, unsure of what was going on. 

“Draco needs to make sure he has memories for the Dark Lord to see.” Pansy explained, taking a step back from the doorway to glance down the hall, “If the Dark Lord finds out that Theo’s complicit and you’re… okay… Then he’s going to take out his anger on Theo more than he already does.” 

More than he already does? “But Theo was fine the night we got back.” 

“Fine?” Pansy shook her head, smiling bitterly. “When I saw him with his clothes off, there was bruising all over his chest. He’d been crucio’d and then Salazar knows what. He wouldn’t say.” 

Part of her wanted to ask what memories Malfoy had to put in his head, but part of her figured she was better off not knowing. If they were supposed to be memories that would please the Dark Lord then it likely involved her doing some unpleasant things. Or unpleasant things happening to her. Neither of which she wanted to think more about. 

All she could hope for was that this unplanned meeting Theo had with the Dark Lord went over well… Or about as well as one could meeting a wizard responsible for thousands of deaths.  

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Tomorrow Be Ours 

The words echoed in his head as he focused on the memories that Draco wove into his mind. It was rushed, but it had to be enough. If he believed it was the truth, then it was. His body still ached from the beating he’d recently endured. The fact that he was being summoned so soon after only meant that something terrible was about to happen. 

It wasn’t the usual fanfare this time. Only Bellatrix stood beside the Dark Lord who had Nagini resting by his feet. He had to resist the urge to curl his lip. Yellow toe nails, bluish-black veins protruding from his ashen skin—Did villains have a secret agenda to look as decrepit and hideous as possible? Even Bellatrix’s teeth were rotting as she smiled manically at him. 

Pansy would have him by the bollocks if he so much as slacked on personal hygiene. 

“Young Theodore…” The Dark Lord’s eyes were unsettling as he bore the full weight of his gaze, “One of my scouts didn’t make it back today from a little mission I sent him on.” 

The one Draco and Hermione killed?

“The Order is also missing a Weasley.” Theo informed the Dark Lord, hoping this would please the purist. “Draco ordered one of the Dragons to eat him while Arthur Weasley watched.” 

Bellatrix let out a shrieking laugh, “How cruel.” 

He watched apathetically as the Dark Lord rose from his throne. It was a trauma response to kneel with his head bowed as the wizard walked closer. His footsteps were completely silent and that was unnerving in itself. Because Theo didn’t know until it was too late when the Dark Lord attacked his mind. 

He saw visions of Hermione naked and shivering on the ground. Draco’s laugh was twisted and unnatural as he made the woman serve him wine. Theo pushed down his emotions as he saw himself gripping Hermione’s face in one hand, squishing her cheeks together. Whispers of how worthless the Order was and how their efforts would be for nothing echoed around in his mind. 

Draco had implanted more memories, but the Dark Lord pulled out of his mind. Theo made the mistake of looking up, confused when he was backhanded. It caught him off guard and he lost balance; hitting the floor. He scrambled to go back to a kneeling position. It would displease him more if he showed weakness. Draco would never have made such a silly mistake. 

“You know, I was under the impression that Granger’s parents were obliviated. That they were useless and already rotting in the ground.” The Dark Lord said coolly, “Raise your head, my loyal weapon.” Theo did only to be backhanded again. This time, he expected the pain, and didn’t falter. Continuing, the Dark Lord slowly started walking in a circle around him like a predator searching for an opening, “Imagine my surprise when I have Greyback and his mutts searching for more of her family—and he tracks them down to Australia.” 

What was he supposed to do? Lie? Feign surprise? 

His silence would incriminate him if he prolonged a response. 

“Let me make this right.” He held the Dark Lord’s gaze, swallowing. “Greyback might have found her parents, but I’ll deliver them to you.” 

“And why would the death of her parents bring me any satisfaction?” The Dark Lord drawled, sounding impatient. “You both have the Mudblood in the palm of your hands. Perhaps it’s time that she pays me a visit. You and Draco appear to have taught her manners. I think I’d fancy a new pet to serve me wine.” 

Considering how much Cadeyrn had taken to Hermione, he wasn’t sure who’d burn the world first. The dragon or Draco. The wizard had tipped Theo off earlier that when she hit the ground, Cadeyrn had went straight for Percy Weasley; making him suffer until he knew that the witch was alright. Hermione had two dragons at her side and she likely didn’t even realize it. 

Theo gnawed at the inside of his cheek, tasting blood as his heart raced. They needed more time. And nothing small would please the Dark Lord if he was looking at Hermione. Who was someone of equal value? Realistically? No one. In terms of the Order? 

The wizard took a deep breath. He swallowed and then spoke in a firm, authoritative voice. “What if I thought I could deliver someone important to you?” 

He watched as the Dark Lord stilled, staring back at him. “You have my attention.” 

“Give me 24 hours, my Lord.” He bent his head lower, “And I’ll have the leader of the Order begging for mercy at your throne.” 

“You know where Kingsley Shacklebolt is?” The wizard scowled, “How?” 

“Not Kingsley. The real leader pulling the strings.” Theo struggled to calm his breathing, feeling the guilt already pool in his chest like something hot and acidic. “Minerva McGonagall. I’ve spotted her outside Madrid from recent scouting missions of my own.” 

The witch had been a trusted friend to Snape.

And now he was going to repay the witch’s kindness with a tortuous death. 

Nodding, the Dark Lord walked back to his throne and took a seat. His voice was musing as he tapped his chin with an emaciated finger, “That’s more interesting than a new pet. Very well, Theodore. You have 24 hours to have the witch begging for her life in front of me. If you fail, I expect the mudblood in her place.” 

Relief, followed by trepidation filled him. “Yes, my Lord.” 

He rose, turning around to walk towards the doors when the Dark Lord called out his name. “Before you leave, the mutts left a gift for you to take back.” 

The wooden doors opened as Fenrir threw two bodies in front of him. One of them was missing their scalp. A jaw was partially hanging from the woman; most of the muscles severed. Claw marks raked both their bodies and from the open wounds in both their abdomens; entrails were half falling out. Theo noticed bite marks too, indicating that the were’s had used both bodies as a snack. He didn’t have to guess who these were. 

“Don’t fail me again, young Nott. I know Miss Parkinson is out there somewhere. You’d do well not to forget that you’re expendable and not my choice. Draco may continue his tantrum a little longer, but he’ll be back on a leash soon.” 

Theo swallowed. “Yes, my Lord.” 

It was then that he levitated the bodies and coaxed his magic into allowing the bodies of Hermione Granger’s parents to follow after him. Bodies that he had to deliver right before they were set to go on a meeting to visit Potter.

Fuck. 

What if this made her go back to the Order? 

What if he couldn’t capture or trick McGonagall? 

A headache formed, pounding pain and worry into his head. Fuccccccck. 

They were so screwed. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: Blood and Tears

Theo didn’t arrive back until the evening. 

Hermione had been pretending to read while Pansy was also pretending to watch the telly. Malfoy had left to take care of the animals and whilst she’d thought about offering her assistance; maybe it would be good for a little distance right now. After all, she was still pining and pathetic about how to ask him to stop sleeping in a cramp loveseat every night. There was the possibility of him using an extension charm, but Cadeyrn had been helpful in informing her that he didn’t use one. 

It didn’t make her feel any better and that was likely his goal. 

She knew he was back because Pansy had leapt off the couch before the door had opened. It’d been cloudy earlier, but she saw it’d started raining due to the bloke’s wet curls that plastered against his forehead. He hadn’t just been outside for a moment or two—he was soaked. Malfoy wasn’t behind him. 

“Where’s Draco?” Pansy inquired, pulling away only to look at him. 

He wasn’t in his Death Eater robes; wearing similar black trousers and the matching top from earlier. It was plain with no irony in sight which meant that he wasn’t in a good mood. There was also the unmistakable worry in Pansy’s tone that enlightened her something was wrong. 

“He’s outside.” Theo said shortly, pulling Pansy’s hand up to kiss the inside of her palm, “I’m going to shower. Keep me company?” 

Pansy’s posture didn’t relax. She was still stiff as she murmured, “Alright.” 

Not acknowledging her presence with a sarcastic remark was another indicator that something was wrong. Hermione placed down the weathered copy of The Tell-Tale Heart. She stood up when she heard voices disappear behind a closed door, opting to go find Malfoy. Hermione didn’t have to go far because he was sitting on the front steps. Elbows resting on his thighs, his hands were clasped together, and his chin was resting on them. Mud soaked the bottom of his joggers from what she could see and he was a shoe-in to win a wet t-shirt contest. The almost translucent material clung to every muscle in his back. 

Leaning against the doorway, she eyed the worsening weather. “This is a bit too broody, even for you. I think I’ll take verbal lash outs driven by repressed emotions rather than this.” She gestured to him, and the dirt caking his boots “The only thing you’re accomplishing right now is getting a cold.” 

“I don’t get sick, Granger.” 

“Sounds like the words of a man who’s going to wake up with a cold tomorrow.” He didn’t say anything to that which made her shoulders slump a bit. Something was wrong. “What happened today?” 

Malfoy blew out a breath, running a frustrated hand through his blond hair. “Can I be honest?” 

She sat down beside him, amused that he casted an umbrella charm. The invisible shield over their heads protected them from the warm spring rain. Why hadn’t he done that earlier? Glancing at him sideways, she simply nodded, and waited. 

It must have been ten minutes before he decided to speak, but she didn’t rush him for the same reason he didn’t rush her earlier. Honesty was worth waiting for. And at times, it was difficult to say. But Draco was worth waiting for even if she didn’t quite understand the severity of her feelings. His actions and concern for her was enough to warrant patience.

“Part of me wants to weave your memories again.” 

Well. That’s not what she was expecting. “Is that what you think is best?” 

Hermione was looking straight out towards the field and to the tree-line, not looking at him. But she could feel Malfoy’s gaze on her. “No. It’s what I think is easiest.” 

Vague. “Which memories would you weave?” 

“All the ones since you arrived back here.” 

“Because you regret what’s happened so far?” 

He shook his head. A few drops of water hit her shoulder from how wet his hair was. “Because it’s what I think is easiest.” 

“How so?” 

“Then I wouldn’t have to hurt you.” 

Instead of being afraid of his words, Hermione snorted. “If I recall correctly, you’ve already enjoyed hurting me. I’m still waiting on that dittany paste for my arse cheek.” 

Malfoy swore, “I’m—”

She waved off his apology, “Pain is inevitable in war. And when you’re as kinky as we appear to be. So. What happened?” 

“The Dark Lord wants you.” 

“Unsurprising.” 

“He wanted Theo to bring you to him.” 

“Malfoy, just say it.” Hermione pointed to herself, “I’m still sitting here and as far as I know, you don’t actually hate me. Otherwise I would be in front of the Dark Lord right now. And Theo’s still alive which means that he must have struck some sort of deal. And any deal with the Dark Lord…” She shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. “Doesn’t make me think I’m going to be happy about it. 

“Have I ever told you, you’re annoyingly perceptive?”

She rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips tilting up. “Have I ever told you, that your deflection is the bane of my fucking existence? On with it. I doubt anything could surprise—”

“Theo’s going to hand over McGonagall to the Dark Lord.” 

“—” The words caught in her throat. 

Because what was she supposed to say to that? 

“And…” Malfoy’s jaw clenched and she prepared herself for what was next. But there was nothing to prepare her to hear, “Greyback murdered your parents. They’re buried out in the woods. I—er—buried them. I don’t think you would have wanted to see them.” 

Hermione held up a finger, “Please. One traumatic discussion at a time.” The lump was forming in her throat. Her lip wobbled slightly—against her will—and she saw Malfoy’s expression falter. It wasn’t vengeful, but something worse. It was defeated like he didn’t know how to make the situation any better, but there wasn’t anything he could say to take back the pain his words had inflicted. “McGonagall. Is there any possibility of getting out of this sick deal he made with that bastard?” 

Malfoy shook his head once, “It’s to pacify his want in having you and the Dark Lord threatened Pansy’s life. It’s now non-negotiable in Theo’s mind. He will do it.” 

“Even if you say no?” 

“Theo isn’t like me, Granger.” He looked down at his hands, palms facing upwards. They weren’t regal or elegant like most of his features. She saw callouses and scars decorating them. While Malfoy paused, trying to find the words to explain what he meant, Hermione wondered what souls would look like if they were visible. How would scars appear on broken ones? Because the man beside her was showing the first few cracks under what she thought was an impenetrable mask. “He can sacrifice anything in this world if it means securing Pansy and I’s safety. The last time the Dark Lord threatened Pansy’s life, he sent a child with Cerebrumous Spattergoit into a refugee camp. All to entertain him.” 

Teddy. 

Clearing his throat, he persisted, “McGonagall is a small price to pay if it means the Dark Lord doesn’t look for Pansy and he doesn’t get serious about wanting me back in that damned castle.” 

“She’s a brilliant witch, Malfoy. You can’t just expect her to fall for any ol’ trick. Theo could get hurt if he tries to go after her.” Malfoy didn’t look worried, making her afraid to ask. But she did anyway because she couldn’t handle not knowing. “What did you do?” 

“Leek is taking a letter to McGonagall. The choice is simple. The entire Order or herself.” He lifted a shoulder and allowed it to drop, “She’s a bloody Gryffindor. She’ll do what you would do.” 

“Give herself up for the sake of others.” Hermione didn’t have to think hard. 

But it did earn her a glare from him, “Don’t ever do something as stupid as that.” 

“I’m rather sure that pushing you out of the way is the equivalent. You’re a little late on that front.” Hermione pointed out before letting a sigh escape, “Okay so… Is there any way to try and fool the Dark Lord? Charm a muggle?” 

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised. “You’d murder an innocent person?” 

“I’m not the Granger you used to know.” Her smile was tight and fake. Before an uncomfortable silence could brew, she added, “Not an option?” 

“It’s an option, but not a good one. The Dark Lord would see through it as soon as he used Legilimency.” 

“Kill the Muggle first?” 

“He’ll punish Theo for not delivering her alive. He prefers to play with his food first before killing them.” 

That lump in her throat was getting harder to ignore. “Like with my parents?” 

“I thought we agreed on one traumatic discussion at a time?” 

A small, hysterical laugh bubbled out of her that quickly turned into tears. She wiped at her eyes, trying not to feel. The rain pattered around them and it felt like they were in their own little world. Thunder rumbled in the distance, promising torrid showers. 

Malfoy’s voice was quiet and anguished as he whispered. “Hermione.”

Her name falling from his tongue did her in. She choked on a sob and she didn’t fight him when he pulled her into his lap. She didn’t fight him when he put his arms around her. And she didn’t fight him when he held her for so long that the rain eventually stopped. 

When the rain dried up, so did her tears. 

But Draco didn’t let go of her until she stopped shaking.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

It felt embarrassing to untangle herself from him, but Hermione could feel his reluctance to let her go. It was in the way his muscles were slow to relax. His deep inhale against her like he was committing the scent of her shampoo to memory. And it was in the way that his fingers dug in slightly, feeling her begin to move, but then defeat settled in him, and he let her go. She didn’t want to move, but she didn’t know how to act either. 

There were feelings there. Real, genuine feelings that were starting to resurface even if her memories didn’t. Once they were standing in front of each other, Hermione wiped her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve and apologized. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I’ve cried all over you.” 

“I’d had worse things than bogey on me.” 

Hermione glared at him, “I did not get snot on you.” 

Draco offered her a smirk, tugging on his collar. “Are you sure? I think if I look, there’s some right—”

If she had her magic back, she’d scourgify him until he stumbled back from all the casts. But it wasn’t her that cut him short, it was Theo opening up the door behind him. He peered from Draco and then to her. 

“He break the news yet about your dead parents?” 

A headache was beginning to roll in and it was named Theo. She decided to mess with him. “My parents are head?” 

Whatever feigned shock she did, Theo narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, right. You don’t look like a blubbering Pukwudgie over nothing.” 

Her mouth dropped open. “Did you just call me a goblin?” 

“You can’t be offended by that, you used to be all about magical creature rights.” He retorted, leaning his shoulder against the doorway. 

She glared at him, “That’s not how that works, you wanker. And for the record, I don’t look like a Pukwudgie—I’m not even short.” 

The two men standing there were just abnormally tall. That’s all. 

“Yes well, thank Salazar for that otherwise I’d have to talk to Draco about his creature kinks.” 

“Creature kinks?!” Hermione repeated, dumbfounded at the same time Draco refuted, “I don’t have a creature kink.” 

The dark haired wizard gestured to Hermione, “Then what about this feral goblin that tends to kick arse and stab people.” He straightened out, “Speaking of which, this is your formal invitation to the dead parents club. This weekend we’ll have an event called ‘Dread the Dead’ where we take turns having a wee on headstones and following that—we’ll have a paint party to decorate urns.” 

Draco stared at him, holding up a single finger. “One. My parents are the only ones with headstones and we won’t be doing that.” He held up another finger, “Two, why am I only hearing about this now? You didn’t invite me when my parents died.” Then a third, “And lastly, none of us have fucking urns. What are you on about?” 

“You didn’t get an invite because you’re broody and boring. At least the new Hermione has a sense of humor.” The corner of his lip turned up, but it fell just as quick. 

She got the sense that Theo was like the ocean. At first glance, he was steady and smooth. The waves crashing underneath his exterior were small and insignificant. But then when you took a closer look, the swells would pull you in, and the current wouldn’t hesitate to drag you under. There was something violent there and it didn’t matter who you were—the ocean wasn’t picky about who it decided to murder. Exactly how Draco had described him earlier when he said the bloke would do anything for them.