Chapter 1: Pure unadulterated shagging
Chapter Text
Monday 2 December 2002: Hermione’s POV.
Hermione’s hands were yet again covered in blood.
It was inevitable being a healer in the order and she chastised herself mentally every time bile surged up in her throat causing her to feel dizzy when she interacted with it. There was nothing else that could turn her stomach quite like the metallic earthy smell of fresh blood oozing from a still warm body. She even felt it when changing pads on her period, the sickly tang hit her each time instantly coaxing the same physical reaction from her. She would be forced to steel her breath and squeeze her eyes shut for a second or two. Sometimes when more serious injuries came into the wards and the gurneys and makeshift operating tables resembled a blood bath it overwhelmed her. On days like that the red stains soaked her uniform splattering every surface and wall. On those days she was known to jump away from her patient, allow the feeling of vomit and the retching in her chest to rise, expel the sick from her stomach in a few forceful heaves before promptly vanish the sick. She would then focus, getting straight back to work sewing skin back together or lodging her hands inside a still warm human body trying to locate shrapnel or clean a wound. She never allowed herself to cry at work or in front of those whom she treated, but more often than not when she returned home from her shift on bloodier days she would let her tears fall. In between bouts of nightmares and cold sweats she would allow the tears to flow from her eyes and let her tired body rattle with sobs suffocating herself into a pillow to mask her screams of terror, hurt anguish and fear. On these nights she would spend hours in fits of despair staring at her hands so so sure that in the dim light of the night they were permenalty stained pink. Even when she bit her nails she sometimes flinched, her breath catching at the phantom taste of the blood of others convinced that remnants of their blood had soaked into her own. As if her blood could get any dirtier. She always scoffed to herself at the irony of that thought watching Crookshanks eye her every time she laughed or spoke to herself. She knew exactly what the cat was thinking: “What a barmy witch”.
Today the blood staining her hands was none other than George Weasley’s and as he stared at her with a lopsided grin, blue eye glinting with mischief, “holy ear” on show for the world to see now his hair was cut shorter. Hermione’s stomach only lurched for a few seconds. If she was honest it was mostly due to the blood but also impacted by her gut instinct telling her that George was up to something more imbecilic than usual that most certainly would cause her an aneurysm of sorts once his antics came to light. She stared at him warningly while she sewed the wound up the muggle way keeping him quiet while she worked. He had splinched himself when apparating to the Burrow from a location he refused to disclose, blind drunk wearing nothing but a pink dressing gown, naked as the day he was born underneath. He had been found a few hours later at the bottom of the garden with gnomes jumping on his body, blood seeping from his arm into Arthur’s vegetable garden causing a mass panic and hordes of Weasley’s to descend to the burrow. Despite Molly’s basic healing charms the wound was too deep and Charlie had been forced to bring him to the makeshift hospital after a bout of Molly threatening to show them both a proper splinching if they did not comply with her demands. After the death of Fred and the stress of the war the matriarch of the Weasley family worried more than most about the health of her children. She never left the hospital during visiting hours when her family were here and stayed the entire duration at their bedside fussing over her family as if it was the last she would ever see of them. As she stitched up his arm, Hermione was grateful that Molly had the sense to force a pair of underpants on him before allowing him to side along with Charlie as he sat on the hospital bed legs swinging back and forth still wearing the pink monstrosity. She had seen the horrors of war but she drew the line at seeing her ex boyfriends’ brother’s cock should the flimsy belt on it come loose. She exhaled a deep breath at that fleeting thought and revelled in the silence that followed. She focused on her breathing ensuring the stitches were neat and pointedly avoided eye contact the drunken dolt staring at her in his blood and dirt stained dressing gown. She made a mental note not to provide him with a pepper up or hangover potion upon discharge hoping the suffering of his pending hangover would be enough of punishment for worrying everyone.
Her thoughts strayed to her patients and the month ahead. There were no extra order missions scheduled until the new year and there were two live operations running simultaneously but she was unaware of the finer details as they were reconnaissance missions according to the notes from the last order meeting the month before.
2002 was coming to a close. Hermione and the healing staff at the makeshift Order hospital were quieter than usual allowing them time to attend to the five long stay patients housed with them over the festive period. These patients included Percy Weasley (having contracted a nasty case of black cat flu and was expected to stay under their care until Christmas Eve), one of the Weasley’s Prewett cousins (having caught spattergoit), two random order members from wales: Dana and Amelia (who were cursed with an altered bat bogey hex cast by some snatchers while on a mission the other month. The curse caused them to expel gigantic bat bogeys every half an hour which was entertaining for the first week of the hex before they began passing out and having fits with bat shaped bogeys the size of watermelons diving and propelling themselves onto anyone and anything around the girls. They had been in a secluded room together for the best part of two months and intel from the field advised that the wand that had cast the hex had been snapped and repaired by an amateur wand enthusiast specialising in in the dark arts causing the order and the healing staff difficulty in reversing the hex which meant managing the bats and bogeys while ensuring the girls didn’t die from dehydration or bogey induced depression as best they could). The fifth patient was Morag Weatherlilt an elderly witch who was the sister of Seamus Finnegan’s grandmother. (She was currently magically restrained to her bed as she had tried to steal a soap dish from her sister’s bathroom when visiting her for afternoon tea claiming that she should have inherited it following the passing of their parents. This wouldn’t have been anything other than a familial despute for the family courts of inheritance at the ministry had the world still not been at war and given that the coveted soap dish had been cursed by Seamus’s grandmother in the case of theft. The specific curse meant that each time the elderly Morag passed wind she would physically defy gravity and float to the ceiling. Given her old age and her sister’s insistence she would never remove the curse given her sister’s sticky fingers she was often found bouncing along the ceiling four to six times a day floating and farting. With none of the order’s healing staff specialising in familial magic given their rudimentary training it was a waiting game for the curse to wear off itself or for Morag’s sister to remove it herself. Hermoine would often stay late after her shift and read to Morag as the witch was good company but she had taken to casting silent air cleansing spells and sitting in her room by an open window when her flatulence was severe.
As if on cue a repetitive thumping noise could be heard under the floorboards beneath her feet indicating that the elderly witch needed fresh restraining charms placed on her bed and Hermione summoned her wand wordlessly and cast a patronus for Padma.
"Pads when you get this could you go and see Morag and strap her in she’s floating again and im sure the mince and bean pie Molly gave her when she was here can’t be helping her flatulence tonight, warning you in advance".
She watched the silvery otter dance away into the air in front of her and a scoff of amusement came from the grinning ginger idiot in-front of her.
“I’ll have you know Hermione Granger my mother’s cooking has never killed anyone that we know off and I’ll be sure to inform her that you have spread scandalous insinuations that she has…." He hiccuped and a waft of fire whiskey breath hit her square in the face causing her to grimace "made other patients at this state of the art medical facility so unwell that they are farting to death. How very very dare you horrid girl, after all the meals she has slaved away cooking for you over the years…. ."
Hermione closed her eyes shut counted to three and looked the cheerful man square in the face, her dark eyes never wavering from his. His stitches were done, wound cleaned and bandaged. She quickly dragged the blood stained sleeve of the stupid magenta dressing gown back down his arm casting a quick scourgify lifting some of the blood and dirt off it. Her tone was hard and icy as she dressed him down with all the anger and fear rising up and out of her dripping from her words.
"Don’t you fucking dare joke with me right George Gideon Weasley. You show up pissed out your head wearing a woman’s negligee bleeding out drunk in a garden in the middle of the night. You had every one of us worried sick and the order on high alert for an attack. It’s been five years of this war shite and we are all on the fucking edge especially this time of year as Kingsley and Alastor have gave us the go ahead to all meet together and spend Christmas at Grimmauld and your actions could have put that all at bloody risk. What you did today makes you one of the most obtusely selfish pricks to exist in the world. Even Salazar Slytherin wouldn’t do something so cruel - what were you fucking thinking apparating that drunk endangering your life and potentially ruining the first Christmas we could spend all together in five years. If you ever EVER do something like this again I’ll personally Avada you myself and bury you in one your great aunt Tessie’s dresses and I’ll make sure it’s something old, decrepit and unwashed. What on earth possessed you ? You promised me you would be more careful". She shoved him a little in sheer frustration. Her voice faltered and she whispered "you promised me".
His face dropped and he took note to the tears glistening in her eyes. He could also see the fear and strain etched into her face and he took in the dark shadows in her eyes and her worn thin frame.
She tried to soften her verbal attack with humour at the end but as she stood in-front of him she could see the the shadow of the boy whom she had met on the train in her first year with his mirror image beside him ribbing her for searching for Neville’s toad. He was taller and broader now, earless on one side of his head and his skin was grey and pale with wrinkles and a slight stubble. His pasty complexion was not from age but more so from the alcohol poisoning she thought to herself. The thought fleetingly reassured her.
The war had not been kind to any of them.
Within seconds he slid off the bed and his long strong arms surrounded her pulling her close. Her head fell into his shoulder and her arms slinked tight around his waist and she exhaled a breath of relief scrunching her eyes together to stop tears from escaping. They stood for a few minutes in silence holding each other and Hermione’s heart squeezed in her chest. They held each other and breathed together and in that moment that was enough. He was safe. She relaxed a little, some of her anger and fear dissipating. She hadn’t known that day on the train that this man and his family would become her own. She had no clue what they would all face together and how their lives would twist and intertwine as they grew up and were propelled straight into a war as mere children. She could have never anticipated the love and devotion the Weasley’s gave to her so freely and unconditionally. She and Harry had spent many a night following the battle of Hogwarts sitting in the wheat fields surrounding the Burrow that summer in the heat hiding in the tall screeds lying side by side talking about how they entered the magical world alone and that despite losing the battle and feelings of dread and regret about Voldemort and the snakes escape that day, they both agreed that even on the hard days they had gained an entire family in the Weasley’s and each other. That itself made all the suffering and hardship worth it. They weren’t perfect and it might not last but it was enough. More than enough. It had to be.
Otherwise what was the point ?
In the late summer of 1998 while Ginny and Harry had moved into Grimmauld and began their life together Hermione had stayed at the burrow with Ron and the remaining Weasley’s as she had done all the years before. While she was plagued with her own grief she saw first hand how George was affected and they both gravitated towards each other bonding over their panic attacks, nightmares and insomnia. Ron had taken to drinking to cope and for months he could be found most days passed out with an empty bottle at his side covered in sick when not on order missions. While he eventually overcame his drinking it was a rough year. While Ron drank, George withdrew and randomly destroyed rooms when left alone too long.
More suspiciously, for months following the battle every mirror in the house had been removed and at first Mrs Weasley had thought it was a practical joke until George locked himself in the bathroom one morning after catching his reflection in a newly purchased mirror which had been charmed to remain stuck to the wall. Hermione had been on her way to use the toilet when she heard his muffled screams from behind the silenced door and she broke her way in to find him fully clothed in the bathtub with shards of the mirror scattered across the floor, two massive pieces stuck into his arm with wide self inflicted cuts across his wrists. Had she not found him that day she was sure he would have bled out and died, another body in the ground for them all to grieve.
That was in August 1998. After vomiting and fighting against her body’s reactions to the blood she healed him as best she could and dragged him to her and Ron’s room where she stitched him up and bandaged his arms. It all poured out of him that day all the hurt, anger, regret and grief and they both spoke for hours until the evening came. As it turned out George couldn’t cope with the sight of his face as every time he looked in the mirror he saw his Freddie. A constant reminder as a twin that the other half of him was gone and he had lived. There was no getting over that Hermione knew. The bond they had transcended time and love and from the day Fred died George would always be half a person, half a man, half a twin, half himself as the other side of his soul was no longer on this earth.
After all was said and done they sat awake all night holding hands crossed legged on the floor next to each other until the next morning came. Hermione remembered the way the sun had shone through the linen curtains and creeped into the room. Ron had been on a mission that week and hadn’t been due home for a few more days so she had been glad of George’s company and was honoured he had confided in her. It was the moment that defined their relationship and while they were not blood related they were bonded in grief, brother and sister always the same way she and Harry were. The cool summer morning breeze floated through the window and she glanced over as George sighed and their eyes met. A wry smile flashed across his face, the most genuine she had seen since before the battle in May of that year. The words he had spoken to her that day as he squeezed her hand on the floor of that room floated back to her as she gripped him in her hold while softly rubbing her fingers into the soft material of his dressing gown:
"I feel lighter today than I did yesterday Mione. If you promise not to tell anyone about me slitting my wrists after realising how devilishly handsome I am, I promise I’ll do my best to fucking live and avoid injuring myself unnecessarily or on purpose for the foreseeable. I might even stop destroying the mirrors. Mum’s been blaming the ghoul. It’s bad enough he spent a year being Ron. Poor sod".
Hermione cocked an eyebrow and spoke firmly squeezing his hand in return. "I promise your secret is safe with me but please know, Fred is much better looking".
He dyed his hair brown the following week with a muggle box hair dye Hermione had picked up when she visited muggle London on a supply run. He had kept it the "dark silky chestnut auburn" until the beginning of 2002 when he decided he wanted to go back to and embrace his "sexy natural gingerness". Hermione had helped him strip it back to the natural colour and washed his hair out in the small sink in her bathroom at the flat she had bought when the money from her parents estate had come through.
Hermione was transported from the memories in her minds eye back to the present. George stood back and placed his hands on her shoulders giving them a tight squeeze. He was her brother in everything but blood and the thought of loosing him or any of her chosen family wracked Hermione’s bones with a chilling fear and left a dull pain aching in the pit of her stomach whenever she considered them dying. In her short life she had buried her parents, seen death more times than she could count and was fighting daily in a never ending war. She thought that this would have made the idea of loosing people easier. She often hoped the loss and brutality of the world around her would leave her cold and fearless given that nothing was promised and death and destruction were always lurking around every corner. But Hermione Granger felt everything deeply and if anything her fear and hurt and hope that they would survive this grew every day meaning she had more to loose if it all went to shit. It was paralysing.
She rubbed her tired eyes with her arms and removed her surgical gloves with a snap while George sat back on the bed. She glanced a look up at him and she could see regret etched on his face his eyes recognising the hurt and fear on her face. But the glint still sparkled in his eye and Hermione Granger was a glutton for intrigue and knowledge and she needed to know what he was up too. Her friend and brother whom she had watched grow and fight to live since that day in august with the smashed mirror was scheming and it was going to cause her endless anxiety and stress whatever it was. However she reasoned, George Weasley was a professional prankster, a maverick of the perverse and chaotic but he was not cruel and Hermione knew from the embrace they had shared and from the look on his face the splinching was not intentional and there was more to the apparition, the drunkenness and the pink dressing gown.
"Shagging" he said a smile spread across his face the whites of his teeth showing.
"What about shagging ?" Hermione’s eyes scanned him quickly and she took a note of his pupils and motor skills in case he had a severe head injury or a concussion from his dodgy apparition.
"That’s what possessed me to apparate home drunk and splinch and technically break my promise. Pure unadulterated Shagging. Well the shagging had stopped at that point to be fair and we were just catching up after it and then …."
She held her hand up gesturing him to stop and she tried unsuccessfully not to let a small smile spread across her own face.
"You nearly bled to death and ruined Arthur Weasley’s cabbages and cauliflowers over shagging" she gasped in disbelief. "I’ll need as much information as possible mr Weasley given I’m a medical professional in charge of your care".
"Well healer Granger I’ll not be divulging the dirtier details of my escapade as a gentleman does not kiss and tell. But in the interests of patient healer transparency, the shagging last night was so superb I’ll avada myself and willingly wear my aunt Tessie’s thong if I it means I’ll get to experience that again. What a night…".
Hermione snorted and a cackle of laugher escaped from her chest. She matched George’s grin fully this time. "Who’s the lucky witch then ? I pray you used a contraceptive charm as I reckon there’s enough Weasley grand children running around just now, plus Molly doesn’t need another pregnancy to worry about given that Ginny is about to pop and Fluer is one hormonal breakdown away from moving to France with bill and the kids"
"Please as if Fleur would move and miss out on my mother’s wonderful cooking, French cuisine is primitive in comparison, I mean even your patients think so, she’s clearly had second helpings to that pie" he pointed to the thumping coming from the floorboards below. It was louder now. She hoped Padma knew stronger air cleansing spells. "and it’s Gin’s third now so from my understanding of the birthing process the baby should slide right on out. To be frank with you I would save your contraception lecture for the boy who will not die and my baby sister".
Hermione stood arms crossed and nodded. George Weasley was making reasonable sense. It must be exhaustion. She glanced at the watch on her wrist and realised that she had been on shift for 14 hours straight and she hadn’t had a day off in three weeks. She had thrown herself into work following her breakup with Ron six months ago and Padma had told her yesterday before the night shift started that she was concerned that she would get a patronus any day informing her that hermoine had collapsed from burnout.
"Anyway the important thing to note is that the witch I slept with told me it was a one off. Mainly because she’s got a unique living situation and she wanted to keep me hush hush given the fact there’s a war on and she snuck me back home through some impressive family wards last night. Very impressive family wards there, you’d be impressed with them I’m sure. Anyway, I was in the process of trying to arrange another rendezvous at a later date and initiate round five of out of this world shagging when her mother came home unexpected from a trip abroad and I had to make a break for it. I climbed out of a window in this negligee as you aptly called it " he moved his hand towards the hem of the dressing gown and moved the fabric to cover the top of his thigh which was showing and made a effeminate movement of crossing one leg over the other while he spoke "making sure I took one of the bottles of premium fire whiskey we had been sampling with me. What I failed to realise was my witch is rather well off and lives on a lovely country estate with a ward radius of six maybe seven miles round her house?" He sighed and his eyes wandered off to a spot on the wall behind Hermione. He began talking more to himself. "And I walked for about an hour or two bare footed mind you and then it started raining. Quite heavily. And in the interest of my safety to keep me warm I just drank the entire bottle of Ogden’s before I ended up on the outer ward permitter. I had intended to apparate straight to my room but I kept thinking of how hungry I my mind wandered to my mothers exceptional culinary skill set, specifically a burnt yet undercooked cauliflower cheese she made the other day so that’s why I ended up in the vegetable garden I reckon?"
"Your witch?" Hermione smirked.
His eyes returned to hers and he smirked back. "She will be I’ll make sure of it. It’s just a little tricky as we have a bit of a past and it’s complicated to say the least"
"You complicated? Never In my life have I heard such tosh George", She stated sarcastically.
"Ouch Mione I’m wounded" a worried look appeared causing his brows to come together. "The complication is that it’s Angelina Johnson, you remember her from before the war don’t you?".
Hermione mirrored his look and shock spread through her face. She did remember Angelia Johnson. Specifically that she was dating Fred openly before war broke out and continued to date him in secret during the war until his death. Her parents hadn’t wanted her to date any one affiliated with the order as they wanted to stay nutreual but they had both kept meeting and Hermione remembered Fred had once spoken to her about proposals and rings telling her he had someone he wanted to marry once the war was over and the joke shop was back open. But Fred died and Angelina hadn’t come to the funeral and no one aside from the younger Weasley’s, Harry, Hermione and George knew of their relationship. And now George was standing in front of her in what she now realised was his dead twin brother’s widowed girlfriends dressing gown? The thought made her head hurt and if someone handed her a premium bottle of Ogden’s she would have drank the entire bottle too.
Hermione realised she was standing with her mouth open staring at one of the closest people to her in her life and she quickly shut her mouth and nodded. George sighed and rubbed his calloused hands over his face and sighed.
"Well then you’ll understand how truly fucked I am then physically and metaphorically. I might need to see one of those muggle mind healers you keep banging on about cause it’s likely I’m also fucked in the head".
"In my professional opinion Georgie boy I agree with your self diagnosis of fucked in all three areas."
"Great I feel much better now it’s official. I’ll be banking on that confidentiality stuff given we’ve had this discussion in your work, but I want her Mione as weird as it sounds It felt right being with her but she’s not sure. She started to spiral with guilt and then she called me Fred when she came that fourth time and it was just a bit much for us both and then her mum appeared and it was just a bit mental…."
Hermione tried her best not to react to that tidbit of information. She came four times? How was that possible? She had barely come twice from sex with Ron. If the man stood in front of her wasn’t like her brother she would have asked more about that for academic and professional purposes. Definitely not for any vested personal interest that’s for sure. Oh and the calling him Fred during an orgasm thing, but neither were appropriate given the circumstances so she just let him continue on.
"But I’ll not dwell on this any more as you’ll be finishing soon. You need to stop working so much by the way. Even my cheating arsehole of a brother just took a week off for him and Lav to lick each others faces at the house every second they got. It was more horrific than the time we saw hagrid kiss that giant woman from beauxbatons. If you could obliviate those interactions from my mind when you prescribe me a pepperup before I go today that would be great. A hangover potion would be grand as well. Just know I’ve kept my promise and I’m hoping that Kings and his cronies will forgive me for causing all this drama and not cancel Christmas. I reckon if they do we could all strike like those muggle miner people you told me about and we could like boycott the order? Collective bargaining and a united front isn’t that what we need? I’m sure even snake face will be sitting to a Christmas dinner, he’ll probably have bought that Nagini an advent calendar with boxes that open with rats and human limbs with all his death eater pals huddled round an antique table. I bet he’ll even wear one of those paper hats you get in a cracker".
The thought of Lord Voldemort in a paper Christmas hat breaking crackers with the Likes of Lucius Malfoy while ensuring his snake had a rat a day in the run up to Christmas didn’t sicken her as much as Ron licking lavenders face did. In fact if she had the choice between Christmas at the manor where she was tortured with the dark lord and blood purist terrorists and being in the same room with her ex and the woman he cheated on her with then she would chose voldy manor Christmas every time.
"While I empathise with your reasons for splinching and trust that you’ve kept your promise not to have a repeat of mirror gate 1998, until I’m certain that High Command won’t cancel Christmas because of your stupidity they’ll be no extra potions or special treatments for you today like obliviation. Now get your skinny arse home and apologise to your dad about the vegetables and do not under any circumstances mention your mothers cooking or that anyone has commented on it or I’ll tell her the dressing gown isn’t just a fashion statement and I’ll make her personally return it to its rightful owner."
He rolled his eyes and sighed "you drive a hard bargain healer Granger. If we ever make it out of this war alive you should be a negotiator at the ministry in a trade relations role, maybe even a defence councillor - the idea of my mother seeing my witch just now before I get to ravish her again makes me shudder." He forced his body to shake reinforcing his point. "I hope she has some healing lotions and balms I’m sure I’ve left a few love bites in some more public facing areas on her body, would you be able to recommend anything that would help with rope burn at all? A salve or something ? She was tied up for round three and some of round two so If you let me know what to buy I could owl her and then…. "
Hermione had heard quite enough. "Goodbye George wonderful as always please leave. CHARLIE HE’S HEALED GET HIM OUT OF HERE".
The elder Weasley swung open the door and entered, his worn dragon leather boots clicking across the floor as he walked. Hermoine’s gaze flickered over him and her mouth went a little dry. Of all the Weasley siblings Charlie and Hermione had spent the least time together. The infamous dragon rider was a mythical figure for most of her teenage years and appeared periodically through her time at hogwards at events like the tri wizard tournament and Bill’s fateful wedding. Given this the brotherly bond had not quite manfifested in the same way it had with the other Weasley men and Hermoine as well as every witch who had ever encountered Charlie Weasley simply fancied the pants off him.
As he stopped infront of her and his brother she recalled that while she had never called Charlie’s name out when having sex with Ron, he had featured in more than a few of her sexual fantasies. Some more recent than others now that she was newly single.
God she needed her bed.
"Morning Hermione, thanks for stitching him back up, mum said to ask you to pop into Harry and ginny’s this morning on the way home, something to do with Ginny having those ghost contractions again"
"Braxton hicks Charlie, they are phantom pains that feel like active labour- I’ll head out with you guys now, how’s your week been?"
Charlie threw her a familiar handsome, devilish smile that had her melting like a school girl every time it flashed her way. "It’s been alright, I just want back to Romania but it’s still not in the orders interests for me to go back to my dragons so here I am. Tried to convince Minerva to let me run a recon raid or two before Christmas at the lestrange estate again but she said there’s no point cause we’ll be so busy in January and the last of the missions are finishing up in the next few weeks. But you know me" he shrugged " I hate the waiting about. I reckon mum will have me baby sitting Georgina here till at least the new year " he said as he pointed to George who shoved him with his uninjured arm while retightening the belt on his dressing gown "so that should keep me going… what’s that smell by the way? Is it the pipes?" He glanced to the floor and covered his nose, his face screwing up slightly at the smell of Morag.
"It’s mums bean and mince pie mate can’t you tell" George jibed with another wicked grin. Hermione swotted his injured arm causing him to flinch and she began to exit the room.
"I’ll head over to number 12 now and see how she’s coming along - make sure your darling brother here gets home safe and don’t let him apparate unaccompanied for at least a week". Hermione knew that currently George could apparate to France and back with the bandages and stitches at no risk to himself but they both didn’t need to know that.
"Godric Griffindor George a week? Fuck me …." Hermione choked on a laugh as she made her way to the apparition point.
Chapter 2: 12 Grimmauld Place
Notes:
More world building and an insight into the Order and the lives of key characters.
This chapter was written on a iPhone so please bear with me while I re edit it and amend the spelling and formatting errors.
Let me know what you think so far! Stay tuned for the next chapter …
Chapter Text
Still 2 December 2002
Hermione apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place and stood rooted in the street as she watched the bricks dismantle and move making room for the heavy front door to appear. She never failed to be impressed by magic. Even after all these years it still left her in awe that a victorian town house as large as number 12 could appear with such vigor without its muggle neighbours even batting an eyelid. As she approached the steps the door swung open and Kreacher hobbled out from behind it grumbling to himself about her appearance but she was sure any insults were vailed jabs about her blood status. She didn’t mind as much as Kreacher was entitled to his views. Harry had tried a few times to free him but he kept insisting he would end his elf life or worse. Despite her aspirations with SPEW Hermione understood the severity of the life bond elves took and none took it as seriously as Kreacher did. His devotion to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was awe inducing. At least now when she asked something of him or tried to help him with chores or cooking meals he was more responsive and didn’t pointedly ignore her or explicitly insult her blood status.
12 Grimmauld and the Burrow were the main order head quarters where operations had been running since her fourth year at school. With Harry and Ginny now the main occupants at the house, the Burrow with its new location, larger space and ever expanding rooms was where larger meetings were held. The wards had increased and security tightened so that only high ranking order members and family could visit the properties following the ambush at Fleur and Bill’s wedding and the near apparition of a death eater to Grimmauld before the trio had gone on the run post Gringotts. While they had been concerned that Yaxley had breached the property at the time they had later learned the blood magic in the wards was strong and prohibited admission to anyone who wished harm on its occupants or who wasn’t a direct descendant of the Black blood line. Hermione had found this out looking at ledgers of occupants and visitors from when Sirius had resided there with Lupin during the first war, and the only time Wormtail could get entry into the property was if he side alonged with Sirius himself and if he meant no harm. The property had begun to block his entry after he pledged his allegiance to Voldemort, unbeknownst to the Marauders and the Order who thought it was a prank or the likes. After being barred from the property by the house magic and the fidelius charms on the building Wormtail could never remember where Grimmauld was located or even what the house looked like. It reassured Hermione somewhat knowing this magical barrier was in place and she had spent many a night in the Black library on the second floor researching intention lines and familial blood wards whenever she had a night off.
She removed her coat and bag and stood at the bottom stairs of the house and listening to the bustle and chaos inside. It was eight thirty in the morning and the house was already busy. Teddy Lupin and James Potter could be heard stomping around the upper levels, two boisterous children born during a war, fighting over a toy broomstick by the sound of things. Teddy had turned four that April and having only known his mother and father for a month of his life he now spent every weekend with his grandmother Andromeda and week days with Ginny and Harry. Despite being his godfather Harry made no distinction, making sure that Teddy was being brought up with James, Albus and pending Potter number 3. While him and James shared a room Hermione knew that there were plans to expand on the many guest rooms of the property and give Teddy his own.
Her heart was heavy every time she thought of Teddy and his parents. Tonks and Lupin missed so much of his growing up from his first tooth to potty training which had been equal parts hilarious and traumatising. He was the spitting image of his father but had inherited his mother’s metamorphagus abilities and his hair would often change colour and style to mimic the person he was most enamoured with that day. Hermione always treasured when his hair would amass into rolls of wiley brown curls like her own. It was the purest way a four year old could tell you they loved you.
James Sirius Potter was born the 17th of December in 1998, a month early to everyone’s worry. He entered into the world screaming and demanding the attention of everyone in the room and he hadn’t stopped since. His fourth birthday was fast approaching and the memories of his sticky body being shoved into Hermione’s hands while the elder witches of the order attended to Ginny immediately after the birth was ingrained into her soul. She remembered holding his tiny body close staring into his green eyes and sticky mop of black hair wondering how something so perfect had entered the world in such trying times. Harry had been on a mission in Wiltshire and wasn’t due back until the end of the month, but when a patronus arrived mid mission informing him that Ginny’s labour had peaked, he had broken at least twenty Order protocols and apparated straight to the order hospital where he fainted as soon as he saw James’s head lodged in between Ginny’s legs. Hermione had been by her side for support during the three day labour and was named James’ god mother the moment Ginny had found out she was expecting. No one ever let Harry forget that the boy who could stomach troll bogeys had fainted at the sight of his son entering the world.
Too his credit when Albus Severus was born on 23rd November 1999 (Hermione had rather enjoyed educating the order on the muggle phrase Irish twins much to Harry’s chargrin) he managed to stay conscious for the entire ordeal. Now as James’ fourth birthday approached the Potter’s were expecting their third child, due in the February of 2003. With Ginny’s predispition for early births Hermione, Molly, Padma and Andromeda were on high alert. While the other Order medical staff had gained experience in rudimentary areas of healing, the elder women had shown Hermione and Padma everything they knew about childbirth. Between the four of them they served as un official order midwives.
Hermione entered into the dark kitchen and saw a very pregnant Ginny attempting to feed a vexed Albus weetabix. While James was a carbon copy of his father Albus resembled more of his mother, namely his hair was a darker shade of ginger and his eyes a bright blue with hues of green speckled through them. He was currently splayed on the floor on his back refusing to eat a banana, sobbing at the injustice of being awoken so early to be fed. Seeing how tired Hermoine was at that movement, she could fully understand the need to scream and writhe on the floor in protest.
"Look Albie your Aunty Mione is here will you be a good boy and stop crying for mummy please and eat your weetabix?" Ginny tried to reason in a soothing tone.
"NO NO NO MUMMY NO " came the reply.
"Oh well I tried" Ginny muttered to herself "tea Hermione? Whiskey even? It’s five o’clock somewhere surely?"
"I’d better not Gin if I start now I won’t stop, anyway I’m just in to check that baby Potter hasn’t made an appearance, I hear the Braxton hicks have started?"
Ginny stood and made her way to the sink grabbing a rag to remove the remnants of what looked like a smashed up banana from her top. After depositing it into the sink, her hands wrapped protectively around her protruding stomach. Hermione’s eyes scanned her from top to toe and she made a mental note of Ginny’s eye bags and the paper thinness of her skin around her eyes and mouth. She also noticed her swollen ankles but made a mental not note to comment on that due to how far along and hormonal she was. During her pregnancy with Albus her mother had commented on her weight gain during her last trimester and due to a “completely innocent bout of accident hormonal magic” Molly had ended up having green hair for two days.
It was easy to forget that when she first realised she was pregnant with James, Ginny was 16, two months away from her 17th birthday. Harry had turned 18 in the July of 1998 but he was still only 17 when Hermione had cast the pregnancy charm for Ginny and him in the pantry of the Burrow kitchen at the end of May 1998. A muggle pregnancy test also revealed Ginny was four weeks gone:
Ginny and Harry both waited until Ginny began to show before announcing, and at the time it felt like the Battle of Hogwarts again. Arthur, Bill, Charlie and Ron had confronted Harry at the Burrow and communications had broken down rather quickly leading to around 40 severe hexes and at least one unforgivable being thrown at Harry while Ginny and her mother sobbed at the Burrow kitchen table following the reveal. George had started sending patronuses to the order taking bets on the baby’s sex and on whether Harry could cheat death for a third time.
A decision was made to host an “intimate” wedding at the Burrow in the garden the day after Ginny turned 17. She and Harry were bonded together for life on the 12th of August 1998 barely three months after the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione knew that despite their lax views the Weasley’s were still a pure blood family and marriage and lineage were just as important to them as it was to the families in the Sacred 28.
Four years later the Potter’s were still expanding with Teddy in the mix. Hermoine felt a pang of jealousy at the life they had forged for themselves given the circumstances. Yes there had been fights and many an occasion in the early years of their marriage when Harry would be turfed out to kip on a random couch at an Order safe house. There were also nights when Ginny would appear in Hermione’s living room at three am, livid and red faced in tears screaming about Harry’s idiocy and his innate need to prioritise everyone’s lives before his own. As time passed and they grew together, the couple found their way through the war and chaos of raising a small family. Even at 22 and 21 they both had a loving, kind relationship where they treated each other with an adoration and love that Hermione envied. Whenever she looked hard enough at them she was reminded of her parents. It was in the quiet moments, when they shared a soft caress when they thought no one was looking or when Harry rubbed her feet after a long day running after the boys, she knew that love existed.
She had wanted that softness and adoration with Ron but it never came despite them both trying. They were both too different.
Things had deteriorated until he had strayed from the relationship going back to his "first love" who was now seven month pregnant. The fact that Ron had only separated from Hermione six months ago was an unspoken betrayal in the Order everyone was aware of and whenever Lavender’s pregnancy was discussed Hermione left the room or busied herself with whatever she could so she did not have to engage in the conversation. It was no coincidence however that Molly and Andromedea oversaw all of her midwife visits and it was likely Hermione would be no where near that birth when the time came if it could be helped. Every time an interaction with them occurred she was washed with waves of shame and embarrassment. The only boyfriend she had ever had didn’t even respect her enough to end the relationship.
She and Ron had spoken about children when they first got together caught up in a relationship which bloomed in the middle of what they hoped would have been the final battle. In the first few months whenever Ron was sober, which albeit wasn’t often, things were tentative but good. They were still exploring the intimate and romantic side of their friendship and for a while it had all blurred together. Hermione had wanted to wait until she was older, or at least until the war had finished before having kids. She was truly happy for her friends and respected their choices to pro create, but in the first few years of the war she was sure a baby would complicate things and she still dreamed of a career in magical creatures protection or working as some hot shot defence lawyer for the ministry advocating for those in the outdated wizarding legal system who deserved justice. But the Order needed more healers and the war did not end in 1998. It was 2002 and things were much the same. People were in hiding, muggles and magical folk were disappearing. Death eaters and snatchers still organised attacks creating a constant atmosphere of fear dread which seemed to permeate everything. Hogwarts had fallen again and was back under the control of the ministry and Voldemort only allowing pure bloods and neutral parties to attend. Intel had suggested a small number of muggle borns had been admitted that September so the other students could practice the dark arts on them but Hermione couldn’t think of that just now. She couldn’t think about small children born with magic in a world where they didn’t fit in getting their acceptance letters at eleven only to be tortured by their peers for their dirty blood. She couldn’t think on the fact she probably would never qualify as a lawyer or make a difference in the world of magical creatures. She would probably just remain a healer until she died in this brutal war. She couldn’t see herself being a girlfriend or lover again… the dating pool on this side of the war was minuscule already. As for children and being a mother …
She couldn’t admit that at the beginning of the 2002 she quietly removed her muggle contraceptive and had been secretly hopeful that she and Ron would fall pregnant despite the obvious relationship issues and incompatibility. She had decided on the third anniversary of her parents death life was too short and that at 22 she was still young, but she craved the family life that Harry and Ginny had and she wanted to love and be loved in the same way her mother had loved her. She knew it was selfish and in hindsight she and Ron should have spoken about it, but by the time she had tried to broach the conversation, Ron was telling her about Lavender being a month gone, and there was no need to embarrass herself further after he told her he didn’t want to be with her anymore and was moving into the safe house flat Lavender Brown shared with Parvarati Patil. They hadn’t been having sex regularly and the few times they had tried that year had not proved fruitful.
It was for the best anyway she thought as she spent her twenty third birthday alone that September as it wouldn’t have been fair to bring a baby into the world during the war , or into her failing relationship. Her thoughts strayed again to Teddy Lupin and his parents gone too soon. Her heart cracked at the injustice of it. As the end of the year approached she resigned herself to her roles as a healer, strategist, aunt and god mother. She made peace with the fact that if she never became a mother she could just about live with that. She could go without her career if it meant she died keeping the people she loved alive. She was fine never falling in love or being loved the way Harry and Ginny and her parents loved, she had enough love from her friends and chosen family. She was the last Granger left, and everyone had more to loose compared to her. She was sure if she died tomorrow crooks would be looked after by Harry and would at least torment him with whatever time the old boy had left. Not everyone got to live their dreams after all. Life didn’t work out that way. She would take what she could get.
She could admit though that she missed sex. And she would like to have that at least once or twice more before she died. She’d even be open to an orgasm even if she had to do the work herself. Karmically given all the good she had done for the muggle and wizarding world up to this point in her life she didn’t think this was wholly unattainable based on the balance of probabilities.
Ginny groaned and leaned on the sink for support and Hermione was by her side in an instant casting diagnostics.
"This girl has been the worst pregnancy yet Mione. It’ll be the last one I swear, no more. If Harry Potter and his chosen cock thinks he’s getting near my vagina ever again he has another thing coming".
"When is the chosen cock due back from his mission? He’s been away for two weeks now?’
"It was meant to be two but he offered to stay an extra week to help cover leaving me here yet again. He has an aversion to the word no I swear. He’s due back a few days before James’ birthday, but who knows with these things. As long as he is here before Christmas I’ll be happy and I won’t stab him with that cursed tea strainer we found upstairs. Are you still coming to ours if George hasn’t completely fucked it with his antics?”
"I have a shift in the morning at the hospital but I’ll be there if they don’t cancel it I promise" Hermione finished reading the spell which floated above Ginny’s stomach and manouvered the witch to a sitting position, walking over the screaming albus still laid out on the floor. "Plus I’ve had no word that Coven Night is cancelled on Friday so maybe they’ll just ground the men?”
Coven Nights was a term that in the early days of the war the women of the Order had coined for what could only be called “witch only nights”. It had started in the first war with Lily Potter, Mary McDonald, Marlene McKinnon and Alice Long Bottom meeting every few months before the war had started. When everyone went into hiding they refused to miss out on seeing one and other and secretly met once a month near the full moon when everyone was distracted by Lupin and his transformation. Molly and Minevra had told the girls about it and encouraged them to meet and so on the first night of Luna, Padma, Hermione and Ginny getting together they had drank two elf wine bottles each and danced around in their comfortable clothes to muggle radio and christened the nights “Coven nights”. Over the months a few other witches popped in and out including Molly, Andromeda, and the one and only: Minevra McGonagall. The former headmistress was a hoot especially after a hot toadie firewhiskey or two. Hermione revelled on the nights when the older women joined the girls for a few hours and the stories they told from their lives about the last war, men, sex, politics and SEX… the children of war were indeed very sheltered.
From Hermione’s understanding the boys on the order their age had their own night once every six months but the coven met monthly without fail and tended the get roaring drunk, cry and eat copious amounts of muggle takeaway. They key reason Coven nights were allowed was due to the fact Minerva had insisted every order woman who was willing to attend had to take an unbreakable vow and the location rotated so no one knew where the illegal port keys would take them till they got there. Luna was in charge of organising Coven Night locations. More notable nights had been held in a dingy caravan on a beach on the west coast of Scotland and a five star hotel room in Muggle London. The stories and hilarity at Coven Nights would be enough to put the hairs on your body on end, but they were the highlight of everyone’s month.
“Let the wizards pretended they are the best fighters, shaking their wands comparing sizes” Minevra said one night after trying a jaeger bomb. “ It’s us witches keeping the Order going just like the last time. If you know who was a woman, none of this would have ever happened …”.
As she pondered Minevra’s words she could see her point. Even Hermione was a senior order member out ranking even Harry due to her analytical mind. Hermione had often pushed harder for Coven Nights and as a result Alastor and Kingsley had only cancelled it a handful of times during horrifically awful points in the war. Even the dark wizard hunter seemed to be fine sanctioning the women to meet. Hell hath no fury like a witch who was scorned….
Ginny winced as she twisted back to the sink. “I’m recommending bed rest for you going forward, I’ll come and stay for the remainder of the pregnancy and I’ll see if Luna can come over when I’m at work to help you with the boys while Harry’s away".
Hermione kissed the top of Ginny’s head before lifting the screaming Albus off the floor and throwing him over her shoulder, satisfied that the braxton hicks were nothing more serious and that baby Potter would not “slide right out” of Ginny onto the kitchen floor as George had so delicately described. As she ascended upstairs to deal with the two older boys still arguing over the toy broomstick she called back to Ginny.
"I’ll start by getting this monster back down for a power nap and I’ll make sure that Teddy and James haven’t killed each other. Please stop and make yourself a cuppa. I want you to lie down in a dark room somewhere with a muffalito on the door. Hell, treat yourself and throw on a disillusionment for good measure. Healer Granger’s orders now off you go" she motioned gesturing to the downstairs sitting room.
"What would I do without you healer Granger" Ginny called back with a tired smile.
Chapter 3: Socks and unexpected guests.
Chapter Text
STILL Monday the 2nd of December 2002.
*********************
That evening Ginny and Hermione sat on the couch listening to George and Dean’s evening radio broadcast on a low setting while Ginny dosed. The pre recorded radio show aired three times a week and gave regular updates on the war and general news, with a ten minute entertainment section at the end. Tonights feature was a comedic skit where they mimicked notorious Death Eaters. The main focus of the episode was Dean and George doing scarily accurate impressions of Lucius Malfoy getting his hair brushed and plaited by Corbain Yaxley while discussing what colour or robes to wear before they headed out on a mission. It was a toss up between midnight death black and opium black.
Merlin help them if they were ever kidnapped for the other side.
The day had been longer than Hermione would have liked. She had remained awake post night shift helping wrangle the children while Ginny rested. Luna had appeared mid afternoon and had taken them all to the illegally extended back garden for a few hours, explaining the key differences between Wrackspurts and Nargels while she encouraged them to bury mismatched socks in the garden. An auspicious welcome for unexpected guests apparently.
Hermoine wasn’t sure if James, Albus or Teddy really understood the monologues about wrackspurts vs nargles, and she had zoned out at the sight of the odd socks but the kids seemed to enjoy digging in the dirt. The three women had managed to take a child each for bath and bedtime and Luna had left promising to return the following day with more odd socks to bury.
Out of nowhere just as her eyes were falling shut, the loud crack of apparition sounded through the house accompanied by a large crashing noise resembling dishes and glass smashing? The piercing caterwauling alarms began to blast through the house and Hermione’s breath caught; fear and dread coursed through her body.
Someone had breached the wards. Non order members were in the house with the children upstairs. As she ran from the room with Ginny behind her she turned and pushed her towards the staircase so that she could protect the boys. She wondered if this was how Lily Potter felt, red hair bounding upwards to protect her son while James stood infront of the Dark Lord. Except Harry wasn’t here…. Harry Fucking wasn’t here…James and Lily were dead and this wasn’t Godric’s Hollow …. this was Grimmauld and the children… James, Albus, Teddy… FUCK.
Ginny tried to protest not wanting Hermione left alone and tried to grab her but Hermione screamed and forced her up the stairs casting some defensive wards that would delay anyone from breaching the first landing for at least twenty minutes. Hermoine knew that on each level there were porkeys set up for if ever Grimmauld was breached and she hoped Ginny would be able to take all three boys herself. Hermoine had to stall and ensure they were safe, she couldn’t loose them too she had to protect them she had swore it, she had to protect the children….
She summoned Kreacher screaming at him to bring Harry and the Order to the house and ran straight towards the commotion coming from the back dining room which was historically used for hosting pure bloods for evening meals. She used to stand in the room and imagine stuffy prim aristocratic members of the Black family stiffly eating meals there while discussing who was next to be burned off the wall upstairs and the vermin that were mudbloods and squibs.
The room was often sealed shut as Harry had taken to filling it with masses of antiques and dark artifcats he and Ginny had wanted to get rid off as they expanded in the house and made it into a home. Unlike the muggle world, there wasn’t a local magical recycling centre for dark objects and benign outdated victorian antiques collected by psychotic pure blood families for generations. When she had last entered the room a month or so ago to help Harry hide a cursed whiskey decanter, she nearly tripped and fell into an aged wardrobes with a mirror on it that would alter your reflection to depict you wearing the finest Victorian silks and robes of the 1900s all while kicking over mass piles of crockery with accompanying glassware. Kreacher had taken great offence to the masses of Black artifacts being hoarded in the room so had spent whatever free time he had organising it where he could, leaving the middle of the floor clear and polished. Despite the well organised and clean clutter that lined the walls of the room it was still big enough to host at least twenty people for a three course meal. If Hermione was being honest you could probably also magically dangle muggles from the ceiling and crucio them between courses without ever feeling claustrophobic due to the ornate high ceilings. The perfect room really if you were a blood supremacist and into that sort of thing.
She shuddered to think what the bloody walls of the house of Black had seen in its time.
As she continued to propel towards the dining room manoeuvring her way through the gothic kitchen, three cracks simultaneously sounded behind her she saw Neville, Ron and Harry appear.
"WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY KIDS HERMIONE" Harry’s guttural scream reverbated in the walls.
"WITH GINNY WE NEED TO MOVE NOW THEY ARE IN THIS ROOM" Hermione fell back allowing Ron Harry and Neville to push past and blast open the door as more cracks began to sound. Charlie. George. Luna. Padma. Each order member appearing as agreed protocol dictated.
As they all entered the room Hermione fell in between Neville and Harry with Ron to Harry’s right. The four of them standing wands ready taking the threat in. Nothing could have prepared her for the sights that stood before her.
In the middle of the room infront of the fancy robe wardrobe, to the right of a console table which caused everyone but pure bloods to start conversing in fluent Welsh when they touched it stood the last four indivuduals Hermione had ever expected to see in this lifetime.
On the left stood Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin girl from their year with blood and grime-splattered across her face, velvet robes ripped with fresh blood seeped in splotches all over them. Her hands were also stained red. From what she could remember she had a younger sister both with pale blond locks similar to Luna’s with the same piercing blue eyes and waif like build around the face. She look malnourished and terrified but Hermione was reassured that the blood coating her face and body was not from an open wound on Daphne. The bruising on her face showed that several injuries were fresh and some weeks old, a tapestry of black and purple. She stood both arms clinging to the robes on the arm of the man that stood beside her: Theodore Nott.
He was stood bolt upright, covered in fresh blood. His black curls damp and stuck to his face. Bright blue eyes scanning his former classmates with disbelief and awe, like he couldn’t believe he was standing in the dumping ground dining room of the Black home in front of his former classmates. He was wearing a Death Eater uniform, smart and clean, his robes in remarkably better shape than Daphne’s. It was impossible to miss his silver death mask hanging low on his chest. A clear sign that a lieutenant of a Death Eater battalion stood in their midst. Hermione noticed the bottom of his robes were singed, burnt and crisp. Hermione worked her eyes back up his body. His hands were covered in leather gloves, also covered in blood. Following back to his face she on the two bloody puncture holes on his cheek along with the yellow puss was flowing from the wound. Hermoine tried to remember what she could about Theodore Nott but all she could focus on was that he was a strategist for the other side and a good one. His battalion ran successful raids and intel reports had shown his father was an Original Voldemort supporter form his days at Hogwarts, a notorious man known for his cruelty and torture towards those of lesser blood and women.
Her eyes flicked along again to the man being held up by Theodore Nott. The man was limp, his head hanging, fresh blood pooling around his feet seeping into the gleaming floor. He was barely conscious. His robes were the same as Nott’s uniform indicating a second Death Eater lieutenant stood in their midst. Notably there were slashes in the fabric, large sections of the expensive material were ripped and singed, hard welts and burns on his skin smoke still rising from them. Hermione knew the man needed medical attention quickly but protocol stated that healing could only begin once on casualties once it was safe to do so and there was no threat.
Given the presence of Daphne and Nott, she deduced that the barely conscious man in front of her was probably Blaise Zabini, another Slytherin with Italian heritage and a mother with a notorious husband count. Hermione had growing concerns about his injuries and his ebony skin held a grey tinge to it. Having a high ranking enemy lieutenant die on your watch could prompt blame and retaliation for the already depleting Order. However two Death Eaters and a pure blood princess in an Order Safe house was specifically why these functions were in place.
The smell of burning flesh and the pooling blood from Zabini’s body caused her stomach to churn and the familiar urge to retch bile from deep within her threatened to take over. Before she could think on it further her eyes landed on the fourth figure standing in Harry’s shite store dining room and the feeling of sickness and panic over the man bleeding out infront of her quadrupled.
There before her, one arm holding up the rest of Blaise, a mass bundle of what appeared to be blankets in his other arm stood Draco Lucius Malfoy.
Time stood still. Their eyes met and her heart literally stopped. In the safety of the most protected Order safe house stood one of the most notorious Death Eater’s in the history of both wars. The boy who breached Hogwarts, her childhood bully and tormentor …. The Slytherin king … one of the highest ranking Generals in the Dark Lord’s army….
Panic began to rise and overwhelm her. How was this possible ? How on earth they breach the wards? What was wrapped in his arms? None of it made sense….
The caterwauling alarm stopped abruptly and there was ringing in her ears from the loudness of the alarm. The deafening silence filled the room for what was only a few seconds but the reverberating silent echo of the alarms thrummed for what she felt like an eternity. The only thing that could be heard were heavy breaths from Zabini which at this point were raspy and low. That was until Ron raised his wand pointed it straight at Malfoy and screamed "AVADA-…"
It was pure instinct. Magic pulsed though her thrumming in her bones causing her to levitate off the ground for half a second. Her hair frizzed and cracked at the ends and her fingertips. Every ounce of magical essence swept through her body down her right arm through her wand, pointing in the direction of Ronald Weasley.
A purple streak of raw pulsing magic shot towards him causing his wand to fly through the air and clink against a wall, while his body was propelled against the ceiling. A splat was heard and everyone’s heads followed the movement as his body flew to the ceiling with so much force Hermione worried she cracked his skull when he smashed into the ornate coving. His arms and legs were splayed at odd angles. In her minds eye Hermione could see the parallels between a bug colliding on a car windscreen and her ex boyfriend splayed above all in the room.
She glanced around at the members around her, a challenge in her eyes daring them all to speak. There was a mix of reactions. Harry looked from the ceiling towards her eyes narrowed in disbelief his wand still raised towards the Death Eaters. George and Charlie had manic grins on their faces looking at Hermione in awe. Neville had remained focused on the threat in front of them, eyes serious and focused. His only tell was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. An attempt not to laugh. Luna was staring calmly eyes trained on Daphne with a gentle smile on her face, as if she had bumped into an old friend who she hadn’t seen for some time. It was impossible to tell if she had even registered what had happened, but that was Luna Lovegood.
Padma raised her eyebrow, unsuccessful at hiding a smirk, her eyes moving quickly back to the former classmates, specifically Zabini’s lifeless body. She too was probably assessing the physical damage trying to resist the healers urge to help and treat his wounds until the threat had been assessed. Hermione valued Padma Patil more than most and over the last four years she had become Hermione’s closest friend.
They had both joined the Order and had trained together. While her sister was chummy with Lavender, Padma knew where her bread was buttered and had been a loyal friend to Hermione though their breakup and if she was being honest Padma never got over what a horrific date Ron had been at the Yule ball. She had repeatedly asked Hermione if she had been imperiused when they began dating and at first she assumed Padma was joking and being uncessarily mean. After finding out about his infidelity and the horrific breakup Hermione now with hindsight understood Padma concerns.
"What the fuck just happened" spoke a voice. Hermione looked back at the troupe infront of her and the question had been spoken by Nott. Hermione saw a grin eerily similar to Charlie and George’s etched across his face. "Did the brightest witch of her age just stick the Weasel King to the ceiling or has that bloody snake venom started to hit my blood stream?”
George spoke up cheerfully in reply. "She’s always sticking him to the wall, this will be the fourth time in as many months".
Hermoine blinked. By her count this was the third time she had stuck Ron to a wall since they’re breakup. But that was semantics. She was more interested in Nott. What snake? Had he been bitten by a snake? Brightest witch of her age? What on earth was this blood supremacist spouting? did he just compliment her? She snapped her head to look at Harry and Neville and she closed her mouth realising it had dropped open in sheer shock at the unexpected compliment and joy on Nott’s face.
Harry pointed his wand to Nott but his eyes held firm with Malfoy’s. They both refused to look away. "Give us one reason why we shouldn’t end you Nott".
"Because boy who expelliarmused, we are here to parlay” He replied in what appeared to be a genuine tone.
George and Charlie both howled laughs behind Hermione. She would schedule a briefing for them both not to engage with the enemy in any capacity in the future, however witty they were.
Nott’s words made her face scrunch and she focused her eyes on him, perplexed at his words. "Did you just say parlay?"
"Fuck I can’t believe you’ve just spoken to me miss Granger, the honour is mine. I shall introduce myself properly once I am less preoccupied" he inclined his head to Daphne on one side, Blaise and Malfoy on the other. "but yes we are here to parlay as one does in these situations"
From behind her Padma spoke " what on earth is he talking about?".
"Ah miss Patil! Gods you are as radiant as ever. Parlay, that is what I’m talking about and what we are here to do. If you wouldn’t mind not firing any spells at me while I reach into my back pocket and withdraw something to show we mean business regarding this parlay? I have tried to follow protocol as best would allow” Nott asked hopefully eyes scanning the order members surrounding him. “there’s a war on you see and …”
Harry spoke then "keep your hands where we can see them Nott or I’ll curse you quicker than you can blink".
Hermione tried again "what do you mean parlay? What’s in your pocket?".
Nott sighed. Hermoine got the impression he couldn’t be bothered with being held with wand point a second longer and by the look of him and his rag tag band of Slytherins this was the last thing he needed to be dealing with today. To an extent the sleep deprived Hermione Granger could agree.
"In my pocket lies a white flag, well it’s actually a ivory venetian silk pillow case but the sentiment is there and I for the life of me could not find anything a lighter shade of white, it’s too clinical you see washes out a room and is reflective of a more Scandinavian style, Circe could you imagine?” Hermione was sure she saw some colour fade from his face at the thought and he physically winced.
"We want to parlay with you lovely Order lot and surrender. An important part of this was to wave a white flag but since I’m to keep my hands where you can see them please imagine me waving the flag in the form of the ivory pillow case in my back pocket” his eyes narrowed they flitted along each Order member and upon registering the varying degrees of confusion and disbelief on their faces he sighed heavily and he turned his head to look at Malfoy "are you sure this white flag nonsense and talk of a parlay was the correct etiquette to engage in when you try and switch sides Draco ? I get the distinct impression they haven’t a clue what I’m talking about, even Granger seems confused and she’s meant to be the smart one"
Everyone turned to look at Malfoy whose eyes were still locked with Harry’s. He spoke through gritted teeth "I. Told. You. To. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. And. Let. Me. Handle. This. You. Prick."
Nott legitimately scoffed dramatically at his response. Hermione’s eyes flicked between the two men and then she made contact with Daphne who looked like she was about to collapse with stress. Hermione was sure she had the same look on her face when George had shown up earlier in that pink dressing gown. What the fuck was happening?
"You’re always so rude Draco your mother would be ashamed of your lack of manners. What foul language, beyond vulgar I’m just trying to show initiative and your giving our lovely friends at the Order such an awful impression " he returned his gaze to Hermione and the group infront of him. "Ignore my dear friend Malfoy he’s had a cunt of a day to say the least. He’s only this unfriendly 90 percent of the time but I assure you he’s rather tolerable the rest. To cut a very long story short it’s your lucky day. We are here to parlay. We want to defect and join the light and would like to officially pledge our allegiance to the great Order of the Phoenix and whatever other creatures you worship and help aid your war efforts. Please let us know if you accept as soon as possible before Blaise here dies in your stunning dining room. Merlin the decor in here is…." Nott gazed upwards taking in the ceiling and chandelier.
"Malfoy speak quickly and clearly before Zabini bleeds out on the floor" Hermione interrupted Nott’s ramblings. "Also a parlay is something pirates do. Either attack us or hurry this along as I cannot cope with Kreacher’s ramblings if he needs to remove a dead body we won’t hear the end of it for weeks”
"Kreacher? Oh Narcissa will be positively overjoyed to hear the gentle soul is still alive. She always talks about how pleasant he was to her as a child, won’t she be glad Draco!” Nott exclaimed.
Malfoy exhaled a breath and re adjusted the blankets in his arms. "We have defected we need help from the order this is our surrender. We’ve killed the snake but he’s made another horcrux and he’s got something else in the works, it’s bad"
"Where’s your proof" asked Harry. "How do we know this is not a trick and you’re not here to kill us all" his wand angled higher and he stepped forward towards Malfoy stabbing the wand into his cheek.
A smile slowly spread across Malfoy’s face, a cold hard one that made her hair on her arms stand on end.
“If I wanted you dead Potter it would have been done along time ago”.
The tension in the room heightened and the temperature dropped, a cold chill swept up Hermione’s spine. Harry stood taller and pushed his wand harder into Malfoy’s face twisting it in his skin, but still Malfoy didn’t flinch. Hermione hadn’t missed the fact that not a single one of the intruders had wands in sight. As far as she could tell they were all unarmed.
“I don’t care what you do to me Potter” Malfoy spat. “but we’ve come here for help. You need to help us….. you need to help…” he rasped his eyes flicking to the blankets in his arms “Theo show them… "
Nott nudged Daphne and she slowly put her hand in a handbag hidden under her robes. She whispered a spell and with some impressive wandless magic the severed head of Nagini the snake dropped onto the dining room floor infront of Neville Longbottom’s feet. During the battle he had summoned the sword of Griffindor and had maimed the snake after Hagrid had brought Harry’s lifeless body from the woods. After he had struck and the snake yowled like the animal it was, the earth shook, the ground split open in two and Voldemort had screamed for a retreat apparating with the snake.
Malfoy’s voice echoed through the room breaking the stunned silence as everyone processed what was in front of them.
"There’s your precious snake Potter and proof we mean no harm. Now fucking help Zabini or I’ll kill you and everyone in this house myself”.
For a second the world was still. It was too much to comprehend. The snake was dead. How had this happened?
Out of the corner of her eye Hermione noticed the blankets in Malfoy’s arm move and her eyes travelled down to above Malfoy’s thighs where two small feet dangled. Small feet in shiny black brogues.
There was a child hidden in Malfoy’s arm under what Hermione had assumed to be blankets or a bundle of robes. A child no bigger than Albus from what she could see.
If you were to ask Hermione in the weeks to come what came over her in that singular moment she would have said she reacted on pure instinct. Within seconds she had pushed past Neville, expelled Harry’s wand from his hand and shoved her own into the back pocket of her aged jeans. She stood tall and firm infront of Malfoy and the child under the blankets and assessed him.
His hair was stained pink with blood, and similar to Nott his robes were saturated with it. She catalogued a deep cut that stretched from under his ear to his Adam’s apple. He looked similar to Nott in the same uniform the only difference being he had a gold skull pin and mask attached to his robes-something that showcased his higher rank. The skin around his eyes was tinged blue and paper thin, his eyes hollowed into his skull. Despite the clear look of exhaustion on his face he had grown since she had last saw him at Hogwarts. He was tall and built, full of muscle and strength that could be seen from his stature and the width of his neck. She stared up at him and took in the gaunt haunted look on his face and for a moment it felt like she was transported though time and they were back in sixth year, eyes meeting across the Great Hall, Malfoy with that same haunted empty look. Despite the time that had passed his marble skin was as pale and clear as ever and if she squinted she could see a light stubble across his jaws and cheeks.
She tentatively moved out her hand slowly towards the top of the blankets. As she reached forward to make contact he pulled back a little, an ever so slight move, almost loosing his grip on Blaise who was now barely breathing.
"You can trust me I promise…. I won’t allow the child to be harmed" she whispered loud enough for only him to hear. “You have my word Malfoy”.
His grey eyes bore into hers and she could see the deep cloud of despair, desperation, anger, death and loathing swirling in the pools of his eyes. His pupils were blown wide and dribbles of sweat had begun to run down his face. She could see his jaw tensing as he gritted his teeth and as the daughter of dentist she feared if he clenched any harder they would snap in his mouth. Hermione’s hands hovered in place did not move until he blinked at her slowly twice, glancing down to his arms signalling for her to remove the blanket.
“Hermione don’t…" Harry said but Neville spoke loud, with the usual venom in his voice. Over the previous months he had become more and more irate with Harry and his subordination given that Harry had been acting increasingly reckless on missions and had refused orders from Neville just the week before.
“Shut the fuck up Harry. Do not move and do not question your superior. Can someone confirm that they heard me direct that order to Harry?” Neville called to this behind him.
“Affirmative Nev” Padma responded.
“Thanks Pads” Neville’s attention returned to Harry. “You and that spineless prick on the ceiling know aswell as I do there’s a child in Malfoy’s arms. Not another word from you now. Hermione, what do you need?”
Hermione took a breath. Her mind began to whirl, knowing that Neville was giving her the lead on this. While she had been too focused on the injuries infront of her Nev had made sure she realised that both Harry and Ron had seen the little feet of the child before her. Another reprimand she would have to dole out at the debrief. Fantastic.
Her eyes still holding with Malfoy’s she grabbed the heavy blankets from the top of the pile and pulled it back. The thick heavy wool dropped to the floor with a muted thud and a small head of white platinum hair appeared, resting against Malfoy’s broad chest encased in his left arm. The small boy wore a black three piece suit. His thumb was in his mouth and his other arm draped over his father’s shoulder. Draco Malfoy had brought his son to the Order for help. Ron Weasley had nearly murdered a child in the Order’s name. Not a single one of the Slytherins had raised a wand in defence at this, probably hoping someone would have intervened. As Hermione broke eye contact and began to assess the small child her eyes looked around the a faint glow of a ward shimmered around the young boy. He was warded within an inch of his life and she could feel the hum of magic around him from where she stood. It was impressive magic she had never seen before.
Hermione’s decision making was quick after the reveal of the child who without a shadow of a doubt was Malfoy’s son. When she had first laid eyes on Lucius Malfoy in the bookshop in her second year she had fully appreciated how strong the family genes were. Her appreciation had now doubled. The boy had slept through all the commotion and looked peace full and at home in his father’s arm. Hermione was sure Malfoy had cast some extra charms onto the of the glowing ward which surrounded the boy to protect him from the chaos of the apparition and the piercing sounds of the alarms.
She looked over his small body limp against his father and noticed that some of the blood pooling from the wound on Malfoy’s neck had slid and dripped onto his forehead and Hermione’s body reacted on instinct yet again despite her nausa at the smell of it. She gently rolled her sleeve down over her hands and she reached out again to the small boy and wiped the fresh blood away from the skin on his forehead causing him to frown in his sleep. She was surprised that she was able to physically touch him but she would question that later. It was funny as she wiped blood Malfoy’s pure blood off his son’s head, that it looked the exact same as every other drop that had ever seeped into her hands. She wondered if the Malfoy’s had suffered as they all had and if they too had seen that blood no matter what it creature it came from was the same crimson colour with the same awful smell that brought her to her knees on her worst nights.
She wondered if he too knew that regardless of how and when it was spilled the minute the scent hit the back of her nose and throat she wanted to heave and expel her insides until she was a barren husk. Did he feel sick at the smell of Blaise’s burnt flesh and pooling blood spilling out of his limp body? Did his own blood dripping down onto his sleeping son affect him? Did her blood and how dirty and impure it was make him want to vomit on the floor and writhe around and scream for days at the brutality of it all just like it had made her when she was at the Manor? Her time there on the ballroom floor had been a blur but she remembered catching his eye before the pain stopped and the world went black. She didn’t know why it had at the time, had he done something to stop it like she had stopped the killing curse moments before?
She looked back up at Malfoy whose face was strained flicking between her hand movements and her face but she saw something in his eyes soften for a fraction of a second before they dulled back pupils wide again as if he was dead. The grey irises went dark and any previous indication of feeling or emotion gone. He looked lifeless as if he was a body with no soul or essence . Given his mental retreat and the lack of hostility at her touching his son her mind was made up. She nodded slightly to him in acknowledgment of whatever unspoke truce that just transpired and she mentally steeled herself.
She stood back and forced her voice to remain calm. "Padma and Neville take Nott and Zabini to the secure medical facility and remain with them both. Make sure the medical team is contacted and do everything you can to heal them. I want all defectors alive where possible. If anyone questions your use of supplies or your work tell them it’s on my direct orders. Charlie and George take Greengrass to the secure holding house and make sure a female order member is present at all times.” Hermoine faced the girl who was now fully shaking, tears flowing down her face as she looked between Malfoy and Nott.
“You said you wouldn’t leave me!” Daphne cried to the men with her. “you said we’d all stay together and they would help us! don’t let them take me please don’t let them…”
“ I want to assure you Daphne you will receive medical treatment from myself or one of the other female healers once my business is done here. No harm will befall you while you are in our care I swear it”. Hermione spoke clearly and directly but managed a softer tone as she spoke to Daphne. She watched the frail girl shudder a breath as Nott leaned his head to hers and their foreheads touched.
" Little dove it’s going to be okay, it’s better here. They won’t hurt you darling girl. Go quickly” Nott whispered. Daphne nodded and slowly stepped away from Theo glancing to Malfoy and Blaise as if it was the last time she would ever see them. Hermione gestured towards George and Charlie who stood with their wands lowered and their hands and arms open showing her they meant no harm.
"We won’t touch you love. If you grab onto my jacket arm we can side along to where we need to take you but we wont touch you so long as we don’t have too. You grab hold of my arm and hold tight and we will get you somewhere safe" Charlie said softly to her. With one final look back towards the men she closed the distance and wrapped her fingers round Charlie’s arm and squeezed her eyes shut. Charlie waited a few more seconds. George then linked his uninjured arm around Charlie’s free one and then threw a rude fingered gesture to his brother on the ceiling. Their departure was accompanied with a crack of aspiration.
One down three to go.
Padma ran straight over to Zabini once the trio dissapeared and began casting heading spells while Neville placed a cuffing spell on Nott’s wrist securing them together before apparating. Hermoine was sure she must have imagined Nott exclaiming the word "kinky" before he and Neville vanished. Padma and Zabini were gone a second later. Hermione hoped he wasn’t dead for all their sakes.
With just Malfoy and his miniature remaining Hermione turned to Luna who was still staring at the empty spot where Nott had stood.
“ Luna could you please check on Gin and the kids and then meet me at the main residence in twenty. I’ll meet you there with Malfoy and the boy…."
Harry’s raised voice cut through her orders.
"Hermione it’s not your call, you need to consult high command. You can’t just order people about it’s Malfoy you can’t take him there this could be a trap you need to…."
Hermoine moved quick as a flash and raised her wand and pointed it digging it into Harry’s cheek mirroring the way he had stabbed it into Malfoy’s. She was not in the mood for Harry and his dramatics today given there was a dead horcrux snake lying at her feet and potential prisoners of war in her charge.
While the magical world lacked legislation and precedence for acts of war Hermione had ensured charters and protocols had been drawn up in the early years of the Order incorporating the principles of the Geneva conventions. Too much had been forgotten in the time lapsed between the first and current wizarding war. Documentation, due process and ethics were imperative. She had spent hours in Order meetings when not healing and managing the hospital screaming in the face of Alistair Moody, Shacklebolt and Minevra fighting tooth and nail with them to implement her proposals. Once agreed upon she had requested they each take a magical vow (not an unbreakable one but one with uncomfortable consequences) ensuring they would implement them as best they could.
After one horrifically venomous screaming match where Hermione had threatened to personally charge senior order members with crimes against humanity when the war was over for the abysmal state of the holding cells they kept captured prisoners in at the time, Moody was overheard later that evening suggesting the Order’s best hope was to send Hermione in herself when the time came to end Voldemort and that her screeching would be enough for him to turn his wand on himself. No one had disputed Mad Eye’s words and within a week each holding cell had beds, washing facilities, paper, pens and of course books.
War would make animals of them all if they let it.
Hermione stood firm, shoulders back and bore her eyes into Harry’s. “I’m calling rank as one of the orders senior healers and strategists, plus Nev made it clear I’m to lead and incase you’ve forgotten AGAIN we BOTH outrank you. You’ll do as your told Harry James Potter and you’ll stay here at your home and await your wife and children to return. I’ll be taking Malfoy and his son to the residence location and no harm will come to anyone who have deflected today since they have shown us no threat and hand delivered a dead horcrux to us. Given that we’ll follow due process. They have surrendered they are unarmed and we have conventions to follow so you’ll do as your ruddy well told or ill curse you from here to Hogsmeade”.
"Hermione please they’ve breached my home the boys, the baby… "
"And what about the little boy infront of you now? The one your friend nearly murdered when breaking ignoring protocol " she gestured to the ceiling where Ron was still stuck immobilised. " we have rules when people defect and he didn’t fucking follow a single one of them. He nearly murdered a child. Imagine the tables were turned and it was Albus or James in your arms” Harry glanced behind Hermione to Malfoy and his sleeping son. He physically paled and Hermione hoped he refrained from passing out.
“Nothing to say ? Don’t fancy being the boy who stood back and let his best mate murder a kid? Considering you were a baby when a megalomaniac turned his wand on you, you would think you’d have a little compassion”. Hermione was so angry and tired. She watched as tears began to escape Harry’s eyes and stream down his face and choked out a cry as he dropped to his hands and knees, sobbing on the floor. His left hand had landed in Zabini’s blood where it remained on the pristine floor.
Hermione bit her tounge so as not to vomit at the stench but she tasted her own blood and swallowed heavily. She would vomit rings around her if she didn’t move quickly. “Your fucking lucky he has that boy warded six ways to Sunday. With all your training and recon skills there’s not a doubt in my mind you and Ron didn’t clock his little feet under those blankets, and be assured I’ll deal with you later.”
It was then she heard a soft giggle from Luna.
”Did you know Ferrets have an inquisitive and playful nature. They can learn to see humans as companions and form a strong bond with their owners. This makes them a popular pet choice because of their sociable and charming character. They are really quite loyal and protective.” Luna said
“What the fuck…" whispered Malfoy to no one but also everyone else in the room.
Hermione couldn’t look away from Harry but she wondered what kind of twilight zone she was in. She would unpack the last twenty four hours in therapy one day if she lived to see the day.
“Thanks Luna that’s helpful to know. Now it’s best we get moving, Harry tell Kreacher that he’ll need to scrub the floors in here again and be a dear and get that snake head to someone in high command I can’t do everything my ruddy self, Luna could you make a move please?” she ranted as she placed her wand back in her jeans.
Luna waved to her and flashed a smile at Malfoy “Lovely to see you again Draco. I must go now and see the children, but I’ll go and see Daphne later and look after her for you. I hope she has some socks to bury. I also hope you managed to clear your cellar dungeon of whisp flickels they were running rampant when me and mr Oliviander were last there… bye Harry bye Hermione” she waved to them both. She then gazed upwards towards Ron and frowned shaking her head before she twisted on the spot and vanished into a silvery mist.
Right. She would need to research whisp flickels when she had the time.
As she approached Malfoy with a confidence she was sure he could tell she was faking she watched him tense again. “We are going to side along and get you both somewhere secure and let you eat. You’ll then be brought in for questioning and a debrief and the kid can’t be with you for that but he’ll be safe and I’ll make sure he’s brought back to you and kept with you for the duration of your time with us. Do you consent to a side along and these conditions?”
“Do I have a choice?” He grit out.
“Not really unless you want to be restrained and body bound? Or I could send you back to your boss?” She answered with a raised eyebrow.
He flinched again, this time at the mention of Voldemort. Things must be bad.
“Well then the pleasure is all mine Granger” he spat.
Gods what an insuffable git. As she grabbed his free arm glancing over the small boy to ensure he wasn’t disturbed her heart seized suddenly. Where was his mother? From what she remembered from intel reports Malfoy had married daphnes sister ? Why wasn’t she here ?
Before she could spiral any more she made to apparate. She pictured the abandoned mansion that Molly had inherited from her brother when he had died the year before. Before the first war after the birth of Fred and George Molly’s family had been ostracised for their tolerance (blood traitors) and for Molly’s betrothal to Arthur in the years prior. As a consequence the business dealings with the Prewett family dwindled, as did any income leaving them destitute and the familial home where Molly was raised, abandoned. Since the second war it was now used as a “residence” where top secret order business was conducted and where important prisoners were held.
Before she spun away she gave one final tight smile to Harry still on his hands and knees in Zabini’s blood looking at Malfoy with a pathetic look of guilt and self hatred. She then wandlessly removed the sticking spell from Ron and watched him drop face down on the floor with such a force she was sure he would have a brain injury.
Unlike when Nott disappeared through the pull of the apparition she did not imagine hearing Malfoy bark a cruel laugh at Ron’s contact with the floor as they spun away together into the night.
Chapter 4: Detained Draco
Notes:
Trigger warnings- dark chapter and sensitive topics discussed. Please see the end notes.
This is the first Chapter where we see things from Draco’s perspective. Again more world building and setting the scene for important story arcs to come.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Early hours of 3 December 2002. Draco Malfoy’s POV.
The cell was small, dingy and frankly unfit for human purpose. A charmed window lined the damp infested wall which was now showing the early morning sunrise. Draco wasn’t sure how long he had been kept locked down, but from the stupid windowless window it could not have been any more than around four hours. The boy still slept, which if he was being honest was a relief considering he had howled and convulsed when Draco had first pried him from Narcissa's cold grip. He had continued to sob and wretch, squirming in his arms as they fled the Manor, and it was no secret Draco would not have been able to keep what little composure he had left in the dining room had the small child had kept up his distress. Theo’s quick thinking came in handy for a change and the decision to dose him with a small silver teaspoon of crude dreamless sleep was the best option at the time.
Draco recalled the bitter, charcoal taste of the potion. He had lost count of the number of times he had been forced to swallow thick spoonfuls of the raw elixir. A testament to the Malfoy’s social calendar, and their status in the wizarding world.
In his life before Hogwarts, Thursday evenings to Sunday nights the Manor’s halls were filled with an array of politicians, lawmakers, unspeakables, society members, healer experts, philanthropists: all and any individual or being of note and influence. They were ushered through the corridors and entrances into dining and ballrooms to be entertained and dined. Plied with the best of everything they wanted and desired. Every individual a piece of meat for Lucius to stick his claws into imbedding his own seeds of fear and power.
Draco was no idiot, even as a child. He knew each of these weaklings would bow to him one day, a prince who would eventually be king. He smiled when appropriate, entertained when prompted and watched silently for the most part watching his parents' manoeuvre around the room with a clinical shrewdness that came with hundreds of years of ancestral breeding and society lessons in the noble and ancient families of the Sacred 28.
Draco had no fears that as an adult he would use these connections and the carefully laid foundations laid by Narcissa and Lucius to secure and continue the Malfoy hold on power in the world. It was a given was it not? He would just have to bide his time and scurry off to bed early when told and be dowsed with the horrific potion so as not to disturb the dedicated work of his mother and father.
When the evenings drew late and Dracos petulant lips began to quiver his mother would coo over him and excuse him from present company ushering him from the room to his quarters with promises of sweets and new brooms and an array of expensive one-of-a-kind incentives befitting of a Black and Malfoy heir. If he was honest it was never needed. All his mother had to do was grace him with her presence and he was putty in her hands. Draco would have done anything for his mother with no hesitation or reward.
It was enough that she was his mother. She was enough.
She would change him into the finest silks, clean the wax from his gelled back hair and leave him to brush his teeth with an elf to oversee. When Draco returned to his bedchamber she would be poised on the edge of his bed, a star light constellation of his name's sake swirling on his ceiling and a book hovering in the air, awaiting him. He lost count of the evenings where he would fall asleep mid way through Narcissa’s recounting of Tales of Beedle the Bard or Babbity Rabbity.
He never stayed awake for an entire story. He knew she would lace his cocoa with a small helping of Snape’s fresh brewed elixir and coax him to down it before she began reading aloud. He had heard the whispers of the elves expressing concern that his growth would be stunted, or he would be addicted to the potion, but the Malfoy’s paid no heed. Why should they? They knew better than such disgusting, halfing slaves.
It was no coincidence when the rumours of the Dark Lord’s return in his first year at Hogwarts began to permeate the impenetrable walls of the Manor did Draco’s potion intake increased tenfold in the holidays home from school, and he spent the formative years of his teenage youth a zombie. Only during term time was he was coherent. The first weeks back at the castle the withdrawals would be intent leaving him sick and sweaty with Snape having to wean him off it and provide him with additional meals outwith the arranged times to avoid suspicion. Everything would hit him then once clarity had been stabilised and he could view the world without a dull, clouded film in his eyes. Everything was sharper, the colours, the noise the taste of food and his feelings. His happiness, his pride, his love, laugher, hate, jealousy and anger. He was so fucking angry all the time, bitterness and hate encompassing his very soul, until the boy was born.
As Draco looked at his son still lying still and sprawled on the rickety bed, measured breaths causing his body to gently rise he considered his parents. His mother he could just about bare given everything that had happened since the Battle of Hogwarts. At least with her he could understand her perspective and view in the world, the love and loyalty to her husband and son blinded her and look where they had all ended up. Draco knew love was a weakness and would not make the same mistakes his weak mother had. He didn’t need to be loved or liked to protect his own and he would make the hard choices for the boy, Theo, Daph, Blaise and Pans whenever he got her back.
He wondered what had made Lucius such an incompetent waste of skin. While his bedtime routine with his mother were significantly more palatable given her apparent love and devotion to his comfort, evenings when his father put him to bed differed majorly.
In his minds eye he was back in the manor, six years old in a crisp black suit not dissimilar to the one his son currently wore. Long deft fingers squeezing his shoulders never releasing their steel grip as he was led from whatever room he had been forced to stand silently in. He would nod and bid formal goodbyes to each guest and as he departed and the heavy doors would click shut, he would inhale a breath and steel himself. A few seconds would pass for a silencing charm to be thrown up and then the beatings would start. He would be thrown to the marble floors of the Manor, heavy brogues smashing into his tiny ribs. Sometimes he would be lucky and have a few punches to his face or a few smacks to his head with the cane. Draco much preferred these forms of beatings as he was forever distressed when breathing caused his sides pain. On several occasions he would have broken ribs sticking out from his small body and Lucius made him lie on his back for hours before allowing his mother or his elves to heal him. Lucius would pour entire measures of the dreamless sleep elixir down his small gullet often petrifying him with a stunning spell. Draco would spend hours under with nothing but endless black and nothingness being his reality for days at a time.
At the time Lucius held the power, or he held the illusion he did.
Power.
What a pathetic notion to associate with Lucius Malfoy now. A weakened tortured man who stood by while his son was branded, and the apparent love of his life tortured within an inch of her life on countless occasions until Draco had stepped up yet again. The so-called man of the family had allowed a half blood rodent to infiltrate his home, use his fortune and belittle him in front of lesser beings for years and all Lucius was now good for was a bottle. Draco thought to the last time he had saw his father a month ago, slumped over his desk in his office half conscious choking on his own vomit. Draco had walked to his desk, took the remainder of aged fire whiskey from the decanter and spat in his face. The bastard hadn’t even moved, his blue eyes rolling back in his head as he gurgled and splattered on the foaming bile emitting from his mouth. An hour after Draco had stormed from the room, he summoned an elf to attend his father and was indifferent in hearing he was alive. He wondered if his father had noticed his absence. The dark Lord was probably torturing him now. Maybe he was already dead. Draco might be dead soon.
Alive. You are Alive. You have kept them alive.
Draco breathed. He was alive as was his son and his chosen family, albeit for now. He lowered his head into is hands, elbows resting on his knees while he pulled at his hair.
He was alive and in an Order stronghold, a weak pathetic man like his father. Scurrying away to Saint Potter for aid and refuge. He pushed his palms into his eyes and wondered how hard he would have to push to through his skull and push his hands straight into the brick wall behind him. Given his strength and training he imagined it wouldn’t take much, he had crushed many a bone of a screaming man with his hands in the years of war, but he wouldn’t allow his son to see that sight. He had protected the young boy from it all so he would have no idea the monster his father was, or the sins of the Malfoy name. The boy and his mother’s wing had been warded and Draco had ensured that it had remained untouched until his mother had fucked up yet again, and lo and behold: Here Draco was.
He inhaled a breath. Closed his mind off and allowed the cold, indifference of his occulumency wash over him. Nothing. He felt nothing. He packed up the images of his mothers' lifeless body, Blaise on fire and the snake in bits around him. Daphne’s screams, Theo’s shouts to move and his son’s screams as Draco wrenched him from his mother and cast a killing curse to one of his comrades. All of those awful things mentally pulled from his mind and levitated into small potion bottles bursting from already overflowing shelves. Hundreds of potion bottles, some dark some light, multitudes of colours, happy sad evil dark memories hid in his mind locked away for no one else to see, not even the Dark Lord. If Bella and Snape had taught him anything it was to be thorough. Show no weakness. Never let your guard down. Never let your loved ones see your weakness as they are the ones that hold the power to destroy you. Crucio. Legimins. On and on it went for years with them both. Two people whom Draco had loved and revered causing him pain and suffering time and time again. Their deaths had brought nothing but pain and relief.
Heartbreak.
Draco released the breath he had been holding and stood. He stalked over to his son and drew one of the woollen blankets round him, allowing himself to stroke his soft face with the back of his hand. Draco often had watched the boy sleep after raids, it brought him peace he knew he did not deserve. He barely spoke to his son when he was awake and kept interactions to a minimum for fear of tainting the boy with his darkness, but he conceded when he was unconscious some physical contact could do no harm.
His face was soft. Full. There were some bags under his eyes but that was expected given the turmoil of emotions he had experienced in the last forty-eight hours. Draco’s hand cupped his face and the emotions he fought daily to keep any bay began to surge. Love, pride, protectiveness, happiness. When Astoria had told Draco that their jobs were done and she was pregnant, the small golden orb floating above her stomach his heart soared with euphoria and fear. When she birthed him, and he held the little sticky body in his arms the tears fell, and his heart cracked. The bond was there, and the boy was everything Draco had wanted and didn’t want. Nothing and everything would change and be the same and Draco finally understood his mother in more ways than one.
But then Astoria began to fit, the Medi-witch-wives pulled him and the boy from the room and then Stori was dead. Buried on Manor grounds. The Dark Lord wanted the baby to himself as penance for the failings of the house of Malfoy. Daphne was inconsolable. His father had downed three bottles of liquor and his mother had hatched a plan unbeknownst to Draco that was now years in the making. He, Blaise and Theo made an unbreakable vow in the cellar of the Manor the elves minding the door while the baby was bundled in his arms. Gold threads of magic winding its way up their marked arms, bonding them three together in a promise and in death…
Draco snatched his hand away. The boy was a weakness. That was Draco’s curse. To love and never be be loved back by his reason for existence. It made him weak. Look at Potter’s parents. They had been fools and allowed themselves to be murdered and left an orphan to single handedly fight a war with imbeciles around him. At least his parent’s had had the self preservation to live for Draco’s sake. He stood away from the metal bed and again closed his eyes shoving the memories into bottles, vials, jars and boxes back onto the overflowing shelves.
His son’s skin was clear and pale like his. White, blond hair, Draco’s little doppelgänger Blaise had joked and hoped he was as charming and good looking as his Italian uncle. Theo voiced his hopes that he never inherited Draco’s boring affliction for studying and books. Draco hoped his son would live and that he would never take another’s life. Daphne could barely look at him, a reminder of her sister’s death. Pansy had sent a charmed hippogriff stuffed toy and a state-of-the-art training broom from the continent for when he was old enough. Gifts for the motherless Malfoy heir.
Draco sighed and knelt by the bed letting his head fall beside his sons. He stared at the small boy. He tensed in his dreamless sleep and Draco’s hand on instinct came back up and swiped softly at the soft, white tufts of hair smoothing them back rhythmically allowing the boy to relax into the black nothingness Draco knew he was trapped in. The gold wards had begun to glow fainter and would wear off soon.
Draco thought back to the dining room, the apparition to the infamous Grimmauld. The interaction with his former classmates. Weasel on the ceiling. Luna and her madness. Potter and his stupid wand, twisting into his face. Draco could have gutted him. Dropped the boy, turned on the spot and taken Potter to a dungeon and sliced him to pieces. All of the years of anger, jealousy, fear and hurt swirled inside Draco at that interaction. This was all Potter’s fault. It he had taken Draco’s hand in first year he would have been protected. If he had listened to Dobby when Draco had sent him to Potter in second year with the Chamber, then it could have all been avoided. If he had just killed Draco in the bathroom with ghostie then it would all be over. But Potter couldn’t organise a piss up in the Hogs Head. Incompetent, incapable, arrogant and stupid. Just like his father, Snape had said time and time anyway. You couldn’t win a war on luck alone. It wasn’t enough that people had died and were dying around him still to this day for him to get his be-speckled head out of his arse and take some action and actually do something worthwhile for once. It had taken him long enough to source the Horcruxes and find a way to kill and murder them. Draco had found a book in the ancient tomes section of the Malfoy library in France the summer after the final battle. He, Theo and Blaise had managed to kill the snake. It had taken time but they had executed the plan to near perfection. The best thing Potter had done was come before the Dark Lord and die but he couldn’t even do that properly. His mother as usual had prioritised Draco and here they all were years later, and things were worse.
It was no wonder Longbottom had barked an order. Draco had dealt with insubordination in his own ranks enough times to see cracks in the influence of the chain of command, as had Blaise and Theo. He doubted the Order used unforgivable curses on their own soldiers, if at all given their lacklustre fighting efforts over the last year and their hapless attempts at raised and recon missions.
Even SHE was vexed. She who probably figured out the whole horcrux fiasco herself. Draco was sure she was the sole reason any of them were alive. It was common knowledge that there wasn’t a single brain cell between Potter and the Weasel. She had flung him to the wall with such a force. Trouble in paradise for the love birds. It made him want to be sick at the idea of a lover’s tiff between them and scream with glee at the noise the ginger prat had made when his skull had smashed against the floor upon impact as they twirled away.
Draco had always been perturbed by her magic and power. As a child he had been taught her kind were, stupid, dirty and had “borrowed” magic whatever that fucking meant. But all through school, she held her pace, matched Draco in every subject in the beginning. She even had the audacity to excel as their schooling went on and her exposure to the magical world grew and she began beating Draco in subjects. He was second in everything with the exception of portions.
Bitch.
But she wasn’t a bitch. Draco knew this. She was smart, kind and everything he had been told she wasn’t. Even now in the midst of a war she had called rank, a commander in her own right for the opposition and Longbottom trusted her and she took the lead. Draco remembered her in school again memories swirling form the bottles in his mind blinding his vision. Her face of shame following the troll incident in first year. Her pride and smiles in second year coming to grips with magic and the world she had been thrown into. Third year, the punch over that bloody chicken that belonged to the oaf. Draco’s cock stirred at the memory. He had stunned Crabbe and Goyle en-route back to the dungeon common room and locked and silenced the door while he screamed and destroyed the room. He then crawled onto the bed like the teenage worm he was and wanked for hours replaying the memory in his mind. He licked the blood from his nose and chin and imagined all of the ways he could hurt her, pleasure her, make her scream and cry his name.
Draco had not long returned from a long weekend at home where he had been dowsed with more potion and her punch had brought him into the land of the living. To feel something, anything and for her to be the cause of it as usual. She had been the centre of every frustration at school since term had begun in first year and Draco revelled in it. From then on, she was the focus of Draco’s desires. He lost count of the times his come laced his stomach and hands because of her.
Fourth year, the Yule ball. Magnificent. How could someone so filthy look so erethral? Beautiful? Draco couldn’t fathom it. She was just like him. Fifth year, stupid Dumbledore’s army. He remembered the cut on her face one evening when that disgusting vapid imp in pink had sliced her cheek. Flashbacks of her writhing screaming on the ballroom floor while Bella sliced into her arm. The blood had pooled all around her she had began choking on it and Draco was concerned she would drown. He had been so scared then, scared of it all. Then their eyes met. He stood by the fire and held onto the mantle for dear life and occluded further into his body till it felt like he no longer existed. Then with a quick glance to his mother, fleeting eye contact while his father yapped about the dark lord and identifying her and Potter in the cellar Draco struck. His mother distracted Bella for a second and he cast a channeling charm. The next crucio shocked his bones instead of hers and his mother kicked her head, so she passed out. Draco doubted she remembered. It was a small act of mercy he could afford the girl he tormented in the last moments of her life. Then he failed to identify Potter. How stupid could Draco have been to think that the chosen git could have defeated the dark lord. Pretty fucking stupid considering where he was.
His mind focused again on her confusion at the words parlay. Draco must have fucked it up, it had been in a muggle book in the manor about pirates and he assumed it was factual. If he ever made it back for his manor he would set the book alight. Probably set himself on fire while he was at it for good measure. Evil cunt he was deserved it.
Flashes of her lying still in pools of her own blood on his Manor floor swirled again in his mind.
Her blood had run the same colour as his and that’s when he realised. She was no different to any other witch or wizard than he was. That realisation made him sick and angrier. But not with her anymore. With his father and the lies and the dark lord and the impending doom.
It was ironic when he recalled the ballroom scene and those vile worlds carved into her arm. Her blood had stained the floor for months afterwards, and once when Draco had drunk himself into oblivion Theo had found him flat out on that floor, his face pressed into the tiles, muttering apologies between tears.
That had been one of the last times he had cried now he thought about it.
Maybe that’s why she had stood in-front of him and the boy in the dining room. Maybe she did remember that small moment of mercy he had shown her. That he took the remainder of the curse for her while his mother bashed her head in. She has touched his son, tenderly and her eyes shone bright with concern and kindness. It had been a long time since Draco had seen kindness and empathy. She was fierce and firm and could see the potential of having valued prisoners of war. He could practically hear the cogs in her brain turning as she calculated her next move. When she had reduced Potter to the floor in tears Draco’s heart had stung for a second. He knew the fear of loosing a child. A family. While he hated Potter, he understood him to an extent. He would have drawn a wand had the tables been turned.
He stopped again. It was all coming up threatening to break to the surface. He had to stick to the plan and execute it. He couldn’t focus on the past or the future just the here and now. He didn’t have time to think of her, Potter, his past or his future. He had to focus on the task at hand, this time he wouldn’t fail like he did murdering Dumbledore. He would succeed like he had done with the cabinet. He would keep himself and those he made vows to alive by whatever means necessary.
Footsteps from the end corridor reverberated and he stood again. He filed away the look of fear in her brown eyes as she looked at him from the floor in her blood. The stench made him sick; it had never bothered him before with all the beatings he had endured and the quidditch injuries. But after that day with her, it was never the same.
Blood wasn’t the same. The world wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same.
He straightened his sleeves and cloak and turned hands behind his back, chin and face forward. Eyes steeled.
She came into view with Longbottom in tow. She was wearing the same blue muggle trousers she had stuffed her wand into when they were in the drawing room at the black house. Her top was long sleeved and hugged her body, a slight cleavage showing. His blood still stained the sleeve of her shirt and her wild hair was still combed back into a high ponytail on her head. As she stilled in-front of the cell bars, something fell from her pocket.
“Jesus Christ” he heard her mutter. He wasn’t sure who Jesus was, but Draco thanked him and Merlin himself as she turned slightly and bent to pick the fallen object. He unsuccessfully tried to avoid the view of her arse. Salazar’s beard it was magnificent. Draco had been under the impression that the order was starving but clearly someone had grown into her curves. Long gone was the gaunt girl at the final battle starved of food and nutrition. Draco heard rumours that she and potter had lived in a tent and survived on twigs and bark. He wondered if they’d fucked. Nope that wasn’t a road he wanted to go down as she stood back up.
Occlude. Occlude. Occlude.
He kept his features still and looked directly at Longbottom who huffed a laugh. Draco was reassured to see he was still a prick.
“Eyes and hands where we can see them Malfoy”. He said with a raised eyebrow. “We are opening the cell and then we have to take you in. We’ll do memory extractions and you’ll be interviewed by me”.
“What a pleasure, will I take my clothes off now or do you want to do the honours Longbottom?” Draco sneered.
“Your alright Malfoy Hermione can help you undress; she’ll need to check for injuries anyway and it’ll add to her body count if she kills you”
She whipped her read round and eyes narrowed up at Longbottom. “Would you not make jokes just now. I am exhausted and want this over with” Draco forced his face to still again lest a smirk emerge on his face.
She opened the cell door with intricate magic, whispers of ancient spells he had once studied in the library with his grandfather when he was learning about the wards of the estate. She stepped in and the smell hit him. Citrus lemons and soap. She held her wand pointed at him and looked beyond him to the boy on the bed.
“I’ve just got back from healing Daphne. She’s fine and sleeping I gave her a potion to calm her nerves. Nott and Zabini are secure and…”
“Is he alive?” Draco asked. His eyes trained froward. He couldn’t look at her.
“For now. I’m not sure he’ll make it but he’s in the best hands. Padma knows what shes doing and Nott hasn’t left his side. He keeps singing Italian lullaby’s to him. He’s not very good apparently ...”
Silence followed for seconds which seemed to stretch hours. Of course Theo was fucking rubbish at singing he didn’t even know Italian. Imbecile that he was.
She cleared her throat. “Right as I was saying, I need to check over your son. You need to tell me how he’s till asleep so I can rennervate him and then I’ll try and feed him something. What does he like?”
“It’s a dreamless sleep potion and he’s been out for at least 24 hours. I need to be here when he wakes up as he’ll be distressed being here” Draco cast his eyes round the cell and looked directly to Longbottom. “Is it only you who’ll be dealing with me?”
Neville nodded. “It’ll be me malfoy. No one else”.
She glanced between them both, clearly sensing something off in their conversation. She was fucking something else. Then she looked back to the boy. She took a step towards the bed and on instinct Draco’s hand reached for her, grabbing and squeezing her arm. To her credit she did not flinch, and she looked him straight in the eye, brown eyes burning with distain and anger as she manoeuvred her wand into Dracos cheek.
Draco bent down towards her and brought his mouth to the shell of her ear. “If any harm comes to my son or those whom I have sought refuge with I will personally ensure every single member of your order die a horrific and torturous death”.
She twisted her face towards Dracos, and their noses were almost touching. She spoke clearly with no quiver in her voice.
“If you don’t get your poncy pure blooded hand off of me, I’ll slice it clean off. I assure you Malfoy, if anyone harms a child or a prisoner I will personally execute the death and torture. Now what does your child eat?”
Draco allowed a cruel smile to spread across his face and he barked his teeth. “Caviar and fillet steak of course Granger”.
Her name slid off his tongue and he was grateful for his cloak as his dick strained against his trousers again. He loosened his hold on her and she snatched her arm away and pushed past him, kneeling before the bed. Longbottom let out a tired sigh and Draco avoided looking at him and turned to see her and the boy. She cast a small rennervate and he began to stir. He and Longbottom both watched as he awoke and she helped him sit up on the bed. Granger pulled a water bottle from her pocket and enlarged it, bringing the bottle to his little mouth, stroking his hair back from his forehead, whispering comforting words to him as he began to take in his surroundings.
“Is this another dream” The small boy croaked. Dracos heart sized.
“No darling it’s not, I’m glad your awake you’ve been asleep for a while” she whispered softly. “Your Dad said it was okay to wake you up” she moved her head in Dracos direction keeping her face and eyes trained on the boy. “My name is Hermione and I’m a healer and your dad has brought you here for help and I need to make sure your okay and healthy, can I run a few spells on you?”
The boy looked over to Draco, fear and tears brimming in his big grey eyes. Draco nodded silently and made to move to the bed and crouched beside her. She smelled divine.
“It’s okay and you’re safe. She is going to check on you and get you something to eat while I go to a meeting with this man behind me”.
“Will you come back”. The boy whispered.
“What is it I always tell you?” Draco spoke firmly to the boy.
His wide eyes fluttered shut, squeezing back tears and he opened them again after inhaling a breath. “You always say you will always come back, for me and for our family. No matter what you come back”.
“That’s right my star...” Draco’s breath caught, and he had to occlude even more lest his heart break in two and his weakness be evident. How many times had his mother called him her star. “Now will you stay here and be good while the healer conducts her spells?”.
The small bond head nodded frantically, and he shuffled off the bed to stand.
She and Draco stood and watched as his son fixed his suit and sleeves and slicked back his hair with his small hands. The picture of etiquette and good breading. Draco’s tutors would be proud of his son. Draco was proud of his son. He was the mirror image of poise and elegance Draco was at that age.
The small boy took another breath and schooled his features. He extended his small hand towards the witch beside Draco, and she took his small hand in hers and bent down to her knees, so she was his height.
“Please to meet your healer Herminny my name is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy. I am five soon and I like dragons and my head and throat hurts”. He released her hand, put two arms either side of his body and bowed his head.
Another laugh was heard from Longbottom behind him, this time soft and gentle. Draco could not look away from her and the boy. Her lips were caught between her teeth, an attempt not to smile or laugh at the formal greeting. Her eyes sparkled and she did not once take her eyes off him, as if it were just the two of them in the room.
“You can call me Mione Scorpius, it really is lovely to meet you. While your dad’s in his meeting with Nev how about we get something nice to eat like a sandwich and some cake and medicine for you of course?” She smiled kindly and his son’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Who’s birthday, is it? We only have cake on birthdays don’t we father?”
“It’s no one’s birthday son go with the healer and I’ll be along to collect you soon”. Draco stepped away from the boy and turned to Longbottom, his hands outstretched ready to be tied and bound.
Scorpius looked up at his father, took a breath and walked to stand beside her. She offered her free hand. Out of the corner of his eye Draco saw her offer his son the item she had dropped in his other hand. Draco narrowed his eyes but said nothing. It was a dragon made of wood that was magically animated. The boy smiled shyly and grabbed slowly it in his other pudgy hand and clasped it tightly, whispering thanks.
Draco understood that she must have spelled the figure once he had expressed his interest in dragons. She was forever astute. Impressive wand-less magic. Draco envied her ability to make the boy smile.
“I had a dream about you healer Mione and you gave me this dragon and then…”
“That’s enough Scorpius. I told you to behave”, Draco snapped. Fear lanced through his body. He couldn’t cope with talk of the dreams just now. He just had to get through the interrogation.
Focus on the present.
Your alive. He’s alive. Theo is alive. Daphne is alive. Blaise is alive for now. Focus.
She cupped her hand on the boy's face as his lips trembled and she turned to Draco and served him with a severe look before cutting the tension in the room by sticking her tongue out at him blowing a raspberry. “Ignore your dad you know what a grump he is. He’s always cheeky when he’s scared. I tell you what you can tell me about your dream and I will tell you about the time your dad tried to fight a hippogriff and lost? How does that sound cool kid?”
The boy nodded shyly. A small smile creeping over his rosy face as he glanced towards Draco. Draco couldn’t help mirror the smile. He hoped she left out the part where his father had tried to kill the beast.
She stood and began to lead him from the cell. She stopped before she reached the entry way and bent down again to her knees again in front of the boy and whispered in his ear before glancing back to Draco and Longbottom. Cautiously the child dropped her hand and shuffled towards his father, eyes on the floor before running at him at the last second, throwing his hands round Draco’s legs, wrapping them in a tight embrace.
Time stood still. His heartbeat was in his ears. Pain cracked through his body. He raised his eyes from his son's golden head at his legs and looked directly at her. Her eyes were warm and full of emotion, trained on the boy. Draco perceived the look on her face as pity.
He did not need her pity. He didn’t need a fucking thing from her. He prised his son from his legs and gently pushed him back towards her, nodding to him and they both left the cells, presumably for the fucking cake. Draco watched as she lifted the boy into her arms and was stunned as Scorpius embraced her in a bear hug right back. No hesitation. Draco stifled a scream.
Longbottom put a hand on his shoulder. Another act of pity. Draco shoved his hand off and stretched his neck, clenching his jaw. Fucking Gryffindors, no wonder the Order was half dead. Any more sentimental shite and he would kill them both himself.
Back to business. War mindset engaged. He was a fucking general after all. images of blood, death and mangled bodies filled his mind and the rage and adrenaline returned.
“If you don’t mind Longbottom, I’m beginning to tire of the Hufflepuff nonsense she just pulled. Hurry up and torture me won’t you?” Draco drawled.
“Now that is my pleasure Malfoy”.
Now they were alone Longbottom’s tone had turned deadly. He brought his wand to Draco’s Adam’s apple and hissed into face. It caused the hairs on Dracos arms to stand on end.
Finally.
“But first I want to know where the love of my life is”.
Those were the last words Draco heard before Longbottom turned his wand on him and hit him with the cruciatus curse.
Before he lost consciousness, and his bones began to snap Draco experienced the first slither of hope since defecting.
Ironic how hope came in the form of Neville Longbottom torturing him with such enthusiasm and vigour. It made him smile with relief seeing some someone in the Order execute an unforgivable with such ease and passion.
You had to really mean an unforgivable after all.
Notes:
Trigger warning; Please be aware there is violence in this chapter, recollections of child abuse and some sensitive content. Please look after yourself when reading. A lot of the content is dark.
Apologies for being a week late posting. Life is really lifing! Next update should be in the next two weeks. Thank you all for your engagement and your comments so far. It is really appreciated.
I have finally gained access to a laptop so will be re-editing some of the previous chapters and fixing spelling mistakes. Please stick with me while I re edit and fix spelling as I have no beta and self editing is something I have always struggled with ! It seems like every time I re read I find another error *cries in grammar, spelling and punctuation*
Edit: 24 June 2024: I also just realised if you click rich text when editing a chapter that it allows you to edit fonts and the likes. SIGH. Why am I an idiot?…
Xoxo AnnaWrites xoxox
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