Chapter 15 Desperate times, desperate measures.
So this isn't a trick. You're really going to explain
what we've been working on? She quizzed.
As she joined Malfoy, Hermione plaited her hair back in a
tight, single French braid she reserved only for intensely
studious exam revision. My voice's stormy eyes devoured
her, a rumble of Thunder behind them, and he stood with his arms
crossed, leaning against his desk.
Heat spread through her and she toyed with her braid self
consciously. How could he do that to her with
just a look? What we've been working on, He
corrected. Sure, well, I'm here, She said,
looking searchingly around Malfoy's study.
Did you want to cast a mufliato or something?
Oh, this isn't where we'll be working, Grainger.
It's not, No, my dear. There was something so
mischievous in the crease of his eyes, his smirk deepening, the
mercurial dimple on his right cheek that only ever appeared
when he was in this kind of playful mood, never revealing
itself when he was all stern and cold.
The raised section and the Persian carpet called to her
again. Malfoy tracked her gaze.
Step on it, he guided. Is this?
Will you show me your sex tension?
Because if it is, I interesting that that's the first place your
mind went. Hermione choked on her response
and forged it into an indignant kind of snort.
Just trust me for once, would you?
Her brow knitted together. Trust.
And Draco Malfoy had rarely sat in the same sentence in all the
seven years of knowing him. Not unless they were proceeded
with do and not. She wanted so desperately to
trust him, to fall into the fog between them, made of everything
they don't know about each other, and believe
wholeheartedly that he would catch her.
But looking at things empirically, it would be the
biggest trust fall she would ever have taken, perhaps even
the most foolish. Malfoy had provided her with all
the comforts he could, had made sure she was prepared for an
audience with the regime, and had not only told her, but made
it clear to everyone that she was his to protect.
All that and he was still the Dark Commander, the Dark Lord's
right hand man. He had aided Voldemort in
numerous arrests of her peers and what she needed to remember,
above all, he killed Ron and Draco.
Malfoy must die. She could feel the time ticking
away in her mind like an analogue alarm clock.
The countdown to Halloween. She could do it now, right this
moment. Strike him in the back as he
turned to gesture the raised section beneath the rug.
All these thoughts crossed her mind, and the second it took for
her to remember about the two little heartbeats pulsing in her
belly, She would trust him for now, for them.
And she stepped on the mound. It creaked beneath her feet, the
raised wooden slat scraping against its adjacent wooden
pieces and slotting into place with a click.
Sounds of books shuffling, the wood dragging heavily along the
floor, called her attention to the east wall.
To her delight, the shelves were rearranging their levels and
contents in a way so reminiscent to the enchanted brick entrance
of Diagon Alley via the Leaky Cauldron.
One of the mahogany bookshelves tucked itself completely behind
another animal skull. Ornaments of small birds and
reptiles miniaturized themselves, and vials of
decorative bottles disappeared entirely, all to reveal nothing
but a solid greystone wall. How impressive.
Hermione scoffed. Oh come now, you know that's
just the opening act. Malfoy purred.
He was enjoying whatever show he was putting on immensely.
Take my hand. He requested, holding out his
beautiful pale palm. But as his arm outstretched, the
sleeve raised up, revealing the bioluminescent living red ink of
the skull and snake tattoo. Hermione swallowed
unconsciously. They were both looking at it,
seeing everything it represented, seeing everything
they needed to overcome, to work together.
Please. That was all, just that one
word, filled with depth and need, and she took his hand.
He pulled her towards him in a flurry, bringing Hermione's back
to his solid chest, the pair of them now facing the Stonewall.
A small gasp broke out of her lungs while her ABS tightened
and body going rigid against him in the viper's clutches.
He brought his tall form down to her ear.
Now repeat after me thrice. Realisation danced in her
imagination. I am looking for a secure place.
It's not. You've not, she stuttered,
disbelieving. Use your words, Granger.
A room of requirement, she whispered.
The word's too precious to hold in, too wild to set free 10
points to Gryffindor. I don't believe you, she accused
under her breath. Lucky for me, your eyes are
about to see for yourself. Then repeat.
What came out of her mouth was naughty, but a stammer.
He had to be joking. Any minute now he was going to
turn around and laugh maniacally in her face, spit at her feet
and tell her what a stupid little mudblood she was, forever
thinking he could be believed. Take the leap, a familiar,
aristocratic, gravely voice said in the back of her mind.
Malfoy, remove yourself from my thoughts, please.
She commanded impatiently. She was going to need to fortify
her internal barriers, this was beginning to happen all too
frequently. I would, but you practically
invited me in. He drawled.
The direction of his voice LED her to check her right hand,
which to her shock was clasping his own in further.
She released it quickly with a huff and slammed the back door
of her mind closed. He trickled darkly into her
neck, sending shivers to run up her spine and down her arms.
Writing herself, she started softly.
I am looking for a secure place to research, develop, and create
a strategy to eliminate the Dark Lord.
He continued and Hermione echoed.
A room where all are alchemical, literary and magical combat
training requirements shall be met as and when we need them.
A space only the two of us may enter.
By their third repeat of the plea to the wall, they were
speaking in harmony, and the stone responded in kind.
Patches fell away like grains of sand being dusted from the wall,
unearthing the treasure within, allowing a humble wooden door to
emerge from beneath. Would you like to do the
honours? He rumbled, my voice's chest
vibrating against the back of her neck.
Hermione turned around to him with childlike wonder, surprised
to find such an open and anticipatory expression meeting
hers. I still feel like this might be
a trick. She breathed, heart pounding.
Fuck around and find out. He whispered back.
She whirled around, summoning her Hogwarts House bravery, and
swung the door open from its iron handle.
They stepped in to the cavernous room, rather unlike the Room of
Requirements at Hogwarts in many fundamental ways.
Instead of a polished stone tiled floor with metal grates,
the ground here was made-up of rough, broken black stones that
crunched under Hermione's boots. It wasn't stained glass windows
and wall sconces that brought light to this manifested space.
Rather, natural light poured in from behind a short, earthy
waterfall in the corner of The Cave.
It sent undulating refractions of teal rays to flicker off the
damp, misshapen jagged walls, so different to the smooth walls of
the Room of Requirement. The water splashed serenely into
a small pond that appeared to start off shallow and then
quickly deepen towards its centre, the sound of the
trickling water both soothing and mysterious in equal measure.
I don't know how you did this. Hermione croaked, voice not
wanting to work. The smell of damp rock and earth
calmed her senses. In the middle of The Cave, an
island of desks stood littered with papers and tomes, 2 large
chalkboards standing at the sides.
She hurried there like a child of Honeydukes, with no idea what
to look at first. It wasn't all my doing.
He admitted. On the left cave wall a series
of tapestries hung, and on the right a combat dummy shaped
suspiciously like Voldemort wobbled from its recent
apparition. That is what we've been dusting
out, our invention on. Our invention?
She repeated, striding over to him with a sad look Back at the
research texts, I promised I would be upfront, so here it is.
He hesitated, and she wished she could wonderlessly cast the
Gentlemans so that she could too whisper in his mind.
Take the leap. She placed her hand on his.
This seemed to strengthen him, and as if he heard her, which he
totally could have if he wished to, he pressed on.
We've been working on a spell, a rather powerful one of our own
design. We felt it necessary to work
with magic he wouldn't be expecting, especially after the
reports you shared from the battle.
Hermione breathed in a quick gust of moist air, but Draco
continued. You came to me and shared that
the Dark Lord had protected himself by magic impervious to
the Killing Curse. Hermione hung her head low in
remembrance. She knew this, recalling when
her last hope did not even scrape him.
She had felt the magic seep like black tar into her, as though
she had called it from the darkness Incarnate in order to
perform the curse. Elvada Cadavra.
She had not been the only one. George, Arthur, Ginny, even Ron
all spat the death curse upon the Dark Lord.
Perhaps there had been others too.
They were just the ones who admitted to it, admitted how it
broke something inside them to perform it and have it be for
nothing. You studied alone first, only
visiting the Manor as a liaison. You shared with me a very
guarded account of your endeavours, and I shared with
you what I thought prudent. Hermione pursed her lips at
that, assured that Malfoy had made it like drawing blood from
a stone. Eventually, we wore each other
down, and when I showed you what I had been working on with this
room, a secure location to study, work, and strategize in,
you finally let me in. He smiled warmly, a quiet,
comforting smile. That was when he decided to stay
here. Draco took a turn about the
natural space, his voice echoing around the cavern.
We couldn't keep going the way we were.
The owls, the house owls popping in and out, and the Dark Lord
calling me to him day and night. We knew that we were on shaky
ground, knew that we were being too open with our communication,
and that's when I suggested the cease-fire deal.
Hermione cut in fragments of their conversations of the last
weeks, pulling themselves together, forming a portrait of
their most recent history. You would have had me live here
in secret and taken all the risk in being found with me here, but
I wouldn't have allowed that pushy little thing you can be
when you want to be. He flirted, he was flirting with
her. Draco's buried her and hitting
just the right spot. Her cheeks heated in response.
It's a good job too. Hermione asserted.
I was here less than a week when Greyback scented me on you.
Draco was back by her side now, and I would have murdered him
and his pups on the spot had that been the case.
Her breath hitched at his intensity.
A stack of Quibblers lay on the side of her desk, Umbridge's
face looming at her from the front page.
She wasn't at the ball. Hermione spoke the realisation
aloud, and Draco latched on to who she was referring to as he
rounded the desk by her, spotting the article.
Did he not have plans for her to take permanent office?
Umbridge was ended by Voldemort himself after three weeks in her
role as interim Minister. Creative differences?
She fancied herself too powerful, and Voldemort assumed
open control. As far as the public are aware,
she took an early retirement, and so as long as the papers
don't photograph him, the Dark Lord is more than willing to be
the leader of his new world. Hermione nodded slowly, more
questions breaking free from within her.
It felt glorious to free them from their internal bindings,
cast them out into the world and have them answered.
Does Voldemort know you've shut your Manor down?
Isn't anyone asking questions? Aren't they suspicious You
wouldn't know this, being muggle born and from the company you
kept at Hogwarts? Draco intoned, and Hermione gave
an indignant huff. I don't mean anything by that
Granger, it's just a fact, but pure blood wizarding families
have always been a secretive and suspicious lot.
It was only when the Dark Lord took residence in the manner
that our wards needed to be dissolved and Hermione said now
he's barely able to leave Hogwarts.
Your wards could be reinstated once more.
Indeed, it does seem that leaving the castle is beyond his
capabilities. Plus, he agreed as a part of the
ceasefire, as part of acquiring you, that the wards could be
fully instated. It should be a positive sign
that we should be able to overpower him easily.
But the Order decided, and I did agree, that the next time we
tried to take him out, we need to be successful.
Draco sat back on a wooden chair by the desk, leaning over in
thought. We cannot spook him into
fortifying himself further. We were also concerned to begin
with that he would want to return to the Manor to reinstate
his official headquarters. From what Harry said, Hogwarts
was the only home Voldemort ever knew.
It makes sense he'd want to stay there.
And that's precisely what you said at the time, convincing me
you'd be safe here so long as the wards were up and could
include Hugh. Hmm.
She hummed primly. Clever little which I can be.
He sniffed a laugh and smirked at her.
What kind of fortification magic do you think he's employed?
She asked, crossing her arms and looking to the green chalkboard
decorated in charts and runic equations.
Oh, Granger, don't go giving me all the questions when you're
the one with all the answers, Draco.
She warned, and his chest rose quickly at the sound of his name
on her lips. I think we've established by now
that any knowledge you expect me to have gained while we were
working together is non existent.
Fine, fine, fine. He said mellifluously, holding
his hands up in surrender. You suspected he had been
playing around with ancient magics, soul magic in
particular. We knew other spells were
hitting him, so it was only Cadavra that he had protection
against, so we began making our own spell, She mused.
Arvada Bombarda. He gestured to the board.
That's what we've been creating here, Arvada Bombarda.
Hermione merged the intentions of the two spells.
A death bomb. That's an insane level of magic,
Malfoy. Desperate times, desperate
measures. He said, resigned.
And we succeeded. Not quite, and I confess
progress has slowed since your arrival.
Can't think at all why? He teased.
Nope, me neither. Hermione played back.
It sounds to me like you've really used this as an
opportunity to put your feet up and have a little holiday from
all the work. Do you need me to write out a
more rigorous revision schedule? Oh, please spare me.
I had enough of listening to you ordering Potter and Weasley
about in the school library. Part of Hermione wanted to hold
on tight to that memory, to snuggle into it and indulge in
the sadness of its loss, but her consciousness was dragged
towards a glint on the far desk instead, where a gleaming dagger
lay in a velvet case. It's slim hilt encrusted with
rubies. It sat amongst other similar
weapons, but her hand reached toward the blade alone, drawn to
it like a siren song. She grazed her finger down 1
edge. Draco Malfoy must die.
Those are Black family weapons. I pulled them from the vault.
Malfoy said, but Hermione only heard the sloshing of water in
the distance. Enchanted familial protection
magic on them. That won't include you, so do be
careful. Hmm?
She said distractedly. I said.
Draco purred as he vacated the seat, pulling her hand from the
dagger and bringing not only her hand but a whole form to his
chest. B careful.
He was so warm against her and all the heats that had built up
within her when he devoured her with his eyes alone, when he
dragged her to him by the Stonewall, when he'd shown her
the magnificence of the room he'd created her all spread
across her and warmed her core. His voice was silk.
It was blood, it was iron in her mouth.
She bit down on her lip and looked up to him.
Desire cracked within her, a lightning strike disorienting.
Did she want to slice his throat open, or grab it and pull him
into her? In the end, she didn't get the
choice, for his lips found her in a cacophony of need, of want,
of desire, and they swept her away along with the whirlwind of
her confusing thoughts.