Chapter 32. A joining of the ways Charlie
and Luna drew their wands, adopting duelling stances by her
side, sparks lighting up every crook and spindle of the tree
line's gnarled branches, crafting a sinister silhouette.
Draco, dressed only from the hips down in his discarded
slacks, paid their aggression no mind and instead stepped forward
to bask in the shadows. Hermione drank in his presence
like a lost prophet trekking through the desert, her throat
dry. He was an Oasis, her first
glimmer of hope in an arid hellscape.
He wasn't dead, but she had thought that he was, was sure he
was. And so the Doctrines had
completed and granted her access to a screening of her most
pertinent memories of what was to come.
She could uncover more in time, but for now, what was more
important was the man standing before her.
Her core clenched, a pulse of pleasure she knew she would
always crave, never willing to be without.
It was as if he had sunk his teeth into her, branding her as
his bite marks not just on her skin, but carved into her very
heart. Hermione's mouth fell open as
her eyes travelled to the scar along his neck, the red line
fading into white, then merging into his skin.
Draco answered her unspoken question.
Was your heart ever in it at all?
He shook his head and reached out for her, but Charlie stood
in his path, wand light pointed directly at Draco's throat.
Not another step, Malfoy. Charlie warned with danger in
his tone. Draco's eyes narrowed at
Hermione, barely registering Charlie's caution.
That blade was a black family weapon.
I explained when I showed you The Cave.
Its protective magic prevents it from being wielded to deadly
effect against any of its name sakes.
His expression soured. But I am guessing you didn't
register that vital piece of information while your mind
remained solely on your lust for my end.
He stalled for a moment, finding something in her gaze that took
him back. Your eyes.
He whispered, defiant disbelief in his voice.
His brows furrowed and it was as though the stars themselves were
kissing his skin as his face brightened.
A rare smile lifted the corner of his blood stained mouth
before he shook it away. There you are, Granger.
He sighed. Salazar, I've missed that look.
His shoulders sagging as his expression darkened again.
Stay away, it's too late for me. I'll take him out.
And then he paused, his breath coming in plumes of pale vapour
between them. Then you can truly put an end to
me. Charlie adjusted his stance by
her side, his only is apparent in his tense frame.
Hermione would have a lot of explaining to do.
Draco, I've just seen what happens if you.
She started, but he cut her off, addressing her new protection
detail. Can you get her to safety?
That's the plan. Said Charlie, his expression
tight and jaw locked, thick arms folded over his chest.
Hermione thought to interject once more, but she knew there
was no use. Explaining things to him may
only expedite the ritual's compulsion to execute his task
that she knew all too well. Knowledge could also be a
weakness. We'll look after your family.
Offered Luna the Word family floating through the air like a
spring sugar stealer, incongruous with the way that
Luna often was with the world. Cruickshanks wrapped himself
around Luna's slim neck like a fur tippet.
You be careful, Malfoy. Said Luna softly.
I'm so sorry, was all Hermione could vocalise, fresh tears
pouring down her cheeks as Charlie hooked his arm around
her, readying an apparition. There's nothing to forgive, he
said, and Hermione believed every word, the sincere softness
in his expression a mixture of resignation and adoration plain
on his face. I will find a way to save you,
or I will die trying. She poured all the determination
she could muster into her words. She was a force to be reckoned
with, and she needed Draco to remember that Hermione was a
woman of her word. Charlie flicked his wand and
they began to contort in the air, but not before she heard
Draco's parting thoughts soothe the alcoves of her mind.
I'd like to see you try. The wind whistled tinnily, like
the signalling of respite as they landed on the tire, tracked
earth, and Hermione stepped out of Charlie's grasp and drew a
fortifying breath. She was safe.
She should feel safe. So why did she feel like she'd
left half of her soul behind? Because I have.
Drako was so entangled and enmeshed with who she was now
that leaving him behind felt like a betrayal.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. All wrong.
Peering into the night, she could make out a few dilapidated
structures past a farmyard gate. Shells of old buildings from the
abandoned military base lined a dirt Rd.
Their facades painted a chalky pail while their windows sat
gaping wide. No glass to shield nor curtains
to obscure. It was, for lack of better
words, a ghost town. The wind wove through the
concrete pastel boxes, whispering a mellifluous chime
into the night. To an unsuspecting Muggle, this
place held nothing of interest, but Hermione knew better.
The air thronged with an immense, unmistakable magic,
setting her skin alight with anticipation.
Charlie approached one of the stone pillars precariously
holding up the gate, and with the tip of his wand, tapped
against a selection of the crumbling, mossy stone blocks.
I love this part. Luna tittered, and Hermione
found. For once, she shared in her
delight, Her mind hearkened back to another time only seven years
ago, her parents standing transfixed behind her as she
knocked against the brick wall of the Leaky Cauldron, the
passage into Diagon Alley. The first time she truly stepped
into the wizarding world. And what a wonder it had been.
She held her breath, bracing for the tide of grief, but no tears
came. Perhaps this was acceptance, a
loss in its own right, the quiet morning of no longer being
someone's daughter. Or maybe she had climbed so high
through the storm of emotion that she had broken through,
weightless, into the stratosphere, beyond the reach
of sorrow itself. With the final tap on the
crumbling stone slab, Charlie stepped to the side and behind
his bouldering frame, the Fidelius Charm pulled her into
its fold. The Stonewall surrounding the
abandoned hamlet shook and began to expand.
The tiny pebbles that had taken shelter in the gaps between the
slabs came loose as the wall grew, first as tall as Luna,
then Hermione, then Charlie, until it was besting the
neighboring forest in competition of height.
Before them, the rotten gate had moulded itself into a great
metal door, and somewhere beyond the fortress walls, great
spotlights lit the unseen place, the light spilling over the top
of the walls. Hermione could not suppress her
gasp. Luna skipped forward with Crooks
slung over her shoulder and wrapped on the tall door.
Hermione, her brain finally allowing room for some rational
thought, cast a warming charm over herself and adjusted her
robe in an effort to appear more decent.
Well, as decent as she could be. Still covered in Draco's blood,
with a protruding stomach and the look of the recently fucked,
flushed and nest haired, an amalgamation of shame and
trepidation writhed within her. Beyond these walls was the woman
who had embraced her as if she were her own blood, and the man
who doted on her, sharing all his muggle passions with her as
though she were his own daughter.
Mr. and Missus Weasley had lost so much, they thought they had
lost her, if not to death, then to its Eaters, and she would
have a lot of work ahead of her to gain their trust once more.
A panel in the metal slid open, and the gravelly tone of Jinny
emitted through the barrier, which she began before her
discerning brown eyes caught sight of Hermione.
Merlin fuck Hermione Jinn, Charlie cautioned, his tone
measured, urging his youngest sibling to rein in her outburst.
Hermione, meanwhile, felt her own mental walls closing in, the
unveiling of every secret and her own unravelling looming
dangerously close. Oh fuck off, Charlie, I'm
allowed to be caught off guard when my own best friend shows up
at our doorstep looking like she's been through a literal
bloodbath. She quipped back before
gathering herself and clearing her throat.
Luna, which magical beast do you and Hermione Granger regularly
argue on the existence of? Hermione scoffed and rolled her
eyes, though a flicker of warmth tugged at her heart.
Luna, unfazed, answered cheerily.
Why the crumpled snorcak, of course.
As the panel slid shut with a sharp click, followed by the
metallic whirring of locks disengaging, the heavy door
creaked open, spilling light into the dim space and bathing
Hermione in its glow. It really is real, by the way.
Luna added brightly to Charlie, a faint blush in her cheeks that
Hermione caught as the little witch gazed Doai up at the
dragon tamer. My father was gifted the horn of
a deceased snorcak. We had it mounted in our living
room. Before Hermione blew it up, that
is. Hermione let out a short hoof of
laughter, too drained to argue that the mounted piece has most
definitely been an A rumpent horn, which was precisely why it
had exploded and nearly killed a lot of them earlier that year.
But correcting Luna's whimsical take felt pointless, and part of
her secretly cherished the memory, absurdity and all that
had been during a time when she still believed the three of
them, she, Harry, and Ron would be able to see this war out
together and survive it. The thoughts panged at the
numbness in her soul, like a violin string being plucked, yet
any sound stifled immediately, the neck held in a tight grasp
within the fortress. Jinny's sharp voice carried in
the air, clearly locked in a heated argument with someone
about ending her shift early, though it was obvious she wasn't
winning. Hermione stepped forward, her
heart pounding as she followed Charlie and Luna into the
compound, her breath halting as her eyes digested the view.
The space was awash with a fluorescent glow, and her tired
heart quickened, A rush of adrenaline mingling with awe.
To her left, the wide patch of lawns served as a makeshift
training ground. Even at this late hour, Muggle
soldiers in khaki combat suits moved in synchronicity,
performing drills with sweaty brows and determined
expressions. Their movements were practised
and sure, yet Hermione couldn't help but notice the occasional
flicker of nervousness in their eyes as they glanced toward
their wizarding counterparts. At the head of the lawn before
the 1st structure, witches and Wizards congregated in vibrant
robes, Mcgonigal among them. Her arms crossed, her emerald
robes a sharp contrast to the utilitarian surroundings.
Though her expression was as severe as ever, there was a
glimmer of resolution and fire in her form as she guided the
soldiers through evasive manoeuvres.
The sight would have been laughable if it wasn't so
earnest. One's slashing, casting non
lethal spells that zipped past the muggles who ducked and
rolled with surprising agility. The clash of muggle and magical
methods was so fascinating and surreal.
Ahead, the Dirt Rd. wound its way through what had once been
the abandoned shells of the village, the crumbling remnants
of half built houses transformed into fortified barracks.
As she looked right, feeling the heat of Jinny's gaze searing
into the back of her head, Hermione glimpsed a group of
young Wizards practising shield charms just outside one such
building, their voices steady despite the occasional burst of
sparks. Further along, dull green army
tanks, massive and imposing, sat in neat rows, their surfaces
glinting under the magical lights.
Hermione choked at the grim sight of the thetrals, their
spectral forms both eerie and elegant, harnessed alongside
Dragons that shifted restlessly, their scaly hides shimmering in
hues of bronze and green. The scene was otherworldly, a
melding of magical creatures and machinery that spoke to the
desperate creativity of the Order's war effort.
Pride bloomed in her heart. This was a joining of the ways
they've done incredible work here, haven't they?
Said Charlie, his tone tinged with gratification as he nodded
towards a group of dragon handlers working to harm a
particularly irritable Welsh Green.
The creature's tail flicked dangerously close to a group of
soldiers, who scrambled back with startled yelps.
Hermione's lip twitched into a faint smile.
These past months, it had been easier to believe that she and
Draco stood alone in their resistance, a shield her mind
had crafted to ward off the inevitable grief of losing yet
another friend or family member. She thought of Percy's body,
still laying in stasis in the family crypt on the outskirts of
the grounds. She would make sure he made it
home, even if she could not do the same for Ronald.
Out of the barracks at the head of the lawn strode Kingsley
Shacklebolt, his commanding presence enhanced by the
military regalia he wore. The dark fabric of his uniform
was adorned with both wizarding and muggle insignias, a striking
visual representation of the bridge he had forged between
their worlds. He was gesturing animatedly as
he addressed a group of officers, his rich voice
carrying an authority that seemed to ease the tension of
those in his address. Past him, another group
conspired, appearing to be Wizards at first glance, but her
stomach twisted as recognition dawned.
No, not just Death Eaters. It took all her mental strength
to rein in the surge of anger that clawed at her chest, to
steady her trembling hand and resist the knife edge temptation
to whip out her wand and curse them into oblivion.
Rosier, Selwyn and ludicrously Mulsaba, the bulky dirty blonde
servant of Voldemort who now stood watching the muggle
soldiers drills with thinly veiled disdain etched across his
face. They had turned themselves in,
yes, but seeing them here, mingling openly with the Order
stronghold, was a far cry from what Hermione had imagined.
Mulsiba, as she, Draco, and Theo had already uncovered, were
still playing both sides. She had accepted that much, but
the idea of them actually working with the Order, actively
participating? She had assumed they'd been
offered some form of amnesty, perhaps, but only under strict
confinement. Surely they should be locked up,
stripped of their ones, not roaming freely among the Order's
military base. Her pulse quickened, frustration
and disbelief battling for dominance.
She felt woefully out of the loop, blindsided by a situation
she hadn't anticipated. Trusting Death Eaters to
collaborate. How far had the Order been
forced to stretch the bounds? In desperation, Hermione took in
a deep breath, the scent of damp earth and dragon fire filling
her lungs. This place, hidden behind layers
of magical protection and nestled within the forgotten
remnants of the old village, was more than a compound.
It was a beacon in the resistance, a meeting point
where 2 worlds had joined to stand against a common enemy.
The enormity of it settled heavily on her shoulders, but it
also ignited a spark within her. There was work to be done, and
she would not falter. A wealth of possibilities raced
in her mind. She wouldn't have to save Draco
alone. Hermione could have a whole army
behind her. She just needed to make sure
everyone understood why it was imperative that his life be
prioritised above all. Charlie had jogged ahead,
collaring Kingsley and Mcgonigal, who both turned in
her direction, their expressions Stony like the weathered
gargoyles of Hogwarts itself. Miss Granger?
Mcgonigal exclaimed, her voice cutting through the home of
activity as they converged in the middle of the road.
By the green around them, everything seemed to pause, all
eyes snapping to the newest arrival.
The golden girl had returned. Mcgonigal's hawkish gaze swept
over Hermione, from her torn robe and dishevelled hair to her
blood baked skin and bare, muddied heels.
Although it is most wonderful to see you.
She continued, her tone crisp but edged with concern.
I imagine you have quite the tale to tell, given your current
state and your unannounced departure from your mission.
She gestured toward the barracks ahead, her expression unreadable
but resolute. Hermione could feel the weight
of the silence that followed, the quiet hum of whispers
swelling around her like a tide. She swallowed hard as Kingsley
and Mcgonigal turned, leading her to one of the larger
barracks. The heavy door groaned open,
revealing a small group clustered around a glowing map
laid out on a central table. Mr. Weasley, his glasses
slipping down his nose, straightened at the sound of
their entrance, his face lighting up with a mix of relief
and surprise. Bill stood nearby, sleeves
rolled up, murmuring to Neville, who seemed in deep
concentration. At the far end of the table,
Missus Weasley gently dabbed ointment onto George's
outstretched arm, angry purple burns stark against his skin.
As they stepped into the room, Missus Weasley leapt off her
stool and a soft SOB escaped her lips.
Hermione, dear. She hurried around the table,
her face shifting into an expression of motherly concern
so warm and unwavering that it made Hermione's chest tighten
with guilt. But before Missus Weasley could
begin her maternal ministrations, the heavy foot of
boots against dirt echoed outside, and Hermione was nearly
knocked off her feet as Jinny barrelled into her, wrapping her
tightly in a fierce, freckled embrace.
Hermione gasped as Jinny's arms cinched around her rib cage,
squeezing as though she could keep Hermione from slipping away
again. Tell us everything.
Jinny demanded in a way only she could do, pulling back just
enough to look her in the eye, though her grip didn't loosen.
Her face was flushed, her hair pulled back in a slick bun as
her eyes blazed like liquid amber.
And this time, myony, I mean everything.
The room was very still. Every face turned toward her,
waiting for the explanation. She wasn't sure how to begin.
Her lungs felt heavy, the weight of so many unspoken questions
pressing down on her. This wasn't just a homecoming,
it was A reckoning. They had to know the truth,
every last harrowing piece of it.
If Hermione had any hope of securing Draco's survival beyond
tomorrow night, she needed the full force of the order behind
her. They needed to understand the
depth of her struggles, the tangled web of secrets she'd
been carrying. The pregnancy, Draco, the
darkness, the future time travel, the doctrines,
everything. Her head throbbed at the thought
of bearing it all, of peeling back every layer of her guarded
mind. And yet, what weighed on her
most was whether she could still meet the Weasley's eyes once the
truth was laid bare.