Chapter 25 I can let you go May 12th, 1998 The Crypt Draco stood
so still in the underground crypt that he could have been
mistaken for a stone bust were it not for the tremor in his
upper body. Granger would arrive soon, and
he needed to project a much higher level of emotional
stability if she were to trust his seriousness and commitment.
The wiry, wily brunette would instantly mistrust his
intentions if he couldn't control his damned body.
A peculiar whisper drifted on the wind, and he whipped around
to face the narrow cobbed web stairway, anticipating her
arrival. Darling boy, you're making your
mother worry. His dusty blonde eyebrows drew
together in confusion, but the motherly words ever nest from
his mind instantly as his eyes refocused on the figure
descending into the dark. You couldn't have prepared a
Lumos. Granger scowled at him, meeting
his frown with one equally mistrustful.
He couldn't recall a time he'd been alone with her like this in
all these years. Part of him wondered if he
should just pick her up and apparate them both far away.
Leave everything behind. Drako reset his features into
something more neutral. And a scourge.
If I. Godsmalfoy.
She muttered, pulling at the strands of spider silk that had
clumped in her hair. What on earth was she wearing,
he wondered, eyeing her horrendous maroon jumper, 3
sizes too big with a garish R knitted onto it.
Grainger, Draco, please wake up. We need you, I need you.
He narrowed his eyes, all memory of the disembodied voice
vanishing as Grainger cut him with O for Merlin's sake,
Malfoy. She stomped across the crypt,
tossed her bag by the stairwell, and hoofed.
You asked for me specifically. The least you could do is not
look at me like I'm some botched potion disaster.
You are surprisingly spirited, considering your recent loss.
He drawled. It was clearly the wrong thing
to say, he knew that, truly. Hermione's decolletage flushed a
furious Crimson, a stark contrast against her gaunt
pallor, and her brown eyes became Shields of solid bronze.
The Muggleborn had thinned considerably during her year on
the run, and Draco made a mental note to bring some pastries or
cake from the new ourselves at their next meeting.
Our recent losses are precisely why you find me so spirited.
Or had you expected to find me broken, tortured soul, ready to
answer to your every whim? Not exactly.
Well, I'm not ready to give up the fight.
You asked for me specifically, and I ask that you have a more
welcoming face, otherwise I might mistake you for the Death
Eater you're dressed as. She found a dismissive hand at
his ensemble, as if attempting to shoo the dark robes off him.
Your wish could be my command, he thought, raising one eyebrow
at her direction. With A twist of his mouth, he
felt both relieved and slightly disappointed that he hadn't
donned his metal mask to rile her up further.
This is the only face I have, Grainger.
If it's not to your liking, I don't know what to tell you.
Why did you ask for me to be your liaison?
She interrupted. Draco couldn't admit it, but
part of him was finding this sparring match unreasonably
exhilarating, feeling a flush beneath his sharp cheekbones.
I only work with the best. Besides the howling wind above,
one could have heard a pin drop on the paved floor from the
silence his words commanded. May 23rd, 1998 Black Mountains.
Interesting choice for a safe house.
However, did you stumble upon such a fortress?
Draco remarked with a wry smirk as he stepped into the little
brick building tucked somewhere in the Black Mountains of South
Wales. Well, it's a dumb sight.
Better than a graveyard for morale, don't you think?
Hermione huffed, closing the door behind him and peering
through the frayed gingham curtains at the rushing
reservoir mouth by the hovel. If you must know, it's a bothy.
A brothel. My word, Granger, when I
suggested you get us a room next time, I didn't mean to be quite
so forward. Her record face flushed, whether
in annoyance or embarrassment, he couldn't be sure.
Either way, it produced the desired effect.
A bothee, a free to use muggle shelter for outdoor enthusiasts.
I don't understand, why isn't he waking Hermione?
Fondemont said. Draco was trying to fight the
magic. If I could only work out what it
is. Draker's expression must have
betrayed his alarm, because she quickly added.
Don't worry, I'll still put up all the wards.
We're safe here. I know.
He replied with a casual shrug, though his heart began to race
unexpectedly. I tested them upon arrival.
Right, well, I suppose we should address the toad in the hole.
Hermione said, taking a seat on what must have been the bed,
though Draco couldn't imagine the ratty cot would be much good
for sleeping. The what?
Umbrage The elephant in the room?
Sorry, I wasn't expecting you to speak so I'll of the dead.
Draco replied, a barely there chuckle huffing through his
nose. So it is as we expected then?
The Prophet's article hinted at an early retirement, but we
didn't think that very likely. Hermione nodded to herself,
sombre. Oh, don't look so sad for the
hag, Grainger. Had you not been so power
hungry, Voldemort would have allowed her to be the face of
his new regime. But no, she earned herself the
honour of a private execution by the Dark Lord himself.
Hermione pursed her lips at him. What other news?
Ah, ah, ah, he tutted at her. You first, you look tired, dear.
You need to rest. The babies need you to rest.
I'll rest once he's back with us.
Draco's eyes scrunched together briefly as nausea crashed over
him before ebbing away, which Hermione took as a signal to get
down to business. As you know, we've pulled off 3
successful raids on prominent pure blood settlements thanks to
your information. She nodded her head, the pretty
braid bouncing slightly. But our searches beyond galleons
and relics have become fruitless.
If you'd care to share what you're actually looking for, I
could provide some more useful intelligence.
Hermione scrutinized him and he held his breath, arms crossed
over his chest in an attempt to convey steadfastness.
Honestly. Hermione sighed, blowing out a
gust of resolve as her shoulder slumped.
We don't really know what we're looking for, Kingsley says It's
more of a show of strength to make it seem as though we have a
plan, both to Voldemort and society at large, while we
search for not the what, but for the how.
The a how? Draco pressed, watching Grainger
bury her face in her hands and rake tangled strands of hair
through her slender fingers. How despite every Avada Cundavra
we threw his way, Voldemort survived.
June 13th, 1998. Frederick's ice cream parlour.
Not too bad a hideout, Malfoy. She remarked, surveying the
empty ice cream parlour in the small Lancashire village of
Heath Charnock. The space was decorated in
playful pastel stripes of pink, mint and baby blue, with windows
to the main streets boarded up. Salazar, was that a compliment
Granger? And might die of shock.
Oh hush, you're allowed to get it right once in a while.
Hermione smirked and Draco felt a blush creeping up his neck,
thankfully hidden beneath his robes.
How did you come by this place, mate?
If there was ever a chance to use some of your Malfoy bravado,
it's now. Hmm?
He murmured, having missed her earlier question as tinnitus and
an odd wave of anxiety washed over him.
He moved behind the counter and opened the freezer.
Theo had intercepted the opening of the parlour just after the
stocks had arrived, sending the plump unsuspecting muggle couple
on an all expense paid world cruise for the time being.
Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla or salted caramel?
Draco asked, reading off the labels on the 1st shelf within
reach. Fine, fine, keep your secrets.
Salted caramel for me. She said with a playful smile.
I suppose it doesn't matter as long as it's protected.
I'm keeping your girls as safe as I can, but the Death Eater
dissenters are ranking up and Snakeface is getting restless.
Are you all right, Malfoy? Me.
He tilted his head, setting 2 bowls of ice cream on the table
and taking a seat beside her, their knees grazing lightly.
Copycat. She teased, glancing at his
matching scoops. He wants to keep an eye on you.
He isn't happy. A deep rooted panic settled in
his bones, though he couldn't place its origin.
Have you studied any more of that necromantic magic?
I think I might have something, maybe, possibly.
Hermione mused, her mouth half full, a dribble of ice cream
leaking from the corner of her lips.
Instinctively, Draco brought his thumb to her mouth, his eyes
fixed on hers, his breath held as though the moment were made
of fine glass, ready to shatter any second.
He licked the cream from his finger.
Would you take a look at this book?
She interrupted, springing from her chair to open her satchel,
breaking the tension, presenting a dark tone.
She held it out, and he eyed it warily.
See if there's anything workable in here.
Don't send an owl. I know we've got the letters
encrypted, but the last one got so roughed up on its journey
it'll never fly again. Blasted snatcher Hawks.
I liked that owl. He said, grounding himself.
I know she was a pretty thing. Her feathers will grow back,
just not well enough for flying speeds.
Charlie's tending to her and the others.
Good. Draco added thoughtfully.
I'll look through this and see if there's anything feasible.
Not sure what to do about correspondence, though.
We can just meet here next week and figure it out from there.
Hermione offered. But what if you need me in the
meantime? And what exactly would I need
you for, Malfoy? Draco didn't miss the double
entrendre in her tone. Damn.
He seethed as his mark began to burn.
I need to go. Hermione stood, looking anxious,
while he gathered his things and shrunk their notes into a pocket
in his robes. He paused in front of her,
placing 1 palm gently on her tense arm and kneading it
lightly. Hermione's gaze glanced between
his, studying his face as if it were the last time she'd see it.
Lately she'd begun looking at him this way, and it both elated
and unnerved him. What was the point in keeping
Grainger close if he was only dragging her into increasingly
dangerous territory? I'll see you in a week.
He murmured before apparating away.
June 20th, 1998. Beech Hut Draco, I've solved it.
A varda bombarda we. Well, yes, Theo helped quite a
bit. Was all in the altered
equilibrium state. No biggie, I'll take that.
Order of Merlin, when you blast the fucker to smithereens.
It was brilliant. Really, Draco?
Draco Granger's hand waved in his face, pulling him out of the
strange reverie and back into the Cornish beach Hut earth to
Malfoy. It's called meditation, Granger,
I thought you'd know all about it being so clued up on the
Muggles. She narrowed her eyes.
Not exactly the time for it, wouldn't you say?
The Sunday cabin was a tight fit for two adults, so Draco joined
Hermione on the bed, their backs against the thin panelled wall
with a small circular frosted window between them, casting a
beam of light inside. Draco sighed and shuffled closer
to her, glancing over their research papers.
She took to stack of them away and cleared her throat.
What was that? He tugged at the papers and she
fought to keep them in her grip. Draco released them and she
nearly fell sideways off the bed.
Oh come on Grainger. I'm the one risking my life
staying close to Voldemort. On the orders command I might
add. If it were up to me, I'd have
taken us away by now. It's not like I don't have the
means. Hermione stilled at his use of
us, and he wondered if she realised he had meant it.
He had for longer than he cared to admit.
Good thinking, sending Poppy to us about the parlour.
Hermione said, changing the subject.
It's still such a shame it was burned down.
You still don't know how it was marked as a target.
The muggles will get a decent insurance payout, don't worry,
and Theo will encourage them to set up shop somewhere else when
they're back from their travels. But no, I can't fathom how it
was found. It just means we need to be more
careful. Securing these spots takes time,
and I've lost faith in our warding methods, if I'm honest.
But I might have a plan. What are you thinking?
Her eyes searched his, an openness he still wasn't used
to. I think.
Wait, what was that? Draco's head spun toward the
semi opaque glass. Several bulky figures were
crossing the dunes, which shouldn't have caused concern
except Draco had warded the entire area around the Hut
against muggles. Draco.
He clapped a gloved hand over her mouth to silence her.
Gringer's eyes darted around the room as her mind furiously
worked on an escape plan. We know you're in there.
Graybach's low voice snarled at the cabin, the soft sound of
summer waves drowned out by the heavy treading of boots on sand.
Hermione deftly slid her notes into his Hatchel, and Draco
counted her down with his fingers. 321 on the final count.
Hermione Disapparated with a loud crack, mingling with a
deafening crescendo of splintering wood and bursting
fabrics as Draco's Bombarda Maxima disguised his own
Disapparition. June 29th, 1998 midnight Malfoy
Manor. Granger's eyes were swollen, her
nose red and raw as she arrived directly into the foyer by side
along Apparition. She released Kip's tiny hand and
looked to Draco. The youngest elf had been sent
to check on Hermione, while Poppy and Gretta remained
privately with his mother. Despite the distance of the past
year, Lucius had been her childhood love.
The loss would be heavy. Draco could not allow himself to
feel his own grief, though, not before he ensured Granger could
survive hers. Hermione's breaths rattled
against her lips, her shoulders shuddering.
The young elf quickly made herself scarce, scurrying toward
the kitchens. Drako's own heart ached
unbearably at the sight, every nerve in his body willing him to
reach for her, to hold her. Ron.
Her voice hitched as Draco closed space between them.
Aye, I couldn't, I failed to retrieve his body.
He choked out, emotion thickening his throat until the
words came out as more of a rasp.
He had failed her. Do you know what he'll, what
he'll do with him now that he's. Her voice trailed off and Draco
answered to spare her from finishing.
You don't want to know that, Granger, not right now.
Hermione's sobs erupted and she sank onto the cold floor, her
shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows, exposing the scar of
mudblood his aunt had cursed upon her.
Draco knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her, letting her
shatter into him. She didn't pull away, nor did
she recoil. Draco had feared she'd
immediately blame him, that she'd abandoned him and their
mission. But once again, Hermione Granger
was full of surprises. His own heart, which he thought
might have broken, swelled with an unexpected pride.
The pride of someone entrusted with another sorrow, trusted to
bear it. I'm not sure how much longer I
can cope without you. A familiar voice rang out in his
mind, a voice of longing. Your father, She whispered,
sniffing after many long minutes.
Cradled in his arms where he belongs.
Was all Draco replied. July 10th, 1998.
Private study. It's impressive work, Draco.
Hermione admitted, gazing into the space beyond the open wall
of his study. Please don't pander, I can't get
the damn thing bigger than a wardrobe.
Draco replied, scratching his head in frustration.
We could just use your study or another part of the Manor.
It's not like you don't have enough space.
Hermione suggested, twirling her wand to reveal the indigo and
burgundy weaves of the hidden room spell.
The point is to have a place that's completely safe,
somewhere. Even if the Dark Lord himself
showed up, he wouldn't be able to find you or our plans.
The quiet clatter of a food tray announced the arrival of Poppy,
who promptly offered. Is miss wanting some chocolate
eclairs? Poppy made them special miss.
Oh, thank you, Poppy. I might take one in a minute if
you could just leave one there. Hermione gestured at the desk,
but Poppy squinted at her suspiciously before setting down
the entire tray of cream filled chocolate pastries.
I think the elves are trying to fatten me up.
Hermione said once Poppy had left, sulking slightly.
Do you think they're trying to tell me something?
Hey Draco, mate, it's been weeks so I'm bringing out the big ones
now. There it was again.
Draco froze, his mind scanning the source for the strange
intrusion. A cold sweat trickled down his
spine and a nauseous unease crept over him.
Like the fact that you're positively skeletal.
He quipped, re grounding himself.
Yes, they're worried, Greta especially.
She won't let me hear the end of it.
I wouldn't turn down their food if I were you.
Knowing how self magic, you could end up the size of Hagrid
if you keep refusing their offerings.
Hermione laughed, a joyous, mellifluous sound, and her eyes
sparkled with an openness he hadn't seen before, a trusting
air about them. She seemed genuinely unguarded
around him now, and the realisation quieted his self
loathing with an odd sense of peace.
I'm in love with Hermione and we're running away together
unless you wake up and stop us. Draco pursed his lips at the odd
intrusive thought. I have an idea.
Hermione said, pulling him back to the moment.
She swished her wand across the Ruddy magical weave and added
threads of periwinkle and dusty pink.
Shapes began to whirl and shift, and the walls crevice expanded
enough for both of them to step inside.
Nice work. He remarked, smirking.
A few more like that and it might be big enough for the
elves to sleep in July 19th, 1998, Cave of requirement.
Draco felt tense and unusual rigidity gripping him.
Something was off. Terribly off, a rancid sense of
decay gnawing at his senses. Malfoy, you are.
Displeasing me greatly. What a.
Disappointment you are. Turning out to be.
Gotrick, Draco, you all right? Hmm.
He blinked, shaking off the dark sensation.
Yes, and carry on. Hermione stood by the
chalkboard, stacks of ancient tones beside her, her satchel
open and overflowing with notes. Sorry.
She replied, still watching him with concern.
You just looked like you'd come face to face with death and
self, Granger. I said I'm fine now, if you
wouldn't mind. I've been dying to hear what
scheme you've been cooking up in that clever little head of yours
for weeks. Don't leave me hanging now.
Promise you won't scoff? He brought his wand to his chest
in an exaggerated oath. Crossed my heart.
Trusting his word, Hermione spelled out page after page of
parchment onto the chalkboard. She stepped back, letting him
take in the maze of schematics, arithmetic formulas, and runic
equations. Draco pushed off the chair he'd
been leaning against and crossed the gritty floor to inspect her
work more closely. You're not suggesting what I
think you are. He murmured, or seeping into his
voice despite himself. Do you think it's even possible?
She asked nervously, chewing her lip, a spark of anticipation in
her voice. He turned to her, eyebrows
raised, an incredulous smile breaking his usual composure.
Shaking his head, he let out a low laugh.
Avada Bombarda, you brilliant little witch.
July 26th, 1998, Malfoy Library. It's now or never, Draco.
Great. I vote for never.
He tried to deflect, but the joke felt hollow.
If you can't keep going, it's all right.
We'll be OK. I just need you back.
A maelstrom of nausea swelled within him, his head buzzing
with an odd dissonance from the scene unfolding.
He glanced down, half expecting to see his hands shaking, but
they were steady as stones skimming water.
Hermione, relentless in her focus, continued to pace between
the stacks of library books with that familiar fire in her eyes.
This is the only way, Draco. I can't keep butting the elves
at risk, and every time we use magic in a safe house, we're
drawing attention. I'll hand myself in to you
alone, and we'll call it a cease-fire.
I'll be safe here. Voldemort wants the bloodshed to
end, and we can't keep endangering everyone.
I can let go, he thought with sudden clarity.
Draco, I can't bear to have any more blood on my hands, OK?
For her, he could do that. You, you agree?
Hermione stopped searching his face, though he barely
registered her words, his mind roiling with fragments of half
formed thoughts. He shut his eyes to steady
himself, and when he opened them, she was standing just
inches away, a fragile, bittersweet hope lighting her
gaze. Yes, you're right.
It might be the only way to keep everyone safe.
I'll present the offer to the Dark Lord, but it's dangerous.
Red's not going to like it one bit, Ah, Handel.
Jinny. She gave a sad, quiet smile,
both of them acknowledging what was now inevitable.
Hermione reached out, clasping his hand, and the gravity of her
trust in him hit him like a physical weight.
All her hopes, safety and future now rested in him.
He held tight to the ember of hope sparking between them.
A fragile dream of a future. One where they could make
amends, heal and build something new.
A future with her by his side. Despite everything, I love you.
September 25th, 1998 Malfoy Manor, I love you too.
Draco croaked.