Chapter 27 Until my last breath, Hermione had told Draco that she
loved him. What a stupid thing to do.
She sat by the mossy rocks forming a circle around the
cave's glittering pool, watching the ripples spread as she tapped
the surface with the tip of her wand.
Those ridiculous 3 words had clawed their way out of her
desperate and treacherous mouth. After weeks of him tossing and
turning in bed, fighting off whatever dark magic the
Unspeakables had subjected him to, without a hope inside of his
recovery, she had been beside herself, adrift, a ship lost at
sea, desperate. She would have said anything to
pull him back from the Whirlpool of death, but the sentiment
remained, and once she had uttered them, Hermione felt as
exposed as a dead mouse, its corpse flayed open while Ravens
pecked at its innards, her heart soon to be devoured.
If Draco's extended convalescence provided her with
anything, it was an excess of time to feed her restless mind,
and she knew but one remedy for the maelstrom of her anxieties.
Relentless research and meticulous analysis, the
doctrines had carved themselves into the walls of her mind like
ancient glyphs in stone, timeless and enduring, meant to
be deciphered and remembered despite their Creator being lost
to time. And yet she alone held the key
to their decryption mission. Draco must die by a Halloween.
Shadow him. Do not leave his side.
She hadn't left his side. Not entirely, at least.
As much as she was able, she had stayed close.
The Order's information cannot be trusted.
Follow only the doctrines. Easier said than done, she
thought bitterly. What part of the Order's
intelligence was unreliable? Surely not all of it had They
fed her and the public lies known more than they were
letting on, intentionally or otherwise?
It didn't seem so. His weakness is you.
It's always been you. Use that to your advantage.
How could it have always been her?
Malfoy had despised her at Hogwarts, hadn't he?
Her muggle borne blood, her relentless tendency to outshine
him in every class. But then again, she remembered
their tense confrontation in his study when he'd first caught her
rifling through his drawers. He'd hinted almost carelessly at
watching her. Even as far back as her third
year, she didn't relish the thought of using their new
connection to her advantage. It added a dark stain to the
burgeoning feelings that they had begun to share.
Voldemort will die by Malfoy's wand unless another snips the
thread of fate. Which thread?
Voldemort's or Malfoys? Surely the doctrines meant
Malfoys given her first directive, but why not simply
strike Voldemort himself? Wouldn't cutting off the head of
the snake accomplish the main goal?
Or would a dreadful hydra, unstoppable and ever growing,
sprout more heads in its place? The Doctrines had painted an
ominous picture, one that left her with more questions than
answers and an uneasy feeling that she was playing a part in a
game far larger than herself. Could she kill someone she
loved? Was she able to love someone
that she had been conditioned to, needed to yearned to kill?
She had been handed every opportunity, presented with
countless perfect moments to slit his throat as he slept, to
let his life spill out in Crimson torrent.
Most days, the ceremonial Black family dagger rested within easy
reach, tucked discreetly away, concealed.
And yet she resisted. What if she'd been sent back to
this time by Voldemort or one of his followers?
What if killing Draco ensured the survival of something far
worse? How could she trust the
certainty of her mission, the supposed righteousness of it?
If these past weeks without Draco had taught her anything,
it was that she needed to rely on her own God's damn intuition.
She truly felt trust in the words etched into her mind.
But just because she trusted them didn't mean she had to
follow them, right? It didn't mean she couldn't defy
them if she found a better solution to their goal, securing
the future of the wizarding world.
She had scoured her mind of any trace, any signature, any clue
for who imparted the doctrines, to no avail.
Something she had discovered, however, was that the Mind Fault
worked like a mental Fidelius Charm, but she was not its
secret keeper. Yet one thing was obvious.
The person who put the directives in her mind clearly
didn't comprehend the depths of her feelings for the Dark
Commander. No matter the timeline, no
matter the circumstance, despite any doctrine they sought to
imprint on her, any memory they ripped from her, this mission
was doomed to fail. Falling for him had been
inevitable as the truth worked its way into her heart.
The predestination was all consuming.
She had loved him before, and she had lost him, left him
behind in whatever desolate future she had escaped from.
The echo of the loss was like a poltergeist, feral, twisted
wrong, so, so wrong. Deep in her soul, as certain as
the rhythm of her own breath, she knew when that little blue
wisp of light emerged from Draco's wand and formed into the
swirling shape of the Otter. She had seen his Patronus
before, knew that somewhere in another world, another timeline,
they had been together and their love had bloomed new life within
her and the only answer to their survival had been escaping from
it. Further ransacking of her mind
space had unveiled something more.
There would be 7 doctrines. There was a special significance
and power in the number. And as each of them revealed
themselves to her, she felt the clock ticking down to the
deadline. October 31st, Halloween.
With each passing day that her core mission remained unfilled,
the urge to carry out the execution grew stronger,
pressing heavier against her resolve. 4 directives had
already revealed themselves, and she clung to the hope that the
final three would hold the answers she so desperately
sought. Answers that would hopefully
lead her to allowing Draco to live when it came to Malfoy's
current state. On the surface, he seemed fine,
his trademark nonchalant confidence still intact.
But behind those slate grey eyes lurked to shadow a dark ghost
that no facade could fully conceal.
Hermione sighed, her gaze sweeping The Cave that had
become her most frequent refuge. Like the Room of Requirement,
The Cave had done its best to answer her basic needs with
rudimentary magic. It had conjured a modest cot for
sleeping, a magically cooled box for storing food, and simple
showering facilities. All vital for those times when
she needed to retreat from the Manor to avoid the unwelcome
presence of Death Eaters or Voldemort himself.
The one floor, no back door exit and oversight, she cursed.
The study entrance had revealed itself to be a dangerous
bottleneck. Should an incursion occur.
She would be stuck in The Cave with no way to escape or get
help. And with Gamp's law of Elemental
Transfiguration, she would surely starve here within a
week. If there was a way to perhaps
reach the grounds, then she could leave the wards and run to
the nearest town. Considering operating alone now
at this point in her pregnancy would risk the twins.
A faint rustling sound near the tapestries drew her attention,
and her pulse quickened before a chime rang through The Cave,
emanating from the radio by her side.
Hope Watch. Hermione sprang into action,
grabbing the radio by its handle and rushing to her cluttered
desk, piled high with copies of tabloids, newspapers, and
Narcissa's contraband Quibbler subscriptions.
Setting the box beside her, she pulled out a quill and readied
herself to take notes. The past few broadcasts had
revealed critical insights on the Order strategies, though
never too openly. They'd grown far more cautious,
sharing only what couldn't be easily interpreted.
After all, anyone with the password could TuneIn, but that
didn't mean they weren't sharing Intel.
You just had to know how to crack the code, and Hermione had
done exactly that. Terrific day to you all.
George's voice called out, a smile breaking across Hermione's
face, tears already forming in her eyes as she scribbled down
the letter T. He sounded surprisingly lighter,
brighter, more like himself than he had of late, and Hermione
wondered what could have brought about this new mood.
It made her ever more interested in the updates.
Welcome to this week's episode of Hope Watch, announced Jinny.
You are with Red Riding Hood and Tentacular.
I thought that we were sticking
with names that started before, Came a rancoured voice from
somewhere in the distance. Hermione's brow furrowed.
It couldn't be Angelina Johnson. Angelina and her entire family
had fled through one of the international apparition points
months ago, the day after the battle, before MACUSA slammed
the border shut and Voldemort decreed the lockdown, then set
his Dark commander the task of controlling any remaining
passageways. The task had been executed with
ruthless efficiency, trapping countless witches and Wizards
within Britain's borders and leaving those outside cut off
from their loved ones with no hope of return.
She must have slipped through one of the weak points along the
regime's border, those fragile breaches.
The enforcement teams were scrambling and failing to secure
how many others had managed to sneak through, driven by the
desperate hope of joining the resistance.
Unlike my dear Co hosts, I like to break the mould.
George replied cheerily and Hermione added AU to her cipher.
In that case you can call me venomous.
Said Angelina, this time closer to the receiver.
Venomous, tentacular. Hermione huffed a small laugh,
warmth dripping down her like runny honey, coating her heart
in a sugary glaze. The thoughts of George having
Angelina back in his life again filled Hermione with more
emotion than she had expected. Their spark had first ignited at
the Yule Ball, back when Fred had asked Angelina to go in
George's stead, fully aware of the torch his brother carried
for her and determined to nudge the pair closer together.
Fred had always been the instigator, the silent architect
of their connection, and now imagining them rekindling that
spark felt like a fitting tribute to his memory.
Right said George, and Hermione made an additional R notation
left. Angelina quipped back with a
chuckle. Can you 2 quit flirting and keep
it to the script. Our listeners are desperate for
news and in need of hope. Sorry, Red, I'll take it more
seriously. Go ahead, Tentacular.
George cleared his throat. Now we have introductions out of
the way. As per usual, we'll start with
losses 0. The Order of the Phoenix stands
strong, and despite the war raging on, we've managed to
escape death for another week. Plus, we've downed Rookwood
while he was manning the Portsmouth border, so I guess
you'll say he's been pulled from his duties for the time being.
I think that's what you'll call celebrating the small wins.
Certainly Red. Also big news, this update comes
straight from the new headquarters of the rebellion.
We've secured ourselves a permanent stronghold for our
growing army, and let me tell you, there's more joining us
every day. If you or your loved ones are
ready to stop hiding and start fighting for the future worth
having, come join us. Then.
How exactly would they do that? Jinny asked, smoothly setting up
the next line. Oh, I don't know.
Said George with deliberate nonchalance as Hermione jotted
down another note. Perhaps you could crack open a
quibble or two. I hear they're particularly
enlightening when paired with a Hope Watch episode.
Why so cryptic tentacular? Jinny teased, her voice bright
with curiosity. Ah, ha, well, red.
George said, his tone sharpening with a touch of mischief.
I suspect those in the know, our most trusted, will catch my
meaning. After all, it wouldn't be the
first time a clever little witch has used such methods to bring
us together. A laugh broke free, and Hermione
grinned. She grabbed the topmost Quibbler
from her stack, its whimsical cover glowing with dreamy swirls
of pastel purples and pinks. What about the wider world?
Tentacular? Jinny asked while Hermione
flipped through the pages with eager fingers, already searching
for the hidden clue George was hinting at.
It reminded her so vividly of the enchanted coins she'd once
crafted for Dumbledore's Army, an evolution of the Protean
Charm used to create the Dark Mark.
How are the Muggles holding up the Muggles?
George replied solemnly, still in the dark.
Poor sods. Their governments put a
nationwide curfew into effect, told them some airborne plagues
the reason everything's gone to shit and why their Prime
Minister hasn't been seen in public since May.
Their military is running the chauffeur now.
Can't say much more on that on an open line, but rest assured
were working every single angle to bring the end to you.
No Pooh. Hermione laughed, shaking her
head at George. Gosh, it felt so good to hear
him like this again. Cheeky, boisterous, hopeful.
Her fingertip landed on a page about Gringot's bank exchange
rates, her eyes catching on the image of a golden coin spinning
lazily in place. The moment her finger pressed
against its glossy surface, the coin began to spin faster, a
whirl of gold that seemed to echo the quickening beat of her
heart. Then, abruptly, the image
stilled, lying flat once more, and the word imbur embossed
itself into the coin's gleaming rim, its letters golden with a
faint, enchanted glow. Her lungs released the breath
they'd held captive. They couldn't possibly mean
Imbur Village. Known to Muggles as the Lost
Village of Wiltshire, the desolate settlement had been
abandoned decades ago and repurposed as a military
training ground. Its crumbling houses, empty
streets, and eerie silence made it the perfect place for
clandestine activity, hiding in plain sight.
Yet the idea set Hermione's nerves alight.
Imber lay just a hair's breadth from Malfoy Manor.
If the Order truly meant to set up shop there, it was either a
stroke of brilliance or a perilous gamble, posting so
dangerously close to the home of the Dark Commander.
The team wrapped up their broadcast after a few more
exchanges about safety measures and effective warding
techniques, but Hermione's mind was elsewhere, poring over the
coded message carefully buried into the host's words.
Turncoats here. Her heart hammered as the
meaning crystallized, A rush of elation and frenetic energy
igniting every nerve. Were the missing Death Eaters
not dead at all, but defecting to the Order?
She nearly leapt out of her skin when her hand settled on her
shoulder. Hermione had been so engrossed
in deciphering the transmission she hadn't even registered
Draco's approach. His footsteps muffled against
The Cave floor. Draco, you're back, are you OK?
Hermione's voice wavered, her breath uneven as she struggled
to maintain her composure. He stood there, bathed in the
dim light of The Cave, every inch of him more captivating
than the last. The gauntness that had haunted
his features was gone. His skin was flushed with cover.
His grey eyes blazed like twin infernos, hungry and
unrelenting. Studying for your newts?
His voice was a velvet whisper against her thoughts, threading
through her mind with that infuriating blend of arrogance
and intimacy. Only Draco Malfoy could muster.
He narrowed his eyes at her and cocked his head to the side.
Inappropriate use of legitimacy, she managed to say, her tone
clipped but her resolve slipping.
Her core ached with the longing His presence stirred, a cavern
of need hollowed out during his absence.
Try to keep me out, then, He purred.
If you don't want it so badly. A shiver ran through her.
They won't let me, she admitted, watching as the bridge of his
nose wrinkled ever so slightly as her palms cupped the swell of
her stomach. I think that's how you're
slipping in so easily. That and Snape's blasted
cataloguing system. It's like you've studied for it
your whole life. At least no one else has a hope
of finding their way through it. Draco's lips curved into a half
smile, the faintest flicker of amusement shadowed by the
tension in his jaw. Hermione practically saw the
cogs whirring in his mind, each thought a sharp edged wheel
turning towards something darker.
Did you learn anything else during my an ending slumber?
He asked, voice dry but laced with unease.
Hermione hesitated, her instincts screaming caution.
The doctrines were untraceable, but that didn't mean she was
careless. She carefully clouded her
thoughts before answering. Some.
She said, nodding toward the stacks of ancient tomes and the
radio still faintly humming static in the corner, but her
greater concern surged to the forefront.
Draco, I'm, I'm worried The magic he used, we don't even
know what it is yet, but it's not going to be something you
can just fight off with sheer will.
I know you think you resisted, and I can see the determination
in your eyes, but do you think I don't know what murder looks
like on your face? Her voice was a plea.
We can't rush this, not until we know the consequences, not until
we understand more. If you act too soon, you'll lose
yourself. Whatever magic he's used on you,
it's, it's insidious. He stared at her, the steel in
his eyes giving way and crumbling into her rusty brown
gaze. I'm not afraid of losing myself,
he said quietly. I'm only afraid of losing you.
Trigger's eyes dropped, his shoulders stiffening as if
bracing against an invisible storm.
His hands flexed at his sides before curling into fists.
If I get the chance, he said after a long silence, his voice
low and dangerously steady. I won't be able to stop myself.
I will kill him, Hermione. She shook her head imploringly.
I mean it, He continued, his grey eyes snapping to hers, raw
and unflinching. Right now, he has too many
contingencies, too many ways to slither free.
But if the moment comes, fuck. He broke off with a growl,
throwing his hands up. For every Death Eater we take
down, five more swear themselves to his cause.
And then there's the Unspeakables.
His tone turned bitter, laced with dread.
Nothing goodwill come of their growing presence.
Hermione wet her lips nervously, her fingers tightening over the
edge of her dress. How was he with you?
Draco's laugh was hollow, a sharp bark that echoed in the
rocky space. Ice cold.
He said, suspicious. More untrusting than I'd have
hoped, but no less than I should have expected.
He'll demand more of me soon. More proof, more loyalty.
My leash is tightening, Hermione, and the hoops I will
have to jump through will be ever higher.
His voice cracked, the frustration that was simmering
beneath the surface spilling out.
And while he still wrapped around the Elder Wand, there's
no way to challenge him outright.
He thinks he's invincible. Hermione stepped closer, her
gaze locking onto his distant, storm filled expression.
She reached out, pulling him into an embrace, her arms
wrapping around his taut frame. His heartbeat thundered against
hers, a reminder of the fragile balance they were fighting to
maintain. He's not invincible.
She murmured, her voice a soothing balm against the jagged
edges of his despair. He is Tom Riddle, a wizard just
like you, with even less to live for.
She brought his palms to her bump just as one of the babies
gently tapped against the inside of her womb.
The gentle movement felt as nothing more than a flutter in
their hands, like a trapped butterfly.
Draco's eyes blew open and he exhaled shakily, leaning into
the sensation for the briefest moment.
Trico's voice lowered to a whisper, and he tilted his
forehead down to rest against hers.
She closed her eyes and focused on their shared breaths, taking
in his smoky, spiced exhale. While he has so many allies and
his claws are still around that wand, I need him to believe
unequivocally that I am on his side.
But I heard you, Hermione. Even in my dreams, I heard you.
Her heart stopped. Had he remembered speaking the
same 3 words back to her? I know you and Theo have
mastered the spell. He reached out, his fingers
brushing against hers in a gesture so tender it made her
heart squelch painfully as it fell into her stomach.
Show me how it works, and let me do this for you.
For them. The darkness behind her eyes
shifted, a flash of bright white filling her vision As the words
emerged from the depths of her mind.
She pressed herself closer to him, the 5th Doctrine unraveling
in her thoughts without revealing itself to him.
His magic cannot kill the Dark Lord, lest he himself become the
darkness. Hermione's heart twisted in
painful recognition, the weight of the prophecy tightening
around her chest. She bit her bottom lip, trying
to untangle the confusion of fear and love that swirled
within her. I missed you.
She whispered, her voice soft but raw, gently pulling his
attention away from her in a turmoil.
Her thumb traced slow, soothing circles over his knuckles,
grounding herself in the simple touch.
There were moments I didn't think you'd ever wake up, and
that thought it nearly destroyed me.
He held her closer, the heat of him chasing away the chill that
had settled into her bones during his absence.
I'm here, he said, voice barely above a whisper.
And I'm never leaving you again. The air between them crackled,
charged with an intensity neither could deny.
Hermione felt as though the universe had narrowed to this
moment, this man, and the impossible bond between them.
You have my heart, Hermione. He said, his voice breaking on
her name. Every selfish, murderous, broken
piece of it. I don't deserve you, but I will
fight for you, for us, until my last breath.
Her tears brimmed, but she refused to let them fall, her
strength holding steady for both of them.
Draco's hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb brushing away a
straight ear that she hadn't realized had escaped.
But I will end him, he said, his tone resolute, Final.
Even if it's the last thing I do.