Chapter 9
They remained in silence for almost a full minute. Draco looked so surprised it bordered on frightened as Hermione quietly rifled through her bag to make sure she had everything she might need to bring with her.
“Well, I’m all ready to go whenever you are,” she reported when she had gone through everything three times and he still hadn’t spoken. Draco composed his face, looked her up and down, nodded once, and turned towards the entrance of the tent.
“Follow me, my lady, I’ll show ye to him,” he said while holding the tent flap aside for Hermione to walk through ahead of him. “Weasley’s on the other side of the field where we were pilin’ the bodies up. There was already a sizable mound there so we jus’ added to it, but he was buried underneath it all,” Draco explained with a grimace as they walked.
Hermione’s stomach dropped at the mention of the name Weasley again. It had to be one of Ron’s ancestors, there couldn’t possibly be another family with that name. That also meant he had to be a wizard, and very possibly in league with whatever Lucius’ plan was with these muggles. Her and Ron had just had a conversation about this, after their engagement. Hermione strained her memory, trying to remember everything Ron had told her about his family’s past.
***
Ron and Hermione had gotten off the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade Station but all they wanted to do was spend more time alone together, and Ron had only been able to secure a one way ride on the train. Hermione took Ron’s hand and apparated them to the highlands surrounding Hogwarts. She had done some scouting of the area when she officially got the job offer, and she thought she knew some spots that could provide some fresh potion ingredients, and perhaps a bit of privacy for the couple.
They continued to do this, apparating every couple hundred feet, never letting go of the others’ hand. They kissed and giggled while hidden in bushes and behind rocks, not truly paying attention to where they were going and never actually bothering to look for potions supplies. Eventually, they ended up at the edge of a large empty moor full of small, rounded rocks arranged in semi-neat rows. They wandered slowly down the first row, reading the names carved roughly into the rocks.
“Scott, Bell, Baird, Fraser, Macdonald, Cameron, Campbell,” Ron read aloud softly while they walked. They continued into the second row when suddenly they came upon a stone that read-
“Weasley?” Hermione said, perhaps a little louder than she should have in what was clearly a hallowed place. “You never told me you had Scottish ancestors,” she said, looking up at Ron.
“Yeah, well, I thought maybe the red hair would be a small clue,” Ron quipped as he smiled down at Hermione.
“We’re from all over the United Kingdom really but the majority of us stayed around in Britain,” he began to explain. Hermione let go of Ron’s hand to kneel in front of the stone and she began to clear away some of the overgrown plants while he spoke.
“There were a couple of weird ones, you know like every family, they had more of the “pure blood” ideals. You know what I’m talking about; marrying their cousins, reusing the same ‘powerful’ ancestral names, keeping the wizarding bloodlines clean, all that utter rubbish,” he rolled his eyes as he finished speaking, also kneeling down next to Hermione to help clear away the remaining weeds.
When the stone was clear they stood. Ron pulled Hermione to his side with one arm and kissed the top of her head, while Hermione pointed her wand at the stone and conjured a small wreath of white roses.
***
This had to be one of those pureblood-obsessed ancestors Ron had spoken about, it made the most sense. She wished she knew more about his family tree so she could know exactly how closely related they were, whenever she found out who this Weasley was.
“If ye dinna mind me saying so, miss, the green and gray on yer arisaid suits ye,” Draco interrupted Hermione’s theorizing. She looked up at him and noticed he was blushing slightly. There was certainly more to this big brute than met the eye.
“Thank you, Draco,” Hermione began, but she noticed him visibly jump when she said his name. She chose to ignore it and continued, “I always thought I was more of a Gryffindor red girl, but I do admit it is gorgeously made.” Again, Hermione was risking a lot. She knew Lucius was a wizard but she still was not entirely sure about Draco. He clearly knew magic existed though, if Lucius was so casual about it in front of him.
Draco blushed even more, which perplexed Hermione. She didn’t want to push, but she was almost about to burst when he finally blurted out, “I’ve heard of Hogwarts, but I’ve ne’er been myself.”
Hermione tried to think back to Hogwarts, A History and what it said about enrollment into the magical school. She knew attendance wasn’t technically mandatory, but the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance had guaranteed any eligible witch or wizard would be enrolled if they chose to go; it had been that way since Hogwarts was founded. Even in her current time period that was still over a thousand years ago. This meant that either Draco was not a wizard and therefore never enrolled, or he had been signed into the book but whoever his guardian had been at the time declined on his behalf. She didn’t know how to ask the question without sounding entirely rude, and had just decided on staying silent when Draco blurted out again-
“My father says I’m a squib. I canna go to Hogwarts,” he rushed out, as if hoping Hermione wouldn’t be able to understand what he said. That wasn’t one of the possibilities she had considered, and she was significantly shocked for a moment before coming to her senses.
“Wait, who is your fath-” she started to say but before she could finish her question she heard another familiar voice coming from nearby.
“Draco! Would ye make haste, boy? What in the hell are the two of ye chatting away about?!” Lucius’ cold voice yelled.
Draco simply eyed her, and nodded his head in the direction of the voice. Lucius was his father, she should have known.
As she and Draco approached where Lucius stood, Hermione caught sight of the injured man. The man from the bottom of the pile of bodies. The Weasley.
It was Ron.
She began to shake. It couldn’t be. He was still in the future, she told herself. She took several shallow breaths and tried to rationalize; this had to be one of his ancestors, one of the ones they had seen the headstone for. Hermione couldn’t believe the resemblance.
“Weasley, ye worthless eejit. I cannae use ye if yer dead,” Lucius sneered, before tilting his head at the man and adding with a sickening teasing tone, “and what would poor Euphemia do then?”
At that the man let out a low, pained groan. Hermione wondered who Euphemia was. His wife, maybe, or daughter? Did Lucius have this man under his control as well?
Hermione contemplated if she should take her chance now to escape. To stun Lucius before he could even bat an eyelid, and run as fast and as far as she could. She could do it. She just needed to make it far enough away from the muggles so she could apparate.
Lucius interrupted her scheming with a harsh bark, “Heal him, witch. Dinna even think of trying anything else.”
Hermione swallowed the lump that had been growing in her throat. She needed to pull herself together. She knelt down next to the man, taking in his appearance. A moment ago she’d thought he looked exactly like Ron, but upon further inspection she could make out some slight differences.
Her Ronald had bright, shiny red hair, a long, straight nose, full lips, and startlingly blue eyes. This man’s hair was indeed red, but it was dull, no shine, and hung limp against his skull. His cheeks were hollow, and his nose looked as if it had been broken more than once and it had failed to be reset properly.
Hermione pulled her wand from her apron and cast a simple diagnostic charm to decide where to start. A glance at the reading showed that the man had lost a substantial amount of blood, had three broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, dislocated knee, and countless gashes and cuts. His magical signature was shown too, a small yellowish light in the center of the diagnostic. It was not very bright.
She began scourgifying the blood that was covering him practically head to toe, muttering healing charms to close the open wounds. She wished she’d been able to give him a calming draught, but she only had ingredients in her bag, no potions. He was groaning slightly and his eyes remained closed. When she whispered “costos emendum” to fix the broken ribs, he gasped loudly.
“Sorry,” Hermione muttered, “I’m trying to be as quick as I can.” She didn’t look up at him, not wanting to see someone who looked so much like Ron in this much pain. She didn’t notice that his eyes snapped open when she spoke, a look of disgust twisting his features.
“Get yer filthy hands off me, Sassenach wench!” The man growled, somehow mustering up the strength to push himself backwards several feet. Hermione was shocked to hear even his voice sounded like Ron’s; she stumbled back onto the grass and met his eyes for the first time.
They were brown. For some reason, that was Hermione’s biggest relief yet.
“Why, Septimus,” Lucius chuckled cruelly from somewhere to her right, “I brought her special, just for ye. To heal ye. To keep ye…alive. Ye ken I told ye before, yer of no use to me dead. If ye want to keep yer wife safe, ye’ll let the witch do what she needs.”
Hermione kept her mouth closed, but shifted her eyes between Lucius and the man she now knew was Septimus Weasley. She was still shocked at the way he reacted when he’d seen her. What was it that he called her, a Sassenach? Her heart ached slightly at the disgust he clearly felt towards her, and also a bit for his wife who was clearly being threatened by Lucius.
Septimus’ eyes flashed, “I’ll no’ have a Sassenach witch healin’ me, Malfoy.” His voice was low and rough. Hermione wondered why Lucius wanted him kept alive so badly.
Lucius let a wolfish grin spread across his face, stopping just short of his eyes. The sight made Hermione shudder. He kept his eyes on Septimus but spoke to her, “Are ye finished then, Sassenach?” Lucius spit the word at her. When it was clear he actually expected an answer, she willed herself to speak calmly.
“Well yes, he’ll certainly survive, although he really needs a blood replenishing potion. If I could just have a few more ingredients and perhaps a cauldron I-” Lucius cut her off.
“No. He can replenish his own blood. The muggle way. Draco!” He snapped his fingers towards his son, who Hermione had forgotten was standing there. “Escort Weasley to his quarters. Bring the witch. Dinna let her out of yer sight.”
Draco stood tall, his gray eyes unwavering. Hermione wondered how somebody could be so cold to their own son. “Aye, Colonel, right away,” Draco said as he walked towards Septimus to assist him to his feet.
Lucius sneered at Hermione, “Ye’ll be stayin’ wi’ us, witch. I think I may have a permanent use fer ye.” With a flourish, Lucius turned and began to walk away, not caring to help Draco lift Septimus to his feet. Hermione couldn’t help herself, she stood and turned towards Draco, hands clutching the sleeve of his tunic.
“Please, Draco, please I just want to go home, let me go. Please.” Tears stung the corner of her eyes. She was hoping to appeal to the younger, seemingly more caring, man. Unfortunately for her, Lucius overheard her pleas.
He turned on his heel, wand pointed straight at Draco and growled, “Imperio.” As the curse flew toward its target Hermione saw a flash of fear on Draco’s face, and her hope crumpled as his eyes went from pale gray and terrified, to milky and unfeeling.
“No!” She cried, “You don’t have to do that to him!” But it was too late. The curse was cast, and Draco was under Lucius’ control. He looked down his nose at her.
“I will do as I please.” He turned to continue walking, barking over his shoulder, “Come, Draco. Bring Weasley and the witch. Now.” Before Hermione could move, Draco reached out and shoved her hard to get her to start walking. Stumbling and choking back a sob, she followed Lucius and Draco as they lifted Septimus between them.
As they walked, and the tears threatened to spill over, Hermione was reminded of the terrified look on Draco’s face before the curse took hold of him. She shook her head and another thought entered her mind; What if Draco wasn’t a squib?
Glancing up and seeing that neither Lucius or Draco were looking at her, she pulled her wand out just enough and silently cast a diagnostic charm on the younger Malfoy. Checking the reading out of the corner of her eye, it took everything in her to not yelp out loud in surprise.
A fluttering, bright, shiny gold star glittered back at her. A magical signature, and a strong one at that. Hermione’s hunch was correct.
Draco was a wizard.