Mirror Image

Draco and Theo,

Thank you for the books - the one on Horcruxes is remarkably tame for containing such Dark magics. I’m going to the Weasleys for the last two weeks of summer. Please do give Lucius and Narcissa my best - I’ve just finished the nut bread they sent me for Lammas and it was well enjoyed with a cup of tea each morning.

Attached find Hermes' last few treats. I won’t be able to give them to him since I’ll only be home for a few days before the train ride to Hogwarts.

All my love,

Hermione

~~~

Lammas was the pagan harvest celebration, the early autumn festival. The Malfoys had been hosting a party for it for years, mostly as a way to celebrate with their friends and their children before Hogwarts started again. Narcissa made an incredible nut bread, or rather the House Elves did with Narcissa’s recipe. Hermione hadn't been invited to the party, but she'd gotten plenty of gifts and leftover food to make up for it.

Hermione had never celebrated Lammas before. She didn’t technically celebrate it this year either, but the Malfoys had sent along traditional food and some specific spells she might find particularly powerful during this time of the year, and a nice letter for the holiday with Hermes. It was nice. It felt like she finally belonged somewhere, with people who understood the world Hermione lived in. There were blindspots - times when Narcissa questioned the idea of a hair iron or when Theo couldn’t quite grasp the idea of flying in a plane - but Hermione would gladly teach them if it meant she could discuss magical theory easily, without facing blank stares and an onslaught of questions.

Over the summer months, Malfoy had become ‘Draco’ and Theodore had become ‘Theo’. Lucius and Narcissa had been wary of Hermione’s continued presence at the Manor, but even they had come around. Lucius enjoyed Hermione’s thoughts on things, their socio-political debates were exciting and intense, barbed and affectionate at the same time. For all that Lucius had taken his time with his approval of Hermione, and for all that Narcissa had been initially hesitant, Narcissa had been quicker to come around. She was happy to have another woman in the house. She wanted to show Hermione the magics traditionally written off as being superficial, feminine, and unimportant. She taught her how to tame her hair after washing it, how to best make her eyelashes longer without doing damage to her eyes themselves. Under Narcissa’s careful tutelage, Hermione’s hair was less frizzy, more defined and sleek, shiny and bouncy and hydrated. Her skin was softer, her complexion clearer. Clothing and transfiguration, potions and period cramps. Hermione found that Narcissa lived comfortably and elegantly, more so than anyone else she knew, and Hermione wanted to be a woman like her.

It was good. It was so good, Hermione was surprised when the invitation to come with the Weasleys to the Quidditch World Cup brought nothing but disappointment that her summer with the Malfoys would be cut short.

~~~

Draco didn’t snoop. He preferred to be direct with people, to ask what he wanted to know and get an honest response in return. He knew that sometimes it came off as him being socially inept or perhaps rude, but it wasn’t intentional. He just liked to be clear with people.

Despite that, there were times when he overheard things he wasn’t meant to. Times when he really should have moved along down the hall, or stepped out from around the corner before things could go any further. He found himself in that familiar situation one sunny day in August, just a few days after Hermione’s last letter. He was curled up in his father’s study, not his usual reading spot, but one he had adopted in recent weeks when he wanted some peace and quiet. He really did love his friends, but in the final weeks before school, both Theo and Blaise had a tendency to show up unannounced through the library floo. It was there he was hiding when he heard his father talking to someone in the inner office, through the door from the study.

“-time. I’ve heard they’re planning it for the end of this year.”

Draco froze. He should have gotten up, pushed open the door to his father’s office, and made himself known. But he didn’t.

“They have a potion of some kind.” Lucius was moving around the room, but the fireplace was popping with floo powder. Draco couldn’t hear who was on the other side of the flame, but it must have been one of his father’s friends. All summer, Lucius had been disappearing to and from meetings outside of work hours, taking calls on the weekends, making hasty excuses as to why he couldn’t discuss business. “They want the Dark Lord to rise to his full power,” he said, and his behavior fell into place. Draco’s breath caught in his chest. “By the end of the year, the Death Eaters are going to try and start the war again.”

Death Eaters were a terrifying group, one that Lucius had always told Draco were violent, mindless thugs. Both he and Narcissa had been very clear about them - despite Draco’s estranged aunt being a Death Eater, they were a group no one in the Malfoy family condoned. They were not tolerated, their actions were not looked upon favorably.

Across the country, in a field of grass and chaos, Hermione Granger stared up at the Dark Mark in the sky and remarked how frightened Ron and Harry looked. She knew the first war had left families bereft, had taken Harry’s parents and Ron’s uncles before either boy got to meet them, but she wasn’t afraid.

She knew this time, things would be different.

~~~

Theo waved the letter in the air, sitting himself down on Draco’s bed as he did so. Draco just watched from his window seat, his eyes peeking over the edge of a book. “What’s that?”

“Letter from Hermione,” Theo said.

“Read it aloud,” Draco said, snapping his book shut. He had caught a glimpse of her at the World Cup with his father, but they’d played dumb to one another save for Hermione’s small smile when the rest of the Weasleys had their backs turned.

Theo cleared his throat dramatically. “My dearest Theo and most handsome Draco,” he started, pitching up his voice in a shrill imitation of Hermione. “I miss you so much in just a week, I’ve had to write and confess how poorly I am handling the terrible quality of conversation here.”

“Read what she actually wrote,” Draco amended, flashing Theo an unimpressed look, and Theo rolled his eyes.

“Dear Theo and Draco,” he started again, in his normal voice. “I know I said I wouldn’t write, but I couldn’t wait to tell you. You will read it in the newspapers and I didn’t want either of you to worry. There were Death Eaters at the match. I am fine, perfectly safe, but the Weasleys and Harry are rather upset by the whole event.

“I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll just say it. I wasn’t afraid. When we saw the mark go up in the sky, Ron went pale like he was about to throw up slugs, and Harry looked close to tears. I didn’t feel that way. The Death Eaters are terrible people, yes, who did terrible things in the first war. And I do fear the idea of another war, a war against this group of extremists. But I have a feeling this won't be like the war from before.

"Perhaps it was simply that I no longer feel uneasy around Dark magic.

“We’re headed home earlier than expected. I’ll pop round the Manor when I get back. All my love to Narcissa, Lucius, and you both.”

Theo looked across the room to Draco and raised his eyebrows. Draco returned the look. Hermione must have heard from someone who the Death Eaters were, because she knew they were bad news. In the last wizarding war, they’d been ruthless, known for indiscriminate slaughter of wizards and Muggles alike. Purebloods and Muggle-borns alike had said they were barbaric, unpredictable, and violent.

“I need to tell you something,” Draco said after a moment. He recounted the sliver of conversation he’d overheard in his father’s office, and watched as Theo’s face slowly fell into a contemplative frown. If the Death Eaters were back, making plans to raise the Dark Lord again, no one would be safe. Lucius and Narcissa had both escaped the clutches of the first war by their fingertips, and only by getting married and having Draco quickly afterwards, taking nearly a year in the French countryside under the cover of a complicated pregnancy and birth.

“Do you think this is real?” Theo asked softly.

“The Death Eaters?” Draco asked. “Of course. Hermione doesn’t lie to us.”

“I meant her feelings,” Theo clarified. “Hermione. She claims to want the world to change, right? She wants to see the Wizarding world change, and her vision is remarkably like ours. But she’s giving up her family.”

Draco shrugged. “I have to believe it’s real. She says it is.”

Theo looked at him intently. “Have you talked to her about half-blood wizards yet?”

“My father has,” Draco said, returning Theo’s intense gaze. “She doesn’t see an issue. She thinks half-bloods are well protected as it stands, with the current registration of Muggle spouses and such. Half-bloods are introduced to magic earlier, they’re not asked to jump between worlds.”

“They might be protected, but their mothers aren’t.” Theo’s voice was hard and painful, choked with emotion. He turned his head, hiding his face away from the light and in its own shadow. He didn’t want Draco to see him cry again, but there was no way to hide the slight sparkle to his cheek, the way the light caught the tear that ran down his face.

Draco watched, but didn’t comment on it. Theo didn’t like to talk about his emotions when he was feeling vulnerable, when he was feeling like the odd one in the situation. When he was uncertain, insecure, or otherwise unstable. For all that he was bold and brave, he was still a man, and he had his pride. “Your father should be in Azkaban,” Draco remarked finally, and Theo huffed a breath through his nose.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know that if the Death Eaters succeed in bringing the Dark Lord back, my father will continue where he left off, right at their side? Blowing up innocent people, killing whoever he finds in his way? Taking whatever he wants from whoever he wants, consequences be damned?” he asked, angry at the very idea he might not already know what a monster his father was. He huffed out a breath, and then another just a little bit softer. Draco got himself up and settled on the bed by Theo’s head, his hand finding purchase on Theo’s shoulder and squeezing. After a moment, Theo shook his head and when he spoke again, he didn’t sound angry anymore. He just sounded tired. “I just don’t see how her thoughts factor in the blood prejudice in some families. Even against half-bloods.”

“You should ask her.”

~~~

Hermione begged off the Weasleys and went home as soon as they got back to the Burrow. It was nice, for once in her life, to not be asked about what had happened at the match. Her parents didn’t get magical newspapers, and they didn’t know there had been a riot, they didn’t know people had been hurt. They simply welcomed Hermione home, told her Hermes had stopped by, and made her a cup of tea. Hermione checked the mail - just a letter telling her to come to the Manor at her earliest convenience, and then she took the bus into town so she could floo to Malfoy Manor.

The difference between her parents’ greeting and the one she got from the Malfoys was polar. Where her mother had simply remarked she hoped her trip was enjoyable, Narcissa had given Hermione a warm hug and whispered how happy she was to see the witch safe in one piece. Where her father had asked if the game was enjoyable, Lucius assumed Hermione had not watched - he knew she was not a fan of the sport - and instead made sure she was safe, unharmed, and put a warm hand on her shoulder when he told her how he had feared for her.

And then came the boys. Theo was first, yanking Hermione into a hard hug and pressing his cheek to hers in an exaggerated kiss. “You scared the hell out of us, bloody witch. Telling us you saw Death Eaters over a letter.”

“Watch your language around present company,” Narcissa snapped, and Draco smacked Theo upside the head.

“You tosser. She’s a lady.”

Theo relinquished Hermione and Draco tugged her in. Where Theo was hard and dramatic, Draco was softer. He wrapped his arms around Hermione’s shoulders, carefully placing his hands so as to not be inappropriate. Hermione’s cheeks had burned pink at the contact with Theo, but when Draco hugged her, the blush was more intense than she thought possible. Hermione willed the blood back. It only worked half as well as she hoped.

“We were worried,” Draco whispered. “The Death Eaters are a violent group.”

“I was never even in their line of sight.” Hermione took a deep breath and stepped out of Draco’s hold before giving them all a smile. “I’m perfectly safe.”

Narcissa and Lucius shared a little look, and then they excused themselves. Hermione made to go to the library, the place they usually ended up when at the Manor, but Theo snagged her hand and tugged. He led her upstairs, his fingers threaded through Hermione’s and warm in her hand. The blush in her cheeks got worse, and no amount of control over her blood would bring it back down. They weaved through the Manor that way, Theo guiding Hermione by the hand, Draco a few steps ahead of them. And then Draco turned them down a long corridor, to an ornate door, and they stepped into a bedroom.

It was lighter than Hermione expected. Dark wood with light, airy linens. A window seat on the far wall was dressed in white cushions, white drapes. It didn’t make sense at first, but then Hermione saw the little touches of personality. A Muggle-style pennant of the Slytherin school mascot hanging above the bed. A stack of books, bookmarks sticking out of every one, was leaning against the window seat. Rolls of parchment and a metal quill stand were on the desk, a glass of half-drunk water on the bedside table. A hamper with clothes, messy and overflowing, was shoved in the corner, and Draco vanished it with a wave as soon as Hermione looked that way. When she turned back to him, he was blushing.

“Is this your room?”

“Yes,” Draco said with a pretend, disinterested shrug. He sat in the desk chair, spinning just a little bit. “Not what you were expecting?”

“It’s light,” Hermione said. “Exactly what I imagined.”

“She was expecting more green,” Theo chimed in, throwing himself onto the bed with a bounce. He patted the bed beside him and Hermione took a seat beside him on the bed. It was soft, plush, and so much nicer than anything Hermione had ever experienced. “Don’t worry about it, Mya, we all were.”

‘Mya’ was new. Hermione found she liked it more than ‘Moine’. Short, sweet, something that only Theo and Draco could call her. Something between them. There was a thrumming in her chest when she heard it, like the butterflies she felt in first year when she met Ron. The only difference was that these were stronger. Much stronger.

“We need to talk about school,” Draco said, changing the subject. His tone was hard and direct, he wasn't wasting time with pleasantries. He was speaking as if there was urgency, a kind of importance to his words that went deeper than just something they needed to discuss before the start of school. “Hermione, what do you want us to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“We weren’t exactly friends last year,” Draco said, tilting his head. “And if you go back to school, you’re going to get a lot of attention about us being friends.”

“Most of all from Potter and Weasley,” Theo added. “They’ll have a conniption.”

Hermione gave a little snort. “That is putting it lightly, Theo.”

“So what do you want to do?” Draco was looking at her, his face carefully guarded. Hermione couldn’t read him like this, all shut down and masking his feelings. She looked instead to Theo, but he was wearing a similar mask of indifference.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “I want to be able to talk to you, because I really do love talking to you both. And I was missing you both in just a week, I can’t imagine going a whole school year without your company.”

“Did you mention our little summer projects to the Weasleys?” Theo asked. It was like being back in the Library with him again all those weeks ago. He was saying one thing, but his tone and his cool demeanor and his eyes said another. “Or mention your little foray into blood magic?”

“Certainly not,” Hermione laughed in spite of the tension in the room. “Now that would have caused a conniption. Maybe we shouldn’t be seen together at school, then. Now that I think about it, when the Death Eaters were marching in the field at the World Cup, both Harry and Ron made little comments about Lucius.”

“Father?” Draco asked. His eyebrows jumped a bit. “Do they seriously think he’s a Death Eater?”

“I told them not to assume the worst of people based on their names alone, but it was hard to tell them I’ve had dinner with the man and he’s actually a darling,” Hermione said. “Lucius can be intimidating, but he’s not a killer. He’s not a thing like the Death Eaters I saw.”

There was silence. Nothing else to say but that - Harry and Ron had been prejudiced, and Hermione was finding it harder and harder to ignore in the face of these wonderful people she'd met. But then Theo leaned in. “You weren’t afraid? Not even a little?” Theo was close to her now, his face right up in Hermione’s space with a crooked smile. Hermione shoved him backwards when she realized those familiar, Draco-induced butterflies had taken a renewed interest in Theo.

“I was scared at first, when everyone was yelling and screaming. But by the time the Dark Mark went up in the sky, there wasn’t anyone else around and the Death Eaters were gone. There was nothing to be afraid of.” Hermione shrugged a bit. “And really, what were they going to do to me? Curse me? If they had, I could have put up a protego, or even used my blood magic to dispel the effects.”

“You’re crazy,” Theo said, shaking his head. “Crazy smart and crazy brave, but crazy nonetheless.”

“It’s bad news the Death Eaters are active again,” Draco said, getting them back on the subject. “You both know that, right?”

Hermione nodded. “I know. Do either of you know what they want? Why are they back after 10 years?”

“They’re trying to raise the Dark Lord. Rumor has it they are going to try some kind of ritual at the end of the year,” Draco said. “I heard Father discussing it.”

That explained the urgency then. If there was to be Death Eaters at Hogwarts, there would be hell to pay with Dumbledore, and there would be so much talk of the 'good' side and the 'bad' side and the way they threw one another into the garbage just for who they were. Draco was worried - either that Hermione would be bad for his reputation, though he'd never say it, or for her because of the damage he could do to her reputation. If Draco and Theo couldn't be at her side, then the safest place would be at Harry's, even if he wasn't too skilled at anything other than disarming spells.

This year was going to be a game of chess, played out with Hermione friends as opposing pieces.

“I just can’t understand what kind of ritual they would be doing to raise the Dark Lord without a body. He’s dead, right?” Theo flopped backwards and threw his head off the edge of the bed.

“If he was truly dead, how would he have come back in first year with Quirrell?” Hermione asked. “Or last year, why would Peter Pettigrew come out of hiding after all these years?”

Actually, that was a good question. What would have made Peter Perrigrew come out of hiding except for the master he’d betrayed his friends for? In first year, Dumbledore said he needed unicorn blood and the philosopher's stone to come back to full strength, that he was just a partial body. A spirit more than anything, turned something just a little more corporeal in second year with Ginny’s energy, and something real enough to require a servant last year. Now, there were Death Eaters rallying.

It was unthinkable. A man who could defy death, who was slowly clawing his way back to humanity. Back to the body of a man instead of the spirit of a nightmare. A bogeyman come real life.

Hermione had read about it. Had read about ways to remain immortal - Flamel was one man with one such strategy, and Horcruxes were yet another way in which you could hide from death. Was it possible there were other ways? Other magics long forgotten, or maybe purposely left in the dark ages, that could do whatever it was Voldemort had done? It was possible. And it was possible that whatever kind of magic he'd used before could be used again, to make him whole.

And the Death Eaters were going to try and use it.

Hermione looked at the boys. “Do you remember when I said this war would be different?”

Draco exchanged a look with Theodore. “Yes. What’s going on in that big brain of yours?”

Hermione gave them a sly smile, one they hadn’t seen yet. “Well, if it’s Voldemort the Death Eaters want, why don’t we take the Dark Lord from the Death Eaters?”

“I told you, Drake,” Theo said. “Crazy.”