Chapter 36
“They’ve tasked the boy with killing you,” Snape confessed. He looked across the desk to Dumbledore, who was steepling his fingers together, blackened flesh pressed against pink, healthy fingers.
“Why?”
“To prove himself. To get attention. Dolohov is desperate for a meeting with the Dark Lord now that he's gone to ground.”
“He’s still hiding in the shadows,” Dumbledore mused. “It’s unlike Tom to be so secretive.”
Snape just stared. “Draco Malfoy will not kill you.”
“But he must try. You will help him, and make sure they believe him to be a capable part of their efforts. Mr. Malfoy will get to the very end, but you will be the one to kill me.”
~~~
Draco’s newest master was getting restless. He wanted to see proof, he wanted effort. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, given he had no other ideas for how the hell he was supposed to let in a whole battalion of Death Eaters when the caste was being warded this closely.
“I need help,” he murmured as he passed Toma’s table in Potions.
That night, they were all summoned. It was the Room of Requirement, but it was different from how they had ever seen it before. Where there might have been a fire and a bed and sofas, there was now a maze of discarded things. Books and shelves, bits of rubbish, broken furniture, trinkets, and baubles. Toma was sat near the center of the room, beside a cabinet that loomed over him.
“This,” he said, tapping on the wood. “Is the Vanishing Cabinet. Broken now, and devilish to get to work, but brilliant for getting through wards.”
“There’s one in Borgin and Burkes,” Draco said. “I saw it this summer while I was there getting Theodore’s ri-” he cut himself off. It would make sense he needed Dark Wizards to check the old heirloom for curses and such, and that must have been what he was doing when Harry and Ron claimed they’d seen him. Hermione, who had not gone to the Alley with the Weasley’s, missed the dramatic show that Draco supposedly put on in the Dark Magic emporium.
“We can fix it,” Hermione said. “So there is an easy way into the castle for the Death Eaters. But in the meantime, you must make some weak attempts to show you are going through with the plan without the Cabinet.”
~~~
Hermione had learned something extracurricular in the last few years - acting. She played her part well, showing up to watch the Quidditch practice though she didn’t need to. She even confunded McLaggen to secure Ron’s spot on the team.
She regretted it when Ron wouldn’t shut up about his brilliant saves and McLaggen’s apparent crush on her, the vile man.
And for the first time in her life, Hermione wanted to burn that damned book that Harry had gotten from Slughorn. Due to what could only be considered an act of a reckless and foolish God, Harry had been given a second-hand textbook with notes scribbled throughout. Tips on brewing, brilliant observations never before examined in Potions discourse, and spells. Spells seemingly invented by whomever had the book before Harry.
“Have you heard of this spell?” Harry asked, leaning over to show Hermione, and she snapped.
“No! And if you had a shred of self-respect, you’d hand that book in.”
But Harry was top of the class, even in advanced Potions’ Making, and he wasn’t going to give up the prestige of that any time soon.
The textbook - the Half Blood Prince’s textbook - was dangerous though. And Hermione was determined to figure it out.
~~~
“Did you see Nott has a bloody niffler?” Ron asked, walking against the wind.
“Freja,” Hermione said absentmindedly. “Yes, she’s been all over the castle.”
“You know its name?” Harry asked, but Ron bowled right over him.
“Nifflers shouldn’t be allowed!” he cried. “They steal things, nick papers and stuff. It’s not fair, and they weren’t on the approved list of Magical Creatures we could have.”
“In First Year,” Hermione argued. “Nifflers are perfectly acceptable pets if you’ve gone through a reputable breeder and have the paperwork.”
“Yeah, but it’s bloody Nott. He probably got it from some under-the-table Death Eater.”
Hermione tuned them out, walking a little faster to get to the village. With Theo revising for his Transfiguration essay - the one both Hermione and Toma had already done - and Toma spending a bit of time working on the Cabinet, and Draco serving Detention with McGonagall, Hermione was playing the part of a friend and going to Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron. It was a brisk walk in the snow, the dying chill of January keeping them all bundled in wool coats and thick scarves.
The Village was quiet. People didn’t want to be in the cold, and as they got closer, they saw Slughorn talking animatedly about some thing or another. So it was probably Slughorn, not the cold, that was keeping most of the castle out of the little pub.
Hermione thought… maybe there had been a flash of blonde hair, but it wasn’t Draco. Draco was in detention.
The walk back was easier to tolerate. After a full goblet of Butterbeer, Hermione felt like she could really stand a whole day with Ron and Harry, like they were her friends again.
And then Katie Bell got cursed and Hermione remembered how peaceful her life with the Malfoys was.
~~~
“You cursed her?” Hermione asked, settling into Draco’s arms as the fire in the Room of Requirements roared. Theo was on the ground, leaned back against the couch and Draco’s legs. Draco tensed, but Theo wove a hand through his legs to lean against them better, and Hermione pressed a kiss to Draco’s throat.
“I did,” he said thickly. “We thought… it would show callousness for others to appease Dolohov, and push Severus to confront me. He hasn’t yet.”
Hermione hummed. Katie would be fine after her stay in the curse ward, and there would be no lasting damage. Anything that kept Draco out of the line of fire was acceptable in her eyes. “Good.”
~~~
Slughorn’s little club was having a dinner party. Well, more aptly, they were having a New Years party, one that Hermione desperately wanted to skip. As Draco, Theo, and Toma were not part of the Slug Club, Hermione would be attending the dinner alone.
Well, alone by choice. Ronald had asked her to take him, but made it clear he only wanted to go because Slughorn couldn’t remember his name.
And Harry was going with Luna, because Ginny was dating Dean and couldn’t be bothered. And Cho wasn’t talking to him.
But Hermione wasn’t interested in babysitting either one of them, least of all when she was their last choice, and she couldn’t be there with her preferred guests, so she accepted McLaggen’s invitation. It was a whim, something she’d only done because he had asked and Hermione wasn’t thinking through the fact that she was an engaged woman, and that he wasn’t asking just because they’d sat beside one another at an earlier dinner, and she’d already said yes by the time she realized what she’d done.
She stood at the edge of the room, wearing a red dress and wishing beyond measure she could just leave early and find her fiances, but putting on a brave face for Professor Slughorn. And ducking behind the curtains whenever she needed an escape.
The party was boring, the food was bland, the conversation was stale, and the company left much to be desired. It was genuinely one of the worst parties Hermione had ever been to, and it was too small for her to slip away without someone noticing her absence.
The only moment that Hermione felt any kind of excitement was when she caught sight of Draco being pulled into the room by his shoulder, Filch at his side. They were arguing, Draco acting shrill and panicked - Hermione could tell in the way that his eyes were hard even as he whined to be let go.
She had to hide her smile. Harry found his way over to her, too, watching the drama unfold. It would have been funnier if Filch didn’t mention the abandoned corridor of the third floor, where Hermione knew Draco was likely working on the Cabinet in the Room of Requirement. Harry at her side sucked in a breath. He’d been watching Draco on the map for a long time now, and this explained why he wasn’t showing up for hours a day. Hermione would need to be more careful, more thoughtful in getting Harry away from the map when she knew Draco and Toma were working.
“I’ll take him,” Snape announced, materializing from around the corner of some pillar. He took Draco’s arm, gentler than Filch but still firm, and led him away. Hermione didn’t get to say anything before Harry was running after them, leaving Hermione standing there with his forgotten goblet of pumpkin wine and Luna, drifting at her elbow.
Hermione replayed it a few times in her mind. If something like that had happened a few years ago, Hermione would have thought Draco was up to something and being a child about being caught. But now, knowing what he was doing, and watching how he played the whole room into thinking he was just a sad little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, it was funny. Genuinely funny. Draco Malfoy could play a room three times over and no one would ever know because Draco wore a mask at the castle. As clear as day, every interaction Hermione had ever had with him before Third Year had been a mask, and she only recognized it now that she had seen him bare and open.
It was funny.
That, and the frankly ridiculous acrobatics she was doing to stay out of McLaggen’s clutches, made Hermione just a bit happier, her smile more real. The party is tolerable when she’s mostly thinking about Toma and Draco in the Room of Requirement, laughing together and trading magical theory and knowledge.
Hermione was just about to step up to the buffet table to refill her drink when she felt something inside her shift. Like all the blood rushing from her head, like she had taken a step through nothing, like she was just a weak puppet on cut strings. She slammed into the table hard, upending a bowl of crisps and the punch bowl, and the party came to a sudden halt. In the silence of the room, Hermione's shuttering breath was louder than it should have been. Her face was wet with tears, with whatever punch had fallen over her, and her dress was sticking to her.
Hermione pulled - pulled hard enough to make her vision swim - but there was no magic to pull upon. It was gone. Gone. She gasped, her lungs freezing with the effort and leaving her literally breathless. The crying only intensified.
Unable to comprehend what the hell was happening, she sobbed. It was an ugly cry, something primal and rough and harsh that pulled deep from her gut. The only breath she could take was wasted on tears, and she sobbed as she continued to pull on her missing magic. Her fingernails dug into her palms, her head began to throb. Desperately, she wished for Draco or Theodore to hold her. Barring them, Toma. Neville. The Twins. Anyone who knew the kind of instinctual, overwhelming fear she felt when her magic refused to surface at her call.
Anyone who would know how to fix this, how to make Hermione whole again. Anyone who would understand, who would know to call the Malfoys. She wanted Narcissa's long nails in her hair, Lucius's tight arms around her shoulders. She wanted comfort, she wanted familiar weight around her. She wanted it desperately, with everything coherent thought left in her mind.
She wanted hands on her shoulders, her arms, her back. She could almost feel them, feel someone holding her. But there were hands on Hermione’s shoulders, and she blinked, trying to clear her vision.
“‘Moine!”
There was one only man here who called her that - Harry. She pushed at his hands, unhappy and scared, but he only held on tighter. It was like a snake's hold, a predator keeping her caged. Hermione gasped in pain, in confusion, and her chest clenched hard as she thrashed in Harry's hold. Like knives drawn through her, or like her bones were breaking. It was as though she were-
“Mya!”
Hermione jolted at the familiar name. Like she was- Like- She thrust a hand out blindly, pulling away from Harry with hard, sure power. Cool fingers, long and thin, were in hers then, tight around her palms. Someone was pushing back her curls, trying to get her to calm down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Placating in the nicest way, concern and coded reassurances that everything would be alright.
Around them, people were talking. Someone was asking what happened, another said something about too much to drink. Someone outside said Snape had just been running through the halls.
In front of Hermione’s hazy and confused face, there was a man. Tall, tousled curls. Her Theodore.
Hermione slumped in the man’s hold, which seemed to be weaker than usual. It was as though she were floating, all around her was a blur of noises and lights. Like she’d fallen asleep in front of the telly, and she could still hear bits and pieces of the show even as she slept. But she was safe. She was safe. Theo would save her, and she would be safe.
~~~
Draco Malfoy could not die. This was both a practical and an emotional thought that came to Toma’s mind as he skidded around the corner of the boys’ bathroom. Draco Malfoy played too big a part in Toma’s plans and his life to die now. He was Toma's friend, one of Toma's commanders in this new world. He was Hermione's betrothed, her lover, the keystone between the Malfoys and the Notts.
Whatever Potter had thrown at Draco, it had been powerful. All around Draco, Toma could smell sparks of magic. It was so distinctly Hermione and Theo, so unique to their triad, for a moment Toma forgot that it was a very, very bad sign. For a moment, Toma forgot that it wasn't controlled - it was pulled from Draco's body as violently as tears were being pulled from him, sobs wracking his body.
Toma froze, watching as blood seeped into the water around Draco’s body.
Not even an hour ago, they were laughing. They had been cracking jokes about a Vanishing Cabinet used to smuggle girls in and out of the Vatican - a tasteless joke that Toma remembered from his own time at Hogwarts - and working diligently on repairing it. They'd been making progress. Draco had shown Toma the ring he and Theo made for Hermione.
Now, Draco lay dying, and Toma didn’t know what to do. He’d felt it - not this, but the sudden drain of magic. When one member of a triad was gravely injured, as Draco clearly was, sometimes bonds would suck magic away from partners, away from Hermione and Theo who were probably scared out of their minds right now. They might have been more than scared - they may have been drained, too. Draco's condition was fatal and terrible. Toma's mind jumped to an image of Theo laying in the Slytherin Common Room, suddenly dying for no discernable reason. Hermione, writhing in pain and fear, at Slughorn's party surrounded by people who didn't know her or who she was or what she needed.
Toma felt the drain, too, but only because Hermione was his magical sister. It wasn’t nearly as strong as if Toma was a part of their romantic bond, but his own magic was singing, rushing, desperately trying to get to Hermione. Toma had never before acknowledged the bond between himself and Hermione. There had been no reason, no tell, no similar scent or intertwining of magical tells. Toma had never told her - that night in the graveyard, she had done more than bring him back as her master - but he would tell her as soon as he could. Hermione was, according to their magic, as good as his sister. His only living family. An orphan for an orphan.
For their bond to respond so violently, Hermione must be in real danger.
To save Draco… to protect Hermione… to defend their plans…
Toma turned to Potter in a split second of decision-making. “Go! Get Professor Snape!”
Harry turned to leave, and as soon as the bathroom door slammed shut, Toma rushed to Draco’s side. The curse was powerful and Dark and Toma would have been impressed if it weren’t Draco laying there in his own blood. Toma couldn’t help heal him - he didn’t know the curse that had made these cuts - but he could give him some more time for Professor Snape to get to them. His hands were shaking as he laid them on Draco’s chest. Blood and water soaked them, but Toma could only think about his magic.
“Please,” he whispered, pushing his magic through his hands and into Draco’s splayed chest. Blood to blood, there was the distinct scent of charcoal in the air now. Good.
And then Toma was pushed aside roughly and he fell back. He raised his hands, ready to curse whoever had-
Snape was bent over Draco’s body, his hands waving over his chest. Around them, the pink water swirled and sucked backwards, back into Draco’s waiting body. Snape was going to save Draco now, he was going to live. Snape would see to it.
“Get Mister Nott and Miss Granger,” Snape ordered, turning back to a still Toma soaked in the water around them. “He cannot heal without their help.”
Toma splashed out of the room and down the hall. The stupid Slughorn party was standing, watching, their mouths hanging open as Hermione laid on the floor in tears. Harry was holding her, tight and constricting, and Hermione was trying to get away. Trying to get out of his hold. She looked terrible. Her skin was pale and gaunt, sweaty and greenish, and her hair was a mess. She'd pulled it from the pins and curls.
“Mya!”
The nickname was out of his mouth before Toma had thought about it. But she seemed to respond. She reached for him, reached past Potter’s constricting arms, and Toma took her none too gently. Potter stepped back, confused as to why Hermione would want Toma over him, but-
Their magics were familiar. Toma’s very soul, that place deep within his chest he had kept buried and dead for so long was reaching out for Hermione, who didn’t respond in any way but to smile at him. Toma pushed her curls from her face, now sweaty and disoriented, and then she swayed a couple times and collapsed. Unconscious.
“I’m taking her to the infirmary,” Toma announced. “Alone,” he added, when Potter made to stand up, too.
~~~
Harry’s curse had nearly killed Draco. Drained Hermione to the point of passing out. Drained Theodore to the point of a seizure - thank Merlin for Blaise and Pansy being with him at the time. Drained Toma as he tried to keep Draco alive and his sister from a damaged magical core. Nearly killed Snape, as it had been his curse and his Unbreakable Vow to never let any harm come to Draco. In an instant, nearly five lives had been lost in one night - and Harry refused to see the consequences of his actions.
Hermione returned to the common room after three days. The first day had been spent with Draco, Theo, and Toma in the hospital wing, but the following two had been spent with Draco and Theo in bed, or reading with Toma when he came to visit them. Snape had been more than happy to excuse them all from classes, and to provide them all with a suitable excuse - a delayed curse from their non-verbal Defense lessons had taken all three of them down, and Toma having been one of the tutors for the class, was the only one able to help.
Every night, Hermione woke before the others with a jolt and a gasp. She’d turn over, frantic, and search for Draco. Draco would wake in response, his skin clammy with sweat, and he’d cry into Hermione’s shoulder. Theo would wake last, and he would hold them both until the sun came up over the grounds outside and they would drag tired, scared bodies from their bed.
It would have been four days if Narcissa and Lucius hadn’t come to collect Draco to be checked out by their own healer. Theo and Hermione knew they were concerned, and they didn’t blame them at all for taking their Draco away.
But it meant that Snape put an end to their Room of Requirement evenings and Hermione went back to the Common Room feeling anxious and on edge.
“Hermione,” Harry said, standing. He made to move towards her, but Hermione held up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, pulling back hard. Harry faltered, his hand raised between them and Ron just barely out of his seat beside him. “Don’t ever- no. Don’t touch me.”
“Hermione?”
But she only shook her head. “No. No, no,” she repeated. It was like she was stuck, trapped in some kind of loop of denial. It might have been a better greeting if Hermione hadn’t just said goodbye to her fiance for the foreseeable future. She just kept shaking her head. That feeling of magic draining out of her was back, Draco’s body was in her mind’s eye, Theo’s terrified crying echoing in her ears.
Hermione’s magic sparked, hard and sure and overwhelming, and Harry gasped as his head split with pain. It was like Voldemort when- it was like the dreams- it was like-
There was the sound of skin smacking skin, and Harry’s eyes flew open. Hermione was stock-still, a hand clasped over her cheek. To her side, Toma was stood stoically. Ron was fully out of his chair now, his face red and his hands shaking, but he wasn’t moving. Like he couldn’t move or like he was being held back by some invisible thing.
For the second time in a week, Harry smelled charcoal and salt in the air.
Hermione was held in Toma’s arms tight, and he was whispering frantically.
Toma Grozdanov had just slapped Hermione Granger, and she was taking it. She was taking it, nodding along silently with glassy eyes. If it had been anyone else in any other year, Harry would have expected her to snap right back, throw her own hand across their face in return. This Hermione was quiet, subservient. Like she took Toma’s action at face value and trusted it even as it hurt her. She trusted Toma - more so than she trusted Harry or Ron in that moment.
“-fine now. Get control of yourself,” Toma hissed, louder than the earlier part of whatever he’d been saying, but still quiet and subdued. Still a whisper, but insistent now. “Violence is unbecoming of you. We are better than that. Find the better, change the world.”
Hermione nodded robotically, then straightened. Toma’s arms fell away, and Ron fell forward suddenly. Hermione smiled, her entire face shuddering into softness.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I just… that night was scary.” Hermione swallowed, clearing her throat. “It was so scary, and I saw Malfoy when he came into the Hospital Wing. It was so much worse than anything I have ever seen, and I was scared.”
Harry jerked to life, his hands moving and finding her shoulders. She let him pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry, too.”
“We have to get rid of that book,” Hermione said. “We have to.”
“I know,” Harry said. He patted her on the back, and Hermione pulled away. It was over now.