Chapter 11
Hermione tried to insist the pair take it slightly easier the next day. Perhaps stay a while longer to give him time to rest and recover. Malfoy would hear absolutely none of it. He agreed to an extra hour before moving, which allowed Hermione some time to apply healing salve and whisper some pain-management charms to her wand. She embedded a few into his new skin, charmed to release magic every hour for the next 24 hours, giving him pain relief for longer.
Rest had helped. Malfoy looked stronger in himself and after a careful wash in the tent’s basin, he was almost his poised aristocratic self again. Almost. Hermione could see the ginger way in which he held himself, clearly concerned about shredding the new skin. But he was insistent that they should move, and so move they did.
Two days later, the pair found themselves in the last location on their list. They were in southeast Asia for the neem tree that grew there, so Hermione could siphon some oil. They would stay the night here before returning to Hogwarts in the morning. The new academic year was due to start on the first of September in just 3 days, so Hermione was eager to get back. If things went to plan, she would be able to begin brewing in good time and that would be… well, it would be progress. Progress that Hermione desperately wanted to make.
Extracting neem oil would usually only take a few minutes, seeing as it wasn’t a particularly challenging process. But extracting neem oil while disillusioned? That was hard, not being able to see what her hands were doing.
Malfoy was stood a few paces behind Hermione. While she couldn’t see him, as he also remained disillusioned, she could feel his presence behind her. She knew his eyes would be shifting over the horizon on all sides. They hadn’t been able to set up camp near enough to the tree for the wards to cover it due to the muggle settlement nearby. Hermione could literally see into a family’s cabin. She could see them sat around the lunch table, laughing, conversing, sharing food. It looked nice. They looked happy. The parents smiling at the children, the children giggling to each other. It was just a normal family, enjoying being with one another. It was simply beautiful.
Once finished, Hermione stood up, knowing Malfoy would see her vials vanish under his disillusionment and into her pouch so they could start moving. She could still feel his presence behind her as they disappeared into the thick woodland a few minutes’ walk away. They both caneclled their disillusionment. Hermione realised with disdain that her nails were stained orange from the neem oil, but would have to just accept it.
It didn’t take them long to reach the edge of their wards – Malfoy had wanted to be as close as possible to the tree while still being able to set up his full slate of spells without arousing suspicion from the locals.
Malfoy tensed beside her, and immediately Hermione’s hackles raised. She clutched her wand in her hand, knowing that even a partially injured Malfoy still had instincts like a cat.
Or a kneazle, perhaps.
“The wards. Something is wrong. Re-cast your disillusionment, now!” He ordered. There was no hesitation in Hermione’s action as she cast her disillusionment and tried to command her pattering heart to slow down. She tucked herself behind Malfoy’s large frame and tried to ask him what had happened, but didn’t get the chance when he disappeared behind the wards. Hermione knew she would not see or hear him again until he exited.
Was she meant to wait outside the wards? He had asked her to disillusion herself. Would he have done that if he intended her to follow him?
A twig snapped somewhere to Hermione’s right. It was close. It was probably an animal, but the wards were wrong as well. She pushed through the wards, nearly tumbling straight into Malfoy’s back.
“No…” She whispered, a horrified hand clamping over her mouth.
Their warded area was small due to the location, just barely covering the space for their tent and a campfire outside. Malfoy was stood, wand by his side, knuckles white from his grip.
Smoke rose lazily from the charred remains of the tent. Hermione’s things were strewn everywhere. Notebooks, textbooks, clothes, food. All of it was blackened and burned and thrown over the floor as if someone had rummaged through her life and thrown it behind them as they went.
The remains of last night’s campfire had been kicked and rifled through as well, as if something would have been hidden inside.
“I don’t understand.” Hermione mumbled, allowing her disillusionment to drop as she stepped forward to look at Malfoy in shock. “I don’t understand. What happened here?”
Malfoy did not respond. He merely looked on, a passive observer of the destruction, in what Hermione assumed was her own mirrored shock.
It wasn’t.
Hermione looked at the man and realised with a bolt of electricity running through her that she was not seeing shock. She was seeing rage. Unfiltered, terrifying rage.
His eyes burned black, his jaw was set like stone. A dangerous tension rippled through his body and emanated outwards, forcing Hermione to step back a little.
She looked around again instead and saw that nothing would be salvageable. Someone had crossed the wards, searched their tent and burned it to the ground while they were gone. Hermione didn’t think they had been gone even 20 minutes, so either they were very lucky or the person who did this hadn’t intended to meet them in person.
Hermione had no desire to find out.
“We are leaving. Now.” Malfoy snarled without warning, leaving no margin for argument as he grabbed Hermione by the shoulder with a vice-like grip and pulled her out of the wards. He had only touched her a handful of times – never gently, but never like this. He grabbed her like a man possessed, and it hurt but she didn’t say anything. Malfoy turned on his heel and apparated with a resounding crack.
They reappeared not at Hogwarts station where Hermione had expected, but in a dimly lit, windowless corridor with a single black door at the end of it. She knew this place. She knew it well. She had not visited it in years, but it visited her regularly in her nightmares.
The Department of Mysteries.
“No.” Hermione moaned weakly, grabbing Malfoy’s arms with one hand. “No, please not here. Don’t make me be here.” Hermione could almost see Sirius’s hair disappear down the way, the ghost of Bellatrix Lestrange’s laughter echoing off the walls. Malfoy did not listen, or perhaps he did not hear. He forced her down the corridor, not releasing in his grip of her shoulder.
Hermione tried to fight him off, but it was no use. His hand held her wand arm firmly at her side and no matter how many times she hit him, he did not relent.
He did not look at her.
Hermione screwed her eyes shut tight and Malfoy started taking – dragging – her through more corridors and more doors and tears started to slip out because she had vowed never to come back here. Had turned down a job at the Ministry because she never wanted to come close again.
“You’re sick.” She moaned as they finally stopped in front of a door, the same as all the others, with no name plate save for a gold ‘094’ on the door. “You’re sick. I hate you. I hate you for doing this. I hate you.”
Malfoy opened the door with no words and guided her in much more gently this time, loosening his grip on her shoulder and closing the door. He locked in magically behind them.
Hermione found herself in a cosy office, all green accents and dark mahogany but took no notice. The second Malfoy’s grip loosened, she collapsed onto a soft, leather couch that she found suddenly beneath her, sobbing weakly into her hands.
“I’m sorry.” Malfoy’s voice was hushed and pained. “I know what this place is to you. It’s the only place I know is always safe, has never been breached by the ones that want to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“Take me home.” Hermione wept, and Malfoy’s heart tightened. This was not Hermione as he knew her. This was not a war heroine. This was not the golden girl. This was not the goddess Athena to be feared by all man. This was Hermione Granger at her worst. A 24-year-old woman who survived a war but did not escape unscathed.
He sank down on the couch next to her, awkward and wondering if touching her would make it better or worse.
“I will. I will, I swear. I just need to make sure it’s safe. The wards- they shouldn’t have been penetrable. I didn’t even know and now I can’t trust my magic to keep you safe. I have to trust the magic here to keep you safe. I have to.” Malfoy decided to settle for a single hand on the back of Hermione’s head, gently stroking her curls in what he hoped was a comforting, gentle gesture.
“I don’t want to be here, Draco.”
“I know. I know you don’t but I- well, I need to keep you safe. You need to be safe, Granger and nowhere else is safe right now.
“Please…” She pleaded, her voice timid and weak. It made Malfoy uncomfortable to hear. It made him uncomfortable to see her like this. To face what the war had done to her. She put on such a powerful front, came across so confident but, really, she was just like him. Scared, alone, broken.
Malfoy did not know what to do with himself.
“Can I do anything? Other than taking you away, can I do anything?” Hermione took a shuddery breath but did not raise her head.
“I want Harry, but I don’t want him to come here.” Malfoy thought on that for a moment.
“I have a fireplace. I’ll floo call him.” He got up and grabbed a handful of powder before pausing. Would he still be at the Weasleys'? Most likely. He replaced the powder into its pouch next to the mantle. He didn’t think Draco Malfoy’s head appearing without warning in their fireplace would be welcome or appropriate.
“Can you send your patronus? I wish I could but I- and my paper bird will take too long.”
“Not here. I can’t conjure her here.” Malfoy felt stuck, a pit in his stomach as he realised there was nothing he could do.
Eventually, Hermione rose. Her face was red, her eyes were puffy. She didn’t look at Malfoy as she crossed to the fireplace, taking her own handful of powder before she knelt in front of the grate.
“The Burrow.” She said clearly, despite her voice, which was thickened with tears and anguish. Malfoy couldn’t even find it within himself to chuckle at the name of the Weasley house and instead crossed the room to his desk, hoping to give Hermione as much privacy as he could.
He forced himself not to listen to the details of her conversation, but even Occlumency couldn’t drown out the devastating whispered sobs from the witch across the room. He couldn’t ignore the way her lithe body wracked with tears.
He had done an awful thing to bring her here. She had told him in the guest room of his Devon Manor that the war had started here for her. This was the place that started her nightmares 8 years ago, the nightmares that would never leave her, and he had dragged her into without any preparation or warning. It was disgusting. Unforgiveable. When he had left Azkaban, he promised himself that he would be better. That he would be different. Was he?
No. He still tormented those around him without even trying. It seemed that all he could do was cause pain.
The least he could do was find the bastards that did this so he could cause them pain instead. Then he would vanish from her life and finally she would be able to heal.
Malfoy Occluded very suddenly, slamming up his walls. It was not wholly successful – he could still hear Hermione – but it was better. A bit. Without pause, he began wracking his brains to try and figure out what he did wrong.
His wards did not alert him to someone entering. They razed her research. Save for the notes she had in her bag and at Hogwarts, it was gone. Textbooks. Unique, one-of-a-kind textbooks were gone.
But they had not gone after he. They were not far, so why not wait? Malfoy was forced to assume that the plan, at this point, was to disrupt rather than murder. But who would do that? Who would do that and also be powerful enough to circumnavigate his wards without him knowing?
That was a question he couldn’t answer, but he knew where he needed to start. Using a small-scale replica of his wards, he could probe it for insecurities and weaknesses he had previously been blind to. Maybe there was something that he had missed.
It took but a wave of his wand to conjure a basic wooden base. He then shaped it into a rough model of their campsite and chanted the wards he had used that day. It did not take him long, as the area was barely 6 inches this time. Before long, he could begin. He muttered counter spells and cast small jinxes to see what would penetrate and what would bounce off, but still alert him. He did not learn anything new.
Malfoy changed tactics, trying attack curses instead. He did not learn anything new.
On and on he went, exhausting his arsenal of knowledge but making no headway. Eventually, Hermione rose from her place by the fire, wiping her eyes and taking very deep, steady breaths. Her eyes flickered over towards the man hunched over his desk, muttering spells and poking a small dome with his wand. There was a plush leather chair sat across from Malfoy’s desk, and Hermione took it with wobbly legs and shaky hands. She sunk into it and fixed her eyes on the scaled model of their campsite. No words left her lips, she just gazed on with watchful, mournful eyes.
“I don’t think they intended to hurt you.” The blond man sighed, pushing back from his work in frustration. He just couldn’t figure out how they got in! Leaning back in his chair, Malfoy tilted his head back until he was viewing the dark ceiling with disdain.
“I came to the same conclusion.” Hermione’s reply was not strong but it was certainly less weak than it had been before she had spoken with Potter. Malfoy nodded, and sat forward again so he could look at her. Hermione did not meet his eye.
“In that case, I think we should be safe at Hogwarts. Although I will be firmly refusing to allow any more excursions until further notice.” Hermione nodded at that, rising from her seated position on the chair with an unexpected grace from someone who had been so distraught up until a few minutes ago.
Perhaps it was not that she was no longer distraught but had put herself together enough to hide it.
Malfoy mirrored her movements, vanishing the model from his desk and walking around it to stand next to Hermione.
“We can take the floo to the station, we don’t need to walk out and apparate.” Hermione thanked him breathily and forced herself to take the handful of floo powder slowly. She could not get out of there fast enough, throwing her powder and vanishing into green flames, leaving the horrible place behind her.
They walked up to the castle in silence. A few other professors that had returned to the castle in preparation for the looming academic year went to greet them, but took one look at their faces and left a respectful distance. Upon reaching their quarters, Malfoy threw up even more detection charms just to be safe.
A vacant, unseeing look on her face, Hermione followed suit and added some of her own. And then she just stopped. She stood in the middle of the living room, looking around with sad eyes. She looked at her bedroom door, and then looked away.
She did not want to sleep.
She did not want to dream.
Instead, she took her seat by the empty fireplace and pulled a blanket around her shoulders. She stared listlessly into the fireplace and said nothing.
Without a word, Malfoy sat opposite her. He knew what would happen when she eventually fell asleep.
He intended to be there when it happened.