Before
“The effectiveness of memory charms comes down to their intent.” Hermione rubbed at her forehead with fatigue.
These periodic trainings, while rare amid ongoing hostilities, were absolutely essential for all Order assets—particularly those who hadn’t finished higher level schooling, as no one in her year had.
When she’d been approached by Lupin to guide this one on Memory Charms, due to her “continuing research and fascination with Obliviation,” she had no good reason to decline. However much she might have wanted to.
She couldn’t very well tell him that she didn’t focus on it because she liked it. It was an obsession. An increasingly futile attempt to find hope for herself.
“You’re all familiar by now with Sectumsempra and its effects,” her eyes ghosted over Malfoy and Harry, who stood on opposite sides of the room, as well as other members who’d studied the curse in a previous training on dark spells. “It means, in essence, ‘a cut that never heals.’ True, by the way, if the curse isn’t treated in time.” Harry cleared his throat and Malfoy pointedly did not look his direction.
“Now, a Memory Charm cast with the right amount of power will act in much the same way: a severing that will never heal.” Her throat began to constrict, but she pushed through. “Feeling toward the memories being excised, or to the subject—depth and endurance, association, however fleeting or meaningful—determine the spell’s power.”
She blinked several times in rapid succession. Coughed to cover up her pause and the concerted effort she was putting toward Occlusion.
“This is why annoyed members of the Obliviation Squad typically cast weaker charms than a … a highly motivated family member might.” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “Someone who’s trying to protect themselves or a loved one will be much more effective. Precise. Their feelings magnify the spell.”
She looked back into his cool, grey eyes. “Love.” The color drained from his face. “Using love, they cast a Sectumsempra for the mind.”
***
“Absolutely not.”
“Draco, the intelligence is definitive. They’re aware of a spy, and you will be caught within six months if you continue.”
“Then fake my death. Relocate me.”
Hermione sighed. “Stop being difficult.”
He rubbed at his chest, subconsciously acknowledging the one-of-a-kind spell Lucius had cast at the beginning of the war; woven through Draco’s blood, it made him aware always of the health and state of his son and heir.
“It’s the only way to keep you—and the Order—safe.”
“You shouldn’t have to be the one,” he said with a stony expression. Whether because he knew the lasting effects on her following her modification of her parents’ memories, or other reasons, she was grateful for his protectiveness. However misguided it might be.
Hermione smiled ruefully. “I’m the best at them. And I have proven experience. I know, because of my—”
“—brilliance—”
“—skill, and my…feelings, it will be strong. Undetectable. Even if they searched your mind, they wouldn’t see tampering.”
Draco walked to her, tipping her face upward by pulling at her chin. “It’s that bleeding heart of yours. You love too readily—too deeply for your own good.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled it up to her cheek, leaning into it and closing her eyes. When she opened them again, they were bright. “I honestly don’t know, in this moment, whether we should be grateful for that or not.”
He embraced her quickly, tucking her head into his chest. “Promise me,” his chest rumbled against her ear, “that you’ll do it when I’m asleep. After we’ve had a full night together. I’ve never slept so well as when I’m with you—I’d like to enjoy that as long a possible.” Hermione nodded.
***
A cool morning mist settled over the Manor grounds. Hermione had brought Draco there the same way he’d taught her to come in. She’d even given him a sleeping draught to keep him asleep.
No one would enter for another hour.
She looked at him in his most vulnerable form—hair tousled, lips parted gently—thinking about their last night together, marveling that he trusted her enough now to show her this side. And she wondered what the future would hold after this.
How much he would have to do as part of the Death Eater army. Whether his heart and soul would be in it. Without the memories, would his ideals change? Did something in the mind irrevocably turn once a person walked a certain path?
If they survived, she could find him again. Maybe, if the right side won and they made it out alive, they’d strike up an acquaintance. If they did, maybe she could make him love her again.
If.
She gently pushed his bangs back.
“I love you,” she whispered, kissing his temple.
Love. It’s what made this the unkindest, most enduring cut.
Hermione raised her wand, envisioning the memories flowing out of him like blood being let.
“Obliviate.”