Chapter Text
March 4, 2002 - Monday
Hermione recoiled from the smell of burnt flesh. Saliva flooded her mouth; nausea crept up her throat. It wasn’t something she ever got used to. Surveying the aftermath of the raid left her moving from room to room in what was the Order’s Hamilton safe house searching for survivors. Two had perished from acid hexes leaving their bodies burnt, unrecognizable, a putrid scent lingered in the air. Three members had sustained severe injuries, one with a severed wand hand. She did what she could to patch them up and had them portkeyed to their London safehouse, allowing them the best chance for recovery given the stocked potions and healers on staff. The war had raged on for four long years. Neither side had gained a considerable advantage, but lately the casualties had been steadily rising within the Order.
“Hermione?”
“In here,” she called out, wiping her hands on her robe. Footsteps crunched over broken glass and splintered wood. Dean stood at the threshold surveying the destruction in the room.
“Are you done?” he asked, his left cheek blooming a beautiful shade of purple while his eye was in the process of swelling shut.
Hermione nodded,dark crescents under her eyes, a sign of exhaustion written in her features. Securing her beaded bag across her shoulder, she walked over to Dean stopping in front of him, casting a diagnostic over his face. Dean twisted his face away with an exasperated sigh. “I’m fine, Hermione. If you’re done, let's head back.”
“Hold still. Your orbital bone is fractured.” She held her wand to his face and murmured a spell. Dean grit his teeth as the bone shifted into place.
“Fuck! Give a bloke a warning next time, will ya?” He hissed through the pain.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Hermione smirked.
“You’re barmy sometimes, you know that?” He rubbed his cheek.
She ignored him and headed out the door, exhaustion seeping into her bones, knowing she’d done all that she could and hoping sleep would find her when she laid her head on her pillow later that night.
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The London safehouse was in chaos. Healers and medi-witches were tending to the wounded, forgetting to cast silencing charms in their haste. Cries of agony and pain echoed within the walls while wounds were cauterized and broken bones mended. Hermione clutched the shoulder strap of her beaded bag and stared down the hall, wanting to join her fellow healers but to her irritation, Dean gently tugged her by the elbow pulling her along for the debrief.
In the conference room, she sat on the same black chair, facing the same grey wall while everyone around her screamed and argued over the gains made by the Death Eaters in the past six months. Draco Malfoy was always front and centre. He had turned up again and had been the one to kill a junior Order member and was responsible for the severed wand hand of Allastair Stewart, an older Auror who worked with Kingsley.
She shook her head realizing how nonchalant, how utterly cold her thoughts had been lately. It was always analyze, mend, move on. Analyze, mend, move on. Head down, she moved from one broken soul to another. She couldn’t remember a time when she took a moment to look up. To breathe. She loved being a healer, of course she did. It was the relentless barrage of death, destruction and the unending numbness that made the cold seep into her bones.
Someone called her name, prompting her to provide her update of the aftermath of the raid. She’d done this so many times; it was routine, maybe even robotic. Two deceased, advanced acid hexes causing coagulation necrosis. One with a broken tibia, muscle lacerations and a moderate concussion. The other with a sprained ankle and a slicing hex to the left shoulder. The last with a severed wand hand. Minor injuries with the likes of bruises and shallow cuts sustained by seven Order members, and one with an orbital bone fracture. Yes, some were due to dark curses. No, it was not the first time she’d seen these types of injuries. Yes, the path to recovery would take time, particularly for the member with the broken tibia adding to the Order’s resourcing issues. Kingsley had a few additional questions but nothing that she couldn’t handle.
Upon dismissal, she stood catching Harry’s gaze as his green eyes bored into her own. He sat next to Kingsley, a set of maps laid in front as they ended the debrief and continued to strategize. He gave her a small smile, his head tilting to the side. She answered with a nod of her head signalling she was unharmed. She turned and headed out the door, her feet taking her to the medical wing, knowing her day was far from over and sleep may evade her after all.
March 8, 2002 - Friday
It was rare to get time for herself these days. The rule was always a minimum of two to an outing. Safety and security in numbers. Today, she’d snuck away to do some foraging for bruise paste. She’d done this before and always returned with the needed ingredients for brewing her depleted potion stores. This week, they were running through so much paste that she couldn’t brew any more without daisy root, plus, she also needed asphodel and wormwood.
She’d apparated to Dizzard Woods and found herself alone breathing in the fresh air, feeling the wind on her skin and hair. Something simple and forgettable so many years ago was now something sacred. She took a moment to sit by the edge of the forest. The sun on her face and the smell of earth and dried leaves enveloped her like a warm welcome from an old friend.
She sat on the patch of grass for what felt like an eternity before getting up and walking to the bed of daisies to pull out their roots. Wormwood was harder to find so she may as well get the daisy root out of the way. The dirt was cool on her finger tips as she dug to unearth the plants. Her skin prickled at the unmistakable cracking of an apparition. Hermione gripped her wand, whirled around to find a masked, hooded Death Eater advancing with his wand trained directly at her. She tried to apparate only to learn he’d cast anti-apparition wards as soon as he’d arrived.
Quick little fucker.
“Bombarda!” she shouted. The spell hit the earth in front of the Death Eater. She took cover behind a large tree but the shower of dirt and shattered rock covered her in dirt and cut her skin.
“Bombarda!” He retaliated, splintering the top of the tree under which she was sheltered, showering her with wood chips and bark. She screamed and cast a protego.
It’s now or never. Fuck! It’s now or never.
Hermione sprinted into the forest, fear bolting through her like lightening.
The Death Eater advanced, his boots sunk into the ground and large strides closed the gap quickly. Her heart slammed in her chest, she cast a diffindo; it hit a nearby tree, but to her disappointment, the footsteps continued to thud louder and faster. Her breath came in jagged spurts while zig zagging through the forest.
Hermione was beginning to gain a bit of distance when her boot caught a knot on the forest floor, throwing her violently to the ground, her ankle twisted at a grotesque angle. A pained cry left her lips when her wand flew out of her hand and landed in his. The Death Eater stood by her prone form, his wand trained on her, scrutinizing her from behind his mask.
The pain spread from her foot along her ankle and up her leg. She couldn’t get up. Not without effort. So, she remained still, staring past the shrouded face of the Death Eater to the canopy of leaves swaying softly in the breeze. Each leaf twisted and turned, reflecting and refracting the sunlight streaming through the tree tops. It was beautiful. A sense of peace washed over her as she waited for the final moment of her short existence. She focused on the bright green leaves, the sound of the wind whistling through the branches and closed her eyes, waiting for the end.
“Get the fuck up Granger, nap time is over.” The voice reverberated through the quiet. The posh accent unmistakably belonged to the Death Eater who’d killed countless Order members. Her skin prickled.
Was I just disarmed by Draco fucking Malfoy?! Of all the Death Eaters in all of England, I have to die at the wand of Draco fucking Malfoy?
She raged. She opened her eyes and stared daggers at his cowardly mask.
“Fuck you, Malfoy. You wanted to hunt me down? Congratulations, you did. You wanted to disarm me? You have my wand. Just avada me and be on your way.” She seethed through gritted teeth.
“Still got your claws I see. Get up. I won’t ask you again.” Hermione remained on her back, refusing to yield to his demands. He squatted next to her head, his black robes draped over his legs and pooled on the ground. The hood continued to cover his head, but she could see his cold grey eyes through the silver mask. Hardened, unforgiving. The cool tip of his wand dug into her neck. He muttered a hex and her skin flared with pain, heat spread up her neck to her jaw.
“Fuck!” she yelled, and squirmed in pain, instinctively curling in on herself.
Malfoy laughed. “C’mon Granger, have you gone soft? It’s going to get much worse if you don’t get the fuck up right now.”
She clamped her jaw and slowly stood up, testing her ankle; grabbing the nearest tree as pain engulfed her foot and radiated up her leg “Malfoy…”
“Silencio!” He cast a silencing charm and trained his wand at her chest. Her heart hammered. She clenched her fists, readying her body for his attack, but he remained at a distance.
“I’ll be the one talking. I know that’s hard for you to grasp, but you need to shut your gob for just a minute and listen. I need you to get a message to Kingsley. I need you to tell him that I’m willing to defect and feed him information. You’ll take this letter to him and make sure he follows the instructions exactly, otherwise, I will come for you all and there will be nothing left of the Order.” His nostrils flared; the venomous words pouring out, unrestrained, calculated. He paused and waited, as if he expected her to respond. She didn’t give him the satisfaction, kept her face composed, even if it was the hardest thing she had to do.
“I already know how to find you, and I know about your London safe house. In fact, I’ve known for a while.” She raised her brow as surprise flitted across her face.
“Yeah, the giant building on Wandsworth Bridge Road? The one where Potter lives. It’ll only take one slip of my tongue to have all the Death Eaters at your door step”
Hermione’s chest heaved, trying to keep the panic at bay.
“So, here’s how it’ll go. You and I are going to make a vow, right now, for your cooperation.” She tipped her chin up, welcoming death with open arms. For all she cared, he could take his offer and shove it up his arse.
His head slanted, almost as if he was expecting her very reaction. “I see that defiance, it’s commendable, but it’s not going to work.” He chuckled, a deep baritone emanating from behind the mask. “You see, I am not going to kill you. No, that would be far too easy. I could have done that ten minutes ago. Merlin, I could have done that when you were here three weeks ago foraging for Valerian root.”
She knew he reveled in her shocked expression. “It wasn’t that hard to plant a tracker on you Granger. I’ve followed you these past few weeks, so interestingly enough, I know several of your safe houses.” He watched her trying to make sense of everything that’s happened over the past several weeks, including the raid in Hamilton. He didn’t afford her the time to think and continued. “So no, I won’t kill you. But, I will obliviate you. I will make such a mess of that brain of yours that you will only be left with enough understanding not to drool all over yourself. Am I clear?” He asked, his voice certain, resolute. His wand shifted from her chest to her head while the magnitude of his threat hung between them both.
Hermione froze. Memories flooded her brain. Flashes of her mother’s smile and her father’s arms around her twirling her about in their living room.
“Am I clear?” He repeated. The brevity of this question carried with it the gravity of the decision she must make. A tear coursed down her cheek. Malfoy’s eyes bore into hers.
She nodded.
An agreement.
A prison.
An inevitable death sentence.