Hermione knew that sooner or later they’d have wrinkles, their eyes would lose the brightness of youth, and silver would streak every strand of hair. She knew that decades from now, their memories might falter, and their children would turn up with children of their own, reminding them where her quills, his medals, and their shared photos were hidden.
But none of that mattered. She knew she would still love him. No matter what, they would still be the same as they were now — feet buried in pebbles, breathing in sea salt, licking sweet frosting off their lips, sharing happiness and facing hard times hand in hand.
Hermione loved him, and that made the thought of growing old feel almost comforting. From their first kiss to their last, she loved him. And that was all that mattered.
Wings Ink Love is finally completed. The last chapter is out.
Art by lenivic.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
OKAY CAN SOMEONE PLS MAKE THIS A DRAMIONE FF WHERE LIKE HERMIONE KILLED LUCIUS AND THE OTHER DEATHEATERS AFTER THE WAR AND EVERYONE THINKS IT WAS DRACO. Idc if she initially tries to accuse or defend Draco in court but either way it’s like enemies to lovers in the end. IT WOULD BE POST-WAR AND UGH I WOULD READ IT.
So, weekend and lockdown and lots of lovely comments really motivated me to write. So here is another chapter!
Draco has to suffer the repercussions of his overuse of magic. And there are hints to the current timeline and the mysteries there..... Also on AO3.
Severus Snape’s memory (as retrieved September 2002)
Snape insisted on side-by- side apparition. They apparated just outside the Hogwarts wards, and Malfoy stumbled. He let himself fall on the ground, panted heavily. A series of shudders ran over his body.
“You catch your death, Draco, lying on the cold ground like that, after you’ve nearly drained yourself.”
Snape stretched his hand out for Draco to take.
“Just a moment,” Malfoy said. “I try to wrap my mind around being alive. I can’t believe the Dark Lord let us live.”
“Let’s get you to the hospital wing, Draco”, Snape said.
Malfoy picked himself up with an effort and Snape supported him as they made their way to the castle.
“You did something, didn’t you?”, Malfoy observed. “This is another one of your clever spells. One minute I thought I would drop dead with exhaustion and then the Dark Lord arrived and my occlumency walls are tightly and flawlessly in place.”
Snape nodded. “It transfers magic from one person to another, apparently including that person’s special magical abilities. It was enough to give you some strength and occlumency.”
“Wow,” Malfoy said.
“And I’m not going to teach you that. It is a very dangerous and potentially dark spell if used against someone. It has the potential to drain all magic.”
“Thank you,” Malfoy said. “I appreciate that you took a risk. You saved me and my family. I really thought I had breathed my last.”
Snape waved impatiently. “Your mind was like an open book. I had to close it to the Dark Lord and there was no time for your usual work around. What did you plan anyway?”
“The only thing I could think about was buying time, preventing anyone from calling the Dark Lord and hope you would come up with something.” He shook his head. “To think that I almost died because bloody Potter spoke the Dark Lord’s name and my father was stupid enough to call the Dark Lord.”
He laughed. “Probably some bout of insane Gryffindor courage. How could he have been so bloody stupid?”
“How long?”, Snape asked.
“How long, what?”
“You cast the scutum on Granger, didn’t you?”
“As long as my deranged aunt threw the cruciatus at her. I lost track of time. At first, she didn’t even interrogate her. She just wanted her fun.” He began to shudder again.
“How long?,” Snape asked.
“Half an hour maybe? Not more than three quarters of an hour.”
Snape shook his head. “It should not be possible.”
By then, he was dragging Malfoy more than just supporting him. They had entered the castle, and were slowly making their way upwards.
“Granger needed her wits about her,” Malfoy said. “I told her there would be help. I have no idea how Dobby of all elves came into it though.”
“You should not forget that there is a Resistance and that Potter has many friends.”
“I could have just told Prudy to apparate them away,” Malfoy berated himself. “I should have thought about that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Dobby is a free elf, nobody would ever have believed Prudy to do that on her own accord. You’re absolutely exhausted and do not think straight.”
“Or if only I had had that vial of phoenix potion, I wasted on that Ravenclaw girl. Or better yet, if I had just taken two vials.” Draco stopped in his tracks. “Let’s go fetch them now. I’ll never be without a batch of Phoenix Potion from now on.”
“You are going nowhere but to the Hospital wing, Draco,” Snape said.
“You keep saying that, why? I am tired, but I just need sleep.”
Snape frowned. “Believe me, Draco, you need the Hospital wing. And you are not going to do any magic until I allow it.”
Malfoy tried to get out of Snape’s grip, but was too feeble to escape the older man’s hold. “What? My mum gave me her wand. I can cast spells.”
Snape tightened his grip. “I don’t know how you managed to hold the scutum for that long, but it is a miracle that you did not burn the magic out of you. You should know that powerful magic like that comes with a price.”
“I could have lost my magic?”, Draco’s voice rose. “I could have lost my magic because bloody Potter was so fucking stupid, he let himself be caught?”
Snape shook his head. “Let’s not make this about Potter. It was your decision to help Granger.”
“My aunt could have tortured her into insanity like she did with the Longbottoms,” Draco protested, his cheeks suddenly flushed.
Snape closed his eyes. “Draco, I do not blame you for that. I do think that it is nothing short of a miracle though, that Potter escaped with Granger and Weasley and that neither of us were found out.”
“Potter has my wand. It was a good wand. I want it back. Stupid Gryffindor,” Malfoy muttered angrily, his speech had become somewhat slurred.
“Don’t try to get it back, Draco,” Snape said. “This might well play into our hands.”
He studied the pale boy at his side. “When you have recovered, we can make a plan how we can make the Dark Lord drink this potion. If we play our cards just right, we can even use the fact that he wants to try it out with you.”
As if to prove that Snape was right about his exhaustion, Malfoy stumbled again, when they resumed their walk. Since they had apparated, Malfoy’s palour had worsened. He looked like a walking corpse, but his cheeks had begun to burn.
“It’s not far now. I don’t want to summon a stretcher though. Nobody needs to know you are that weak,” Snape said.
Malfoy mumbled something.
“O.k. Tell me where the potion and your notes are, and I’ll fetch them.”
“Potion vials … in cupboard with green doors, the notes … picture of the first quidditch game,” Malfoy pressed out.
Snape looked at him, alarmed. “Merlin, you’re feverish.”
“How could he have been so stupid?”, Malfoy said again, suddenly agitated again. “Aunt Bella could have driven her into madness.”
He stumbled again. “Should have taken more of the potion. She screamed so loud. I don’t even know if the scutum worked the whole time.”
Suddenly, Malfoy began to cry.
***
Malfoy trial, February 2002,
[defence] Madame Pomfrey, could you please tell us how Severus Snape brought the accused to the hospital wing on the evening of March 30th and describe the nature of his illness.
[witness] When Professor Snape brought Mr Malfoy was burning with fever, in tears and very exhausted. He collapsed almost immediately, and he was not able to talk coherently for three days.
[defence] What explanation did Professor Snape give for Mr Malfoy’s condition?
[witness] He told me, that he had been subject to the cruciatus.
[defence] What is your professional opinion? Did Mr Malfoy’s symptoms match this?
[witness] Fever is not a typical effect of prolonged exposure to the cruciatus. It has been observed though.
[defence] Can you think of anything else that could have led to the symptoms Mr Malfoy showed?
[prosecution] objection. The defence tries to lead the witness toward her own interpretation
[judge] not sustained. She is asking after a professional opinion.
[witness] Fever can have many causes. Professor Snape explicitly told me to prevent Mr Malfoy from using magic though. I naturally concluded overuse of magic then and treated him accordingly.
[defence] How long did it take Mr Malfoy to recover fully?
[witness] three weeks.
[defence] Did he talk in his fever? Could you make anything out?
[witness] He was clearly quite agitated, but his speech was slurred. I think I heard him say the name ‘Potter’, and ‘Granger’, and he was mumbling about ‘stupid Gryffindors’. None of these really surprised me. Sometimes he would call for his mother, or Professor Snape. Sometimes he would just call out ‘No’.
The Phoenix Potion - Chapter 13 - An anonymous donation
The incredible @dena-1984 made a moodboard for my fic, and she doesn’t even ship Dramione. Thank you @dena-1984!
So, here is the new chapter. Also on AO3. And just a quick reminder, that this is written from POVS and that not everything is as it seems.
Fawley had insisted on checking the pounds in a room which was far away from prying eyes. Percy Weasley had nodded his approval, as if going to a separate room was normal procedure. He handed over the pounds after turning them several times in his hands, as if he wanted to test the feeling. Draco had not held any hope for a swift exchange after he had seen the article in the Prophet, but he had hoped, that begging would prove to be enough. Not this time though. He would not get away lightly today.
Draco knew why Percy Weasley disliked him. He knew, why he had to prove, over and over again, that he stood firmly on the Weasleys side. Why he could not let it lie. An unaddressed bad conscience could lead to terrible results. It meant that the normally rule-abiding Percy Weasley pretended not to realise what ‘negotiating’ with Fawley meant. And Fawley made sure, that nothing would be seen at first glance.
Draco had no idea what made Fawley tick though. If you looked at the insults he threw at Draco, he either hated him for being a squib, which was technically untrue, or for marrying a muggleborn or for being responsible for rogue house elves or for leaking pureblood society secrets to a lawyer. Fawley just hated him. At least, after ‘negotiating’ for half an hour, Percy Weasley had knocked at the door. Half an hour was probably what his conscience allowed him, and Draco had gotten the signature that his 800 pounds were indeed genuine.
The irony that he got this signature from a wizard with thinly disguised pureblood prejudice was not lost on him, but laughing hurt. Draco wondered if his ribs were just bruised or if they might be cracked. He would have to see a doctor. Should he tell Hermione? She was away on an international conference from Thursday on, and he might be able to play over it. If he told her, she would cry, swear that her next case would be profitable, that he would never have to do the trip again. That she would sue Fawley and Gringotts to hell and back. He smiled wrily at the image of Hermione seething with anger.
A law suit against Fawley and Gringotts might even be winnable, especially if Hermione put her mind to it, but at the end of the day, they still needed school equipment, Hermione still would defend clients who had no knuckle to spare and with current Muggle politics changing pounds to euros and making an exchange somewhere on the continent was not an option. His bruises on the other hand would fade. A typical case of “solve one problem, get eight more”, or SOPGEM as he and Hermione liked to call it.
Draco gave his receipt to Percy Weasley. “The pounds are genuine. Can I get galleons now?”
The redhead nodded. Draco could see that he was a bit uneasy and he was not above exploiting Weasley’s bout of conscience.
“Could I have a glass of water, please?”, he asked.
There were glasses and water for customers and Weasley gestured silently to them. Draco poured himself and angled for aspirin in his pockets. He pressed two pills in his hand and downed them with the water.
“Muggle painkillers”, he explained, arching an eyebrow as if he let Weasley in on a secret.
Weasley’s cheeks became slightly redder than before, but he kept silent. Draco did not say anything more. It was important that the banker could pretend that nothing illegal had happened.
He shoved a paper form in Draco’s hand.
“Sign here, that you got the galleons.”
Draco’s eyes widened when he saw that Weasley had given him twelve galleons in exchange.
He signed the parchment and handed it over to Weasley.
On a whim he took a sheet of paper from his pocket and wrote down the signs he had seen on Fawley’s wrist.
IV * VII
“How is Gringotts’ policy on blood suprematists, Mr Weasley?” he asked.
“You know very well, Mr Malfoy, that this kind of people are not allowed in any position where their opinion could be harmful. I am quite astonished that you of all people would ask such a question.”
His scowl made Draco hastily bag the galleons, just in case.
“I saw this on Fawley’s arm, when he rolled up his sleeves. I’d bet all my money that this is a sign for the sacred 28 and you should probably look into it.”
“I have never seen anything like that, certainly not on Mr Fawley, I don’t know why I should believe you, and you shouldn’t bet money we both know you do not have, Mr Malfoy.” Percy Weasley looked down his nose.
“Just a manner of speaking, Mr Weasley.” Draco stood up. “Have a nice evening and be sure to tell your brother how I begged for money. I guess he needs all the uplifting entertainment he can get.”
He probably shouldn’t have said that, but his tongue sometimes had just a life of its own.
***
When he left Gringotts, galleons close to his body, just in case, he saw Rina standing on the stairs, a witch, Draco knew quite well at her side. It was Astoria Greengrass, the Charms professor at Hogwarts since Hermione had represented her in her case against her own father. If he had lived his life as the Malfoy heir, he would have probably married Astoria or her older sister. Considering where Astoria’s preferences ran that would have been a decidedly unhappy marriage. He could just picture himself with Astoria by his side, with the one and only son and heir, probably named after a star constellation in the Black tradition. He shuddered briefly.
Rina had a white handkerchief in her hands and blew her nose. Draco felt a sudden tug at his heart, as he always did, when he saw one of his children hurt and could do nothing about it.
“Good evening, Astoria,” he addressed the witch.
She gave him a curt nod. “Your daughter needed a tissue. I was about to go and offer her some tea.”
“Thank you, Professor” Rina sniffed. Her voice sounded small and subdued and Draco felt that tug again.
He smiled at Rina. “I got enough for a wand. Don’t you worry.” Close up, he could see that her eyes were still glittering with tears.
He placed his arm around her, and his daughter hugged him back. He tried to hide that the sudden impact on his ribs hurt him.
Draco took out his phone to text Hermione. He frowned at the crack on the screen. That must have been Fawley’s negotiating skills. Well, he would just have to change the screen protection.
Hermione had sent a rather frantic text. What happened? I had to get rid of five howlers already. Did you get in a fight with RW? Are you o.k.? Ily.
Howlers. He wondered why none had found him yet. Howlers got a bit confused around him, but if Hermione had gotten five, at least one should have found him. Gringotts probably had howler-repelling magic. No banking house worth its money would allow such a disturbance of paying customers.
Weasel apparently in irreconcilable differences (again). Special afternoon edition of the Prophet, just the usual garbage. Got the money, tell Colin to meet us at Ollivander’s, lyt. The rest would have to wait.
“I trust you are well?”, he asked Astoria. “I hear you are a good teacher.”
Astoria nodded. “Thank you. I like it. During the holidays I’m doing some research to give Headmaster Flitwick a helping hand. I’ve undertaken the task to look into the failure of the school’s wizarding register scroll.”
“Failure of the school scroll?”
“We told you about that, dad. At the sorting, last September? There was one girl who was not on the list, but she was sorted into Hufflepuff with Lizzie.”
Draco remembered. He had joked that the Sorting Hat must have gotten into his dotage.
Astoria grimaced. “The parents were livid. They even threatened to sue Hogwarts. It was an old wizarding family into the bargain.”
“If the school scroll fails, muggleborns might be overlooked,” Draco said.
“Exactly.”
Draco frowned. “The school scroll is very old magic. Are there other signs, it is failing? You’re searching for other cases?”
Astoria nodded. “I found three so far. Old wizarding families whose children were not in the school scroll but have magic.”
Draco tooted. “That is a potential disaster. Any unregistered muggleborns yet?”
She shook her head.
“You should have my wife have a look at the scroll.”
“I don’t doubt your wife’s competence, but that scroll was made by the founders themselves.”
Draco could not help himself. “And my wife has a very vivid imagination when it comes to transcend the boundaries of what can be done with magic.”
Astoria barked a laugh.
“You’re hardly looking for magical children at Gringotts though,” Draco said.
Her face closed, very suddenly.
Draco raised his hand. “I don’t want to pry. We’ll have to be off anyway before Ollivander shuts the doors on us.”
Astoria shook her head. “There is no reason you cannot know. You might even be interested.”
Draco raised his eyebrows and Astoria bit her lips as if she had to think what to say.
“Hogwarts has been given a very generous donation by an old family and I was given authority to collect the money.”
It was as if he had gotten another punch. Draco had not thought that ribs could hurt that much.
“Any conditions?”, he asked. “Rich people usually give money only under conditions.”
“Like buying brooms for the Quidditch team so that someone gets on the team?” Rina piped up.
Draco shot her a half-amused look. “For the last time. I did not become seeker for Slytherin through bribes. I came on the team after try outs.”
Rina giggled. “That’s what he always says. My mum doesn’t believe him.”
“It is one of the few things we fight about.” Draco admitted. In a way it was a ridiculous reason to fight, but most of their fights were laughable, at least after the fact.
“I am not sure, I believe you either, considering your behaviour in school.” Astoria said.
Draco huffed.
“Anyway, there are no conditions, no regulations on which house should benefit. It is just a huge sum for school equipment, books, potion kettles, anything.”
“How unusual,” Draco remarked. He tried not to sound too interested. His scutum should repel any side effects of the cut-out curse, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He probably imagined it, but he thought he could feel the tendrils of the malevolent magic trying to reach for him.
“In a way it is a tragic case. The heir of the family has … vanished, and now his mother wants to do as much as she can for …. “, she halted and looked pointedly at Rina.
Draco nodded, not trusting his voice. This was a day for old wounds to open, he thought. It hurt much more than the negotiation with Fawley.
“For what would be just considered the heir’s byblows in pureblood tradition.”
Draco licked his lips and scoffed shortly. “I see.”.
Rina’s eyes were full of questions, but Draco pressed his finger to her lips.
“Thank you,” he said and closed his eyes. “Do you happen to meet this very benevolent donator in the near future?”
“I might.”
“Could you do me a kindness, Astoria?”
“If I can.”
“Tell her, I know. Tell her, I’ve always known.”
Her eyes were full of understanding and pity. Draco resented the pity but reminded himself that Astoria had her own problems with her family. And Astoria did not deserve his resentment.
So, here is another one of Severus Snape’s memories..... Also on AO3. And thanks to @really-sad-devil-guy (former lady-in-a-song)
(Severus Snape’s memories, as found September 2002)
Voldemort studied Hermione’s parents who stood shuddering in his presence with his red eyes. He stroked the elder wand he held in his hand.
“Legilimens.” He raised his wand. The middle-aged couple in front of him squirmed under the might of his spell.
“The mudblood has been quite thorough,” he summed up. “They have no memory whatsoever about her daughter. They believe that their names are Monica and Wendell Wilkins and that they always wanted to move to Australia.”
”It is just as Draco observed last summer. They left even before Potter went into hiding.” Snape stated.
“We can break through. Prolonged exposure to the cruciatus will break the walls of their tempered memories.” Bellatrix seemed eager to start.
“And it might well leave them imbecile shells.” Snape shrugged. “I doubt you would find anything useful anyway.”
“Why not?” Bellatrix asked. “You are such a sissy, Severus.”
“I never hid the fact, that I do not share your eagerness for the cruciatus, Bellatrix,” His eyes wandered over her with disdain.
“It should be obvious. Granger tempered with her parents’ memories to protect them, not to hide her own plans. She would never be so stupid as to entrust her muggle parents with her plans. And even if she did, and we find her plans somewhere in her parents’ memories, they would only know where she intended to go last summer. That would not help us finding her now. They must have been hopping from one safe untraceable place to another for months now.”
“What do you suggest then, Severus?” Voldemort asked.
“I am sure, you thought about that, my Lord. Keep them, use them as a leverage when the mudblood turns up. Use them to aim at Potter through her.” Snape’s voice was devoid of emotion. “Let Bella have some fun with them, just not too much.”
Voldemort’s laugh held no joy. “As if Bella had deserved a reward. No fun for her. Where to keep them, though?”
Lucius Malfoy spoke up. “In our cellar, my Lord.”
Voldemort grinned, his face became even more inhuman with a gesture that could have been nice in other people.
“Listen to yourself, Lucius. You feel up to the task to hold some muggles in your cellar? In your cellar, that did not hold Harry Potter? After your wife almost ruined our chance to even get these muggles? Your wife’s passion for neatness almost destroyed our chance to find them, when she cleaned their daughter’s bloodstains from the floor.”
Lucius Malfoy slumped.
“No, no, the cellar here will not do.” Voldemort tapped with his wand on his left hand. The couple in front of him looked with horror at him. Their hands had found each other.
“Severus, you’ll take them. I trust you to be able to hold on to some muggles.”
“My Lord, I have no house elves, I am headmaster at Hogwarts, surely the Malfoys….”
Voldemort held up his wand and Snape stopped himself.
“Severus, do you think I don’t see what you are doing? You want me to forgive the Malfoys for their extraordinary failure, but you should know better than to try to manipulate my decisions. You will take them and answer me for them.”
“As you wish, my Lord. At once, my Lord.” Snape bowed and manhandled the muggle couple on his way out.
“And you, my dear Bella, will not get them, even though the mudblood’s blood on your knife was useful.” That was the last thing to be heard.
***
Hermione’s parents panted heavily with fear when they were apparated to Spinner’s End. Snape led them to a sofa at wand’s end.
“Please, sit,” he told them.
Their eyes gave away their surprise at his surprisingly friendly tone. They let themselves fall on the sofa.
“This must be a misunderstanding,” the man said. “We do not have a daughter.”
Snape sighed.
“This is a complication I could well do without,” Snape remarked. “But I promised myself that I would try my best, in every case.”
Snape opened his cupboard and fetched a bowl and poured a potion into the bowl. “Not as good as a pensieve but it will have to do.”
He put his wand to his own head and pulled out a silvery memory.
“I don’t have much time. Brace yourself. I will show you, that you do indeed have a daughter.”
He let the silvery strand descend into the bowl and on the surface of the liquid the memory came alive, not like a scene that could be entered like in a pensieve, but more like a movie that could be watched from the outside.
The memory showed the couple on their way to Platform 9 ¾ , Hermione walking in their middle, chatting happily about the excitement to go to Hogwarts.
The Grangers stared at Snape when he put his wand into the bowl and retrieved the memory.
“She does look like she could be our daughter,” Mrs Granger whispered.
Snape rummaged in the drawer of one of his cupboards. When he turned again, he held a poster in his hands. “Hermione Granger”, it read. “Undesirable no. 2.”
Mr Granger took the poster with trembling hands.
“How?”, he asked. “this is our daughter? But why don’t we remember her?”
Snape explained it all to them. He spoke in clipped tones, fast and without detail, but he didn’t leave out anything important. When he had finished, the Grangers knew that Wilkins was not their true name, that their daughter had tried to save them and had almost succeeded.
“What are you going to do with us?”
Snape gave a mirthless laugh.
“Up until now, the Dark Lord could probably believe that I told you all of this just to torture you. But I do not mean you any harm.”
Mrs Granger had clutched the poster with her daughter’s face so hard that it almost crumpled. Her eyes were moist.
“Why would she do that to us? Was there no other way to protect us?”
Snape interlaced his fingers, deep in thought.
“I don’t know why the Order took no measures to protect you. It could well be, that they thought you were not important enough or that they did not have the manpower to protect you. The order has not always managed to save people, even when they tried. Maybe your daughter did not ask, maybe she was confident in her own abilities. And if your daughter had not been captured it would have been enough. It was only with her blood that the Dark Lord could trace you. He would have searched for her herself, but she’s at an untraceable place.”
He took a deep breath. “I am sorry, that I cannot answer this question. I can say for certain that the order has underestimated her importance, for Potter’s task and for his survival.”
“She was captured?” Mrs Granger asked.
“The order?” Mr Granger asked.
“She was captured but fortunately only briefly. And the Order is the Order of the Phoenix.” Snape scoffed. “The light side of the magic. The good side you could say. At least after a fashion. Apparently not, when it comes to protecting muggle relations of people other than the chosen one.”
He smiled without real warmth. “I had the means to observe your daughter for some months and I can assure you that she is a resourceful and resilient witch.”
“Which side are you on?” the couple asked.
“I’m on the side that wants the Dark Lord dead.”
“The Dark Lord?”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “I am certain you can guess who that was.”
“The evil wizard. He picked our brains.” Mrs Granger shuddered. “It was horrid.”
“Why tell us? When he reads our minds again…. I am sure he would not want you to help us.” Mr Granger’s eyes were wide open with fear.
“Because I will obviously remove this conversation from your brains.” Snape stood. “You will feel compelled to return to my house here as long as nothing happens. But you can buy food, cook, everything. I’ll leave you money.”
Snape shrugged and did not relent in the face of the Grangers obvious anxiety. “I know it’s not much of a house but better than living on the streets.”
“You will remember this conversation, if I die. Then that happens you must leave immediately. You should be safe enough if your daughter does not fall again into the Dark Lord’s hands. Thanks to Narcissa Malfoy’s neatness, he does not have the means to search for you any longer. And I will try to inform someone else who cares about your whereabouts. But I can’t promise anything.”
He began to wave his wand, casting his spell wordlessly as was his habit.
“Do not, under any circumstances, look for your daughter. If the Dark Lord falls, no, when the Dark Lord falls, his name may be spoken again. When you hear that name spoken out loud, you may begin to look for your daughter and resume your old life. I’ll let you remember this.”
The faces of Hermione’s parents changed from frightened to slack under the movements of Snape’s wand.
Snape reached out with his right hand and shook both their hands. “Mrs Wilkins, Mr Wilkins. I wish you a good day. That was the best I could do. I hope it will turn out to be enough.”
He turned to leave the house, while Mrs Granger carefully smoothed out the poster with Hermione’s face.
The Phoenix Potion - Chapter 33 - Bill and Fleur’s cottage (March 31, 1998)
Another chapter of my big WIP. This is very crucial. The truth is in the eye of the beholder after all. Also on AO3.
Hermione clearly wished Fleur would not make a fuss about her. She pressed the cloth with murtlap essence on her arm herself and brushed the other witch away.
“I’m fine, really, I’m fine,” she repeated over and over, her croaking voice belying the fact.
“Hermione, that mad woman tortured you for more than half an hour, there is a wound at your arm, you are not fine,” Harry almost shouted at her. He felt guilty, guilty about the ordeal Hermione had to get through, guilty about Dobby’s death. His own voice didn’t sound like his own from crying. If only he had not spoken Voldemort’s name. They had been so lucky to escape.
“I was perfectly safe,” Hermione said. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
“Perfectly safe?”, Ron asked incredulous while Harry told her that she had become hoarse from all her screaming.
“I had to scream, or Bellatrix would have realized that Draco shielded me.”
“Draco?”, Ron asked. “Draco? Since when is he Draco? He threw you on the floor, probably wanted to see you tortured, Hermione!”
“Are you claiming that Malfoy of all people put a shield on you?”, Harry wanted to know.
He and Ron exchanged a worried look.
“Hermione, there is no shield charm that works against an unforgivable,” Bill chimed in.
Hermione scoffed. “Well, there obviously is one now.”
“And what charm is this?”
“Well, Draco obviously had to cast the shield non-verbally. And just before he threw me on the floor, he whispered in my ears. He told me to buy time and to scream, that help was on the way, and Dobby came.”
Ron looked at Hermione with round eyes, astonished.
Harry was very worried. “Hermione,” he said. “I called for help. Dobby came because he had a connection to Sirius’ mirror.”
Hermione blinked at him. “You mean, Draco did not call Dobby?”
“Why should he or why should Dobby come if he called? Dobby didn’t belong to the Malfoys any longer? He was a free elf?” Harry exchanged another look with Ron. Was it possible, that the cruciatus curse warped up the victim’s memory? Had Hermione forgotten that Dobby owed no allegiance to Malfoy?
“Malfoy wanted to sell us to You-know-who,” Ron said.
“He was uncertain, you had hit me with that stinging hex after all,” Harry said.
Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron flushed.
“Harry,” she said in her explanatory voice that riled him up even on his better days. “Draco has been our classmate for six years. We three were together most of the time. Skeeter called us the ‘Golden Trio’. Do you really think, he would not guess, that it was you, when he saw Ron and me?”
“There you did it again,” Ron said. “Why is he Draco now? The ferret just didn’t want to risk You-know-who’s wrath if Harry hadn’t been Harry, coward that he is.”
“Why would he promise help then? Why would he protect me?”, Hermione asked.
Her eyes flashed in anger and her cheeks were flushed. “And I can call him Draco when he did his best to save me from the Longbottoms’ fate. If You-know-who finds out what Draco did, he’ll kill him.”
Harry could see the worry in everybody’s face. Bill shook his head, Luna stared wide-eyed, and Ron’s face was a mixture of anger and deep anguish. Harry took her hand. “Hermione, please calm down. You’ve been through a lot.”
Tears welled in Hermione’s eyes, and for a moment, Harry thought, that she understood what had happened. That she realised that everything had been blurred in her head.
How she had endured the curse for over half an hour he had no idea. Had she fantasized that the boy whose face was familiar had promised her help instead of watching how she was tortured? He patted her hand awkwardly, not knowing how he could show his worry without upsetting her further.
“Why don’t you believe me?”, she cried. Fat drops rolled down her cheeks. She pressed the cloth to her arm as if she wanted to permanently stick it to the wound on her arm.
“Hermione,” Bill said in a comforting deep voice. “Prolonged exposure to the cruciatus plays tricks on the mind.”
Hermione hiccuped. “Or I just wasn’t exposed to the cruciatus.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Harry, you have Draco’s wand. We can run priori incantatem on the wand.”
In her haste to go for her own wand, she dropped the cloth on her arm and Harry could see how ‘mudblood’ was carved into her arm in angry red letters. Malfoy hadn’t done anything to prevent that.
“Priori incantatem”, Hermione said.
Malfoy’s wand spattered, as if it did not want to reveal the spells that had been cast with it. It was only after the third repetition, that a bright rainbow ascended from the tip of the wand.
Hermione frowned. “I had expected it to be white. In the moments I saw the spell it looked shining white.”
“It certainly doesn’t look like anything I know,” Harry admitted. The others shook their heads as well.
“Anyway, whatever happened, you need to rest, Hermione,” Ron said. He came to her side and handed her a tissue.
“You all need to rest,” Bill said.
Hermione had taken the tissue from Ron and dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. “At least, we learned something very important.”
“What?”, Harry asked.
“There is something of great value in the Lestrange’s vault at Gringotts. Something You-know-who gave Bellatrix for safekeeping. That is why she freaked out about the sword – which is supposedly in her vault as well.”
“It must be a copy,” Ron said.
“We’ll talk about that after we’ve had a rest,” Harry decided. The horcrux hunt was their task and he would not pull Luna, Bill or Fleur into it.
“Please, Hermione, rest,” he said, pressing her hand.
Fleur gave Hermione a fresh cloth and then they all left her.
“Pleaze call, if you need zomething,” Fleur said before she closed the door. Hermione was already laying on the bed, her eyes closed. She nodded.
Harry and the others went to the kitchen where they were served tea and sandwiches, and Bill distributed towels for all.
After he had arranged his own bed, Harry tiptoed to Hermione’s room. He cracked the door open quietly, not wanting to wake his friend. Hermione sat on her bed, her back to Harry, bent over Malfoy’s wand in her hand. She waved her own wand, not making a sound. Multiple spell residues came out of the tip of the wand, first the rainbow, a spell that lasted for a while, then others, insignificant spells, a razor spell, a hairdressing spell, the greyish hue of apparating. Harry flinched, when the dark turquoise of the cruciatus spell appeared, but not because he was surprised that Malfoy had used it, but because Hermione stopped the string of spells, and began to sob, biting her hand in an attempt to suppress the sound.
He entered and laid his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. She had dropped both, her own wand and Malfoy’s. She just sobbed for a while and Harry held her. Harry did not understand why she would shed tears over something she must have known. Malfoy was a death eater, of course he had cast unforgivables.
Still, now was not the time to fight about whatever Hermione thought Malfoy had done. Her fear was well-founded in any case. Lucius Malfoy had called Voldemort and Harry was quite certain that the Malfoys would be punished for their escape.
He almost felt sorry for his enemy. Hermione thought that he had not identified Harry to help them, Ron thought it had been cowardice or maybe caution. Harry tended to agree with Ron, but whatever the reason, Malfoy’s failure to identify Harry had saved his life and it might well cost him his.
Here is a little bit of domestic fluff.... Also on AO3.
author’s note: I love Scorpius in fanon and fics and even in the Cursed child (which I don’t like very much). I still think that the name is horrible, and for me Scorpius will always be the son of Draco and Astoria, so Dramione children are bound to have different names. Anyway, to me, the epilogue is not canon anyway... There I said it. I hate the epilogue....
“I can use the money from the donation to pay Alice and all the stuff I need for my office and I can use the money from duty soliciting for the children’s school stuff instead of paying Alice. And you’re responsible for the food on the table, as always.”
Draco was as flummoxed as she had been about the loophole Narcissa had found.
“This makes things so much easier,” he whispered. “That is incredible.”
Hermione almost giggled at his relief. “You know, we should have waited a few days to buy Colin’s new wand.”
“As if you or me would ever postpone anything,” Draco scoffed. They smiled at each other.
“And you were right, after all,” Hermione continued her recapitulation of the day. “Astoria came to see me today.”
“I’ve always been right about Astoria.”
Hermione chuckled. “Oh my, to think how jealous I was! And how jealous you were.”
“I still think that our fight about Astoria resulted in the best make-up sex ever.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow at him.
“Do you ever wonder, how it would have been if Voldemort had not come back? You might have married her.”
“Yes, and we would have had one son – named after a constellation in the Black tradition.” He made a face.
“Well, Draco is a pretty big constellation, even if it doesn’t have the brightest stars.”
“You could argue that the name is a bit over the top.”
“I used to think so, when we were in school. I mean even other Slytherins had perfectly normal names like Gregory or Theo. But now, it’s just your name. It’s normal.” Hermione laughed. “You know, if you had had a son in August, he could have been called Leo, that is a nice name. And he might have been sorted into Gryffindor as befits a Leo.”
“Or he could have been born in October and be called Scorpius.”
Hermione laughed. “Of all the constellations to pick a stingy arachnid!”
“A name like that borders on child abuse,” Draco commented.
Hermione laughed again. “There are other more normal names. Perseus would have been a nice name.”
“Too much like Percy.”
“The pencil-pusher,” they said in unison.
Draco smiled mischievously. “I read a joke that children should be named after the IKEA furniture where they were conceived….”
Hermione chuckled. “I am sure there must be a bed that has a name with P.”
“Peer I, Peer II, Peer III, meet the children of Percy the pencil-pusher,” he smirked. “All conceived missionary… in the marital bed.”
“You know some names would be very embarrassing, or maybe too long…. I mean not every child is conceived on IKEA furniture, especially not in wizarding households.”
“Office desk,” Draco teased her.
“We don’t really know that. Door.”
“Carpet.”
“Broom closet at our friend’s wedding.”
“One Peer, I guess.” They laughed.
“Or the name could be an acronym that sums up the conception.”
“Efsissy”.
“FCC, Failed contraceptive charm.”
“Dubyou Beetee Eftiar”
“Hmm. Doubleyou B, T, F, T… Wanted but the first try, really?”
“Pi-ef”
“That’s easy. Pill fail. Although that’s not true it should be Pi-ef beeovi”.
“Pill fail because of virus.”
“WSTBFHCESBS”
Draco thought for a while. “Whoever said that breastfeeding has contraceptive effects should be sued. My turn: FTCBTSWG.”
Hermione thought about the time Robert was conceived. “Forgot the condom, but the sex was great.” She laughed. “Even though it was in our bed and missionary?”
Draco winked. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to be comfortable, when you close in on forty.”
He reached for her. “Come here. IWBOTSRN.”
“I wouldn’t be opposed to sex right now. That’s a bit lame, love.”
