Chapter Text
Thursday, May 13, 1998; morning
Ron was irritated. It had been days since the last meeting, the longest gap since the Battle of Hogwarts, and there was still so much to accomplish. There had been some terrible weather to endure, then a couple of intense days of funerals. Fred’s had been the first morning so that Ginny could leave directly afterward on some sort of covert mission. Ron wasn’t privy to those. He had been too busy with the funerals, a task he found useless but somehow necessary for most. The bodies needed to go into the ground, too. They couldn’t be held in stasis forever. Or maybe they could, but he didn’t want to contemplate it. So he made time for funerals.
There were so many things they didn’t have time for as it was. They still hadn’t managed the mission to rescue McGonagall and Tonks, Charlie, and Hermione were still in Death Eater hands. Ron felt stir crazy just sitting around watching people say goodbye to their loved ones knowing that the longer they waited the more funerals there would be. Now they were finally in a meeting but everyone was just wasting time arguing over what to do with the stupid Death Eater. The weedy boy with his wavy, dark brown hair and sapphire eyes was standing at the front of the room looking bored as everyone’s hate hit him and just rolled off.
“He can live in my chambers,” Snape offered. That just caused another uproar. Just because Voldy tried to kill him, didn’t make him a good guy. Ron was sick of people trying to make excuses for the biggest bully the Hogwarts schoolchildren had to deal with everyday. Plus he was a Death Eater and Dumbledore’s murderer.
“Why don’t they live together in a cell? Goyle, too,” Ron called out. Everywhere around him, people spoke in agreement. Only Harry turned to give him a harsh look. Ron didn’t get why Harry had such a soft spot for these gits. So Snape had loved his mum and been a double agent all that time. He still treated Harry like dung all through school. And that Theo - he had handed over the prisoners and himself, but he was up to something. He was a Slytherin and this was war. They couldn’t afford to risk trusting him. Ron wanted them all locked up and he wanted Harry to stop trying to help them while their own people suffered.
Kingsley cleared his throat and waited for quiet. “I am aware that their previous affiliations make them suspect, but they have each done things to redeem themselves and have made a pledge to the Order. In good conscience, I cannot lock them up. I do agree that our headquarters is perhaps not the best place for them, but other arrangements have not been possible yet.”
“Why can’t they just keep to their rooms until there’s some other place to put them?” Seamus asked.
“Because I want to do something to help,” Theo broke in. It was the first thing he had said since he arrived. He shoved his hands into his pockets after he said it. Ron had a feeling it was so that he didn’t fidget. Hard to maintain the cool facade if you’re nervous.
Remus spoke then, his voice hard, “What do you know of the other prisoners? Where is my wife?”
Theo blanched and swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I was already on my way home when she was taken prisoner. They’re not big on communication with underlings.” Remus looked ready to jump across the table at him.
“You expect us to believe that the heir to one of the sacred twenty-eight is an underling?” Ron snarled. He couldn’t believe they were letting this piece of trash talk.
Theo looked angry. “You know nothing of me except my title. I can’t keep you from judging me on it, but I will take veritaserum if you need to verify that I know nothing about Lady Lupin.”
Despite the gravity of the situation, there was a smattering of laughter around the room. No one had ever called Tonks by Remus’ last name. And the thought of her as a Lady was hilarious.
Ron was irate that they weren’t focusing. “Where’s Hermione?” he demanded.
Surprisingly, Theo was suddenly hiding behind his blank, bored face again. “She’s not there. I don’t know where she is.”
“Do you mean whoever she was given to took her home?” Ron practically spat the words. Theo’s mouth went into a firm line and he didn’t answer.
Harry was the one who spoke up. “Wait! Someone had escaped earlier that day. It was her, wasn’t it?”
Theo looked conflicted for a moment before inclining his head. “I cannot be sure, but I believe so. I was out of the manor by then.”
“Why would you tell us she’s not there if you aren’t sure?” Harry asked with some confusion and a hint of doubt.
Theo stumbled over his words. “I...I know who she was given to, and I know there was a plan to get her out.”
“Then where is she?” Ron shouted. He was done with this. “Why isn’t she here?”
“I don’t know,” Theo responded. “Does she know where ‘here’ is? The prisoners were kept in the dark. The Dark Lord doesn’t want anyone remembering anything about headquarters or how they got there. All the prisoners and some of the guards are obliviated regularly. The last thing she would remember might be the battle itself. She wouldn’t even know how it ended.”
There was silence as the entire room absorbed that.
“You know I didn’t remember all that much and I had been there far longer,” a new voice said - Finian. The muggleborn had been with the Death Eaters for a couple of years before the raid. He was only able to tell them what had happened since that morning because there must have been some sort of Revel the night before. It had been pure luck that Crabbe had a gleeful conversation about taking McGonagall home to be his wife’s maid right in front of Fin that very morning. “Even if this Hermione felt like she could go to St. Mungo’s or wherever to get her memories back, the repeated memory charms make it nearly impossible to get anything back without losing your mind. At least that’s what the healer lady told me.” He nodded to Madam Pomfrey and she silently agreed with him.
Harry stood, “We have to find her! We should check the places she would know - Grimmauld, the Burrow, Shell Cottage, maybe some of the places we camped this last year.” He started to head for the door when Mr. Weasley caught his arm.
“Son, you can’t just go running off looking for a kettle in a haystack. Grimmauld Place is compromised. The Burrow is still a burnt out shell. The cottage might be a real possibility and I think Fleur is nearly ready to travel home anyway. Let her and Bill check there when they go.”
Remus added, “Hermione is smart, probably smarter than anyone here. She’ll find a way to contact or find us. If she hasn’t yet, then we must assume she is being cautious for a reason.”
Harry still looked like he might rush out the door. “Let’s send her a patronus.” He brandished his wand and called out his stag.
“No!” Mr. Weasley said, pulling the boy’s wand arm down. “Harry, she may be with muggles or somewhere in danger.”
The stag evaporated, and Harry sunk into a chair between the Weasley parents. Molly had moved over so she could hug him as he sniffled. Ron knew Harry was beside himself about the girl he considered a sister.
Trying to get the meeting back on track, Ron called out, “So what are we doing with the Death Eater git? We’ve got more important things to talk about.”
Kingsley looked conflicted for a second, then leveled his resolution. “The two boys in question, Theodore Nott, Jr. and Gregory Goyle, Jr, will be placed back in their rooms and locked in until we are able to move them to a safe house. Severus Snape will also…”
“No,” a quiet voice interrupted. Everyone gasped that Madam Pomfrey had spoken in a meeting. She never ventured opinions unless asked and never interrupted the powers in the room. “No. I need Severus to help with all the potions. There is a lab directly off the hospital wing with its own living quarters. We have been setting it up for him. I will not have him locked away when we have use for him. The Goyle boy, too, has been very helpful. But I will be content with Severus if you seriously believe the child must be punished.”
It was quiet for a moment before Kingsley asked, “Are you willing then, Poppy, to be responsible for Snape?”
“Of course.” Her tone made it clear he was being ridiculous.
Kingsley nodded and motioned for Theo to have a seat next to his former potions professor and sole Slytherin friend.
“With that settled,” Kingsley continued, “we need to discuss the continued rebuilding of the castle.” Many voices agreed. The small portion that was put back together was getting crowded. They needed to expand, not to mention the mental relief of having the castle whole again.
Headmistress Sprout stood, “It’s more complicated than just building,” she stated matter-of-factly. “When the founders built the castle, they wove wards into its very structure. To maintain and even upgrade the security here, we believe this needs to be done once more. We just have to figure out how.”
“We need Hermione,” Ron muttered. Harry’s face fell as he nodded. How were they going to make it through this all without her?
“You know I have experience with warding, though never quite like this,” Bill said. “It might help for me to look at some of the walls that are intact.”
“That’s a good idea,” Kingsley agreed. “Does anyone else have particular experience with wards?”
No one spoke for a moment, until a tentative voice spoke out, “Wards are something of a specialty of mine.”
Everyone turned to look. There were several gasps when people began to realize it was Theo who had offered.
“Bloody hell!” Ron fumed, “No one would trust a ward that arsehole made, even if he could do it.” The room broke out in chatter as most everyone agreed with Ron while a handful argued back - Harry, of course, and Luna as well as a few others.
With his calm but carrying voice, Remus broke through the chaos, “I think it would be best if Bill handles this alone until some additional expert is found.”
“I will of course continue to look at the founders’ journals and consult with Headmaster Dumbledore’s portrait. I have faith we will find the safest way forward.”
Before anyone could comment, Kingsley moved on, “The next order of business is that we have a new tactician in charge of raids and battle plans.”
Ron felt fury rage through him again. How dare they go and find someone else to mess everything up!? His entire body was turning so red it was almost purple when Kingsley continued, “Ronald Weasley is now the General of our army, such that it is.” Ron was stunned. His mouth hung open as the people around him patted his shoulders and cheered for him.
“Now,” Kingsley said smoothly, “I need everyone to leave the room, it’s time for General Weasley and I to go over the upcoming raids and plans.”
***************************************************
Thursday, May 13, 1998; evening
Hermione dropped onto the bed in their tent, utterly exhausted. It had been five days since the Death Eaters found her in Paris. After two more close calls in small villages, she had retreated to the Forest of Dean and set up camp. It felt odd to be in the tent without her boys. It felt even odder to have Mimsy constantly fussing over her when she was home, making mint tea and a variety of soups. It seemed the little elf could make a gourmet soup out of literally anything Hermione brought home.
During each day, she was picking up work here and there. Since they weren’t staying in hotels, it wasn’t strictly necessary and perhaps risky, but she had to scope out bars to meet in and staying in the tent all day would drive her mad. Today, Hermione had worked in Lydney at a little pub called Nags Head Inn. She had glamoured herself as a buxom blond and walked away with quite a bit more money in her pocket than usual. She would have to remember that trick. The downside was that she wanted nothing more than to go to bed immediately. She didn’t know why she was so exhausted all the time these days.
She couldn’t yet head off to bed. There was the nightly ritual of hoping to meet someone. Under a different glamour, she would be traveling back to the Nags Head. It was quite dark inside and had a number of exits. She liked her odds of escape there if the worst happened again. She wished she had her old DA galleon. She had thought it would be in her beaded bag somewhere, but if it was, she couldn’t find it. She needed some new way to contact the Order. Until she could think of one, though, she was stuck with the daily Patronus. The Death Eaters were obviously intercepting one of them, but she didn’t know what else to do. Today she had gone back to just the Burrow and Shell Cottage. Her suspicion was that Grimmauld Place was the one most likely to be filled with dark wizards.
While she couldn’t prove that her suspicion was true, the witch with short black hair and blue eyes was pleased to find herself only among friendly strangers that night. She stayed quite later than she meant to, fascinated by the book of wand lore she had gained in Paris, before giving up on the Order.
Of course, Mimsy fussed when Hermione returned home. “Mistress Hermione, you bes so late! Mimsy was worried! What would Master say if Mimsy loses you?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. It was maddening that she could get absolutely no information from the elf about who this mysterious master was.
“I can take care of myself,” she said, trying to be gentle and understanding. The house elf was growing on her more each day. As loathe as she was to admit it, Mimsy obviously did have a mind of her own and had clearly made her choice. She was the worst ‘slave’ one could imagine. At least half the time she outright disobeyed any order Hermione gave. She couldn’t quite figure out if it was because the Master still held strings to her or if Mimsy would have treated him the same. Although she didn’t know, some part of her suspected the latter. Mimsy meant business when she decided how things were going to be. She had quite taken over the organization of the tent as well as all cooking, cleaning, and mending. To be honest, Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care. She was just glad to slide into the beautifully made bed and sleep rather than having to pack up in record time and apparate somewhere else.
Maybe tomorrow she would finally make contact with her friends. She missed them all, but Harry most of all. She was surprised it wasn’t Ron she missed most, but she and Harry had grown even closer when Ron ran out on them. She might have feelings for Ron, but they weren’t as strong as the bond she and Harry shared. She missed curling up together to sleep, keeping each others’ nightmares at bay and sometimes talking into the night. There were no weird tensions between them anymore, just comfort. She needed that back. And fun nights hanging out with Ginny and Luna. She wanted to see all of the Weasleys. Neville. Her professors. Basically all the people who had a place in her heart. All she could do was hope and keep going. She was almost asleep, thinking of her loved ones, when she felt a sudden desperate tug on her magic.
*******************Trigger Warning: Torture**********************
Draco was in a state of shock. He couldn’t make sense of the world, of his life. His mother was remarried. His father was dead, killed by his own hand, and his mother was now married to someone who despised her and wanted her to pay for whatever slights he imagined. His mother, marred by her sister’s knife, just like his own wife was, hated him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. No matter how many times his head repeated these facts, he couldn’t understand them.
Moving to do Lord Voldemort’s bidding was just another part of putting one foot in front of the other and doing as told. Blaise had tried to talk to him earlier, something about leaving, about the master killing him as soon as the blood wards were turned over to him. Draco hadn’t really been able to hear or understand the words Blaise was saying. He told the healer he thought his ears needed healing, that they weren’t working right. Blaise had shaken him and stormed off muttering about fools. Draco wasn’t sure in his current state, but he rather thought that wasn’t the professional healer’s way of dealing with deafness.
“Lord Malfoy,” Voldemort mocked, “Take down your blood wards and hand them to me. I will drip my blood on them and we will put them back together, with you as the lesser occupant here.”
Draco nodded. Something in the back of his head warned this was a terrible idea, but he didn’t really care. He wasn’t completely sure he knew how to do what his Lord wanted him to do anyway, but he would try. He looked down at his right hand - that would have been the preferred - but there was a scar there. Something inside him said it was important and not to be used for this. So he didn’t. Draco made a cut on his left palm and began dripping his blood along the ward lines. They were at the keystone of the gates, the apex of all the ley lines in the area. Covering it in his blood would spread throughout all the wards. Some brilliant ancestor of his had come up with this to avoid having to drip blood all over the entire property.
When the keystone was literally covered in his blood, he began to chant and weave with his wand, undoing the complicated wards to the best of his ability. Between the shock he was already in and the loss of quite a lot of blood, Draco was only able to unlock them to a point. With a sense of fatality, he turned to Lord Voldemort and forced the words from his lips.
“I am sorry, my Lord. I don’t know what else to do.”
The Dark Lord actually stared at him, taken aback for a moment. “You don’t know how to work the wards to your own home?” he asked incredulously.
Draco blushed with shame but replied, “My father hadn’t taught me. I’m not even sure he knew all of it. He always hired curse breakers to come in and take care of it when something needed to change.”
There was a silent pause. Draco said, “If you can guide me through what to do, master, I am willing, just ignorant.”
As it turned out, the Dark Lord apparently didn’t know that much about the blood wards there either. After a few tries to rid the wards of their Malfoy ties, Lord Voldemort impatiently sliced his own hand, letting his blood join what was already on the keystone. He was pleased that this meant he could no longer be kept in or out of the wards, and that when he sent guards to test the wards, they could not. He was not at all pleased that he couldn’t change anything about the wards and that Draco still appeared to be Lord of the Manor.
“I should kill you now,” he told the boy.
Draco shrugged, “But then you would never get the wards to work. I didn’t get my heir yet. I’m the last Malfoy.”
“How dare you defy me!” Lord Voldemort hissed at him.
“I don’t even want the place,” Draco said in a voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to say the right, safe things.
“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!!!” That was just the beginning. There were slicing hexes, bruising hexes applied to his organs, something that squeezed and shattered his bones, one at a time. The Dark Lord continued raining horrors down on Draco until he was broken, bleeding, and barely breathing.
“My Lord! Please let me work on him,” Blaise cut in, his dark rolling voice a little higher in panic, “I don’t believe he will survive another spell of any sort.”
“You care that I might kill him, Healer Zabini?” Voldemort’s beady eyes were practically glowing red.
“If I may, my Lord, your purpose was to secure the blood wards. Without a warding expert, you need his blood in his living body.” It took everything Blaise had inside not to show his immense concern for his friend.
Draco was only conscious because he hadn’t been allowed to slip into darkness. Lord Voldemort wanted no reprieve for his senses as he ripped the boy’s body apart. He was panting at their feet, no longer able to scream. Even with Blaise interceding, he knew he might not live through this. His body was so broken that he might have been living on magic alone. When he felt a sudden kick to his stomach, he realized he had run out of that, as well. He felt like his mind, pinned to consciousness by Lord Voldemort’s magic, was falling into a dark, aching pit of blackness and despair.
“Is this death?” he thought, hoping he might be released to it. But then he was distracted - something golden and shimmery was catching him, like a net, a blanket of warmth around him. It cut the ties the Dark Lord had bound him with, leaving Draco’s body unconscious on the ground, but still breathing.
The Dark Lord stormed back toward the manor house, giving no instructions about the limp body behind him. When he was far enough away, Blaise levitated Draco along a garden path and in a back door headed for his infirmary. If it were up to him, his friend wouldn’t be living in his room any longer. It was too accessible. They needed Draco to disappear as much as possible. Perhaps Lord Voldemort would find someone new to scapegoat.