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Shadows clung to Hermione, their wispy tendrils caressing and winding about her as she moved behind the greenhouse. She’d planned this mission for the new moon, the lunar phase that would grant her the most cover with no moon to spotlight her as she moved across the garden.

The reconnaissance she’d done on the property had told her it was a rarely used old wizarding estate. It was crumbling in places, not being kept up, but the greenhouse slats had been left open, their scalloped shapes allowing for the rainy English weather to foster the continued growth of what remained inside.

Potion ingredients were becoming harder and harder to come by, and without the ability to establish roots in one location for very long, it made it near impossible to grow their own. It took too long and if the safehouse was raided, the supplies would fall into the enemy’s hands. The abandoned-looking greenhouse was the best shot they’d had in quite a while to source wolfsbane, datura and mandrake.

Unfortunately,  Hermione wouldn’t be able to harvest the mandrake roots —The shrieking of the mandrakes once pulled, would certainly be heard for miles in the quiet darkness and would without a doubt, give away her position. She’d have to make do with the leaves. While not as potent, it was better than nothing. The potions would suffer, but at least there would be potions.

Keeping to the shadowed corners of the greenhouse, she surveyed the area. The massive open field had been her greatest challenge, but all was quiet. A wordless homenum revelio turned up nothing in the immediate vicinity, but it couldn’t penetrate the old estate house’s wards.

It’ll have to do.

The shadows moved with her as she stepped just beyond the corner to peek through the greenhouse slats for visual confirmation. It was always prudent to be overly careful in these situations. Careless moves would get her caught; moving slowly and quietly would help her keep her cover best.

Her fingers moved to her right arm, pressing into the fleshy inside where one of her tattoos resided. It was a tidy bit of magic she’d developed that allowed her to draw on a few runic aspects. They were what gave her the edge she needed for her stealth missions. Pressing down on it with her thumb, she called forth Thurisaz to activate it for the next phase. The rune would grant her some protection from spells while she harvested the plants, and the ability to throw certain spells back at the caster if she caught it just right .

She felt the familiar sear of fire run through her arm, telling her that it had activated. Thankfully she’d long since adjusted to the pain of their usage and it no longer incapacitated her to change them, something that could prove disastrous in the field.

With the Thurisaz rune activated on her right arm, and the Isa rune on the left, she was quiet and blended in with the shadows, near-sentient tendrils of opaque darkness curled around her form, moving with her, obscuring her from view in the surrounding darkness.

The door into the greenhouse creaked unexpectedly as she pushed it open. She stilled her hand immediately and waited, listening. After several moments, she slid sideways through the opening that was just large enough for her to get through without the additional noise of the door. Years on the run had kept her leaner than she would have liked, but in these situations, it proved beneficial.

Her eyes quickly catalogued the mess of plants that grew every which way. As she spotted a section of wolfsbane that had several plants huddled close together, her feet began moving before her brain had fully processed it all. It would be far easier to harvest large groupings quickly so that she’d at least have something to show if the mission went awry.

The crescent blade didn’t catch any light as she moved quickly, slicing through the stalks of the wolfsbane. Instead, the blade seemed to absorb the light into its matte black surface. The perfect enchanted assassin’s blade, when she needed it to be.

She placed the plants in the satchel that she spun forward on her body, careful not to crush the petals of the delicate blue-purple flowers as she stowed them safely in the cushion-charmed bag. She wouldn’t have time to harvest the roots today, but if all went well, she could return in a few weeks to pull them up.

Next, she moved on to a patch of mandrake, slicing off the thick green tops with quick, practiced motions and then on to the datura bushes. Her eyes lit up with excitement as she noticed not only the flowers, but the spiky outline of seed pods. The pods were useful in augmenting certain potions and had been hard to come by for quite some time.

She sheared off as many of the seed pods as she could see, dropping the spiky balls into the satchel before moving on to the flowers themselves. She manoeuvred her body in a circular fashion as she moved about her harvesting, being sure to keep a keen eye on all directions as she did, never letting her guard down.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

The greenhouse door screamed in protest as it was shoved open and suddenly there was a tall figure in black Death Eater robes with his wand pointed at her, a purple spell whizzing past her head as she ducked down.

She willed the shadows closer, concealing herself further.

“ Incarcerous! ”

Hermione’s right hand shot out in a practiced move that was activated by the rune on her right arm that curved the spell back at the Death Eater, at twice the speed with which it was cast. Rope manifested, binding the wizard and pulling taught, sending him towards the ground with a grunt.

Before he hit the ground, she’d swished her wand and calmly whispered, “ Levicorpus .”

The whispered jinx sent the bound body of the Death Eater careening through the roof and cleared her escape route. She was already in motion as she’d cast it.

“ Tenebris Revelare ”

The words were growled from behind her, followed in quick succession by a blue spell that fizzled harmlessly when it hit her.

Another tall masked figure emerged from the darkness at the other end of the greenhouse, all she had time to note was that this Death Eater was broader through the shoulder and chest than the other one as she made a mad dash out the door. Her legs pumped as she ran silently— thanks to the Isa rune that simultaneously cloaked her—across the grass and making for the treeline where the anti-apparition wards ended.

Roots shot from the ground behind her, one long one whipping out to wrap around her waist as the other two grounded her in place by her calves. Her arrested momentum caused the breath in her lungs to wheeze from her forcibly, the root immoveable.

Chancing a look over her shoulder as she felt for the threads of the spell that had her in its grip, she noticed the tall masked figure was sauntering across the grass towards her at a leisurely pace.

Wanker .

She forced her mind to sharpen and focus, finally finding a loose thread that hadn’t been seamlessly woven into the rest of the spell. She smirked as the spell unraveled and she was running again. The hard thud of running, booted feet behind her had her heart skipping for the first time, her fight or flight instinct activated.

“ GRANGER !”

She sucked in a surprised breath, not turning her head until she passed the knotted trunk of the tree that she’d marked as the end of the anti-apparition wards, and ducked behind it.

Wand in hand, she backed away a few paces so that she could see through two large branches as the Death Eater barreled towards her.

In a dark forest, on the moonless night of a new moon, a head of platinum haired fury came barreling towards her with his wand raised as a silent barrage of spells came flying towards the tree that she hid behind.

Draco Malfoy had discovered her secret.

Her hand tightened on her wand, and with a nearly soundless crack of apparition, she was gone.

She inhaled deeply, pulling the satchel over her head as she strode into the Order’s current safehouse. She went directly to the makeshift brewing room, nodding to Padma as she entered and threw the satchel down on the closest available surface. Padma nodded back in silent acknowledgement as she went back to stirring the cauldron and peering in at the potion she was brewing.

“Wolfsbane, mandrake leaves, datura flowers and seed pods,” she said, a thread of excitement winding through her voice at the end.

“Thank Merlin. Lucky harvest, Granger.”

Hermione snorted and waved a hand over her shoulder as she continued on to the living room, finding Ron and Kingsley in the armchairs, deep in conversation. She cleared her throat as she strode directly up to them, both men immediately looking up to her.

Crossing her arms in front of herself, she assumed a relaxed stance, popping one hip out to the side.

“It appears you were successful.” Kingsley said, reclining in the chair and weaving his fingers together atop his chest.

“I was able to acquire some of the targeted harvest, but nowhere near as much as I wanted to. Two Death Eaters showed up out of nowhere.” She gritted out, and then hesitated as she searched Ron and Kingsley’s faces.

“Draco Malfoy knows what I can do now. He was able to peel back the shadows enough to identify me.”

“Fuck-” Ron bit out.

“How?” Kingsley’s eyes widened a fraction, but it was telling enough for Hermione who had spent countless hours with the older wizard to know that he was worried .

“I don’t know, I’ve never heard the spell before.”

“I thought you said the runes made the shadows impenetrable at night?” Ron asked cautiously.

“They do. They should . It’s old magic, and obscure enough that there shouldn’t have been even an advanced spell to penetrate it without knowing about the tattoos. There’s no way they could know about the tattoos.” Hermione’s face scrunched up as she flipped through her memories.

No, there’s no way. The references were passed down through Solveig’s family grimoire. I’m positive that no other copy exists beyond the one at Solveig’s family home.

Kingsley sighed and scrubbed his face.

“We know that the Death Eaters have been developing new spells. It appears that they’ve been guarding that secret rather well.”

Ron looked frustrated and contemplative.

“You’ll have to stay out of the field for the foreseeable future. Focus on helping Padma with potions and the infirmary where you can,” Kingsley said.

Hermione shook her head at Kingsley.

“No, I’ll make a trip into muggle London. It’s not ideal, but I’ll be able to acquire quite a few potion ingredients for the simpler healing and pain potions at the apothecary and metaphysical shops. The ingredients aren’t as high quality, but they’re better than nothing and Padma’s not going to be able to brew anything further after the next batch she’s working on.”

Ron tilted his head in thought for a moment, then nodded.

“‘Mione’s right. It’s low risk and the pureblood pricks are unlikely to believe that muggles have apothecaries,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Kingsley simply nodded a silent ascent.

She turned on her heel and made her way up to the bedroom she shared with Padma, pleased to have it to herself while Padma was brewing. She heard footsteps a moment later and sighed; she was tired and hadn’t wanted anyone following her. She just wanted to close her eyes and let her mind drift.

She sat on the edge of the bed as she waited. A soft knock followed by the door cracking open and Neville’s concerned face into view.

“Alright if I come in, ‘Mione?”

“Sure, Nev.”

Neville clicked the door closed behind himself and sat on the bed opposite of Hermione. She watched him patiently as he fidgeted and waited for him to speak.

“I’m worried about you, ‘Mione. I’m betting that encounter was a far closer call than you’d admit to Kingsley. I overheard you talking.” He smiled a bit sheepishly, but it wasn’t a secret and she didn’t mind.

Hermione sighed, “Malfoy was attempting to toy with me; taking his sweet time to get to me, too cocksure that he had me cornered. His arrogance and certainty that he wouldn’t be outmanoeuvred was the only reason I was able to unravel the spell and haul arse past the anti-apparition wards.”

Neville and Hermione stared at one another in familiar heavy silence. They’d been close friends since they were eleven years old and long looks easily conveyed many of their thoughts at this point. Neville had been the first friend she’d made when she helped him search for his toad. He was brave and compassionate, and Hermione was truly awed by the way he always had a kind word for everyone even when he’d been at his lowest.

They’d grown quite close, even more so after the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry’s death. She still recalled the look of steady determination on Neville’s face when he’d destroyed Voldemort’s final horcrux by beheading Nagini.

It had only been just over three years, but it felt so much longer. It felt as though they’d lived lifetimes in the last 1,200 days.

Neville sighed and put his head in his hands. “I thought we’d have been able to hold on to this one advantage for longer.”

“So did I, Nev,” she agreed in a soft voice. The cold creeping sensation that had been making itself known for the past two years trailed up her spine.

How much longer can we truly keep fighting this? Our supplies are negligible at this point and they dwindle further no matter how hard we try. When would the sword of Damocles pierce the heart of the Order?

Hermione was a highly logical individual but she knew it would only take four well-placed strikes. Kingsley, Ron, McGonagall and herself. If - no, when - they were taken out, the heart of the Order would cease beating and the veins would slowly atrophy. The remainder would either fall to pieces without unity, splinter into even smaller and less effective groups or they’d simply give up.

At one time, she’d considered the four of them to be generals in this war, but now she knew the truth. They were just the final guard holding the tidal wave at bay, figureheads of hope who were scarcely hopeful themselves anymore.

Hermione didn’t fear death, not anymore. She knew now that there were far worse fates than simply dying. She did fear for the futures of others, though. She didn’t want to see the subjugation of muggles, the eradication of muggleborns or what would become of those like Padma and Neville if they were captured, would the so called ‘blood traitors’ be looked on as favourably as Muggleborns?

“How much longer do you figure we can keep up the charade, Neville?” she asked emotionlessly.

“Hermione…”

“Nev, don’t be obtuse. The Order is on life-support, Voldemort has us pinned with reinforcements he can call from several nations. Our days of being hopeful have been dead for a long time now.”

“Even if that were true, we can’t just give up. Soldiering on is the only option that makes any sense to me.”

Neville let the mask fall, the weariness cracking across him in the hunch of his shoulders and the lines on his face, the drawn look in his eyes. She didn’t blink, having already known what lay beneath the mask he presented to everyone else. He was always so kind, always lending his strength to others. Too bad this one was a farce. 

Hermione could only agree with him. The odds had dwindled a long time ago, but they would keep on until they couldn’t. They would not go quietly into the night.

Hermione reached forward to take Neville’s hands in her own, giving them a comforting squeeze and offering him a small, genuine, smile.

“We’ll continue with strategic hits. Raise hell until we’re six feet under ourselves. We won’t make it easy on them,” Hermione affirmed.

It was bleak, but it was honest, and there were so few people they could be honest with anymore.

Neville nodded once, determination painting the mask that began to cross his features once more, and slipped from the room quietly, and without fanfare.

She sat staring at her hands, fresh dirt caked beneath her nails from harvesting.

She didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Getting up, she was slipping quietly down the hallway, knuckles rapping softly on the door - two quick knocks, a pause and a final knock.

The door swung open on a phantom wind a moment later and she slunk into the shadows of the darkened room.

Cillian sat up in the bed and beckoned to her. The Irishman didn’t ask questions, just drew her to him and started the dance that let them forget the world for a while.

A silencing charm was cast and then he was devouring her as she pushed down the boxer briefs he’d been sleeping in. He fucked her until they were both drenched in sweat and panting, chests fluttering as they tried to regain their breath from the exertion.

Cillian didn’t ask questions. He’d been living like this far longer than she or Ron. Hailing from Ireland, he was raised by staunch supporters of the Irish Republican Army in Wizarding Ireland and knew what it was to be on the move constantly, never putting down roots.

He knew how to enjoy life’s small pleasures.

The fit brown-haired wizard was older than Hermione by several years, but it didn’t matter. Comfort had no age in war.

They’d been engaging in bedroom activities on and off going for nearly a year and a half, starting when he’d arrived six safehouses ago to provide training on Muggle guerilla tactics. He’d been making explosives for the IRA since he was fourteen, working alongside Muggle counterparts to free Ireland of British rule.

Besides Dean and perhaps Arthur, Cillian was perhaps the first wizard she’d met without Muggles on his family tree that understood the Muggle world just as well as the Wizarding one. It had given them a much needed edge, employing Muggle warfare tactics on the pureblooded Death Eaters. They’d had no idea what a bomb or flash grenades were when faced with them. But six months later, the Death Eaters all seemed armed with new containment spells and were able to identify a traditional bomb.

After that, Cillian had brought in Kieran and a few others to further the training on the creation of covert explosives.

When Hermione’s breathing had evened out, she quirked a smile at Cillian, pulled on her clothes, and headed down the hall to her own bed.

Chapter Text

Their New Priority

Draco Malfoy rarely allowed himself to have strong feelings about anything. He’d resigned himself to reality when the Battle of Hogwarts had left Potter defeated and the remnants of the Order in the wind.

The Dark Lord gave orders, and Draco carried them out. He had no desire to become his father.

Lucius had been removed as the head of House Malfoy after a series of failures. He was no longer valued by Voldemort, or many of the Death Eaters. It had been a blow to his father’s confidence and he’d slithered into near obscurity within the new regime.

Draco, however, had risen. The Dark Lord had seen fit to elevate his station as he became more skilled and deadly with each subsequent battle fought and won. Where Bellatrix had been Voldemort’s right hand before her death, Draco was now his General.

As his station rose, he’d brought officers with him up the ranks, his most trusted inner circle.

Theo Nott. Blaise Zabini. Adrian Pucey.

The Four Horsemen, as the Order called them. A silly, muggle story that told of four mounted riders that ushered in the apocalypse, the end of it all. Even he himself could admit that it seemed fitting.

No matter. The title inspired fear, and fear was useful.

On this evening, his undetectable wards had been triggered at the old Marcellus Estate, a property used to house foreign dignitaries and troops that was currently empty. He’d developed the silent wards to alert himself and a select few officers in the Death Eater ranks when they were tripped, a modified piece of magic that couldn’t be revealed by common revealing charms.

Curious as to the intrusion at the unoccupied property, he’d summoned Theo to attend with him, not expecting an incursion of any significance that they couldn’t quash if necessary.

All had been quiet when they’d arrived at the Marcellus manor, but that had quickly changed when he’d heard the rustling in the greenhouse. Theo was at the door so Draco silently apparated inside at the back just in time to see Theo’s spell flying towards a mass of shadow that moved suddenly and then Theo’s own spell was lobbed back at him.

His attention had fixed on the shadows that moved before him and he whipped a spell of his own devising at it.

“ Tenebris Revelare ”

The shadows peeled back, revealing a form within.

Focusing as the spell continued to drag the shadows away, his eyebrow quirked as he saw the unmistakable face of Hermione fucking Granger.

He’d let her run from the greenhouse, unconcerned. A finite incantatem released Theo from the ropes and dropped him to the floor as Draco walked past. He watched as she bolted across the grassy expanse towards the treeline and aimed a restraining hex at the ground, watching the roots that had sprung up grab and hold her firmly in place.

A moment later, she cast a defiant look over her shoulder as he swept towards her at an unhurried, measured pace. That’s when he felt it. It was like a single tendril of a cobweb brushing over his skin before it was tugged and then the magic just… unravelled .

His eyebrows shot up his forehead and he broke into a run, before the magic had fully dispersed. Granger was shooting towards the treeline a moment later, but he was hot on her heels. He roared her name. The little witch was not going to evade him a second time.

The plait down her back bobbed wildly as she crossed the threshold into the forest, nearly past the anti-apparition wards. She ducked behind a tree as he began slinging an unrelenting slew of silent spells. He caught a glimpse of her through the branches, and then she was gone.

Growling, he rounded the tree to see where the forest floor was disturbed where she’d tread and it suddenly ended. He punched a gloved fist into the tree in frustration, fury heating his blood. The little bitch had not only unraveled his spell, but she’d escaped. Draco was not used to having the Order evade him - he wasn’t that frightened boy from Hogwarts any longer.

He would not be reporting this to the Dark Lord.

A branch snapped from the direction he’d come from, Theo alerting him to his approach.

“What the fuck was that ?”

“You mean who the fuck was that. Take a wild guess.”

“Potter?” Theo tossed out. Draco snorted derisively at the Chosen One’s name.

“Yes, because he’s returned from the grave. Be serious, Theo,” Draco spat as Theo approached. Draco motioned him forward past the anti-apparition ward and grabbed the other man’s upper arm. Without a sound, he apparated them back to the Manor, landing in the hallway.

Draco stalked off towards the sitting room, the harsh strike of his boots against the floor ringing in the wide, quiet space. The door flew open with a flick of his fingers and slammed against the wall.

He began plucking the gloves off the fingers of his hand before tossing back over his shoulder, knowing Theo had followed.

“That was Hermione fucking Granger.”

“Granger? Really ?”

A scoff came from his right and his eyes flicked to see Adrian lounging with both arms over the back of the couch, stretched out. Blaise silently sat to his left, eyebrow cocked as he waited to hear the story.

Draco whipped his gloves at the sideboard and stalked towards the decanters, plucking up a couple of glasses and selecting the amber firewhiskey, pouring out two fingers in each glass. He shoved the cut crystal glass into Theo’s chest as he pushed past the other wizard and draped himself across his preferred armchair. It was a tall black wingback armchair that was wider than average, fitting his frame comfortably.

“I take it that the altercation didn’t go your way?” Adrian inquired. 

Theo snorted as he dropped down to the other side of the couch from Adrian with a smirk.

“Crafty witch rebounded my own spell back at me.”

“Rebounded?”

“ Yes .”

Adrian and Blaise whipped their attention to Draco, seeking confirmation that Theo wasn’t simply trying to rile them up. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“That witch,” Draco spat, “has been dabbling with dark magic. She had herself wrapped in shadows, completely opaque. I didn’t even see her until she moved, causing a disturbance of the shadows themselves.”

Taking a contemplative sip, he replayed the events in his mind’s eye as he stared into the rich amber of his firewhiskey, rolling the bottom of the cut crystal glass in his hand.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I had to peel back the shadows to see who was beneath, and they resisted . I used the root binding spell on her, no one has ever cancelled that spell before. She didn’t just cancel it though, she fucking unravelled it .”

He didn’t voice the last part.

She escaped me.

That will not do.

He flicked his gaze up to the three wizards that comprised the entirety of his loyalty. He would take any number of spells for them. He may have sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord, but allegiance and loyalty were decidedly not the same. Allegiances could be sworn and realigned. Loyalty spoke of something deeper.

Blaise whistled as the display of power Granger had control over sunk in.

“She’s going to be a pain in our arses, isn’t she?” Blaise grumbled. 

Adrian smirked as he side-eyed Blaise at his comment. “She very likely already has been and we were simply unaware. Think of it. What could you do if you had the ability to cloak yourself in a way that couldn’t be spelled away? I’d bet my wife’s collection of shoes that she’s been behind several high casualty events.”

“Come now Adrian, if you’re going to project certainty you should at least bet something precious to you, not your wife!” Theo jibed good naturedly.

“I value my bollocks above all my worldly possessions, thank you very much. If Daphne lost her shoe collection, I’d be separated from them. Most unpleasantly, too!”

All four wizards grinned and there was an array of laughter and snorts. Draco sobered as his mood shifted.

“She needs to be dealt with. This is about to get very personal .”

Draco growled and shot back the remainder of his firewhiskey before summoning the decanter to pour him another. His finger tapped on the side of the glass filling his hand before coming to a decision.

“This information does not leave this room, we have a new top priority, gentlemen.”

“Do share with the class, Draco,” Theo implored with his signature glint of mischief hiding behind his sparkling green eyes.

“The potential behind the skills she displayed makes her a player we have to remove from the board entirely. We’re going to quietly trap Hermione Granger and the blow it will deal to the Order will cripple them.” 

Draco’s lips curved into a cruel smile.

Weeks passed and there wasn’t a whisper about Granger. She hadn’t been seen in the field, and the Order attacks had noticeably lessened.

He knew it wouldn’t last forever, but Draco was growing impatient.

Draco rarely felt impatient anymore, but the thought of what Hermione Granger had been up to over the last few years burned him. As far as he’d come from the Hogwarts student he’d been, never quite able to claim top of class marks, it smarted a little closer to the core to know she’d outdone him once again.

He’d gone through the field reports that he was provided with over the last few years to read about her. It seemed she’d sharpened her claws to fine points and was a terror in a skirmish. Death Eaters fell before her wand, and she was ruthless, going straight for the kill the moment there was an opening.

Quiet inquiries produced alarmingly little insight about the witch. Anyone who would have been able to provide valuable intelligence had found themselves on the wrong end of her wand.

All that was known was that while she wasn’t absent from the field, her appearances were sporadic — there was no predictable pattern discernible. When she was spotted, the Dark Lord’s forces suffered higher than average losses in their ranks.

The weeks that followed Granger’s escape, Draco sent either Theo, Adrian or Blaise to be present at every suspected or known Order altercation. While they reported to him, he’d melted into the depths of the Malfoy family library.

Draco spent countless hours in the hidden lower level of his library. A tightly guarded secret handed down from father to son; it held the family’s personal grimoires, obscure texts and journals containing some of the darkest magic imaginable. 

He scoured texts that detailed experimental blood magic and the results produced, soul magic that made a Dementor’s kiss look like a kindness, transfiguration that blended objects or sentient beings. Even he had recoiled slightly as he read the results of an unsuccessful transfiguration experiment that involved combining two humans. The result hadn’t lived long, and it had been impossible to separate the two original beings.

While Draco had learnt of horcruxes and what they took to create, he was of the personal opinion that while the splitting of one’s soul of one’s own volition was beyond comprehension — true magical horrors rested within the pages of the books in the hidden library, detailed by wizards and witches who’d dedicated their lives to magical experimentation and the truly taboo dark arts

Throughout the main library there were books on dark magic, many of which had been banned for decades, and in some cases, centuries; they were but bedtime stories compared to what remained hidden to all but a true Malfoy.

The Malfoys had long been associated with dark magic, creating a certain expectation to uphold with regard to the few visitors allowed into the main library. However, everything contained on the upper levels were all red herrings meant to quell curiosity in dark magic seekers, as well as to allay any suspicion should the Ministry catch wind of the contents, and stage a raid to confiscate the material. If none of the main library’s texts held obscure knowledge of dark witchcraft, it would undoubtedly lead to more extensive searches being conducted.

His research eventually proved fruitful, and he purred with self satisfaction.

Granger was a special witch and a special witch would need special handling.

He’d get creative for her.

Chapter Text

Potential Targets

As the weeks passed by, Hermione had begun to realize that she could not abide solely working behind the scenes.

After her late night foraging session had blown her cover and her most carefully guarded secret, they’d all agreed that she needed to lay low awhile.

She bounced between brewing potions with Padma, assisting with the injured, and travelling to Muggle London for ingredients.

It was a rainy afternoon as she apparated onto the quiet side street. She’d dressed in jeans and a blue jumper, a calf length green raincoat with the hood pulled up to keep her dry. Leaving the empty side street quickly, she made her way to the higher trafficked streets to blend in with the Muggles who were going about their days or stopping for lunch.

Distantly, she heard a laugh, followed by several other voices joining in a moment later. Casting a glance to her left, she watched as a group of friends sat around a table with pints and lunch. They were all so happy and carefree, wide smiles, and eyes twinkling with mirth. None of them looked haunted and worn, fraying at the seams. It rankled slightly but she couldn’t blame them for their joy, she’d all but abandoned the muggle world after all.

Picking up her pace again, she kept her head down the rest of the way to Aphrodite Moon , a metaphysical shop that stocked a wide variety of plants found in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds.

The chime at the top of the door rang as she pushed into the shop, pulling her hood down.

“Welcome, traveller!”

“Hello, Sage, how are you this afternoon?” Hermione smiled at the woman who wore a circlet across her brow bearing the triple moon carved in rose quartz. Sage perked up and came around the counter with her arms held wide in welcome as she recognized Hermione.

“Bright blessings upon you Gemma! How can I be of service in heightening your vibration today?”

Hermione only just prevented herself from rolling her eyes at the woman. Sage was a lovely woman, but being a witch in the Wizarding world, she found it rather irritating to see what muggles passed off as magic, spiritual healing, and everything in between.

Regardless, she put on her best smile and greeted the woman kindly.

“I’m in need of several ingredients, could you put these together for me? I’ve noted the weights for each on my list here.” She passed the parchment to the woman with a smile.

Sage unfolded it and read through the contents, nodding.

“Of course darling! Why don’t you have a seat at my reading table and have a damiana brownie while you wait? I made them fresh this morning,” Sage said conspiratorially with a wink.

Hermione smiled and nodded, knowing better than to refuse the hospitality. Accepting the brownie, Sage led her to the reading table and folded her altar cloth, setting it to the side, and cleared several tarot decks off of the surface. Setting them on the checkout counter, she dropped a different crystal atop each deck as she passed behind the counter to the wall of dried teas and herbs she kept.

Chuckling to herself, Hermione bit into the damiana brownie. They were always delicious, but Hermione doubted the veracity of the claim that they had an aphrodisiac quality. 

Sage sold them as ‘love brownies’ and encouraged partners to partake of them together prior to ritualistic sex magic. Personally, Hermione thought it was just a sweet treat to precede scheduled tantric sex.

Soft chiming music played in the background and blended with the quiet way in which Sage measured out and packaged the dried plants. It was a far cry from the safe house, and Hermione would never have been caught dead in a Muggle metaphysical shop in another life. It was nice though, to just sit and be for once. She rarely relaxed anymore, but she’d never had an issue in Muggle London so this was the one spot she allowed herself to pretend that she was normal. That she and all of her friends weren’t fighting a war that was slowly whittling them away.

She took in everything the shop had on offer from jewellery to baskets of smooth gemstones; books on a variety of topics from herbology to Wicca 101, journals, and a wall of tarot card decks to choose from.

On the wall hung a variety of handmade besoms that Hermione thought would actually be a lovely household decoration. In one corner stood a lone circular clothing rack that bore a vibrant variety of tie-dyed shirts with fairies, howling wolves, pentagrams, and the like on them.

Finishing her brownie, she wiped her fingers on the napkin that had accompanied it and went to browse the shirts. She found a pink and purple tie-dye one with a fairy lounging on a toadstool, her magnificent wings flared out behind her, and set it on the counter for Sage to ring up with her purchases.

Sage put down the translucent purple plastic bag containing her shopping and began plugging the purchases into the register. Removing the shirt from the hanger and folding it, she raised an eyebrow at Hermione with a smile.

“I hadn’t figured this for your style, Gemma,” she said, pointedly looking Hermione up and down. 

“It’s not, but it is a gift for someone who I know will cherish it.” She grinned back.

“That’s lovely, dear. Everyone has a gift for something, even if it is the gift of being a good friend.”

Hermione wished Sage a pleasant afternoon and ventured back out into the rain, which was much lighter than when she’d arrived. She wound her way through the streets, taking a different route than before to a different apparition point. It never hurt to be careful.

Upon her return to the safehouse, Hermione pulled the packages of herbs from the purple bag and laid them out for later. Continuing on, she poked her head into the sitting room and found just the witch she was looking for.

“Luna, I have a surprise for you.”

Luna lifted her head from the yarn she was tying into a variety of knots with a smile.

“How lovely, Hermione!” she chimed in that quiet, dreamy way she had about her.

Setting the purple bag before the witch, Hermione flicked her wand and set the kettle to boil for a spot of tea. Luna unfolded the brightly coloured shirt and laughed, the sound tinkling and full of joy.

“Well, fairies certainly don’t look like this, but the whimsy is certainly appreciated. Thank you, Hermione, I absolutely adore it!” Luna’s smile was as understated as always, but it was genuine and unique to the witch. 

Of all people Hermione was acquainted with, Luna was the least insincere person she’d ever met. Always kind, if a little odd, she was a bright spot in an increasingly shadowy world. Hermione returned the Ravenclaw’s smile. It was nice to see someone truly smile, rather than the grim smiles most of the Order exchanged these days.

Kingsley strode into the kitchen, his purple robes billowing behind him with urgency.

“You know the drill. Pack up, this site may be compromised.”

Hermione’s eyes sharpened instantly and flicked her wand to empty and cool the kettle down. Luna threw her new shirt on over the pink and white long sleeve shirt she was wearing and quickly made her way out of the kitchen to pack what she could of whatever room she was designated to manage.

Swishing her wand, the cupboard beneath the sink opened and a burgundy trunk slid out onto the floor and popped open. As if conducting a symphony, Hermione flicked her wand this way and that, levitating the contents of the kitchen into the trunk that bore one of her signature undetectable extension charms on it.

“What happened?” she asked, briefly looking over her shoulder to take in the tall black man. He looked drawn and frustrated, but was putting on a brave face that Hermione was skilled at seeing past by now.

“Katie thinks she was followed returning from her mission with Cillian. She apparated twice more, to be safe, but we can’t take the chance. Best to cut our losses while retaining the bulk of our supplies.”

He sighed and waved to Hermione, striding towards the stairs to let the rest of the house residents know.

Twenty minutes later, a piece of parchment appeared suspended in the air before Hermione with an address on it. She read it three times before the parchment dissolved into grains of sand.

Shrinking down the trunks she’d loaded with her things, the kitchen items and the potions lab, she apparated three times, just to be on the safe side, before arriving at the address. She stood before it until a hand emerged and pulled her in.

It was smaller than the previous safehouse, but she’d long since stopped caring about the accommodations. The house was buzzing with activity as she walked through the front door. Finding the kitchen she removed the shrinking charm from the kitchen trunk, and set it to the side to be unpacked once the chaos of the move settled.

She ran into Ginny on her way up the stairs, surprised to see the fiery Weasley who’d been absent from the safehouse more often than not.

“Ginny! What a surprise, how are Bill and Fleur? Victoire must be getting so big by now.”

They embraced tightly, their unexpected reunion a happy one. Ginny smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind Hermione’s ear with sisterly care.

“They’re as well as can be, but Victoire brightens all our days. She’s just started walking, so she’s keeping us all on our toes.” Ginny pulled Hermione in for another tight squeeze before asking,

“Is Ron here, too?”

“I’m not sure Gin, I just arrived myself. If he isn’t now, I’m sure he’ll be here by nightfall.”

Ginny nodded and the two parted ways, Hermione carrying on to find a room in which to set up her and Padma’s beds.

With everyone having assigned tasks for what they needed to tear down and set up any time a move became necessary, the process had become far simpler and faster with each move. They were good enough at it now that it created minimal disruption to daily tasks and flow.

“Hermione, the dried plants you get from the muggle shop really aren’t the best quality. The pain potions don’t last as long when we use them.” Padma said with a sigh. It wasn’t an admonishment, but Hermione could hear the disappointment in the other witch’s voice.

“I know. I wish there was more I could do, but it’s better than nothing. Now that the Death Eaters are wise to my shadow abilities, I can’t just pilfer from gardens anymore. There are a few spots that I can forage for them in the wild that I’ll be able to check in a few weeks.”

Padma nodded and turned back to the cauldron that had begun to bubble. Hermione watched the dark haired witch a moment longer before turning back to her own cauldron, the colour having changed to a sky blue that indicated its readiness.

Her mind wandered as she set out the vials and began portioning out the potion. As she waited for them to cool enough to cork them, she began considering potential targets for their next mission.

There was no way to attack any of the estates of the older wizarding families like the Malfoys, the Lestranges, the Goyles, Nott Manor, or the like. Unfortunately those estates held centuries worth of old family magic that protected them from unwelcome entry. She’d heard that some had wards that would decapitate anyone trying to sneak onto the property without a formal invitation or being accompanied by one of the family.

She’d never tried herself, knowing it would be futile and most probably deadly.

Her mind cast away ideas such as the Ministry itself. It was crawling with Death Eaters and was now able to be locked down within seconds. That particular piece of intel was gained in blood when they’d sent an operative to plant bombs around the Atrium to create a diversion.

The unsuccessful operative’s body had been strung up in Diagon Alley as a warning, the Prophet reported on it with gut wrenching pictures of the fingerless operative hanging from a post in the shopping district.

Diagon Alley itself was always a possibility, but they hadn’t gone to those lengths yet. Even though it was solely Death Eaters, sympathizers, and the families of both, it wasn’t a line they were ready to cross. They’d crossed so many others by this point that the remaining lines in the sand were predominantly focused on not having the blood of children on their hands.

What that left were the research facilities, the various gardens that were tended for the Death Eater potioneers, the pubs, and the brothel.

Hermione’s nose scrunched at the thought of the brothel and the women and men that were indentured there. They were innocent, but was not considering it as a location to attack truly sparing them? She didn’t know, and the moral dilemma bothered her.

The gardens could be regrown, or the Death Eaters could simply import ingredients for themselves from surrounding countries that were under Voldemort’s control such as France, Scotland, Bulgaria, and if the rumours were true, Italy and Romania were nearly under his thumb as well.

Ireland, while under Death Eater control, was proving to be a difficult territory to keep their grip on. The Irish Republican Army had been fighting for Northern Ireland’s control and to reunify Ireland as a whole once more, free of British interference. They had generations of Muggle and Wizarding families who were well versed in resisting the establishment, and the Wizarding families had immediately taken up the flag against the new enemy. In their eyes, Voldemort was just another Brit looking to take their country and they certainly wouldn’t take it lying down.

Seamus had made the introductions between his IRA contacts and the Order. While they weren’t thrilled to be assisting an organization of Brits, predominantly, they weren’t under the illusion that the fight against Voldemort could be anything but a joint effort.

The majority of the Wizarding IRA remained in Ireland, but they sent troops to assist and train the Order in the early days after the defeat at the Battle of Hogwarts. The bulk of those troops had returned to their headquarters in Ireland at this point, but joint missions were still executed.

It was becoming harder to get reliable information as the borders tightened further. International portkeys were becoming harder to obtain, and the black market sellers were disappearing. Apparition points near bordering countries had long been tightly controlled and connecting a floo was impossible at this point with all the restrictions, and the Ministry now had the ability to access any private floo without warning.

The noose was growing ever tighter, and everyone knew it.

Stoppering the potions, she added them to the medical kit. Keeping everything mobile was imperative, so the majority of their medical supplies and potions were kept in the unassuming leather bag. Hermione had ensured that she’d placed the extension charm herself, and cushioning charms were applied to each section of potions to prevent accidents as much as possible.

Raising her hand in a small wave to Padma to let her know she was finished and leaving the potions lab, Hermione climbed the stairs to head to her bedroom. As she passed a door on the upper level she heard it open and a moment later was dragged in and sandwiched between the wall and a warm, hard body.

Her breath caught in her throat in surprise until Cillian’s rakish grin lowered into her line of sight as he bent down to capture her lips in a kiss that had her arching into his body. Her hands wound their way into his short chestnut hair, his closely clipped beard tickling her cheek as the Irishman’s lips devoured her. 

His large, warm palm gave her hip a squeeze and began sliding its way up beneath her jumper. She moaned into his mouth and brought her hands down to his broad shoulders before she pushed him back towards the bed and onto it. His grin was wide and unguarded as she crossed her arms in front of herself and pulled the knit navy jumper over her head, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Without wasting time, she unbuttoned her jeans and they joined her jumper on the floor a moment later. Cillian had removed his shirt and sat back on his hands as he watched her divest down to her knickers and bra.

“Lovely lass, c’mere to me.” Cillian purred in his thick lilting Irish accent.

She drew her lower lip between her teeth as she strode towards him, confidently situating her knees on either side of his hips. His hands immediately came forward to span the globes of her arse and gave them both a quick squeeze before giving one side a spank.

Humming in approval she reached down between them to pop the button on his worn black jeans and began unzipping them. Caging her in with one arm around her waist he stood and flipped her on to the bed in a single fluid motion. He bit at her lips and neck hungrily before stepping back to finish removing his jeans and matching black boxer briefs, his well-endowedcock eagerly springing loose.

Her tongue darted out to lick her upper lip in anticipation. A moment later his hands were pulling her knickers down, vanquishing them from her body. Her bra was his next victim as he removed it and tossed it over his shoulder before climbing up her body to take a nipple in his mouth.

Cillian growled with satisfaction and paid homage to her other breast, nipping gently before drawing that nipple into his mouth, making sure he gave both breasts equal attention. He flipped her over again roughly and dragged her back on to her knees. He knew she liked it rough and fast, and obliged her preference.

Lining his cock up, he thrust into her, both of them knowing very well that she was already wet and ready for him. They groaned in pleasure as he sank to the hilt, the glorious stretch emptying her mind of everything but the feel of him. Curving his body over hers, he trailed kisses down her spine before straightening again and clamping his hands tightly on her hips as he began moving in her. After a few experimental strokes, his pace increased until he was pounding into her.

That glorious, curved cock of his was hitting her in all the right spots, the volume of her pleasure ratcheting up. She’d always needed external stimulation on her clit with other men she’d been with, but between his cock and the man who knew how to use it, he had her on the edge and ready to explode within minutes.

She held on, fisting the sheets in her hands until she was bursting at the seams. The orgasm that crashed over her hit with the intensity of the sun, her muscles contracting tightly around the cock that was still drilling into her. A few thrusts later, Cillian came with a deep groan, pulling out and spilling his hot seed over the round of her arse. Frozen. as they both panted heavily coming down, Cillian finally growled and slapped her hip in satisfaction before grabbing his wand and vanishing the mess.

While Hermione would normally have dressed and left, her earlier thoughts had led her to a rather out of the box idea that was best run past Cillian. Pulling on her knickers and blue jumper, she sat back on the bed with one leg hanging over the edge.

Cillian raised a brow. He wasn’t an unkind man, but he was unused to Hermione lolling about after a shag. It was out of character for her, so he pulled his jeans back on and sat back on the bed patiently as he watched her collect her thoughts to put into words. 

“I’ve had an idea, mind you it’s a barmy one, but it may just be barmy enough to work.”

Chapter Text

To Hell We Ride

2 Months Later

Hermione’s idea had, in fact, been absolutely barmy. 

However, she’d also been correct in her assessment that it would be barmy enough to work. They’d only have one shot, though.

The look of shock and awe on Cillian’s face as she had detailed her plan was encouraging. He listened with rapt attention, hand scrubbing his face in the unconscious way he had when he was considering logistics.

Taking it to Kingsley and Ron a few days later had been a bright spot in their long slog through the war. The look of incredulity on their faces, mixed with the guarded look of someone who thought they were having the mickey taken out of them had Hermione grinning for days after.

Cillian had brought Kieran to the meeting, a fellow Irishman on loan from the IRA who’d been continuing training the Order, predominantly in offensive spellcasting. He taught them how to fight in teams with concurrently volleyed spells in a triangular formation around a target. This attack formation had been crucial in smaller skirmishes where they’d caught Death Eaters unaware. It required only a moment’s lapse in concentration for them to fell a Death Eater.

Kieran was a quiet man with an unyielding presence. He accepted no excuses in training and never hesitated with his wandwork. A soldier through and through.

Cillian took point on the supply lists and the building of the bombs, Kieran on attack formation with Ron collaborating on logistics of the terrain and ward lines. Hermione had strategised the covert operations and had timed it all down to the minute.

With everything checked and double-checked for good measure, they were as ready as they would ever be to carry out a mission that they’d only have one shot at. Three weeks to the day from when Hermione had brought the idea to Kingsley and Ron, the Order was ready to execute the mission. 

Padma handed Hermione the last vials of polyjuice potion to distribute to the operatives who would be going to the public owl-post locations to purchase owl delivery. They each had a stack of wedding invitations on thick cardstock addressed to a variety of individuals, all stating ‘care of Rodolphus Lestrange’ – personal delivery not required and to be left at various entries to the manor. Each of the polyjuiced operatives would provide delivery instructions requesting owl-post delivery at different parts of the manor. The south garden entry, the east garden entry, the north kitchens, the main entrance and the conservatory.

Each wedding invitation was a transfigured bomb fitted with a proximity charm that upon reaching a certain area, would give the owl just enough of a shock to drop the invitations, transfiguring back to their original form and exploding on impact.

It had all been timed down to the minute, accounting for the owl’s travel time and adjusted for weather on the day of, apparition coordinates for the various teams down to the second after the first bomb.

The teams would apparate to their designated points and once teams began engaging Death Eaters they’d initiate the pincer formations and take them down in turns. The formations ensured that teams were balanced to prevent anyone from getting burnt out in battle too quickly. Each strike team was given an emergency portkey and, given the increasing rarity of portkeys, each pincer team was expected to get to their assigned strike team at a rendezvous point if it all went tits up to portkey away with them.

The morning they were to carry out Operation Wedding Owl, Hermione woke early to go over the mission details a final time before the rest of the Order assembled. 

Kingsley, Ron, Cillian, Kieran, and herself sat around the old dining room table that had seen better days. They each took turns detailing the sections they were heading with the maps of Lestrange Manor and the surrounding areas spread in the middle of the table between them and their third pot of tea shoved off to the side of the table, forgotten.

“Polyjuicing will commence in two hours, I’ll round up Lavender and the others for a final briefing before they head out.” Ron clapped his hands together signalling the end of the meeting and rose from the table. Hermione and the other three men nodded the acknowledgement.

“Cillian, Kieran, will you assist me with the transfiguration and charms?” Hermione asked.

They had wanted to leave the bombs for last in case the charms became unstable, so the three of them rose to move into the sitting room adjacent to the dining room and began the process. The transfiguration needed to occur first for the charms to take to the bombs properly. They’d discovered adding the charms before transfiguration yielded a one in ten chance of early detonation, but the charms when applied after transfiguration were perfectly stable. It never hurt to be extra cautious though, when handling explosives.

When they were done, Kieran bid them farewell to head to another safehouse where he would rendezvous with the team he was leading, Cillian heading off to do the same a short while later.

Hermione dropped by the potion lab to grab the polyjuice and hairs for each of the operatives, giving Padma a wave while she inventoried the supplies for incoming patients later that night. She would stay behind with Ron, Pomfrey, Cormac, and a few others who would act as mission control and debrief people as they returned or sought medical care.

As it turned out, Cormac had a fair hand for healing and had frustrated Kieran enough in training sessions that he’d considered him a lost cause and a detriment on the field so he’d assist Pomfrey and Padma as needed.

Between herself, Ron, and Kingsley, they always traded off on who would stay behind to ensure that if the worst happened, at least one of the core leadership remained to carry on. She and Kingsley would be in the field today, and Ron would stay behind.

McGonagall oversaw the majority of the protective spellwork and acted as secret keeper for the Fidelius Charmed safe-houses and was more valuable to the Order with her expertise than in the field, so it was exceedingly rare these days that the older witch was a part of missions. The ex-Professor headed a separate safe-house and was provided with regular updates, instead.

Hermione began to prepare herself, changing into the form fitting stretchy tights and shirt and the sturdy black boots that she laced tightly over her ankles. She’d found it was best to leave as few options for people to grab on to you as possible, having had the backs of jumpers grabbed on more than one occasion. Thankfully she’d been able to wrestle herself out of the assailant’s attacks on those occasions, Kieran had seen it the second time it had happened and had given her a dressing down.

She was securing an elastic around the tail end of her freshly braided hair when Ron brought Lavender and the others into begin collecting their letters and drinking their assigned polyjuice. As soon as their features had shifted, they filed out the door and apparated to their designated mailing points.

Neville and Dean waited until the crowd had exited before they made their way to Hermione, her designated team. The three of them worked best together, their formation and staggered spellcasting fluid and intuitive. Kieran had excellent instincts when he built teams.

“Everyone have their coins?” Neville chirped, holding up the protean charmed coins they used for communications. Hermione smiled up at him. He was forever looking out for everyone, rather in the same nurturing way he cared for plants, she thought.

“Sure do.” Dean smirked. “Are you both ready for this? I wish I could see the look on Seamus’ face when the explosions start.”

The four of them laughed good naturedly at their classmate’s obsession with fire and his uncanny ability to cause explosions from the most innocuous of spells. It would be like Christmas for him today.

Hermione’s eyes found Ron’s across the room as she moved towards him, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Be safe Ron, we’ll see you soon.” She said, giving him a final squeeze before stepping back. He gave her a lopsided grin.

“I should be saying that to you ‘Mione, not the other way around.”

She just shrugged and offered Ron a little before she followed Dean and Neville, heading outside. When they reached the garden, Hermione stuck her wand through her braid while she pressed on the upper forearm of her left arm where the first magical tattoo was inked beneath the skin and called forth the rune she used the most, Isa . In addition to the shadows she was able to pull around herself by using that particular rune, it helped quiet her movements and apparition.

The familiar pain ripped through her, setting her veins on fire as the power coursed through her. Although she couldn’t see the rune with her tight long sleeves in the way, she knew the ink beneath her skin would be swirling, rearranging, to form the rune. Giving herself a few moments to breathe through the pain, she switched arms and concentrated on Thurisaz for her right arm.

Pain ricocheted through her again leaving her panting softly. It was only through practice that she was able to remain upright as the magical tattoo on her right arm rearranged its ink to form the second rune.

The Thurisaz rune had been tricky to wrestle under control in the beginning. It had a mind of its own, and it wanted her to cause chaos and destruction, whispers wending their way through the back of her mind encouraging her to be reckless and unleashed. She supposed tales of Beserkers could have been referencing wizards who had lost control of similar magic, bending to the rune’s desires rather than mastering it.

She had an iron grip on it, but whispered back to it of the chaos the bombs would cause. It vibrated in satisfaction, waiting.

Through trial and error, she’d learned how to use it to grasp a cast spell and redirect it. Many, many painful stinging hexes later, she’d gotten the hang of it, though it was still tricky, wild magic.

Its magic was incredibly useful as it provided protection, destruction, and most importantly, disruption . These aspects manifested in ways such as reducing the effect of some spells if she were hit, increasing the force with which she could  cast her own spells, and her personal favourite, redirecting some spells. It wasn’t likely to work with an avada or a crucio because of the force of will the spells required to cast them, but she’d never had the opportunity to put it to the test.

Through its wild magic she’d stumbled across a truly unexpected aspect that she hoped to devote more time to studying one day. With its desire to run amok, accidental magic had sparked from her more regularly. On two occasions where her control had slipped, she’d become frustrated and angry, focusing on an object as she’d been breathing to wrest control back - the objects, an empty terracotta pot and a blue glass garden bauble, had been obliterated with a reverberating crack like a whip moments later.

She had a thought that with practice and further experimentation, there may be veracity in her theory that accidental magic had the potential to be focussed and wielded without the need for a wand or spell.

Dean and Neville waited patiently as she performed her rituals until she finally held a hand out to each of them. With her apparition being the quietest, she side-along apparated them to the coordinates they’d been given. A moment later the world shifted and then they were standing in a forest, a short way from Lestrange Manor. 

The forest was old and tall, the canopy of leaves stretching wide and blocking out the sun. In the distance, they could just make out the top portion of Lestrange Manor. 

The strike teams were far closer to the Manor hidden beneath disillusionment spells, only one of the teams would make their way to be seen at the front gates once the first bombs dropped. The proximity wards would alert Rodolphus and draw the first wave of Death Eaters out in the chaos.

Hermione’s eyes were trained on the Lestrange Manor as the first owls came into view. Owls converged on the Manor from nearly every direction, the timing nearly perfect. A variety of species, sizes and colours were winging their way to their destinations. Hermione looked over to Dean and Neville who stood to her right, heart hammering loudly in her ears as she held her breath.

This was the best shot they’d had at drawing Voldemort out in a long time and an operation this size had bled the Order nearly dry of resources.

It was a good, solid plan. It would work.

She noted the moment the proximity charms were triggered as several of the owls carrying the transfigured bombs were soaring towards the Manor one moment, startled and flapping their wings backwards in the next as they dropped the letters. As the letters left claws and began to fall towards the ground, the transfiguration reverted the letters to their original forms.

As the first bomb exploded the world erupted in a cacophony of fire and deafening chaos.

It was mesmerising, watching flames erupt and stone crumble as it was bombarded.

In the back of her mind the whispering Thurisaz rune was delighted.

Some of the owls who had clearly lagged behind were startled into dropping their packages early and the noise reached new heights as the bombs began dropping on the unwarded grounds beyond the Lestrange Manor wards, drawing nearer to where the first strike teams were positioned.

Hermione was snapped out of her reverie as intense pressure squeezed her right arm, the rune flaring in warning with a hissing whisper only she could hear. Startled, Hermione whirled in time to push Neville a few steps away as a green spell barreled towards the two of them. The familiar cold crept up her spine as Death drew closer.

In this case, Death wore a simple Death Eater mask but was unmistakable with his head of nearly luminous white-blonde hair visible above the mask.

“ Neville !”

A yellow and purple spell whizzed towards each of them, forcing them to take a few additional steps back from one another. Hermione embraced her anger, letting it uncoil and sharpening it to a point. The rune on her right arm vibrated with pleasure as its power flooded through her. 

Holding her free left hand up, she whipped the yellow spell back at Malfoy, but he’d already moved as soon as she’d curved the spell back around and released it. A spray of bark exploded from the tree trunk the returned spell collided with.

Flicking her eyes to her right, a sliver of fear wormed its way beneath her skin as she noted both Dean and Neville were now engaged in their own duels. The two Death Eaters wore unsettling smooth black masks that seemed to absorb the light. Only three Death Eaters wore those masks.

Her wand raised on instinct to parry a red spell. She tracked the trajectory, spotting a third Death Eater who wore the same eerie black mask. All the colour drained from her face.

All Four Horsemen were here.

They needed to get out of here. Immediately . 

In the split second between her parry and realization, a volley of spells were fired in her direction, forcing her attention away from her team. She parried them with her wand, the rapid succession not giving her time to cast a protego .

“Dean! Neville! It’s a trap - get to the rendezvous !” She screamed at her team without looking to see if they heard her.

With a rainbow of spells being shot at her from two different directions as Malfoy and one of the Horsemen advanced on her, she realized too late that she’d been separated from her teammates, and they would have to split up.

Both Death Eaters shot orange spells towards her at the same time. Her heart pounded wildly in her ears, she couldn’t hear what spells had been cast, but she parried the previous two purple and red spells and then held out her free hand, praying it would work.

Left hand held aloft, her magic twined with the rune’s as she felt for the edges of both spells speeding towards her, the invisible threads of her twined magic found their mark and she pushed .

Her arm shook as her braided magic battled both spells simultaneously. She wouldn’t be able to whip them back at their casters this time but with a quick downward motion, she slammed them into the ground a foot in front of herself, turned on her heel and ran . The ground shook with the force, and she nearly lost her footing.

Whether by grace of the runic magic, or blind luck, she dodged the next few spells before she made it behind the thick trunk of a tree, bringing about a sense of déjà vu . She gripped her wand tightly, willing herself to disapparate once tucked behind the safety of the trunk.

Nothing happened.

They’ve set anti-apparition wards.

Glancing around to gauge her next move, she had few options as the crunching of leaves beneath boots steadily grew louder as Malfoy and the black masked Death Eater approached from either side of the trunk.

Fuck!

If it were anyone else, perhaps short of Voldemort himself, she wouldn’t have blinked. But it wasn’t anyone else and with the element of surprise they’d had on their side, they had her on the run and very likely outmatched.

“ Protego maxima, ” She whispered before spinning on her heel and running further into darkening woods where the trees began growing closer together. Her steps were silent and barely noticeable on the forest floor thanks to the magic of her runic tattoos, giving her some small advantage.

Her shield dissolved as a spell bounced off of it, leaving her vulnerable until she made it behind the next tree she’d been aiming for.

Deciding that Malfoy was the bigger threat between the two Death Eaters, she immediately popped her wand and head around the thinner tree trunk to launch an offensive to hopefully give herself a few extra moments.

“ Confringo !” followed quickly by “ Bombarda maxima !” as she curved around the trunk to sling the second spell at the black masked Death Eater. Both Death Eaters went flying backwards, but she didn’t stay to press on with offensive spells.

She ran like the devil was on her heels.

And maybe he was . 

Her legs began burning with the sudden exertion as she ran and tried to assess her surroundings. Ahead, there was a gully. She made the split second decision to jump down into it with a silent prayer to Merlin that she didn’t break a leg, or worse.

Landing quietly with steady footing, much to her relief, she darted to the other side of the gully, pulling the shadows tightly around herself. She was completely wrapped in them by the time she reached the darkest part of the gully.

Shadowed by the setting sun, canopied forest and the packed dirt overhang above her, Hermione slowly slid along the dirt wall in the darkest section of the gully. She hoped to clear the end of the gully without being seen and make it to the shadowed area beneath the willow tree to her left.

She froze as soon as she heard the crunching leaves, stilling herself to blend with the shadows.

Both wizards now stood at the top of the gully, smooth silver and depthless black masks turned in opposite directions, their eyes slowly scanning the area.

Now that he was fully visible, she was able to identify the man behind the unsettling black mask. The identities of the Four Horsemen, as they’d been dubbed, were widely known to be Draco Malfoy, Adrian Pucey, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.

Blaise’s unmistakable dark skin gave him away, the remaining Horsemen bearing significantly lighter complexions. He held his wand high in a duelling stance, ready and alert.

Malfoy’s masked face turned slowly until he was staring straight at her. 

She took quiet, shallow breaths as fear lanced through her, not daring to move a single muscle lest the shadows surrounding her shift and give her away.

The mask slowly turned as he continued to search the area for her.

With his head still turned away from her to the left, Hermione barely had time to parry the spell when he suddenly yelled “ Stupefy !”, his wand already pointed directly at her.

A grim part of her had to respect the deception. 

A moment later, three quick succession spells were whipped at her and she was forced to scramble to the side, abandoning her position to dodge them.

“ Ignis Murus !” She growled. 

Her wand traced a line width-wise across the gully where unbearably hot flames erupted where her wand traced, forming a burning wall before her and sending the black masked Death Eater back two short steps in surprise.

She’d left herself with a clear path to the willow tree’s obscuring leaves behind her.

Harry had once told her of the spell Dumbledore had used to summon a hurricane of flame, standing in the eye of the storm as its fiery conductor. It was an immensely difficult spell to master, not to mention the few places it could be safely attempted.

The story had sparked her interest enough to research it. Through her studies of the spell, she’d found another that she imagined was its predecessor. When cast, it created a wall of impressively high flame that burned nearly as hot as fiendfyre for as long as the caster could maintain it.

The Ignis Murus required exceptional concentration to maintain and all other thoughts fled her mind as she put everything she had into the wall of flame.

Gripping the spell in the vice of her mind to hold it, she turned on heel and sprinted towards the willow tree. A sliver of unease crept over her as the Thurisaz rune gripped her forearm in warning again, compelling her to chance a look over her shoulder.

She stumbled forward as her boot caught on a loose rock. As she watched over her shoulder in horror, the wall of flame seemed to recoil from Draco Malfoy as he strode straight through it, unharmed, wand held before him and the red light of a spell speeding towards her.

Her luck had run out.

The spell landed between her shoulders.

As she fell to the forest floor, she couldn’t help the last wisp of conscious thought before the world went black.

What spell did he use to pass through the Ignis Murus?

Chapter Text

Feral Is As Feral Does

The world was too loud.

Hermione’s senses were assaulted by a plethora of sounds and smells. She groaned in pain, the noise foreign to her ears.

A fire crackled loudly, every pop and crackle sounding more like gunshots. If it hadn’t been for the overpowering smell of burning wood, she may have been afraid.

To her right there was a steady beat of high pitched clips followed by thumps that produced vibrations, drawing closer.

Everything felt foreign. Strange. Wrong .

Her eyes wouldn’t open no matter how hard she tried. Her body felt like a lead weight at the bottom of the ocean, the pressure pushing her further into the ground.

What had happened to her?

Finally, she remembered being cornered in the forest as Malfoy stepped through spellwork that should have melted his bones, before the world went black and exploded upon her awakening.

With every ounce of willpower, she scrunched her eyes together and was then able to pry them open a fraction. She made another pained sound as her eyes burned from the brightness as though she’d been staring directly into the sun.

A frisson of fear slithered up her spine. Her senses were overwhelmed as she woke in an unknown place after being knocked out. This did not bode well.

Hermione swallowed thickly, trying to crush the feeling to remain calm.

Blinking rapidly, she tried to will her eyes to adjust, to get the barest sense of her surroundings. Finally, her eyes cooperated and she looked around bleerily.

She lay on a cream and forest green rug that was bordered in black. There was a fireplace several paces before her. Hermione had to close her eyes again.

The steady beat to her left suddenly cut off for several seconds, followed by a loud crunching and screeching sound.

Hermione forced her eyes open again. This time, they focused. 

The fire before her burned like a dying star, hot and relentless. The ambient noise around her grew louder and she winced, trying unsuccessfully to move away from it.

From her side, she was able to tilt her head up, cheek scraping against the fibres of the carpet.

A seating area, then, and she was at its center.

As her eyes dragged up with the tilt of her head, a pair of finely wrought black boots became visible. A startled sound fell from her lips and she pushed back to scramble away from the man they belonged to.

The world tilted with the sudden movement and she cried out. She toppled over into a pile of limbs and then froze as she registered the sound she’d made.

Hermione tried to push herself up to a seated position, emitting another strangled cry before she was able to stabilize her arms in front of herself

It was enough to push herself to a partially seated position.

That was when she noticed the massive black paws on either side of her and her panic ratcheted up several steps. Hermione tried to move around one of the paws, true horror dawning as she discovered that her hands weren’t hands at all. 

They were the large black paws. 

With the spike of fear that accompanied this revelation, she watched as wicked claws reflexively unsheathed themselves, digging deep into the expensive plush carpet.

A chuckle pulled her attention to her right again and her eyes focused on the black robed figure casually seated in a large leather wingback chair, one arm propped on the armrest, the side of his masked face resting atop his fist.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she took in the coiffed platinum blonde hair that graced the top of the masked figure’s head.

Malfoy !

She tried to shout at him, but what came out was a sound that rumbled from deep within her chest, followed by a sharp noise.

RRRROOWWWW !

Malfoy straightened in his chair and tilted his head back, a throaty laugh coming from him.

“I can still hear the indignation in your new voice!” His head shook a little from side to side with the mirth.

Finally getting her feet beneath her, Hermione stood tall but still felt like a long legged filly who wasn’t quite sure how to use her legs yet. She swung her gaze about the room, quickly cataloguing her surroundings. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement behind her and issued several guttural noises in disapproval as her investigation of the source vexed her further.

I have a -tail-.

The long black tail whipped behind her angrily. It was disconcerting, but it matched her mood so she forced it from her mind for the time being, swinging her head back to where Malfoy remained seated. His silver eyes pierced her unwaveringly from the shadowed holes of the mask, unmoving from his chair.

It made her angry.

Before she could give it a second thought, her muscles were bunching and she was lunging at the man seated before her.

She wanted to rip him to shreds, see him bleed. 

What had he done to her?

Her movements stilled abruptly as her front paws landed on his knees. She stared down at them for a moment, confused as she willed them to move with all her might. Nothing happened.

She willed those wickedly sharp, curved claws to extend again, to bite into the soft flesh below them.

Again, nothing happened. She stuffed down the urge to devolve into screaming with frustration.

His hand brushed along the column of her neck and trailed down to her furred shoulder, startling her from her concentration.

“Ah, ah. Down, kitty.” Malfoy sing-songed, admonishing with a laugh. He reached out to tap his index finger to her nose twice.

Her ears twitched at his loud voice, the sound grating. Baring her teeth in hope that it gave her a menacing look, she tilted her head and lunged again, this time at his throat.

Once more her movements were halted. She screamed with frustration in her mind, mustering every inch of willpower to snap her jaws shut and tear .

Nothing happened.

Her large maw hung open with her feline lips pulled back, fangs only an inch from their intended target. She pushed off of him and prowled away.

“You won’t be able to harm me, Granger.” He chuckled from the armchair, pose still relaxed and shoulders devoid of any tension.

Hermione cut her eyes towards him with a scathing look.

Fuck you Malfoy! What have you done?!

Spitting the words at him only produced a series of displeased hisses and deep worbles.

Reaching for her magic, she felt around for spellwork to unravel. There wasn’t so much as a thread to follow that she could feel. No loose end to tug at.

A thump a few feet away startled her, spinning around in time to note that she still had a tail, and it was still lashing about behind her. She’d knocked over a small table onto the carpet, a book laid facing down beside it.

Malfoy pushed up from the armchair, sending Hermione skittering back with a growl. He ignored her and calmly set the table to rights, placing the book back atop it.

Fury burned through her as she watched him raise his wand and move the furniture back a few more feet giving her more space.

Infuriating prat. How can you be so calm?

He crossed his arms and stood with his legs shoulder-width apart, staring down at her. 

Her eyes darted around the room once more and locked onto the armchair he’d been sitting in. A frisson of devilry had her coiling her muscles and launching herself faster than she’d thought possible at the stately piece of furniture.

She screamed out her frustration into the depths of her mind as she willed the claws out and they finally obeyed.

Hermione set upon his armchair like a whirling dervish, slashing the leather and wood. It toppled over with her and she pounced at it again with renewed fury, the horsehair that had been used to stuff the antique piece flying every which way.

The frame groaned and she closed her large maw around the thinner pieces of structural wood within it, cracking them apart with the force of her bite.

Within minutes, she’d razed the chair into a pile of kindling and horsehair stuffing. Closing her mouth around one of the dismembered armrests, she whipped her head and sent it flying towards Malfoy’s feet with a defiant glower.

Panting, she began to pace the sitting room and noted several doors, all of which had round knobs that would be challenging to open now. Her anger rumbled through her chest as she produced a number of angry sounds she wasn’t aware she was actively producing, or could even make.

Her eyes caught on the sideboard that held a number of decanters and bottles that all looked expensive .

She continued to pace and drew closer to the sideboard until she could stretch up to place her paws atop it.

You want to call me kitty? Here, then.

She swatted the decanters, sending them flying in a move she’d seen cats perform with that air of unbothered confidence unique to their species. 

The shattering sound was unbelievably loud to her newly sensitive ears, but the smug satisfaction she felt from her vandalism was well worth it.

The destruction fed her fury and she became mindless as she cast about for her next victim. 

Without conscious thought, she launched herself at the door that looked most like it would lead into the hallway.

Her paws flew across, battering the surface with unsheathed claws as she attacked the wood. Bits of wood splintered and flew about, door rattling under the force of her assault. 

She went at it with grim determination until she was panting with exertion and stared at the havoc she’d unleashed on. It was a satisfying release at the very least, even if it had gotten her nowhere.

“That was my preferred armchair.” Came Malfoy’s unbothered voice, shattering the moment of relief the destruction had provided her.

Hermione felt exhaustion and thirst pull at her. There was no reason for her to be tired, her outburst had lasted less than ten minutes. Yet, the heaviness in her limbs dragged her to the floor without her permission. As she lowered herself, she angled her body away from Malfoy. She didn’t want to look at him. If he wished to hurt her, then so be it. She wasn’t afraid of him. 

Stretched out on the floor, she was finally able to get a good look at herself as her head turned to travel down the length of the new body she was inhabiting.

This form was all muscle and shiny black fur. All four paws housed vicious claws that could rip flesh down to the bone. With her tongue, she was able to feel along the teeth in the large cat’s mouth, including the four long fangs that could crunch through muscle and break bone.

Her hackles stood on end as a large mirror and bowl were conjured before her, the muttered aguamenti from the wizard behind her filling the bowl with water.

Her eyes drifted from the bowl, narrowing as they locked on to Malfoy’s icy grey eyes in the mirror. As she pinned him with her unwavering, angry gaze, he raised a hand to grasp the smooth silver Death Eater mask, slowly lowering it away from his face to reveal a smugly satisfied tilt to his lips. 

He held her gaze with equal ferocity for a long while, unintimidated. When he finally broke their staring contest, it was to rake his eyes down along her body with the gleam of wicked delight. He drank in every inch of her until she forced herself to suppress the discomfort that his intent study of her form provoked. She felt exposed and helpless.

Attempting to distract herself, she looked back into the mirror, taking herself in. She looked strong, powerful. Her long tail curled itself above her hind legs and stretched out behind her, front legs propping her upright like a sphinx .

Her perusal ended when she met her own eyes in the mirror. Gone were the chocolatey brown iris’ shot with gold that had always stared back at her. 

In their place, light fern green iris’ that spoke of lush forests surrounding round, black pupils looked back at her.

Hermione was no longer herself .

She was something made .

Her eyes began to droop closed as exhaustion pulled at her despite having just woken a short while ago.

“ Look. At. You. ” Malfoy whispered reverently, punctuating each word.

“When I picked this form for you I knew you’d be beautiful, but the reality is so much better than anything I could ever have envisioned.” He spoke with a reverence that had her flattening the small rounded ears tight to her feline head, her disgust given physical form.

He chuckled as he tossed his simple Death Eater mask onto the nearest surface as he prowled towards her. Hermione may now have the form of an apex predator to many, but she was far from an ecosystem where that would be true, and she recognized another predator when she saw one. Especially when she was unable to harm it.

Malfoy crouched directly behind her, popping up on the balls of his feet as he brought a hand down to smooth the hackles down along her spine, inspecting .

“Gorgeous.” He muttered before he nodded to the bowl of water before her. “Drink.” He commanded.

Fuck off, Malfoy. I’d rather die of dehydration.

She closed her eyes and turned her head as far away from him as she could manage in her current position.

“Granger, Attend . You will drink your fill of water.”

Much like the way her body had frozen when she’d tried to rip his throat out, she was compelled to comply with his words instantly. Traitorously, her head moved by itself, swivelling to lean her forward to dip her whole muzzle into the cool water, drinking it down.

A surprised sound left her as she swallowed her last gulp, quickly followed by a growling whine.

“ Good girl .” He crooned cruelly.

“You’re still adjusting to your new body and will need to rest more than usual. As you’ve now discovered, you have free will until you reach the end of my benevolence. When you cross that line, I will bring you to heel whether you like it or not. Your tantrums will only last so long as I entertain them. You are mine now. There is no escape, nowhere you could go that I would not find you.” Malfoy’s voice was calm and laced with such unbothered certainty.

Unease settled like a lead weight in her stomach.

Malfoy waved a hand and a door swung open as he stood, moving to open one of the cupboards in the sideboard to withdraw a bottle containing an amber liquid she assumed was firewhiskey. Turning his back on her, he made his way to the couch and dropped on to it, legs coming up to stretch out and cross atop its length. As he uncorked the bottle, her newly sensitive nose was assaulted by the spicy scent of what she’d correctly guessed to be firewhiskey. She sneezed, the overwhelming smell akin to sniffing pepper.

“You can sleep here, or in the bedroom. Your choice.” He gestured to the rug before him before pointing to the open door.

Immediately, she rose and slunk towards the dark room he’d just opened, desperate to be wherever he wasn’t. Before reaching the threshold, however, her ears swivelled as she picked up voices and booted feet approaching the door she’d shredded.

It opened to reveal three tall men wearing Death Eater robes. As they strode in, they all laughed at something one of them had said.

Theodore Nott. Blaise Zabini. Adrian Pucey.

She recognized each of them, her eyes taking in each of their bare faces. It had been so long since she’d seen them without their masks on. For just a moment, it took her back to Hogwarts. None of them were boys anymore, however. 

Nott and Malfoy were nearly the same height, though Nott wasn’t nearly as built as Malfoy. His warm brown curls sat atop his head in smooth corkscrews, the sides of his head shorn close to the skin. He had a strong jaw and high cheekbones, face currently split in a grin.

Zabini had filled out since school, sporting a wide jaw and nearly feline, sharp, slanted eyes with a close cropped beard several shades darker than his warm, brown skin. His keenly observant eyes were the first to find her, unsurprisingly. He’d been a quiet, observant boy during their years at Hogwarts.

Pucey entered last with his impossibly thick dark brown hair styled shorter on the sides and combed at an angle from his right temple to the left. This combined with his sharp jaw and warm brown eyes made him look like underwear models she’d seen in catalogues for stores in muggle London.

In the split second between when they’d entered the room and shut the door behind them, she’d decided to test the limits of her boundaries. Was Malfoy the only one she couldn’t hurt? All three of these men had been on the other end of wands that delivered killing curses to people she had cared about.

Off like a shot, her muscles coiled a few paces away and she launched herself at Adrian Pucey pinning him between his friends and the closed door. In the blink of an eye, she’d slammed Pucey into the door, his skull cracking loudly against the shredded wood. Her front paws dug into his chest as she slid down to the floor atop him, those wickedly sharp claws unsheathing to pierce through his black robes. He grunted in pain and she opened her fanged mouth wide, aiming for his throat as she had with Malfoy.

“GRANGER! Attend .” Malfoy roared her name, hissing the word of command.

Her fangs had just grazed the skin of Adrian’s throat when she froze in place like a marble statue, unable to clamp her jaw shut around his esophagus.

“Release him.” Malfoy’s command was absolute. 

She had no choice, her claws retracted and her head pulled back from his throat.

“ Everte Statum ”

The charm sent her flying off of Pucey’s prone form and she dug her claws into the wood floor to slow her momentum.

Blaise’s wand remained trained on her as she rose to her full height and screamed her frustration into a deep guttural roar.

Theo looked positively delighted.

“Ho-ho, kitty has claws,”

Adrian groaned from the floor and Theo walked over, holding a hand out to the wizard on the floor, pulling him up.

With another failed experiment, she disappeared into the darkness of the other room.

Draco chuckled, shaking his head as Granger disappeared into the bedroom.

The three men before him all wore different expressions. Theo’s eyes twinkled with delight, Blaise looked cautious and alert, and Adrian couldn’t contain his shock as they pulled him to his feet.

“I feel like I was just run over by the Hogwarts Express.” Adrian groaned as he gingerly prodded at his chest and robes where Granger’s claws had pierced, hissing in pain as he jerked his hand away, finger bloody.

“She tore the sitting room apart.” Blaise commented, raising his eyebrow in Draco’s direction.

The blonde man shrugged, unbothered, and brought the bottle of firewhiskey to his lips taking a healthy swig.

“An entirely expected tantrum.” Draco drawled.

“Somehow I imagined she’d be less terrifying without a wand, but the effect is oddly the same.” Theo mused, staring through the darkened doorway trying to catch another glimpse of the witch in her altered form.

“As the only one who’s had her claws in me to date, I’m claiming authority over the scale of Granger terror and the answer is definitely more .” Adrian sniffed.

Blaise rolled his eyes and set to work by murmuring a few healing spells, wand pointed at Adrian’s chest.

The three men pulled the furniture away from the wall, into a semi-circle and took their seats across from Draco who was now holding the bottle of firewhiskey out towards a grim, but grateful, Adrian.

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to control her, Draco?” Adrian asked sceptically as he took the bottle and drank deeply from it.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“That’s the scale you’re judging this by?!” Adrian sputtered, incredulous. Theo roared with laughter and Adrian shot him a scathing look that had Theo raising his hands in surrender, not looking chastened in the slightest.

Blaise cleared his throat, drawing his companions’ eyes.

“Our contact confirms they believe that she’s dead. The body was convincing.” He said, looking directly at Draco, who just nodded.

“As expected.”

Blaise side-eyed Adrian a moment as he ran his tongue along his teeth in thought.

“I think Theo’s got the right of it, you didn’t see her catch two spells with her hands and redirect them into the ground. For a moment there I wondered if the two of us were going to be enough to put her down.” Blaise’s eyes flicked to Draco, lips quirking up into a sly grin.

Draco’s eyes glittered dangerously. It was gone a moment later as his features smoothed out the same way they always did right before he got down to business.

“What were the Order casualties, and our own?”

“Minimal casualties on our side, the only loss of note was Rookwood. He let himself get caught between those Weasley twins, so that’s only to be expected.” Blaise sneered, having no pity for the dead wizard.

“The Order, on the other hand, sustained heavy losses and that number is climbing as the wounded continue to succumb to injuries and curses in their infirmary. I’m told their medical supplies have been exhausted. With our grip on the potion supply market, they won’t be able to recover from this.” Blaise reported.

“And where did they obtain all of those emergency portkeys?”

“Flitwitz. Yaxley and Goyle are tracking him down.”

“What of the Irish pests?”

“Finnegan, or…?” Blaise joked, huffing a laugh when Draco narrowed his eyes. “There were nine present, in total. All survived and escaped - they’re a slippery bunch.”

“Granger’s team?”

Blaise’s eyes darted to Theo, handing the debriefing over to him.

“What can I say? They trained with Granger and Adrian and I needed to obtain a body for your little fire show while the two of you were off playing hide and seek.”

Draco’s irritation was rising when the floo burst to life in a show of green flames and sparks. His hand shot out as he quickly flicked the door to his bedroom shut.

Daphne Pucey and Astoria Zabini, both née Greengrass stepped out of the fireplace, their wands flicking the soot away.

Daphne smiled and began moving towards her husband with her fluid dancer’s grace, with Stori a step behind, froze as her eyes landed on what had once been an armchair. Her delicate brow shifted up a fraction before she closed the distance to the sitting area and the four wizards within.

“Whatever did that to… whatever that was …?” She trailed off, eyes locked on her husband.

“Probably the same thing that did that to the door and bar.” Stori chimed as she made her way to sit next to Blaise on the couch. “And Adrian, apparently.” Her face gave nothing away, schooled into a placid smile.

Adrian grunted noncommittally as Daphne approached and leaned forward, capturing his wife’s lips with his own in a delicate kiss.

As children of the pureblood aristocracy, they were all well trained in wearing masks, physical or otherwise.

Theo on the other hand, was no longer able to contain himself and burst out a laugh.

“Merlin Stori, you should have seen it! First Granger was all — rawwwwhhhh!” His hands pantomimed Adrian with two fingers on one hand, the other mimicked Granger pouncing and mauling the other two fingers. “And then Adrian was all — hnnngggg!” His Granger-hand flew away from the Adrian-hand “Then Draco was all — ‘Granger !’ - And Blaise was all like — zzzzzzap! And finally Granger went ‘MRAWWW!’ and slunk away!” His hands flew up to imitate claws.

Theo slapped the arm of the chair as a tear formed in the corner of one eye as he continued to laugh.

“But then, and this really is the best part , then Adrian says ‘ I feel like I got hit by the Hogwarts Express ’!” Theo’s voice turned gruff as he imitated Adrian’s voice.

Stori shot a look at Blaise, then Adrian. Daphne had pushed Adrian’s robes back and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing dried trails of blood across his chest and eight vertical-ish wounds, four on each of his pectorals. Adrian grimaced as he looked down at them, Daphne tracing her fingers around the punctures.

“I’d have never guessed she’d had it in her,” Daphne mused as she studied the wounds. “Where is she, can we see her?”

“No.” Draco responded immediately.

“Oh, come off it Draco, she can’t hurt us when you’re around!” Stori pouted. 

Draco met Astoria’s eyes with a hard, unwavering expression.

“ No . She needs to rest.” He ground out with finality, not deigning to elaborate.

Chapter Text

Hell Is Empty and All The Devils Are Here

Days passed in a blur for Hermione, blurring together until she wasn’t sure if she was waking up on the same day she’d gone to sleep on, or several later. Exhaustion continued to pull at her, dragging her eyes closed unexpectedly at times, entirely expected at others. She spent most of her time sleeping, periodically startling awake and subsequently unsettling herself even more when she forgot that she was no longer human.

The first night when she’d slunk off to the bedroom after her failed attempt to rip out Adrian Pucey’s throat with her teeth, she’d been able to see clearly in the darkness with her new eyes as she surveyed the room. 

It was massive. 

Boasting a small seating area in front of a large fireplace, the biggest four-poster bed she’d ever seen, four sets of floor to ceiling glass double doors framed by thick, luxurious drapes. She could see through the panes of glass that the doors led out to a balcony that was bathed in moonlight and lined in ornate planters on pedestals that wept with ivy and stood tall with calla lilies and petunias. 

In the corner of Malfoy’s bedroom, closest to the sitting room, sat a handsome desk facing the bed. Minimal bric-a-brac sat atop its surface, and a stately chair that was ornately carved at the top with the Malfoy family crest sat angled to one side, as if inviting its owner to return and occupy it.

She rolled her feline eyes at the obscene display of wealth and obsession with his own family name.

As she made her way around the room and jumped onto the bed, she decided to stretch out across it width-wise to pettily blocking Malfoy from being able to end his own bed.

Sleep on the floor, Malfoy .

With that last smug thought she allowed herself to surrender to exhaustion and was asleep within a few heartbeats. 

She was pulled from the depths of a blessedly dreamless sleep when a large hand landed on her shoulder and gave a little shake. She swatted feebly at the hand, irritated and wishing to grasp at the threads of sleep that would allow her to pull herself back under. Pushing her face further into the pillow with a groan, she hoped whoever that horrid hand was attached to would take the hint and let her sleep.

The jostling continued, as did her grumbles of discontent.

“Granger.” Crooned a deep voice. “As much as I enjoy a naked woman in my bed, you need to get up, eat and shower.”

Hermione’s eyes flew open as she flipped over to face the owner of the voice and hand, angry chocolate eyes narrowing as they fixed on him. Her hand came up to detach the strand of hair that had gotten caught in her mouth while she’d slept. 

She froze.

My hand .

Holding her hands up, she was greeted by the lightly sunkissed tone of her skin.

She was human.

“How?” She growled at Malfoy, who had clearly just come from the shower himself and was belting a pair of trousers at the waist. 

He was completely at ease as he dressed. His hair appeared to be wet, and styled at an angle, broad chest bare until he reached that horrid hand that had pulled her from sleep, out for the crisp, black, shirt he’d laid out on the bed. The scars on his chest, courtesy of the sectumsempra curse Harry had hurled at him years prior, stood out boldly. The center of each puckered scar was now silvery in the way of deep, old scars.

“You were taking up the entire bed,” He shrugged. “I put you back in your human form so that I had space. In my bed.” He said with a pointed raise of his eyebrows.

“The floor would have been a more suitable place for you,” She sniffed, angling her head away from him haughtily.

Hermione had so many questions but they all fled her mind as she spied a plate of food in the sitting area. Her stomach growled loudly, twisting as though she hadn’t eaten in several days. Malfoy merely nodded towards the food dismissively as he finished buttoning the pressed black shirt and donned his robes.

In a flash she had crossed the room, scooping up the plate that was heaped with scrambled eggs, sausages, toast, beans, roasted potatoes and slices of tomato. Snatching up the fork that sat next to the plate, Hermione ignored her nudity and tucked into the breakfast. Having long ago grown comfortable in her own skin, she sat in one of the armchairs and ate in silence.

At first she didn’t even taste the food as it passed between her lips, famished in a way that her brain hadn’t yet registered, but her body reflexively knew she needed. Without thought, she ate quickly.

Chewing on the last remaining slice of tomato, breakfast having been conquered, she finally turned her mind to contemplate the anger she felt over her stolen autonomy. How her plan to assert herself in even a small way by stretching out the long feline body she’d woken in yesterday to take up the whole bed had been thwarted. It struck her as odd that she wasn’t afraid, but her train of thought was interrupted by Malfoy’s smooth, deep voice, grating on her nerves. It didn’t matter how silky or aristocratic his voice was, it still felt the same as nails being dragged down a chalkboard

“Go shower. It may be your last for a while.” Malfoy said as he elegantly sat himself in the armchair across from her, briefly scanning her empty plate before snapping his fingers. A thick folder appeared in his hand, which he immediately turned his attention to, and began leafing through the pages within.

Hermione stared at the broad chested, platinum-haired wizard before her, and irrationally contemplated digging her heels in. Why should she make things easy for him by obeying? She wasn’t some loyal pet that would blindly acquiesce to his whims, was she?

The truth stood out in stark relief.

Deciding it would give her time away from him, he’d already proved he could simply command her after all, she dropped the plate heavily on the side table, a small act of defiance. With a glare cut in his direction, she huffed and stalked towards the open door of the bathroom.

She’d scoffed when she saw that the shower alone was large enough for four people, nevermind the massive bathtub across from it. She knew the Malfoys were practically dripping in galleons, but she’d never imagined this. How could she? With wealth as old as theirs, one couldn’t possibly conceptualize the kind of luxuries that would afford them.

As she stepped beneath the spray in the shower and hot water cascaded down her back, she tried to focus on the feel of the forceful thump thud of the pressurised water on her shoulders so that she could organize her thoughts. 

Everything quickly began feeling hazy, her body sluggish again despite having just woken up a short while ago. Hermione ended the shower before she truly wanted to when her eyelids began to droop traitorously and she began to sway on her feet, struggling to keep herself from succumbing to the sudden bone-tired exhaustion that crashed down upon her.

A fluffy dark green towel waited for her as she stepped out of the shower. Securing it around herself after hastily drying the majority of body, she pulled the bathroom door open and had to steady herself with a hand on the door frame as another wave of fatigue pulled at her. Lashes fluttering, she blinked heavily several times before everything went black.

Hermione forced her heavy eyes to crack open, finding her cheek pressed into a soft button-up shirt. Dragging her eyes up further, Malfoy’s profile swam in and out of focus.

“W-what have y-you done, Malfoy?” Hermione’s words were quiet and slurred lethargically.

The side of Malfoy’s full lips turned up a fraction, a cruel smile easily settling into place as if it was second-nature to him. It probably was.

“Something truly astounding.” He muttered, grey eyes flitting down to her briefly before she felt herself being lowered onto something soft. She managed to force her eyes open one final time to confirm he’d carried her back to the bed.

“You won’t feel like this forever. You’re recovering for now and need sleep, but you should regain most of your energy within a few weeks.”

His voice was distant but she heard him before darkness swallowed her again.

With a sense of deja-vu, days passed for Hermione again in fits of sleep, hours bleeding into one another until she could no longer conceptualise time.

When she finally woke enough to manage more than a few moments of lucidity, it was to darkness. Her stomach growled, and as she lazily took stock of her surroundings, she registered that once again, two large black paws stretched out before her. Pushing herself into a seated position on the bed, her head whipped to the left as the soft pop of apparition that typically accompanied the comings and goings of house elves drew her attention. 

Judging by the empty room, a house elf had just departed.

The heavy drapes were still open, giving her a view of the stars that burned in the inky night sky beyond. It fascinated part of her that the stars appeared so much brighter to her in this form. In the darkness she was able to see the hedges and gardens outside clearly. In a way, it made the night far more beautiful than human eyes could perceive.

As she sat in silent contemplation, mind slowly coming to life as the dregs of sleep receded, a door clicked open behind her. She didn’t bother to acknowledge it aside from one curved, black ear flicking back towards the sound.

The room was suddenly awash in light, temporarily blinding her sensitive eyes. She growled and tried to put a hand over her eyes, only managing to land a paw across her snout. 

It would certainly take time to adjust her internal perception of this body.

As her eyes adjusted she rose and turned in a single, fluid motion, surprised to find Theodore Nott standing just inside the door holding a large bowl. Her hackles rose instantly, instinct had her crouching just a little to allow her muscles to coil enough to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

“I come in peace! Mipsy said you were awake, so I come bearing food, Draco wanted to be sure you ate as soon as you woke.” Theo said quickly, wiggling the large bowl before her like a white flag.

I’m not a bloody house cat he can order around!

Her ears flattened to her head, irritation blooming in her chest.

Theo eyed her warily, fingers twitching around the wand held deceptively loose in his other hand.

“Why don’t you pick where you’d like to eat and I’ll put your plate, sorry, bowl, there for you. I don’t imagine the idea of eating on the floor appeals to you?” Theo asked with a raised eyebrow.

No, it certainly does not .

She turned her graceful feline head away from him pointedly, knowing he couldn’t hear her. He didn’t seem to have the same kind of control that Malfoy held over her, so she stood firm.

“Come on, Granger.” Theo whined. “If you don’t eat, he’s going to get annoyed and will eventually come stomping in here all ‘ Granger, attend! ’ to order you to eat because it’s ‘integral to your recovery’ . From what Draco’s told us, you won’t have a choice, then you’ll be in a bad mood and forced to eat either way. Wouldn’t it be so much nicer to just enjoy your meal?” Theo implored, his voice oscillating between dramatic and deepening to an approximation of Malfoy’s voice as he parroted back pieces of a conversation they’d clearly had.

Hermione side-eyed him with displeasure and no small amount of annoyance.

She could grudgingly admit that being deprived of free will and being forced to eat was not an outcome that was terribly enticing. Slowly, awkwardly, she turned the four legged body she was still learning, facing Theodore to study him head on. Her eyes were sharp enough in this form that she could see the tiniest bubbles of perspiration beginning to form along the edge of his temples, the only outward sign of his nerves.

Huffing, a sound that she was delighted to discover now sounded far more menacing as a large cat than simply sounding annoyed, she prowled towards Theo and the edge of the bed. Theo tensed as she moved, just a flicker of muscle tightening that would have gone unnoticed by human eyes.

“I’m going to be honest, Granger, this is wildly unsettling. Given the circumstances, now that you can’t tell anyone that is, I suppose I can at least tell you that you are equally as terrifying now as you are in a duel.” Theo smirked. “When you whipped my own spell back at me, that was the shock of my life. It takes a lot to surprise me these days.” He added, conversationally.

Listening to his continued ramblings, she jumped down from the bed on silent paws and made her way to a chair in the sitting area. Climbing up to sit tall in one of the armchairs, Hermione stared at him expectantly.

Eyeing her with a healthy amount of distrust, Theo levitated a side table and set it down a foot from the chair she occupied. Although his movements were outwardly smooth and confident as he strode over, placing the large bowl before her, it was easy for her to pinpoint the tension in his shoulders as he approached. 

Backing up, he folded himself into the armchair across from her and motioned towards the bowl with his wand.

“As I’m sure you already know, panthers are obligate carnivores, they only eat meat. I didn’t know if you’d prefer cooked or raw, so there’s a mix of seasoned and plain cooked steak bits as well as the raw. Once you have a preference, we can let the elves know.” He paused. “Well, I can let the elves know since, you know,” He trailed off, hand gesturing awkwardly at his mouth, palming the back of his neck. He clearly did not want to voice the obvious fact that she could no longer speak.

Snorting, she considered the cubed meat before her, dropping her head forward into the bowl in an attempt to pick up a seasoned cube of steak. Irritatingly, it took three tries to bite a piece of steak delicately between her front teeth before she was able to tip her head back quickly to deposit it on to her tongue.

Gagging at the taste of dirt and charred meat from the piece she’d finally gotten into her mouth, she immediately stuck out her long pink tongue and spat the cube of meat onto the floor. 

Clearly, her tastebuds were far different in this form.

Bypassing the unseasoned cooked meat entirely, she went straight to the raw cubes, logic dictating that a large predator would consume its kill raw so it was likely to be her best bet.

This time, the burst of flavour had her humming happily as she daintily picked up each cube to chew and swallow.

When the bowl was empty of raw meat and she was left with only the cooked cubes, she licked her lips and stared at Theo expectantly. He’d been looking off to the side with a faraway expression on his face until he suddenly tensed, sensing that he was being watched. His eyes flicked over to find her unblinking fern green eyes staring back at him.

“Merlin, Granger!” He breathed, clearly unsettled. “I could feel you staring at me. That does something funny to a wizard’s primal little brain.”

Nosing the bowl of disgusting remnants back towards him, she looked back up at him as her stomach rumbled loudly.

“All done?” He asked, grabbing the bowl to look inside. “Didn’t care for the cooked bits?”

She shook her feline head from side to side in a clear no .

Absolutely not. It’s like eating the remnants of a campfire.

Vanishing the bowl, he stood, looking like he was about to leave. She made an unexpected chirping sound as she hurried to get his attention.

Wait! I’m still famished!

He turned back to her and her chest rumbled as she tried to decide how to communicate with him.

Lifting a paw, she stared directly at him to ensure he was paying attention and tapped it on the side table before her, holding the paw there until he responded.

She hadn’t realised just how hungry she was until she’d finished eating the edible bits he’d placed before her.

Theo looked between her and the paw, eyebrow quirking.

“You want me to… stay?”

She snorted and shook her head, thumping her paw on the side table more forcefully. It tipped over, landing on the carpet with a soft thud.

“You want more?” He ventured

She tried to say yes, momentarily forgetting she was unable to verbalise, but it came out as a throaty purr that had her pulling her feline head back in surprise as her chest vibrated with sound.

He nodded and left the room. Outside the door, she heard him call for a house elf, instructing them to bring more of the raw steak. A few moments later, Theo re-entered the bedroom, lazily righting the side table with a flick of his wand and positioned a new bowl before her, heaped with cubed red meat.

Sinking back into the chair across from her, he lit the fireplace beside them with a non-verbal spell resting his wand hand, the length of wood that connected him with his magic clutched between his fingers, on the arm of the chair. Theo was trying to appear relaxed, but she was naturally observant and could still see the signs of tension in him every time she shifted.

Having just swallowed another mouthful of her second helping, she startled when the door from the hallway flew open. In a flash, she’d scrambled to the floor, needing solid footing and space to manoeuvre her unfamiliar body, should she need it. She’d been so absorbed in sating her hunger that she hadn’t registered the sound of booted feet that had been striding down the hallway, despite her newly sensitive hearing.

Theo shot out of his own chair at her sudden movement, the wand he’d already had in hand now pointed at her.

“Everyone calm down, it’s just me.” Draco drawled from just over the threshold into the room as he surveyed the scene before him, rolling his eyes.

Hermione’s adrenaline was pumping, heart pounding wildly, adjusting her threat assessment, she angled towards Theo, hissing at the wizard who had his wand trained on her. 

With the rush of adrenaline, a swell of anger followed as warring emotions and thoughts began to rattle around her mind. 

Realisation dawned that, while she’d been furious and had lashed out the first night she’d awoken as a panther, she hadn’t tried to find a way to escape since. Confusion quelled some of the rising fury she felt towards herself, unable to understand how she’d been lulled into complacency. It was jarring. 

It was true that she had been asleep most of that time, but she’d been awake enough that she shouldn’t have just gone through the motions of eating and showering when he’d told her to without at least trying to formulate a plan of escape. 

It was so out of character, Hermione knew herself well enough to know her mind was adept at problem-solving in the moment as things unfolded around her. 

Blind acceptance wasn’t something she’d ever been known for.

It unsettled her enough that impulsivity took hold as she began to panic. In a blur of black fur and flying paws she was off like a shot, darting through the open door behind Malfoy that she knew led into a hallway. 

Perhaps if she could run fast enough, Malfoy wouldn’t be able to catch up quickly enough for her to hear his commands. Yes, she was much faster than him in this form and if she couldn’t hear his commands, she had a real shot at escaping. How had she not considered this before now?

Her paws were silent as she ate up the distance between his room and the end of the hallway. Rounding the corner, she continued her mad dash in a direction she prayed would eventually lead her out of this place.

Now hyper-aware of her surroundings, one ear swivelled behind her to hear the unhurried steps of booted feet following her. Realising that she hadn’t dismissed the runes from her tattoos into neutrality, she was relieved to be completely silent as she ran as the magic continued to work. Large felines were already built for stealth and hunting, she knew, but the runic magic gave her the additional advantage of rendering her movements completely silent.

As she rounded a corner leading her into another long hallway, she heard a door open ahead and heavier, meandering steps began heading towards her in addition to the ones she could still hear drawing nearer from behind. The wide hall boasted several still-life paintings and antique couches. She lunged behind the largest settee to hide within its naturally cast shadow, calling on her own shadows to envelop her. It pleased her to discover that she was still able to use at least some magic without her wand.

The meandering steps drew near enough to reveal Lucius Malfoy stepping into the hallway she’d been moving down. She hadn’t seen the elder Malfoy since the Battle of Hogwarts. He appeared to be unchanged from the Malfoy patriarch she remembered. Impeccably dressed in fine robes, hair loose but not a strand out of place.

Standing stock still, enveloped in her shadows, she convinced herself that she was well hidden. The younger Malfoy’s steps drew nearer from the opposite direction and she didn’t dare move a single muscle when he turned the corner into the hallway. She was now trapped in between Draco, and an oblivious Lucius Malfoy. Her heart was thundering in her chest and she prayed they couldn’t hear it.

“Draco, what are you doing here?” Lucius’ smooth tone inquired placidly.

Draco came to a halt just before where the settee stretched along the wall. She held her position, hardly daring to breathe.

“Do I need a reason to wander my own home?” He drawled back, a harsh inflection in his voice.

“Of course not. I so rarely see you in this wing and simply wondered what led you here.” Lucius responded in an oddly pleasant way. Hermione’s eyes narrowed at the strangeness of it. The few times she’d heard him speak, she’d only ever been on the caustic end of Lucius’ tongue. Hearing him sound so human, and dare she say, a little warm, was disconcerting.

“Stretching my legs a little before I leave for Bulgaria.” Draco replied coolly.

Lucius seemed to study his son a moment before inclining his head deferentially.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He said before turning the opposite direction of his son, wandering off unhurriedly.

Malfoy remained in place, watching until his father disappeared from view.

Hermione remained preternaturally still, head held low behind the settee. Would her heart give out from pounding so violently for this long? She watched as one booted foot after the other turned to face the settee.

Silence hung like a noose around her neck.

Then, it broke.

“That was rather naughty. I do recall informing you that there was nowhere you could go that I wouldn’t find you.” He said calmly.

There was another long silence while they faced off, neither moving.

“You will come out now. We will be leaving shortly.”

It wasn’t a command, otherwise she would have already been moving. Her heart continued to pound as she stood to her full feline height behind the settee and released her hold on the shadows. She took in his mildly unimpressed features as the shadows melted away from her, as if he was simply being inconvenienced.

He raised his eyebrow a fraction, hands clasped behind his back, waiting.

Grey eyes found green.

With a quiet sigh of disappointment, which sounded more like a growl when produced between her inhuman lips, Hermione conceded and prowled out from behind the settee, continuing to hold herself at her full height. She wasn’t about to cower before him.

“Yes, very regal and likely intimidating to someone else.” He chuckled before nodding back the way they came. “Now, follow me.”

She growled in earnest this time, but he’d already begun striding down the hall. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of trailing behind him like a bloody puppy, eager to please, she quickened her pace until her silent paws caught up. She strode beside Malfoy as an equal.

Hermione had discovered that she now possessed a much wider field of vision as a panther than she did as a human, so she was able to see the smirk that pulled at Draco’s lips as she kept pace at his side and kept her eyes forward, as he led them back to his rooms.

Theo was nowhere to be seen when they entered the main sitting room, but Blaise Zabini lounged on one of the couches. Her ears flattened to the back of her head as she showed off her fangs, making a sound of displeasure as she pinned him with unblinking green eyes.

Don’t think for a single moment I’ve forgotten your role in all of this, Zabini . I may not be able to hurt Malfoy, but you’re fair game.

She seethed and chanced a quick look up at Malfoy, wondering if she could tear Zabini’s throat out before he had time to speak. She knew it was a mistake the moment her eyes flicked to him. As if they could read her mind, Malfoy looked down and Zabini shifted in his seat, twirling the wand in his hand.

Deciding the worst that could happen was that one of them would kill her, she gave no visible warning before she leapt at the darker skinned man.

She knew he was quick with a wand based on their encounter in the forest outside of the Lestrange estate, before she’d woken in this bloody body, but Zabini was on his feet and whipping a stupefy at her before she reached him. 

While he was fast and nimble on his feet, she was much faster in this form and easily dodged the single spell as he put space and furniture between them. 

Bounding atop the couch, paw reaching over the back to swipe at him, it tipped over. Pushing off the couch as it tipped, she launched herself at Zabini again. He managed to evade a slash to his chest by taking two steps back. Her paws slipped when the floor transitioned from carpet to wood, losing her balance just enough to give him time to put more distance between the two of them. 

Zabini shot off three quick succession non-verbal spells at her.

The first two spells were easy to dodge but the third, well, he’d clearly anticipated her trajectory. 

It hit her.

A feeling similar to static electricity danced over the shoulder he’d hit, but nothing happened. The spell had skittered off of her, the Thurisaz rune that lay buried beneath the coat of glossy black fur activating in her defense. 

She watched Zabini’s face pale by a few shades, but the floo roared to life, stealing her attention as Theo stepped out of the floo, Adrian Pucey at his side. Both wizards were dressed in what appeared to be formal Death Eater uniforms as opposed to the battle robes she’d previously seen them in. Their wands trained on her the moment they registered the scene unfolding before them.

“Alright, playtime is over. Wands down. Granger, attend .” Draco said, amusement lacing the words.

Hermione found herself unable to move and fumed at Malfoy as she remained stuck in place by his command. As the heat of the moment began to cool, the telltale signs of exhaustion began to pull at her. Between galloping through the Manor and her skirmish with Zabini, it seemed she’d forgotten Malfoy’s warning that her energy levels were currently far more finite than she was used to.

“Come here.” He commanded once more.

She was moving then, unable to stop until she stood before him.

“ Good girl ,” He purred quietly, smirking down at her.

Absolute prat , she thought to herself bitterly.

From a pocket hidden within his robes he produced a thick circular band of black leather encrusted with dark, glimmering emeralds. Winding its way through the emeralds was a silvery serpent. She was confused until he turned the glittering thing until she could make out the head of a snake swallowing its own tail. Ouroboros . He tapped the snake’s head with his wand and it stretched its fanged maw open wide, slipping its tail out from its mouth, edges suddenly appearing from the smooth hide and allowing the circular band to open.

It was a collar .

Everything in her recoiled except for her physical body, all four paws planted firmly on the floor.

He may as well have been tying an anchor around her neck before tossing her overboard, as he slipped it around her neck, it certainly evoked the same feeling within her. Hearing the snake snap its jaw closed around its tail again as he secured it in place and tapped it with his wand had her heart dropping into her stomach.

It was degrading. It was infuriating. It was positively petty.

Malfoy stepped back to take in the effect and gave a satisfied nod as he looked her over.

“There. Now you look like mine , a proper Malfoy pet.” His grey eyes glittered possessively for a moment as he stepped further back, admiring his handiwork as if she was a favoured toy rather than a human being. 

The look was gone when he waved Zabini forward. “This also solves the problem of the pesky little grudge you’re holding. Have at it, try to eviscerate Blaise, if you can.”

Zabini tensed, but dutifully came to stand next to Draco, eyeing her with cool, dark eyes. 

She knew it was a trap but couldn’t bring herself to care, needing to know her limitations and what this collar did to her. Unsheathing the claws in her right paw, she lifted it and took a swipe at Zabini’s leg. To his credit, the wizard didn’t flinch, but as with when she’d attempted to attack Malfoy, her movement was halted and frozen against her will. No matter how hard she willed herself to move, she was unable to shred Zabini’s leg open.

The rune inked beneath the fur on her right leg flared to life, sensing the denial of violence. It howled in whispers at the back of her mind and she could feel it braiding itself to her core. The feeling was uncomfortable without a wand in her hand but she could feel it weaving its magic through her and reaching down through her leg and into the paw. The whispers hissed, demanding their due of destruction. Her paw, adorned with those wicked claws, moved a fraction closer to Zabini’s leg as the claws flexed towards their target, reaching.

The rune grew louder and irate at the continued denial. Hermione whimpered in pain as its howls stabbed into her head, furiously searching for a way around the enchantments on the collar. Magic crackled and popped over her fur and a moment later several glass objects around the room cracked and shattered.

Concerned voices spoke above her but she couldn’t make out what they were saying above the rune’s angry cacophony, pain dulling her senses as she battled the rune with the force of her own will.

Collapsing onto her side, the rune fought her dismissal and had her roaring as her veins filled with a familiar fire. It was over in mere moments despite feeling closer to an eternity. 

Blinking her eyes open, she panted for a few breaths before chancing a look up. 

Malfoy was crouched at her side, brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion, concern and interest.

What the fuck was that, Granger?

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

Have you been able to hear me this entire time?!

Yes. Now explain what just happened. He demanded.

Magic, Malfoy. Hermione seethed back, feeling pithy and unwilling to disclose her secret.

To her delight, Malfoy made a frustrated sound as he stood.

A small victory.

I don’t have time for this right now, but you will be forthcoming when we circle back to it.

Hermione huffed a laugh at him in her mind.

Malfoy removed his wand from the sleeve of his right arm, swishing a few reparo ’s around the room, setting the glass objects to rights and returning the couch to its upright position.

“Time to go.” He snapped to the three men before him. Zabini, Nott and Pucey all nodded while casting skeptical looks down at Hermione that had her preening with feral satisfaction.

Good, they should be wary .

Grey eyes snapped down to her again and he pointed a long, elegant finger at her.

“And you - you will behave .”

Chapter Text

Hope Is A Lie

Cover Art: V1 - V2

Malfoy produced a portkey and grabbed her by the collar, fingers slipping beneath the smooth leather, as it activated and they were spun away, reappearing somewhere she didn’t recognize moments later.

The exhaustion that had been creeping in was nearly upon her as she surveyed her surroundings. It appeared to be a villa of some kind and they stood at the center of an inner courtyard surrounded by giant pots of large-leafed plants the length of a torso in a variety of greens, rich purples and burgundy. It had definitely been an international portkey, Hermione determined, noting the climate to be far warmer than in England.

Blinking heavily, long black tail slowly swaying behind her, curiosity began to give way to wholly unwelcome sleepiness.

“Granger.” Malfoy snapped his fingers without force, producing just enough noise to get her attention without hurting her newly sensitive feline ears. Tilting her elegant head up to look at him despite feeling like a wilted flower, she waited for him to speak again.

Grey eyes studied her a moment before hardening.

“You will go with Theo while I conduct my business. You will be absolutely silent , and listen to Theo.”

She could feel the thread of command but could no longer bring herself to care as all her remaining energy was currently being used to keep herself upright.

“Come on, Granger. This way.” Theo said amiably, indicating a set of stairs on the far side of the courtyard that led to an upper level of the villa.

She plodded along beside him, head low as lethargy weighed her down. When they reached a large sitting room, boasting luxurious looking chairs and couches that were low to the ground and meant for lounging, Theo threw his arms wide and turned to face her, walking backwards towards the sitting area.

“Pick a seat, any seat, Granger!” He said, pausing before he said the word ‘seat’ as if casting about for a better word given her form.

Frustration and guilt spiked within as she realised she was coming to enjoy Theodore Nott’s company.

On soundless paws, she plodded towards the longest couch and crawled up to stretch out on it. She watched Theo slide into the seat nearest her as she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, succumbing once again to sleep.

She dozed on and off, periodically picking up on non-english speaking voices as she swam in and out of sleep. It wasn’t until she heard the angry roar of what clearly belonged to another large feline that she jolted up partway on the couch in a startled panic.

Theo raised a hand, motioning for her to relax, completely unperturbed himself.

“You can relax, all is well. It won’t bother you.” He said gently.

Taking in his calm demeanor but unable to respond, she relaxed. Rolling back onto her side, paws stretched out before her, she was asleep again a few moments later.

When she woke again, it was to the sound of a clinking chain. Pulling herself into an upright position to see where the noise was coming from, paws still stretched out before her as she assessed the area. 

When she saw another panther, a melanistic leopard with pale green eyes on the end of a chain wrapped around Malfoy’s fist, she was instantly awake and alarmed. He was thrusting the chain towards Theo’s chest, the other wizard’s eyebrows raising in incredulity.

Her eyes darted between the two wizards and the panther that had an eerily striking resemblance to her own form, though smaller. It paced at the end of its chain, keeping its eyes trained on Hermione as though it were trying to decide if she was a friend or foe.

“I’ve got what I need,” Malfoy was saying, holding up a small stack of papers. “Now get rid of it.” He finished casually.

Theo continued to look incredulous as he tentatively wrapped his hand around the chain leash being thrust at him.

“Draco, we don’t need to kill it.” Theo said slowly, carefully. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes and his chest rose with a put-upon sigh.

“Obviously not, Theo. Drop it off in a muggle zoo, or something!” He responded, exasperated.

The other panther’s gaze oscillated trepidatiously between the two wizards before it. 

Hermione felt sorry for the creature, wondering if it had been born into captivity, or stolen from the wild. She mourned for her own freedom. The only difference between the other panther and herself that mattered was that her captivity was ensured by an invisible chain, rather than a tangible one.

Theo drew his wand and stupefied the creature, followed by featherlight and levitating charms to make the trip more manageable. He’d seen Hermione in action and had no desire to be on the receiving end of the claws of an animal that was ruled by instinct rather than logic. Pulling the chain and collar from the beast’s neck, he hefted the sleeping creature up into his arms, clutching it to his chest and disapparating with a crack.

Malfoy dusted his hands together before looking over at Hermione. She had just settled back down on the couch, watching him, when the corner of his mouth curled into an expression she couldn’t quite interpret.

“You need to come with me now, we have a meeting to attend.” Malfoy said as he readjusted his cufflinks and resettled his outer robes.

Hermione groaned internally, not moving, still tired beyond reason.

“You can sleep through the meeting, I just need you to be seen.”

Up you get.

Hermione glared at him as he spoke into her mind, rising onto all four of her legs. 

She discovered that if she thought too hard about the configuration of her new appendages, it threw her off. If she didn’t operate solely on instinct, it was as though she couldn’t quite process how to walk as a quadruped and would end up a stumbling heap of limbs and tail.

Reaching out, Malfoy waited until she came to stand next to him. His fingers slid beneath the leather of her collar and held it loosely.

Adrian popped up to the top of the stairs and clapped his hands, rubbing them together in an unconscious gesture.

“Ready to go? We have 15 minutes until our arrival is expected.” Adrian asked.

“Yes. Where’s Blaise? Theo will meet us there.”

“Here.” Came the even baritone of Blaise’s voice from behind them. Draco nodded to the other wizard in acknowledgement.

“Go ahead and make sure they’re all gathered. I’ll follow shortly.”

Adrian and Blaise nodded, then they were gone in two quiet cracks of apparition.

“You will stay at my side at all times unless you wish me to force your compliance.” Malfoy said evenly without looking at her.

Hermione sighed internally, too tired for rebellion at the moment, much to her chagrin.

His grey eyes finally slid down to her before whispering into her mind and apparating them to yet another destination she wasn’t privy to.

Good girl.

They landed in a rather stately room with a high, domed ceiling that boasted beautifully painted constellations that came to life and chased each other across the painted sky that slowly shifted between a warm gold representing day and a dark indigo for the night. Wizarding art never ceased to amaze her.

Malfoy motioned her towards a seating area that sat before a massive fireplace, wide enough for five people to stand shoulder to shoulder within it. A fire roared there, clearly charmed not to emit its heat in the already hot weather but cast a warm glow onto the brightly coloured plush carpets of traditional Bulgarian design.

The wizards seated in the area all rose to their feet upon Malfoy’s approach. She recognized Nott, Zabini and Pucey straight away, all wearing their aristocratic public-facing masks; bare faces stoic and expressionless. On a course to intercept Malfoy, however, was an older man she’d never seen before. He was massive in stature and muscular enough that he looked as though he could comfortably wrestle a bear.

The man’s arms were open in jovial welcome as he approached to lead Malfoy into the seating area.

“Lord Malfoy, welcome, welcome. Join us.”

“Minister Mladenov.” Draco acknowledged coolly.

Hermione made the connection then, concluding that they must be in Plovdiv, Bulgaria as he addressed the Minister of Bulgaria’s equivalent to the Ministry of Magic. The massive man peered down to where she stood at Malfoy’s side just as they finished shaking hands. His eyebrows rose with interest.

“And what do we have here?” The Minister inquired as his large paw of a hand moved towards her, clearly intent on petting the beast before him.

Hermione’s ears flattened against the back of her head and she opened her maw just enough to reveal four long fangs.

Don’t you dare pet me you giant oaf! She bristled, feeling indignant and degraded.

She heard Malfoy chuckle in her mind, clearly having heard her. His hand shot out to bar Minister Mladenov’s hand from reaching her.

“My familiar, Eilidh. She’s not fond of strangers, if you’d like your hand to remain attached I suggest you remove it.” Malfoy said, voice dripping with disdain.

“Ah, yes, yes, of course.” Boomed the large man, unperturbed. Grinning, he clapped Malfoy on the shoulder before extending his arm, indicating for Malfoy to enter the seating area first.

As soon as the larger man moved out of the way, she had a clear view to the rest of the wizards in attendance. She ignored the rest of the men as the face of Viktor Krum came into view, her heart skipping a beat as she tried to make sense of it all.

What is Viktor doing here?

Viktor hm? Malfoy’s voice inquired. Krum is Deputy Minister of the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic.

She was speechless at the revelation.

Her eyes shot up to Malfoy’s face, but his features had smoothed out and gave nothing away. He merely motioned with his chin, indicating for her to follow him towards a plush high-backed chair with clawed feet that looked more like a throne once Malfoy had folded himself down into it with effortless elegance.

She stopped to the left of the armchair and sat on her haunches, eyes still fixed on Viktor who had seated himself comfortably across from Malfoy and herself. He’d grown both taller and more thickly built since she’d last seen him, his facial features more prominently chiseled now. Though he’d grown, he was still in incredible shape, looking both strong and solid in his beautifully embroidered green and black tunic with a finely tooled kidney belt secured across his midsection with belt buckles in the shape of bear heads the only adornment.

Hermione remembered how Viktor had asked her to the ball after several long nights of sharing the same table in the library, smiles passed over the tops of books in quietude. How he’d spun her around the night of the Yule ball in her periwinkle dress. His searing kiss and the way he’d felt moving in her body that night, and several other nights thereafter.

It was impossible for her to resolve the two versions of Viktor she was presented with: the one from before the war, and the one in front of her now who was a top official within a regime that didn’t consider Muggleborns worthy of existence.

“The Dark Lord desires a report on the progress being made in Italy and Romania.”

Mladenov launched into explanation without further prompting, detailing the status of the two Wizarding countries and how Bulgaria continued to infiltrate and place operatives and sympathizers into key positions that primed them for simultaneous coups that would serve as distractions to the other country while their remaining choices for government were slotted into place with little pushback.

Hermione tried to take in all the information that the Order hadn’t been able to get intelligence on for quite some time. Unfortunately, it was a losing battle and she found herself having to slide down to the floor to rest her head atop her paws.

She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until a chorus of “ Nazdraveh !” went up and small shot glasses clinked together before being tossed back. With the business of the conquest of Wizarding societies apparently concluded, they’d moved on to drinking and carrying on various pockets of conversation that increased in volume as more cups were emptied and refilled with a variety of liquors.

Viktor had switched seats with another wizard who was now engaged in a conversation with Pucey and Zabini. He was debating the merits of the newest model of brooms produced in Britain versus the Bulgarian-made ones that the Bulgarian Quidditch team used, with Malfoy.

As she took it all in, she was struck by how normal this all came across. The politics of Eastern and Western Europe were being decided over drinks in what she assumed was the Minister’s home. Here they weren’t Death Eaters chasing her down on a battlefield, volleying spells back and forth. They were respected politicians planning continental expansions with their allies.

That’s when it hit her.

There had never been any hope for the Order to prevail.

They had been fighting on what they thought were the front lines, but information beyond England, Ireland and Scotland had been so difficult to come by that they hadn’t realised the greater part of the war had shifted to Europe’s political stage. They’d managed to curate the Death Eater image into a respected military initiative protecting Europe’s wizarding populace.

The Order had been managed all this time.

They’d been kept busy with skirmishes and raids, scavenging for dwindling supplies to keep them focused on survival. With their basic human necessities and their lives being threatened, it kept them focused on what was directly in front of them rather than the sleight of hand happening in the background.

While the Death Eaters may have employed brute force in some cases, they’d managed to give themselves an appealing image as a political movement to the world stage. The Order, with its members being picked off, would never have been able to get into rooms where the political maneuvering and handshaking was being done. To everyone else, the Order wasn’t a legitimate opposition, they were simply destructive rebels.

Voldemort had nearly eight countries in his grasp, each new country further solidifying his power and expanding his agenda.

She suspected that pockets of resistance fighters in each of those countries were being kept engaged in the same way. By keeping those groups isolated from resistance fighters in other countries, all the Death Eaters had to do was slowly bleed them out until they were husks, and watch them go extinct with little effort aside from keeping them on their toes. Without the ability to organize across borders, the resistance couldn’t grow into a movement that could actually threaten their position.

Brightest witch of her age after all. Well done, I thought it would take you longer, that you’d need more pieces to put it together.

Hermione felt ill. 

Get out of my head!

Stop thinking so loudly.

She vocalized her fury in a sawing roar.

The room went completely silent as all eyes trained on her. 

A heartbeat later the Bulgarians cheered uproariously and more liquor was poured, more “ Nazdraveh !” was chorused as glasses clinked and the shots were thrown back, everyone returning to their increasingly animated conversations.

Malfoy smirked, raising his glass of firewhiskey for the toast before slamming it back.

Fuming silently, she turned her back on Malfoy and got lost in a flurry of thoughts.

There was no hope left to crush, or so she had thought. She’d accepted a long time ago that the Order wasn’t likely to prevail, but she’d assumed that their cause would have at the very least have left an impact.

It pained her to realize that while they’d been scraping by with their narrow little world view, everything they feared was coming to pass and they’d been blindfolded to the truth by the Death Eater regime putting a chokehold on information.

The chasm within her widened, despair rearing its ugly head with a cheshire grin that threatened to swallow her whole.

Oh come now, it’s not all doom and gloom. You live in my manor now, you’re cared for and fed, you’ll survive this even though the rest of them won’t. Cheer up, Hermione.

His voice dripped with cruel sarcasm as he crooned her name, drawing out the syllables. She didn’t turn towards him or acknowledge him, the only sign that she’d heard him was the rise of her hackles.

Numbing herself to the feelings, she imagined switching channels on the telly to a static one to drown it all out. White noise filled her mind, emptying itself so that she could endure the rest of the night.

She sat there, playing the perfect pet laying at his feet in her glittering emerald collar, bound by a serpent.

He made his excuses early in the morning, the night still inky and black. The Death Eaters all rose to depart with him unquestioningly, and Malfoy produced a portkey as they exited the room. They were deposited back in Wiltshire, at Malfoy Manor, a moment later.

As she watched them climb the steps of the imposing stone Manor, Hermione once again found herself questioning why she wasn’t fighting this more. Was she so singularly resigned that all the fire had been extinguished within her?

Without a word, not that anyone but him would hear her in any event, Hermione padded to Malfoy’s bedroom and jumped onto one side of the bed, curled up and fell asleep. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up again, and that would be just fine by her.

Chapter Text

The Musings of Predators and Prey

**Music: Some Dreams You Never Wake Up From - Valerie Broussard**

She wasn’t sure what lured her back to consciousness, but was soon stretching the sleep from her muscles. Opening her eyes to light-filtering gauzy curtains, the thick velvet of the blackout curtains drawn back, she sighed contentedly as her mind slowly woke with her.

As it all came flooding back, her blood chilled. Whipping her head around, she found the long broad form of Draco stretched out on the mattress beside her with one arm tucked behind his head. He was clearly naked in bed, the silky sheets pushed low on his hips, displaying a solid chest littered with silvery scars ranging from shallow cuts to the raised flesh of deeper cuts, long since healed, pink flesh on either side of the thicker silvery lines that showed their age.

He smirked, his eyes slitting open as though he’d sensed her perusal. His free hand shot out to give her large feline head a quick scratching stroke in the same way you would a beloved pet. 

It was positively obnoxious . 

Malfoy’s smirk deepened, pleased with himself for riling her, his expression blooming into a sneer as she bared her fangs at him with a snarl. 

Flattening her rounded black ears to her head in irritation, she immediately edged to the side of the bed to get away from him, her feline body fluidly sliding from the mattress to the floor.

He chuckled.

“Come now, pet , don’t you want to play the part?” he mocked.

She didn’t dignify his needling with an answer, merely laid on the floor beside the bed out of his line of sight, avoiding his gaze and mocking expressions. Now that she thought of it, though, she didn’t yet understand the mechanics of how to answer him in this form, even if she wanted to. The times that they’d spoken mind-to-mind seemed to have been a result of him listening to her rather than consciously speaking to him.

Hermione considered several theories surrounding occlumency, meditation and intent, but they slipped through her mind like water as she heard the rustle of sheets and movement followed by Malfoy’s feet hitting the floor. She continued to listen as he navigated about the room until his footsteps finally retreated and the unmistakable sound of a shower being turned on.

With Malfoy otherwise occupied, she allowed her thoughts to drift. It hadn’t crossed her mind until now that if there truly was no escape from this fate, that she’d no longer have the opportunity to seek comfort in the arms of another, never laugh at terrible jokes while passing a bottle of firewhiskey back and forth again, never feel love, or have children.

The revelation wilted something within.

Her heart ached.

She’d been resigned to death for a long time, but that hadn’t stopped the daydreams of finding someone to grow old with, having a family of her own with small children running about, intelligence far beyond their young years and tongues sharpened with truth spoken with the abandon of innocence. Dreams of rainy days spent in bed tangled with another, and later, their children.

Tucking the fantasy away, she cleared her mind to silence on the off chance that perhaps she’d get lucky and he’d forget she was here. It was a delusional thought, but she allowed it anyway for lack of a better idea at the moment. 

Hermione was not used to not having time to herself. Even in a safe house full of people, she’d always found peaceful moments to be alone with her thoughts here and there. It was comforting to recalibrate on her own terms in those quiet moments.

Sometimes recalibrating had been with Cillian. A physical recalibration where she could empty her mind of all her crushing responsibilities for the promise of euphoria. Sex had become a pleasurable outlet that didn’t require her to do anything beyond being present, surrendering to sensation and instinct. Emotion had no place between her thighs, it was just a better vice than drinking.

Unsure how long she’d let her mind wander, the thud of booted feet approaching snapped her from the reverie. They stopped on the other side of the bed, and from the floor she could see beneath the massive four-poster, his feet pointed towards her, matching robes hanging about him.

“Granger.”

Kicking herself for allowing her mind to wander loudly again, she remained silent and unmoving, wishing he’d go away.

A few heartbeats passed before his feet shifted and he made his way around to the other side of the bed.

Malfoy stared down at her impassively. She mirrored him.

“Insubordination will do you no favours.” He said finally in a detached tone.

She snorted loudly.

As if you gave me any other indication of what you wanted aside from just saying my name. What am I supposed to do, yowl back at you? I’m not a mind reader.

She thought to herself snidely, yawning pointedly and never breaking eye contact, displaying the sharp fangs housed within her mouth.

A twitch at the corner of his mouth was the only indication of emotion, either ire or amusement.

“Come with me. Now.” He enunciated the last word, making a point as he spun on his heel and made towards the door that led to the hallway.

Internally rolling her eyes at his ridiculous cloak and dagger display, she rose onto all fours and began padding silently along after him. With a few loped paces, she was at his side, stubbornly refusing to give the impression that she was anything other than his equal.

It had taken two of them to trap her, after all. Malfoy hadn’t been able to pull that off on his own.

He led her through the high ceilinged corridors past paintings framed by intricately carved and gilded frames, down a set of stairs that opened into a larger hallway to the left. A massive conservatory with double doors stood proudly down the opposite way, to the right.

Malfoy Manor truly embodied an opulence that Hermione had only ever seen at the Palace of Versailles on one of the last trips she’d ever taken with her parents. While Versailles was a lavish palace full of golden light and glittering luxury, Malfoy Manor was its black mirror. Despite the many tall windows with their drapes elegantly tied back, it remained cold and dark, an obsidian pearl. A flawless mausoleum meant for gothic heroines and creatures of the night, if the pages of fictional literature were to be trusted.

The doors to the conservatory gave her glimpses of large trees between the ornate metalwork adorning the exterior of the clear glass. Malfoy cut a glance over his shoulder to confirm she still followed, her paws completely silent thanks to the innate stealth of her panther form, and the magic of the ever-present rune tattoos. A piece of white blonde hair fell across the side of his face before his cutting eyes faced forward again, ignoring the displaced strand as he reached for one of the conservatory doors.

Swinging it open, he motioned her to enter the forest that sprawled before her. It took several moments to come to terms with just how large the interior was. Large enough that it was obvious that this room had an illegal extension charm on it - or rather, it would have been illegal under the previous regime.

The old growth trees stood tall and broad, thick limbs reaching out to one another. It looked to be an established forest, but that couldn’t be, could it? How old would the conservatory need to be to house trees this old and large?

Her mind was thrown back to growth elixirs in herbology class as it sought a logical answer to what her eyes saw.

“This is your playground.” He said, glancing sideways at her with an unfriendly smirk.

“With an exotic familiar, there is the expectation that you’ll be housed somewhere appropriate, and this is it. I expect you to familiarize yourself with your new body and what it’s capable of. Use this space to train yourself, I won’t have you embarrassing me by being unimpressive.”

He turned on his heel and was at the entrance again as she continued to take in the trees, the vines, the packed earthen ground and patches of tall grass. She could hear a trickling sound in the distance and wondered if there was a stream or pool of water somewhere within this woodland wonder.

Malfoy’s hand clasped the handle of the door, the signet ring on his finger catching the light and drawing her attention as he paused and ran his silvery eyes over her again, assessing.

“When I come to retrieve you, you will come without delay.” He paused, his voice turning steely. “I don’t have time to deal with one of your tantrums today. You’d do well to heed my requests lest they become demands. By now, you’re aware that I can force you - but wouldn’t it be more pleasant for you to obey as a request to retain a semblance of free will?”

Regardless of whether you’re forcing me by magic or asking, both are demands when there’s no true choice presented that allows me to decline . She thought bitterly.

He studied her before snapping his fingers, a large bowl of raw cubed meat appearing before her.

Acceptance is a choice, Granger. You can either accept your reality, or have submission forced from you at every turn. You’ll just end up exhausting yourself needlessly. Now eat, and be ready when I return.

A hot flash of fury ran through her as his mocking voice spoke in her head. Even her thoughts weren’t her own anymore. She fumed as he stripped her of her dignity without lifting so much as a finger.

Her long black tail flicked angrily.

At least take this bloody collar off so I can breathe properly, Malfoy!

No.

His tone was clipped and final as he departed, closing the door firmly behind him.

She knew the collar was charmed to move with her and not be restrictive in a way that would impede her ability to breathe. Unfortunately, she’d already tried a variety of ways to stretch it out so that she could pull her head out of it, but as she’d already suspected, he’d anticipated that as well.

She’d never felt so degraded in her life, not even when she’d had the words mudblood slung at her, or carved into her. At least when those letters had been engraved into her flesh, she’d been a human undergoing torture for not being the supposed right kind of human .

This?

This was something else entirely.

He’d turned her into a pet . Malfoy had even gone so far as to collar her and create an enclosure as though she was a bloody animal in a zoo, not to mention telling her to work out. What was next? An enrichment exercise?

Positively degrading.

With a deafening roar of displeasure, she turned her back on the bowl of raw meat in protest, he’d only asked after all, and made her way deeper into the conservatory’s shockingly large forest. She passed lush greenery in the form of thick tufts of grass, bushes, and a few climbing vines that wound themselves around the wide trunks of the trees with blood red blooms flowering on them.

She grudgingly supposed if she had somewhere away from Malfoy to stretch her legs, she could take advantage of it.

Picking up the pace, her paws easily ate up the ground. It felt surprisingly good to run.

Pushing herself, she ran faster and faster, testing her speed until she felt like a blur as the grass and bushes swayed with the air displacement produced by her passage. 

It felt like freedom . 

It was a child’s delighted joy at getting a new pair of trainers because they make you go faster .

Hermione felt powerful, and had the circumstances been different, she would have revelled further in the joy of a sleek, muscular, feline body that was built for stealth and speed and hunting. 

She slowed as the sound of burbling water grew louder following it until she reached the edge of a rocky pool large enough for her to swim in, giving way to a small, trickling stream. The water looked cool and clear, shimmering invitingly in the sunlight that streamed through the glass of the conservatory’s high dome.

It was beautiful, and she hated it.

Gazing at the pond’s calm surface, she saw the tree limbs reflected above and gazed contemplatively up into the canopy of the trees, and their thick branches. 

They could support her weight, certainly. She knew from watching documentaries as a child that leopards preferred to perch in trees to hunt prey and get a bird’s eye view, dragging their kill up into the branches to consume it; meaning that she, too, was capable of climbing them.

Searching the immediate area, she decided on a tree whose branches sprouted lower than the others. The perfect specimen to give climbing a go. 

Loping in the direction of her chosen tree, she attempted walking up it vertically using her claws for purchase in the trunk, but ultimately slid down. 

She had the strength, but clearly needed to incorporate momentum.

Taking a running approach, she used the momentum to climb the trunk and made it to the first branch with ease. With one victory under her belt for the day, she jumped down and attempted several more variations of climbing the tree to get a feel for it. Even when a climb didn’t go exactly as planned and she fell, her body would twist upright to land gracefully on her paws each time.

Heart pounding with exertion, she paused when she thought she felt a tug emanating from within her chest, stilling until her breathing had calmed. Hermione determined that it must have been a muscle twitching when it didn’t happen again.

Just as she was beginning to feel the blasted exhaustion creeping in yet again, there was a rustling of grass and the faint sounds of footsteps on the packed earth, close to where she expected the entrance of the conservatory lay. Her ears instinctively swivelled towards the noise, alert, their curved black tips peaking.

Easily climbing the tree at a lope, she climbed higher into the branches, petulantly trying to blend in. Perhaps Malfoy couldn’t command her if he couldn’t see her, or if she couldn’t hear him. Her eyes snagged on the rocky pool below and made a mental note to test submerging herself when he spoke, to test the theory.

The steps drew nearer, bushes rustling as they were passed and tangled with wizarding robes. The conservatory didn’t strike her as being built for meandering walks, she hadn’t noticed any pathways.

“Ju– agh!” Displeased noises of someone tangling with the brush drew nearer until she could see a peek of black robes and artfully styled curls atop a head with the sides shorn close.

**Music: Shadow - Livingston**

“Granger, where the fuck are you?” The irritated wizard growled, mostly to himself. Then, louder.

“Come on, Draco sent me to collect you, it’s time to go!”

She snorted softly, mind filling with thoughts of dissent. 

If Draco wasn’t going to come collect her himself, instead sending Theodore Nott who decidedly could not command her, then he was barmy to think she’d show herself.

Prowling the high branches on large, soundless paws, she stalked him through the conservatory as she leapt from limb to limb. It gave her an odd thrill to be hunting, it felt powerful.

“Granger! We need to go and Draco isn’t particularly well known for being patient.”

Had Hermione been able to roll her eyes, she would have, but she wasn’t going to take her eyes off him. It seemed rather thick of Theo to think she’d care about what he, or any other Death Eater, wanted. Especially not Malfoy.

The thought had her digging in her heels.

If Malfoy wanted her to come, he’d have to command it. She would not go to him willingly.

A misstep rustled the leaves on the branch. Quickly crouching and pulling the shadows to her, she melted into the natural shade in the crook between where the trunk stood tall, and the branch extended outwards.

Theo’s head whipped around, narrowed eyes sharp and searching. He turned in place, scanning the forest floor before looking up to the trees again, scanning the branches. With a huff, he continued his noisy stomp through the conservatory forest. As he turned his back on her hiding spot, she rose and continued to follow him. 

It was rather thrilling, she had to admit, being in a powerful body that could carry her speedily, sharp claws that could rend and tear and climb, long fangs that could crush bone and tear through flesh. Though she longed to hold her wand again, she allowed herself to enjoy the small, sick pleasure that hunting Theo gave her.

It didn’t matter just then that her hunt wouldn’t result in a kill thanks to the Merlin-bedamned collar.

“GRANGER!” Theo bellowed.

Hermione remained smug, and silent.

Her ears flicked to the left as both doors to the conservatory slammed open.

“Theo!” Malfoy roared, “I sent you to collect Granger, not take an afternoon stroll!” he growled loudly as he called it out, irritation clear in his voice and demeanor as he stomped into the front of the conservatory.

Theo spun towards Draco’s voice, cursing under his breath as he pushed through the brush, noisily making his way back towards where he’d heard Malfoy shouting from.

“I can’t fucking find her , Draco!” Theo yelled back in an angry sing-song, the two wizards still not within visual distance of one another.

Taking extra care with where she stepped this time, she followed alongside Theo in the branches above as he made his way closer to the front of the indoor forest.

As Malfoy came into view, she could see from her perch the cold fury that burned in his eyes. They snapped on to Theo the moment he emerged from behind the trunk of a tree that was thickly painted with the dark red blooms of the climbing vines.

“It was a simple task, Theo.” He snapped.

Theo levelled him with a flat look.

“What made you think that she’d come when I called? You’re the one who can order her about.”

Malfoy’s head tipped back in frustration, eyes closed as though beseeching some dark god for patience. A long suffering look on his face, he blew a long breath out through his nose before finally speaking.

“Granger, attend .” He growled. “Get down here.” He spat, tone brooking no argument had she not been compelled to comply regardless.

Hermione felt the thread of command take hold of her limbs, forcing her forward. Her tail thrashed angrily, indignant. Grasping for any semblance of control of her body, she pushed against the thread of command with all the mental fortitude she possessed as she was forced towards Theo and Draco. The magic was an iron vice, immoveable no matter how much she thrashed against it. She discovered, however, that so long as she was moving towards completing the command, there was a slight bend that gave her a kernel of leeway.

Grasping exploiting the small victory, she continued her stalking of Theo on her way to Malfoy. She landed on the forest floor behind the trunk of the tree she’d been perched in on silent paws. Whiskers twitching, she crept low through the brush with only the slightest rustling of leaves. Theo turned his head in the wrong direction as he heard the disturbance, uncrossing his arms in clear discomfort.

Malfoy’s eyes were already locked on her, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips, but he said nothing. She bristled, wondering how long he’d been able to sense her.

With the game up, she sprang from the bushes at the base of the tree with a growl. Landing a mere two feet from Theo, he stumbled as he spun, face ashen with fear. A frisson of delight slithered up her spine, leaving her smug and satisfied.

“Merlin, that's terrifying.” He whispered as he straightened, his head shaking involuntarily as if to shake the feeling off as he tried to regain his composure.

Malfoy’s amusement, it seemed, had evaporated, hard eyes pinning her in place.

“You will remain in lockstep with me, at my side , until I tell you otherwise.” He growled, spinning on his heel to leave the conservatory in long, angry strides.

She growled back.

The magic of the command began threading through her again when she didn’t immediately move with him, forcing her to lope after him like a dog. It wasn’t lost on her that he hadn’t used what she’d dubbed the ‘ trigger word ’ this time, and yet the compulsion was no different.

His grip continued to coil around her and constrict day by day.

Hermione’s hackles rose in irritation as her shoulder came in line, unwillingly, with his left leg, matching his stride. She could hear the strike of Theo’s heel behind, his equally long strides speaking to his above-average height as he followed.

“To the rest of my legion, you are the exotic familiar I purchased while in Bulgaria on the Dark Lord’s business. You will answer to the name Eilidh when we are not in private.” Came Malfoy’s icy voice, unexpectedly, startling her to gaze up at him. He didn’t bother to look down, knowing she’d been commanded.

They marched through the wide halls of Malfoy Manor until Draco waved a hand, a door swinging out to reveal an exit to the estate grounds. He marched them straight through onto a terrace, suddenly whipping around towards Theo. They exchanged a look but said nothing. Malfoy then gave a curt nod, and Theo disappeared with a crack of apparition.

Reaching into his robes, he pulled out a pair of supple black leather gloves that molded to his hands like warm wax, along with his mask. When he’d affixed the simple silver Death Eater mask to his face, he finally tilted his head to look down at her. 

Her heart stuttered a moment at the sudden movement, the memory of that masked face stepping through her ignis murus spell flashing vividly in her mind. The wall of fire that by all rights should have melted his bones without leaving a speck of ash to mark his passing.

How he’d done it remained a puzzle that she’d yet to pull apart.

Malfoy’s leather clad fingers slipped beneath the ostentatious emerald collar about her neck, affixed by the jaw of a snake eating its own tail. Ouroboros . 

Holding her collar firmly in his hand, they spun as he apparated them away, his apparition as silent as her own.