Chapter Text
Draco sat up with a sharp inhale. A musty scent mixed with brackish seawater permeated his senses, and he flickered a look around the deeply shadowed room. He'd never been here before. He didn't remember getting here, either. It seemed absurdly small, a closet-like space with a narrow bed, a tiny table to his left, and one door directly across from him. Weak light filtered through a porthole behind him, and the gentle rocking sensation clued him in to the fact that he was on a ship.
Draco cautiously lifted the thin blanket off his body, easing himself out of the bed. The last he remembered, Pansy had stupefied him. He glanced down at his torso, noting that someone had healed the burns and sealed the gash Hermione had given him during their duel. The wounds were angry pink and delicate, but as he pressed his fingers against them, he felt no pain. They must have evacuated everyone to the Ministry ships that had been given Soho's coordinates. Which meant Hermione had to be on the ship, too.
She had to be. Draco's heart leaped into a panicked rhythm, and he snatched up a folded black T-shirt from the end of the bed, going for the door. He hurried into the hallway and pulled on the shirt, tugging it jerkily into place as he looked left and then right to get an idea of his surroundings. They were most certainly on a ship—a freight vessel possibly, judging by the stark, utilitarian design of the sleeping quarters. There were six cramped doors in this hallway, and then a short flight of steps to his right. To his left, the hallway rounded a corner leading somewhere else.
Hermione had been unconscious. She'd practically drained herself to save them. Would she be in a medical bay? He went right, heading for the stairs and passing under warm floating lanterns that lit the stark night. Bitter cold air stung his nose as he climbed to the open deck, searching the shadowed area for Hermione. He found a figure at the railing, but it wasn't Hermione. Astoria glanced over her shoulder at him as he approached, her honey-gold hair whirling around her face. There was enough light on deck that he could make out the grim set to her features, but darkness shrouded some of the fresh wounds on her chin.
She clasped both her elbows like she might be cold, even though he sensed the warming charm around her body as he came to a stop in front of her. "Looking for Granger?" she guessed.
Draco nodded, and his heart stuttered. If she was asking, then Hermione was here.
Astoria turned to face him, putting her back to the vast, inky ocean. The light caught on her left side, revealing mangled pink scars on her chin and lips that, no matter how many potions she used, Draco knew would scar. Her eyes were more violet than blue in the cool darkness as she regarded him contemplatively. "You know, I used to think you weren't capable of caring."
Draco tried to focus on the way the frigid, salty air entered his lungs, tried to ignore the howling panic at his core, that he find Hermione now, that he make sure she was safe. "About?"
Her incredulous exhale released with a puff of white. "Anyone."
He didn't know what she was getting at, but he tried to be patient. Hermione is here. Astoria wouldn't be chatty if something had happened to her. She's fine. Be logical. "I guess caring is a luxury we weren't given."
"I used to think that, too," she agreed, her gaze still strangely sharp. "And then I saw you with her."
Draco blinked, releasing a foggy breath. She was right, of course. He had known Astoria all their lives—he'd been engaged to her for half that time, even if it had been a ruse to protect their families. And he'd known, in a peripheral sort of way, that Astoria had legitimately cared for him, that she had been attracted to him. He knew she'd secretly hoped he returned her feelings even if she had never said it out loud. But they had both operated under the same understanding for ten years, that survival was all that mattered. That keeping up appearances above ground to live through a tactical nightmare below ground did not leave room for feelings.
Until Hermione. It probably looked sudden to Astoria, this connection he had to Hermione. It probably looked like he'd taken up a bodyguard position and fallen head over heels like a fool drunk on love potions. But Draco had always known, somewhere in his petrified heart, that she held a place there. The unattainable, untouchable, effervescent Hermione. He'd harbored a seed of love for that witch since the moment she'd corrected someone's spell pronunciation in charms class. It hadn't been sudden at all. It shouldn't have been unexpected in the least. The Malfoys were dragons, and Hermione had always been his treasure.
Draco's eyes fell to his blood-spattered boots, and he nodded. "I won't deny it."
"It gives me hope, actually." Draco glanced up to find Astoria smiling weakly, her arms still tight around her torso. "If you can love someone like that, then maybe I…" she broke eye contact, drawing a shaky breath. "It was horrible to watch you fight her and not be able to move. And then I thought for sure I was going to die, but the two of you." Her throat bobbed. "Something about the way you held her got through to me." She met his steady gaze again, her smile sad. "I don't think love like that happens very often."
He found it hard to swallow, suddenly. "I know."
Astoria swiped at one cheek, brusque and like there hadn't been a tear there at all. She turned around again, staring at eerily still, fathomless darkness. "She's back where you came from. The room next to yours. They have her sleeping under warming charms—couldn't get her body temperature up for some reason."
Draco inclined his head, relieved that he knew where she was, now. "Thank you. Will you be… I mean, do you want me to find someone for you?"
She scoffed, peering over her shoulder again, this time with her usual, haughty expression. "You can leave now."
It wasn't fair, Astoria's loneliness. She'd lost her sister in battle, and her parents didn't understand why she consistently put off her marriage to Draco. They blamed her for failing. She had never been a skilled Knight, always on the brink of disaster, always the weaker link. But she had been the one to deliver a killing blow to the monster who had taken her youth from her. And no matter how justified it was, she would carry that burden with her now. Whether she wanted it or not. Whether she could bear it or not. Draco understood that pain, the isolation of it. But he also knew that he was not the one who could take that from her. He was a source of pain, not a balm. He backed away a step, resigned. "Understood."
"I'll see you around," she rasped out. He left her there, a small shape against a shadowed unknown.
His feet carried him swiftly back down the stairs, into the bubble of magically heated interior and down the short hallway. The door to the left of his was slightly ajar, and he eased it open cautiously, not wanting to wake her if she was sleeping.
Hermione sat huddled on the bed, her back nestled into a corner and her face resting on her arms. Her hair spilled around her shoulders and alongside her bent knees, shrouding her. She looked strangely frail in the weak, yellow light. When the door creaked on its hinges, she looked up, clearly stricken with fear. Draco eased into the doorway, moving slowly so he didn't startle her. She tightened her arms around her knees, her features uncharacteristically tense. She averted her gaze to the side. "You're awake."
He entered the tiny room, his hand lingering on the door. "Just barely." He looked her over, trying to find any injuries or signs that she wasn't completely whole. Only her bloodless lips and enormous eyes let him know that she wasn't entirely well. Hermione glanced at him and then back down, like she didn't know what to say. Taking a chance, Draco closed the door, watching her reactions closely. She didn't seem afraid of him—just stunned in a mute sort of way. "Can't sleep?"
Hermione shook her head. Draco bent to unlace his boots, carefully analyzing what he could about her. No bandages, no blood. Her face looked pale and her eyes owlish as a result, but she wasn't trembling or green around the gills. She skittered a look over his fingers as they unlaced his boot, and then she blinked. "What are you doing?"
Draco shucked one boot off and got to work on the other. "Joining you." She started in response to that, so he added, "Unless you'd rather I didn't."
"N-no," she said immediately. "I mean, you can."
He shoved the boot off and then approached her cautiously, keeping his movements deliberately slow. "Astoria said you had a hard time warming up."
Like her body was attuned to respond to his words, she shivered, hunching her shoulders. "My core temperature is struggling a little." She drew back just a bit, a minute movement Draco would have missed had he not been hyper aware of her every breath. "But I'm fine. You don't need to worry." Her brows always gave away her feelings, bunching together or quirking at the slightest nonsense. They were tilted up at the moment, clearly concerned for him.
"Mhm." Draco slid onto the bed, still watching her reactions to make sure he didn't distress her. He reached out and scooped an arm around her, drawing her into his body warmth. Something inside of him sighed in relief immediately, gratified by the contact. He adjusted their positions easily, bundling her between his knees and then leaning against the wall so she sat curled in a nest of his legs and the blankets. "Is this alright?"
Hermione seemed to give in to his hold, her shoulders relaxing and her head resting against his shoulder. She kept her legs drawn up, and he encircled her in his warmth. "Yes," she sighed.
Her cold body immediately siphoned at his heat, and he tentatively lay his cheek against the top of her head. "You're sure?"
"Mm," she said, her voice sleepy.
The tightness in his chest uncoiled with her close. He rubbed her arms and then her shins, trying to warm her up where she stayed curled into a ball. "Is this an after-effect of the Mass Imperius?"
"We aren't sure," Hermione admitted, her voice muffled. "It's just me."
Just her. The link to the spell, the conduit who had nearly drained herself trying to break the Knights free. The very idea scorched him from the inside, caused him pain with each slow, deliberate breath. "You just need me to get you properly pissed," he grated out, hugging her tight. "Get you steaming like a kettle."
She ducked down, hiding her face in his shoulder. "Don't."
"What?" He adjusted the blankets around her, hating that was cold to the touch, still.
"Don't joke," she whispered. "You don't have to."
"I never have to do anything, Granger," he reminded her. "I'm a Malfoy." She clicked her tongue, but didn't say anything else. He lifted his head, frowning down at her. It wasn't that he had any expectations about how a traumatized, exhausted witch should act after an incident like the one they'd both just survived. He understood the toll that violence took on a person's emotions. But she was acting off. She was almost shy, almost desperate to hide from him even though she'd accepted his embrace. "Hermione," he began.
"We've docked in Greenland," Hermione blurted. She kept her face down, still snuggled against him and plucking at his shirt. "Shacklebolt is having international portkeys prepared so we can get back to the Ministry."
"I imagine so." Draco took her hand in his, stilling her nervous movements. "Hermione, look at me."
She flinched. "I look a mess, Draco."
"Look at me," he ordered softly. With obvious reluctance, Hermione uncurled herself, drawing back just enough that she could see his face. She dropped her eyes immediately. He frowned. "Why won't you look at me?"
She screwed her eyes shut, her expression anguished. "I'm still… piecing together memories."
His throat felt raw. "Do you need me to go?"
"No," she said immediately. But still, she didn't look at him. "I feel warmer. With you here."
Draco's brows pulled together in confusion, but he kept an arm around her as he reached the other to his back pocket to retrieve his wand. He cast a simple diagnostic spell between them, and sure enough, her body temperature appeared to be almost normal now. He let it dissipate and gathered her close again. "I'll be your human heater, then."
"Only if you want to," Hermione said, her voice rough. "You don't have to. If you—if it's too much…"
"If what's too much?" Draco asked patiently, trying to understand her. "Touching you?"
She brought a hand to her forehead. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm not myself."
The desperate need to put her back together tugged at him, even as he knew from experience that he wasn't capable of doing that for her. She didn't deserve what she'd gone through—she didn't deserve the torment of the nightmares she would likely suffer, simply because she was beautifully brilliant. Because she was one of the smartest people alive, because she'd discovered a way to help others, and then she'd been targeted for it. Used. Abused. He bent his mouth to her hair, inhaling slowly. "I'm so sorry."
She coughed out a laugh. "You're sorry? Draco, I nearly killed you."
He craned away from her, looking down in silent surprise. "What?"
"I hurt you," she forced out, drawing away and finally holding his startled gaze. Her eyes misted over with tears. "I hu—" she swallowed the word convulsively, only to try again with an abrasive whisper. "—hurt you."
He sipped in a pained breath in the ensuing silence, staring hard at her restrained anguish. He swallowed twice, convulsively. "I don't care."
Her lips trembled, but she pressed them hard, her eyes glassy. "You will."
She blamed herself. She'd been used in the most cruel, inhumane way imaginable, and she blamed herself. He could barely find the words to tell her how deeply wrong she was. "I won't."
"You will," she exhaled harshly. "S—someday, you'll l—look at me, and you'll—"
"I will not," he rasped. The tears lining her lower lashes escaped, and he wiped them with his thumbs, so full of wrenching agony, he didn't know where to begin. "I would never blame you for what happened."
She closed her eyes, leaking more tears down her cheeks and releasing a breathy sob that frayed his control. "I keep seeing it."
"That wasn't you," he got out with some difficulty. His heart was breaking for her in a way it had never done before. Gutting sorrow burned his lungs and pricked at his eyes.
"It was me," she said, her voice small. She bowed her head, succumbing to the tears she'd clearly kept locked away while he slept. It ripped him in two. No cruciatus could be so cruel as watching the brightest witch, the warmest soul crumble under a weight that was not hers to bear.
Draco searched for what he could do or say to make her pain stop. He had nothing. There was no spell that could heal this type of wound. He let his hands drop. Slowly, hesitantly, he tangled two of his fingers with hers where they lay on her lap, desperate to connect with her. "I would love you either way."
She sucked in a soft breath, swallowing again and lifting her eyes to his earnest gaze. She must have seen something in his expression because she dragged in an unsteady breath, sniffing and shaking her head. "O—of course. You don't need to say that." Her breathing hitched, too fast. "I'm s—sorry."
Alarm tripped through him. "Hermione, breathe."
"You don't have to comfort me," she promised hastily, practically hyperventilating.
"That isn't what I meant at all," Draco insisted. "Will you stop? Slow down."
There was a knock on her door, and it cracked open to reveal Potter's face. "Hermione? Oh, Draco." The Head Auror, averted his gaze swiftly. "Sorry. It's just, the portkeys are ready and Shacklebolt is waiting for us in his office."
Hermione swiped hastily at her cheeks, standing from the bed. "Okay."
"Hermione," Draco warned, standing with her and ignoring Potter's request. Shacklebolt could wait until Boxing Day for all he cared.
"I'll be on deck," Harry said, starting to close the door.
But Hermione rushed to join him, catching the door before it closed. "We're coming." She shoved her feet in a pair of black boots Draco knew had been forced on her by Soho. She was wearing the clothing he'd dressed her in, still outfitted like one of his twisted puppets. If she noticed, she didn't say. It seemed that Hermione was locking everything away before his very eyes, squaring her shoulders and drying her tears.
Draco glared after her, ignoring the confused look Harry sent their way. There was nothing more he could say with her hurrying out of the small room and past Harry. He would have to wait to get through to her until after they'd dealt with Shacklebolt. And unfortunately for that man, Draco was in a truly lethal mood.
***
Hermione put a stopper on the pressurized geyser that was her emotions. She tamped it down, shoving it deep into her iron will to examine another day. She would have to weather that storm eventually, she knew that, but not right now. Not when the Knights needed her to stand strong for them and possibly defend their very existence to the Ministry of Magic. There would be an enormous fallout after this. She knew the wizarding world enough to realize that they would be afraid of what had happened—they would whisper about dark armies under Mass Imperius and masked monsters who had very nearly been unleashed on them. If she didn't mitigate the damage now, then it might open up all the Knights to an inquisitorial squad that none of them deserved. She knew Draco didn't want her protection. He certainly didn't want her guilt, either, so she would bury it all and focus on what mattered.
Harry led them to the upper deck where the horizon glowed with the barest strip of pale light. They had docked in a magically protected cove, surrounded by dark granite cliffs with the Atlantic ocean to their backs. The large deck had filled with people, and Ministry officials stood surrounding the unmasked, unarmed Knights at their center. It looked more like an arrest than a rescue, to Hermione. She slanted a withering look Harry's way.
He led her to where the black-clad Knights all stood, like a scattered clump of soot sprites. "We're bringing them all back to the Ministry to ensure we have an accurate record of those involved. They're not under arrest."
Hermione glared at the Ministry officials who had their wands trained on the Knights. "Sure looks like an arrest."
"It's not," he assured her. "We're getting them all medical checks and then they're free to go."
Draco walked silently behind Hermione, but she sensed the tension radiating off of him. If she knew him at all—and she rather fancied she did—he was less concerned with what the Ministry wanted and more concerned with what she'd said to him. She couldn't blame him. He'd put his life on the line to save her, and instead of being grateful to him, she was coming apart at the seams. She made herself focus on the Ministry official who held out a taper candle. "Next touch will activate it. Destination, Shaklebolt's office. Authorized travelers are Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter."
An odd trio if ever there was one. Hermione nodded, and Harry glanced at Draco behind her before hovering his hand over the candlestick. Hermione and Draco joined him, and Harry counted to three before they all grabbed it. She was unprepared for the violence of the sensation, pulling at her navel and making her instantly nauseated. She'd traveled many times by magical means, but her body rebelled, this time. When they landed, she immediately collapsed.
Draco seemed like he'd been waiting for it. He caught her easily from behind, his arms around her and pulling her securely against him. "Head down," he murmured.
She obeyed, crouching in Shacklebolt's office and putting her head between her knees. While she breathed deeply, settling her swaying vision and nauseated stomach, Shacklebolt asked, "Is she alright?"
"Not really," Harry replied baldly. "Neither of them should be here, sir, but you insisted."
Hermione glanced up to find Kingsley Shacklebolt strangely silent, his expression strained from where he stood behind his desk. The curved room looked the same as it always did, with a warm fire to her left and magical objects scattered around benignly. But Kingsley looked diminished. He sighed, rubbing his bald head before bracing his hands on his desk. "Of course. I am sorry."
Draco helped Hermione to stand again, but he didn't release her. "If you're hoping for confirmation in person, Rufus Scrimgeour is dead. We were all there."
Kingsley nodded, straightening again. He came around his desk to stand before them. "I was told this, and there are enough witnesses to corroborate it. We have a team searching the wreckage underwater to retrieve his body all the same. With his body never found the last time…" he trailed off.
"You didn't know it was Scrimgeour," Harry guessed.
"I did not," the Minister confirmed. "Nor did I know the identity of Jubilee."
Hermione suddenly felt like she'd worked three shifts in the a row at the Muggle ER with no food and no water. Her entire body began to shut down, and she leaned hard against Draco. "Minister, why did you agree to the barbaric Knight program?"
Kingsley's weathered features creased with regret. "At the time, it was so dark. You were young and preoccupied with your own perspective, Miss Granger, but the Ministry was left in shambles. It had been under the control of a fearsome enemy. We were desperate for a safeguard."
"So, you imprisoned humans into lethal service?" Hermione seethed. "That was your solution?"
"It was a solution," Kingsley admitted wearily. "When presented—well, at the time, the Death Eater families were on trial. Hate for their crimes was at an all-time high. Fear about what their children would do as retribution felt relevant. It was agreed that they were a liability." He glanced up at Draco. "But that does not excuse it."
Draco said nothing, a stalwart shadow at her back, as he always was. Hermione managed to find a shred of energy to be furious with the Minister. "Three of those liabilities are dead because of you."
Shacklebolt only nodded, his expression haggard. "This is why I will be stepping down as Minister, Healer Granger. I made a grave error in a time of crisis that I cannot take back."
His words were like a slap in the face. She went rigid, realizing that her own sins had been just that. She'd underestimated Soho, and it had cost Brackley his life. Draco glanced down at her, and then his smooth voice said, "Before we go, I want to ensure that the Knights are absolved of responsibility for what occurred."
"Done," Shacklebolt agreed with a dip of his chin. "I've back-dated pardons for any involvement you were coerced into or chose to participate in. However," he added with a meaningful look, "that is with the understanding that the Knights no longer exist."
The Ministry didn't want masked vigilantes hunting down Death Eaters anymore. Not if it made them look bad, that was for certain. "They'll all return to their civilian lives," Draco promised.
Harry sent an uncertain look Draco's way. "You're sure? We might be able to work something out for them with the DMLE."
"If the newer Knights want to apply and be hired by the DMLE aboveground and in the appropriate way, then that's their choice to make," Draco said simply.
"Right," Harry nodded. He propped his hands on his hips, squinting one eye at the Minister. "Is that all?"
Kingsley cleared his throat. "We are grateful for what you team was able to accomplish."
"Save it." Draco went to the roaring fire to his left, hooking a hand around Hermione's inner elbow to take her with him. "You'll find a hefty stack of evidence against Rufus Scrimgeour and Marigold Sprout deposited in the Executive Ministry Vault at Gringotts." He took a pinch of floo powder and tossed it into the flames. It lit his face green, and a flash of a memory assaulted Hermione again. Draco's face lit green by her killing curse. Kill him. End him.
She stumbled, barely hearing the rest of Draco's explanation about tying up financial and criminal loose ends. She'd nearly used avada kadavra on him. She'd been one breath from killing him. Her vision blurred, and she let Draco pull her into the bright green flames. She hardly registered Harry immediately rounding on the Minister, beginning a scathing tirade as she and Draco disappeared into the floo network. She barely comprehended what happened after, how he'd picked her up in the foyer of his home and apparated them to his bedroom. Then he took her to his bathroom, and she vomited nothing, her throat burning and eyes sealed shut.
She was aware that Draco was with her, scourgifying her mouth and gently peeling the tactical clothing away from her body. She apologized, she thought. Or maybe she hadn't done that at all, but she'd thought it several times. And then she was warm again. The tremors eased and she let the heat encase her. She let it drag her down into sleep, even if she knew there would be nightmares. She welcomed them. The nightmares would not let her forget what she'd done. They would hold her accountable.