Flashback 25
February 2003
Grimmauld Place was quiet and sombre.
One of the major safe houses had been compromised. It had housed several significant figures in the Resistance, members of DA and the Order. They still weren't sure what happened. A patronus from Alicia Spinnet had burst into Grimmauld Place in the middle of the night. By the time the Order could mobilise a response, whatever had happened had mostly ended.
It hadn't even been a Death Eater attack. Hags mostly and werewolves. The house had been overrun with them. According to Ginny, it had been quite literally crawling with hags, more than a hundred. Many of the survivors brought back to the hospital were missing too many internal organs to be healed.
Alicia Spinnet, Dedalus Diggle, Septima Vector, and about thirty other people had died.
It abruptly shattered the high spirits that had been buoying the Resistance. In the process of trying to recover the survivors, Kingsley and several other members of the Order and Resistance used Dark Magic in order to force their way into the house.
It had resulted in an explosive argument between Harry and Kingsley afterward. The whole house was on edge.
The next week, when Hermione returned to the shack alone, she walked in uncertain of what would happen next. The room was empty. She stood waiting nervously.
Draco apparated in a minute later.
They stood staring at each other for several minutes. He ran his eyes over her, cataloguing her appearance in a way that was habitual at that point.
She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what was going to happen.
“I brought practice knives today,” Draco said as though the past two weeks hadn't happened.
“Oh.”
He pulled them out of his robes. One of the knives was small, the same size as the set he'd given her for Christmas. The second was larger.
He pressed the blade into his hand demonstratively. “They have wards on the tip and blade; they can't break the skin. Although they can bruise.”
He tossed the smaller knife to her.
“Knives are growing increasingly common in the field. Hags regularly carry them. Death Eaters are beginning to pick up on the trend. They're decent backup if you lose your wand.”
Hermione examined the knife, running her finger along the edge that appeared razor sharp but felt more like the handle of a piece of cutlery.
“It's difficult to win in a knife fight. Even if you survive it.”
“I am aware,” Hermione said stiffly. She'd treated knife injuries with increasing regularity during the last year. As far as non-Magical injuries went, knives were the worst. Mangled internal organs, severe blood loss, punctured lungs, hemorrhage. Like severe slicing hexes, but always more ragged and difficult to close.
“I imagine you are.” He had not met her eyes. Not once. Since the moment he made the Vow, his eyes had dropped away from hers. “We'll start with deflecting attacks. Then I show you how to attack with yours. Use non-lethal hexes to try to stop me. Your goal is to drop me before I make contact, or to deflect it if I get within range.”
He walked toward her. “In order to avoid a knife attack, you should use your opponent's weight and momentum against them. If they're lunging, dodge and try to disarm them.”
He demonstrated several techniques in slow motion; showing Hermione how to grab his wrist, guide it safely past her body, and then try to twist the knife free.
“Where did you learn all this?” she asked after he demonstrated a tenth method of disarming someone which involved breaking their arm.
His hands froze. “Bellatrix. I trained under her for over four years. She had a fondness for knives.”
“Did she know about your mother?”
He stepped away from her and his expression was tense. “She did. She was alway loyal to the Dark Lord, but she cared for her sister enough to want to see me succeed, rather than fail as was expected.”
“D-did your father know?” She couldn't stop herself from asking the question.
Draco swallowed. “No.” He looked away. “My father — he — he was very protective of my mother. If he'd known—”
Draco was silent for a moment. “Occlumency isn't a talent he has. Not to the level he would have needed it. He would have been vengeful, and it would have damned us all.”
The muscle in his jaw rippled. “My mother insisted we hide her condition from him. There was a potion prescribed by a Danish mind healer; it masked most of her symptoms. Prevented her from panicking when she was required to make appearances. She took it when my father visited. The Dark Lord had mostly kept my father in France and Belgium following his release. He assumed she was cold and distant because she blamed him for my taking the mark.”
“After Lestrange Manor?”
“Well, I suppose I could have just told him then.” The corner of his mouth twisted. “But I thought I could do more to avenge her if I had more time. I didn't realise how he'd take the news.” He gave a bitter smile as he stared down at his hands. “I'm sure the Order wishes I had.”
Hermione blinked as she tried to imagine what state the Order might be in with Arthur and Molly and George still fighting; but with no Draco, no rescues, no intelligence on which battles they could win, no warnings before they were hit. She twisted the knife in her hands.
“The Weasleys are my family, but we probably would have lost by now — you weren't crucial in the army then. Your death and your father's wouldn't have been enough to affect the outcome of the war. They'd probably all be dead.”
He snorted faintly and continued to avoid her eyes.
“Draco...” she said tentatively, starting to reach toward him. He jerked sharply away from her.
“We should continue with training,” he said in a cold voice. “Given that you've now seen first hand the devastation caused by hags.”
Hermione swallowed. “We still don't know how they got in. We don't have any idea. Do you know anything about it?”
“Hags aren't in my jurisdiction. I didn't hear until afterward, or I would have tried to give some warning.” He hesitated. “It's possible someone in Sussex is working to find a way around the Fidelius Charm using Dark Creature Magic. If they suspected a safe house location, it may have been an unfortunately successful experiment. There are hundreds programs in Sussex; the branches don't collaborate often. I don't have contacts in all of them. You should re-ward your safe houses and move any that you can.”
“We are.”
“Good,” he said as he flipped the knife in his hand. “Let's continue with training.”
He made her practice the forms and techniques again and again.
“Alright, let's see how you manage with a real attack,” he said after an hour of slow practice. He stepped away from her.
He spun the knife in his right hand the same way he spun his wand as he crossed the room and got into position. His expression was cold and intent as he stared toward her.
Then, without warning, he lunged.
Hermione dodged away and shot mild hexes as she evaded his initial attack. He was quick and relentless. He spun around her and brought the knife up to her throat before she could register that she needed to stop hexing him and try to deflect.
They both froze. Their eyes met for a moment, and it was like time stopped. His face was only inches away from hers, and Hermione forgot to breathe.
His expression grew hard, and he stepped abruptly away from her.
“Again. Timing is everything. You're still too reluctant to move.” His tone was almost vicious. He stalked across the room and attacked her once more.
After an hour, he stopped.
“Alright. That's enough for today,” he said, walking away from her. He reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll.