Hermione blushed.
“You could become a healer,” she told him. “You have a natural talent for it.”
The corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “That's one of the most ironic things anyone has ever said to me,” he said.
The conversation stalled.
“I have to get back. Ron's injured. And Harry too,” she said in a soft voice as she moved to stand.
Draco stood up, his eyes growing cold. “Don't ever go on another mission.”
“That's not your call,” she said, meeting his eyes.
He paled and his jaw tensed. “Remind Moody if the Order wants my continued assistance, they will keep you alive.”
Hermione stilled, and her mouth twisted as she looked away from him. “You are doing this for your mother, Draco.”
He turned her firmly by the shoulders and stared down at her.
“She is dead,” he said. “You are not. My loyalty was to those least responsible for her suffering. However, if the Order has decided you're an affordable casualty and sends you out to be mowed down as battle fodder, I will not be noble. I have no compunction against exacting dual revenge. I will make Potter pay if he gets you killed.”
Hermione froze.
This was dangerous.
She hadn't factored for this risk. She knew that Draco's loyalty wasn't based on ideology; it was purely a sense of personal loyalty. He hated Harry, he just hated Voldemort more. Hermione's careless, emotional confession had just given him grounds to waver. He was possessive. She was his. Harry had endangered her.
She should have felt panicked. She should have been cold. She should have reminded him of his Vow. Reminded him that she would always choose the Order first until they won. If he wanted her, he would have to wait.
It was what she should do.
She stared up at him, and her shoulders shook. She was so tired. Life had been cold for such a long time.
Her fingers twitched. She almost reached for him.
Then she slowly curled her hand into a fist and slid it behind her back. “Don't — don't do this, Draco.” Her voice broke.
“You are not expendable,” he said in a low, desperate voice. “You don't get to push everyone away so that they'll feel comfortable with using you and letting you die.”
Hermione's hand was shaking, and her throat felt as though there were a stone lodged inside it. She dropped her head and drew a deep breath.
Ron is hurt. And Harry.
She steeled herself and tried to twist free.
“This is war. It's not some sort of tragic self-condemnation to be expendable. It's a strategic liability not to be. I would've thought you'd have realised it was the case with me. A healer isn't going to win the war; that's why I was available to trade. I even have a replacement in the hospital ward now — because of you. I had to train her.” She gave a bitter laugh. “You did this to me. You made me as expendable as I am.” She choked back a sob. “And you didn't even want me either.”
He flinched and his hold loosened.
“I have to go now.” Her voice shook as she stepped away.
Draco caught her by her right arm and pulled her back.
“You are not replaceable,” he said. His hands were shaking as he gripped her. “You are not required to make your death convenient. You are allowed to be important to people. The reason I took that fucking Vow was to keep you alive. To keep you safe.”
She tried to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let go. She twisted, trying to get away. She had to go, because he kept staring at her with desperation written across his face, and it was breaking her inside.
She sobbed and — before she had time to think — twisted the fingers of her right hand into his robes, pulled him closer, and kissed him.
Chapter End Notes
Illustrations by Avendell, follow her on tumblr and instagram.
Additional Illustrations:
The Death Eater Catwalk by klawdee890.
The Death Eater Catwalk by bookloverdream.
High Reeve by keerthi_draws.
You are not replaceable by incendiosketches
Flashback 28
March 2003
Draco cradled her face in his hands as he returned her kiss, carefully pulling her closer without hurting her left arm. She was half-crying as she kissed him.
She traced her fingers along his neck and pulled at the curve of his jaw to draw him closer. Trying to memorise every detail of him: the scent of the forest and papyrus scrolls, his pulse under her fingertips, his lips pressed against hers, the taste of him.
She had earned this. She pressed her cheek against his hand as his lips caressed hers.
After several minutes, she wrenched herself away.
“I have to go,” she said.
He didn't try to stop her, but he reached for her again before catching himself. He stared at her and drew a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Come back. Come back to me — if you ever need anything,” he finally said, pulling his hand back.
Hermione stared at him and wanted to say she would. She forced herself to swallow the words.
“I have to go,” she repeated, forcing herself to step away.
He stood, watching her leave.
She took a steadying breath and apparated back to the Tonks house.
She knocked quickly on the door. It swung open. Fred stood in the doorway, staring suspiciously down at her.
“What are your parents' names?” he asked.
“Wendell and Monica Wilkins, they live in Australia,” she answered, meeting his eyes steadily.
He slumped with relief and dragged her into his arms. She was crushed against his chest as he pulled her inside.
“Good Merlin, we thought we lost you. You weren't there when we woke up.”
“I–I was hemorrhaging. I couldn't wait. I had to find someone who could fix it,” she said by way of vague explanation.
Fred shook his head, his expression bewildered. “I don't understand; one minute we were fighting, and then suddenly we woke up, thrown all the way past the wards. My whole body feels like I was crushed by an erumpant. All the Death Eaters were dead. You were gone. Harry and Ron freaked and wanted to start a search.”
“Someone must have tried to use some dark curse that backfired,” Hermione said, pulling out her kit and handing Fred a restorative and a vial of pain relief.
“That's our best guess,” Fred said, knocking back the potions with a grimace. “Freakishly lucky. I can't believe how many of 'em there were. Ron's been chewing out Harry nonstop since we got here.”
He looked seriously at Hermione,
“His shoulder's pretty bad.”
Hermione nodded grimly. “I saw it happen.”
He gave her a long look. “That was your curse that saved him, wasn't it?”
She gave a short nod. “This close to a full moon, there weren't many options.”
“Well. You won't hear any complaints from me. After what happened to George, I say we kill the bastards. Harry's a bit freaked over it. But he was a right arse to ask you to walk into something like that your first time back into the field. I'm glad you weren't killed;I don't care what it took for you to manage it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder.