4.1 | Draconian ✓

05 | homenum

0 5

h o m e n u m r e v e l i o

Reveals human presence.

HERMIONE GRANGER COULDN'T remember the Order.

"Shit."

Draco paced the room, his mind reeling. He'd been searching for Hermione for two reasons. The first was that he owed her this much. He could still remember her screams when his bloody Aunt tortured her in Malfoy Manor. So when he first heard from his Aunt Andromeda that Hermione Granger, one of the most brilliant witches and one-third of the Golden Trio, was missing, he immediately took it upon himself to find her.

Because no one else did.

Draco didn't understand why. He didn't understand why it was so damn difficult to send out a search party every night to find the one witch who was the best friend of the Boy Who fucking Lived. Andromeda told him that it was because the Order was in a mess.

His lips curled now but it was a smile of bitterness. Of course it was a mess. After Potter had been defeated, he and the Weasel had gone into hiding. Hermione had been snatched away. And the rest of the Order scattered to save their lives.

It was only about a year-and-a-half ago that Andromeda told him the Order was beginning to reassemble. She believed that the return of Hermione Granger would give them hope.

Draco didn't buy the nonsensical notion of hope, but he'd do anything for his Aunt, who had become his guardian after his parents were killed. Thank Merlin Bellatrix was insane and didn't qualify to be his guardian. Draco didn't know if he could stand living with the woman without killing her himself. The only reason he kept her alive for so long was because the Dark Lord considered her his longest ally, even if she wasn't of much value anymore.

But Hermione and hope somehow no longer fit into the same sentence, considering that a large proportion of her memories seemed completely wiped out. Like a clean slate; she seemed to have no memory of the Order, or of the way he'd treated her in the past, or even of saint Potter and Weasel.

And much as he thought that Potter and Weasel were a pair of useless fools, the suspicion that Hermione had forgotten them sent his head reeling with despair and desperation.

The war needed to end.

The four of them in this household (with the exception of Hermione, who clearly only possessed vague memories now) were adamant on that. It was the only reason why they each continued to live, in their own various self-destructive ways. Blaise with his numbing spells and potions, Pansy with her lethal kinks in the bedroom, Theo with his slags and alcohol, Draco with his guilt. They stayed alive because they had a purpose, and the purpose was to end the war.

The easiest option was to return Hermione to Potter. That was the other reason he'd been looking for her. But he didn't want to. Not when she was like this. Not when she was screaming in the silence, conjuring imaginary monsters and tripping over her sentences. Not when he hadn't found out the truth behind her abduction or her memories.

And not when he wasn't ready to let her go.

Draco settled down onto his chair with a sigh, resting forward so that his elbows were braced on his knees. He stared at the healing blisters on her skin and the fading bruises and the traitorous scars. He stilled when she murmured his name in her sleep, and instinctively reached forward and laced his fingers between hers. She automatically curled hers tightly around his, and pulled him closer to her.