Chapter Text
Chapter 24: WARTIME BRIEFS
During their time in Winterfell, the Order had worked to help restore the ancient fortress to its former self as an act of gratitude. With a mix of reparo spells and powerful extension charms, they were able to mend some of the crumbling stone walls and add in more chambers, expanding the capacity.
Under Queen Sansa’s direction, several structural changes were made, one of the most significant being the new council chamber: private, discreet, and known only to a chosen few. The entrance had been enchanted to resemble the ordinary stretch of Winterfell’s stone walls. Only eight individuals held the iron key that revealed the doorway, these nine had personally been picked by the queen.
This was where they now sat.
The room was modest in size, lit only by glowing candles that floated above the table. The stone table stood in the center of the room, its surface intricately carved with a full map of Westeros—rivers, castles, borders, and banners.
Poised at the head of the table sat Queen Sansa. Directly across from her sits Tyrion Lannister, who resumed his role as Hand once King Bran Stark died.
Around the stone-carved map of Westeros sat the rest of the small council. Robb Star, her brother, now Master of Muggle warfare. Despite her pleas to pass her crown back to him, he refused each time, swearing his sword to the battlefield, especially if the prophecies of him being on the Iron Throne were true.
Arya Stark Mistress of Whispers, Brienne of Tarth Commander of the Queens Guard, and Muggle Law; Kingsley Shacklebolt Master of Magical Law, Coins, Apparition, and Wards. Harry Potter master of Magical Warfare, and Severus Snape Master of Magical Whispers and Healing.
Sansa’s voice broke the stillness. “What do we have?”
Kingsley was the first to speak, “Your Grace, I do advise that we begin training the muggles in Apparition.” He cleared his throat hesitantly. “It will hasten deployments far faster than any fleet, and it will help our kind learn to safely travel with them, without... splinching.”
“Splinching?” Robb questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“It is when one is unsuccessful and ends up leaving either their clothes or body parts behind.” Said Snape.
Sansa nodded, “Very well. Begin that, and please ensure our wards remain sealed.”
Arya spoke next. “There is a new lord of house Baratheon wanting to reclaim the throne. Also whispers in Oldtown, the Hightowers are plotting to reclaim nobility, they plan to take the Vale.”
Tyrion chuckled into his wine. “Not only have their houses thinned, but they have no armies worth talking about. The Vale will be secure. They will prance around until someone burns their banners.” His eyes shifted towards the wizard. “Have we anything on the false king?”
Snape leaned forward, folding his hands as he answered. “He is slowly infiltrating lands. He is having his men use the Imperius curse to force allegiance.”
Sansa nodded, taking in the information as Tyrion’s voice came again. “How many men did we lose on the failed mission to the Malfoy manor?”
Robb’s voice dropped low. “We only marched with five thousand.”
Harry cut him off, his tone clipped. “We lose one thousand. It would have been much less if the muggles could coordinate with our hex lines.”
“Oh, fuck off, Potter.” Robb snapped. “You lot cast your spells and vanish. That is not coordination, that is chaos.”
“Perhaps we wouldn’t vanish if your men did not swing their swords at our backs.”
“They weren’t swinging at your bloody backs!”
Brienne’s voice thundered through the small council room, cutting them both off. “Enough! You squabble like bloody squires. Show some dignity before your queen.”
“Your Grace,” She added, glancing to Sansa. “I can oversee joint drills. I will make them fight as one.”
“I have led an army!” both Harry and Robb said.
“You may.” Sansa said, earning groans from her brother and the wizard.
Before another word could be said, a raven flew in perching on the window with a piece of parchment attached to its leg. Tyrion removed the letter, scanned through it, and paled. Without a word, he passed it to Sansa.
(“From Castle Black, by the command of the Night’s Watch
The dead march again. The whites have grown in number, the many they have killed have joined their ranks. We cannot hold them alone. We need aid, we need armies. If we do not stand together there will be no one left to rule nor a kingdom to claim. We will fall and rise again in death. Winter is here. -Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”)
Sansa’s voice shook as she read the letter aloud, tears welling in her eyes. Her brother’s handwriting, his call for help.
“Arya. Severus. Take men to the wall to confirm the threat. If it is real… we will go north with aid. For now, the wall is our priority.” Sansa said.
“Our priority,” Harry growled, rising to his feet. “Should be rescuing our friend from the Death Eaters.”
Tyrion set his goblet down, walked over to the boy, and gave a small motion for him to lean in. Harry from, but obeyed-
Slap.
“You do not command the queen.” Tyrion said calmly, reclaiming his seat and lifting his wine once more as though nothing had happened.
“Do not lay your hands on him, dwarf!” Snape hissed, his wand already raised. “He is the one who will end the false king.”
“Funny. That is not what the Red Witch showed me.” Robb barked a humorless laugh.
The room erupted in chaos, daggers drawn from sheaths, wands sparked, voices rose, and chairs screeched against stone. The fighting only stilled when Sansa slammed her palms against the carved table.
“Enough!” She shouted, “put away your wands, your swords and draggers, and your damn prophecies. Harry—” her gaze softened, though her tone did not. “I promise you; we will bring her back. But not at the cost of the realm.”
“You weren’t there when the long night came, when we fought the dead,” Brienne cut in. “If they are marching again, your friend won’t matter, the throne won’t matter, nor will the matter. Nothing will.”
Sansa gave her orders once more, and this time no one argued. Arya and Severus left that very night, bound for the wall.
Things had been different since the night Draco had spent with his mouth on Hermione’s, the night he spent with his tongue buried between her thighs. The emotions he tried so hard to shut out cracked open. All the feelings filled his chest; the heat, the longing, the itch to be near her, and the desire to taste her again. At night, he found himself sitting in front of her chambers under the pretense of ‘making sure she wasn’t trying to harm herself.’ It was a lie, everyone knew it.
He wanted her to open the door and ask him in. For the chance to look at her for more than a fleeting moment. For her to be feeling the same strange pull towards him. Yet, she never did.
Draco couldn’t tell if she had still been haunted by memories of the battle, or because she was ashamed and simply did not wish to see him. Probably the latter.
Tonight was no different, he sat with his back against her door, rolling his signet ring between his fingers, mind drifting away until footsteps broke his haze.
Blaise walked up the steps with a knowing smirk. “Again?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Piss off, Zabini, I am just making sure she is well.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Blaise drawled, “instead of just admitting it.”
Draco quickly shifted to business, unwilling to hear another lecture. “How was the mission?”
“He is gaining more followers. Your presence is requested tomorrow. He is also planning to split us between the Reach and Dorne.” Blaise hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “She is requested as well.”
Draco clenched his jaw. “Fuck!”
Hermione’s stomach twisted as she and Draco dismounted Seraphus in King’s Landing. Overhead, the other two dragons descended, carrying Theo, Pansy, and Blaise.
Her trance was broken by his hand closing around hers. She looked up to meet Draco’s gaze, finding the same sense of dread she felt.
“Do you remember what I’ve told you?” said Draco, his voice was low yet filled with urgency.
Hermione nodded, letting her occlusion fall into place. “Occlude.” She had told Draco to put her under his spell, but he had refused, reminding her that he vowed never to use it on her again.
“If it becomes too much, I will step in.” He reassured.
Hermione whispered, “you’ll get yourself killed.”
He simply shrugged, as though his life were of little consequence. “He will want to see your memories of the battle. How you felt. As I said if it becomes too much…” He paused, letting his breath brush against her ear. “I. Will. Stop. It.”
The others dismounted, joining them.
“Ready?” Said Pansy, reaching her hand out to comfort Hermione.
They entered the throne room. Blaise, Theo, and Draco bowed, while Hermione and Pansy dipped into deep curtsies.
“My King.” They all said.
Voldemort rose from the throne, curling his skeletal finger in a beckoning motion towards Hermione.
She climbed the steps; her gaze locked on his. Voldemort’s every movement had been deliberate as he circled her like a serpent waiting to strike its prey.
“Who do you fight for?” Voldemort questioned.
“You, my king.” Hermione lied.
He stopped in front of her. No wands were raised nor was a hand lifted; he simply stared into her eyes.
She felt it, she felt the world around her fade—not all at once, but in layers. The flicker of the candlelight in the throne room transformed into dragon fire. The murmur of breathing behind her turned into war cries. The throne room’s cold air filled with dark magic thickened into warmth. She realized he was already inside.
She kept her mental wall in place just like she had been practicing. But Voldemort didn’t batter them down, he seeped through them slow and patient.
Show me, his voice whispered inside her head. Show me how you felt in the battle.
Her memories began to stir against her will—flashes of dragon fire, Draco falling, faces of betrayal, and so many bodies. She wrenched them back, chaining them in the farthest corners of her mind, only showing him what she felt necessary.
Voldemort only pushed hard, and the pressure in her mind grew. Searing white pain flared in her temples. Her knees gave out, dropping to the ground but this didn’t stop him.
The walls of her occlumency began to crack, first only a hairline, then a splintering fracture. She screamed and thrashed against the ground. Blood pooled down the curve of her ears, it trailed down her nose, and from the corner of her lips. Still, she held. She would not let him in.
Draco clenched his fist so tightly the signet ring on his finger bit into his skin. He felt sick watching this play out when all he wanted to do was stop it.
Her pained cries frayed that control. He stepped forward, hand twitching toward his wand. But a firm grip clamped around his forearm.
Blaise’s voice was low, “He will not kill her. He would not, and if you hex him—you hex her.”
Every instinct screamed at him to tear Voldemort away as he watched, knowing her defenses were crumbling. But Blaise was right, he wouldn’t kill her. Hermione was too important to be killed.
The world exploded in a scream, hers, tearing free from her throat. Voldemort flew backward, slamming against the wall, his robes snapping in the shockwave.
Hermione laid on the cold floor, chest heaving. Draco’s heart slammed against his ribs; he yanked his arm free from Blaise’s grip but did not move forward. Voldemort had already risen, brushing himself off with amusement.
“Magnificent,” Voldemort murmured, a cruel smile lifting his lips. “She threw me from her mind. Nonetheless, the bond remains. I have seen enough for now, she is loyal. Rejoin them, mudblood.”
“Take me to the dragons.” He commanded.
So, they did. Voldemort approached with fascination, only to be met with snapping jaws and warning growls. Draco informed him that the dragons only seemed to listen to him and Hermione. The king was pleased to hear that at least one of his Death Eaters had been able to command a dragon.
“Is that all, my king?” asked Draco.
“One last matter,” Voldemort said. “Dorne and the Reach will wait. You will lead the army north—to the Wall. They have asked for aid. We shall give it, and when the battle is done, whomever is left will be placed under Imperius and join our army.” Then he vanished.
Hermione watched as the group huddled into a circle murmuring to each other before all turning to face her.
“What is it?” Hermione asked, arms crossed.
“Before we tell you, we must know where your loyalty lies.” Said Blaise.
Before Hermione could speak, Theo blurted out. “We are going to kill Voldemort.”
Hermione’s eyes flew wide open. “And also, the ones who tortured Pansy. They will die during the battle at the wall.”
“What the bloody hell, she didn’t even answer his question.” Draco sighed.
Hermione nodded, answering with a question. “As much as I want him dead, what is your reason for treason?”
Theo opened his mouth to speak, but Draco beat him to it.
“You are my reason.” Draco said.
Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, nightgown brushing her knees, curls spilling wild down her back. She could feel him out there. She always could. He’d been just beyond her door every night since the battle.
She’d never let him in.
Not since the night after the battle.
Tonight, she would.
She opened the door and Draco all but fell in, catching himself with a muttered curse before straightening with as much dignity as he could muster.
“You’re here,” she said softly, chawing at her bottom lip.
“I am.” He cleared his throat. “But if you wish for me to leave—”
“No.” Hermione shook her head before he could finish. “Stay.”
She moved to the bed, sitting on the edge. He took the chair by the window; never letting his eyes leave her. She could tell he was analyzing her—he always did, watching the wheels turn behind her gaze.
“What is it, Granger?”
Her eyes dropped to her hands, fingers worrying at each other. “It’s nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Her shoulders fell in a deep sigh before she looked up to him. “How will you do it?”
“Do what?” Draco asked, his brows knitting together.
“Kill him… without killing me?” Hermione asked, her voice was steady though he could hear the worry trembling through her words.
Draco gripped the back of his neck, “I’ll figure it out.”
She held his gaze. “What did you mean? When you said I was your reason?”
That pulled him from the chair. His boots were silent against the stone as he crossed to her. Draco dropped to his knees before her, his hands finding her face, cradling it softly. And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It was slow. Deep. Patient. As if he were trying to tell her something without words.
“I meant it.” He spoke quietly, still kneeling before her. “That you will sit on the iron throne. Not him. Not anyone else. You. It is your birthright. The way the people of Meereen adore you. They call you fair, just, and wise. Your army would follow you into fire because they know you are a ruler worth dying for. They believe in you.”
Her breath caught as she opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t stop.
“I am sorry for how I’ve treated you. I’m sorry it took me so long to see what they see. I am foolish and proud. When I began to see it, I pushed you down because I didn’t know what to do with it. With you. When I felt things for you I fought those feelings, and you suffered for it. Though I cannot make up for that, I can do better. I beg your forgiveness.”
His hand tightened ever so slightly against her cheek, anchoring himself to her. “Because I see you now, I see everything you are, and I believe in you just as they do.”
Her lips parted as she stared into those beautiful blue eyes, no words came before he leaned in again, kissing her like it was both an apology and a promise.
“I swear fealty to you,” he murmured against her lips. “My sword is yours. My life is yours. My heart is yours.”
Another kiss, the kind that felt like a vow.
For years, she had trained herself to expect the worst from Draco Malfoy. His sneers, hateful words, the sting of being called something less than human. She wanted to demand if he truly meant what he was saying, if he had gone mad. She wanted to know how someone who despised her could now speak these words with such conviction. Yet, the truth was there in his eyes as he kneeled before her; his eyes were unguarded, raw, and so very real.
“I kneel before you as my queen.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “And the false king will die by my hands, for you.” He promised.
“Draco,” Hermione breathed out, tears welling in her eyes as she held his cheek.
“When it is done, you will take the throne because it is yours…my queen.”