Chapter Text
Hermione didn't know if she was still catching up on sleep or if Draco just naturally got up earlier than she did. Both possibilities were mildly alarming.
Because when she woke he was already dressed, sitting on the side of the bed and handing her a cup of tea. He'd been wearing variations of the same tight silk suit since the tea shop - just different colors, and different accessories. But today he was in a soft grey jumper over corduroys. Probably as close as Draco Malfoy ever got to jeans.
"You should eat something before the curse-breaker arrives," he said. "Seeing as we can't offer him anything before he looks at the wards. Not if they're going to read him as neutrally as possible."
Hermione sat up, and accepted the tea. "I bought things for bacon and eggs." She liked that bacon was an entirely self-contained spell. But eggs she preferred to scramble with with a fork, the way her mum did.
"The peahens lay eggs," said Draco. "And you can use the kitchen garden. For herbs and things."
Of course the Malfoys would eat peacock eggs. "Well, we have chicken eggs now too,” she said.
Draco insisted he had already eaten, but Hermione wasn’t sure she believed him. He just didn't seem to know what to do with himself that morning, while he waited for Bill to arrive. So he re-positioned objects, straightened pictures and a set of omnioculars hanging on the wall, vacuumed dust off things with his wandtip until he was actually getting a little underfoot.
Hermione got herself dressed, and ready for the day. Coaxed the ivy in her hair into something a little more practical. She was almost done with her food when molten silver bubbles began to blossom out of the end of Draco's wand.
"He's at the gate. I’m warning Mother.” Draco didn't wait for an answer, and instead just – vanished.
Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen him so openly nervous before. She wasn’t nervous. They were taking concrete steps towards her goal, and that sort of thing always made her feel calmer. Her mind was always clearer with a plan in it. So she took a second to quickly brush her teeth. Then apparated out to meet Bill Weasley.
It was nice to see that burst of red on the other side of the Malfoy gate. Bill was leaning against one of the gateposts, hands in his pockets, looking up at the house. He still wore his hair long, and at this point the scars Fenrir Greyback had scraped across his face just went with the rest of his look. The fang earring, the dragonhide jacket. Bill Weasley had always been the definition of quiet, rockstar cool.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," said Hermione, looking through the gate with the sudden realization that she wouldn’t be able to open it. "Draco should be out in a minute, but I'm glad I caught you.” She sighed. “He won’t say it, but he’s worried. He keeps acting like the house is about to crumble into dust."
Bill gave her a half-smile. "Well, you came to the right man. I've been working on post-Voldemort damage for… the last year or so. Broke the wards on that cave Ron and Georgie are holed up in. And we finally found the way to dismantle the curse on the Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts position." He looped his elbows through the whorls of the gate. “The trick was mostly in backwards-engineering exactly how he defined “Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.”
"Really!?" Hermione hadn't heard "Who do you think they're going to hire now?" She thought of putting Harry's name forward. Then reconsidered. Maybe one day, when Teddy was a little older and Harry had brushed up on his magical theory. Not everyone could use Finite Incantatum as an all-purpose counter-jinx.
Bill grinned at her. "What, you want the job?"
"No," Hermione laughed. "I mean I’d be honored if they asked of course. But I suspect I've done enough defending against the dark arts for a while."
"And I hear you're going to be a Malfoy lady. That's new."
Hermione looked at her shoes. It was fun, hearing it put that way.
"It’s certainly not something I expected,” she said. “But I'm glad it’s how things turned out."
"I hope the Malfoys know that you're the best thing that could have happened to them.” Bill drummed his fingers on the gate's silver filigree – and as if on cue, Hermione heard the pop that was Draco apparating into existence.
“Father’s cooperating,” he muttered at Hermione. Looking a little frazzled, not making eye contact with Bill.
"Oh..." Hermione wasn't sure how much Draco would want her to explain, but she did know that she could trust Bill. "Lucius is..." she tried to be tactful. "His time in Azkaban wasn't kind to him. He's… struggling."
Bill nodded. "I figured. But there’s no way of getting around it. The entire family needs to be there, wards get particular when they’re as old as these. They all require a little bit of a song-and-dance.” He cleared his throat. "Am I given permission to enter?"
Draco came up beside Hermione. "Enter freely and under no obligation," he said, voice a little high.
The gate swung open easily, and Bill stepped inside the Malfoy grounds. "You're Draco, aren't you?"
Draco looked sort of wide-eyed, and didn't say a word.
Bill met Hermione’s eyes. Shook his head, smiled, and started walking up towards the house.
Hermione realized that she might have underestimated just how scared Draco was.
"Bill's not going to bite," she scolded, quietly. Draco scrunched his face at her, trying to communicate wordlessly and utterly failing.
"It's… all right?" When in doubt, blanket assurances tended to work.
But on her other side, Bill was struggling to hold back a laugh. "He's being very proper and very traditional, Hermione. It is a thing, to not speak to a curse-breaker before the start of the ward ceremony."
“Well, if it's tradition.” Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. “Am I not supposed to speak to you either? Because it's a bit late for that."
"It doesn't actually matter. I mean, sure I have colleagues who don't like talking to people in general, but that's just preference. Staying silent is supposed to keep you from upsetting the curse-breaker, so they don't damage your wards. Accidentally or on purpose."
"I think you'd be rather more annoyed if I didn't say a word."
"Well, it's nice seeing you. The Weasleys and the Malfoys have a feud. Which I don't want you to worry about." Bill reached over, and was actually tall enough to ruffle Draco's hair. Draco of course couldn’t do a thing about it. Bill looked back at Hermione. "You’re technically a peace-weaver."
"Peace-weaver?" She'd never heard the term before.
"It’s what they used to call someone who married specifically to end a feud. You've spent enough time under the Weasley roof, you count as kin."
"That’s not why I’m doing it." Obviously she was doing it to get rid of Azkaban. "But I wouldn’t mind that as a side effect."
"I'm mostly reminding him.”
Draco was looking deeply displeased about pretty much everything, as he led them away from the main house and out towards the chapel. Until Bill physically re-directed him.
“Nope. You’re having problems with your wards. I need to see how they physically manifest in your living space.”
That was fascinating. Hermione wondered if the grounds were a less reliable litmus test because living things were more difficult to transfigure, or if maybe the house was running some kind of runic magic, which ideally needed to be inscribed on stone –
She was still thinking about that when they passed over the threshold into the entrance hall. And realized that she might have become a little too accustomed to the state of the house. Because Bill audibly sucked in a breath. Then let out a long, low whistle.
"Yeah. Yeah… you were right to call me." He walked deeper into the house, boot heels clinking on the tile floor. Eyes going to the dark fireplace, splintering wood. Cobwebs. Water damage. Then he looked sharply at Draco.
“Your father hasn’t killed your mother, has he? Nothing like that?”
Draco wildly shook his head.
“Sorry. Had to ask. Normally, when blood-wards look this bad…” Bill trailed off. “It could be a ceremonial sacrifice, maybe. Especially one that took place over a period of time… I wouldn't put it past him. Voldemort - he liked to put old stuff in his spells. If he found some dark medieval ritual that he liked…” He turned to Draco. "The ward-setting’s probably in some kind of family shrine or chapel, right?"
Draco's parents were already there, waiting for them. Narcissa stood very tall, a cloth-wrapped bundle in one arm, the other wrapped tight around her husband. Lucius Malfoy looked thin and exhausted but… quiet. Shaved and more-put together than he had been before. The odd, flickering light from the falling water in the center made his face look ghostly and strange, and he did not seem to recognize them, his eyes sliding over their faces, uncomprehending. Then he turned in towards his wife's hair.
Wordlessly, Narcissa passed the bundle over. Bill unwrapped it to reveal…a lethal-looking dagger.
"Merlin. You have the original implement…” he held it at arm’s length. “Well. This is going to make my job easier."
Bill moved with extreme care to the very center of the space. Pulled off a glove, stood next to the center basin… then let the side of his hand just barely rest against the glowing water. He closed his eyes.
"Will those recognized as blood form a ring.”
Warily, Narcissa brought Lucius closer. Hermione started to follow Draco, but –
"Hermione.” Bill hadn’t opened his eyes. “You're an ally, not blood. You’re not a part of this.”
Hermione nodded and stepped back. Yes, of course she was worried about Draco and the outcome and all that. But she couldn’t help being deeply excited that she was about to witness a pureblood ceremony this old and – she suspected – unusual.
Narcissa lightly pushed Lucius away from her, positioning him before going to form her own point of the triangle. Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco. Bill at the center.
"Right,” he said. “So we're about to start. Do not leave your place before I’m finished. Once I break the connection – don’t cast any spells for about an hour, just be safe. I wouldn’t want the house amplifying them, or combining them together."
Bill set his wand on the ground near his feet. His hand sunk deeper into the magic of wards. The other gripped the dagger.
“Who answers for this house?” he said, sudden and harsh. His voice had gone much lower.
"I do," said Narcissa.
As she spoke, complicated curlicues and organic shapes began to rise up from the basin and into the air. Hovering. Forming lines of undulating silver magic that hung above them like wires.
"Name now those bound to these wards."
"Narcissa Malfoy." The silver wires settled, wrapping themselves around her wrists, as she held them out in front of her.
"Draco Malfoy." The magic threads jumped from Narcissa, and looped around his wrists too. Then a silence.
“Lucius Malfoy.”
He had paused a little too long. The magic still twisted itself around and around… but the final line, the one joining Lucius and Narcissa, that would have completed the circle… that line didn’t form. It was trying to, throwing out loose broken threads, like a climbing plant searching for something to latch on to. But they didn’t connect.
Bill’s eyes stayed closed. His brow furrowed.
Maybe it spoke to the state of Lucius’ magic. Not being able to touch the wards like he was supposed to. Maybe – maybe it was hurting him, because he looked scared now. Pulling against the silver swirls that bound him.
Bill stood tall. More threads branched off the main ring, weaving a spider's web with him in the center.
"Who is missing?" he said. "The wards try to find another."
"There's no one else," said Draco.
The wards were trying to find another? Thoughts exploded through Hermione’s brain. Someone else? She thought of the huge, crumbling manor house in The Secret Garden. The one with a secret sickly child hidden away from the guests… this house was certainly big enough to hide someone. Snape? The Malfoys would have protected him, but he was dead. An animagus, hiding amongst the peacocks? Crookshanks would have known…
Bill's movements got bigger. There were more threads now, and even more, until the entire room blazed with light. Wind had picked up, swirling, coming from nowhere. His hair looked like a flame - and then -
He dropped the dagger, and the spell was gone.
It took a second for Bill to detach himself from the basin. Slowly pick up his wand, slide it into his sleeve. All three of the Malfoys were blinking and dazed. Draco was gazing in Hermione’s general direction. But he looked through her, as though at something far away.
And Hermione… had no idea what she was supposed to do. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This was supposed to answer questions, not create more. There was not supposed to be some mysterious fourth figure – running around – somehow tied to the wards –
"Well," said Bill. Once he'd gotten his breath back. “There’s one thing I know for sure. There’s king's blood in here."
"What," said Draco, completely flat.
"Who gave you this land, again?"
"William the Conqueror."
Bill hummed. "Yeah. Makes sense. That means he probably was here when the Malfoy family first set the wards. And contributed to the wards, by the looks of it."
"Mother?!"
Narcissa had slid her hand into Lucius.’ "Draco," she said, low. "Control yourself. We have company.”
"I imagine having muggle blood in your wards isn't something your family would want to publicize," said Bill. A little snappishly. “Even if it’s from a muggle king.
"We are endeavoring to move past that," said Narcissa. "What does it mean, that we have king’s blood?"
"It means that the wards are locked. I can’t look at them, I can’t alter them without the king’s permission. I need him present, whoever he is."
"The king….” Hermione’s voice was dry, and she started again. “I mean, England hasn’t got a king. If you want the monarch, that’s the Queen." And she didn't know how they'd go about making that happen. Unless the Malfoys had considerable influence she didn’t know about.
“Oh no,” said Draco. “Please say that Armand Malfoy did not swear fealty to William of Normandy and all of his descendants in perpetuity. He probably did. He probably did, the dramatic French bastard. Now the wards want Queen Elizabeth the Second of England. Great. Wonderful. That is a very real thing that can definitely be accomplished without sending us all to Azkaban.”
Hermione had to fight the urge to start laughing hysterically. This might not be fixable.
"Don't be stupid," said Lucius Malfoy. His voice cut the darkness like a blade. "The wards don't want some muggle queen. We didn't swear fealty to her. You know who we swore fealty to, Draco."
Hermione's blood ran cold.
"He’s gone,” she said. “He’s gone. We found his horcruxes. We destroyed them all." Her voice shook. So did her hands. Six. Plus Harry. That was all there was. The war was over.
"They thought he was dead the last time, didn’t they?” Lucius Malfoy stood in the midst of them, an outline rimmed in silver light. “But one of that madman's immortality experiments worked. Who's to say it wouldn't work again. This was a fool's exercise. A fool's hope."
A solid, dull thud as the door slammed shut behind him.
Hermione followed Draco and Narcissa out into the open air like a sleepwalker.
This meant... she would have to tell Harry. And Ron. Maybe there was something else hidden in that cave – or at Grimmauld place – at Hogwarts. The hunt wasn't over, and this time she didn't even know where to start looking. Childishly she looked up, hoping to see an owl. Maybe carrying additional pieces of Dumbledore's will.
She took Draco's hand for her own comfort, and turned to Bill.
"What should we do?"
“It is my duty to give you all the information I can,” he said. “And what I can tell you is – if we’re dealing with king’s blood – then these look like the wards of a dishonored knight. If Lucius Malfoy is correct, and the house recognized Voldemort as king, and he – he snapped your father’s wand, didn’t he?”
Draco nodded, once. “Yeah. He – the Dark Lord was, holding it. When it snapped.”
“... yeah,” said Bill. “That would do it.”
Narcissa was standing at a distance, arms wrapped around herself, looking out to the lake. As unseeing as Lucius had been, before.
“I’d start with the Dark Mark,” said Bill. “That’s fealty magic, same as the wards. The two things might be affecting each other. Even if the wards – won’t accept his death. There could still be a work-around.”
"Severus would have known what to do," said Draco. "He was good... at things like this."
But Hermione wasn't listening. She'd latched onto that little piece of hope. A lead.
"I need to go," said Bill. "And it probably doesn't need to be said, but. I'm a curse-breaker. I can't tell anyone what I've seen here. So keep me in the loop, Hermione. Let me know if I can help."
Hermione let go of Draco’s hand long enough to give Bill a hug. He pulled her in, and rubbed her back. All the Weasley boys gave fantastic hugs.
"You take care of yourself," he said. "You're always welcome at Shell Cottage. Fleur would love to see you."
"I don't think I'll have time. With the wedding preparations – ” there were still wedding preparations – “now this… tell Fleur I said hello."
"I'll – I'll walk you to the – gate," said Draco.
"No. I think I can see our guest home safely," said Narcissa. "Stay with Hermione, Draco."
She and Bill left. And now Hermione has even less idea of what she was supposed to do. She didn't know what Draco needed from her. If he needed anything from her.
"If you want to call off the wedding, I understand," he said.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because I've got such dark magic under my skin. Because there's a good chance we'll never fix this." Draco had yanked back his sleeve. Was staring again at the twisting black lines.
"I know about the Dark Mark, Draco. That's not news." She spoke very slowly, like she was trying to explain a concept to a difficult child. “And really, nothing has changed. We just have more information than we did before.” And the problem was bigger than we thought.
"You've done enough. You shouldn't have to deal with him anymore."
"I saw him across a room once. If Harry, Ron and I missed a horcrux, that's our fault. Really, when you think about it, all this means is that you've saved us from another war a decade from now.” That was how long it had taken Voldemort to find a body the last time he’d been down to just horcruxes.
Draco nodded, still dazed. "We should go back inside. Only I’m not supposed to do any spells. And apparition –"
"That’s what our feet are for. Come on." Hermione put an arm around him and led him back in the direction of the house. She was starting to suspect that he was in shock. "Let's get you curled up in a nice soft blanket."
Quietly, she was more worried about Lucius. She trusted Narcissa to handle it, but she was concerned about what he’d do, if he spent too much time alone.
By the time they got back to their rooms, Hermione was beginning to consider that the Hypothetical Additional Horcrux might be somewhere in Malfoy Manor. "After all, you've had two, technically three in here.” Nine was a much more magically stable number than eight, so she didn’t hate it as a working theory.
"It does makes sense," said Draco dully, sitting on the sofa. Still just looking down at his hands. "He stored a lot of things here. But you saw how long it took just to go through a corner of the ballroom. And it could be any of the dark magical objects in the cellar…"
Hermione draped a blanket over him, and Draco brought it around his shoulders, automatically.
She was thinking back to the way that the ward-magic had seemed to hurt Lucius, more than it had hurt Draco. That might be just because it was Lucius’ wand that had been snapped, but…
“Draco. Was Voldemort... especially fond of you?"
The look of horror he gave her. "Oh – fuck – I hope not?"
It took her a moment to realize what he thought she was insinuating.
"No, I didn't mean it like that!" She felt a little queasy at the thought. "Although I suppose that would be one explanation. But… um… no. That wasn't what I meant. I just meant your father was enough of a loyal supporter to host him here. If anything, you were more reluctant. And you failed to kill Dumbledore. So it seems like the wards ought to be hurting you, um. More.”
Draco shook his head. "He didn’t actually think I would kill Dumbledore. Not for a second. That was always going to be Severus. But Father was actually supposed to get the Prophecy, and his wand was supposed to stand up against Potter's. There's also the fact that Father started out precariously, because he came out of the first war the best of any Death Eater. He did... the least to find Voldemort. And didn't exactly do a very good job protecting the pieces of his soul.”
"That's comforting." Hermione had suspected as much, but it was nice to know for sure.
"Father saw Voldemort as something he could use. A Dark Lord to destabilize things just enough for him to gather more power to himself. That's more or less what happened the first time. Only – Voldemort was always just a little smarter, and a little less unstable than my father wanted him to be."
"What did he think of you?" If Draco even knew.
He immediately looked away. Then shrugged. "I stayed as silent and as out of the way as I could. He did..." Draco's hands got tight in his lap. "He, ah. Sometimes he – liked to watch me crucio other Death Eaters. I think he thought it was – funny. Funnier, when I did it."
There was nothing to say to that.
"I'm so sorry.” The words were inadequate. Because she could picture it perfectly. Could imagine how unsteady his wand would be. How terrified he must have been. "I'm so sorry, Draco."
Draco just – sighed. An exhale that went right through his entire body.
Hermione was having an idea. An idea about Dark Marks and locating horcruxes. It was going to be rough on Draco, though. She hated what she was going to have to ask him to do.
"Did they teach you how to summon him?"
Draco laughed, no humor. Dug into his left forearm with the heel of his palm. "Every time someone offered, I lied and said I'd already learned from one of the others."
"You're going to hate me for this, but I think you may have to learn to summon him."
"So you can track him." he said, with no inflection at all.
"It's the best lead we have." It was like Harry's scar all over again. She wished Voldemort would stop getting under the skin of the people… close to her.
"So I'm the bloodhound,” said Draco. “I mean, what am I going to say, no? Father knew how to cast it. Obviously he can't cast it now. If anything would violate his house arrest..." His knees came up, and his arms crossed protectively in front of him.
"He could teach you?"
Draco got up off the couch. Pacing. "You’ve probably noticed that Father gets his times confused. Sometimes he thinks I'm still in my third or fourth year, at Hogwarts." He glanced over at Hermione. "He'll ask about quidditch games I played a decade ago. Or about my exams. You beat me in every subject those years. As he keeps reminding me. That, I don't mind so much. But sometimes he thinks it's still the war, and that Voldemort's still here. I can tell you right now, that is what he will think if I ask him to teach me that spell."
“Maybe your mother knows how to cast it?” It was a long shot.
“Maybe.”
And once again, Draco seemed to have no idea what to do with his body. He’d walk, sit on the arm of the chair for a few seconds. Get up. Light candles. Go over to the window for no reason. Hermione wanted to help him. And no, she didn't know what – or who – the Malfoy wards were reaching out to. But whatever it was, she’d find it. Then she’d get rid of it.
"You're not in this alone."
That made Draco pause. "I suppose not. What a thought." He exhaled, looked over his shoulder. "You and Potter and Weasley already destroyed eight pieces. One more... shouldn't be much more of a problem?" Then he turned back to the window. Leaned his forearm on the glass. Afternoon light hit him full in the face. It wasn’t actually even that late in the day, but Hermione felt like she’d been awake for weeks.
“Thank Merlin and the seven sages for you,” he mumbled.
“I don't think we need to bring too many other people in on this. The fewer who know, the better." Hermione mostly didn't want to alert the rest of the Order. It seemed unwise given the Malfoys’ precarious legal position. “But you've got Harry and Ron, of course.”
“I have you. You have the two of them. There’s a distinction. Which is why I’m thanking you.”
"I suppose. But I think they'd help anyway." At least Harry would, and Ron would always back Harry up. "I mean, it is our fault if we've missed one."
“It’s almost like the job shouldn’t have been left to three seventeen-year-olds in the first place.”
Hermione nearly argued. Force of habit. But Draco wasn’t trying to imply that her success was all dumb luck.
"You're right. I think. Even if Harry… can't quite admit it yet."
“You were in combat situations when you had, what, only been apparating for a few months? It’s a miracle no one got splinched.”
"Ron did once." She had to smile a little. "He hadn't even passed his test before we had to go on the run. Neither had Harry."
Actually, she wasn’t sure if Harry had ever gone back to take his apparition test. Probably not, to be perfectly honest. Ron had, but only because she'd insisted during the brief time they’d been dating.
But the look Draco gave her – one of pure, blank-faced horror – did seem a little uncalled for.
"It wasn’t as though they had much of an opportunity to take it,” she said, defensively.
“That is – I mean – my father taught me how to apparate, summer of fourth year…”
Hermione wanted to say that at least they'd always had the Order backing them up. But they hadn't, not really. A lot of it had just been the three of them against impossible odds. She'd only recently stopped having nightmares about being buried alive in burning gold.
Quietly, in thoughts Hermione couldn't quite bring herself to voice, she sometimes wondered if Dumbledore really had intended for all of them to make it out alive. A death, a martyr… would have been good for the war effort. Something to rally behind. It was all too easy to picture. ‘The brightest witch of her age.’ Gone too soon. If they'd been captured, she was always going to be the first one made an example of.
"You lying to Bellatrix saved my life. She'd have killed me otherwise."
“It is truly a miracle Aunt Bellatrix did not kill all of us.”
"I thought they might have killed you, after that."
“I don’t want to talk about that night,” said Draco. As blunt as he ever was about anything. Then he slid a few steps closer. Reached out and found her hand, resting on the velvet arm of the chair. Squeezed it.
"I know this sounds foolish, because I don't think any of us really knew Dumbledore," said Hermione. "But I still miss him. The version of him we did know. The war got so much scarier after he died."
Draco sank down on the cushion beside her. Impossibly lightly, brushed a kiss against her cheekbone.
Hermione let herself relax into his arms. Told herself that she was doing it to comfort him, but deep down she knew that wasn’t true. Even though she had destroyed a horcrux before and certainly could again, the thought that there was another bit of Voldemort out there left her feeling a little hollow inside. Confirming, of course, that she had been completely right to never let her guard down or settle in anywhere. Planning a wedding. It seemed the height of hubris.
"Thank you,” she said. She supposed it was nice to have someone acknowledging that they should have had more help. Even if it was just extra apparition lessons.
“I think we ask Mother to get that Dark Mark summoning spell for us,” said Draco, abruptly. “It will be easier for her to deal with Father.”
Hermione was so used to having to do everything herself that she hadn't even considered that as an option. "We'll ask when we see her next.”
Draco exhaled.
"... I don't want to tell Harry,” she confessed. "I'll have to, but I don't want to see the look on his face when he finds out we're not done yet."
“I can tell him, if you like. The whole situation reflects too poorly on me to make any sense as a lie.”
"You're sweet." She lay her head on his shoulder. "No. I'll tell him."
They just sat in silence that way, for a while. Draco was very warm. That helped. Crookshanks wandered over and twined around their legs, before jumping up to join them. That helped too.
“Do you want me to go with you,” said Draco. “When you go talk to Potter, and Weasley, and whoever else you trust with this. Longbottom maybe.”
"It would look strange if you weren't there."
“You have your dynamic. Especially when it comes to hunting Voldemort. If you didn’t want me to get in the middle of that, I would understand.”
She shook her head. "We are still engaged. I'd have to value your input in order to want to marry you."
Draco paused, considering. Then smiled. “I don’t think that you meant that as a backhanded insult.”
"If you're not there, they'll wonder why." She wasn't sure how any of that was an insult.
“I bow to your judgment," said Draco. “I’m probably good to apparate finally, so I guess the only question is… When do we start?”
Hermione snuggled against him a little more. Quite ridiculously thankful that she didn’t have to bring everyone the bad news on her own this time. Not to be the only one in charge of the plan that everyone wished they didn’t need… she laughed. It sounded more like a broken wheeze than a real laugh.
“We’ve still got half the day.” She got to her feet.
Time to go back to war.