"I'm sorry to all the things

I've destroyed trying to

Rebuild myself.

I'm sorry to all the ones

I've left trying to

Find myself.

I'm sorry to all the hearts

I've broken trying to

Understand my own."

— Kiana Azizian

Draco stood at the corner of the room, his features settled into a cool indifference as he ignored the glares of the Order members at the meeting. A part of him was glad that he left Scorpius with Watson instead of here, receiving murderous and disgusted looks. He was hesitant at first to leave his son with the grumpy old elf, but Granger had assured him that despite Watson's disposition, he handled children well and in fact had helped care for the orphaned children left by the war. Watson had grumbled under his breath but didn't contradict her statements. Scorpius, being curious and oddly partial to the creature that only sneered at him, had been surprisingly amenable with the idea.

With one last look at Scorpius babbling happily to the elf about his muggle book, Draco portkeyed with Granger to the Order headquarters.

Shacklebolt was currently going over the new information Granger collected from the Death Eater warehouse and hideout she infiltrated. The only reason he had been included in the meeting was to provide any more information. The meeting room they were at had one exit and about twenty witches and wizards, upper tier members of the Order. Only the twelve at the conference table were a potential threat. But he had no wand. All he had protecting him was Shacklebolt's Unbreakable Vow that as long as Draco posed no threat and was compliant in giving truthful information to the best of his ability, Shacklebolt would ensure his and his son's protection.

" — as Granger has explained, Malfoy's information has thus far been legitimate," Mad-Eye Moody's said throatily. His black beady eye stayed focused on the table while his other blue glass eye whizzed in Draco's direction, bobbing before settling. Draco tried not to look uncomfortable and shifted his gaze towards Granger, who stoically avoided Ginny Weasley's concerned gaze. Interesting.

The moment Granger and he landed at headquarters, he had expected her to go off running with her friends. Curiously, Gryffindor's Princess seemed to go rigid at the sight of female Weasley and her posse — one of the Patil twins, Cho Chang, and others he vaguely recognized. And Loony Lovegood of course, trailing behind them with that dazed disposition that had always disturbed him.

Granger had put on a strained smile when they hugged her, indulging their hushed talk for only a moment before she made the excuse that she had to prepare for the meeting and bring him in. Their expressions faltered before a worried and pitying look overcame them. But she was gone before they could say anything.

"We've been successful in infiltrating a couple of labs, but are still unsure of the Dark Lord's larger plans," Shacklebolt began. "He has been searching for Dark Artifacts to use in his experiments but we don't know what they are. We've been focusing our efforts into trying to pinpoint what sort of weapon or — "

"Children." All eyes turned in surprise towards Draco.

"Pardon?"

"The Dark Lord," Draco said as he dusted his shirt, "his plan involves children. I'm not sure what his exact plans are as I wasn't privy to some of them but I have a strong suspicion it involves children."

There were several gasps around the room before Shacklebolt raised his hand for them to simmer down.

"And what makes you think it involves children?" the man asked.

"Four months after the Battle of Hogwarts us purebloods were required to produce heirs. For those still unwed, we were matched — with other purebloods of course — then wed with the expectation of producing an heir immediately." Draco shrugged nonchalantly then crossed his arms to hide the tremors in his fingertips.

"We weren't told much except that the Dark Lord wanted to increase the pureblood population — more power he said." Draco smiled grimly. "Curious things happened after a couple of pureblood babies were born, however..."

"What things?" Granger asked.

"The pureblood babies began disappearing." Draco watched the horror wash over many faces. "The parent's of the children wouldn't talk about it. But I suspect it had something to do with the Dark Lord... "

"And you didn't think to divulge this sooner, Malfoy?" Ah, the Weaslette. Draco wondered where her entire brood of brothers were. He'd seen the older ones who weren't in Hogwarts throughout the years during raids when he was still a Death Eater.

"Well, Weasley, I wasn't keen on revealing everything immediately given I was walking in here wandless. I needed guarantees."

"Kingsley said you made an Unbreakable Vo — "

"I did," he smirked. "For information that is truthful to the best of my abilities. Like I said earlier, this was just my suspicion."

"A fucking snake through and through," some Gryffindor snarled along with others calling him a Death Eater.

Draco simply met Granger's calculating brown eyes. She lifted a brow and he shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

"Enough." Shacklebolt shot sparks from his wand. He rubbed his head and sighed. "Malfoy's behavior has been compliant so far and he is right, it's speculation but it's useful information. We'll use this lead. Now, Granger, if you would — "

***

Hermione took her time packing up the scrolls into her beaded bag, pretending to ignore the lingering looks targeted towards her and Malfoy who were the last ones in the room. She was thankful for the silence between them as they exited, needing to sort through her mental checklist of things she needed to get done. Her mind was overwhelmed with his revelation. Children. Fuck. There were no boundaries the Dark Lord wouldn't cross for power, nothing he —

"Mione?"

"Ginny, hey," Hermione responded, blinking up at her. Every time Hermione saw Ginny, she was always taken aback by the shock of red hair that triggered an onslaught of childhood memories within her. It was short now, however — pixie cut. It suited her. Weasley hair always reminded her of autumn leaves, spices, and Molly's pumpkin pasties. She used to savor that reminder, letting it fuel her hopes for a future that seemed almost tangible, a future where things could go back to the way they were. But now these reminders felt as if they taunted her, shoving it in her face that even if things miraculously did go to some semblance of normalcy, she was changed.

"Can we talk?" There was concern in Ginny's warm eyes. Hermione tried, fucking tried not to let the almost patornizing look trigger her to lash out unfairly.

"I best be getting back with Malfoy, I can't leave him alone — "

"It'll be quick! We can speak on the back porch — Malfoy can stay on the other end. We'll have enough privacy." Before Hermione could respond, Ginny pulled her outdoors, Malfoy stoically trailing behind them.

Once secluded on one corner of the porch, Malfoy sitting on the railings on the other end and a Silencing Charm cast around them, Hermione took a steadying breath and waited for Ginny to begin.

"Hermione, how are you? Like really?" Ginny said as she put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. She flinched slightly at the contact.

Hermione gave Ginny an apologetic look and sighed.

"I'm – I'm surviving, Gin," she shrugged. "It's war. I suppose right now things could be better, but they could be a lot worse too."

"You know I'm always here for you right? We're all here for you — me, Seamus, Cho, even Luna in her own quirky way."

Hermione managed a weak smile. They'd had this conversation multiple times, but there were just some things Ginny and the others couldn't understand. Hermione had learned a long time ago that despite how much others tried to understand you or comfort you, despite how much you wanted them to, there were just things they would never truly comprehend, wounds they would never be able to soothe.

Hermione had tried, honestly tried to open up to Ginny and the others about Ron, Harry, her parents. She had sat with them into the late hours, cups of coffee wafting with hints of cheap muggle whiskey, trembling fingers and bloodshot eyes as they talked about their feelings and traumas. They kept reminding each other that it was okay and that they weren't alone. But Hermione had never felt more alone than she had sitting in a room full of people who also didn't know the right words to say except I'm sorry and you don't deserve this.

She had wanted to scream and just be fucking angry. It wasn't fucking fair and gods she had felt selfish. They didn't understand that she felt so abandoned and angry. She couldn't sit there acting like it wouldn't get worse. She couldn't sit there pretending that deep down, part of her believed that she deserved some of it.

"I'm doing better, Ginny," Hermione smiled tentatively. Some days she was honestly fine, other days she couldn't remember what being fine even felt like. "It comes and goes, but I'm managing. You all have your own things to worry about — I'll be fine. You know I always manage."

"Mione I know but we're in this together. All of us."

Hermione watched the light drizzle of rain catch then trickle tentatively from the roof. The wind picked up in a soft howl as the leaves shuddered. She didn't have the energy to pretend. The concept of going through tough things with other people, with friends, to help with the burden was a core idea in her youth — Harry, Ron, Hermione, always. But there were some paths one walked alone, paths where others could not follow.

Whenever she visited the headquarters or saw them, her old friends, it was like she was a stranger watching behind glass. When she saw them laugh, reminisce on happy memories, and focus on the positive moments, it was like she was an intruder. They celebrated the small victories and, in some ways, seeing what was left of her friends be happy had made her happy. But it wasn't the kind of happiness that was vicarious — it was a melancholic happiness, as if she was watching a happy memory, but she was too detached from it to feel present. It wasn't her friends' fault, because they tried to include her — they truly did. But any hope or happiness she felt or could not feel was eclipsed by the war and death around her, by all the sacrifices they've had to make, and continued making, for a future that seemed further and further from their grasp. And all she could do was watch behind the glass, trying to smile when a numbness overcame her.

Hermione took Ginny's hand and squeezed, letting the illusion live a little longer.

***

The hallway was cold and damp as Hermione crept through the abandoned Death Eater lab. Her lumos illuminated the steel walls, catching the trickle of murky water from the pipes. The True Order had successfully ambushed the place the night prior and Hermione had been sent to examine the remains alone. Though she was guaranteed it was free of Death Eater occupants, she kept her guard up for any traps or cursed objects.

Hermione continued in silence, furrowing her brow when she was met once again with the same puddle of water formed by a leak. She realized she had been walking in circles. The darkness lay behind and before her, and even with a lumos maxima she could spot no end and no beginning.

She took a calming breath, pushing away her panic and letting her mind deconstruct the puzzle before her into facts and patterns. All things had a pattern, in both magic and nature. There was an order to life that Hermione found comfort in, knowing that for all the vastness of the world and the universe, they could be broken down and explained by patterns, theories, and logical assumptions. Even when they deviated, they simply became another iteration of the pattern.

Hermione's heartbeat slowed to the rhythm of the water drops dripping, recounting what she had observed. She recalled that she had walked about 50 meters before she saw the puddle again. But, aside from the puddle, she was constantly surrounded by the same darkened steel walls, the clink of water dripping resounding throughout.

Hermione crouched in front of the puddle, staring at her murky reflection. Suddenly, the water began to spread into hundreds of droplets, forming a phrase.

Silence can only be found when one can walk into the darkness with their eyes wide open.

Hermione murmured the words and looked at her wand. The phrase suddenly clicked and she straightened. She flicked her wand to end the lumos and immediately the darkness crawled in like a million spiders. Hermione tried to keep her breathing steady. She forced her eyes open and kept her focus on the sound of water dripping.

She began walking into the endless darkness, fighting a shiver and the urge to cast a light. After a while, the clink of the water drops faded into silence. Reaching forward tentatively, her fingers met damp wood. A door. Hermione released a shaky breath and reached out for the knob and turned it.

The room was cold. Moonlight poured in from the gridded windows that she didn't remember seeing in the sketch of the house. They must have been magical ones, she thought.

After dismantling a couple of wards and checking for more cursed traps, Hermione cast a spell to light two sconces. Her suspicions had been right that this was the main lab. Parchment was scattered as well as cauldrons, vials, and sets of tools that looked similar to muggle surgical instruments. At the end of the room, however, were long slabs covered in white sheets that seemed to billow even though there was no draft in the room.

Hermione approached the tables, counting four in total. She approached the middle one and lifted the sheet. Immediately, she dropped the fabric and recoiled in horror. It was a body but there was something horribly wrong with it. The moonlight illuminated the body's pale features, the effect only highlighting the stark black veins that sprawled almost delicately over the victim's face. It was a young man, mouth open in shock, eyes a milky white, and bloated as if he had been drowned.

Hermione exhaled from her trembling lips and watched a white cloud of mist form. It couldn't possibly be...

She moved closer to the body and examined its cracked lips — pale and bloodless. The air around the body tasted acrid with decay and what almost felt like fear. A small chain and pendant around the man's neck drew her attention. Upon further inspection she noticed that it was laced with frost.

Immediately she knew. She couldn't place what kind of experimentation had been done to cause the black veins, but she knew that these bodies had received the Dementor's Kiss.

***

Despite the two days that had passed, Hermione could not get the milky soulless eyes out of her mind. She had hauled herself up in her room with books and scrolls on Dementors from the little that was left of the Order's archives — mostly sourced from personal collections of True Order members.

She mostly didn't sleep, her dreams plagued by images of that mission. The information was in these books somewhere, it always was. If only she could put the pieces together.

The morning after her mission, Malfoy had paused upon seeing her gaunt face, eyeing her disheveled state. His body had filled out with the proper meals and a healthier color tinted his cheeks. She had simply nodded and left the room.

Since then, she kept her distance from him. She had caught brief glances of him however in the library. The first time, she saw him, brows furrowed as he examined the muggle books, sneering in haughty superiority. The second time she found him leafing through a copy of one of Austen's works, rolling his eyes. She was almost tempted to barge in and go on a tirade about muggle literature like the Hermione at Hogwarts would have done, but she was not that girl anymore.

After hours of unsuccessful research, Hermione walked into the library, eager for a novel to give her some form of escapism. She paused, however, at the sight of Draco Malfoy sitting on the old ottoman, legs sprawled nonchalantly. His long fingers languidly caressed each page before turning them, his pale brows furrowing in concentration as he read what looked like a novel by... Edgar Allan Poe?

Hermione gaped, mouth opening and closing, suppressing the urge to talk about the book with him. It had been a while since she'd been able to indulge in a conversation about literature. Well, even during her time at Hogwarts, she never got a chance to talk much about books. She had tried with the Ravenclaws but many had not cared much for fiction and those that did tended to have discussions composed of heated analytical debates and arguments. Although Hermione eventually realized and understood that this was just borne out of their thirst to expand their knowledge, she had found it exhausting and felt that it took the joy out of reading.

"Did someone finally silencio that mouth of yours, Granger? Or hit you with a half-arsed trout curse? If so I'd have to thank them," Malfoy said without looking up.

Hermione clamped her mouth shut and glared at him when he looked up. She ignored the self-satisfaction in his pale eyes, almost as clear as glass against the early afternoon light. Hermione lifted her chin, blindly pulling a title from the shelves.

"Just surprised to see you with muggle literature," she huffed, taking a seat on the couch furthest away from him.

"Unfortunately, the selection here is quite limited," he said, clucking his tongue. He turned the book onto its cover. "Poe is it?" he drawled and Hermione's fingers twitched. "The characters in this short story collection are completely mad. Not a single thing makes sense."

Hermione inhaled deeply, trying to control herself. She wouldn't give in. She schooled her features into indifference and continued reading. From her periphery, she noticed Malfoy lift his head at her lack of response.

"No swotty comeback? I'm surprised."

"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy." Draco Malfoy was an equation she had yet to break. He was a mystery that she had a hard time reducing to a fixed logical profile using what she knew of the boy she grew up with at Hogwarts, the Death Eater in the papers, and the man she sometimes caught reading to his son.

There was a moment of silence, then suddenly he spoke up in that arrogant voice he used so often at school.

"I suppose that wouldn't be a surprise given that surely even you would admit that muggle literature is obviously below standards," he said casually. "I mean who wouldn't fall asleep from these ridiculously contrived prose — "

Hermione bristled and before she knew it she went on an entire lecture about the context of Poe's work and his role in muggle literature. And he had the audacity to look more and more smug as she cited quotes, highlighted his influences on society at large, and succinctly deconstructed the themes alluded to in his work.