Devil Doesn't Bargain

The Aftermath

Counting had always helped Hermione. She would do it now.

One.

She was laying in her bed at the manor, head heavy from potions. She had no recollection of them being administered, no recollection of being taken back up the stairs. She was in pain, but that wasn't such a strange thing. She could deal with pain. Her limbs twitched.

Two.

Her assignments had changed, or rather, they had been updated. She was no longer leading an offensive team in the upcoming attack on London. Instead, she was being sent to Hogwarts for additional research. More details would follow once she'd recovered.

Three.

The dark lord expected complete loyalty. Something had given them away, and they were punished accordingly. She had needed a reminder that the dark lord had made her, and it was he who could break her as well. He held the cards. She had gotten too comfortable, too distracted, too mesmerized by the Malfoy charm. Nothing was stronger than the bond between herself and her master. Nothing was worth defending more than her title as Cuckoo. Or so the dark lord stated.

Four.

Her parents were safe, for now. Due to her past success with the Deathly Hallows and other missions, Voldemort kindly permitted them to live, although they had been moved to the manor dungeons as a safeguard. The next time Hermione made the dark lord believe she valued anyone over himself, she could say goodbye to her family.

Five.

Voldemort did not know about the animus. Even when her mental shields failed her and he invaded her defenseless mind, he was unable to perceive the soul bond. Perhaps it was something deeper than mere thoughts. Perhaps everything but her most surface-level feelings had dissolved after the torture. Perhaps it had never been there to begin with. Hermione did not know anything at the moment but the searing pain in her chest. Every breath was agony.

Six.

She had never gotten to send Remus a note warning him of the upcoming London attack. She would need to remember later. Would she remember any of this? Maybe she didn't want to.

Seven.

She couldn't feel Draco.

***

"Alright, alright! I'm coming," Theo muttered. "Geez." He ripped open the front door with some irritation. It was the middle of the bloody night and absolutely frigid outside. His emerald slippers were simply not cutting it.

Draco blinked back at him, expression completely blank.

Theo immediately softened, cracking a grin. "Aww, sweetie, if you wanted to cuddle you only had to call and I'd have come over."

Draco didn't seem to register the words. Theo leaned closer, examining his friend's eyes. Sure enough, they were icy grey; he was occluding...quite fiercely. Theo wondered if the other boy even really knew where he was, or why he was here. Occlumency was a tricky sort of magic; sometimes it was possible to retreat so far within that you became unaware of what was going on outside of the mind. A breeze drifted through the entryway, causing Theo to shiver. He carefully laid a hand on Draco's arm and dragged him inside.

"Come on, then. Let's have some tea," Theo murmured softly, herding Draco to the couches. His eyes briefly landed on a portrait of the two of them from their fourth year; goofy grins and arms wrapped around shoulders. He looked back at this current version of his friend. Draco was clearly having a breakdown.

He left Draco with a pillow in his lap, gazing into nothingness. Theo sighed and put on the kettle. By the time he returned with two steaming cups, the other boy was clenching it so hard his knuckles were white. With another sigh, Theo set down the cups and placed his hands on Draco's.