The Secret Heir {Dramoine}

Chapter Three

. . . . . .

Often in moments of brief distress. Hermione would stop and let herself feel it. The feeling of despair wrapping its lonely tendrils around her. She thrilled by the way it invaded her heart and mind until it was all-consuming, like a leech poisoning its way through her body. Only briefly would she let it escape from the jar she kept it locked inside. Occasionally she would open the lid, using the feeling as a reminder. A reminder that she was human, that all of what was happening to her was in fact real.

Today as she stood at the edge of the tree line, she took a moment to open the lid. Not much, only a crack. She let the feeling take over her, half convinced that if she let it consume her, she need not worry about returning to the order. That she would be lucky enough that the pain would kill her. At least then she wouldn't have to worry about the future that awaited her.

But as soon as she found the courage to tip over the jar and let the sorrow drown her. A thought emerged.

Who would protect them?

Who would save her friends from the death she so longingly craved?

She couldn't rely on any of the inner circle to make the right choices. If the Death Eaters wouldn't kill them, then the resistance would surely get themselves killed. Especially without her on the field, and Shacklebolt as their leader. The inner circle was egotistical, they had no poise, no self-preservation. Their method of fighting in the war was purely sacrificial. They refused to concede and embrace the dark magic rather than use it to benefit the resistance. They would go out into battle like lambs to a slaughter. Kingsley was prepared to sacrifice the lives of good soldiers if it meant for the purpose of serving the greater good.

Hermione didn't agree. She blamed him for the reason the resistance was failing. She blamed him for the deaths of her friends, she blamed the inner circle for being too ignorant to listen to her ideas. She blamed him for her capture. She refused to succumb to the ideology of sacrifice for the greater good. Soon enough there wouldn't be enough of them to sacrifice. She refused to let any more of the people she cared about die at the hands of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

She had accepted her fate. She was condemned to hell with the dark mark on her arm. She refused to drag her friends down with her. She could not fight her fate, one way or another she was damned. But she could still fight for others. If that meant having to destabilize the inner circle herself, she would do it if it meant they would listen.

Draco released her only a few moments ago under the pretense that she was to infiltrate the order and return to him the next day. She was tired, her body sweaty and covered in blood still from the once-open wound on the back of her head. She had a day from hell, her body was exhausted, and her hair was matted. She was emotional and depressed, and more than anything she was angry.

Angry at Draco fucking Malfoy for being an inexorable tyrant.

Angry at Kingsley for the reason the order had become so weak.

Angry at herself and the mark that was now burned into her arm.

As she stood at the edge of the forest, she took the time to gather her emotions and she pushed them back inside the jar. Closing the lid shut.

She refused to yield.

She was determined to safeguard her friends, even if it meant confronting Kingsley alone. Her commitment to the Order's goals remained unwavering. She just couldn't simply watch as those she cared about fall victim to Kingsley's incompetence. Even if she was forced into this situation, she resolved to secure a better future for her friends.

She gazed at the front of Greenwich Infirmary, the weathered green sign barely clinging on. The building was nestled on the outskirts of the forest, it provided the perfect hideaway. Situated a few miles south of Little Hangleton and just beyond the anti-apparition boundaries, it was perfect, it offered both seclusion and proximity. Despite the size, the infirmary had ample space to accommodate the remaining resistance fighters and tend to the injured.