The Consequences of Our Actions

It was three days before Draco could stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time, and Lucius was worried. If that Mudblood had permanently harmed his son, he'd destroy everything precious to her in vengeance. He didn't care about the Dementor’s Kiss, his boy was worth more than his soul. What Draco had told him about the dream had put him even more on edge.

"She is the most powerful witch alive, Father. She must be mine," Draco had said at the end of his tale. Lucius was unsure. A Malfoy never admitted defeat, but on rare occasions, they could consider calling a draw.

"Draco, I know you want her. However, if she can do all this to you through a dream you control, imagine what she can do when she is in control."

Draco looked at his father for a long moment and smiled broadly. Lucius would never say that any Mudblood was a worthy adversary, so to think that she might actually be better than a pure-blood was actually beyond comprehension for him. Now, he could see his father's existential crisis regarding the witch really come to a head. Since he'd gotten to Hogwarts, Draco had weathered his parents' silent disapproval of his choice of a witch, and now his father knew.

"It only makes me want her more. You always said, Father, that the greatest victories are found in the toughest battles." Draco was mostly talking about Hermione, but a small part of his statement meant that he'd been right all this time and that his parents had been wrong, and that was a great victory in and of itself. Draco fell asleep feeling vindicated and rather pleased with himself.

Hermione was growing worried; she hadn't dreamed of Draco in days. Damn her soft heart all the way to Hades. She'd never used her fire on another person before, and while it couldn't harm her, she had no idea what it could do to another, especially another linked by the subconscious as he had been. She had no idea what had happened to him after she woke up, although there were several times when she would get a shiver down her spine for no reason. The mark was just as dark as ever, so she took that as a sign that she hadn't killed him. Still, there was uncertainty, and Hermione had taken to rubbing the brand softly, making sure it was still there. She didn't want to hurt Draco; she just wanted him to bugger off, already.

Ever since Hermione had discovered the brand, she'd been looking for information on it. When she’d left school, Hermione had left behind more than just the improved DA Galleons to keep in touch. There were three blank journals in her library that were spelled to match three still in Britain. Luna had one, as did Harry, and Professor McGonagall.

Any time she would need a book, she'd ask Luna or her professor, and they'd magically copy it into the journal, and then Hermione would copy from the journal onto books that Hermione had bound herself. This meant that even though she was living in a secluded mountain top village, Hermione had access to the outside world. She could chat back and forth with her friends through the journal pages, as well. The Galleon was good for things brief or urgent, but she had had many dates with her friends back home since she matriculated.

Many of the books in her library were about magical tattoos, branding, the Dark Mark, Unbreakable Vows, and anything else she could think of to research what Draco had done to her. Of course, none of them could tell her about Malfoy marks specifically, so she was on her own there. Stupid family secrets! Hermione wanted the bloody thing off of her, but after nine months, she was certain that when a Malfoy left a mark, it was permanent, unless you could coerce said Malfoy into removing it personally.

The councilors had been thrilled when she had told them about her library, as they were trying to refurbish their own. They had hired a wizard from the small city up north, but he wasn't working out. He hadn't been cheating them necessarily, but it was clear he didn't make the job a priority. Hermione's bibliophilia had made her an instant replacement, and it was her afternoon duty when the council didn't need her. In the mornings, she would gather supplies with or without the initiates, and she helped with the smaller children. Yesterday, they had gone to a lake to swim. Hermione could not be happier with her life. She was sighing contentedly.

Hermione looked up as Acara growled. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary until Hermione realised she'd been caressing the brand absently. She smacked her hand down to the table where she was binding sheets of papyrus together into books.

"Thanks, lady. I'd be lost without you."

If she had burnt Draco because of their bond, she was pretty sure that if she touched the mark, he'd feel it. The last thing she needed was for Draco to think she was worried. She didn't know it was already too late for that.