Mutation
Mutation
Hermione/Draco, rating: pg-13, genres: romance, gen, AU, ~10,000 words
Summary:
Muggles are dying from germ warfare, yet not a single wizard has become ill. Abandoned by the Muggles, who are afraid of those who do not catch their illnesses, Draco ends up living on the streets. After he is brought done by a common wizarding cold, Hermione saves him. Can he help save her - and the rest of the wizarding world?
Author's Note:
Huge thank yous to tiger_flame, shina_laris, snarkyscorp, and love_stoned0_0 for betaing and doing awesome reading responses! :) My biggest thanks go to parseltonguepen for "buying" this fic through livelongnmarry and providing me with the prompts that sparked this fic! Thank you all for reading, as well! :)
MUTATION
“Ron! Over here! I think it might be a child!”
Someone was moving his rags, uncovering him. Draco shivered violently at the sudden blast of cool air. His Muggle T-shirt and jeans were too thin and soggy to keep him warm. His cold was giving him chills and sweats, and the autumn air was damp and nippy.
The person gasped. “Malfoy?”
Draco recognized the voice, but he was too tired, sick and hungry to care about who it could be. He kept his eyes closed, and tried to will warmth back into his limbs.
“Hermione, where are you?”
The person over him called out loudly-“I’m over here!”-and Draco started at the loud noise, curling up into a tiny ball. He tried to pull himself in even tighter when Granger, as it was now obvious to him who she was, reached out and rubbed his shoulder. She slumped to the ground as she did it, kneeling next to him. He couldn’t see her with his eyes shut, but he could feel the heat of her body radiating toward him.
“Shh... it’ll be alright, Malfoy. We’ll help you. Shh...” Granger murmured platitudes and nonsensical words into his ear. Draco wanted to calm down, but the feel of a hand on him raised too many walls of protection. It had been weeks, or maybe even months, since he had touched another human being peacefully. Living on the streets meant living alone. The only time he had contact with someone was when he was fighting over food or goods. Even then, he usually lost, receiving nothing for his troubles except a bruise or two.
Granger’s hand was making him antsy. He shifted away from it, moaning when she moved to follow him. He wasn’t used to contact like this anymore. He wished she would just hurt him already.
“Hermione, what is it?” Weasley’s voice was closer now. “What have you... what the hell? Is that Malfoy?”
Draco began to calm down. He knew Weasley. Weasley would hurt him. It would make sense; it was something Draco understood. He didn’t understand why Granger was still touching him, almost petting him.
“I think it’s Malfoy. He’s in pretty bad shape. I can feel his ribs poking out of his back, and I know he’s conscious, but he isn’t responding to me.”
Weasley snorted. “It’s just Malfoy. Who cares? Just leave him. Come on, I thought we were looking for Muggle-born orphans.”
Weasley was right. No one cared about Draco except Draco himself. Other people had cared about him once, before Harry Potter died, before the Muggle Wars started. Now there was no one.
Granger’s hand tightened on his arm, and Draco tried not to cringe away. She had realised that Weasley was right. She would hurt him and leave him, and everything would go back to normal. Draco was glad he hadn’t got his hopes up.
“Ronald Weasley! I never want to hear you say something so horrible about another human being again! Everyone deserves a second chance!”
At that, Draco finally opened his eyes. Was she really siding with him over Weasley? She was glaring at Weasley, and her hand had loosened its grip on Draco’s arm and was again petting him.
Weasley glared back at her. “Whatever. The bastard’s awake now anyway. I’m sure he’s fine.” Weasley caught Draco’s eye for a moment and then sneered and turned away.
Granger’s hand stilled on him. “Malfoy? Are you awake now?” She peered at him. “Are you all right? Do you need our help?”
Draco looked away. Weasley would never let her help him, so why should he bother to beg for assistance? He might die on the street, but at least he would have his dignity.
“You poor thing.” Granger stood then, and Draco knew he was right. She would just leave him there, on the street, and he would die, alone and lonely. A small part of him had been hoping for something different.
“Ron, where’d you go?” She walked away, and Draco closed his eyes again. He unfolded himself from the fetal position he had remained in, and tried to burrow back into his rag blankets. Maybe when they were gone he would find the energy to get up and find food... or maybe he would just stay in his pile of rags until he died. Right then, both sounded fine.
Suddenly Draco was levitated into the air. He cried out at the sudden feeling of weightlessness and opened his eyes, but he did not crash back to the ground as he was expecting.
“I don’t see why we are doing this. Look, he’s disgusting. He’s got urine and crap all over him,” said Ron. Draco could hear the disgust in Weasley’s voice, and he felt ashamed. He’d caught a cold last week, of all things, and had already been weak. The cold had knocked him out, and he hadn’t been able to do anything. He hadn’t even moved for the last two days. It took too much energy to sit up, let alone stand and walk.
“We could be spending this time saving wizarding orphans whose Muggle parents have died and left them alone with nothing, but no, you want to waste time rescuing this mess,” Ron said, derisively.
Draco hated being brought down to this level. He had always considered the Weasleys the most pitiful wizards out there. Knowing that even Weasley thought he was better than Draco was the most depressing thing that had happened to him yet.
Granger growled. “Ronald! He’s ill. You’ve seen people in worse shape than he is and not complained, so I don’t want to hear it. We’re taking him to headquarters, and we are going to nurse him back to health, and that’s that.” He heard her move off a bit. “Well, come on! Help me levitate him, please.”
Weasley grumbled something under his breath, and then they were off, Draco floating behind them. He sighed but couldn’t really bring himself to care, even when the wind swayed him back in forth in the air and made his empty stomach rebel violently. Maybe he would get help and maybe they would kill him. Either way, there wasn’t much he could do about it at that moment. Draco simply curled back up into a ball, and tried not to think of the many ways he could die.
~*~
Draco woke in a bed when someone pressed a wet flannel to his forehead. He opened his eyes to see Granger and was utterly disoriented for a moment. The soft touch felt wonderful, and Draco pressed his head against her hand almost involuntarily.
She smiled at him. “Good, you’re finally awake. You’ve been asleep for hours, and I’ve been worried.”
Worried? About him? Draco was flummoxed. Why did she care? Why had she even brought him here? And where was here?
From what he had heard on the street, he assumed he was in some sort of headquarters. When he had still been a student at Hogwarts, he had heard whispers of a group called the “Order of the Phoenix”, so perhaps it was that group’s headquarters. Either that or Potter’s “DA” thing had been revived.
“Anyway, can you talk? Are you feeling better?” Granger removed the flannel from his forehead, rewet it in a nearby bowl of what Draco assumed was water, and placed it back onto his face. “Why were you out on the street?”
Draco wanted to sniff and refuse to answer her nosy questions, but he was comfortable in a bed and could smell food cooking somewhere. He wasn’t pitiful enough to beg for help, but he wouldn’t bite any hand that offered to feed him.
Draco cleared his throat and spoke as loudly as he could. “I’m feeling much better, thank you. I came down with a cold, which knocked me off my feet. I lost my housing a while ago, and I’ve just been sleeping on the streets recently while I found a job and a new place of residence.” He tried to make it sound like he hadn’t been living in the gutters for months, but he wasn’t sure how well he accomplished that.
Granger clucked her tongue in dismay. “I’m so sorry, but don’t worry. I’ll help you get back on your feet, and everything will be fine.”
Draco just looked at her. How could she say that? Muggles were dying left and right. A mad man was ruling wizarding society. Everything that could possibly have gone wrong had, and there was nothing they could do it fix things.
“Anyway, welcome to crap headquarters.”
Draco looked around the room and couldn’t hide his smirk. It did look like crap. Shades of brown and dark green decorated the room, and even the bedding on the Hogwarts-esque four-poster bed he was lying in was a dark brown. The sudden realization of how ironic it was for Draco to be rescued from his own refuse only to be placed in a bed of “crap” made him chuckle.
Granger blushed. “No, it’s not that kind of crap! It’s C.R.A.P., Civil Rights for All People. I think it should be C.R.F.A.P., but the founders were college students and, well... they ‘forgot’ about the F because they thought it was calling it ‘crap’ was funny.” She sighed. “It really is easier to say ‘crap’ than spell ‘C.R.F.A.P.’, so I do it too sometimes, though I wish I didn’t. How are we ever supposed to get people to believe in our policies with crap for a name?”
Draco shrugged and resisted the urge to smile at her rant. Many things had changed since Hogwarts, but Granger was still far too obsessive.
Curious, Draco asked, “What do you do then?”
“Well, C.R.A.P. was started in 1977 by a group of students from Keene University. They wanted equal rights and privileges for all people, regardless of race, gender, or sexuality. In 1981...” As she began to ramble, he settled into his spot on the bed, shifting until he found a comfortable spot. Before he knew it, he was drifting off again, lulled to sleep by the sound of her voice.
~*~
After two weeks of bed rest and healing, Draco was glad when he had finally gained back the strength to walk. If he saw another bedpan before he died, it would be too soon.
Draco had spent the first week drifting in and out of consciousness. He only remembered bits and pieces of what happened after he first woke up. Apparently, he had suffered from a high fever and hallucinations. He was utterly mortified to discover he had wept over his mother’s death, crying out for her in his delusions.
His fever finally broke on the eighth day. That was when the truly embarrassing moments started. He had been so weak that Granger had had to spoon feed him for two days, and Weasley had to help him with his bedpans. Both he and Weasley had been traumatised by that.
“Good morning, Draco! Are you ready to try walking?” asked Granger, as she burst into the room with a smile.
That was perhaps the worst part-he was getting friendly with Granger and Weasley. Granger had been calling him Draco since he woke up, and Weasley used it here and there too. It was vaguely distressing.
“I’m more than ready. I’d like to take a shower like a normal human being more than anything.” Draco had not had a shower in months. He had bathed himself in public restrooms with paper towels before he got sick, and Weasley had given him a daily sponge bath until he regained enough energy to do it on his own.
Granger sighed, and Draco frowned at her. “I don’t think you are strong enough for that yet. Let’s just go to the loo.”
“No! I want a shower, and I want it today!” he protested.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s get you upright.”
Draco nodded, pleased that Granger was listening to him, and turned so his feet were dangling off the edge of the bed. He’d been able to sit up for the past three days, but he had yet to stand. He straightened out his pyjamas and put his bare feet into the slippers waiting on the floor. He was ready.
Granger took both of his hands and pulled gently as Draco levered himself off the bed. It took him a moment to find his balance, but then he was upright. His legs trembled beneath him, and his blood rushed away from his head, leaving him woozy. Holding tightly to Granger’s hands, he drew strength from her and gradually gained back his feeling of normalcy.
She took a step backward. Draco dragged his feet forward. They shared a grin. Granger continued leading Draco forward, letting him shuffle along at his own pace. They made it all the way through the door and directly across the hallway to the bathroom. Draco was intrigued by the fact that the bathroom was a communal one and that there were doors down both sides of the hallway.
“Why are there so many doors?” he pondered aloud as they passed the shower stalls.
Granger began to manoeuvre them towards one of the toilets. “C.R.A.P. grew a lot during the early 1990’s and became a large organisation of students, most of who lived in this apartment building. After the germ warfare started, the Muggle students in the building all got sick and died. There were only a few wizarding students left, and the founder of C.R.A.P. had become a rich wizard, so he bought the building, and set up C.R.A.P. as a purely wizarding organisation.”
Granger stopped in front of the door to a stall and dropped his hands. She pushed the door open and held it for him. “Here you are! I’ll just wait for you.”
Draco stared at her. “What?”
“I want to make sure you’ll be okay, so I’ll just stand out here and wait for you.” She smiled at him, and Draco wanted to smack her. He wished his mother had let him hit girls because Granger really, really deserved a proper smack. Honestly, how could she expect him to pee in front of her?
“I don’t think so.” Draco sniffed loudly to express his displeasure. “I refuse to... to urinate in front of you.”
Granger rolled her eyes. “Oh, honestly Draco, I’ve seen men piss before.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Well, you haven’t seen me do it before, and you won’t watch me do it now.”
“I’m not going to watch you!” she protested. “I’ll close the door!”
Draco spluttered. “It’s just... just uncouth! Bathroom functions are private. It’s one thing to escort me to the loo, and it’s another thing to listen to me use it!” He looked around and spotted urinals on the wall. “And you’re in the men’s restroom!”
“You are so old fashioned. This is a unisex restroom, and listening to someone pee is hardly ‘uncouth’. People do it every time they use a public bathroom.”
“Out!” Draco pointed a finger towards the door, making sure his arm was steady even though the rest of him was not. “Stop being insane. I do not want to go with you standing here, regardless of your arguments. I’m still sick and you are upsetting me. So, out!”
Crossing her arms, Granger leaned back onto the wall. “And what will you do if you get stuck on the toilet?”
Draco blushed. Did she have any manners? Discussing things like these in mixed company was simply not done. “I won’t!”
“Or what if you fall over standing up?”
Draco shuffled forward into the stall and shut the door behind him. “Look, I got in fine. Just go stand outside of the bathroom, and I’ll scream if something happens, all right?”
Granger huffed, but she started walking towards the door. “Sure, sure. I’ll laugh if you drown yourself in the toilet though!” she called as she walked out of the room.
Draco sighed as he pulled down his pyjama bottoms and sat. He floundered a bit before he gained is balance, but he refused to admit that Hermione may have been right, even to himself. He had thought bedpans were the worst thing that could happen. Having a pretty girl listen to him pee seemed far worse for some reason.
Did Draco just think that Granger was pretty? The fever must have come back. He shook his head, and tried to do his business quickly.
“Are you all right?” Granger shouted from the door.
“I’m fine!” he screeched back, hurrying faster. “Don’t you dare come in!”
“You don’t sound all right...” Granger didn’t close the door. Instead, she walked inside, as evidenced by her approaching footsteps. Draco scrambled to stand up and straighten his clothing. He flushed the toilet and pushed open the door just as Granger stepped up to it.
“See? Perfectly fine.” He was breathing hard, and his cheeks were probably red from the exertion, but at least he still had his pride.
“Good. Let’s head back to your room then.”
“What about my shower?” Draco was whining, and he knew it, but he wanted a warm, relaxing shower badly.
Granger quirked an eyebrow at him. “Will you let me stand by the shower?”
“No!”
“Then I think a shower is too dangerous.” Granger nodded imperiously and held out her hands. “Come on.”
Draco shook his head and began to shuffle along the wall toward the shower stalls at the far end of the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.” Granger stepped up next to him. “In private.”
“You could slip and fall though!” Granger reached out to grab his arm, and Draco felt like he was tilting off balance. Granger’s words became a self-fulfilling prophecy as he pitched to the side and into her.
Granger smiled up at him from where she lay underneath him. “See? What did I tell you?”
Draco sighed, rolled off her, and closed his eyes, pretending that the feeling of her beneath him had not just awakened thoughts and feelings he had not had in ages. All he wanted was the privacy to use the loo and shower. Granger’s pushiness was almost enough to make him wish he were still on the streets.
Granger stood next to him, and when Draco cracked his eye open, he saw her reach out a hand to help him up. As he stood, he sighed yet again. Who was he kidding? Even living in a cheap, communal-style apartment building was far better than the streets.
He squeezed Granger’s hand lightly before he released it, wondering what it was about women that made men want to touch and hold them. He might be able to handle the loss of privacy if it meant he could have human contact. He moved toward the door, ignoring Granger, but he relished the brush of her arm against his when their steps coincided. He had missed friendly touches more than anything else.
Draco made his way to his room gradually. The closer he got to his door, the slower he got. He frowned when he realised that Granger was right. He would not have had the energy to take a whole shower, damn her intelligence. His legs started trembling beneath him again, and it took most of his concentration just to stay upright.
He shambled into his bedroom, almost tripping over the doorframe because he could not lift his feet over it. Draco stumbled over to his bed and fell into it, panting and sweating. He felt like he had run a mile, but he doubted he had walked two-hundred feet.
Granger sunk down next to him on the bed. “Are you all right?”
Draco closed his eyes and wished she would go away. When he was out on the streets he had been starving, dirty and ill. Now he was well fed, clean and recovering, yet he’d never felt more worthless in his life. He hated this place. He wanted to do something. Draco knew that Granger was busy doing research for the war and that she was taking time away from her efforts to take care of him. He had not been raised to be so needy, and it irked him that he couldn’t even go to the bathroom on his own.
“Draco?” Granger asked quietly, running a hand down his back.
Draco was horrified to find tears prickling his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, but his voice cracked as he said it.
Granger pulled at him until he was sitting next to her and then enveloped him in a hug. “You are not fine. It’s okay to admit your weaknesses.”
Draco sat stiffly in her arms, trying to choke back the sobs that threatened to overtake him. “I-I can’t. I don’t have any. My father-”
“You aren’t your father. You are yourself, and that’s exactly who you should be.”
As her words sunk in, Draco found himself collapsing into her hug and crying loudly. He hadn’t shed tears since his mother died, and it was as if he had been storing them up for years. He soaked the shoulder of her blouse with his tears, and still they kept coming.
He had looked up to his father for years, trying to be just like him. Even after discovering how happily his father worshiped Voldemort, Draco had wanted more than anything to follow his example. Then Voldemort ordered his father to kill his mother. She had betrayed the Dark Lord by saying that Potter died from his Avada Kedavra. Voldemort had decided to check for himself.
Potter had been alive, but he hadn’t lived for long after that. The Dark Lord had killed him, and then turned on his mother. His father told him the story afterward. He had been ordered to Crucio and then kill his wife, and he had done it without any qualms. Draco had watched him explain what happened with a straight face, and at that moment, he realised just what kind of man his father was, what kind of man Draco was becoming.
He ran away from the Death Eaters that night and hid in the Muggle world for over two years, until the germ warfare began and the Muggles became suspicious of him. People who didn’t suffer from the war diseases were regarded as abnormal and avoided. Draco had been working and living in an apartment when he suddenly found himself on the street with no way to make a living. Still, he hadn’t returned to the Dark Lord. It was easier to live on the streets in poverty than it was to stay with his father, live in luxury and become a monster of a man.
Granger though... she had just taken away years of fears and doubts with a few sentences. Draco wasn’t his father. He never had been. He never would be. He was himself.
It took Draco a while to stop crying, but when he had ceased, Granger squeezed him tightly and then pulled away. Draco laid back down on the bed, exhausted but happy.
“Do you feel better now?” she asked with a sweet smile.
Draco smiled back. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good!” She pulled the blankets up over him and then moved around the room, cleaning it up a bit. Surprisingly, she was not the tidiest person, and it was usually Weasley who cleaned the room so Granger would have plenty of time to do her research.
Draco followed her movements with his eyes for a few minutes before he asked, “What are you doing?”
“Oh, just tidying up a bit!” she said, a little too forcefully. She didn’t look at him as she said it.
Something was up. “Granger, you do not clean. What’s going on?”
She spun around nervously. “What? Nothing is up! Everything is perfectly normal!”
Draco just quirked an eyebrow and waited.
“Oh, fine! I wanted to surprise you, but Professor Snape is going to visit you today.” She crossed her arms and pouted, and Draco had to hide a grin. Granger had always been so mature at school, but when she threw fits, she acted like a whiny two-year-old... much like himself, Draco supposed.
Her words caught up to him. “Severus? He’s alive?”
Granger snorted. “He managed to escape death during the final battle by just the skin of his teeth. Voldemort knew he was a spy, so he turned Nagini on him. Lucky bastard survived by eating a bezoar he had in his pocket.” She pulled out her wand to Scourgify a few things, and then tucked it back into her jeans pocket. “Now he works in the research department here at C.R.A.P.”
“But-but my father told me he was dead!” protested Draco, unable to believe her.
Granger smirked. “Voldemort’s side doesn’t realise he’s alive. He didn’t eat the bezoar until after he had been left for dead, so Voldemort told all of his followers that Professor Snape had died. It’s great for C.R.A.P. because he can work almost invisibly.”
Draco blinked once, twice, three times. “Invisibly?”
Granger abruptly lifted the covers and stole his slippers off his feet. “If everyone thinks you are dead, they don’t look for you. It’s easy for him to sneak around because people aren’t alert. They keep their eyes open for people like Ron and me, but Professor Snape can walk right in front of them and they hardly notice. The ones who do notice think he’s a ghost.”
Draco snorted. “Yes, because he’s turned grey and translucent, I’m sure.”
“Actually...” Granger smirked. It was a good look for her. “Nagini’s poison turned all of his hair white, so he does look a little ghost-like.”
The door opened wide, revealing a frowning Severus. Granger squeaked and dropped the slippers she was still holding. “Must you tell everyone my whole life’s story, Ms. Granger?”
Draco smirked, certain she would get even more flustered, and was surprised when she just smiled.
“Did you sleep well, Professor?” she asked, picking up the slippers and depositing them on the chest at the end of the bed.
Severus scowled. “Are you joking? Lupin’s son has a cold. He was up all night crying, and it came straight through the wall. Damn man lost his wife in a raid, and I know he’s grieving, but that doesn’t give him to right to ignore his son and subject the rest of us to his squalling.” He strode into the room until he was next to Draco’s bed. “He didn’t shut up until I brewed him some Pepper-Up potion.”
“You old softie,” she said, pulling a chair up next to the bed for him.
Severus glared, Granger grinned, and Draco frowned.
“Are you sure this is Severus Snape? Shouldn’t he have bitten your head off by now?”
Severus rolled his eyes and sat down in the chair. “It’s nice to see you too, Draco.”
Draco blushed, feeling like a chastised second year. “I’m sorry, Professor.”
Severus sighed. “I’m afraid Ms. Granger is right. I have become soft in my old age. I wouldn’t recognise myself either.”
Granger giggled. “He even babysits Remus Lupin’s two-year-old. I saw them napping together once.”
“Thank you, Ms. Granger,” Severus said with a sharp glance at her.
Hermione picked up a few more things and put them away. “What? I think it’s cute.” Severus was obviously becoming impatient, so she nodded at them and walked towards the door. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She glared at Severus. “Don’t you dare upset Draco. He’s still ill.” She shut the door firmly behind her.
Draco wanted to bury his head in his pillow. How embarrassing.
Severus seemed to be thinking the same thing. “I believe Ms. Granger has two goals in life: to give everyone, including house elves, the same rights, and to emasculate all men.”
Draco snorted and straightened up in his bed. “You may be right.” Then he looked at Severus. The man really had softened. His white hair didn’t contrast against his skin the way his dark hair had, and Draco could even detect tiny laugh lines at the corners of his mouth. He seemed almost blurred around the edges, not sharp and pointy as he had when Draco was still at Hogwarts.
Severus seemed to understand Draco’s need to look, and in turn he observed Draco.
“You look pathetic,” said Severus.
“Thank you so much for that glowing compliment,” Draco drawled.
Severus shrugged. “It’s the truth.” His gaze on Draco sharpened. “How have you been?”
Draco raised his head and peered down his nose slightly. “Just fine. I simply ended up getting a little sick.”
“Draco.”
One word stripped him of his pride and reminded him that Severus had never taken nonsense for an answer.
“The truth is, I’d be dead if it weren’t for Granger and Weasley.” Draco sank back into his pillows, clenching his hands in the sheets. “All I had was a cold, but I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks and I was living on the streets.” He looked away from Severus, not wanting to see pity on his face. “I deteriorated faster than I thought I would, and I could barely move when they found me. I thought I was going to die.”
Severus’s voice was soft, but firm. “I am glad they found you.” Draco snuck a peek at him and was relieved to see he was straight-faced. Draco couldn’t handle getting pity from Severus. It would have destroyed any self-worth he had left. “What were you doing living on the streets? I heard from my contacts that you ran away from the Death Eaters a few days after the battle at Hogwarts.”
Draco closed his eyes, fighting the memories of the battle and its aftermath. “My father... he killed my mother.”
Severus said, “I heard. I’m sorry.”
Draco shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m fine. At the time, I was upset. He loved her, and he just killed her, as if she were an enemy. I was afraid, of him, of Voldemort...”
Severus nodded. “Of yourself.”
Draco looked at him sharply. “What?”
“I know you, Draco. You have always wanted to be your father. Discovering what your ultimate hero would do for power must have made you doubt yourself. What would you have done in his position?”
Draco looked down at his blankets and clasped his hands together. “I-I don’t know,” he whispered.
“You would have refused.” Severus reached out a hand, patted Draco awkwardly, and then withdrew it.
Draco’s heart hurt. Severus had been the person who saved him in sixth year. He was a man Draco had never doubted. Even after what his father did, Draco still had Severus to believe in. He had thought at times that Severus, and his mother, might be watching out for him from the afterlife, and it had carried him through some tough moments. Now he had Severus, alive and well, next to him, reassuring him. It was too much to take. He broke down again, sobbing into his blankets while Severus sat next to him, his very presence a comfort to Draco.
~*~
It was another two weeks before Draco had regained enough strength to walk for more than a few feet and stand long enough to shower. After a month in bed, he was getting bored. Hermione, as she had asked him to call her, had taken to bringing him books to read, but it wasn’t enough to keep him occupied. Severus visited a few times, but his research kept him away from headquarters. Even Lupin had come to visit him, dragging his blue haired boy behind him, and spent hours catching Draco up on the news of the wizarding world and C.R.A.P.’s research.
Draco was very interested in the research they were doing. Hermione explained that when the germ warfare had begun, she was surprised to discover that no wizards got sick. She was in hiding at that point, apparently living in an abandoned Muggle shack with Weasley. The Order of the Phoenix had collapsed, she said, and most of the members of the DA were dead. Draco had been stunned that the “good” side had taken such hard hits. They had always seemed so much stronger than Voldemort, even when he was on the Dark Lord’s side.
Hermione explained that she had met C.R.A.P.’s founder then, and he offered her and Weasley a place within the apartment building, which he had just purchased after the majority of the students died. She agreed happily, and moved in, gradually building up C.R.A.P. with the few members of the Order and the DA that were still alive, until it became a new resistance group.
It wasn’t until Severus made his way to the group that they began their research. The founder, a Muggle-born, had been intrigued by the fact that wizards didn’t get sick from Muggle diseases, particularly small pox, polio, and rubella, which were the major diseases that the Muggles had unleashed upon each other. When Severus showed up with a strong knowledge of potions and a basic knowledge of Muggle science, the founder offered him money to research why they weren’t getting ill.
Severus had taken on Hermione, who had the most knowledge of Muggle science out of the members of C.R.A.P., as an assistant, and they had begun their research. They did what they could with the basic equipment they had, and concluded that Muggles and wizards had different DNA and were possibly even different species.
“Then, why do Muggle-borns exist?” Draco asked Hermione when she was explaining.
Hermione had sighed and said, “We think that magic is a recessive gene, and that many people in the Muggle world carry one copy of the gene. When two of these Muggles marry, they have a twenty-five percent chance of having a magical child.”
Draco struggled to make sense of that, using his rudimentary knowledge of the Muggles’ theory of genetics. “Wouldn’t Muggles and wizards still be the same species then?”
“That’s where we are getting confused. If we were the same species, then we would catch the same illnesses.” She had frowned, looking absolutely stumped.
Draco had become obsessive at that point, wanting to understand exactly what the difference between Muggles and wizards were. If they were indeed separate species, then Voldemort’s rhetoric that Muggle-borns stole magic couldn’t be true because only the wizarding “species” would have access to magic. However, if magic was a recessive gene, then some of Voldemort’s lies were actually the truth. Marrying Muggles would destroy the wizarding world race because up to one-hundred percent of children born to a wizard-Muggle marriage would be non-magical, depending on whether the Muggle had the recessive gene.
Draco’s obsession led him to climb out of bed one day, pull on some real clothes instead of the pyjamas he had been living in, and walk down the hall to where he thought the research room was.
Hermione gaped at him when she opened the door to his knock. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I want to help with the research,” said Draco, and he moved past her into the room. It was bright and cheerful, and Severus looked entirely out of place in the blue-walled room. Draco nodded his head towards him. “Hello, sir. What can I do?”
Severus nodded towards a pile of books in a corner by a large bookshelf. “Those all have to do with genetics. Please read through them and mark any places that indicate ‘odd’ or ‘different’ genes.”
Draco nodded, grabbed the first five books off the top of the pile, and settled himself into a nearby chair, flicking on the Muggle lamp next to it. Hermione stood by looking astonished. Once he had made himself comfortable, Draco smiled at her. “Well, are you going to stand there and watch, or are you going to do some research?”
Hermione stared at him for a moment, sighed, and seemed to resign herself to the fact that he was there to stay. She grabbed a few books of her own and sat down near him to read. It was peaceful, the two of them reading as Severus ran experiments, and Draco felt like maybe things were finally getting better.
~*~
He was wrong. Six days later C.R.A.P. sent out an offensive group to rescue George Weasley, who had been captured while on a reconnaissance mission. They thought they were well prepared and sent ten people in. Only one came out.
Ron Weasley had been the first to volunteer for the mission, and Luna Lovegood, the sole survivor, said he was also the first to die. They had gone in expecting five guards, only to discover that they were outnumbered three-to-one. George was also killed in the resulting melee. The moral of C.R.A.P. fell drastically, and Draco couldn’t see how anything would raise it. Almost a fourth of the offensive division had been killed in one fell swoop, and some of them had been their best fighters.
Hermione had held her head up high at the news of her lover’s death and taken control of the offensive team. She was an amazingly strong woman, but Draco could see she was beginning to crack.
She managed to hold herself together for almost a week, and then Voldemort had his followers spread the remains of the C.R.A.P. members down Diagon Alley as a warning. A few offensive team members headed up a mission to recover the bodies and asked volunteers to help. The faster they could retrieve the bodies, the less time there was for the Dark Lord to attack.
Hermione had gone to recover the bodies, and had been fine, until she saw Weasley’s body was at one end of the street, and his head was at the other. She sank to the ground, wrapped her arms around herself, and started shivering.
Draco rushed to her side, letting Lovegood know that she should take control, and he tugged her away from the street.
Draco pulled her into a hug. “Hermione,” he whispered in her ear, “it’s all right. You don’t need to see that. No one should have to see it.”
“I’m fine,” she muttered. “Let me go help.” She tried to push him away, but Draco held on tight.
“Let them handle it.”
Hermione struggled against his hold. “No! I need to take care of this!”
Draco thought back to what she had once said to him. “It’s okay to admit your weaknesses.” He lifted her chin until she was looking at him. “A very smart woman told me that once.” He smiled. “And I’ve found that being able to admit weakness is strength in itself.”
Hermione burst into tears, and Draco pulled her closer. For over a month, she had been the one to give him the strength to go on, and he wanted to give some of that courage back to her. In the back of his mind, he knew it was more than that too. He was taking advantage of the situation to hold her close, something he would never have a chance to do otherwise. He smoothed down her hair gently, and he imagined, just for a moment, that she felt for him what he felt for her.
Then he remembered she had just seen her dead boyfriend’s body, and he snuffed out his hopes like a candle. Weasley was never one of his favourite people, but neither he nor Hermione deserved the disrespect of Draco’s thoughts.
He held her for only a few minutes, until Lovegood came over to let them know everyone’s bodies had been recovered.
Hermione lifted her head from Draco’s shoulder and nodded. “Thank you, Luna. We’ll head back to headquarters then.” She pulled out her wand and Apparated herself and Draco back.
Draco frowned when they arrived. “I wish I could be more helpful. Without my wand...”
Hermione hugged him tightly and pulled away. “You’ve been amazing, Draco. You don’t need a wand to help out.”
“Still...” he said softly.
She just nodded, as if she understood, and pointed towards the research room. “Let’s go figure this out then.”
Draco followed her, and settled in to work on his task again. Reading multiple books about the same thing was tedious, but it did not strain Draco’s still weak body. He did the best he could and hoped it would help.
They worked late into the night, Draco reading and Hermione running tests on Muggle and wizarding blood. Draco did not stop reading until he realised that the noises in the room had stopped. He looked over at Hermione and found her asleep on top of her notes. He moved over to her and shook her shoulder gently, wanting to urge her to go back to bed. She did not stir.
Draco shook her a little harder, and she jolted upright, blinking sleepily at him.
“I think it’s bedtime,” he said softly.
She nodded, stood, and stretched. Her shirt rose up, revealing a thin strip of skin, and Draco had to resist the urge to touch it. He was becoming too involved with her. Hermione was his saviour and his strength, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let himself fall for her. Her soft touches and sweet smiles clouded his mind, and he found himself struggling to keep his emotions secret.
It wouldn’t be real anyway. He would be a replacement for Weasley, and she would be his light in the darkness. It wouldn’t be love, Draco told himself.
He moved to the door and held it open for her, and then he walked with her down the hall. Her room was closer than his, so he bid her goodnight and watched as she slipped inside, not moving on until he heard her lock click.
It couldn’t be love.
~*~
“Hermione! Look!” Draco shook a paper above his head. “I think I’ve found it!”
After four months of reading books, articles, and scientific journals, Draco might have just stumbled on the key to magic.
Hermione took the paper from him, scanning the title. “Chromosome twenty-two was the first chromosome to be mapped. I already know that, Draco.”
Draco pointed to a section of the article he highlighted. “No, here, there’s some new information. This was published after the new millennium.”
Hermione looked up at him. “The Muggles all started getting sick after the new millennium when the germ factories in the industrialised countries suddenly lost their ability to contain the germs because of the Y2K bug.”
Draco snorted and said, “You know better than that. It was Voldemort and his cronies who unleashed the germs with a few Alohomora charms.”
“Well, from the Muggles perspective, it looked like their computers had crashed. Still, if this was published after January first...” Hermione trailed off, but she was smiling.
“...then the author was probably a wizard.” Draco gestured to the paragraph again. “And look at what he’s written. He was working on the genome project with the Muggles and discovered that sometimes the twenty-second chromosome was larger than it should be.”
Hermione scanned over the rest of the article. “He says here that chromosome twenty-two seems to be incredibly unstable. During the mapping process, the larger variations of the chromosome would often mutate and become identical to the smaller variations. None of the other chromosomes broke down during mapping.”
Draco flipped forward a few pages. “And here he mentions that he has larger chromosomes himself, whereas most of his colleagues had the smaller version, though a few had one of each. If he was a wizard, and they were Muggles-“
“Then chromosome twenty-two holds the wizarding gene!” Hermione began to pace back and forth in front of Draco’s chair. “It explains everything! For some reason, this gene gives us protection from Muggle diseases, and it must be a recessive gene since we have Muggle-borns and some people have one larger chromosome and one smaller chromosome.”
Draco frowned. “It would have to be more than one gene though. The article says that a whole section of the chromosome is ‘deleted’ during mapping. That could be hundreds of genes.”
Hermione fluttered her hands at him. “All right, fine. A group of genes turns Muggles into wizards then. That difference is enough to make us different species.” She spun around, staring at the shelves of books they had accumulated. “Right? How many genes do we have to have in common to be the same?” She plucked a book from the wall at random, flipping through it and then putting it to the side. “I read...” she grabbed another book and opened it to an arbitrary page. She flipped forward a few pages, and stopped. “Here it is! It says that preliminary studies on human and chimpanzee genes have discovered that up to 95% of our genes could be identical. If only a 5% difference would amount to the differences between chimpanzees and Muggles, surely at least a .5% difference could create magic.”
Draco watched her with a smile.
She continued speaking rapidly. “So, it must be a group of genes that isn’t activated unless there are two copies of it in a person’s cells. Wizards and Muggles must be different species that are close enough that we can breed, like lions and tigers or horses and donkeys, but different enough that our genes are distinct.”
“What about squibs?” Draco asked suddenly, as the thought popped into his head. Squibs had been a huge stumbling point in their previous research.
Hermione froze. “Well, I’m not sure.” She sank into a nearby chair. “If it is a recessive gene, then true squibs should be impossible because both parents would be wizards who could only pass on the recessive genes.”
Draco glanced back at the paper. ...is an unstable chromosome... “If it’s unstable... then perhaps it mutates to produce squibs.”
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “You might have something there. If the genes were deleted from the chromosome in one parent’s haploid cells, then the child would be non-magical. It makes sense. True squibs are rare, as is gene mutation. A squib born to wizard-Muggle parents wouldn’t actually be a squib then. They just didn’t inherit two copies of the magic chromosome.”
“We’ve done it.” Draco almost couldn’t believe it. “We’ve actually potentially discovered the secret of magic.”
Hermione laughed delightedly. “We can’t be sure, not without running some tests, but I think this is it.” She flung herself at him, entwining her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek. “You did it.”
Draco laughed with her, relishing the feel of her soft hair brushing against his neck. “We did it.” He wanted to hold her longer, but he released her.
She pulled away and said, “Wait until we tell Professor Snape. He’ll know more about what this could mean for the resistance.” Her eyes were glittering with excitement. “This is something big. It could change the world. I can just feel it.”
Draco was happy to see her so excited. In the months since Weasley’s death, she had sunk into a deep depression. She woke up early and worked late into the night, doing research, going out on reconnaissance missions, and taking care of the Muggle-born orphans that C.R.A.P. took in. The only time he saw her smile anymore was when she was playing with the little ones, and even then her smiles were almost false. She looked alive though, and for Draco, that was even better than the discovery they had just made.
~*~
Severus looked over the article quietly. “Your ideas seem solid. However, this is not the end of our research. We still have months or years of work ahead of us.” A few weeks after Draco and Hermione had made their discovery and ironed out the details, they decided to present their findings to Severus. Draco was pleased with how he had received it.
Hermione nodded, her fuzzy hair bouncing as her head moved. “Oh, we know, but just think of what we can do with this knowledge! If there were a way to inject the restriction enzyme into the cells of a wizard’s body, we could destroy his magic genes. He’d be a Muggle, and we’d be able to take down so many Death Eaters without causing any more death.”
Severus held her gaze for a moment. “Indeed. How do you know that destroying a wizard’s magic wouldn’t disrupt their life force?”
Hermione’s face fell. “Oh,” she whispered.
“We’ll need to work hard,” said Draco. He looked at Severus for a moment and then over at Hermione. “We can figure it out.” He hated seeing Hermione so sad, and he was heartened by her sudden, grateful smile.
Severus just looked at him shrewdly for a long moment. Draco blushed, realizing how transparent he had become around Hermione. “Indeed, I do believe we can do this.” He held up the sheaf of papers in his hand. “Tell me more about what this means for wizards.”
Draco sighed. “Well, the truth is that Voldemort’s side is right. Muggles endanger the wizarding race.” He pointed to a diagram that he had drawn after he and Hermione decided that wizarding genes were recessive to Muggle genes. “A Muggle without the genes who marries a wizard will never have children that are magical. On the other hand, a Muggle with one set of the genes who marries a wizard will have magical children about half of the time. Those are poor odds, and the wizarding race could become extinct within a few generations, with only a few people here and there being born with magic.”
Hermione glared at him. “But Voldemort isn’t completely right!”
Draco laughed at her, and she bristled. “I know that!” he protested. “I meant he was right about that one thing. He’s wrong about Muggle-borns being a danger to the wizarding race. Since we are a distinct species, wizards who marry witches will almost always have magical children. The incidence of Squibs is no higher in Muggle-born households, so it isn’t as if Muggle-borns DNA is more unstable than ‘pure’ wizarding DNA.”
Severus frowned. “The numbers published by the Ministry at the last census said that seventeen percent of Muggle-borns have non-magical children, twelve percent of Half-bloods have non-magical children, and only two percent of Purebloods have non-magical children. Muggle-borns and Half-bloods were also far more likely than Purebloods to have more than one non-magical child within their family.”
“We thought about that,” Hermione said, “and we realised that the Ministry had not considered the spouses of the wizards for those statistics. Muggle-borns are almost ten times more likely to marry a Muggle than Purebloods, and Half-bloods are about four times as likely to marry a Muggle.”
“As we already pointed out, marriage to a Muggle is almost guaranteed to produce non-magical children,” said Draco. “So, if you factor out the families where one parent is Muggle, or a Squib themselves, the incidence of non-magical children born to magical parents is about one-and-a half percent, regardless of the parents backgrounds.”
Severus nodded. “Yes, I see now. Before we knew about magic being genetic, it would not have made sense to figure out if the spouse was Muggle.”
Draco listened to Severus and Hermione debated over various parts of their theory. Really, now that he knew about genetics, the things his father had taught him as a child were put into a new perspective. It wasn’t hard to align the new thinking with his old thinking.
Wizards were still better than Muggles, in his opinion, simply because they had magic. Comparing them seemed silly now though. It would be like comparing tigers to monkeys. Since they were different species, Draco did not really care about being “better” because there was no way to define “better” between two species. A monkey was better at climbing than a tiger, but a tiger was better at hunting.
Discounting the fact that wizards had magic, they were still very different. They wore different clothing, had different customs, and were better at different things. Draco had learned, from his time in the Muggle world, that Muggles were far more adept than wizards at adapting to their surroundings. They had developed many electronic equivalents to the things people used in the wizarding world, using light bulbs instead of Lumos for light and fatal drugs instead of Kisses on their worst prisoners. Everything was similar but completely different.
Even after Voldemort sparked the germ warfare and the Muggles blamed each other for the escape of hundreds of deadly diseases into the general population, they had still been resourceful. He had heard of countries where people with diseases were shipped in “retaliation” to the country they thought had unleashed the germs on them, so that the other country would get the same diseases. It was sickening, but logical in the extreme.
He had never understood the idea of Muggle-borns taking magic from wizards because wands chose the wizard, and they could not be used by anyone who didn’t “own” them. Knowing that wizards were a separate species from Muggles made it easier for him to come to terms with the fact that his beliefs had been flawed. He was not sure if he’d ever truly be able to look at Muggles as equals, but he didn’t want to kill or torture them anymore. They were not “lesser wizards”, they were Muggles, wizards were wizards, and you simply could not compare the two and declare one better than the other.
“...and if we do this, then we’ll be able to stabilise the potion so it can be...” Hermione’s voice was more excited than it had been in months.
Draco knew he was smiling sappily at her, but he didn’t bother to stop. She would never notice him while she was so involved in discussion. He almost wished she would notice, but he knew nothing would come of it if she did. It hadn’t even been half of a year since Weasley’s death, and she was still grieving. Maybe someday she would be ready to love again, but she hadn’t reached that point yet.
Draco yawned, his eyes drifting closed of their own accord. He was better now, but he still got tired too easily. Sighing lightly, he started falling asleep, noticing that Hermione and Severus were arguing over potion ingredients already.
Perhaps they did have a chance to win this war. Perhaps Draco could become a stronger wizard than his father ever had been.
EPILOGUE
All the members of C.R.A.P. were gathered in the main entrance, the only room large enough to hold everybody. Draco and Hermione walked through the crowd, passing out syringes and vials to everyone. More than two years after Draco had joined C.R.A.P., they had finally perfected their Mugglisation potion.
Severus stood at the front of the room on the entrance desk. “You have all been briefed on your mission. Do you have your partners?” asked Severus.
Heads across the room nodded, and a few pairs held up joined hands.
“Good.” Severus looked out over the crowd, catching people’s eyes here and there. “Be careful out there. Keep our casualties to a minimum. I want today to be about decimating their numbers. Don’t go after the most dangerous people on your own. Always stay with your partner.” He raised an eyebrow at them. “And please do not touch the Mugglisation potion, unless you would like to become one.”
A nervous giggle from the back of the room betrayed Longbottom. The poor guy had stumbled into the research room at just the wrong moment and been splashed with the potion. Thankfully, they had washed it off quickly, so only the outer cells of his body had been affected, but his magic had been almost halved, and they weren’t sure what kind of long term effects he would suffer from.
“If the potion touches your skin, wash it off immediately. Do not get it in your mouth, eyes, or any wounds. These areas are vulnerable and have a close connection to the blood stream. The minute this potion enters your blood, your Magic will be gone. Do not take risks.”
Severus’s words were sobering. They were putting a lot on the line with this attack, and Draco hoped it would be worth it.
“Get in and out quickly. We will launch our attack in ten minutes. Say your goodbyes and be prepared to Apparate to your coordinates when I give the signal.” Severus’s eyes softened for a moment. “Please, all of you, be careful.” He hardened his gaze again. “We cannot afford to lose anyone.”
He stepped down from the desk and approached Draco.
Severus said, “Do not forget that you are needed for potions making.” Draco heard what he was saying and knew what he really meant.
He flung an arm around the older man’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Sir... Severus, you be careful too. I don’t want to bury you.”
Severus sneered. “You need not worry about me. Take care of yourself.”
Draco grinned and released him. “I will. I think Remus wants to say goodbye too.”
He laughed when a blush stained Severus’s cheeks as he walked off. He watched the gruff man actually hug four-year-old Teddy before he smiled slightly at Remus. They were an odd pair, to say the least, but wars brought people together as they sought out comfort in a harsh world.
“I told you, he’s a total softie.” Draco’s own odd comfort wrapped her arms around his waist, her bushy brown hair tickling his ear.
Draco smiled down at Hermione. “He is.” Then his smile fell away. “Promise me you’ll be careful. You’ll stick near me, and you won’t take any stupid Gryffindorian risks.”
“Gryffindorian isn’t a word.”
Rolling his eyes, Draco flicked her in the forehead. “Hush you. Just... promise me, okay.”
“I promise,” she said seriously. “I’m your partner after all. If I put myself at risk, I’ll be putting you at risk too. I won’t do that.”
Draco resisted the urge to sigh. Hermione was Draco’s comfort, but he was merely her partner. They’d been working together for so long, but they were nothing more than friends. Draco understood though. She was still working through her grief over Weasley, and it wasn’t like Draco was someone she could ever fall for anyway.
“I don’t care about myself; I don’t want you getting hurt,” Draco murmured. Her skin was soft against his, and he allowed himself to imagine for a moment that she loved him as much as he had come to love her.
Hermione moved in front of him and squeezed him tightly. “I don’t care about myself either. I’m worried about you. Are you sure you are strong enough for this? You never really got your strength back after your illness...” Concerned eyes peered up at him.
Draco gulped and swept her up into his arms. His muscles strained against her weight, but he managed to hold her. “I’m fine. I’m healthy as can be now. You though... I don’t want to see any Gryffindorian stunts,” he reminded her. “You promised.” He set her down gently and was happy that he wasn’t even breathing heavily.
Hermione buried her head in his shoulder. His robe muffled her voice. “One little stunt, and that’s it. Promise.”
Draco growled. “No! None!”
Hermione pulled away from him. She was laughing. “Just one,” she whispered. “You’ll like it.” She pressed her lips against his.
Draco responded immediately, taking advantage of the moment to snog her, as he had wanted to for months.
She sounded short of breath when she ended the kiss. “After the battle, we have a lot to discuss.” She stepped out of his arms and grasped his hand.
Draco nodded dumbly. Indeed, they did. He wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but it seemed to be a good thing. He had thought she was still hung up on Weasley, and perhaps she was, but something had changed in her.
No, something had changed in the both of them.
“...five, four, three, two, one!” Severus’s countdown caught his attention. Hermione nodded at Draco, he squeezed her hand, and they Apparated away together. The battle was about to begin, but for Draco it felt like the war had already been won.
Hermione/Draco, rating: pg-13, genres: romance, gen, AU, ~10,000 words
Summary:
Muggles are dying from germ warfare, yet not a single wizard has become ill. Abandoned by the Muggles, who are afraid of those who do not catch their illnesses, Draco ends up living on the streets. After he is brought done by a common wizarding cold, Hermione saves him. Can he help save her - and the rest of the wizarding world?
Author's Note:
Huge thank yous to tiger_flame, shina_laris, snarkyscorp, and love_stoned0_0 for betaing and doing awesome reading responses! :) My biggest thanks go to parseltonguepen for "buying" this fic through livelongnmarry and providing me with the prompts that sparked this fic! Thank you all for reading, as well! :)
MUTATION
“Ron! Over here! I think it might be a child!”
Someone was moving his rags, uncovering him. Draco shivered violently at the sudden blast of cool air. His Muggle T-shirt and jeans were too thin and soggy to keep him warm. His cold was giving him chills and sweats, and the autumn air was damp and nippy.
The person gasped. “Malfoy?”
Draco recognized the voice, but he was too tired, sick and hungry to care about who it could be. He kept his eyes closed, and tried to will warmth back into his limbs.
“Hermione, where are you?”
The person over him called out loudly-“I’m over here!”-and Draco started at the loud noise, curling up into a tiny ball. He tried to pull himself in even tighter when Granger, as it was now obvious to him who she was, reached out and rubbed his shoulder. She slumped to the ground as she did it, kneeling next to him. He couldn’t see her with his eyes shut, but he could feel the heat of her body radiating toward him.
“Shh... it’ll be alright, Malfoy. We’ll help you. Shh...” Granger murmured platitudes and nonsensical words into his ear. Draco wanted to calm down, but the feel of a hand on him raised too many walls of protection. It had been weeks, or maybe even months, since he had touched another human being peacefully. Living on the streets meant living alone. The only time he had contact with someone was when he was fighting over food or goods. Even then, he usually lost, receiving nothing for his troubles except a bruise or two.
Granger’s hand was making him antsy. He shifted away from it, moaning when she moved to follow him. He wasn’t used to contact like this anymore. He wished she would just hurt him already.
“Hermione, what is it?” Weasley’s voice was closer now. “What have you... what the hell? Is that Malfoy?”
Draco began to calm down. He knew Weasley. Weasley would hurt him. It would make sense; it was something Draco understood. He didn’t understand why Granger was still touching him, almost petting him.
“I think it’s Malfoy. He’s in pretty bad shape. I can feel his ribs poking out of his back, and I know he’s conscious, but he isn’t responding to me.”
Weasley snorted. “It’s just Malfoy. Who cares? Just leave him. Come on, I thought we were looking for Muggle-born orphans.”
Weasley was right. No one cared about Draco except Draco himself. Other people had cared about him once, before Harry Potter died, before the Muggle Wars started. Now there was no one.
Granger’s hand tightened on his arm, and Draco tried not to cringe away. She had realised that Weasley was right. She would hurt him and leave him, and everything would go back to normal. Draco was glad he hadn’t got his hopes up.
“Ronald Weasley! I never want to hear you say something so horrible about another human being again! Everyone deserves a second chance!”
At that, Draco finally opened his eyes. Was she really siding with him over Weasley? She was glaring at Weasley, and her hand had loosened its grip on Draco’s arm and was again petting him.
Weasley glared back at her. “Whatever. The bastard’s awake now anyway. I’m sure he’s fine.” Weasley caught Draco’s eye for a moment and then sneered and turned away.
Granger’s hand stilled on him. “Malfoy? Are you awake now?” She peered at him. “Are you all right? Do you need our help?”
Draco looked away. Weasley would never let her help him, so why should he bother to beg for assistance? He might die on the street, but at least he would have his dignity.
“You poor thing.” Granger stood then, and Draco knew he was right. She would just leave him there, on the street, and he would die, alone and lonely. A small part of him had been hoping for something different.
“Ron, where’d you go?” She walked away, and Draco closed his eyes again. He unfolded himself from the fetal position he had remained in, and tried to burrow back into his rag blankets. Maybe when they were gone he would find the energy to get up and find food... or maybe he would just stay in his pile of rags until he died. Right then, both sounded fine.
Suddenly Draco was levitated into the air. He cried out at the sudden feeling of weightlessness and opened his eyes, but he did not crash back to the ground as he was expecting.
“I don’t see why we are doing this. Look, he’s disgusting. He’s got urine and crap all over him,” said Ron. Draco could hear the disgust in Weasley’s voice, and he felt ashamed. He’d caught a cold last week, of all things, and had already been weak. The cold had knocked him out, and he hadn’t been able to do anything. He hadn’t even moved for the last two days. It took too much energy to sit up, let alone stand and walk.
“We could be spending this time saving wizarding orphans whose Muggle parents have died and left them alone with nothing, but no, you want to waste time rescuing this mess,” Ron said, derisively.
Draco hated being brought down to this level. He had always considered the Weasleys the most pitiful wizards out there. Knowing that even Weasley thought he was better than Draco was the most depressing thing that had happened to him yet.
Granger growled. “Ronald! He’s ill. You’ve seen people in worse shape than he is and not complained, so I don’t want to hear it. We’re taking him to headquarters, and we are going to nurse him back to health, and that’s that.” He heard her move off a bit. “Well, come on! Help me levitate him, please.”
Weasley grumbled something under his breath, and then they were off, Draco floating behind them. He sighed but couldn’t really bring himself to care, even when the wind swayed him back in forth in the air and made his empty stomach rebel violently. Maybe he would get help and maybe they would kill him. Either way, there wasn’t much he could do about it at that moment. Draco simply curled back up into a ball, and tried not to think of the many ways he could die.
~*~
Draco woke in a bed when someone pressed a wet flannel to his forehead. He opened his eyes to see Granger and was utterly disoriented for a moment. The soft touch felt wonderful, and Draco pressed his head against her hand almost involuntarily.
She smiled at him. “Good, you’re finally awake. You’ve been asleep for hours, and I’ve been worried.”
Worried? About him? Draco was flummoxed. Why did she care? Why had she even brought him here? And where was here?
From what he had heard on the street, he assumed he was in some sort of headquarters. When he had still been a student at Hogwarts, he had heard whispers of a group called the “Order of the Phoenix”, so perhaps it was that group’s headquarters. Either that or Potter’s “DA” thing had been revived.
“Anyway, can you talk? Are you feeling better?” Granger removed the flannel from his forehead, rewet it in a nearby bowl of what Draco assumed was water, and placed it back onto his face. “Why were you out on the street?”
Draco wanted to sniff and refuse to answer her nosy questions, but he was comfortable in a bed and could smell food cooking somewhere. He wasn’t pitiful enough to beg for help, but he wouldn’t bite any hand that offered to feed him.
Draco cleared his throat and spoke as loudly as he could. “I’m feeling much better, thank you. I came down with a cold, which knocked me off my feet. I lost my housing a while ago, and I’ve just been sleeping on the streets recently while I found a job and a new place of residence.” He tried to make it sound like he hadn’t been living in the gutters for months, but he wasn’t sure how well he accomplished that.
Granger clucked her tongue in dismay. “I’m so sorry, but don’t worry. I’ll help you get back on your feet, and everything will be fine.”
Draco just looked at her. How could she say that? Muggles were dying left and right. A mad man was ruling wizarding society. Everything that could possibly have gone wrong had, and there was nothing they could do it fix things.
“Anyway, welcome to crap headquarters.”
Draco looked around the room and couldn’t hide his smirk. It did look like crap. Shades of brown and dark green decorated the room, and even the bedding on the Hogwarts-esque four-poster bed he was lying in was a dark brown. The sudden realization of how ironic it was for Draco to be rescued from his own refuse only to be placed in a bed of “crap” made him chuckle.
Granger blushed. “No, it’s not that kind of crap! It’s C.R.A.P., Civil Rights for All People. I think it should be C.R.F.A.P., but the founders were college students and, well... they ‘forgot’ about the F because they thought it was calling it ‘crap’ was funny.” She sighed. “It really is easier to say ‘crap’ than spell ‘C.R.F.A.P.’, so I do it too sometimes, though I wish I didn’t. How are we ever supposed to get people to believe in our policies with crap for a name?”
Draco shrugged and resisted the urge to smile at her rant. Many things had changed since Hogwarts, but Granger was still far too obsessive.
Curious, Draco asked, “What do you do then?”
“Well, C.R.A.P. was started in 1977 by a group of students from Keene University. They wanted equal rights and privileges for all people, regardless of race, gender, or sexuality. In 1981...” As she began to ramble, he settled into his spot on the bed, shifting until he found a comfortable spot. Before he knew it, he was drifting off again, lulled to sleep by the sound of her voice.
~*~
After two weeks of bed rest and healing, Draco was glad when he had finally gained back the strength to walk. If he saw another bedpan before he died, it would be too soon.
Draco had spent the first week drifting in and out of consciousness. He only remembered bits and pieces of what happened after he first woke up. Apparently, he had suffered from a high fever and hallucinations. He was utterly mortified to discover he had wept over his mother’s death, crying out for her in his delusions.
His fever finally broke on the eighth day. That was when the truly embarrassing moments started. He had been so weak that Granger had had to spoon feed him for two days, and Weasley had to help him with his bedpans. Both he and Weasley had been traumatised by that.
“Good morning, Draco! Are you ready to try walking?” asked Granger, as she burst into the room with a smile.
That was perhaps the worst part-he was getting friendly with Granger and Weasley. Granger had been calling him Draco since he woke up, and Weasley used it here and there too. It was vaguely distressing.
“I’m more than ready. I’d like to take a shower like a normal human being more than anything.” Draco had not had a shower in months. He had bathed himself in public restrooms with paper towels before he got sick, and Weasley had given him a daily sponge bath until he regained enough energy to do it on his own.
Granger sighed, and Draco frowned at her. “I don’t think you are strong enough for that yet. Let’s just go to the loo.”
“No! I want a shower, and I want it today!” he protested.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s get you upright.”
Draco nodded, pleased that Granger was listening to him, and turned so his feet were dangling off the edge of the bed. He’d been able to sit up for the past three days, but he had yet to stand. He straightened out his pyjamas and put his bare feet into the slippers waiting on the floor. He was ready.
Granger took both of his hands and pulled gently as Draco levered himself off the bed. It took him a moment to find his balance, but then he was upright. His legs trembled beneath him, and his blood rushed away from his head, leaving him woozy. Holding tightly to Granger’s hands, he drew strength from her and gradually gained back his feeling of normalcy.
She took a step backward. Draco dragged his feet forward. They shared a grin. Granger continued leading Draco forward, letting him shuffle along at his own pace. They made it all the way through the door and directly across the hallway to the bathroom. Draco was intrigued by the fact that the bathroom was a communal one and that there were doors down both sides of the hallway.
“Why are there so many doors?” he pondered aloud as they passed the shower stalls.
Granger began to manoeuvre them towards one of the toilets. “C.R.A.P. grew a lot during the early 1990’s and became a large organisation of students, most of who lived in this apartment building. After the germ warfare started, the Muggle students in the building all got sick and died. There were only a few wizarding students left, and the founder of C.R.A.P. had become a rich wizard, so he bought the building, and set up C.R.A.P. as a purely wizarding organisation.”
Granger stopped in front of the door to a stall and dropped his hands. She pushed the door open and held it for him. “Here you are! I’ll just wait for you.”
Draco stared at her. “What?”
“I want to make sure you’ll be okay, so I’ll just stand out here and wait for you.” She smiled at him, and Draco wanted to smack her. He wished his mother had let him hit girls because Granger really, really deserved a proper smack. Honestly, how could she expect him to pee in front of her?
“I don’t think so.” Draco sniffed loudly to express his displeasure. “I refuse to... to urinate in front of you.”
Granger rolled her eyes. “Oh, honestly Draco, I’ve seen men piss before.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Well, you haven’t seen me do it before, and you won’t watch me do it now.”
“I’m not going to watch you!” she protested. “I’ll close the door!”
Draco spluttered. “It’s just... just uncouth! Bathroom functions are private. It’s one thing to escort me to the loo, and it’s another thing to listen to me use it!” He looked around and spotted urinals on the wall. “And you’re in the men’s restroom!”
“You are so old fashioned. This is a unisex restroom, and listening to someone pee is hardly ‘uncouth’. People do it every time they use a public bathroom.”
“Out!” Draco pointed a finger towards the door, making sure his arm was steady even though the rest of him was not. “Stop being insane. I do not want to go with you standing here, regardless of your arguments. I’m still sick and you are upsetting me. So, out!”
Crossing her arms, Granger leaned back onto the wall. “And what will you do if you get stuck on the toilet?”
Draco blushed. Did she have any manners? Discussing things like these in mixed company was simply not done. “I won’t!”
“Or what if you fall over standing up?”
Draco shuffled forward into the stall and shut the door behind him. “Look, I got in fine. Just go stand outside of the bathroom, and I’ll scream if something happens, all right?”
Granger huffed, but she started walking towards the door. “Sure, sure. I’ll laugh if you drown yourself in the toilet though!” she called as she walked out of the room.
Draco sighed as he pulled down his pyjama bottoms and sat. He floundered a bit before he gained is balance, but he refused to admit that Hermione may have been right, even to himself. He had thought bedpans were the worst thing that could happen. Having a pretty girl listen to him pee seemed far worse for some reason.
Did Draco just think that Granger was pretty? The fever must have come back. He shook his head, and tried to do his business quickly.
“Are you all right?” Granger shouted from the door.
“I’m fine!” he screeched back, hurrying faster. “Don’t you dare come in!”
“You don’t sound all right...” Granger didn’t close the door. Instead, she walked inside, as evidenced by her approaching footsteps. Draco scrambled to stand up and straighten his clothing. He flushed the toilet and pushed open the door just as Granger stepped up to it.
“See? Perfectly fine.” He was breathing hard, and his cheeks were probably red from the exertion, but at least he still had his pride.
“Good. Let’s head back to your room then.”
“What about my shower?” Draco was whining, and he knew it, but he wanted a warm, relaxing shower badly.
Granger quirked an eyebrow at him. “Will you let me stand by the shower?”
“No!”
“Then I think a shower is too dangerous.” Granger nodded imperiously and held out her hands. “Come on.”
Draco shook his head and began to shuffle along the wall toward the shower stalls at the far end of the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.” Granger stepped up next to him. “In private.”
“You could slip and fall though!” Granger reached out to grab his arm, and Draco felt like he was tilting off balance. Granger’s words became a self-fulfilling prophecy as he pitched to the side and into her.
Granger smiled up at him from where she lay underneath him. “See? What did I tell you?”
Draco sighed, rolled off her, and closed his eyes, pretending that the feeling of her beneath him had not just awakened thoughts and feelings he had not had in ages. All he wanted was the privacy to use the loo and shower. Granger’s pushiness was almost enough to make him wish he were still on the streets.
Granger stood next to him, and when Draco cracked his eye open, he saw her reach out a hand to help him up. As he stood, he sighed yet again. Who was he kidding? Even living in a cheap, communal-style apartment building was far better than the streets.
He squeezed Granger’s hand lightly before he released it, wondering what it was about women that made men want to touch and hold them. He might be able to handle the loss of privacy if it meant he could have human contact. He moved toward the door, ignoring Granger, but he relished the brush of her arm against his when their steps coincided. He had missed friendly touches more than anything else.
Draco made his way to his room gradually. The closer he got to his door, the slower he got. He frowned when he realised that Granger was right. He would not have had the energy to take a whole shower, damn her intelligence. His legs started trembling beneath him again, and it took most of his concentration just to stay upright.
He shambled into his bedroom, almost tripping over the doorframe because he could not lift his feet over it. Draco stumbled over to his bed and fell into it, panting and sweating. He felt like he had run a mile, but he doubted he had walked two-hundred feet.
Granger sunk down next to him on the bed. “Are you all right?”
Draco closed his eyes and wished she would go away. When he was out on the streets he had been starving, dirty and ill. Now he was well fed, clean and recovering, yet he’d never felt more worthless in his life. He hated this place. He wanted to do something. Draco knew that Granger was busy doing research for the war and that she was taking time away from her efforts to take care of him. He had not been raised to be so needy, and it irked him that he couldn’t even go to the bathroom on his own.
“Draco?” Granger asked quietly, running a hand down his back.
Draco was horrified to find tears prickling his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said, but his voice cracked as he said it.
Granger pulled at him until he was sitting next to her and then enveloped him in a hug. “You are not fine. It’s okay to admit your weaknesses.”
Draco sat stiffly in her arms, trying to choke back the sobs that threatened to overtake him. “I-I can’t. I don’t have any. My father-”
“You aren’t your father. You are yourself, and that’s exactly who you should be.”
As her words sunk in, Draco found himself collapsing into her hug and crying loudly. He hadn’t shed tears since his mother died, and it was as if he had been storing them up for years. He soaked the shoulder of her blouse with his tears, and still they kept coming.
He had looked up to his father for years, trying to be just like him. Even after discovering how happily his father worshiped Voldemort, Draco had wanted more than anything to follow his example. Then Voldemort ordered his father to kill his mother. She had betrayed the Dark Lord by saying that Potter died from his Avada Kedavra. Voldemort had decided to check for himself.
Potter had been alive, but he hadn’t lived for long after that. The Dark Lord had killed him, and then turned on his mother. His father told him the story afterward. He had been ordered to Crucio and then kill his wife, and he had done it without any qualms. Draco had watched him explain what happened with a straight face, and at that moment, he realised just what kind of man his father was, what kind of man Draco was becoming.
He ran away from the Death Eaters that night and hid in the Muggle world for over two years, until the germ warfare began and the Muggles became suspicious of him. People who didn’t suffer from the war diseases were regarded as abnormal and avoided. Draco had been working and living in an apartment when he suddenly found himself on the street with no way to make a living. Still, he hadn’t returned to the Dark Lord. It was easier to live on the streets in poverty than it was to stay with his father, live in luxury and become a monster of a man.
Granger though... she had just taken away years of fears and doubts with a few sentences. Draco wasn’t his father. He never had been. He never would be. He was himself.
It took Draco a while to stop crying, but when he had ceased, Granger squeezed him tightly and then pulled away. Draco laid back down on the bed, exhausted but happy.
“Do you feel better now?” she asked with a sweet smile.
Draco smiled back. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good!” She pulled the blankets up over him and then moved around the room, cleaning it up a bit. Surprisingly, she was not the tidiest person, and it was usually Weasley who cleaned the room so Granger would have plenty of time to do her research.
Draco followed her movements with his eyes for a few minutes before he asked, “What are you doing?”
“Oh, just tidying up a bit!” she said, a little too forcefully. She didn’t look at him as she said it.
Something was up. “Granger, you do not clean. What’s going on?”
She spun around nervously. “What? Nothing is up! Everything is perfectly normal!”
Draco just quirked an eyebrow and waited.
“Oh, fine! I wanted to surprise you, but Professor Snape is going to visit you today.” She crossed her arms and pouted, and Draco had to hide a grin. Granger had always been so mature at school, but when she threw fits, she acted like a whiny two-year-old... much like himself, Draco supposed.
Her words caught up to him. “Severus? He’s alive?”
Granger snorted. “He managed to escape death during the final battle by just the skin of his teeth. Voldemort knew he was a spy, so he turned Nagini on him. Lucky bastard survived by eating a bezoar he had in his pocket.” She pulled out her wand to Scourgify a few things, and then tucked it back into her jeans pocket. “Now he works in the research department here at C.R.A.P.”
“But-but my father told me he was dead!” protested Draco, unable to believe her.
Granger smirked. “Voldemort’s side doesn’t realise he’s alive. He didn’t eat the bezoar until after he had been left for dead, so Voldemort told all of his followers that Professor Snape had died. It’s great for C.R.A.P. because he can work almost invisibly.”
Draco blinked once, twice, three times. “Invisibly?”
Granger abruptly lifted the covers and stole his slippers off his feet. “If everyone thinks you are dead, they don’t look for you. It’s easy for him to sneak around because people aren’t alert. They keep their eyes open for people like Ron and me, but Professor Snape can walk right in front of them and they hardly notice. The ones who do notice think he’s a ghost.”
Draco snorted. “Yes, because he’s turned grey and translucent, I’m sure.”
“Actually...” Granger smirked. It was a good look for her. “Nagini’s poison turned all of his hair white, so he does look a little ghost-like.”
The door opened wide, revealing a frowning Severus. Granger squeaked and dropped the slippers she was still holding. “Must you tell everyone my whole life’s story, Ms. Granger?”
Draco smirked, certain she would get even more flustered, and was surprised when she just smiled.
“Did you sleep well, Professor?” she asked, picking up the slippers and depositing them on the chest at the end of the bed.
Severus scowled. “Are you joking? Lupin’s son has a cold. He was up all night crying, and it came straight through the wall. Damn man lost his wife in a raid, and I know he’s grieving, but that doesn’t give him to right to ignore his son and subject the rest of us to his squalling.” He strode into the room until he was next to Draco’s bed. “He didn’t shut up until I brewed him some Pepper-Up potion.”
“You old softie,” she said, pulling a chair up next to the bed for him.
Severus glared, Granger grinned, and Draco frowned.
“Are you sure this is Severus Snape? Shouldn’t he have bitten your head off by now?”
Severus rolled his eyes and sat down in the chair. “It’s nice to see you too, Draco.”
Draco blushed, feeling like a chastised second year. “I’m sorry, Professor.”
Severus sighed. “I’m afraid Ms. Granger is right. I have become soft in my old age. I wouldn’t recognise myself either.”
Granger giggled. “He even babysits Remus Lupin’s two-year-old. I saw them napping together once.”
“Thank you, Ms. Granger,” Severus said with a sharp glance at her.
Hermione picked up a few more things and put them away. “What? I think it’s cute.” Severus was obviously becoming impatient, so she nodded at them and walked towards the door. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She glared at Severus. “Don’t you dare upset Draco. He’s still ill.” She shut the door firmly behind her.
Draco wanted to bury his head in his pillow. How embarrassing.
Severus seemed to be thinking the same thing. “I believe Ms. Granger has two goals in life: to give everyone, including house elves, the same rights, and to emasculate all men.”
Draco snorted and straightened up in his bed. “You may be right.” Then he looked at Severus. The man really had softened. His white hair didn’t contrast against his skin the way his dark hair had, and Draco could even detect tiny laugh lines at the corners of his mouth. He seemed almost blurred around the edges, not sharp and pointy as he had when Draco was still at Hogwarts.
Severus seemed to understand Draco’s need to look, and in turn he observed Draco.
“You look pathetic,” said Severus.
“Thank you so much for that glowing compliment,” Draco drawled.
Severus shrugged. “It’s the truth.” His gaze on Draco sharpened. “How have you been?”
Draco raised his head and peered down his nose slightly. “Just fine. I simply ended up getting a little sick.”
“Draco.”
One word stripped him of his pride and reminded him that Severus had never taken nonsense for an answer.
“The truth is, I’d be dead if it weren’t for Granger and Weasley.” Draco sank back into his pillows, clenching his hands in the sheets. “All I had was a cold, but I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks and I was living on the streets.” He looked away from Severus, not wanting to see pity on his face. “I deteriorated faster than I thought I would, and I could barely move when they found me. I thought I was going to die.”
Severus’s voice was soft, but firm. “I am glad they found you.” Draco snuck a peek at him and was relieved to see he was straight-faced. Draco couldn’t handle getting pity from Severus. It would have destroyed any self-worth he had left. “What were you doing living on the streets? I heard from my contacts that you ran away from the Death Eaters a few days after the battle at Hogwarts.”
Draco closed his eyes, fighting the memories of the battle and its aftermath. “My father... he killed my mother.”
Severus said, “I heard. I’m sorry.”
Draco shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m fine. At the time, I was upset. He loved her, and he just killed her, as if she were an enemy. I was afraid, of him, of Voldemort...”
Severus nodded. “Of yourself.”
Draco looked at him sharply. “What?”
“I know you, Draco. You have always wanted to be your father. Discovering what your ultimate hero would do for power must have made you doubt yourself. What would you have done in his position?”
Draco looked down at his blankets and clasped his hands together. “I-I don’t know,” he whispered.
“You would have refused.” Severus reached out a hand, patted Draco awkwardly, and then withdrew it.
Draco’s heart hurt. Severus had been the person who saved him in sixth year. He was a man Draco had never doubted. Even after what his father did, Draco still had Severus to believe in. He had thought at times that Severus, and his mother, might be watching out for him from the afterlife, and it had carried him through some tough moments. Now he had Severus, alive and well, next to him, reassuring him. It was too much to take. He broke down again, sobbing into his blankets while Severus sat next to him, his very presence a comfort to Draco.
~*~
It was another two weeks before Draco had regained enough strength to walk for more than a few feet and stand long enough to shower. After a month in bed, he was getting bored. Hermione, as she had asked him to call her, had taken to bringing him books to read, but it wasn’t enough to keep him occupied. Severus visited a few times, but his research kept him away from headquarters. Even Lupin had come to visit him, dragging his blue haired boy behind him, and spent hours catching Draco up on the news of the wizarding world and C.R.A.P.’s research.
Draco was very interested in the research they were doing. Hermione explained that when the germ warfare had begun, she was surprised to discover that no wizards got sick. She was in hiding at that point, apparently living in an abandoned Muggle shack with Weasley. The Order of the Phoenix had collapsed, she said, and most of the members of the DA were dead. Draco had been stunned that the “good” side had taken such hard hits. They had always seemed so much stronger than Voldemort, even when he was on the Dark Lord’s side.
Hermione explained that she had met C.R.A.P.’s founder then, and he offered her and Weasley a place within the apartment building, which he had just purchased after the majority of the students died. She agreed happily, and moved in, gradually building up C.R.A.P. with the few members of the Order and the DA that were still alive, until it became a new resistance group.
It wasn’t until Severus made his way to the group that they began their research. The founder, a Muggle-born, had been intrigued by the fact that wizards didn’t get sick from Muggle diseases, particularly small pox, polio, and rubella, which were the major diseases that the Muggles had unleashed upon each other. When Severus showed up with a strong knowledge of potions and a basic knowledge of Muggle science, the founder offered him money to research why they weren’t getting ill.
Severus had taken on Hermione, who had the most knowledge of Muggle science out of the members of C.R.A.P., as an assistant, and they had begun their research. They did what they could with the basic equipment they had, and concluded that Muggles and wizards had different DNA and were possibly even different species.
“Then, why do Muggle-borns exist?” Draco asked Hermione when she was explaining.
Hermione had sighed and said, “We think that magic is a recessive gene, and that many people in the Muggle world carry one copy of the gene. When two of these Muggles marry, they have a twenty-five percent chance of having a magical child.”
Draco struggled to make sense of that, using his rudimentary knowledge of the Muggles’ theory of genetics. “Wouldn’t Muggles and wizards still be the same species then?”
“That’s where we are getting confused. If we were the same species, then we would catch the same illnesses.” She had frowned, looking absolutely stumped.
Draco had become obsessive at that point, wanting to understand exactly what the difference between Muggles and wizards were. If they were indeed separate species, then Voldemort’s rhetoric that Muggle-borns stole magic couldn’t be true because only the wizarding “species” would have access to magic. However, if magic was a recessive gene, then some of Voldemort’s lies were actually the truth. Marrying Muggles would destroy the wizarding world race because up to one-hundred percent of children born to a wizard-Muggle marriage would be non-magical, depending on whether the Muggle had the recessive gene.
Draco’s obsession led him to climb out of bed one day, pull on some real clothes instead of the pyjamas he had been living in, and walk down the hall to where he thought the research room was.
Hermione gaped at him when she opened the door to his knock. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I want to help with the research,” said Draco, and he moved past her into the room. It was bright and cheerful, and Severus looked entirely out of place in the blue-walled room. Draco nodded his head towards him. “Hello, sir. What can I do?”
Severus nodded towards a pile of books in a corner by a large bookshelf. “Those all have to do with genetics. Please read through them and mark any places that indicate ‘odd’ or ‘different’ genes.”
Draco nodded, grabbed the first five books off the top of the pile, and settled himself into a nearby chair, flicking on the Muggle lamp next to it. Hermione stood by looking astonished. Once he had made himself comfortable, Draco smiled at her. “Well, are you going to stand there and watch, or are you going to do some research?”
Hermione stared at him for a moment, sighed, and seemed to resign herself to the fact that he was there to stay. She grabbed a few books of her own and sat down near him to read. It was peaceful, the two of them reading as Severus ran experiments, and Draco felt like maybe things were finally getting better.
~*~
He was wrong. Six days later C.R.A.P. sent out an offensive group to rescue George Weasley, who had been captured while on a reconnaissance mission. They thought they were well prepared and sent ten people in. Only one came out.
Ron Weasley had been the first to volunteer for the mission, and Luna Lovegood, the sole survivor, said he was also the first to die. They had gone in expecting five guards, only to discover that they were outnumbered three-to-one. George was also killed in the resulting melee. The moral of C.R.A.P. fell drastically, and Draco couldn’t see how anything would raise it. Almost a fourth of the offensive division had been killed in one fell swoop, and some of them had been their best fighters.
Hermione had held her head up high at the news of her lover’s death and taken control of the offensive team. She was an amazingly strong woman, but Draco could see she was beginning to crack.
She managed to hold herself together for almost a week, and then Voldemort had his followers spread the remains of the C.R.A.P. members down Diagon Alley as a warning. A few offensive team members headed up a mission to recover the bodies and asked volunteers to help. The faster they could retrieve the bodies, the less time there was for the Dark Lord to attack.
Hermione had gone to recover the bodies, and had been fine, until she saw Weasley’s body was at one end of the street, and his head was at the other. She sank to the ground, wrapped her arms around herself, and started shivering.
Draco rushed to her side, letting Lovegood know that she should take control, and he tugged her away from the street.
Draco pulled her into a hug. “Hermione,” he whispered in her ear, “it’s all right. You don’t need to see that. No one should have to see it.”
“I’m fine,” she muttered. “Let me go help.” She tried to push him away, but Draco held on tight.
“Let them handle it.”
Hermione struggled against his hold. “No! I need to take care of this!”
Draco thought back to what she had once said to him. “It’s okay to admit your weaknesses.” He lifted her chin until she was looking at him. “A very smart woman told me that once.” He smiled. “And I’ve found that being able to admit weakness is strength in itself.”
Hermione burst into tears, and Draco pulled her closer. For over a month, she had been the one to give him the strength to go on, and he wanted to give some of that courage back to her. In the back of his mind, he knew it was more than that too. He was taking advantage of the situation to hold her close, something he would never have a chance to do otherwise. He smoothed down her hair gently, and he imagined, just for a moment, that she felt for him what he felt for her.
Then he remembered she had just seen her dead boyfriend’s body, and he snuffed out his hopes like a candle. Weasley was never one of his favourite people, but neither he nor Hermione deserved the disrespect of Draco’s thoughts.
He held her for only a few minutes, until Lovegood came over to let them know everyone’s bodies had been recovered.
Hermione lifted her head from Draco’s shoulder and nodded. “Thank you, Luna. We’ll head back to headquarters then.” She pulled out her wand and Apparated herself and Draco back.
Draco frowned when they arrived. “I wish I could be more helpful. Without my wand...”
Hermione hugged him tightly and pulled away. “You’ve been amazing, Draco. You don’t need a wand to help out.”
“Still...” he said softly.
She just nodded, as if she understood, and pointed towards the research room. “Let’s go figure this out then.”
Draco followed her, and settled in to work on his task again. Reading multiple books about the same thing was tedious, but it did not strain Draco’s still weak body. He did the best he could and hoped it would help.
They worked late into the night, Draco reading and Hermione running tests on Muggle and wizarding blood. Draco did not stop reading until he realised that the noises in the room had stopped. He looked over at Hermione and found her asleep on top of her notes. He moved over to her and shook her shoulder gently, wanting to urge her to go back to bed. She did not stir.
Draco shook her a little harder, and she jolted upright, blinking sleepily at him.
“I think it’s bedtime,” he said softly.
She nodded, stood, and stretched. Her shirt rose up, revealing a thin strip of skin, and Draco had to resist the urge to touch it. He was becoming too involved with her. Hermione was his saviour and his strength, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let himself fall for her. Her soft touches and sweet smiles clouded his mind, and he found himself struggling to keep his emotions secret.
It wouldn’t be real anyway. He would be a replacement for Weasley, and she would be his light in the darkness. It wouldn’t be love, Draco told himself.
He moved to the door and held it open for her, and then he walked with her down the hall. Her room was closer than his, so he bid her goodnight and watched as she slipped inside, not moving on until he heard her lock click.
It couldn’t be love.
~*~
“Hermione! Look!” Draco shook a paper above his head. “I think I’ve found it!”
After four months of reading books, articles, and scientific journals, Draco might have just stumbled on the key to magic.
Hermione took the paper from him, scanning the title. “Chromosome twenty-two was the first chromosome to be mapped. I already know that, Draco.”
Draco pointed to a section of the article he highlighted. “No, here, there’s some new information. This was published after the new millennium.”
Hermione looked up at him. “The Muggles all started getting sick after the new millennium when the germ factories in the industrialised countries suddenly lost their ability to contain the germs because of the Y2K bug.”
Draco snorted and said, “You know better than that. It was Voldemort and his cronies who unleashed the germs with a few Alohomora charms.”
“Well, from the Muggles perspective, it looked like their computers had crashed. Still, if this was published after January first...” Hermione trailed off, but she was smiling.
“...then the author was probably a wizard.” Draco gestured to the paragraph again. “And look at what he’s written. He was working on the genome project with the Muggles and discovered that sometimes the twenty-second chromosome was larger than it should be.”
Hermione scanned over the rest of the article. “He says here that chromosome twenty-two seems to be incredibly unstable. During the mapping process, the larger variations of the chromosome would often mutate and become identical to the smaller variations. None of the other chromosomes broke down during mapping.”
Draco flipped forward a few pages. “And here he mentions that he has larger chromosomes himself, whereas most of his colleagues had the smaller version, though a few had one of each. If he was a wizard, and they were Muggles-“
“Then chromosome twenty-two holds the wizarding gene!” Hermione began to pace back and forth in front of Draco’s chair. “It explains everything! For some reason, this gene gives us protection from Muggle diseases, and it must be a recessive gene since we have Muggle-borns and some people have one larger chromosome and one smaller chromosome.”
Draco frowned. “It would have to be more than one gene though. The article says that a whole section of the chromosome is ‘deleted’ during mapping. That could be hundreds of genes.”
Hermione fluttered her hands at him. “All right, fine. A group of genes turns Muggles into wizards then. That difference is enough to make us different species.” She spun around, staring at the shelves of books they had accumulated. “Right? How many genes do we have to have in common to be the same?” She plucked a book from the wall at random, flipping through it and then putting it to the side. “I read...” she grabbed another book and opened it to an arbitrary page. She flipped forward a few pages, and stopped. “Here it is! It says that preliminary studies on human and chimpanzee genes have discovered that up to 95% of our genes could be identical. If only a 5% difference would amount to the differences between chimpanzees and Muggles, surely at least a .5% difference could create magic.”
Draco watched her with a smile.
She continued speaking rapidly. “So, it must be a group of genes that isn’t activated unless there are two copies of it in a person’s cells. Wizards and Muggles must be different species that are close enough that we can breed, like lions and tigers or horses and donkeys, but different enough that our genes are distinct.”
“What about squibs?” Draco asked suddenly, as the thought popped into his head. Squibs had been a huge stumbling point in their previous research.
Hermione froze. “Well, I’m not sure.” She sank into a nearby chair. “If it is a recessive gene, then true squibs should be impossible because both parents would be wizards who could only pass on the recessive genes.”
Draco glanced back at the paper. ...is an unstable chromosome... “If it’s unstable... then perhaps it mutates to produce squibs.”
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. “You might have something there. If the genes were deleted from the chromosome in one parent’s haploid cells, then the child would be non-magical. It makes sense. True squibs are rare, as is gene mutation. A squib born to wizard-Muggle parents wouldn’t actually be a squib then. They just didn’t inherit two copies of the magic chromosome.”
“We’ve done it.” Draco almost couldn’t believe it. “We’ve actually potentially discovered the secret of magic.”
Hermione laughed delightedly. “We can’t be sure, not without running some tests, but I think this is it.” She flung herself at him, entwining her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek. “You did it.”
Draco laughed with her, relishing the feel of her soft hair brushing against his neck. “We did it.” He wanted to hold her longer, but he released her.
She pulled away and said, “Wait until we tell Professor Snape. He’ll know more about what this could mean for the resistance.” Her eyes were glittering with excitement. “This is something big. It could change the world. I can just feel it.”
Draco was happy to see her so excited. In the months since Weasley’s death, she had sunk into a deep depression. She woke up early and worked late into the night, doing research, going out on reconnaissance missions, and taking care of the Muggle-born orphans that C.R.A.P. took in. The only time he saw her smile anymore was when she was playing with the little ones, and even then her smiles were almost false. She looked alive though, and for Draco, that was even better than the discovery they had just made.
~*~
Severus looked over the article quietly. “Your ideas seem solid. However, this is not the end of our research. We still have months or years of work ahead of us.” A few weeks after Draco and Hermione had made their discovery and ironed out the details, they decided to present their findings to Severus. Draco was pleased with how he had received it.
Hermione nodded, her fuzzy hair bouncing as her head moved. “Oh, we know, but just think of what we can do with this knowledge! If there were a way to inject the restriction enzyme into the cells of a wizard’s body, we could destroy his magic genes. He’d be a Muggle, and we’d be able to take down so many Death Eaters without causing any more death.”
Severus held her gaze for a moment. “Indeed. How do you know that destroying a wizard’s magic wouldn’t disrupt their life force?”
Hermione’s face fell. “Oh,” she whispered.
“We’ll need to work hard,” said Draco. He looked at Severus for a moment and then over at Hermione. “We can figure it out.” He hated seeing Hermione so sad, and he was heartened by her sudden, grateful smile.
Severus just looked at him shrewdly for a long moment. Draco blushed, realizing how transparent he had become around Hermione. “Indeed, I do believe we can do this.” He held up the sheaf of papers in his hand. “Tell me more about what this means for wizards.”
Draco sighed. “Well, the truth is that Voldemort’s side is right. Muggles endanger the wizarding race.” He pointed to a diagram that he had drawn after he and Hermione decided that wizarding genes were recessive to Muggle genes. “A Muggle without the genes who marries a wizard will never have children that are magical. On the other hand, a Muggle with one set of the genes who marries a wizard will have magical children about half of the time. Those are poor odds, and the wizarding race could become extinct within a few generations, with only a few people here and there being born with magic.”
Hermione glared at him. “But Voldemort isn’t completely right!”
Draco laughed at her, and she bristled. “I know that!” he protested. “I meant he was right about that one thing. He’s wrong about Muggle-borns being a danger to the wizarding race. Since we are a distinct species, wizards who marry witches will almost always have magical children. The incidence of Squibs is no higher in Muggle-born households, so it isn’t as if Muggle-borns DNA is more unstable than ‘pure’ wizarding DNA.”
Severus frowned. “The numbers published by the Ministry at the last census said that seventeen percent of Muggle-borns have non-magical children, twelve percent of Half-bloods have non-magical children, and only two percent of Purebloods have non-magical children. Muggle-borns and Half-bloods were also far more likely than Purebloods to have more than one non-magical child within their family.”
“We thought about that,” Hermione said, “and we realised that the Ministry had not considered the spouses of the wizards for those statistics. Muggle-borns are almost ten times more likely to marry a Muggle than Purebloods, and Half-bloods are about four times as likely to marry a Muggle.”
“As we already pointed out, marriage to a Muggle is almost guaranteed to produce non-magical children,” said Draco. “So, if you factor out the families where one parent is Muggle, or a Squib themselves, the incidence of non-magical children born to magical parents is about one-and-a half percent, regardless of the parents backgrounds.”
Severus nodded. “Yes, I see now. Before we knew about magic being genetic, it would not have made sense to figure out if the spouse was Muggle.”
Draco listened to Severus and Hermione debated over various parts of their theory. Really, now that he knew about genetics, the things his father had taught him as a child were put into a new perspective. It wasn’t hard to align the new thinking with his old thinking.
Wizards were still better than Muggles, in his opinion, simply because they had magic. Comparing them seemed silly now though. It would be like comparing tigers to monkeys. Since they were different species, Draco did not really care about being “better” because there was no way to define “better” between two species. A monkey was better at climbing than a tiger, but a tiger was better at hunting.
Discounting the fact that wizards had magic, they were still very different. They wore different clothing, had different customs, and were better at different things. Draco had learned, from his time in the Muggle world, that Muggles were far more adept than wizards at adapting to their surroundings. They had developed many electronic equivalents to the things people used in the wizarding world, using light bulbs instead of Lumos for light and fatal drugs instead of Kisses on their worst prisoners. Everything was similar but completely different.
Even after Voldemort sparked the germ warfare and the Muggles blamed each other for the escape of hundreds of deadly diseases into the general population, they had still been resourceful. He had heard of countries where people with diseases were shipped in “retaliation” to the country they thought had unleashed the germs on them, so that the other country would get the same diseases. It was sickening, but logical in the extreme.
He had never understood the idea of Muggle-borns taking magic from wizards because wands chose the wizard, and they could not be used by anyone who didn’t “own” them. Knowing that wizards were a separate species from Muggles made it easier for him to come to terms with the fact that his beliefs had been flawed. He was not sure if he’d ever truly be able to look at Muggles as equals, but he didn’t want to kill or torture them anymore. They were not “lesser wizards”, they were Muggles, wizards were wizards, and you simply could not compare the two and declare one better than the other.
“...and if we do this, then we’ll be able to stabilise the potion so it can be...” Hermione’s voice was more excited than it had been in months.
Draco knew he was smiling sappily at her, but he didn’t bother to stop. She would never notice him while she was so involved in discussion. He almost wished she would notice, but he knew nothing would come of it if she did. It hadn’t even been half of a year since Weasley’s death, and she was still grieving. Maybe someday she would be ready to love again, but she hadn’t reached that point yet.
Draco yawned, his eyes drifting closed of their own accord. He was better now, but he still got tired too easily. Sighing lightly, he started falling asleep, noticing that Hermione and Severus were arguing over potion ingredients already.
Perhaps they did have a chance to win this war. Perhaps Draco could become a stronger wizard than his father ever had been.
EPILOGUE
All the members of C.R.A.P. were gathered in the main entrance, the only room large enough to hold everybody. Draco and Hermione walked through the crowd, passing out syringes and vials to everyone. More than two years after Draco had joined C.R.A.P., they had finally perfected their Mugglisation potion.
Severus stood at the front of the room on the entrance desk. “You have all been briefed on your mission. Do you have your partners?” asked Severus.
Heads across the room nodded, and a few pairs held up joined hands.
“Good.” Severus looked out over the crowd, catching people’s eyes here and there. “Be careful out there. Keep our casualties to a minimum. I want today to be about decimating their numbers. Don’t go after the most dangerous people on your own. Always stay with your partner.” He raised an eyebrow at them. “And please do not touch the Mugglisation potion, unless you would like to become one.”
A nervous giggle from the back of the room betrayed Longbottom. The poor guy had stumbled into the research room at just the wrong moment and been splashed with the potion. Thankfully, they had washed it off quickly, so only the outer cells of his body had been affected, but his magic had been almost halved, and they weren’t sure what kind of long term effects he would suffer from.
“If the potion touches your skin, wash it off immediately. Do not get it in your mouth, eyes, or any wounds. These areas are vulnerable and have a close connection to the blood stream. The minute this potion enters your blood, your Magic will be gone. Do not take risks.”
Severus’s words were sobering. They were putting a lot on the line with this attack, and Draco hoped it would be worth it.
“Get in and out quickly. We will launch our attack in ten minutes. Say your goodbyes and be prepared to Apparate to your coordinates when I give the signal.” Severus’s eyes softened for a moment. “Please, all of you, be careful.” He hardened his gaze again. “We cannot afford to lose anyone.”
He stepped down from the desk and approached Draco.
Severus said, “Do not forget that you are needed for potions making.” Draco heard what he was saying and knew what he really meant.
He flung an arm around the older man’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. “Sir... Severus, you be careful too. I don’t want to bury you.”
Severus sneered. “You need not worry about me. Take care of yourself.”
Draco grinned and released him. “I will. I think Remus wants to say goodbye too.”
He laughed when a blush stained Severus’s cheeks as he walked off. He watched the gruff man actually hug four-year-old Teddy before he smiled slightly at Remus. They were an odd pair, to say the least, but wars brought people together as they sought out comfort in a harsh world.
“I told you, he’s a total softie.” Draco’s own odd comfort wrapped her arms around his waist, her bushy brown hair tickling his ear.
Draco smiled down at Hermione. “He is.” Then his smile fell away. “Promise me you’ll be careful. You’ll stick near me, and you won’t take any stupid Gryffindorian risks.”
“Gryffindorian isn’t a word.”
Rolling his eyes, Draco flicked her in the forehead. “Hush you. Just... promise me, okay.”
“I promise,” she said seriously. “I’m your partner after all. If I put myself at risk, I’ll be putting you at risk too. I won’t do that.”
Draco resisted the urge to sigh. Hermione was Draco’s comfort, but he was merely her partner. They’d been working together for so long, but they were nothing more than friends. Draco understood though. She was still working through her grief over Weasley, and it wasn’t like Draco was someone she could ever fall for anyway.
“I don’t care about myself; I don’t want you getting hurt,” Draco murmured. Her skin was soft against his, and he allowed himself to imagine for a moment that she loved him as much as he had come to love her.
Hermione moved in front of him and squeezed him tightly. “I don’t care about myself either. I’m worried about you. Are you sure you are strong enough for this? You never really got your strength back after your illness...” Concerned eyes peered up at him.
Draco gulped and swept her up into his arms. His muscles strained against her weight, but he managed to hold her. “I’m fine. I’m healthy as can be now. You though... I don’t want to see any Gryffindorian stunts,” he reminded her. “You promised.” He set her down gently and was happy that he wasn’t even breathing heavily.
Hermione buried her head in his shoulder. His robe muffled her voice. “One little stunt, and that’s it. Promise.”
Draco growled. “No! None!”
Hermione pulled away from him. She was laughing. “Just one,” she whispered. “You’ll like it.” She pressed her lips against his.
Draco responded immediately, taking advantage of the moment to snog her, as he had wanted to for months.
She sounded short of breath when she ended the kiss. “After the battle, we have a lot to discuss.” She stepped out of his arms and grasped his hand.
Draco nodded dumbly. Indeed, they did. He wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but it seemed to be a good thing. He had thought she was still hung up on Weasley, and perhaps she was, but something had changed in her.
No, something had changed in the both of them.
“...five, four, three, two, one!” Severus’s countdown caught his attention. Hermione nodded at Draco, he squeezed her hand, and they Apparated away together. The battle was about to begin, but for Draco it felt like the war had already been won.