They weren't starving yet. But Hermione was beginning to grow suspicious about how Kingsley was accomplishing such a thing.
Sometimes she doubted that defeating Voldemort would even be enough. If he died, with the control the Death Eaters currently had, there was a good chance someone would just step in to replace him.
Her mind always went immediately to Malfoy when that thought occurred.
She had yet to really see a demonstration of his abilities, but based on everything the Order knew of him, he was considered one of the likely candidates to take over in the event of Voldemort's demise.
Moody and Kingsley were almost certain that it was Draco's true motive in spying for the Order.
According to Severus, the Dark Mark had several elements to it. It allowed Voldemort to summon his followers to him, wherever they might be. It also enabled him to locate his followers; they couldn't run. And finally, the Dark Mark prevented bearers from attacking their master. Even if Malfoy thought he had the ability to kill Voldemort, he couldn't wield magic against him, not lethally. Draco would need someone else cast the death blow.
Hermione sometimes thought that becoming the next Dark Lord was indeed Draco's motive, but — after the runes, she questioned that conclusion. There was something angrier and more embittered in him than ambition. The deadliness and cold rage felt more like desperation than pride.
When she had told Moody that Draco had not demanded an Unbreakable Vow from her, the glint in Moody's eye made her begin to suspect that he intended to use her to kill Draco at some point.
She tried not to think about it.
She couldn't think about killing him.
She couldn't stand behind him night after night, trying to heal the runes carved into him and think about murdering him when he stopped being useful. Such coldness exceeded even her capacity for strategy.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she recast the protective charms over the cuts. She'd tried using bandages but the venom reacted.
“Alright. You're done,” she said quietly as she pulled his shirt up over his shoulders lightly.
When she left, she didn't apparate immediately back to Grimmauld Place. Instead she walked down the lane and into Whitecroft.
Draco's injury was eating into her detachment. It was causing her to go off mission.
Death Eater. Murderer. Spy. Target. Tool.
She repeated the list to herself again and again. But her conviction and resolve sounded hollow.
She found a creek, and watched the moving water glitter in the moonlight as she tried to force herself to detach. She shoved her hands into her pockets, and then hissed and jerked her right hand out. She found her index finger bleeding slightly. A piece of her amulet had broken the skin. She'd forgotten about it.
She pulled the rest of the shards from her pocket and tossed them into the creek, before healing the scratch.
He killed Dumbledore, she reminded herself. He was probably just trying to become the next Dark Lord.
Death Eater. Murderer. Spy. Target. Tool.
But then she'd think of his accusation: that she knew what would happen to him. That she was only pretending to care that he was hurt. That she was probably hoping he'd die once he wasn't useful anymore. The bitterness and resignation in his tone haunted her.
Perhaps he expected her to betray him someday.
The thought made something inside of Hermione shred somewhat, as though it were mangling her internal organs.
Why hadn't he made her take a Vow?
What did he want? The mystery around him dragged her mind toward him. Obsessing over every detail. Trying to comprehend what drove all the inconsistencies of his behavior.
The push and pull he exerted over their relationship felt like a tide. His arrogance and loneliness. He disliked her, despite whatever “fascination” which had prompted him to demand her. He often seemed to
But he was so isolated. He couldn't bring himself to push her fully away when she gave him opportunities to give in.
It was as Severus had said. She had been a miscalculation on his part. Even though he appeared to suspect her manipulation, her draw was inevitable and apparently irresistible.
Draco wasn't the only one falling into an obvious trap.
She knew he was using her. Using the Order. She knew that he was manipulative, cruel, dangerous, and responsible for the deaths of countless people. But as she tried to unravel him, he grew increasingly tragic and terrifyingly human.
She pressed her hands over her eyes and took a deep breath as she tried to clear her sympathy away.
She felt that if she could just know what his motive truly was, she'd be able to sever the sympathy; root it out from wherever it had started growing inside of her.
She didn't feel guilty for manipulating him but she wasn't sure that she had the resolve to be able to eventually kill him.