He stepped away from her and his expression was tense. “She did. She was alway loyal to the Dark Lord, but she cared for her sister enough to want to see me succeed, rather than fail as was expected.”
“D-did your father know?” She couldn't stop herself from asking the question.
Draco swallowed. “No.” He looked away. “My father — he — he was very protective of my mother. If he'd known—”
Draco was silent for a moment. “Occlumency isn't a talent he has. Not to the level he would have needed it. He would have been vengeful, and it would have damned us all.”
The muscle in his jaw rippled. “My mother insisted we hide her condition from him. There was a potion prescribed by a Danish mind healer; it masked most of her symptoms. Prevented her from panicking when she was required to make appearances. She took it when my father visited. The Dark Lord had mostly kept my father in France and Belgium following his release. He assumed she was cold and distant because she blamed him for my taking the mark.”
“After Lestrange Manor?”
“Well, I suppose I could have just told him then.” The corner of his mouth twisted. “But I thought I could do more to avenge her if I had more time. I didn't realise how he'd take the news.” He gave a bitter smile as he stared down at his hands. “I'm sure the Order wishes I had.”
Hermione blinked as she tried to imagine what state the Order might be in with Arthur and Molly and George still fighting; but with no Draco, no rescues, no intelligence on which battles they could win, no warnings before they were hit. She twisted the knife in her hands.
“The Weasleys are my family, but we probably would have lost by now — you weren't crucial in the army then. Your death and your father's wouldn't have been enough to affect the outcome of the war. They'd probably all be dead.”
He snorted faintly and continued to avoid her eyes.
“Draco...” she said tentatively, starting to reach toward him. He jerked sharply away from her.
“We should continue with training,” he said in a cold voice. “Given that you've now seen first hand the devastation caused by hags.”
Hermione swallowed. “We still don't know how they got in. We don't have any idea. Do you know anything about it?”
“Hags aren't in my jurisdiction. I didn't hear until afterward, or I would have tried to give some warning.” He hesitated. “It's possible someone in Sussex is working to find a way around the Fidelius Charm using Dark Creature Magic. If they suspected a safe house location, it may have been an unfortunately successful experiment. There are hundreds programs in Sussex; the branches don't collaborate often. I don't have contacts in all of them. You should re-ward your safe houses and move any that you can.”
“We are.”
“Good,” he said as he flipped the knife in his hand. “Let's continue with training.”
He made her practice the forms and techniques again and again.
“Alright, let's see how you manage with a real attack,” he said after an hour of slow practice. He stepped away from her.
He spun the knife in his right hand the same way he spun his wand as he crossed the room and got into position. His expression was cold and intent as he stared toward her.
Then, without warning, he lunged.
Hermione dodged away and shot mild hexes as she evaded his initial attack. He was quick and relentless. He spun around her and brought the knife up to her throat before she could register that she needed to stop hexing him and try to deflect.
They both froze. Their eyes met for a moment, and it was like time stopped. His face was only inches away from hers, and Hermione forgot to breathe.
His expression grew hard, and he stepped abruptly away from her.
“Again. Timing is everything. You're still too reluctant to move.” His tone was almost vicious. He stalked across the room and attacked her once more.
After an hour, he stopped.
“Alright. That's enough for today,” he said, walking away from her. He reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll.
Hermione bit her lip, went over to her satchel and withdrew an envelope. She gripped it nervously in her hands as she turned to face him.
“Moody said to give you this,” she said, glancing down at the floor. It appeared to have been carefully scrubbed.
She looked up in time to see his expression flicker.
“Of course, my orders for the week.” His mouth twisted briefly as he jerked it from her fingers.
She accepted the scroll in his hand and then stood hesitating. “Draco…”
“Run along home now, Granger. I have work to do.” His tone was cold. He turned away from her and ripped open the envelope.
Hermione stood for another minute, studying his back. He didn't look back at her. He disappeared without a sound.
The next week, he still wouldn't meet her eyes. He barely spoke to her. He'd train her for exactly two hours a week, hand over his intelligence reports, take his orders from Moody, and leave.
But he was alive; she got to see him and know he was still alive.