Hermione's throat grew tight as she coldly stared at Ginny. “His vow was to do his best to aid the Order in defeating Voldemort. He's done his best. He's done enough. Voldemort's tortured him so much he can hardly duel now. There's — there's nothing else he can do.”
She gripped the back of a chair until her knuckles showed white. “He's done his best,” she said again. “He has. He's done everything he could. Anything else—” her throat caught. “He's fulfilled his Vow. So — what we did was stage his death. After I got Draco's Dark Mark off, Lucius burned down the manor with fiendfyre. We're hoping everyone will assume Draco and I both died in the fire. Europe is unstable. If everyone thinks the High Reeve died, the International Confederation may finally decide to intervene.”
There was a brief silence.
“But… Voldemort won't be dead,” Ginny said slowly. Gently. As though she were breaking the news to Hermione.
Hermione felt heat flare in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to explode.
“No.” Hermione's voice was so tight it was vibrating. “But he doesn't need to be killed — defeated should be enough. He can die on his own. Or someone else can actually do something for change.” She drew a sharp, ragged breath and forced herself to continue. “If Draco were able to kill him before the International Confederation steps in, the Dark Marks would disappear. None of the Resistance members who are surrogates or imprisoned would be able to get their manacles off unless they find a way of forging Voldemort's magical signature.”
There was a burning sensation bleeding down her trapezius muscles. She slid a hand into her pocket and gripped her wand. Draco's old wand.
“Draco isn't in any condition or position to do more. He's done his best. It's someone else's turn to do something. Losing the High Reeve is one of the most detrimental blows Voldemort could take. If the International Confederation think Draco's a threat they may delay intervention. Appearing to have died is the best thing he can do.”
“And that — works with the Vow?”
Hermione nodded jerkily, and her fingers spasmed around her wand. “I think it does. I created the Vow with him. It's defined by my intent, and it was always intended to save him, so it should be enough. And if it didn't work—” her voice caught as her heart started pounding. “If it didn't — I'll — I'll—”
Her voice stopped as her chest contracted so painfully it felt as though her sternum were being cracked in half. Her eyes widened.
Her jaw started trembling. “I'll—”
Her voice faded.
She drew a shallow breath.
“I'll…”
Ginny stared at her in bewilderment and then horrified understanding dawned on her face. She rapidly crossed the room and touched Hermione on the shoulder. “Hermione? Hermione, oh god. That was a stupid question to ask. Come on, breathe. I shouldn't have asked. Please breathe. What do I do? What helps? I have Draught of Peace.”
Don't panic.
Don't panic.
Hermione shook her head at Ginny and willed herself to keep breathing.
Ginny guided her to a chaise and wrapped her arms tightly around Hermione's shoulders. “You're safe here. You're safe. You don't need to panic. Can you use occlumency? You have your magic now, does occlumency help?”
Hermione nodded and tried to box her panic back in, but it was like trying to grasp dozens of eels as they slipped away into other parts of her mind.
She squeezed her eyes shut and narrowed her focus down to a single point.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Don't have a seizure. You can't have a seizure.
“Call Draco,” she forced out as she made herself take a painful, gasping breath.
Hermione opened her eyes briefly to see Ginny's silver mare appear.
“Go find Malfoy. Tell him Hermione's having a panic attack.”
The mare raced off, and Ginny turned back to Hermione.
“Oh Hermione, you're alright. You've been so brave. You made it all the way here. You're safe now. I'm sure everything worked out. No one is going to go back. You and Malfoy are both safe here. You made it here. You're safe. You just have to breathe.”
Hermione kept forcing herself to inhale, drawing ragged, gasping breaths until suddenly her face was buried in fabric that smelled like the forest.
She clung to Draco and felt his hand running over her hair and down along her back.
“Hermione — come on, breathe for me,” he said gently as he pulled her against his chest and held her tightly. Then his tone sharpened into a knife's edge. “What did you do? I told you to keep her calm.”
“I'm sorry — I didn't know—”
Hermione tangled her fingers in Draco's robes and lifted her head, pulling him closer and staring into his eyes. “Draco — Draco — if it didn't work — if you're still not free of your Unbreakable Vow — I'll — I promised—”
“If it doesn't work,” he cut her off, “I'll be with you until the end. Which is all I ever wanted.”
She shook her head violently and held his face. “No — No. I could still save you. I could go—”