Disclaimer: Not mine, as if you lived under a rock and thought it was.
PART II: The Interim
Chapter Six: Turning Point
Hermione sat at her usual table in the library at Hogwarts, nearly completely hidden by several stacks of what appeared to be the oldest, dustiest, most ponderous and most obscure books that the school could offer. The Headmistress had not rescinded her all-access pass to the restricted section - even though the Trio were technically `normal' students again - and she got the distinct impression that Madame Pince did not appreciate it at all. Hermione had caught the librarian's suspicious gaze on her more than once, while trotting back and forth from the restricted section. It did not help that Hermione was pulling out the darkest tomes she could find, and really did not want anyone perusing through her selection of titles.
Unfortunately - although Hermione supposed that most of the time it was a good thing - Hogwarts did not have much to offer in the way of dark research. The information she had gathered on horcruxes last year had been pitifully scant, and she wasn't unearthing many new facts even with her newfound freedom in the library.
She sighed heavily, and dust blew off of the cover of the topmost book. She felt a headache forming in her temples. N.E.W.T.s were rapidly approaching, and while normally, Hermione would feel panic, she was currently glad. Most of her classmates assumed that she was on some kind of hysterical studying rampage, and she had never been so grateful for her reputation of being slightly mental when it came to her marks.
The fact was she'd been sorely neglecting her studies - at least by her standards. For some reason, N.E.W.T.s didn't really seem terribly important. For "some" reason, she thought, mocking herself.
Harry was avoiding her.
He'd been avoiding everyone really, and Hermione couldn't help but marvel a little at how adept he seemed to be at it - avoiding people in a school full of them. She looked a little wistfully at the diamond on her left hand. Harry hadn't asked for it back, hadn't so much as mentioned it. She almost wished he would; it would mean that she had at least crossed his mind.
He was angry at her, she knew. She certainly hadn't seen what she'd done as betrayal, but knew why he had. She'd only had his best interests at heart…she was afraid for him, afraid of losing him, afraid of what could be required of him…
She pulled another book off of the nearest stack, a large leather-bound volume full of yellowing, loose leaves, entitled Deathspells. There was a grinning skull embossed on the front, and she looked at it apathetically.
How could he sit near her every day in class and at meals, and speak with her politely, without really saying anything at all? He was friendly enough in public, but the affection was gone…and when they arrived back in their common room - or anywhere where frank discussion might be held - he was gone as quickly as a cast spell, shut in his room or Merlin only knew where else.
Hermione hadn't confronted him about it, even though Ron had said she needed to - more than once. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
She was the reason he was angry. Well, not the only reason, but a reason. Never before had she been an object of Harry's anger, and never before had her forthrightness and ability to speak her mind abandoned her.
She opened the front cover of the book, eyes automatically going to the table of contents, scanning down the list of chapters to see if there was anything that looked promising, before turning to the index and skimming it as well.
"How's it going?" The statement, though softly spoken, made her jump. Ron settled down into the empty chair at the end of the table, pushing some of the books out of the way. She held up one hand in a "see for yourself" gesture. The relationship between her and Ron had been somewhat strained lately as well, and Hermione could not put her finger on exactly why. He had been spending most of his spare time with her, so she wouldn't be completely alone, but she also knew he wanted to be spending time with Luna. She wondered if it was residual guilt that still stood between them, or just the gigantic specter of possibly losing Harry.
"You've had lunch?" Hermione asked. Ron nodded, looking somber. "How was he?"
Her other best friend shrugged.
"Dean and Seamus were in rare form today. He laughed a bit at them, but it - it didn't really - it wasn't in his eyes, you know?" Hermione nodded. Harry's eyes were often turned inward nowadays, seeing horrors that neither Hermione nor Ron could even contemplate, trying - and failing - to cope with the unbelievable prospect of housing the last surviving fragment of Voldemort's malicious soul, of being the lone reason that he still existed.
Hermione sighed again.
"You need to talk to him," Ron said, in the tone of one who has repeated himself times uncountable.
"Ron, I know. He's just - he's so - he seems unreachable now, and I don't know how to approach him."
"You could take off your clothes," Ron suggested in a whisper. Hermione felt a smile pull at her unwilling lips.
"Ron, that's not funny," she said, mustering up a glare. Ron grinned a little cheekily at her, and then turned serious.
"He's mad at you because you're a convenient target. He knows that he would have told people too, if your situations were reversed. But who else is he gonna be all pissy at? Dumbledore? The piece of Voldemort in his head?" Hermione had to admit that Ron had a point. "But both of you, really - it's the whole letting Voldemort win just by giving up thing again," Ron needled, sensing weakness, hoping to win the argument by virtue of sheer repetition; he had harassed her about it several times.
"You're right, you're right!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing up both hands. "I'll go talk to him."
"Now?" Ron asked, giving no quarter.
"Yes, now." Hermione rolled her eyes. "And you can stay here and keep reading." Ron made a face of mock disgust. "If I can find him, that is. Where in the world does he go all the time?"
"Where would you go if you felt like you needed to hide from everyone?" Ron asked rhetorically, shrugging.
Hermione stopped dead, as if she'd been petrified.
"Hermione?" Ron asked with some alarm.
"If you needed to hide…" she mouthed, almost to herself. "Ron!" she said so suddenly that he jumped. "That room - that room where Harry hid his potions book. What if other people hid books there - ones they didn't want to get caught with? Ones about Dark magic?"
Ron raised his eyebrows in admiration, and Hermione guessed that that meant he found the idea plausible. Before he could say anything, Hermione had grabbed his arm and was pulling him behind her to the Room of Requirement.
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The wall remained blank, and Hermione stamped her foot in frustration. "Why isn't it working?"
"Are you thinking that you need to hide something, or that you need to find the place where Harry hid something…or that you need to find the place where someone hid the something that you want?" Ron said, the words coming out in a tangled mess. Hermione looked at him blankly.
"What?" she said, pausing momentarily, before pacing distractedly in front of the wall again. Nothing happened.
"I guess the Room knows you really don't need to hide anything," Ron suggested. "Maybe you need to think more frantic thoughts."
"If my thoughts get any more frantic, I'll have a coronary!" Hermione said in a biting tone.
"Now there's something to look forward to," came a drawl from a voice just out of sight. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, and instinctively drew closer together, as Draco Malfoy came around the corner.
"Come to reminisce, Malfoy?" Ron spat.
"What's stuck up your arse, Weasel? Been working with the house-elves for your tuition?" Draco sneered. Ron reddened.
"And how are you doing, Malfoy? I assume you're enjoying your position as Has-Been? Not so much fun being a Malfoy when everyone who used to admire the name is in Azkaban." Draco's eyes glittered with loathing. Hermione wondered if Malfoy could sense Ron's contempt; it seemed to be rolling off of him in waves.
"We were just leaving," Hermione said, grabbing Ron's arm and steering him in the other direction.
"Actually," Malfoy's voice cut in, stopping them both short. "I came because I was wondering if I could join your little book club. You've left some fascinating leisure-time selections in the library, Granger."
Hermione froze, and Ron watched the color drain from her face. It was obvious that she had forgotten all about the books piled all over the library table. Slowly, they turned back to face Malfoy, who was almost grinning with satisfaction.
"What's your game, Malfoy?" Ron asked, cutting to the chase. Malfoy shrugged, leaning one shoulder casually against the wall.
"Just curious as to why Potter's little Mudblood is dabbling in the Dark Arts…" he said airily.
"Do not call her that," Ron said hotly.
"What? Potter's? He hasn't been paying her a lot of attention lately, for all that she's wearing that pathetic ring," Malfoy said cruelly. "Are you back together with her now? Or do you two just share her?"
Hermione drew in a shuddering breath, and two spots of color appeared in each cheek. Ron was reaching for his wand, but Hermione held out a hand for him to stop.
"You came up here to find us…why? I'm sure it wasn't just to be a complete prick." Hermione said in an even voice.
"You don't give me enough credit, Granger," he said in a low tone.
"Whose blood is that on your robes?" Hermione said, still cool. "Love notes from all your fair-weather Slytherin friends?" Rusty smears marred Draco's sleeves and cuffs. Ron had not noticed them until Hermione pointed them out.
"They wouldn't dare touch me," Malfoy said loftily, but something had flickered briefly in his face. He and Hermione stared challengingly at each other for a long moment.
"They're trying to kill you, aren't they?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Malfoy snarled. "The blood is from my owl. He just died."
"Did they kill him?" Hermione continued, in the same politely curious voice. Malfoy pushed off of the wall suddenly, with an impatient gesture, and approached Hermione, leaning in close to her face.
"You're not going to find what you're looking for here."
"What do you know about what I'm looking for?" Hermione said, glaring at him, as they stood only inches apart.
"You need to be more careful, Granger. And the Weasel needs to turn his volume down." His eyes flicked over to Ron and then back to her. "People have not stopped watching you. Or Potter either. People are asking questions."
He drew back from her personal space as abruptly as he'd filled it, and had disappeared around the corner again, without another word.
"What the hell?" Ron said in thorough confusion.
"He knows something," Hermione said, watching the spot where Draco had disappeared. "But what? And what is he going to do about it?"
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Hermione was reading again, when Harry finally entered the common room after dinner. He had not showed up at the evening meal, and she still did not know where he'd been. She was careful to keep the spine of the large book spread across her lap hidden, even though she supposed he knew what she was researching.
He mumbled something that sounded like "'Night," in her and Ron's general direction, before heading for the stairs. Hermione did not raise her eyes to him, and turned a page with an air of nonchalance. She felt Ron spear her with a look, and glanced up to see him leaning his head in the direction of the staircase.
"You said you were going to talk to him, if you could find him. Now you know where he is, so go!"
"You're not going to leave me alone until I go, are you?" Hermione grumbled. Ron smiled at her by way of answering. She closed the book, and laid it on the sofa, heading for the stairs.
Harry's door had at least fourteen different locking charms on it - at least, that's how many Hermione had disabled on one occasion, before she had gotten annoyed and angry and hurt, and stopped trying. Tonight, she decided a more direct approach would be in order.
"Reducto!" she said in a soft voice. The door blew open with a loud cracking of wood. Splinters clattered to the floor, and what was left of the door banged noisily against the wall. Down in the common room, Ron smothered a grin.
"Bloody hell!" came an exclamation from within. "You could've knocked." Hermione stepped inside, her demeanor cold and formal. Harry was across the room, folded up into his window seat, where he'd been looking out across the rugged countryside.
"You don't answer when I knock."
"Then you should take a hint," Harry said rudely. Hermione stood motionlessly for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what to say next. She absent-mindedly twirled the diamond around her fourth finger with her thumb. Harry's eyes followed her movement, and fixated on the ring. Hermione noticed.
"You're wearing it," he observed.
"Of course I'm wearing it. Do you want it back?" she asked gently. A hint of pain darkened his eyes at her question.
"Do you want to give it back?" he countered. A glimmer of a mirthless smile crossed her face, and she shook her head.
"You don't get to answer my questions with questions. Not when you haven't spoken to me - really to me - in weeks. It doesn't work that way."
"So, how does it work?" Harry asked in a disarming way. "Do I wait until you confide in me, and then tell everyone what you said, so people think that you're crazy?" He smiled, but his tone was biting. Hermione stiffened. "Do I discover important things about you, and keep them from you? Talk about you behind your back?"
"That's not what happened."
"Then enlighten me," he said shortly. The smile had fallen off of his face.
"I only wanted to help you, Harry. I was scared that you weren't handling this, that you were bottling everything up, denying what was going on…"
"No, that was you," Harry interrupted. "You knew at the beginning of last term that I was a - a - " he couldn't even say it. "And you said nothing, you did nothing!"
"I didn't really know anything," Hermione said, feeling the feebleness of that old excuse. "What was I supposed to do?" The question was wrung out of Hermione in a tone of anguish.
"Be honest with me," Harry said simply.
"Like you were with me?" Hermione asked. "How many nights per week do you have nightmares, Harry?"
Harry looked at her stonily, and did not answer. She slid the ring from her finger, and laid it in a shallow dish on his wardrobe, where he often kept loose change. It clinked forlornly against the ceramic.
"If you can't trust in my love for you, then we've no future at all," she said, in a voice bleak with pain.
She strode from the room without looking back.
Her foot was on the top step, when she heard,
"Wait?" It was phrased uncertainly, more like a question than an imperative. Her heart had stopped beating
when the ring left her finger, but it thumped once when he spoke, and resumed a slow, painful rhythm.
She walked carefully back to the doorway, and stood in it, trying to look indifferent. He was standing nearby, holding the ring between his fingers and looking like someone had died.
"I'll understand if you want to go…" he began. "But - but please don't go because you think I want you to go."
"Why not, Harry?" she asked evenly. She needed to hear him say it.
"Because I don't want you to go. I should, but I almost feel like you're the last good thing I have left. I know I - I - I haven't dealt with this well, at - at all, but it's no excuse for the way I've treated you. I'm sorry." He looked ragged, haunted. She wondered how much more weight he'd dropped in the last few weeks.
"Harry, I don't want to go. I can't even imagine how much this must be to deal with. I don't hold any of it against you, okay? I - I just wish you'd let me help you, let me bear some of this burden. Ron and I both do. We'll research, we'll listen, whatever you need us to do."
"Hermione, it was bad enough when I just thought I was crazy," he said, a ghost of a smile glinting over his face. "But now - now I'm - I'm a … monster." He closed his eyes, as if in pain. "What if Ron was right? What if something happens to me, and I hurt you? I could never forgive myself."
"You are not a monster. You won't hurt me, Harry," Hermione replied serenely. "I said that at Christmas. I believed it then, and I believe it now."
"You don't deserve - " he began.
"I know I don't deserve you, but I'm so glad you love me anyway," Hermione said, twisting his words around. He held the ring out to her, a question lurking unspoken in his eyes.
She slid it back onto the finger that it had so recently vacated.
"I missed you," he whispered hoarsely, pulling her into his arms. She looked at him primly.
"That was your own bloody fault."
"Hermione, if - if - if worst comes to worst, and I - I - I have to - to…" he stammered. She placed two fingers over his mouth for him to hush.
"I'm not listening," she said sweetly, before replacing her fingers with her lips.
"Hermione," he protested into her mouth, seeming to think and suddenly change his mind, drawing his chin back and down to try to move away from her. "Maybe - maybe it's best if you not get - if we - if you're not attached. Since - since - "
"You said you didn't want me to go," she observed quietly.
"I - I don't. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't."
"If I haven't abandoned you before, then I'm certainly not going to start now," she replied, looking deeply and meaningfully into his eyes. "Just - just promise me that you won't - won't go do anything without talking to me - to me and Ron first, okay?" There seemed to be an almost permanent crease between Hermione's brows. "Let that be a last resort….all right?" Her lips trembled, and she took in a shuddering breath. She couldn't believe that they were even talking about it at all - about the possibility of suicide.
"You know it might have to be done," he told her in a gentle voice. She pursed her lips together tightly.
"I - I just don't understand how - how you can be blasé about all this - about your life. It's your life we're talking about Harry…willingly and knowingly giving it up. That doesn't upset you at all?"
"Of course it upsets me, Hermione! Why do you think I've been skulking about being an arse for weeks? It scares me witless. When I heard you and Ron talking at Christmas, I was - I was so shocked that I thought I might be sick, but then on some level… it was like I had always known. So many pieces fell into place. And then, well, we'd had to destroy the other horcruxes. Why wouldn't we have to destroy this one as well? Before…I might not have minded...so much, you know - it would be noble and brave and very Gryffindor… for the greater good and all. But now…" he stroked the contours of her cheekbone with one thumb, and she closed her eyes in response. "Now, life seems worth living - really worth living - like I have a hope and a future…and I don't want to let go."
She opened her eyes and they were glossy with the sheen of unshed tears. "Then don't," she whispered.
"I might not have a choice," he reminded her.
"Why not?" she stammered, even though she knew the answer. "You've always given everything you had. You've been a target without deserving it; you've fought in a war that you didn't start, and you finished it. Why don't you get to live happily ever after? Why don't I get to be selfish and keep you, and tell everyone else to go to hell?"
"Because I didn't finish it," he said. "I thought I did, and I was wrong. We were wrong. It's not finished yet, and I can't leave it incomplete. And you wouldn't tell everyone to go to hell, because you've a good heart, and you know what's right." She bit her lips together, and looked down at her shoes that were blurry through her tears. He was right, and she knew it.
"I guess if you bailed out before the game was finished, then you wouldn't be the Harry Potter I love so much," Hermione admitted. "And I do love you."
"I love you too. And I'm sorry. I feel like you're being cheated out of something, somehow," Harry said apologetically. Hermione wanted to laugh. Here was Harry, calmly discussing the possibility of killing himself so that the rest of the wizarding world would be safe from the likes of Voldemort, and he was worried about cheating her out of happiness.
"You never promised," she pointed out, remembering suddenly. "You never promised that you wouldn't - wouldn't leave without saying anything." It would be just like him to go off alone, thinking he was being all noble and sparing them.
He looked into her eyes, into her soul, for a long moment, and Hermione thought she would drown in the sea of emotions that stormed through her.
"I promise," he said, and the words fell heavily into the room. Hermione gazed back at him, trying to compose her emotions, wondering frantically if she could find anything, if there was anything to find…and if it would be in time.
"How's the research going?" Harry asked then, seeming to read her mind. There was a little naked note of hope in his voice, and it broke her heart. He doesn't want to die. I don't want him to die. Damn Voldemort and his bloody obsession with immortality! Hermione was torn between being devastated and furious. And then the age-old cry of bitter helplessness rang through her mind. It's not fair!
"Slow," she said. Non-existent, a more honest part of her mind sniped.
"Dumbledore didn't know much himself. I'm not sure how much there is to find," Harry remarked.
You're not going to find what you're looking for here, Draco's words ran through her mind again. Here, he had said. Then did he know where she could find the information she sought? And would he be willing to tell her? Is that what he was trying to tell her? Hermione's mind was racing.
"Just promise me that you'll not do anything to put yourself in danger, while you're looking. You know what Dark magic horcruxes are, and what sort of people they're likely to attract," Harry was saying, and Hermione found herself nodding, almost automatically. "I reckon you've got time to look, as long as nobody knows what's really going on, but you know, if they - if they come after me - I'll have to - I'll have to finish it. His followers can't take me alive, you know that. We can guess what would happen if they did."
She nodded again, more slowly and gravely this time. She could well guess.
People have not stopped watching you. Or Potter either. She heard Malfoy's snarled words again. A threat? Or a warning?
She looked up into Harry's startlingly green eyes, and smiled serenely into them. It was more than a little ironic that only a few minutes after worrying that Harry wouldn't trust her, after assuring him of her love and loyalty, that she was going to lie right to his face.
"If I hear anything, I'll let you know."
Part of her soul seemed to recoil, as she watched Harry nod and lean closer for a kiss. He believed her. Forgive me, Harry. I'm doing this for you.
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"I need to talk to you," came a muttered voice, uttered low and hastily near his ear. Draco Malfoy looked up from where he sat at a corner library table, his eyebrows arched in surprise.
"Hallo, Granger," he said, one corner of his mouth curling up unpleasantly. His gaze traveled over her body in an insolent way, and she willed herself not to flush. "To what to I owe this admittedly dubious honor?"
"I'd prefer to talk somewhere where we will not be overheard," she said in a clipped voice, standing very stiffly. "Or seen."
"Trust me when I say that I don't want to be seen with you either," Malfoy replied, seeming to instantly know what she wanted to talk about, his eyes darting around the mostly empty library. "I'll meet you by the Room of Requirement in ten minutes." His attention returned to the book he'd been reading. "Now get out of my light."
Hermione nodded once, tersely, and grabbed a book blindly off the shelf without even looking at it, giving herself a reason for being in the library. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty. She felt like she might be sick. What are you doing? What are you doing, Hermione? She strolled out of the library, with as casual a stride as she could muster, and took a long, roundabout route to the Room of Requirement.
When she arrived on the seventh floor, there was already a door in the wall, and Draco was lounging indolently against it. He straightened when he saw her, and his eyes darted toward each end of the corridor in turn.
"Get inside," he said in a short, urgent voice. Part of her was still shrieking misgivings, but Hermione squelched the caution firmly, and went inside. The room was nearly empty and looked oddly desolate. Two plain chairs sat near a roaring fireplace, and constituted the only furniture in the Room.
"So what did you need to consult me about, Granger?" Malfoy asked, sinking gracefully down into one of the chairs. Hermione found that she was too keyed up to sit down, and instead started pacing a little around the room.
"You said that I couldn't find what I was looking for here. What did you mean by that?"
"I meant exactly what I said."
"If not here, then you must know where."
Malfoy snorted and gave her a look as if she were crazy. "You are extrapolating an awful lot from a few words exchanged in a corridor." Hermione began to wonder if she'd imagined the whole thing, but pressed on resolutely.
"If there is one thing I have learned about you over the last seven years, Malfoy, it's that you never say anything without a calculated reason behind it. Why did you say `you're not going to find what you're looking for here?' Where can I find it then?"
"You're not going to be able to get any information on horcruxes," Malfoy finally said bluntly, looking her straight in the eyes. "You'll have to go somewhere Dark or to someone Dark, people will recognize you instantly, and they'll report you to - to …well, and you know what will happen next. Wounded, cornered animals are very dangerous."
"To who? Bellatrix?" Hermione asked quickly, referring to the most notorious Death Eater that had thus far eluded capture. Draco's face was like a mask, and he said nothing. "What makes you think I'm looking for anything on horcruxes?" Hermione asked, her face also disclosing nothing. Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"Playing coy doesn't suit you, Granger. I'm not an idiot. I've seen the books you've been digging through, I've heard you and Weasley whispering oh-so-anxiously together, I've read about the press conference with Potter, and I've heard about his nightmares. I can put two and two together easily enough. And if I have, so will others."
"Then why haven't you told your leaders about him?"
"I'm not a Death Eater. There's no Mark on my arm; there never has been. I did no time in Azkaban. Harry Potter testified for me at my trial. The Death Eaters wouldn't trust me as far as they could hex me, unless I made an extremely extravagant show of loyalty. I'm not ready to do that just yet." The last part of his sentence was spoken lightly, as if he were speaking of redecorating or making a dental appointment.
"That's what happens when you play both ends against the middle, Malfoy," Hermione said, biting off her words. "Then neither side trusts you and both would rather see you dead." He stiffened slightly at her words, and Hermione noticed.
"I was right, wasn't I? They are trying to kill you, aren't they? Are you having some house elf taste your food before every meal?" Her words were sarcastic, but a flicker in Draco's eyes told her how close to the mark she'd been.
"Your concern is endearing, really, but no," he drawled casually. "There have been no attempts on my life. Try not to look so disappointed. Someone did kill my owl. Unfortunately, I will have to make my stand one way or another soon."
"Ouch, I bet that'll hurt," Hermione cracked, narrowing her eyes at him. They glowered at each other for a moment. "So what can you bring me?" she asked in a brisk tone. Draco's eyebrows soared.
"Excuse me?" he said, as if he'd not heard her correctly.
"About horcruxes," she enunciated slowly as if he were a dim-witted child. "You said I'd never be able to go after information. Obviously you intend to." Draco tucked his tongue into his cheek, and regarded her silently for a long moment, amusement glinting faintly in his eyes.
"Granger, you have obviously mistaken me for someone who cares at all about the plight of others, much less Potter," he finally said. "I don't do anything unless there's some benefit in it for me."
"Even now?" Hermione challenged.
"Especially now," Draco retorted. Hermione mulled this over for a moment.
"What do you want?" she asked coolly. He looked at her with derision.
"You've nothing to offer me," he said haughtily.
"Try me," she replied, looking deadly serious. He looked on the verge of making some snide comment, but stopped when he saw the look on her face.
"I want my probation revoked," he began. "I want the money that the Ministry confiscated from my father when he went into prison. I want all the monitoring charms removed from Malfoy Manor. And I want protection. If I do this, my life isn't going to be worth a plug Knut."
"You don't ask for much, do you?" Hermione said, with one eyebrow arched. "What makes you think I can get any of this for you?"
"You're the one who told me to try you," Malfoy sneered. "With your newfound celebrity, I suppose it's possible. And if you can't, that boyfriend of yours could get it done. They'll give him anything he wants."
"But I - " Hermione blurted, before coming to an abrupt halt and clamping her lips tightly shut. Malfoy laughed softly.
"Ah, he doesn't know you're here, does he? I reckon this would chap his arse, wouldn't it?"
"He would understand that I'm doing this to save him," Hermione said stiffly.
"And that's why he doesn't know about it, right?" Malfoy replied, and grinned when Hermione flinched.
"There's not a lot of time - months, maybe, at the most," she said urgently, returning to the matter at hand. "I'll do my best to get you what you want, but in the meantime - "
"Will I give you what you want on your own recognizance?" he finished for her smoothly, tsk-ing at her a little. "Granger, that's not very good business."
"I'm sure it will take time for you to procure it," Hermione said, trying not to sound pleading and desperate. "Could you at least begin the process?"
"There will be little to no time or effort required…which is how I like it, of course. My father had one of the most extensive Dark Arts libraries in this country. It will be as simple as returning home for a visit - once the monitoring charms are removed."
"I'll see what I can do," Hermione said, feeling the ache in the back of her neck, as her spine slowly began to ease its tension.
"It's probably best if we aren't seen together," Malfoy continued, rising from his chair, indicating that their meeting was at an end. "Get someone to use as a go-between. Have them come up to me with some sort of code phrase - maybe `Why, Draco, how handsome you look tonight!'"
Hermione snorted, and tried to turn it into a cough. "Can't get it any other way, Malfoy?" she asked lightly.
Malfoy arched his brows in surprise. "Why, Granger, I didn't know you had it in you." It seemed to Hermione that there was grudging respect in his tone.
"If I can have the monitoring charms removed by this weekend, can you get the material to me next week?" she asked.
He nodded once, brusquely. "I would say it's been a pleasure doing business with you, Granger, but … "
"Yeah, you're a real honest bloke, Malfoy. Wouldn't want you to say anything that wasn't true," she said with an icy smile, before sweeping in front of him and out of the door.
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"Ginny! Ginny!"
Ginny Weasley turned as she heard a loud hiss. She could barely make out a shadowy silhouette with springy hair standing near a suit of armor.
"Hermione?" Ginny asked, as she approached, mystified. The other girl shook her head furiously, indicating that Ginny be quiet. "What's…going on?" Ginny said softly.
"I need you to do me a favor," Hermione whispered, looking over her shoulder. The corridor was quite deserted - it was the lull just before dinnertime - and Ginny wondered how long Hermione had been hiding there waiting for her.
"Okay," Ginny said, a little doubtfully. She felt like she and Hermione had begun growing apart her fifth year - Ginny figured her little comment about Quidditch hadn't really helped matters any - and their involvement with Harry had caused further decline.
"You can't tell anybody - not even Harry or Ron…no, especially not Harry or Ron," Hermione said urgently.
"What are you on about?" Ginny asked, more than a little curious about what the rule-abiding Hermione Granger was up to.
"Draco Malfoy has something for me. I need you to get it from him, and bring it to me."
Ginny stared at Hermione for a long moment, and then burst out laughing. Hermione looked around nervously as the sound rang out in the corridor. "Who put you up to this? Harry or Ron? It had to be one of them, I know it."
"Ginny!" Hermione was frantically waving a hand at her for her to hush. "I'm not kidding. I need you to do this. He cannot be seen with me - and I don't need to be seen with him either." Ginny looked at Hermione again.
"You're serious?"
"What does Malfoy have that you could possibly need?"
"It's - it's Dark Arts research - for N.E.W.T.s - from his father's library," Hermione said. She had thought this lie out beforehand, but her nervousness was making her stammer. She cursed herself for how guilty she appeared.
"Then, why can't you tell Harry and Ron? And who cares if he's seen giving it to you?" Ginny drew out slowly.
"They wouldn't like it if they knew I was accepting help from him," Hermione replied. It sounded unconvincing, even to her own ears. "And you know how he is about his reputation. Can't be seen with a lousy Muggle-born like me." She tried to laugh, but it sounded feeble in the empty hallway.
"I don't know, Hermione. Ron wouldn't be any happier if he saw me talking to Malfoy. And he might tell Mum, and then she'd get on my case, and I really don't need her on my case again. She's already signed me up on the `old maid' list, since Dean and I broke up…again. I don't want to listen to that anymore, but I - " She stopped, and speared Hermione with a piercing look. "And why should I go through all that for someone who won't even tell me the truth?" She finished.
Hermione toyed with a fold in her skirt. "There's a reason I wasn't sorted into Slytherin," she said grimly. "Ginny, I can't tell you why. But it's life and death, and there's no one else I can trust, even this much. Please."
"Life and death?" Ginny asked, her eyebrows raised. Hermione nodded.
"Harry's?" Another nod.
The silence between the two girls was deafening. Distantly, they were aware of the slow crescendo of bustle and conversation, as students began to come down to dinner. Nobody seemed to take any notice of them, standing motionless in the hallway.
Please, Ginny, Hermione seemed to be pleading wordlessly. I don't know what else to do for him. And he'll be so upset if he finds out, but I want to save him. He's saved me, saved all of us so many times, and he doesn't deserve this fate. He didn't do anything to deserve it. And… I need him…so much. Please, Ginny, help me help him.
"What do I need to do?" Ginny asked, all business. Hermione let out a relieved sigh, closing her eyes momentarily.
"It'll be a package, I guess. Books…or maybe papers," Hermione said, looking uncomfortable saying even that much. "The Great Hall is too noticeable - everyone will see if you go over to the Slytherin table. You could wait for him out here before dinner, or maybe follow him out afterwards?" Hermione lilted the last part of her statement up into a question, not wanting it to sound too much like she was bossing the younger girl around. "Do you remember the password to our common room?" Ginny nodded. "Just come up after dinner, but don't let Harry or Ron see you leave it."
"All right," Ginny agreed, her eyes vaguely troubled. Hermione smiled at her tremulously.
"Thank you so much." Her voice was barely a whisper. Ginny flashed an unreadable look at her.
"I'd do anything to help Harry, you know that," she replied. Hermione eyed her with a mixture of gratitude and sympathy. She could only imagine how she'd feel if Harry were in love with someone else.
"I know," Hermione said. She appeared to be on the verge of saying something else, but at that moment, she saw Harry and Ron coming down the stairs toward the Great Hall. "I better go. See you after dinner?"
"See you then," Ginny said, feeling like it was an inane thing to say, after their conversation. When the Trio passed into the Great Hall, she was still standing in the corridor, like an island in the midst of a current of people streaming by, pondering what exactly to do next.
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Malfoy whirled in the dim corridor, wand instantly out and under the chin of the person who'd been following him.
"Sweet Merlin, you're paranoid," the voice said. "Put that thing away before you hurt somebody." He maneuvered the person closer to a wall sconce, and saw a glint of shiny ginger hair.
"What do you want, Weasley? Got some sort of bet on with your pathetic little Gryffindor friends?" he asked, lowering his wand, but not putting it away.
"Hermione sent me," Ginny said, twisting her hands together, and trying not to look nervous. Those three words changed Malfoy's demeanor instantly, as he pulled her into the shadows, and glanced in all directions to see if they were being watched.
"She told you what's going on?" Malfoy seemed surprised.
"Yes," Ginny said loftily, with an air of bravado.
"Well, tell her I'm quite impressed that she's keeping her end of the bargain. That utterly bizarre Auror with the pink hair was up at the Manor disarming the monitoring charms over the weekend. Who'd have thought that a Mudblood would have so much influence? Sad what our world is coming to." He pulled out a small paperbound package from the folds of his robes. Ginny was busy trying to figure out what was going on, and did not comment on Malfoy's epithet. "Did she tell Potter anything yet?"
"No, she hasn't told anyone except me," Ginny said. She felt as if Malfoy could probably hear her heart pounding loudly and rapidly in her chest.
"Well, here's what I could find at a moment's notice," Malfoy said, almost pleasantly. "I know my father has more about horcruxes…probably back in storage, or disguised as other books - in case of Ministry raids." Here he looked pointedly at Ginny. "I don't know how much will be relevant - I'm not sure whether anyone's ever tried to safely extract a horcrux. It may take some time to locate them. But she's still got to meet all my conditions, as well."
"I'll make sure she knows," Ginny said, trying to act natural. Extracting a horcrux? She thought. From what? And why is Hermione still worried about horcruxes…Voldemort is dead, and the horcruxes are destroyed. Why won't she tell Harry? The pieces seemed to slide into place with audible clicks, and Ginny looked slowly up at Draco, with horror dawning in her eyes. She hoped it didn't look terribly obvious, and tried to compose her features into a more neutral mask. She held out her hand for the package, but Draco seemed frozen in place, his gaze going over her shoulder. He swore under his breath.
"We've got company," he said shortly. "Fight me. Make it look good."
"Wha - ?" Ginny managed to articulate, before Malfoy had grabbed her, turning them around so that her back was against the wall, and lowering his mouth onto hers. He had pinned her with his body, and so trapped the package unseen between them. His hands were holding her arms down to her side. She was squirming wildly, and making angry, protesting noises under his smothering mouth.
She heard a group of people pass by - Slytherins, she assumed, by their unconcern with what was going on, as well as more than a few uncouth comments that issued forth - and Malfoy continued to assault her, until she finally got a knee loose, and brought it up between his legs. The murmur of the Slytherins had faded around the corner.
All the air left Malfoy's lungs with an audible wheeze. Ginny scraped her palm across her mouth, and rounded on him furiously.
"What the hell was that?" she muttered in a low, angry voice.
"I was saving you, you little blood traitor bitch," Malfoy gasped from where he was slumped against the wall, nearly doubled over.
"That's rich," Ginny rolled her eyes. Her mouth felt hot, and her lips stung where he had kissed her. "You weren't saving anything but your own sorry arse, Malfoy. Don't expect me to believe otherwise."
"Self-preservation is a commendable quality," he rasped, trying to straighten up.
"Good," Ginny smiled falsely. "Then you can't be mad at me for damaging your bits. Self-preservation, you see." She pulled the package from his limp and unprotesting hand. "If you ever touch me again, you'll get worse, Malfoy. And that's a promise."
Her hair whipped out behind her in an arc of red-gold flame, as she turned and proceeded down the corridor, striding quickly out of sight.
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Harry soared high above the Quidditch pitch, the roars of the crowd resounding pleasantly in his ears. The pennants were whipping in the wind, and the sun shone brilliantly in the cloudless sky. It was as perfect an example of spring weather as one could ask for or dream up.
And Harry was playing Quidditch.
He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. It was the last game of the season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw for the Quidditch Cup. Ginny had suddenly come down with some kind of stomach bug that supposedly left her retching in the girls' loo. Ron's face had flushed oddly when he was telling Harry this, and Harry strongly suspected that both Weasleys were lying. He also doubted that Ginny was still up at the castle, and thought instead that she was probably hiding under the bleachers, watching the game.
He couldn't be angry at them though, not when they wanted to let him play in the championship game during his last year at Hogwarts. He wished he could say the same about Hermione, who'd been livid when he'd said he'd play.
"It's for the cup, Hermione! You can't honestly expect me to turn that down. When will I have this opportunity again? I certainly won't be playing professional Quidditch with these knees."
"You shouldn't be playing amateur Quidditch with those knees. The Healer said so," Hermione had said icily.
"One game isn't going to hurt anything. I'll put my right knee in a restraint again, if it'll make you feel better." Hermione glowered that it would not, in fact, make her feel better at all.
"I'm not going to watch you do this, Harry," she said softly. He drew back, genuinely hurt.
"Hermione, it's the last game - we - I - please come and watch," he'd pleaded, but she'd been relentless.
"I need to be doing some research anyway. Have you been studying? N.E.W.T.s are - "
"I know when N.E.W.T.s are," Harry had interrupted grumpily. "I want you to come to the game."
Another roar went up from the crowd, as Demelza scored again, with an assist from Dean. The Ravenclaw team was looking surly, and one of their Beaters hit a Bludger that only barely missed Ron. Harry lapped the pitch again, his eyes straining for any glimpse of the elusive, glittering Snitch.
Suddenly, out beyond the pitch, he saw two tiny figures talking on the green. Familiar bushy, brown hair streamed out from the head of one like a banner in the wind. He smiled. She's coming after all! He thought gladly, but then suddenly drew his broom up short, coming to a nearly complete halt.
The person that Hermione was talking to had pale gold hair; it glinted in the sun, looking almost white in the full light. Harry leaned down on his broom, squinting for a better view. Why the hell is Hermione talking to Malfoy?
"Harry, watch out!!" came Ron's hoarse yell, and Harry whipped his broom around, just in time to barely miss being clobbered by a Bludger. Dennis Creevey scored while the Ravenclaw Keeper was busy laughing.
Harry righted his broom, and looked out to the field where the two people had been standing. They were gone. Harry swore violently, and had half a mind to go flying off the pitch right then, in an effort to catch up with them. Think about your team. It's the Cup at stake, he tried to calm himself down. If he vacated the pitch, the team would be penalized, and he wouldn't be able to return to the game.
He tried to look for the Snitch again, but his mind was whirling. Hermione. Hermione. Hermione and Malfoy. What are they doing? What's going on? He had thought that Hermione had been unusually evasive about the research, and he'd caught her looking somewhat guiltily at him from time to time. There's no way Hermione would … with Malfoy… but something's going on. She lied to me. She looked right at me, and lied. How long has she been lying? He felt the heat fill his face, as his anger built.
Then he saw it, golden and fluttering, almost tauntingly, near ground level below Ron's position. He jerked the Firebolt around sharply, and made a beeline for the Snitch. The crowd noise grew even louder, until it all but drowned out Luna's commentary - which may not have necessarily been a bad thing. There was a rush of air behind him, and he knew the Ravenclaw Seeker had also taken up the chase.
The Snitch hummed merrily, darting back and forth lightning-quick, when it suddenly took off, soaring upward when it sensed pursuit. Harry stretched out over the length of his broom; his knee ached, and the other Seeker was catching up. It had been a long time since he had done this. Please don't let me lose it for the team, he pleaded to some higher power.
He reached out, extending his fingers as far as he could, edging ahead of the Ravenclaw Seeker. The wings of the Snitch beat against his hand. The crowd was nearly delirious, and the noise was deafening.
And…Harry overbalanced. Even as he enfolded the Snitch into his palm, the broomstick nosed downward, and Harry was flung over the front of his broom, which began tumbling end over end, while he plunged at least twenty feet to the ground. He heard a metallic crack, and something crunched noisily and painfully in his knee. His hand closed tightly around the golden Snitch - do not let go, he thought fiercely - and the last thing he heard as he lost consciousness was the cheering of the crowd dwindling to throbbing silence.
TBC
AN: Hmmmm… I am interested to see what y'all think of this chapter. I'm not too sure about it. Draco and Ginny demanded to be let into the story more, and I gave in, just to get some peace! I wouldn't get all hyped up about a romance - because really, D/G squicks me out a little, but I would like to have them learn how to see past their preconceptions of each other.
I really wanted to have the after-the-Quidditch game part in here too, and then move on to after-graduation in the next chapter, but it was already getting long - and chapter 10 got longer than I meant for it to, as well, so…. Well, anyway, chapter 12 might jump around a bit.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I love all reviews, and especially like the long, meaty, analytical ones. Also, thanks for all the support regarding the flamers. I suppose I should've deleted them, but I was really close to 200 reviews then, and hey - they did up my numbers, so I suppose they served some purpose.
You may leave a review on the way out, if you like.
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