Chapter Three - Betrayal
"Come on Sirius, you can do it!" Hermione kneeled on the floor as the toddler stood unsteadily before her. He slowly placed his left foot down and carefully shifted his weight to that foot. As he began to lift his right foot, he leaned too much and toppled over.
"Well, I guess you're not quite ready. But you can do it." Hermione cuddled her 13-month-old son close to her.
"Mama!" She heard the distinct cry of her daughter. She stood with her son in her arms and turned around to see the girl walking unsteadily toward her. Her arms were outstretched like a tightrope walker's for balance.
"Good job Beth. You just want to outshine your brother, don't you?" She tickled Beth under her chin, her "tickle spot," and set Sirius down to roam with his sister. Hermione left the two in the living room while she went to check on Dobby's work in the kitchen.
"Dinner will be ready in a moment, Mistress," Dobby said from behind a huge boiling pot of water.
"Dobby, how many times do I have to tell you? Don't call me Mistress." Hermione's morals had not sunk so low that she would allow Dobby to take on a subservient role around her. "And let me help you with that."
"NO!" Dobby exclaimed, and for good reason. The one time he had allowed Hermione to help him bake anything, she had mixed up the salt and sugar in a batch of cookies. Harry had laughed at the look on Dobby and Hermione's faces as they had sampled their creation, then ended up being force-fed much of the batch.
Hermione recalled this memory and smiled. Life had been so carefree, so full of joy for them, those first few years, just out of Hogwarts and newlywed. She was snapped out of her reverie by a loud smashing noise from the living room and the cries of the twins.
"What's wrong?" Hermione searched the ground, thinking the twins had brought something down on their heads.
"Hand them over Mud-Blood," a harsh, blood-chilling voice spoke from the doorway. Hermione looked up, and saw the person she least wanted to see. She quickly gathered her children into her arms, and backed off into the kitchen.
"You can't save them, anymore than their pathetic father could kill my Master!" Draco Malfoy bore down on Hermione, his wand outstretched. "Hand them over, or you will suffer the same fate as him."
"Never!" Hermione screamed over the wailing of the two children clutched within her arms.
"Very well. Crucio!" Hermione felt as though she was being stabbed all over by millions of tiny needles, and she fell to the floor, crying in pain, and unable to reach for her wand to retaliate. Her arms went slack around the twins, and she felt Sirius being ripped from her arms.
"NO!" Dobby cried, brandishing a spoon like a sword. Hermione tried to tell him to go back, to take Elizabeth and run, but her mouth wasn't working.
A cruel, mirthless laugh made Hermione cringe in fear. "This is the best protector you have, an old, wash-upped House-Elf? How pathetic. He never was very useful," Malfoy muttered, sending Dobby a superior look.
"You shall not harm the Mistress or the young master!" Dobby cried, and sent Draco falling backwards with his own brand of magic.
"I'll be back," Malfoy stated, then Disapparated, a wailing Sirius clutched tightly in his arms.
"Dobby, go get Ron. Tell him we've been betrayed. Tell him we need a new Secret Keeper, and a new house," Hermione whispered, trying to calm Beth down as best she could, not even daring to believe her son had been ripped so cruelly from her arms.
"Yes Mistress," Dobby obeyed, Disapparating on the spot.
A few minutes later, Ron and Arthur Weasley appeared in front of her. Hermione's face still showed little emotion, just a fierce denial that such sadness had again fallen upon her.
"What happened? How do you know Parvati betrayed you?" Ron asked, looking around the room and noticed the door had been ripped off its hinges.
"Did someone come? You-Know-Who, or a Death Eater?" Mr. Weasley asked.
"Malfoy was here. He took Sirius," Hermione said, with almost no emotion escaping her voice.
"Draco Malfoy? He was here?" Ron tried to clarify. Hermione nodded her head.
"Godric's Hollow is all fixed up for you, when you're ready to move in. And you'll need to choose a new Secret Keeper," Mr. Weasley supplied, knowing that Hermione didn't want to deal with the truth at the moment. "By the way, some Auror's found Parvati this morning. She was dead, killed by the Avada Kedavra curse. They suspect that You-Know-Who forced the information out of her," Arthur gave her a weak defense.
"Dobby. He'll be my new Secret Keeper," Hermione replied, then set herself to the task at hand, which was packing. The first item she picked up, an old gray stuffed hippogriff affectionately named Beaky, caused the reality to hit her. Sirius would never again play with this favorite toy, or smile his "Harry" smile at her again, or try to be as good as his little sister. He was gone.
"Hermione, there is something else we'd like to run by you. It seems that some Death Eaters may have found out that Professor Trelawney is the one who made the prophecy about Harry and You-Know-Who, and about Pettigrew. She is looking for a place to live, safe from the Death Eaters that would no doubt capture her in the hopes that she may yet produce another prophecy that could help them. Would you be willing to share your home with her?" Ron explained.
Hermione thought for a moment. It would obviously be depressing; living with someone whose favorite pastime seemed to be predicting the deaths of others. Yet again, if it was her house, she could always lay down some groundrules, like no predictions on Trelawney's part. "Sure, I'll do it," she replied, then went back to packing.
A few hours later, Hermione was at the front porch of the home Harry had spent so much time on, hoping to one day bring his family to live here permanently. She pushed the door open and marveled at the work Harry had put into it. When she had last seen it, the house was a pile of rubbish. Now, it was a beautiful two-story home. The entryway had been painted a cheery light blue. A small table stood at one side, a mirror mounted on the wall behind it. On the table, an unremarkable envelope sat. Hermione set down the bag she was holding then went to pick up the letter. The envelope simply read "Hermione" in handwriting she knew so well.
My Dear Hermione,
As I sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor, I would like to share my feelings with you. In this house that stands in the same plot that saw me grow through my first year of life, I cannot wait to bring our family here, to watch them grow and learn throughout their lives. One day, we will tell our children our story. The tale that began, and will hopefully end, within this house.
Hermione, I want you to have the second room on the right, just up the staircase. I built it with you and your desires in mind. I hope that you will enjoy it.
I love you so much. Thank you for allowing me to share my life with you.
Love,
Harry
As Hermione read the letter, it almost felt like Harry was once again back with her. She could practically feel his spirit welcoming his wife and daughter into his pride and joy.
"Hermione, why don't you and Beth go take a look at the rooms, eh? Trelawney will be here in a few minutes, so you could pick out a room for her as well," Ron suggested, recognizing Harry's handwriting as well, and trying to avoid the scene Hermione would undoubtedly show if left to dwell on the letter too long.
"Sure," Hermione replied, and picked up her sleeping daughter to explore the spacious home. Her first stop was the second door on the right. She stepped inside, and immediately knew that Harry had indeed created it just for her.
Shelves covered almost every square inch of wall, filled with books. A large picture window cast the last light of the dying sun on a comfy looking armchair, a matching footstool, and a small table sitting next to it. Hermione noticed that the books on the shelves were arranged by subject, then alphabetically by the author's last name. Almost every subject under the sun was covered, from classical muggle literature, to how to get rid of garden gnomes. She found Hogwarts, A History, sitting almost in a place of honor on a desk. It also contained several sheets of parchment, an inkwell, and a beautiful golden eagle feathered quill.
"Thank you Harry," Hermione whispered to her husband's lingering spirit.