Mirror Image

Draco and Theo were worried. They’d both heard Snape discussing Hermione’s disappearing act from detention last night when they went to bed after returning to the castle, and they hadn’t seen her in the stands during the trial. They hadn’t seen her anywhere, actually, and had nearly gotten detention themselves for being out after curfew looking for her. The last few days - weeks, really - had been strained. Hermione had been hiding something. She was good at lying about it, at hiding and deflecting and distracting them, but they knew her now. It was in the way she held her eyes. The way she changed subjects, or would tell the boys how she was so happy they were friends now. The way she thanked them so sincerely for small acts of mundane kindness. It was the details in the picture that Harry and Ron overlooked as easily as they seemed to overlook Hermione all together.

Their concern only grew when they heard some of the Gryffindors in the hall outside the Transfiguration classroom before breakfast the next morning discussing how Hermione hadn’t been in bed all night. With the depressed feeling of the castle, and the tragic end to the Triwizard Tournament, Hermione’s disappearance was top of their list of worries.

Fluer Delacour had only made it a few kilometers into the Maze before she had been rescued, unable to face the challenges within. Victor Krum had been a man possessed by fear and terror, and he’d walked himself in circles trying to find the other Champions before they could find him. Cedric Digory had been so close to the center of the maze, but he'd died in a tragic, freak accident with the hedge itself. He might have lived if he’d been able to get his wand, to shoot sparks in the air, but it had been knocked from his hand when he fell into the plants.

Harry Potter had won, a predictable ending to the year when he was around to fall into victory. There were no parties or celebrations, though. Not when a child was dead. There was a heaviness to the castle in the hours following the last trial. Even at breakfast, the Great Hall was heavy and dim, a hundred students’ grief magnified by the professors’ and amplified by the sudden silence in such a beautiful space. The entire year had been heavy like this - a Death Eater in the castle, loss of children and friends, and the feeling that something was about to irrevocably change.

Draco and Theo sat together, their heads bent towards one another and their hands clasped under the table. All around them, students were grieving - even Slytherins had been friends of Cedric Digory. Draco and Theo were sad, of course they were mournful for the friend their peers had lost, but they were preoccupied with their own anxiety and fear for Hermione. None of the professors seemed to be thinking about the missing Gryffindor - either a sign they knew where she was, or a sign they hadn’t noticed her absence at all.

It was shameful to see how preoccupied everyone in the castle was, when through tragedy, Draco and Theo only had mind for Hermione's well-being.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Draco whispered, his hand tight on Theo’s. It was poor form to be holding hands like this without any agreements in place, without a parent knowing what was going on, but Draco had been a mess all evening, and Theo was willing to break the rules of the universe to bring Draco a small shred of comfort. Theo, if he was being honest, needed the comfort, too. He needed to feel someone solid and safe, someone who wasn’t going anywhere.

Theo shook his head barely, the ends of his bangs brushing over Draco’s forehead softly. “I don’t know. Do you think the Death Eaters got her? That they found out about her turning in Crouch? I mean, it had to have been them, there's no one else with the power or the grudge to take her."

Draco shook his head right back. “They couldn’t have. I can’t…”

Theo bit his lip. They needed to talk to Lucius and Narcissa, maybe even Potter and Weasley if they could convince the two witless wonders they were actually trying to help. They needed to tell Dumbledore, too, and that was going to be its own-

The doors of the Great Hall opened with a loud, resounding creak. It sounded louder this morning than any other before it. There was no chatter to muffle the noise. All heads turned, to see who it was who had disrupted their meal and their mourning.

There stood Hermione Granger, looking all the worse for wear. Her hair was frizzy and unkept, grass clinging to the ends like she’d been outside all morning, and there was a rusty stain on her temple and down her chin. Her sweater was dark with a wet stain in the back - she had been outside then - and her eyes were glassy, tired and red, like she was walking but not quite herself. Her sweater was cut in places, exposing clean skin where she must have been hurt, but she’d either been healed or healed herself. She looked lost for a moment, like she needed sleep but had thought of food on her way to the Tower.

(Hermione had, actually, focused on the Tower to sleep and replenish herself and forget what the hell she’d done. But there was a gnawing, aching emptiness in her stomach and she wanted toast before bed. If she had gone to the Tower, she wouldn’t have come back down, and the hunger would grow and grow.)

Harry and Ron both rocketed to their feet, and Draco would have beaten them to standing if Theo hadn’t held him down. They watched as the red-head and the boy who lived practically ran to Hermione and pulled her in for a hug. She pushed them both back, not angry but clearly uncomfortable with being touched. She swayed on her feet, her muscles twitching against her will, and her weight shifted from one side to another, rapid and unbalanced and uncoordinated. Dumbledore and McGonagall were both moving down the main aisle of the Great Hall, reaching Hermione with their own concerned faces and stressed muscles. Hermione pushed them away, too, shaking her head as she did so. McGonagall’s hands hung in the air, uncertain and unwilling to fall back to her sides, but Dumbledore was watching her carefully. Cautiously. He stooped lower and closer and asked something too quiet for anyone but Hermione to hear. Again, Hermione shook her head.

“I just want to eat,” she said, her voice carrying in the Hall. “Please. I wanted to see the trial last night and got turned around with the grounds looking so different. I got lost in the Forest, I only just made it back out.”

It was believable enough, but Theo had seen tremors like those in her hands and legs before. He’d seen people with those same vacant, confused eyes, the same hot ring of fire around their eyes. He’d seen the body break under curse after curse.

“She’s been tortured,” Theo breathed into Draco’s ear, and again, he had to hold Draco down. “Stop. Not here. We’ll ask her at home.”

Draco struggled for a moment, just a moment, and then he went slack in Theo’s hold. He was right, they couldn’t ask her about the real story here, not when she had already decided on her cover story. Whoever it had been, Hermione didn’t want anyone to know. They watched as both Dumbledore and McGonagall returned to the Professor’s table, albeit hesitantly, and Harry and Ron both walked alongside Hermione back to their spots at the table.

When she was settled, and Harry and Ron had finally turned their attention back to their plates, Hermione looked up and found Draco and Theo across the Hall from her. They wore twin looks of concern and fear, fear for her more than fear that someone nearby had clearly tortured her.

Hermione shook her head, a minute gesture as if to say I’m fine and don’t worry.

And she smiled.

~~~

Harry was late to come back to the common room. Hermione and Ron were waiting up for him, if only because it was the last day before the Durmstrang and Bauxbaton students were leaving and then the Hogwarts students would be leaving on the train the following day. The school year was rapidly approaching a close, and soon they would all be home for the summer. Ron wanted to wait to see Harry, to maximize his time with him, but Hermione was just giving into curiosity. She wanted to know what Dumbledore would say behind closed doors, to his favorite student.

It was getting late, though. Everyone else had gone to bed hours ago save for Dean who was studying in the corner, bent over his books until he too had fallen asleep, and there was nothing but the sound of the fire crackling to keep Hermione and Ron entertained. Hermione was actually nodding off, her chin dipping down to her chest lazily, when Ron suddenly spoke up. “What happened the other night?”

Hermione blinked awake, trying to clear the sleep from the corners of her eyes. It wasn’t entirely unexpected - between Ron, Harry, Dumbledore, and McGonagall, Hermione had been asked multiple times a day what had happened that night. It was pretty clear they all believed she’d been physically hurt. Dumbledore and the boys were almost certain it had been a Death Eater, or another Dark witch or wizard, and they’d be right. But Hermione would never admit it. She couldn’t admit it. She’d already told Draco and Theo what kind of monster she was when she had obliviated her own parents, and by some miracle or shred of pity, they were still her friends. They were somehow closer than Harry and Ron, and they already knew Hermione wasn’t a good person.

She couldn’t bear to show them just how far she’d fallen, how weak and power-hungry she had been, how short-sighted and stupid and ambitious she’d become. She couldn’t bear to see Harry and Ron’s faces turned up in disgust and distrust. She couldn’t bear to be ostracized from her House, not when she had no real claim to her Slytherin one instead. She couldn’t bear the damnation of Dumbledore and McGonagall, the inevitable trial, her stay in Azkaban. No. It wasn’t an option - coming clean would never be an option. She had to see this new war out to the end.

Hermione was sticking to her story - she’d gotten lost on the grounds trying to sneak out to the Maze to see Harry, and she’d spent the night in the Forbidden Forest.

The boys had their theories. They thought she’d encountered a Death Eater who was trying to complete whatever plans they had made with Crouch Jr. at the school. Dumbledore had remained silent on the topic, but it was clear he thought Hermione had encountered a Dark wizard, too. McGonagall had a disturbingly violent theory of her own. She thought Hermione might have been attacked by another student, and she thought Hermione was keeping her tongue because she didn’t want someone to get in trouble. All in all, between the four of them, Hermione had been pestered about it every day.

“I told you,” Hermione said, exacerbation lacing her tone. “I spent the night in the Forbidden Forest.”

“You looked scared,” Ron said, ignoring her story altogether. “And you had injuries you’d healed. So what really happened?”

“Have you all ever considered that I am telling the truth?” Hermione exploded, throwing her hands up in the air. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you about running from the centaurs and the acromantulas and how I kept tearing my shirt. Have you ever considered that?”

The anger wasn’t unexpected or new. Hermione seemed to get angrier every time Ron asked her about it. He stared at her, and Hermione stared into the fire, and the common room went silent again.

“How long are you going to visit your parents in Australia for?” he asked, changing the subject. If there was only one positive trait in Ron Weasley’s being, it was that every now and then, he would actually back down from his nagging conversations.

“Uh-” Hermione cleared her throat. She shook her anger away, trying to let the previous conversation go. “All summer. I’ll only be back in town a few weeks before school. My aunt isn’t doing well.”

“I was going to ask you to come and stay with us at the Burrow,” Ron said. “Do you know what day you’ll be back?”

There was so much hope in Ron’s voice, but it was the kind of hope that promised more - more emotion, more dedication, more of Ron’s ridiculous, hurtful behavior - and Hermione’s skin crawled. Just thinking about staying at the Burrow made Hermione’s stomach flop, and it felt strangely like she would be cheating on Draco and Theo. On their company. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I think sometime in August.”

Vague enough to make concrete plans impossible, but enough of an answer to keep Ron from asking anything else. She huffed a little, rearranging herself on the couch and tucking her knees under her body. Her magic thrummed inside of her, a physical warmth that radiated from her chest, and it did wonders in waking her up. She stretched out her arms, then pulled a throw from the back of the couch and tugged it over her lap.

Ron was staring across the common room, where Dean was asleep slumped over one of the desks. Seamus had come down an hour ago to check on him, try to coax him upstairs to a real bed, but Dean had just waved him off and gone back to snoring.

“They really have to shove it in our faces,” Ron had said, low and full of judgmental anger when Seamus disappeared back up the dorm stairs. “Bloody fools.”

“Did he say what he was doing with Professor Dumbledore tonight?” Hermione asked loudly, changing the subject and trying to shake Ron's words about Dean and Seamus out of her mind, but before Ron could answer, the common room door swung open and Harry’s messy head of dark hair popped into the room. He looked tired but his face brightened when he saw Ron and Hermione waiting for him.

“You waited up?” Harry asked, a lopsided smile on his face like he couldn’t quite believe it. Both Ron and Hermione nodded, and Hermione leaned towards Harry eagerly. 

“What did Professor Dumbledore want?” she asked. Harry looked around the room, like he was checking to see if anyone else was in the room. As if there would be other people in the common room at nearly 2 in the morning who weren’t snoring peacefully.

Harry was satisfied to see there was no one there to overhear them, and he turned back to Ron and Hermione conspiratorially. “He thinks Voldemort is back at full power.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold and her magic stilled under her skin. It was like an air conditioner had kicked on, a slight, barely noticeable chill over her body. She held her breath, waiting for Harry to focus on her, to explode in anger, to hurl angry, cruel words at her.

“What? Why?” Ron asked, a barely there breath.

“Because of the Death Eaters,” Harry said. Something in Hermione unclenched suddenly and easily, her magic stuttering to a start again and her muscles relaxed all over. “They were marching at the World Cup, yeah? And then there was the Death Eater here posing as Mad-Eye Moody, and there were some strange things going on with the Cup. Apparently, when they arrested Crouch Jr., he had a second Cup that was a Portkey, like he was going to send the champion somewhere. They think he’s the one who put my name in the fire.”

Hermione nodded. She needed to hear what else Dumbledore said, she needed to hear if he put together what Hermione had done. “If Voldemort was really back, wouldn’t he have done something by now?” A safe question that would force Harry to speak further on whatever evidence Dumbledore has passed along to Harry.

“Not if he’s weak,” Ron argued, and Harry nodded along. “Maybe that’s why his Death Eaters are out, because he’s too tired.”

“And what happened to you,” Harry said. “Whoever attacked you the night of the last Trial, they were probably a Death Eater.”

Ron was shaking his head and waving his arms, trying to give Harry a clear warning, something to say cut it out before she yells at us again, but Harry was looking so earnestly at Hermione. It wasn’t worth the trouble. Hermione sighed and let it go. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, but Hermione did this sometimes. Rather than arguing, she just let things go. It was less an admission that Harry was right and more a sign he was pushing too hard.

Hermione let them stew in that for a moment before she turned her attention to the more pressing part of this news - “What is Dumbledore going to do about it?”

If he was going to go out looking for Voldemort, start some kind of search for the man, he was bound to find signs of what Hermione had done. Wormtail was dead because of it, Voldemort was walking through this world as a 16-year-old boy, and Hermione’s parents were obliviated in Australia. There were breadcrumbs, terrible breadcrumbs that would reveal her secrets. If Dumbledore was going to start looking, she needed to start hiding.

“He’s restarting the Order of the Phoenix,” Harry said lowly. “They were the resistance group during the first war, Dumbledore kind of directs them. My parents were part of it, with Sirius and the Weasleys and even Neville’s parents. They were all fighting against the Dark side, so they’re going to get together over the summer. Or whoever is still around, it’s a much smaller group now.”

Hermione hummed a bit. So he was worried enough to restart a counter-group, but apparently wasn’t going to go looking for the man. A hypothetical resistance to a hypothetical problem that wasn’t even a proven reality yet. And still, Hermione hadn’t heard from Voldemort since Hermione had done those terrible things the night of the final trial. Days had passed, and she didn't have a clue where the man was now.

“We should go to bed,” she said, suddenly desperate for the solitude of her bed, the silence of night to think. “The Order of the Phoenix isn’t going anywhere, and we’re just teenagers, and we should sleep. We have to see the others off tomorrow.”

Ron and Harry grumbled their agreement and shuffled off to the boys dormitory, Hermione taking her time to get up to her own room. She was tired, and she was stressed, and she was picking at her cuticles.

~~~

Draco and Theo glared from across the courtyard as Hermione promised to write to Krum, and Draco had to hold Theo back when Krum leaned forward to kiss Hermione’s cheek.

Hermione glared at the both of the boys when they got on the train, laughing at something Pansy had said.

The trip home was fine. It was actually a little slow, given that Harry and Ron were still asking Hermione about where she’d been that night, insisting they knew it was a Death Eater and she should just admit it, and Ginny had chosen to sit in a different compartment with their other friends, so Hermione was alone to deal with the boys. They were so invested in trying to figure out the real story, they didn’t stop badgering her even when she pulled out a book to read.

Hermione eventually put her books away and simply turned to watch out the window, resolutely boring and unengaged so the boys would leave her alone. Nearly 20 minutes of ignoring them, and they finally got the hint and struck up their own conversation about who they thought would be a part of the new Order of the Phoenix.

The moment the train pulled into the station, Hermione spotted Lucius. He was waiting for the boys, tall and blonde and imposing. He was wearing dress robes, his cane shining as he waited for the boys, even though it was a Sunday and they were standing at a train platform. He was close to the tracks. Maybe he wanted to be seen? By her or the boys - their boys, Draco and Theo - she wasn’t sure. Narcissa wasn’t with him, her own imposing stature and split hair a missing spot of familiarity on the platform.

That was odd. Where Lucius was, Narcissa was usually not too far. Hermione, Harry, and Ron had sat further down the train, so she was forced to watch through their small, foggy window  as Theo and Draco deboarded quickly and met Lucius with hugs before they all disapparated together. Watching them disappear, she was overwhelmed with a sense of longing.

Hermione suddenly realized, she had no idea how she’d be getting home. She would need to get from the train platform to Diagon Alley, and then use the floo in the post office. Or else, she needed to find some way of contacting the Malfoys. And frankly, with the cover story the Malfoys had put together, Hermione didn’t know what she’d say about her trip home.

There was nothing she could do about it now, though. She took her trunk from the attendant as she deboarded the train, and she only struggled a little bit. Harry and Ron were already deboarded, ahead of her by a good 3 meters. She followed along behind them to greet the Weasleys, smiling and giving Molly a kiss. Fred, George, and Ginny were already there, and George was the first person to offer to help Hermione with her trunk, and then they were heading back through the wall between Platforms 9 and 10.

“How are you getting home, honey?” Molly asked, and Hermione shrugged.

“I suppose I’ll call for a taxi,” she said. “I have to go home and pack, and then catch my flight tonight.”

There. That should buy her enough time to get back to the Manor, to settle back into her room without being disturbed. And it was just Muggle enough to fly under the Weasleys radar. She wouldn’t have to deal with more questions, not right now.

But as she was walking, she heard her name.

There was a woman there. Tall, pale, and familiar. Her old neighbor, Mrs. Cane, was standing there with a bright smile and kind eyes. Hermione’s eyes prickled looking at her, but she didn’t know what was off. Only that something was.

And then she spotted the spider earrings on her ears and it clicked into place. Narcissa.

“Come along, dear!” Narcissa called, and Hermione gave her a sly smile. “Your parents phoned me to collect you. I’ll drive you to the airport tonight, too.”

Oh, someone must have coached her. Narcissa didn’t understand the concept of planes, let alone airports. Had she and Lucius done their research? Or was this Theo and Draco, finally listening to her talk about flying contraptions. “How kind of you,” Hermione said softly, genuinely, and Narcissa smiled behind someone else’s eyes.
“Hermione, you’ll be okay?” Molly asked, looking a little disturbed at this woman’s random appearance. No doubt, if Dumbledore planned to put the Order back together, he had told the Weasleys to watch out for the muggle-born of the group.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Absolutely. I’ve known Mrs. Cane my whole life.”

Hermione waved to the Weasleys and Harry, and hugged them all goodbye, and then watched as they all left. It wasn’t until the last one was gone, disappeared into the crowd of people outside of the train station, that Narcissa took Hermione’s hand and led her away to a little waiting room, abandoned and empty. Then, with a tight hand on hers and a twist of the world around her, Hermione and Narcissa disapparated.