Chapter 38
“Draco,” Blaise drawled. He settled into a seat to Draco’s left, leaned over the desk table, and pulled one of Draco’s books into his lap. “We need to talk.”
“About?”
“The wedding.” Blaise was inherently aware of the audience around them in the common room, but it wasn’t like the news hadn’t spread already. News of Draco and Theodore’s engagement had been big news in the castle from the first day back at school, and with it came a lot of betting pools and wild theories about who their third fiance might be. Among some of Blaise’s personal favorites were that Draco and Theo had stolen Miss Fleur Delacour from the elder Weasley brother, they were engaged to both of the Greengrass sisters, and they had convinced the widow Bones to marry them in an attempt to claim the Bones family vaults. That last one made Susan turn an angry shade of red that contrasted with her ‘Puff scarf. Draco and Theo were staunchly against any kind of comment on those kinds of rumors, and the other Slytherins who had been invited to the engagement party were claiming the American 5th. Some of them gave little clues - “you’d never guess” and “she’s one hell of a witch” and “yeah, I do think she has some sizable family vaults” - but they were careful not to reveal anything truly identifiable.
“What of it?” Draco asked bluntly. He wasn’t interested in dragging his personal life through the Common Room.
“You have a venue and Cissa’s taking care of the details,” Blaise started. “And Theo wrote to the Goyle’s about the florals. I can only imagine the bride is handling her dress without your input, seeing as you’re a man and an unfashionable one at that.”
There was a split-second when Blaise thought he had gotten a rise out of Draco. Then, “get to the point, please,” Draco grit out. He loved his friends, he really did, but he was due to check in with Toma before he snuck away to a Death Eater meeting, and he still needed to make it back before bedtime. He just didn’t have time to waste right now.
“Honeymoon,” Blaise said. “My mother would like to offer the Florence house for your honeymoon.”
Draco instantly felt bad for his snapping. “Oh. That is incredibly generous.”
“Would all three of you be amiable?” Blaise had a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing that he’d absolutely gotten the upper hand on Draco with his little charade before his announcement.
Draco grinned. “I am certain all three of us would like that,” he said with a laugh. He could just see Hermione in a linen dress, Theo in an unbuttoned shirt, both of them shining like gold in the sun. “Is that little book shop still down the street from the apartment? What is it called?”
“Libreria Giorni,” Blaise said. “Yes, it’s there. So shall I tell her the wedding gift is taken care of?”
“Absolutely,” Draco said. “Theo and I were going to take her back to Paris, but this is much better. Cissa is taking her to Paris for cake tasting, so this will be good for her. We can take her to Rome.”
“She’ll love it,” Blaise assured him. “Mother and I will write to you about details. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t go booking other arrangements.”
Draco clasped Blaise’s arm and pulled him in for a hug. “You’re too good to us. Not to ask for even more of a favor, but would you cover for me tonight?”
“With Snape, or with Theodore?”
“With Snape,” Draco said. He could feel the tell-tale sign of his body getting tired already. Dolohov’s summons were harsher than Toma’s or Hermione’s, likely an effect of his not being the original magical signature tied to the Dark Mark. Draco had a half-hour before he would be whisked away, and he needed to leave, but Blaise would be a great alibi. It’s what Blaise lived for, really.
“Of course,” Blaise said smoothly. “I just saw you get into bed with a headache.”
“Of course,” Draco parroted. “A headache.”
“And a bad sore throat. I told you to go to the infirmary,” Blasie stood, shrugging his shoulders. “But you wouldn’t listen!”
~~~
Hermione wasn’t sure how well she would be received by Harry and Ron after her somewhat frosty temperament with them. Harry had, true to his word, gotten rid of his book of cheats and dark spells, but Hermione had been colder than he might have deserved. No, that wasn’t true. Harry did deserve the cold shoulder, especially with the fact that Draco was only just returned to school with three slashing, silvery scars down his front. But Hermione knew Toma was right - she needed to let it go.
So she showed up at the Burrow for Easter Sunday - her jealousy mounting as she thought of the Malfoys and Toma and Theodore celebrating Ostara at home with cleaning, feasting, and planting - and made herself at home.
Molly, of course, pulled her in for a crushing hug and a wail of sympathy for Hermione’s dead parents. It was kind hearted and well-meaning, but it was layered with guilt about Hermione not trusting them with such a massive, life-altering event.
Hermione muddled through, and she thanked Molly profusely, and then she ran up the stairs as quick as she could.
“Harry!” she called, forcing cheer into her voice. “Ron?”
“In here!” That was Ron’s voice, behind a door to Hermione’s right. They were in the twins’ old room, and Hermione closed the door behind her as she entered.
“Why are we in Fred and George’s old room?” she asked, taking a seat on one of the beds.
“Because Harry’s sleeping in this room this time,” Ron said. “Better than sleeping on my floor.”
Hermione couldn’t argue that one.
“What are the two of you talking about?” she asked instead, looking between them. They were wearing their feelings on their faces, looking scheming and just a bit guilty. Like they felt Hermione would be disappointed in them. “Boys?”
“Malfoy is a Death Eater,” Harry said, and Hermione let out a big sigh. This again. “It’s true, Hermione! Listen, I was watching Draco with the map-”
Hermione’s heart sank in her chest.
“-and there were days when he was missing for the whole day, every time I looked. And then when I got hit by that bludger and landed in the Hospital Wing, it dawned on me! I could have Dobby and Kreacher follow him and they could tell me where he was going when he wasn’t on the map.”
Hermione’s heart was no longer beating.
“He was in the Room of Requirement, so I tried going back when he wasn’t there to see what he was doing, but without knowing what he asked the room for, I can’t really figure that part out,” Harry continued. “But I’ve been taking lessons with Dumbledore to strengthen my mind. Well, that, and because he’s teaching me about Tom Riddle.”
Hearing Toma’s name - his real name - from Harry’s lips was jarring. For so many years, Harry had said Voldemort with the same casual air he used for Hermione and Ron’s names. For years, Hermione had known Tom Riddle behind closed doors, kept Toma Grozdanov for her own. The two should have never intersected. It would be as if Hermione had gone home, to the bright Manor with its high-ceilings and wide windows, called out the Dark Lord’s name from 50 years ago, and sank to the floor in a dramatic bow instead of calling for her brother and hugging his skinny, boney shoulders.
“He was a student at Hogwarts back when Slughorn just started at the castle, which is actually why Dumbledore wanted Slughorn to come back. He was after a memory of something, a conversation they had together.”
“Harry said that You-Know-Who collected a bunch of things like the Founder’s treasure’s, and some other weird stuff,” Ron said. This was a mistake, this was a nightmare. Hermione was going to wake up in her room at the Manor, Theo’s cold toes pressed against her shins or Draco’s shoulder hunched over hers, and she would laugh off the dream as stress.
“So Dumbledore thought, you know, he wanted those things for a reason, but he couldn’t find anything.” Harry shrugged. “So I got this memory from Slughorn, but it was weird. Normally, pensive memories are kind of like mirages. Very clear, but a little bit wibbly. And this one was all black and smokey, like someone was trying to lie about what happened in it.”
“And then you came in!” Ron said, happily jostling Hermione’s shoulder. She kept a biting remark from her lips, and instead smiled at Harry and Ron both.
“Tell me everything,” she gushed, ignoring - more like pushing through - the nausea that welled up inside of her.
“Okay,” Harry said. “So I kept trying and trying to get the real memory, but I kept running into a wall.”
“I suggested he use the Felix Felicis-”
“From the love potion assignment!” Oh, yes. Hermione remembered that day and the way she nearly got lost in the familiar scent of her magic all brewed together with Draco’s pine-shampoo and Theodore’s laundry detergent and-
“And it worked!” Harry was smiling wide. “I took the potion and went to find Hagrid, because I was convinced I needed to go do that.”
Hermione furrowed her brow. “Wait. Wait, you two decided to use one of the world’s rarest and highly sought after potions to sneak Harry out of the castle to see Hagrid?”
“No, no, we didn’t,” Ron argued.
“The potion just told me to go see Hagrid,” Harry corrected. “But I ran into Slughorn anyways! So we went to Aragog’s funeral-”
A bizarre statement that Hermione didn’t fully understand.
“-and then they had drinks. So then Slughorn and I were talking about my mom and how he knew before anyone else when she died because the fish she gave him died. And he gave me the real memory.”
“What was it?”
“A Horcrux.”
Hermione’s world stilled and went cold. Her chest was pulsating, her fingers were cold, there was something wet on her neck. Under her arms. She was sweating. The pressure in her head, in her eyes, in her stomach was mounting. Hermione needed to get out. Whatever kind of joke this was, it was cruel. They were going to string her along, make her think she was in the clear, and then-
“They’re this kind of dark magic. Dumbledore said the Basilisk fang probably destroyed the Horcrux held in the diary. The diary only worked to possess Ginny and take shape because of that little piece of Tom Riddle’s soul inside. So that one is gone.”
Hermione knew that wasn’t entirely true, but in a way, the Diary was destroyed now. There was no Horcrux in that book.
“Dumbledore took care of the Riddle family ring,” Harry said, counting it off on his fingers. “He thinks the Ravenclaw Diadem, the Cup of Hufflepuff, and the Slytherin Locket are all Horcruxes.”
“The Diadem is lost, mate,” Ron said. “No one’s seen it in centuries.”
Hermione knew the Diadem was currently sitting, mangled, in Toma’s bedside table, jewels falling from the loose metal and strewn across the other things shoved in here.
“The Cup belonged to an old collector,” Harry said. “I saw the memory of Tom Riddle’s meeting with her, and then she died and the treasures went missing. So Dumbledore knows Voldemort had them.”
“So we have to find the Cup, the Diadem, and the Locket?” Hermione asked, willing her heart to slow in her ribs.
“More than that,” Harry admitted. “Dumbledore thinks Tom Riddle probably made seven, because seven is a powerful number in magic. So we know for sure what two of them were, and we suspect three others. That means there are two we don’t know about.”
No, it didn’t. Hermione knew the Diary had been reincorporated, alongside the soul fragments in the Cup and the Diadem. The Locket was an unknown, and the Ring was clearly destroyed. The other two Horcruxes weren’t on Hermione’s radar at all. She had to trust Toma to be protecting himself, but Hermione would just ask about them the next time she was called to his side.
“Dumbledore said they make Tom Riddle invincible. Un-killable.”
“That’s why they make them,” Hermione said quietly. “Sever the soul, save the man.”
Ron scrunched his nose at the expression, but Harry only tilted his head. “How do you know about them, ‘Mione? They’re really dark magic, and there’s nothing at Hogwarts about them.”
Hermione blinked. “I read about them in a book.” When Harry didn’t seem remotely mollified, she scrambled for a further excuse. “It was a mis-labeled book at Flourish. I reported it, of course, but- uhm. Yes, they thought it was supposed to be at Cobb and Webb’s, and actually, it’s interesting because the two book shops get their books delivered to the Post Office and then-”
“Here we go,” Ron bemoaned, and Hermione’s jaw snapped shut.
Harry shook his head, Hermione’s slip up forgotten. “So we will need to destroy all of the Horcruxes before we have a chance at defeating Voldemort.”
It was exactly the kind of hare-brained, dangerous, criminal plan that would mean people died for the Order again, but if it was Harry’s mission, then Hermione would need to go with him. She knew that, even without talking to Toma, Draco, and Theo. She would spend the war with the Order and with Harry and Ron, fighting for Horcruxes in the midst of violence and Death Eaters and pain. She wouldn’t see her husbands except for the occasional summons, and she wouldn’t be able to live a normal, happy life. She would be trapped, hunting for things she’d already seen and touched and lived with.
“Does the Order know?” Ron asked. “They need to know we won’t be able to do anything other than search for Horcruxes.”
Harry shook his head. “Dumbledore will tell them we have a mission, but no one can know what we are doing. No one can know the details.”
“Why?”
“Because if word gets back to Voldemort his Horcruxes are being hunted, he will only go and get them and take them away. And then we will all lose.”
Hermione hoped against all hopes, stupid Toma had a Horcrux tucked away somewhere in Hermione’s things. Somewhere she could keep it safe for him. Or perhaps with Theodore, who was truly gifted with holding onto inane things, or Draco who was loyal like a dog to a master.
Their conversation was interrupted by Molly, calling them all down to dinner and Hermione took the excuse happily, bounding out of the room and leading the boys to the dining room. She plastered a smile on her face, something a little surface-level and weak, but something the Weasley’s would buy. Ginny was last to the table, sitting delicately across from Harry and giving him a genuine and shy smile. Oh.
The Potter’s had a strange fascination with red-heads.
Hermione supposed her fascination might be with people who could very well kill her if they decided to, but that wasn’t something she’d inherited from her parents. At least she didn’t think it was. Her mind wandered for a moment before Arthur clapped his hands, and she snapped back to attention.
“Happy Easter!” Arthur cried.
Everyone around the table toasted, and then dug into Molly’s feast of ham and potatoes, a green’s salad, and roasted mushrooms. Hermione waited her turn at the food and brushed a few crumbs off the table and into her hand.
At least she had cleaned. Her Ostara wasn’t completely ruined.