Chapter 8
Unlike what they had discussed, Malfoy let Hermione sleep after the disaster that was retrieving Harry. He told her to sleep, to rest, and they would talk the following night. Which is how Hermione ended up sleeping until midafternoon, avoiding Ron’s worried expression when she emerged from her and Ginny’s room for food, and hoarding Ginny to have girl talk until it was a reasonable time to brush off falling asleep.
Ginny helped Hermione talk through Ron’s overprotectiveness and the conversation she had with Molly before the mission. Rightfully, Ginny was outraged that her mother was willing to put her sons at risk, but refused to allow Hermione and herself to participate in the mission.
“Not that she has any right to question or refuse you,” Ginny had said. “You were right to point out that your guardian is no longer living, and that you’re of age. I don’t think she would allow you to do it if you were underage, even if Dumbledore were dead.”
Malfoy seemed to be paying attention and hummed his agreement in her head.
Finally having the peace and quiet of a sleeping Burrow, Hermione told Ginny where she was headed to get some answers, and the younger girl threw up a silencing charm on the room so her could leave without making much noise.
“Good luck,” the younger girl said. “And if you need it, I could teach you the contraceptive charm.”
“Ginevra!”
“Kidding… Kind of.”
Hermione popped out of the room before she could hear anymore of Gin’s inappropriate conversation.
When she appeared in the sitting room from a few weeks ago, Hermione moved over to the window to stare out at the grounds. She had prepared a list of questions she wanted the answers to, and if she had to demand them from him, she would.
How does this connection work? Can they see what the other sees, or is it just thoughts? Will learning proper Occlumency skills keep a trained Legilimens out of their head and connection? What made Malfoy connect the dots about their connection, and how had she missed it? What exactly did Malfoy know or learn about her life over the past year?
“Granger, you’re going to worry your hair off,” his voice was deep, and right behind her. “And you’ll also give me a headache in the process.”
She jumped slightly and shook her head. This was one of his houses, of course he would have access to it. She scolded herself quietly for not maintaining constant vigilance. Turning to face him, she was met with a more laidback look, if laidback meant pressed black pants, a black jumper, and what appeared to be black dragon-hide boots.
He shifted between his feet, a nervous habit. “Would you like tea? I could ask Minty.”
Hermione nodded. “Yes”—why did her voice just crack?—“Tea would be nice.”
Once settled, with tea in her hands, Hermione looked expectantly at Malfoy. He seemed to have gained a bit more weight from the last year. He must have been eating better, although she questioned his sleeping habits as the blue under his eyes stared back at her. Either way, he looked good, still.
When she pulled herself out of the cursory well-being check, she noticed he was smirking at her. The blush that crept to her cheeks was hot as she remembered he could hear her thoughts.
“Well,” she started, attempting to maintain a calm voice, “since you already know my questions, I expect answers.”
He laughed, a sound she was coming to enjoy hearing. “Oh Granger, you never cease to make a lesson out of things. But I’ll indulge your schoolgirl fantasies of constant learning.”
Schoolgirl fantasies? The blush on her cheeks stained her face, and painted down her neck.
He laughed again, then started speaking. “After I was marked, I was in the manor’s hospital ward for almost a week. My mother wasn’t sure what was happening, but Snape remained vigilant and kept a regime of healing potions to make sure I was alright. Later, he told me he thought my magic was settling after putting up a fight against the Dark Mark.
“Little did I imagine, it was something else. When I woke up, my head was so fuzzy. I couldn’t think straight and had hundreds of flashes of memories. Some of them were my own, and some were not. I took time throughout the summer to figure out which memories were mine and which weren’t, then I tried to figure out whose memories they were.
“Going back to Hogwarts, I dreaded every second I would be separated from my mother. She was stuck in a house full of Death Eaters, with my father not there to protect her, should she need it. But I got on that train because I had a mission to complete. Then I heard your voice on the train. You were directing a couple first and second years towards compartments, and you said something about your parents when you received your Hogwarts letter. It clicked instantly. It was your memories I was housing in my head.
“As soon as the feast ended, I went to Snape. I had already heard the prophecy over the summer, so when I told him I suspected it was about you, he made a promise to help get you safely out of the castle if it was necessary. Once I realized it was your memories, it was like a portal opened in my mind and I could hear your voice constantly. In class when you would recite textbook answers in your head; when I was barely asleep and you were ranting in your head about Potter and his obsession with a potions book; when Weasley broke your heart and you thought of many vicious ways to get back at him,” he smiled lightly at that particular memory. “Although, most of those ideas had come from me, unintentionally.”
She was stunned. Hermione remembered when Ron had kissed Lavender in front of all of Gryffindor after his first quidditch match. She had run from the room, hoping to avoid anyone noticing, but there was a voice in the back of her head that was feeding her burning desire to hex Ron’s face off. With the information she had now, the voice sounded exactly like Malfoy’s.
“So, was it my idea for the canaries or yours?” She hedged the question, wanting to do something other than stare at him as he talked.
“Canaries? That was all you, darling,” he said with a small smile. “I was so proud of you for standing up to him like that though. There were times when I thought all you would do was yell yourself hoarse at him or let him be a tosser just so you wouldn’t upset him.”
Hermione gave him a small smile. From what it sounded like, this version of Malfoy—not broken, or vile, or cruel—harboured a soft spot for her. Impossible, she thought.
“Not impossible, seeing as I can see a version of yourself you lie about to your friends,” he said softly, refusing to look at her.
She didn’t know what to say to that. Filing it away for dissection with Ginny later, Hermione gestured for him to continue.
“To answer your question about Legilimency and Occlumency, my mother taught me Occlumency over the summer and Bellatrix tested me on it.” The involuntary shudder he gave at the mention of his aunt made Hermione think it was never a pleasant lesson. “She never found an inkling of you or this connection, which leads me to believe it is inaccessible to those who don’t know to look for it.”
“Those who don’t know to look for it?” She interrupted. “Does that mean Snape found it?”
He nodded. “I asked him about why that would be, considering they are thoughts, connected or not. He seemed tight lipped about it at the time, but after you mentioned your heart stopping and my making the connection about it being your magic that protected me, Snape thinks that our magical cores are connected.”
They both let the last few minutes sit in silence as Hermione digested the information he threw at her. A magically connected core could mean a number of things, but from her limited knowledge, it was a form of soul magic that went out of fashion centuries ago. While the wizarding world was slower than muggles at progressing, both worlds did away with the fact of soul magic around the same time. Too many magical folks twisting the art into trapping unwilling partners.
When the silence slipped from content to slightly strained, Hermione looked up to catch Malfoy staring at her. What?
“Nothing,” he said, voice tense. She locked eyes with him, willing him to lie to her again. Hermione may be an open book to him via her mind, but Draco Malfoy’s eyes were always expressive. One just had to watch carefully. “I’m awaiting your brilliant mind to work through the mirage of thoughts that assaulted my head.”
As she continued to look at him, she noticed the shift. His left arm twitched.
“Do you have to go?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t lie to me,” she said softly. If we are to work together, to have this soul bond, then we are to be honest with each other. “Didn’t we make that distinction last time we saw each other?”
He said nothing. But his eyes, his eyes told her she hit the right nerve. She waited patiently for him to let his wall down. And when he did, quick, controlled thoughts came to her mind in his voice.
Yes, we did promise.
I can’t believe she’s here.
She looks good. Healthy, too.
I don’t want to leave her.
She has to go and so do I.
But Salazar, she’s right there.
They kept going like that, never saying her name, but always referencing her. Some thoughts were current thoughts, and others were memories from the last year.
There’s one where she’s sitting at her table in the library, shoulders shaking softly. He doesn’t deserve her.
She’s walking to her spot at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. She’s worried about Potter, but she needs to eat. Her studying is cutting into her meals.
Her hair is larger than usual, curls whipping around towards Harry as he is congratulated for his potion by Slughorn, the congratulations she could have had if it weren’t for that stupid book Harry had. She’s beautiful like this.
Hermione let them keep going, she let them keep going until Malfoy was in her line of sight, kneeling in front of where she sat on the sofa.
“I told you all my bets hinged on you,” he whispered, “all my bets hinge on us working together to keep make sure Potter wins. I’ll help you in anyway I can, all you have to do is ask.”
Before she could speak, he took her left hand in his, and kissed it softly, exactly on her ring finger. With her intake of breath, his eyes met hers and in her mind, he wished her farewell.
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Hermione made it back to the Burrow in the early hours of the morning. She stayed in the house, questions flying in her head, knowing Malfoy could hear them. She had considered asking Snape to give her Occlumency lessons so that she wasn’t a bother to Malfoy when her mind got working, but she wasn’t sure of what was to come.
She apparated to the gardens, under the impression Ginny would be asleep. It was still dark out, but she could make out the shapes of two people coming from the fields. Hermione gripped her wand, but loosened it when Harry and Ron came into view.
Harry had a backpack on his shoulder, and Ron wore an angry red on his face. When they noticed her standing in the garden, Ron’s face lifted into a concern smile, worry replacing the red anger, and Harry looked guilty.
“Should I even ask what in Merlin’s name you two were doing?” It came out harsher than she intended, but she was almost certain that Harry was trying to go on the hunt himself.
The guilty party himself came to give her a bear hug as he whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry, Mione. I didn’t want to see anyone else hurt.”
Ron made let out a noise, crossed between an indignant whine and a mirthless snort. “He tried running off without us.”
Hermione smiled at Harry. She knew the effect this war had on him was stranger than the rest of them. Where the rest of them were plagued by fear of losing their lives or the lives of their loved ones, Harry would gladly accept his death if it meant saving his friends and those he considered family.
Still doesn’t give him the right to go hunting for horcruxes himself without a plan, she thought bitterly.
Ron came to stand in front of her, grabbing her left hand in his. “Is everything okay, Mione? Why are you out here so late?”
She could still feel Malfoy’s lips on her hand, and having Ron’s slightly callused hands engulf hers made the feeling dwindle. She couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.
Definitely good. Malfoy’s voice was fleeting across her train of thoughts. Almost like it wasn’t even him who was thinking it. Without giving him a response, she turned a small smile to Ron. “Everything is fine, Ron. It was too hot in Ginny’s room, and I wanted to get out of the house for a minute.”
He seemed to take that differently than she intended because he moved his hand up her arm and pulled her closer. “It is slightly cooler out here. I’ll keep you company.”
Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly. Grabbing her other hand, Harry squeezed twice in solidarity. He may not have been here all summer to watch the odd behavior of Ron, but he knew that Ron and her were going to Bill and Fleur’s wedding together.
Ron cleared his throat, and Harry took that as his cue to leave. Hermione sighed and mentally prepared herself for something that should be easy. It could be so easy between them; they’ve been best friends for years, despite having some issues throughout, but what friendship is perfect? She could see herself slipping easily into the role of Ron’s girlfriend, but then she remembered the talk Molly had with her and the look Ron gave her when he thought she wouldn’t be out on the battlefield during the mission to get Harry.
She turned her head to look at him, and his arm wrapped itself around her shoulders. Does this prophecy change much for me? Could her role in this war work if she allowed herself to take the easy route Ron was offering, sitting at the Burrow, returning to Hogwarts?
No. His tone was hard and angry. Don’t you dare allow yourself to be swayed into the docile younger version of Molly bloody Weasley. You’re better than that, darling.
“Mione, I wanted to make sure we are on the same page,” Ron’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I asked you to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and I wanted to know if that was still good.”
Silently, she nodded. His relief was not as cathartic as it should’ve been, and before she could wonder why, he opened his mouth.
“Will you please take what I’m about to say without interrupting me?” Hermione was too shocked to say anything, so Ron took it as a go ahead. “I know the three of us are considering not returning to Hogwarts. Hell, Harry tried to make a run for it tonight. I know there’s talk about a muggleborn registry, and you’ll have to be on it, but I want you to be safe. So, I want to know if you think going on the run is the safest option for you.”
Safest option? Was this some roundabout way of asking her to stay behind, to remove herself from their plans?
“Ron, where else am I supposed to go?” This was the only thing she could think of to say. “If there is talk of a muggleborn registry, what do you think they will do to me?”
To his credit, the red-headed boy looked conflicted about answering. “Obviously, I don’t know. Dad says they aren’t planning to round all the muggleborns up and execute them, so would it be that bad to return to Hogwarts and keep your head down?”
He’s asking me to go back to Hogwarts and keep my head down? Is he serious?
She pulled herself out of his arms and glared at him. Malfoy, you’d be proud of the glare he’s receiving. Extremely reminiscent of the one I gave you before I broke your nose third year.
The tingle of laughter in her head was like a pleasant hug. Merlin, I have to give Weasley credit for his ability to insult a witch in five sentences.
To Ron she said, “I understand you want to keep me safe, I want to keep you and Harry safe as well. But to do that, I have to be with you all. How am I going to keep you safe by keeping my head down in the halls of Hogwarts? How do you know Hogwarts is even safe anymore? We don’t know who will be taking Dumbledore’s place as Headmaster, and if the Death Eaters managed to worm their way into the castle once, who’s to say Vold—sorry—You-Know-Who won’t put someone in to do his bidding?”
“Okay, if not Hogwarts, what about your parents?” Hermione glared harder. She still hadn’t told any of the Order except Ginny about her parents. The fact that Ron hasn’t asked what’s become of them and is now telling her to turn tail and hide in the muggle world forced a deep stab of hurt through her stomach. “Aren’t they concerned about what’s going on and your safety?”
“My parents don’t exist anymore,” her voice was hard because by Godric she was angry. “My parents are no longer citizens of Great Britain. They have no idea their names are Matthew and Jean Granger, no idea that they were anything other than the names I gave them. And they sure as hell don’t know they have a daughter fighting a war and is struggling to survive it.”
Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione wouldn’t let him get the chance. “Ron, this is a war. A war in which people like me are being targeted for torture and death, that’s why they’re talking about a muggleborn registry, to track us so if we need to be disposed of, they know where to find us. Stop trying to sideline me from this fight. Like I told your mother, I have too much skin in this game to back down.”
As she turned to go back in the house, she heard Malfoy sing her praises. I wish I could have been there to witness. You have a spectacular way with words, darling.
When she came to the warmth of her shared bedroom, Ginny yawned herself awake. The sun wasn’t even poking out of the night sky, but Merlin forbid Ginevra Weasley miss out on gossip. She saw Hermione sit at the edge of the bed, and bolted up.
“Well? You were gone far longer than I would have expected,” the younger girl said. Hermione cast a quick silencing spell at the door, hoping Ron wasn’t on the other side attempting to speak to her after she left him in the garden.
Ginny urged Hermione to speak, so when she opened her mouth, fully intent on telling Ginny about her meeting with Malfoy and the thoughts and memories he gave her, but all that came out was, “Does everyone around me want me to stick my head in the sand and hope this war ends quickly?”
“What happened? Did Malfoy tell you that?”
Hermione shook her head, told Ginny she would talk to her later, and laid down to sleep, still in her muggle jeans and jumper.