Safe Houses
“Today, we recognize the loss of a wonderful light. Cedric Diggory represented what it meant to be a fierce friend. His death should be a reminder that no matter where you come from, whether we speak in different tongues, or from different houses-our hearts beat as one. You all have a right to know how Cedric died and although it might be frowned upon, I don’t feel right keeping it from you. You will hear stories, whispers that deny what happened tonight, but Cedric Diggory was killed by Lord Voldemort. The Ministry doesn’t want you to know this, but frankly I find it insulting to his memory to not disclose the information with you. You all have a right to the truth. Remember the bonds of friendship that were made this year, whether in house or out, remember them in Cedric’s memory. He did not die in vain. We will celebrate a boy who was kind, honest and brave all the way to the end.”
Dumbledore’s speech ended, ringing out across the silence that hung in the air around them all. She was seated beside Harry, with surprisingly little protest from Theo and Draco. They understood that she needed to be there for a friend, regardless how little Draco liked him. Harry sat straight, his back rigid beneath his cloak. Black hair stuck out in all different directions, and she knew that he had been running his hands through it from stress. His hand clung tightly onto hers and she smoothed her thumb over his.
Once his speech was over, Harry pulled her into the courtyard before it filled up with people saying goodbye to the others from school. He leaned into Ron and her, whispering. “The Cup was a Port Key. It brought me to a Graveyard…there were Death Eaters there…one of them was Draco’s dad.” Harry cast her a look.
Hermione felt a chill run down her spine. Harry didn’t have to tell her that to know, she had her suspicions. Yet, she knew that the man that was supposed to be her own father hid his face behind a mask in that Graveyard and she realized with a start just how different their motives were.
There was a difference between blind devotion and sacrifices to protect the ones that you loved.
Harry went on, his green eyes flicking to hers as he finished his story. “There was this moment…after he had killed Cedric and been reborn…that he challenged me to a duel. Our wands clashed and I saw my mom and dad. I saw Cedric…he had told me to bring his body back to his father. Voldemort’s and I’s spells were canceling each other out. I had never seen anything like it before. Dumbledore said that it was called–”
“Priori Incantatem.”
Harry nodded; his lips pressed together. “Yes, what does that mean exactly?”
“Two wands that share the same cores that are forced into combat will revert to an almost reverse-spell effect.” She tried to translate the page that was drifting into focus in her mind. Voldemort and Harry shared the same cores in their wand. Her thoughts were cut short when students started to flood the courtyard. It was a sea of different colors–red, yellow, green, blue. A massive gathering to bid farewell. “Promise me that you’ll write this summer?”
Harry nodded, his gaze distracted as he stared out at the ship that was sitting on the lake, awaiting the Durmstrang students. Ron had broken off, drifting through the throng of people. She had opened her mouth to say something, before suddenly being spun and captured in a searing kiss that had her blinking. The hands against her cheeks were rough, holding her in place and the lips that attempted to move against hers were nothing like Draco’s. It took her a second to come to her senses before she pressed her hands against Viktor’s chest. He released her and she gasped in air, unable to come up with a single coherent thought as he shoved a paper into her hands, requesting that she write to him.
He was disappearing through the crowd as she cursed under her breath at the audacity. He hadn’t even asked her, just manhandled her like some sort of animal. She was glaring at the papers in her hand, his scrawling slant requesting her to come and join him for the rest of the summer. Turning, she stomped over to one of the torches and tossed the papers into the fire with a frustrated growl. What was she going to say to Draco? How could she explain that he had kissed her in front of multiple witnesses without her permission?
Whirling around, her face collided with the very person who was intruding her thoughts. His eyes were focused on her face, eyes a dark gray and his nostrils flared. His jaw was clenched, hands tight against her hips as he stared at her. “Did he have permission to kiss you like that?”
The words fell on her like cold water, and she gulped. Draco cursed, making a move to step away from her, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Draco!”
He paused, his shoulders rolling before he turned back towards her. “Yes?”
“Can we just forget about the unwelcome and unwanted affections and just go? I don’t want to be here anymore. There are too many people.” She stressed the words unwanted and unwelcome, Draco’s eyes flashing as she did so. She was attempting to make sure that he knew she didn’t want anything to do with him, but the reminder seemed to be making him angry. He grabbed her hand, gently pulling her into the hallway and away from the throng of people. It was quieter, the soft flicker of the candles crackling in the space around them. Her gaze was focused on her feet, following after Draco who was leading her through the halls.
When she was about to open her mouth to speak, he was pressing her against the wall, caging her in between his arms. Briefly, she remembered what Harry had said about Lucius being in the graveyard and she took a steading breath. “Draco–”
“He’s lucky that I didn’t just follow him onto that ship and kill him for touching something that didn’t belong to him.” His lips were against the base of her neck, brushing against the exposed skin and she shivered–unsure of whether it was caused by his words or his lips.
He had answered her question without her needing to ask. Still, she found it tumbling from her lips. “Would you really kill for me? For your family? Would you go that far if you had to?”
Draco stilled, holding his breath before unfolding to his full height in front of her. He was still caging her in, his palms flat against the wall on either side of her. She held his gaze, tipping her jaw up at him. “I would burn the world down for you, Granger without a single care in the world as to who was caught in the flames if it meant keeping you safe. If it meant making sure that nobody hurt, you. I would gladly and willingly give a piece of my soul in offering to keep the darkness from touching you.”
Her heart skipped, catapulting inside of her chest. She realized, in that moment, that she would do the same for him. She had meant it when she said that she would die for the people that she loved in Lucius’s office, and now looking at the silver eyes that were staring at her with a fire that consumed her, she knew that he would do the same. Without question, without hesitation.
Hermione would light the match for him and warm her hands as everything burned.
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Snape steepled his fingers in front of him, staring at the three of them. “Hermione will be spending the summer at a Safe House.”
Theo’s body went rigid, his back straight. “What?”
“Theo, your father has requested your presence at home, and Draco…there are House Guests that make it impossible for Hermione to spend the summer at your residency.” Draco stiffened beside her, his hands grasping onto the chair until his knuckles turned white.
“I understand.” He sounded detached, cold.
“No.” Fear gripped her, anger unfurling through her veins as she glared at Snape. “My brother isn’t stepping foot in that fucking house again. Not without me.”
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”
“Hermione will not be stepping foot into that house.”
Snape and Theo responded at the same time and Hermione was annoyed that they had basically conveyed the same message in one sentence. Why didn’t she get a say. “Voldemort has taken up residency at Malfoy Manor?”
Snape’s eyes flashed. “No. Not there. Although he is making appearances.”
She turned towards Draco, her hand reaching out to rest on top of his. “Draco?”
He shook his head, his jaw clenched. “You’re not coming, Granger. The safe house is the best place for you.”
Hermione sighed in frustration. “So, I don’t get a say?”
“Not when it concerns your safety. No.” All three of them responded with the same thing and for a moment she wondered if they had rehearsed this, sat around the fire and took turns going over what their responses would be as they guessed what she would say. She wondered who would’ve gotten the most Galleons if they had bet on it.
“So, I’m not allowed to go to Malfoy Manor because of…possible interactions I might have which I’m assuming is the reason that I can’t go home with you, Snape. Then, I’m not allowed to go home with my brother who is basically going to be suffering all summer. All the while the three of you will be in possibly dangerous situations while I’m what? Eating steak in a five-star establishment? No. Absolutely not.”
Everybody was silent for a moment before Snape leaned forward, his black eyes boring into hers. “Hermione. As your Guardian, you will do as I say–”
“As my Dad I would have assumed that you would respect my decision more than that but excuse me for my mistake.” Snape’s eyes flashed. The words had tumbled out of her before she had realized the implications of what they might have meant. She realized that it had come easier than she thought and in her anger a memory surfaced, and she knew that she had already called him that once before. She released a sharp exhale and stood, shoving the chair back as she did. “Fine. Since all three of you are dead set on whatever plan or scheme or whatever it is that you have devised, I won’t argue, but just know that I’m not happy about it.”
She glared at Snape for a moment, before turning and striding towards the door, flinging it open and marching out. She had made it all the way to her room and was lying on her bed glaring at the wall when she heard the door open twenty minutes later.
“Hermione?” Draco’s voice was soft, careful. She ignored him, tucking herself tighter against the wall. Why couldn’t she just stay here? Fingertips were brushing her hair from her face, stroking along her jaw. “I’m sorry, love. I know you’re going to be angry with me, but I can’t…Theo and I can’t let anything happen to you.” He sat down on the side of the bed, his hand resting on her leg as it traveled down the curve of her body leaving fire in its path. “Think of it as you are gathering intel…you’re making sure that Potter is safe. Merlin knows he needs the help more than I do.” There was something lacing his words that she couldn’t quite put a finger on, and he sighed, tucking himself on the bed behind her as his arm snaked around her waist.
She didn’t say anything for a while, just let him hold her against his chest tightly, his hand drawing circles on her hip over the blanket. “Draco?”
“Hmm.” He hummed against her neck; his face buried in her curls so deeply she wondered if they were suffocating him.
“What are we going to do?” She almost didn’t recognize her voice, small and terrified.
Draco turned her carefully, his hand cupping her jaw as he tilted her head up to his. “Whatever we have to do to survive.”
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Hermione had been brought–by Snape–to 12 Grimmauld Place two days after Draco and Theo had left to go home. Hermione had clutched desperately onto Theo, clinging to him so tightly that he had to pry her fingers from his shirt. Draco, in turn, had been especially bold when he tilted her head up and pecked her goodbye right in front of Snape. Pansy had hugged her tightly, along with Daphne whispering about how they were going to be seeing her next year. 12 Grimmauld Place was tiny, dirty and had definitely been abandoned for months. There were portraits covered all throughout the halls that you could still hear muffled screams from as you passed. They loved voicing their distaste on numerous occasions whenever somebody passed by.
Ronald, to his part, had been strangely nice to her, and she noted that he lingered near her any chance that he could. Hermione was quiet and followed along with whatever Mrs. Weasley had asked her to–help set the table, prepare the food, clean the house. She was trying to keep herself busy and make sure that she wasn’t more unwanted than she already felt, especially since she now had nowhere to go. Snape had given her a two-way-journal so that she could communicate with Theo and Draco. She was thankful that they were separate but realized that both boys –when they could communicate–were not quite themselves.
Theo’s responses were overdone as if he was trying to convince her that he was okay, and that nothing was wrong. Draco’s responses on the other hand always reverted back to her, and when he did answer they were short and carefully worded. She knew that all of them were lying to each other. Hermione didn’t want to tell them about how horrible it was to be in a house surrounded by people that you barely knew–a family that was large and loud and everything she wasn’t accustomed to. Although she felt out of place she didn’t feel so uncomfortable that she hated being there.
The twins were extremely nice, as was Charlie. Ron was, well Ron was himself. She understood why he had been so rough with her because the large group of boys were that way with each other. He was very intent on getting things his way and being seen as himself and not just as another member of the Weasley clan. Ginny, on the other hand, was everything her mother didn’t want her to be when she wasn’t looking. She wrestled with the boys, stole spoonsful of chocolate from the bowl when Molly wasn’t looking, played Quidditch right alongside Ron and generally gave him a run for his money.
She found that she didn’t quite mind the red-haired firecracker. Hermione had been ecstatic when Ron brought up the idea with the twins of listening in on the Order meetings. She wanted more information and had been hesitant to bring the idea up in case they thought she was doing it for other reasons. It had been disclosed that Snape was her guardian, and the distrust that followed everybody’s eyes when she hovered too long or entered a room during conversations choked her like a noose. She was aware of what they thought of Snape and of course those ideas were passed onto her, especially considering the fact that they knew she was best friends and spent time with Theo and Draco. The only one who didn’t seem to care much was Ginny.
Still, she had kept notice-me-not charms on both of her journals and was careful about where they were kept.
Harry had arrived rather frustrated, explaining how he had been attacked by Dementors. He seemed rather frustrated that the both of them had been at Grimmauld Place while he had been trapped yet again at the Dursley’s. “What’s been going on?”
“Well, Mum won’t let us anywhere near the meetings, but we have found out a few things…” Ron’s eyes drifted to Hermione, lingering a bit too long for her taste and she resisted the urge to send him a Malfoy sneer.
“We know about the Order–sorry–the Order of Phoenix. It was something that Dumbledore had started when all of this began. Lupin, Sirius, Dumbledore and a few others are some of the original members. As far as we know it has been reestablished, and Order members have been following Death Eaters.”
“Like Lucius Malfoy.” Hermione bristled as Ron spat the name. She bit her cheek in an effort of not replying. There were three people in her life that were Death Eaters, and yet only one was everything that the name implied.
An awkwardness hung in the air around them before Molly opened the door, staring at them. “The meeting is over, come on down.”
They had entered the kitchen, noticing that upon their arrival Arthur and Charlie had rolled up a piece of parchment that they had been whispering over, when Molly had thrown a scowl in his direction. Hermione sat the furthest away from everybody, staring at her plate of food. “Harry, the Ministry is quite furious with you, using magic in front of Muggles. You have a trial tomorrow.”
“I’m aware.” He sounded exhausted and Hermione lifted her head, eyes narrowing as she watched him. He was fidgety, and the dark circles under his eyes confirmed that he was indeed not getting enough sleep. Periodically, his hand ran over his forehead as if adjusting his hair, but she knew it was rubbing against his scar. With a heavy sigh, he stood. “I’m going to bed.”
“Well, you surprised me, not a single question about Voldemort.” Hermione felt her heart skip as the room fell into silence. Molly was glaring at Sirius, and he was returning the look unwavering.
“You wouldn’t tell me anything anyways.” Hermione found that statement true and completely horrendous at the same time. She realized that all of the people in the room were able to discuss Harry’s life without Harry even being involved in the conversation. He had no idea what was going on and she briefly wondered if that was why they had almost died so many times–he was expected to be the Chosen One without a single shred of an idea of what that entailed. Nobody was willing to throw him even a scrap of information.
“You’re much too young, Harry!” Molly’s voice was shrill and final. Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes. Sirius raised his brows at her, while Molly sent her a glare. “It’s not your decision what he does and doesn’t get to know, Black.”
They bickered back and forth for a moment, which ended in Molly reminding Sirius that Harry wasn’t James, and Sirius stating that Harry was like a son to him. Hermione sat completely still when Molly stormed out of the room, and Sirius slumped back into his chair, running a hand through his dark black hair.
For a moment, she thought it was strange that the Malfoy’s had white hair and were considered to be on the wrong side whereas Black, alongside his name, was dark and a prominent figure of The Order of Phoenix. Light and dark, light and dark. “What do you want to know? I assume that you have questions, so go on.”
“Where is he? What has he been doing?”
“He’s in hiding at the moment, you really messed his plans up last year. He had no intention of Dumbledore knowing anything.”
Lupin chimed in, leaning against the wall next to Sirius’s chair. Hermione remembered Sirius’s words. Remember the man I love. “The Ministry is ignoring the fact that he’s returned, for somebody like him…well that’s exactly what he wants. He’s able to fly under the radar and build his army without being noticed. If Fudge were to acknowledge that he’s back, he’ll be sacked.”
Voldemort was building an army, and the Ministry doesn’t want to interfere because then they would have to admit that they were wrong. Hermione rolled her eyes, typical.
“Well, you’re telling people, aren’t you?” Harry sounded so hopeful that she had to resist the urge to snort.
“Well, I am a mass-murderer who was pardoned based on the fact that Pettigrew was found alive and the memories that Dumbledore and Lupin provided. Lupin, himself is a Werewolf, and the others could lose their jobs if they were to speak because they’re employed at the Ministry.”
“What’s so different about this time?”
“You-Know-Who wants something...a weapon that he didn’t have–”
“Sirius!” Molly cut Sirius off, a glare focused on his slouching form. Her eyes flitted to Hermione and narrowed, almost as if insinuating that it wasn’t Harry that she didn’t want to know these things. She tried to look indifferent.
Hermione had been strolling the halls, the quiet of the house the only time that she was able to wander without having to dodge curious glances. She stopped in front of a room that she had been in multiple times and stared at the portraits on the wall. The branches extended, growing and flourishing as they spread out along the wall. Her fingers trailed over it, hovering over a spot that was burnt, where a face used to be. Slowly, she followed it along until she was standing in front of the Malfoy’s. Draco’s smug grin was staring at her, his light eyes shining even through the wallpaper. Narcissa’s blue eyes shone so brightly that she wondered for a moment if it really was just a wallpaper. Her fingers trailed across their faces, until a scream from down the hallway had her running.
When she flung open the door, Harry was sitting on the bed, panting and drenched in sweat. His green eyes widened at the sight of her, and she approached him cautiously. “Harry, are you alright?”
It took him a moment to respond, his green eyes slowly starting to lighten the more that he woke up. “No, not really.”
“Are you having nightmares again?”
He nodded, his black hair falling into his eyes. His fingers rubbed against his forehead, and he pinched his eyes together in pain. “What are they about?”
“They’re different, every time it’s always something different. I can’t make out some of them but they’re just…I almost feel like I’m Voldemort sometimes. Like I’m looking through his eyes.” Something inside of Hermione’s subconscious twitched, as if reminding her that it was there, and she couldn’t grasp onto what it was exactly.
“Do you need anything?” His green eyes met hers and it took him a moment to shake his head.
“No. Being here helped, thank you.”
She stared at him for a moment before resting her hand on top of his. “You’re not alone, you know that right?”
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Harry was standing next to the door, waiting to go to his trial when Hermione hugged him tightly. She felt like he needed reassurance after last night and had stayed up extra late to check for anything that would help sooth his worries. “You’re going to be alright, Harry. I checked the laws, and it counts as self-defense.”
Harry snorted into her shoulder before releasing her. “Yeah right, I’m adamant about seeing Voldemort, do you really think that they’re not going to look for any excuse to silence me?”
She grimaced. “Why does he get a hug?” Ron’s tone had her grimacing some more.
“Well, he’s going to a trial, do you have one that I don’t know about?” Ron was glaring between the two of them, his blue eyes narrowed.
“Well-no. I just think that you hug one friend more than the other.” Hermione wondered when exactly Ron and her had established that close of a friendship where she would hug him. Surely not when he was accusing her of being a whore, or possibly it was when he was gripping her hard enough to leave bruises.
“Ronald, are you jealous?” Ginny was smirking behind him, and Hermione bit her cheek. Draco wouldn’t like this recent development.
“What? No-I just think that it’s unfair is all.” Hermione rolled her eyes and stalked towards the stairs, ignoring the teasing happening behind her.
She stayed holed up in her room until Harry returned. As she was passing by, Arthur’s voice carried up the stairs. “Tell Dumbledore that we saw Lucius at the Ministry again…he referred to Harry getting out of charge as being snakelike. I'm not sure what that means but maybe Dumbledore will find a hidden meaning to it.”
Hermione faltered, tucking the information away for later use; she had found that Lucius Malfoy never said anything that didn't have meaning.
Harry's pained yelp had her running down the stairs the rest of the way until she found herself standing in the kitchen door. Harry was being helped into a chair by Sirius, who was casting a worried glance over his shoulder at Lupin.
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Hermione tore open her envelope, noting that it seemed heavier than usual. Inside was her list of school supplies, which she had already been informed would be picked out and waiting for her in her room upon her arrival by Snape. The next was a badge. Prefect. She ran her fingers over the shiny material, relishing the cold against her fingertips.
Just as she was going to retrieve her notebooks, Ron burst through the door, his face bright. “Did you get it?”
“Get what?”
“Prefect Badge!” Hermione suddenly felt less special having one.
“Yes, why?”
“We can Patrol together! I'm not sure who the girl is that got it from our class, but. Oh well. You don't have a house, so they probably awarded it to you just because you're well, you're the only one. She raised her eyebrows.
“Thank you, Ronald. I thought I had done something to earn it.” He stared at her for a moment before his cheeks turned red.
“No. I mean, well, you did, you're brilliant. That wasn't what I meant.”
“Of course. What else could it have meant.” Ron nodded, seemingly relieved and not having caught onto her sarcasm.
“I’m going to go tell Harry!” He bounded from the room before she was able to tell him that it probably wasn’t a good idea. She followed after him, making her way down the hallway slowly. She heard the annoyance in his tone, when he revealed that he didn’t in fact get Prefect like Ronald who was boasting in the room. Ronald finally had something that his friend with all of the glory didn’t. Ron slipped from the room, heading down the stairs without even glancing at her behind him. She knocked gently, entering only to find Harry staring at the wall, lying on his side with his back to the door.
“Ronald, I really don’t want to hear about your Prefect badge.” She paused in the doorway before sighing and sitting beside him on the bed. When it dipped, she heard him let out a heavy sigh, his hand coming back to rest on her arm. “Sorry.”
She watched his arm slither back over, resting against his pillow. “It’s not your fault, Harry.” She reached out, brushing her fingers through his hair, the moment that her fingers brushed against his forehead, his hand caught hers roughly. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” Harry nodded, releasing her hand. “Are you still having nightmares?”
“Hermione, I-I really don’t want to talk about this.”
She pressed her lips together, staring at the profile of his face. He looked tired. “Harry.” Her hand rested on his arm. It hit her then how much older they were, how much they’ve already been through together. “Everybody downstairs is so adamant about not giving you any information, about keeping things from you because they view you as a child. This war that’s brewing, none of them are going to admit that you’re the most important piece. None of them are going to admit it because a few of them only want to make your decisions for you instead of allowing you the information to make them yourself. You might not believe it, but I am one of the people who care about you, not just the war. Whenever you need something, I’ll be here. Until then, I won’t stop worrying about you no matter how far apart you might feel that I am.”
Harry was silent, his green eyes unmoving as they stared at the peeling wallpaper. Slowly, his hand came up and grabbed hers that was resting against his bicep and squeezed.