Chapter 6
Weeks passed, and not much changed. Hermione fell easily into her new routine consisting of classes, homework, lunch with Sue and Padma, and dinner with Ginny. Although the other N.E.W.T. students complained loudly and often about the gratuitous amount of homework they were given, Hermione was secretly grateful. Studying was something familiar, something she could control. Besides, if she was busy enough, she could avoid thinking about her parents, or Malfoy. In theory.
In reality, none of them ever really left her mind. The loss of her parents weighed on her like well-deserved chains, and Malfoy’s odd behaviour – even now she had something of an explanation for it – nagged at her. She often had to physically restrain herself from glancing over at him during class, and puzzled over how her curiosity had only gotten worse since she’d found the answer to her question.
It didn’t help that they had most of their classes together, due to the small eighth year cohort. But the class where her curiosity got to her the most was Muggle Studies. Malfoy was terrible at it. Miller had moved onto World War II after their brief review and despite it being new material for everyone but Hermione, Malfoy was still chronically confused. He clearly didn’t understand what words like “telegram”, “tank” or “socialist” meant but seemed to be too proud to ask. She had overheard him asking Miller for book recommendations after class and then caught him actually reading one – brow furrowed in confusion – in the library.
Again, she felt like she should be deriving some sort of pleasure from his suffering. But instead she was reminded of her first few months at Hogwarts, surrounded by the unfamiliar and trying desperately not to drown in it. She tried to remind herself that this man was a Death Eater, but couldn’t ignore that he was doing something good for once in his life. He was trying to understand the people he’d put himself so squarely above. She could give him a bit of credit for that.
And he had helped her. He had recognised her episode as something much worse than a tantrum and gone out of his way to help her. That didn’t fit with the image of the Malfoy she knew, but honestly neither did much else about him this year. Maybe he really had changed.
The lack of questioning by Sue meant that news of her episode hadn’t reached the Hogwarts rumour mill and Hermione was grateful Malfoy had kept it quiet. Years ago, he would have used any excuse to ridicule her.
Her nineteenth birthday came and went without much fanfare. And she kept up correspondence with Harry and Ron. Their letters were full of the highs and lows of auror training, and the more she heard about it the more she was certain it wasn’t the life for her. She would support her friends in everything, but she’d spent too long chasing dark wizards already. She wanted peace.
They were both eventually informed of Ginny’s resorting, thankfully by Ginny herself. To everyone’s shock, Harry revealed what the hat had said to him in his first year, which did wonders for Ginny’s perspective.
“If the saviour of the wizarding world was a closet Slytherin this whole time, we can’t be all that bad right?” she had said to Hermione with a grin over dinner one time. “My family will get used to it.”
Hermione was working on quite a painful Charms essay one sunny Saturday morning in the library when a book was dropped unceremoniously onto her desk. She looked up into tired grey eyes.
“I need to talk to you,” said Malfoy.
“Why?” was her knee-jerk response.
Malfoy sat down. They were in the corner by the window, making them quite isolated in an already mostly empty library.
“I’ll be direct, Granger. I need your help.”
“My help?”
“Yes. Do you go deaf as well as mute?”
Hermione paled. Had he told anyone? Malfoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Yes, I need your help.”
“What for?”
Malfoy responded by tapping the book he’d dropped on the table. The War that Shook the World by A. J. Gillard.
“You understand this stuff. You have knowledge that I need. I need you to teach me.”
Malfoy’s eyes were burning into hers so intensely that she had to look away.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he said.
Hermione scoffed at that. “I don’t want your money, Malfoy.”
“I’m not talking about money. I think I have a way to help you with your parents.”
Hermione’s gaze snapped back to him at this. His eyes were glued to her. She’d never been close enough or looked long enough to really notice them. They were completely grey without a hint of blue. A stormy sky. And with the way he was looking at her she felt like she should brace herself for the lightning.
“My… W- why would you want to help my parents?” she stammered.
“I’m not doing it out of the goodness of my heart, Granger. I want a N.E.W.T. in Muggle Studies, you want your parents’ memories back. We’re in an excellent position for a deal.”
“But… How could you help them? I’ve read everything there is to read about the charm. And Flitwick said their minds would have-”
The spaces where the memories of you should go… they’re already full.
“-knitted over… already…”
“You erased your parents’ memories of you specifically, right? Not the entire duration of your life? It’s you they don’t remember?”
Hermione nodded.
“There’s a potion. You won’t have read about it if you were only looking at memory charms. Centuries ago, before the head of a pure-blooded family died, it wasn’t uncommon for family members to brew this potion to extract their Essence. The idea was that the Essence could be drunk by the next head of the family when they needed guidance, although practically it very rarely happened. The families probably just liked to keep a catalogue of ancestors.”
“You’re going to need to be more specific about how this could help my parents, Malfoy.”
He sighed as if she’d missed something obvious, and Hermione tried to stifle her irritation.
“After someone had drunk the Essence, they would feel like they’d known the other person their whole lives. They would know them like a best friend. They’d have an intuitive understanding of how their mind worked, how they’d feel about certain decisions. Even if they’d never met.”
“So… you think if my parents were to drink that, they’d remember me?”
“I can’t guarantee it would be the same, but they would know you. That I can guarantee. Unless it doesn’t work the same with muggles, that is.”
“Has it been tested on muggles?”
“It’s an ancient pureblood succession ritual, what do you think?”
This made Hermione uneasy. But at the same time, the charm she’d used hadn’t been tested on muggles either.
“What does it involve? The… extraction process. And what is Essence? We wouldn’t be making anything like a Horcrux, would we?”
“No, you can’t make a Horcrux without murder and… some other nasty stuff. Your soul will be fine. As for the extraction process, I feed you the potion, you relive your core memories and I extract and store your… thoughts, feelings, ideas. It’s similar to creating a pensive. But rather than just memories, we’d be working with the essence of who you are.”
Malfoy’s stony expression changed almost imperceptibly at this. He looked almost… sheepish? Like he knew he’d just suggested something absurd. How could she be that vulnerable with Malfoy of all people? The thought terrified her. The amount of ammunition he’d have to be cruel to her... He’d know exactly where to stick the knife to make it hurt the most. There were things that even Harry and Ron didn’t know about her that she’d really prefer to keep to herself.
But my parents, a small, wounded voice reminded her. She had to get a grip. This was the closest thing to a solution that she had, and she’d looked everywhere she could. It really seemed like it was the only way. How selfish would she be to refuse?
“I’ll do it.” The words left her mouth without her conscious permission, but once they had she knew they were true. She would do it. She had to. Letting Malfoy in on her deepest secrets was a small price to pay to get her parents back. To right the wrong she had caused.
Malfoy let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Good. The potion will take me roughly a month to brew, if all goes well. We can start your extractions after that. For Muggle Studies, I propose we meet three times per week in the room of requirement.”
“The room of requirement?”
“I didn’t think you’d be particularly enthusiastic about us being seen together.”
“Oh… you’re right. That should work.”
“When are your free periods?”
“I’m busy during those.” She usually spent her free periods with Sue or Padma, and didn’t want to have to explain where she was going to them.
“After dinner, then?”
That would work. It was a convenient time to sneak off. “I can do that.”
“Alright. After dinner on Mondays, Wednesday and Fridays then? We can schedule your extraction sessions for Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.”
“That sounds good.” It sounded terrifying. And what were her friends going to make of her constant absence?
“Good. I’ll see you on Monday.” And with that, Malfoy grabbed his book and left.
For a few moments Hermione just sat there, trying to process what had happened. She felt… unsteady. Fear and hope were battling each other fiercely somewhere in her chest and it left her feeling overwhelmed and somewhat off-kilter. She quickly gave up on her Charms essay.
When she managed to get herself together she decided to head out to the grounds for a walk. It wasn’t time for lunch yet and she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus on homework. So she made the now familiar but no less gruelling trek up to her dormitory to drop off her books.
As soon as Hermione opened the door, she heard a strange choking sound. She froze, wand held out in front of her, still hidden by the door. Then she heard the sound again, this time identifying it as a sob. Oh.
She lowered her wand, feeling a little silly for her overreaction, and pushed the door further open. The sounds immediately stopped and Hermione heard the woosh of curtains being drawn around a bed. She didn’t need to see which bed it was to know who was crying. After that first night a few weeks ago, the Ravenclaw girls had heard Daphne several times.
“We have to do something,” Sue had said through a mouthful of toast at breakfast a few days ago. “She’s miserable! I know you think it’s intrusive, Pads, but what if it’s because she’s lonely? What if we haven’t tried hard enough to include her?”
Sue had, in fact, tried very hard to include Daphne. She had taken to swiping the seat next to her in all their shared classes and following her around having very one-sided conversations about anything from sandwiches to Socrates. Conversely, Padma’s proposed strategy was to let the increasingly harassed-looking Daphne come to them. Daphne was an ex-Slytherin after all, Padma had reminded them, and might not be taking Sue’s friendliness at face value.
“I don’t know what more we can do other than confront her directly, which I really don’t think is a good idea. It always happens at night. She probably thinks we’re all asleep and haven’t noticed. We’d just embarrass her,” Padma replied.
Hermione had stayed silent about the first time she’d heard Daphne. If it was her, she wouldn’t want people to know. But Hermione couldn’t help but be more and more concerned as time wore on and the episodes became more frequent. Hermione had glanced over to the table where Daphne was sitting by herself. She looked visibly paler than she had at the start of term.
“We can’t just not do anything though. Look at her! She hasn’t even got anyone to sit with.”
Sue started to get up but Padma grabbed her arm and pulled her down firmly.
“She saw us when she came in. If she wanted to sit with us, she could have. Stop forcing her to socialise.”
Padma and Sue glared at each other for a moment before Sue took a rather aggressive bite of toast and Padma sighed.
“Look, you know I appreciate your commitment to befriending everyone with a pulse, but you’ve got to remember that some of us are different. Not everyone has the energy to be around people all the time, right Hermione?”
Hermione nodded briefly, not wanting to get caught up in the closest thing she’d witnessed to a fight between the two girls. Padma than tapped a pouting Sue’s chin, tilting her face up, and smiled warmly at her. A strange expression crossed over Sue’s face before she shook her head and went happily back to her breakfast. The subject was dropped.
But now, Hermione had to make a decision. Should she wait for Daphne to open up, or confront her? What would Daphne want?
Unbidden, the words of another ex-Slytherin floated into her head.
I’ll be direct, Granger.
It was worth a shot. So, gathering her courage, she walked over to Daphne’s bed, leaving her book bag on the floor.
“Daphne?”
No response.
“I know you’re in there. And I know you’re upset.”
No response. The silence stretched out awkwardly.
“I wish you’d talk to us about it. We’re here for you, you know.”
A strangled sob made its way out from behind the sapphire hangings. But no words.
Hermione had never been very good at emotions. She was better than, say… Harry and Ron, but that really wasn’t saying much. She suspected it was one of the reasons she had never fit in with the Gryffindor girls. On her very first night in the castle, she had stood awkwardly to the side while Pavarti consoled a crying and homesick Lavender. Hermione’s suggestion of “sleeping it off” had only made Lavender more upset and earned her an exasperated look from Pavarti that she still wasn’t quite sure she’d deserved. She had worked hard to get better though. She’d learnt over the years that upset people didn’t want solutions to their problems, they preferred for you to say meaningless things like ‘it’s okay’ and ‘don’t worry’ until they’d calmed themselves down somehow.
She thought back to Lupin’s role in the Order as somewhat of a designated comforter and had a stroke of genius. After rummaging through her trunk for a while she pulled out a full bar of Honeydukes chocolate and stuck it through the hangings of Daphne’s bed.
“I don’t know what’s wrong, but chocolate generally makes things better.”
To Hermione’s surprise, Daphne let out a small laugh between sobs.
“A-Astoria loves that chocolate...” she said. But her sobs and ragged breathing only got louder. Hermione wished Sue or Padma were here. Anyone but her.
“Astoria?” She prodded, desperately hoping she wasn’t just making things worse.
Daphne sobbed even louder. Shit. But then-
“M-my s-s-sister. She’s sick.”
“Oh no… It’s okay. I’m sure she’ll get better.”
“B-But she w-won’t!” Daphne said through heaving sobs. “It’s a blood curse! It skipped my mum and m-me but it’s got her now and the healers don’t know what to d-do…”
Hermione’s heart sank.
“She got so bad over s-summer that she couldn’t even come back to school. The healers said… they said…” Daphne broke off into heart wrenching sobs for a few moments before composing herself. “They said she m-might not have long. She always s-says she’s ok in her letters but mum said she can’t keep anything down anymore and-”
Hermione didn’t know what to say. What could anyone say to that. Again, remembering Lupin, she grit her teeth and summoned all of her Gryffindor courage to draw back the hangings and pull a startled, red-faced Daphne into a hug.
Although the awkwardness of it made Hermione’s skin crawl, Daphne, surprisingly, didn’t object. She cried into Hermione’s shoulder for a few minutes, leaving a wet patch on her robes which Hermione tried very hard to ignore. When she’d calmed down a bit Daphne drew back and Hermione released her from the hug. A cold, empty silence fell in place of Daphne’s sobs. Again, Hermione had no idea what she was supposed to say.
I’ll be direct, Granger.
Maybe that was the way.
“There’s nothing I can say to make this better. It’s shit. And I’m sorry.”
Daphne let out another small laugh at this.
“Yeah… it is shit. Thanks for not doing the whole ‘it’ll be okay’ rubbish. I can’t take any more of that. My sister…” Daphne’s eyes welled up with tears again. “She’s my best friend. I… I can’t lose her. But it’s not about can or can’t… it’s happening. And I think the worst thing is that life has to go on after and I just don’t… I can’t even picture it. And there’s nothing I can do.”
Hermione’s stomach clenched. Daphne’s words could have come directly out of her own mouth.
“It sucks. It fucking sucks not being able to fix it,” she said, throat constricting around the words.
Daphne shifted to hug her back this time. Hermione stiffened, but didn’t have the heart to push her off. Especially when this was someone who understood. As miserable as she was, Hermione couldn’t help the slow easing of her muscles – like a painkiller finally kicking in. There was someone else who felt like she did. Someone else who couldn’t just move on.
They stayed like that for what felt like a long time before Daphne straightened up.
“So… that chocolate you’ve got there…” she said with a small, watery smile.
Hermione smiled back and broke off a piece.
“Why don’t you talk to us?” Hermione asked around her mouthful of chocolate. This direct approach seemed to be working.
Daphne turned to stare out over the grounds. Even red-rimmed, Daphne’s blue-green eyes had a sort of strength in them that Hermione hadn’t noticed when she was looking down during class, avoiding teachers and Sue.
“Honestly, I didn’t want to be the sad sack bringing everyone down. It’s bad enough I have to deal with this. I don’t want to spread it around. And everything’s… different from what I’m used to now. We-” she gestured vaguely around the room “-don’t have the same sort of rules as what I’m used to.”
“Rules?” Hermione asked incredulously.
“Well, Pansy and I both come from Sacred Twenty-Eight families, so we were expected to get along. It was a bit different with Milly. Her family has some… bad connections and my parents were always telling me to keep her at arms distance if I wanted-”
Daphne cut off abruptly and made a face like she’d smelt something bad.
“Wanted what?”
“Wanted to marry well.”
“Oh god…”
“Yeah… it’s pretty archaic…”
“But you don’t need to worry about things like that anymore, right? Everything’s different now.”
Daphne scoffed. “Your Gryffindor is showing, Granger.” Her eyes widened before quickly adding, “Not that that’s bad! It’s just… Getting rid of the homicidal maniac trying to enslave muggles isn’t going to change the culture that predated him. My family didn’t even support… him.”
“Voldemort,” Hermione added.
“Yeah… him. My parents thought he was insane, but they’d be damned before they ever publicly took sides. A lot of the families involved with him were filthy rich and still are. All us purebloods marrying each other isn’t just about blood purity, it’s about keeping the wealth among our own.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “But surely your parents just want you to be happy…”
“Oh, they do. From their perspective, I’ll be happiest if I’m rich and influential. If they’d been openly pro-muggle and You-Know-Who had won, my chances with Draco or Theo or Blaise would be gone. If they’d sided with the Death Eaters and lost, then our reputation would be ruined and none of the families who’d been more sensible would approve of me.”
“But… isn’t love more important? Isn’t that the whole point of marriage.”
Daphne scoffed. “Marrying for love is actually a very modern concept. Originally it was always more of a business partnership. Obviously it’s important to get along, but if I married below my station my parents would make such a fuss… it’s not worth it.”
Daphne sighed audibly while Hermione just stared in shock.
“I never knew things were so... I mean I knew Malfoy liked to show off his money, but I didn’t realise it was a bloody mating ritual.”
Daphne laughed out loud, and Hermione was glad to see the change of topic had cheered her up slightly.
“Yeah, the Malfoys are very traditional. My parents were having discussions with Draco’s about the possibility of a match when we were five.”
“Five!?”
“Mmhm,” Daphne said, popping another chunk of chocolate into her mouth. “We had playdates and everything. The Malfoys eventually deemed the Parkinsons more suitable though. Draco and Pansy may as well be engaged. At least before...”
“They’re engaged?” Hermione interjected. She didn’t know why but the idea made her feel cold and… off… somehow.
“Well not officially, but it was always expected they’d marry.”
Hermione was still trying to shake off the strange feeling that had come over her.
“How does Pansy feel about it?” she asked tentatively.
“She used to be quite pleased about it. Things might have changed now, though. I don’t know.”
“Changed in what way?”
“The war will have complicated everything. I don’t know any details, though. We haven’t spoken since last year.”
“What? I thought you were friends.”
“We were. But like I said, we don’t have those rules anymore. I don’t really know what to do without them. It’s not like we sit at the same table or share a dormitory anymore, and Sue keeps snapping up the seats next to me in class.”
“Yeah… I’ll talk to her about that. She really does want to be friends you know. We’ve all been worried about you.”
Daphne looked away at this.
“Hey,” Hermione said in what she hoped was a comforting manner, “If there’re no rules, that means you get to do whatever you want, right? You can be friends with whoever you want, sit wherever you want, think whatever you want…”
“I’ve always thought whatever I wanted. I just may not have made it obvious.”
Hermione sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that you should talk to Pansy. There’s no reason not to. She probably needs a friend.”
“You’re right… I’ve been a bit of a coward avoiding her. Although I did have… things on my mind…”
Hermione looked away. The grounds were bathed in midday sunlight. It would be lunch time by now.
“I’m heading down to lunch,” Hermione stood, holding out her hand. “Do you want to come?”
Daphne, turquoise eyes now free of redness, took it.