Potion Masteries and Memories

Hermione found herself knee-deep in the beach waters where she had walked by earlier in the day. Holding her breath, she submerged herself under, willing her magic to hold her against the current, and then emerged standing once again.

Her entire being was shaking with rage; how dare Ron begin that conversation amongst the Aurors. She should’ve hexed his mouth. He had called her a Death Eater, and she had nearly lost it with her wandless magic. Hermione let out a shaky breath—focus. Occlude.

The familiar sound of Apparation came from behind her, and Hermione turned to see Harry grimly standing at the end of the beach. Sighing, she waded her way out and stumbled to sit in the sand, Harry taking his place beside her.

“As long as it doesn’t reach Kingsley, we’ll be fine.” He whispered, laying down in the sand.

“I have quite the urge to murder him. If he didn’t have children, I’d—”

“Quell the urge, Hermione.”

“My magic—”

“We’ll find something to quell the … I’m not even sure what to call it. Practicing the Dark Arts shifts your magic; you have to become adjusted to what your magic’s become.”

“My magic doesn’t always listen to me. I’ve been occluding, and it’s been helping.” She responded sourly.

“Are you practicing what he taught you?” Harry asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“No. Of course not. Sometimes I’ll draw on the same energy, but none of those spells. Merlin, Harry why would I need those spells?”

He shrugged. “I was dumb enough to just stick to Expelliarmus. You learnt fast.”

“I just need to figure out my balance.” She said curtly.

“Do you think Malfoy would know how to? He ought to have used some sort of Dark Arts during the War. He seems to be airing just fine.”

Hermione paused and turned to look at Harry, her lips pursed. “I don’t know. I could ask Theo but I don’t want to drag him into this. I can’t snoop unless I’m almost certain that Malfoy could help. As of right now, I know he’s quite experienced at occlusion and legilimency.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “I want to kill Ron.”

Hermione almost laughed. “Nearly blew the whole thing didn’t he.”

“As if he knows half of it. It isn’t as if you went rogue.”

Hermione winced. “No, I wouldn’t call the Imperius curse going rogue.” She willed her voice to resist cracking, her mind going blank as she practiced occlusion.

“If it makes you feel better, they’re all either in Azkaban or dead.”

Hermione snorted. “And the people that I…” Her occlusion cracked and her voice slipped, her breathing becoming ragged.

“We were in the middle of the war, Hermione. Something was bound to happen to all of us, and you’d never do that to anyone now. Not consciously.”

“They’d put me alongside the people in Azkaban if they’d found out. Imperius curse or not.” She ran a hand through her hair.

“If Ron says anything to anyone, I’ll take your side Hermione.” Harry turned to face her. “There is nothing that we could’ve done that day. If we can’t shut him down, I’d never let them put you in Azkaban, and if they try, we’ll fight our way out.”

“Together.” She sighed, closing her eyes.

“Worst case scenario, we go on the run.” He shrugged, a small smile looming on his face. “I call dibs on the country we go to. The only thing you’ll be missing out on would be becoming the Minister of Magic.”

Hermione smiled softly. “Not in the state I’m in now.”

“Well, once you fix your balance Hermione, you can run full force at it.”

She sighed. “Election season starts in a few months. If I miss this one, I’ll have to wait an entirety of four years.”

“Take the time while you’re in Beccles to figure it out. Go and unleash your magic in someone’s garden.”

She laughed. “The poor unsuspecting farmer.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair and stood, shaking the sand from his clothes. He extended a hand out to Hermione. “Let’s get you back to the manor. If you want my opinion, if anyone can help you with your magic, it’s Malfoy. You don’t have to tell him everything, and please make sure you can trust him first but… I think you can get past this, Hermione.”

She gave him a grim smile. If only she believed that too.

***

Harry left shortly after dropping Hermione back at the manor. She softly made her way up the stairs, neither Theo or Draco in sight. She supposed she owed Draco an explanation, but quickly realized that she had no idea where his rooms even were. Hermione frowned, perhaps on an upper floor?

She made her way to her own room and quickly bathed, and changed into the same Slytherin tee and shorts. Sighing, she braced herself. “Cricket?” She asked into thin air, almost embarrassed to be calling on the house elf.

Cricket, within seconds, materialized. “Miss Hermione!” She exclaimed. “What may Cricket do for you?”

“I was wondering if Mal—Draco was still awake and in his rooms.”

“Crickey believes so, ma’am. Shall she send for him?”

“Oh no, no, I’ll go to him if that’s easier.”

Cricket extended her small hand. “Come, Miss Hermione.”

Hermione swallowed and took the house elf’s hand. With a loud crack of elf-Apparation, Hermione found herself standing in front of a door quite similar to her own. She heard Cricket muttering away inside, and whatever Draco responded with. Another crack sounded, and she knew Cricket had left.

The door creaked open, and Draco opened it, looking moderately disheveled.

It appeared he had taken a bath; his pale hair was scraped back and practically dripping, and Merlin’s fucking beard he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Hermione’s eyes barely grazed his shoulders before she was beginning to forget why she was at his door. The same pyjama pants he had worn a few days ago were now slung low across his waist exposing his sketched v-line, and his arms—his absolutely muscled arms—were crossed and leaning against the door. “Granger.” He said, his grey eyes looking tired with borderline amusement.

She had to remember to breathe. “I… I owe you an explanation. From today.”

He kept his face blank as he opened his door further, gesturing for her to enter.

His room was almost a mirror of hers but with larger furniture. Dark green curtains were drawn at his windows, and small little decorations were placed ornately on top his nightstand. Hermione resisted the urge to march to his bookshelf to see what Malfoy would read.

Instead, Hermione slid into an armchair, happy the fire in his room was currently running. Draco perched himself on the edge of his bed. “Well firstly, I’d like to thank you for staying the night a few days ago when I asked.”

He gave her a solemn grin. “How could I possibly deny you?”

Hermione smiled. “And for tonight—I’m sorry for my outburst at Ron. I hope the chair I knocked over downstairs is fine.”

“It’s a good thing we have magic.”

“Muggles can fix chairs too you know.” She replied haughtily.

“I’m sure they can.”

“You…” Draco paused. “What was Weasel saying about the Death Eaters?”

Hermione paused, her tongue between her teeth. “There was…” She closed her eyes and remembered to occlude. Hermione knew her eyes had become dull, but this time Draco had no objections as he watched her collect herself. “This is confidential—no one but me, Harry, and Ron know.”

Draco nodded. “I won’t say anything, Granger.”

“Kingsley doesn’t know—anyone else that does is in Azkaban or… obliviated.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Granger.”

She smiled grimly, almost wincing. “There was a time during the War, where Ron left us in the woods where we were camping. It was right by the end—we were horcrux hunting and drained and—”

“And the Weasel left you two to rot in the woods.”

Hermione cut her eyes at him. “He left, and between that time and when we met him again, we were captured. It was… brief. Sort of.”

“What?” Draco’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “This was before the snatchers caught you and brought you to the Manor?”

Hermione shook her head. “This was after that, after we left Bill’s cottage.”

“How—”

“Harry and I were taking turns watching the tent at night. I thought I had heard something, so I stepped outside a few of our spell boundary lines—I was still supposedly invisible, but they could hear me breathing, or… I’m still not sure what it was that had them zero in on me. To this day I’m grateful it was me and not Harry.”

“Who—Hermione—”

“No idea who it was.” She shrugged; her voice also lowered to a hoarse whisper. “I was knocked out before I knew what was happening. The next thing I knew I was in front of the Dark Lor—Voldemort.”

Draco seemed to have stopped moving.

“And after that, I was under the Imperius. I did… atrocious things. No one knew who I was—none of the casual Death Eaters at least. Under the mask sometimes I pretended to be Pansy, sometimes Astoria, or Alecto. It wasn’t until his magic wavered… Harry was getting these dreams of him at this time and but…” Hermione took a deep breath. “Instead, Harry sent something back to him, and whatever it was, it wavered his magic so the Imperius broke—just for a second, so that I could get out. After this… we didn’t just have Voldemort’s necklace. Dumbledore never destroyed the Gaunt ring—Harry put the sword through it right after, Malfoy.”

“How—”

“Voldemort lost his power—I’m not sure if it was for a few minutes, or days, or weeks, but it was gone at one point once that ring was destroyed. And he never regained his Imperius on me, not with… I had learnt a lot of Dark Magic. I was taught under Bella—Bellatrix. He would’ve had to come and drag me back himself to get the Imperius back on me.”

“What did she teach you?”

Hermione’s eyes stared into Draco’s. “Anything that could have been used on Muggles, on any of the prisoners that were being kept in the various Manors. My magic has been used on Death Eaters a few times, as well.”

“You broke out from his Imperius.” Malfoy whispered.

“When that ring was destroyed, I felt his magic—his grip on me waver. I threw up a bubble of the same magic he taught me, and I was too far for him to have been able to try to regain it. I went on the run after that and eventually found Harry and Ron, but it wasn’t until after the Battle that I stopped using the magic I was taught.”

“Did you use those spells during the Battle?”

Hermione nodded, her eyes flicking to the fireplace.

“Fuck.”

Hermione let a small smile flicker across her face. “Indeed.”

Draco’s eyes were wide as he regarded her. He barked out a laugh. “I suppose you have every reason to occlude then.”

“Not if I want to run for Minister of Magic.”

If Draco was shocked before, it was nothing compared to his face now. He leapt to his feet. “I knew you would do it!”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Draco—”

“Theo has an entire plan you know—we got knackered one day and then he just wrote it all out and…” Draco’s excitement visibly faded as his gaze landed back on her face. “Granger, we’ll fix the occlusion thing—and find you the most iron-clad NDA bonded mind healer this world has to offer. We’ll balance your magical core again—the Dark Magic you might be used to won’t go away again, but you can learn how to live with it. Learn to live with it effectively, enough that you won’t need occlusion.”

“You think that’s possible?” Hermione whispered, standing up now almost inches away from his face.

He looked down at her, his chest heaving, a mixture of fear and hope and pride on his face. “You will become the Minister of Magic.”