The Fool, the Emperor, and the Hanged Man (Final Cut)

Part 1

Let me start by saying that I am not pretty…never have been, never will be; there are some times when I wish I were. Of course, I am not exactly ugly, either. Just…plain and unremarkable visually. All my features are in proportion, despite the fact my breasts have begun to sag a bit and my hair is an uncontrollable mess of curls and tangles. I have very nice eyes, I think, out of all my features, and nicely shaped lips. Light brown or, in strong light, amber would be the closest word for my eyes, and my lips? Lips like a china doll, pouting, plump and perfect...the only thing that is. But for all those qualities, do I get asked out on a Saturday night? Absolutely not. I am only vaguely woman-shaped, and well, I wouldn’t go out on a Saturday night anyway.

Everyone calls me Jean, it is only my middle name, and after the War and my aversion to my first name, the name stuck. I had encouraged it at first, the plainness of my middle name as compared to the weight of history my first name implied. Hermione Granger, war hero; Hermione Granger, Harry Potter’s best friend; Hermione Granger, the brains of the Golden Trio…I began to hate my name, so singular and heavy with history. So, when I went to work in the Department of Mysteries, I asked my few co-workers to call me Jean, explaining that I did not want any sort of special treatment for my part in the War. Ten years had passed, and most everyone I knew called me Jean. There are some exceptions, of course.

My life after the first few years after the War, had been quiet, and I have arranged it to be so, meticulously. My face had been splashed over the pages of the Daily Prophet far too many times; wild speculations about my life and my love life were becoming more and more ridiculous as the months passed. It was isolating. I had left my parents to continue to live in Australia in anonymous safety, completely unaware of my existence. I found that my Mum and Dad had come to love the people and the climate in their normal little town. Besides, all of their acquaintances in Britain had been Obliviated and could not even remember the Grangers had a dental practice. As for me, I stayed at the Burrow for a short time after the Battle of Hogwarts, ignoring owls, ignoring Harry and Ginny’s poorly concealed flirting, and ignoring Ron.

Ron…I had given in for two months to his advances. Our relationship was awkward, rushed, and unnatural to me. In the end, we parted on shaky terms, and I started on my way to a life of obscurity. That had been over eight years ago, and I have never returned to the Burrow or spoken to any of the Weasleys since. Occasionally, I will get Muggle postcards by owl from Ron, ones I never respond to. Ron travels extensively, part of an international organization to rout any Dark activities following Voldemort’s demise. It is a luxurious job, compared to mine. After Voldemort, many Dark organizations came to light, and ever since, Ron has been on many adventures, many life-threatening adventures. I, for one, am glad to be done with it all.

As for the hero of the Trio, the last time I had seen Harry Potter was at his wedding to Ginny Weasley at the Burrow soon after Ginny finished her last year and passed her exams. By that time, I had already begun to pull away from the life I had known. I had respectfully declined Ginny’s invitation to be a bridesmaid, and I had slipped out of the reception early, dodging reporters, old schoolmates, and surviving Order members. I discreetly Floo’d home, and stripped out of my dress robes, going to my desk to record the day and further my plans to remove myself from that world.

Mauerbauertraurigkeit, an apt German word or phrase, described my feelings rather well. Inexplicable? No, I knew why, but it was done with much fear and internal conflict. The crushing weight of expectation was too much to bear.

I sat for my NEWTs, and when I went through the interviews to begin working for the Ministry, I had to submit to the Wizarding world’s version of a psychological screening. The Mind Healer was an ancient man who had screened thousands of Ministry employees, and I was relieved when my name did not stir any unnecessary notice due to recent events. After several hours of answering questions about my life, how I felt in particular about the War and Ministry regulations, the Mind Healer sat back in his chair and regarded me with yellowed eyes.

‘Miss Granger, your aversion to interaction with society is disturbing. Obviously, you realize that this attitude is a reaction to the events of the past three years and your involvement in the War. However, as disturbing as the post-traumatic stress may be, you are of sound mind to handle the work. The hurdles you have overcome have strengthened you, and your achievements in academics are extraordinary. That being said, I will not contest that you are well suited for the position in the Department of Mysteries…’

The Mind Healer conducted me to the head of the Department of Mysteries, a gentleman named Alexander Roux, and I quickly became the youngest Unspeakable in Ministry history. And that was that. It was one of the first steps toward a life of privacy. The next step came when I took up residence in the only existing Wizard-made structure inside the boundaries of the Forbidden Forest.

My home was an ancient hunter’s cottage, nearly forgotten by the Wizarding world, but well-known to Hagrid. It had been Hagrid who had given me the cottage, after my asking him if there was a place, a private place, where I would not be bothered by the Press—they had left him alone, and I hoped he could impart his method. Hagrid did not realize that I was asking for a place to live, thinking I only needed a place to escape.  When I came to the cottage, however, I had all of my possessions in the pocket of an enchanted coat, and Crookshanks in his basket, dangling from my hand. I had not felt a sense of excitement like that in a very, very long time.

The cottage was set in a small clearing, only old wards keeping the Forest from devouring it completely in bracken and trees. It was an earth and wood structure, what seemed more like a Hobbit-hole to me than a cottage. There were only a few windows crusted with dust peering to the outside, and the wide door was low so that one would have to stoop to enter. Rising from the top of the earthen roof was a small stone chimney with vines growing over the rock. I remembered thinking that I had perhaps been too hasty to pile my entire life in my pockets and hands. I had already left my tiny flat in London for this broken-down cottage.

I stepped across the weak ward boundary, noticing immediately that the sun seemed brighter inside the small plot of land surrounding the cottage. I set the basket down at the door, noticing that the enchantments had kept the overgrown grass, of what I would eventually call the garden, from choking out the few flagstones that led to the door. I drew my wand, out of habit, and pushed against the red painted door, the wood as strong as it would have been when it was placed in the entrance centuries ago. The door opened with a low whine, and I looked inside what was to be my new home.

Dust and cobwebs littered the main chamber, but with a quick flick of my wand, the room was cleaned and freshened, even the windows of diamond glass panes scrubbed. The quality of light that came in through the windows was marvelous: warm, and homey. There was a small kitchen in the back of the cottage, sparkling after another Charm, a stone island counter in the middle of the kitchen, a small cooking fire in the back, and to my surprise, a low back entrance to the cottage, looking out into the Forest. The smallest room was an ancient water closet, which also submitted to cleaning. But perhaps the loveliest room was the bedroom, which made me wonder if the cottage had been a hunter's hovel or a lover’s bower. The bed was much larger than any I had ever had, built into the wall so that one could only enter by one side. The opposite side of the bed was graced with a wide window of similar diamond glass panes, looking out into the deep shade of the Forest. An oak wardrobe took up most of the space of the room besides the bed, carved with beautiful figures of animals of the forest, Centaurs, Thestrals, and unicorns.

I breathed fast and heavy, so excited by what I saw that I had totally forgotten about Crookshanks and his pathetic mewls from the basket on the doorstep. I flicked my wand from one place to another, clearing the Floo of the main fireplace and the smaller kitchen fire. I opened all the windows and let the air inside, I restored all the wood planking that held the low ceiling up, rescrubbed the stone floors, and I managed to squeeze another window, albeit small, into the water closet as well as updating the fixtures inside so that it was no longer a closet, but a proper bathroom with a sink and stone tub. It was then I let Crookshanks out, welcoming him to our new home. The animal took to the place immediately, curling up on an ancient chair before the cold fireplace.

The rest of that day, I fortified the wards around the cottage and tamed the grass so that it seemed someone cared. I unpacked my pockets, Transfiguring the furniture as I saw fit, and found no visible evidence left behind by a previous occupant. I began working the wards to make the cottage Unplottable, which expended a great deal of energy. I set up anti-Apparition wards as my last bit of work, before settling down before the fireplace and thinking of what I would have to do next.

And so, my life as a recluse began. Over the next few years my cottage was a piece of heaven in the Forbidden Forest. I made a point to know my neighbors, the Centaurs, and made a peace with them for being the only human living in the forests. I was allowed to move as I pleased as long as I did not disturb their herds or bring any attention from the outside world. The Centaurs found me odd, but tolerated me and my magic. They did not know where the cottage was due to the wards, but knew to avoid that particular clearing although they could not see the cottage or the smoke from the chimneys.

I started a garden, herbs at first, then potion ingredients, then vegetables. I began exploring the Forest, finding, to my amusement, an old path leading directly towards Hogwarts. Who had made the path, and when, was a mystery, but it led underground and into the dungeons of Hogwarts. It was a hidden path, and I could see that it had not been used in many years, decades perhaps, but it became my personal path back to the world.

I had my Floo connected, and using my celebrity, although I hate to think of my life in that manner, I had my Floo unlisted, and connected for calls only. I was the only person keyed to use the Floo to travel, and any attempt by an outside party would direct them to the Leaky Cauldron or to the Ministry. It was like Muggle caller ID, in a sense, but it made me feel a bit safer. Post still came by owl, but with no address to send the letter to, only clever owls found the cottage; all others went to Hagrid’s Hut or to Hogwarts where I would pick my mail up on the weekends. I no longer subscribed to the Daily Prophet; I no longer cared. I went to work every day, Floo-ing directly to the ninth level, and when my day was done, I would Floo home, never seeing the upper levels of the Ministry except on rare occasions.

That has been my life: avoiding the masses. The only people I saw are those at work, those who called me Jean. The only people who still called me Hermione were Ron (in his notes), Hagrid, Minerva McGonagall, and Albus Dumbledore’s portrait. I usually visited Hogwarts weekly, usually on the weekends to gather my post, and I usually had tea with Hagrid, or dinner with Minerva and Dumbledore’s portrait in her office. I frequented the library late at night with the Grey Lady a.k.a. Helena Ravenclaw, and together we read. My late night visits had garnered me a reputation as a ghost among some students, and the castle ghosts bolstered the rumor for their own amusements. I supposed I could have been considered a ghost by the way I moved about Hogwarts, knowing all the secret passages, seen one place and then appearing in another. I had been seen on the grounds, near the lake, near the tombs of Dumbledore and Severus Snape, near Hagrid’s Hut, near the Whomping Willow. I had even been sighted around the Shrieking Shack, but I know that bit of information is pure fiction.

Actually much about me these days was fiction. Hagrid informed me one winter day that the Prophet was running a series of articles about Harry and his defeat of Voldemort. Several photos surfaced, it seemed, of the last moments of the battle where Harry, Ron, and I were locked in an embrace of relief. I did not bother to look when Hagrid tried passing the paper to me. Hagrid had great, glittering tears in his eyes, but I only gazed out the window and to the Lake beyond.

It seemed that Harry had also decided to lead a life of obscurity, the Prophet had said. Harry had not been seen in years, and his wife Ginny was also unreachable for comments on the upcoming tenth anniversary of Voldemort’s fall. When Hagrid told me of what The Prophet wrote, I did not think much of it. Harry had always wanted to lead a normal life, outside of the spotlight of any news venue. And it seemed he had…

It was February, and in May it would have been ten years since that day… I do not think about it as often after so much time, and even though I traversed Hogwarts on a regular basis, the memories of what happened there did not torment me. I made myself walk along the paths I had taken that day…back to the Room of Requirement, back to the Shrieking Shack, back to the Great Hall. There were no lingering memories of the devastation, only the tombs of the two greatest Headmasters I had the pleasure of knowing in my lifetime. When I felt particularly maudlin about my life, I stopped by Snape’s tomb, and sat against it, looking out at the Black Lake. No portrait had been painted of Severus Snape, but at times I could still hear his voice in my head, berating me, as always. As for the other Headmaster, I only had Albus’ portrait to talk to, and more often than not, we talked about my work in the Time Room.

Work. 

I was glad it was over for me, for the day. It had been a long week, and I had several days off, at my request. I needed to find a new familiar, Crookshanks, finally having left me earlier in that week. I felt no grief at his passing; he had been old, and he had been good company, but it had been his time. Time… I felt another sigh forming as I stripped out of my Unspeakable robes and hung them on the back of my office door, shrugging into my heavy coat. Stepping out into the black marble corridor, the office door melting back into the stone, I heard someone bid me a good weekend, and I raised my hand in thanks in the direction of the voice. I did not want to have to think about being nice to a co-worker at that moment. I could only feel a knot of dread in my stomach at the thought of going to Diagon Alley and to Magical Menagerie. I had to go out into the public.

My coat, one of my prized possessions, would shield me, perhaps. I stuffed my hands into the pockets, the left pocket Charmed to be bottomless. I could feel my change purse there, my wand, a packet of tissues, a few phials of Pepper-up, the latest book I have been reading, several quills and bottles of ink, smaller collection phials, a couple Sickles, Ron’s last postcard, a pair of clean socks balled up, a parcel of clean clothes, a coupon for a free cone of ice cream at Fortescues’ several years expired, and lastly, an emergency Portkey to the gates of Hogwarts. Hagrid had given me the coat years ago, not long before he realized that I had taken up residence at the cottage. It had been his coat when he was a boy, and on me, it looked like a heavy leather duster. It was waterproof, warm, and able to be Transfigured into anything I wanted it to be.

As I went toward the ninth-level Floo, making sure that everyone had left before me, I Transfigured the coat into a heavy dark gray cloak with a hood that effectively obscured my face and features. The only part that did not Transfigure was the bottomless pocket, which was hidden on the inside of the cloak where I could easily reach it.

I was satisfied, and immediately Floo’d to the Leaky Cauldron. No one bothered to look up, as it was far too busy inside the establishment to notice a new arrival. Some of my dread lessened, and I moved quickly out the back, through the archway and into the crowded street. Was being able to weave through a crowd unnoticed a true talent, I wondered, making eye contact with no one, keeping my eyes to my boots on the street?

I squeezed into the Magical Menagerie and paused. Despite the cages of kittens and other cute animals outside the windows, the shop was relatively empty. It was not a holiday, and students were at school. I was not sure if I liked the fact the store was nearly empty or not. The few customers, milling about the cages, I did not recognize, so I ventured forward.

Ravens, some owls, rats (Merlin forbid!), Puffskeins, none of which I was hoping to buy.  In one corner were a couple cages of cats, not kittens, mind, but kittens that had not been bought before their cuteness gave out. That thought appealed to me, for some reason, and I went toward the languid felines, keeping an eye out for any orange, familiar fur balls.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

I tried not to reveal how startled I was when the proprietress with the thick black rimmed glasses stepped in front of me, blocking my path. I had half the mind to hex her, but remembered that I had to maintain some sense of social decorum.

“Those cats there, are they for sale?” I said with a bend of my head in the direction of the cages.

“Those old things? I would give them to you if you want. Too old to be cute anymore, none of the students wanted them in the fall…” the older woman cackled, making my hand begin to reach for my wand at the sheer improper volume of her voice.

Tut, tut, Jean …I heard a voice in my head drawl…Severus Snape’s voice.

“I have just lost a dear familiar, very dear, too old to be cute,” I managed to get out between my teeth.

The older woman stepped back, and I wondered if I had been too forceful. Maybe she recognized my voice; surely she couldn’t see my face…could she?

“There’s a couple half-Kneazles in the bunch, they are quite popular pets nowadays.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, a long time ago I sold that Granger girl one…it was mentioned in The Prophet when they did a profile about her a year or so ago…and ever since…well…”

I wanted to start laughing, to throw my head back and howl. I had become a trend for girls, it seemed, or at least Crookshanks had. I suddenly wondered how that old half-cat would feel about that…and I missed him.

“Interesting,” I said, swallowing my thoughts. “I shall look at these.”

The older woman finally moved away, calling back to let her know if I needed anything. I did not answer, but stood before the cages and the six animals inside, gazed back lazily, unperturbed. I pulled the hood back a bit to look in their eyes, some yellow, some green…but one half-Kneazle looked back at me with curious eyes, curious gray eyes. I focused on the half-Kneazle with the odd eyes and bent lower.

The half-Kneazle was barely a kitten, and how in the world no one would consider it cute, was anyone’s guess. It was a male half-Kneazle, gray eyes, gray fur, marked more like a Siamese cat. Its fur was not as long as many of the other cats, but I knew immediately it was truly a half-Kneazle. When I had first found Crooks, the connection had been immediate, sudden, and unexpected. I had almost forgotten.

I smiled as the cat stretched on his side and stood, coming to the door of the cage, sticking his gray nose between the bars.

“Hello there, what is your name?” I asked softly, having asked the same to Crooks all those years ago.

I leaned closer, only recoiling as a clawed paw smacked the tip of my nose, not scratching me, but swatting at me playfully. I stifled a laugh as I poked at the outstretched paw, feeling only the tips of its claws in my finger.

“Want to live with an old, ugly witch?” I asked softly, reaching through the bars with my other hand to scratch behind the cat’s ear.

A tiny meow was all it took. I pulled the half-Kneazle from his cage and cradled him in my arms. When his nose touched mine, I knew.

I paid only ten Sickles. If it had not been so cheap, I would have found it an outrage. This half-Kneazle was worth far more, but I did not complain. I carried my new familiar in my arms, my fingers finding his short coat soft and silky, so different from Crooks. This animal was slimmer, more suited for pouncing on a mouse than lying about in armchairs.

I knew I couldn’t take him through the Floo, so I Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, moving quickly onto the grounds just as the sun was setting. The grounds were snowy and frozen, and I half expected to see students outside playing, throwing snowballs, but there was no one about. Even in the Entrance Hall, I met no one, but I could hear voices in the Great Hall, and knew everyone was tucked into a warm, hearty meal.

Making my way to the dungeons, I pulled my wand and cast a Lumos to light the way.  My new familiar was gazing about, but did not struggle or make a noise. Deeper and deeper I moved, possibly being only one of a few to ever travel so deep. Finally, I came to a wet statue of a large troll, half life-size and stained with mildew. It was behind the troll that I would find the path home. At the light of my wand and a low utterance of my password ‘girl’s bathroom’, I was in the tunnel leading out and into the Forbidden Forest.

With a steady pace, it was a good hour’s walk from Hogwarts to the cottage. It would take longer walking in the dark, since it was not a good idea walking about the Forbidden Forest with a lit wand. So I started, first, ending the Transfiguration of my coat so that I could tuck my new familiar inside the normal pocket where he could be warmer.

Snow littered the old path, but as the moon began to rise with its face half hidden, the path was a trail of silver through the dark trees. My breath came out in ghostly white puffs as I climbed a steep bank, the roots of a nearby tree my only foot hold. I was nearly home.

Coming upon the clearing, I felt a familiar sensation of magic: the wards I had placed to keep intruders from coming to the edge of the garden. I paused, glancing down at the animal in my pocket that was peering up with Sickle-like eyes. I stepped through the invisible barrier, letting the magic recognize me and the animal. My boots landed on the snow-covered grass and the wards seemed to breathe a sigh—the Mistress of the plot was home.

Quickly, I moved inside the cottage, locking the door behind me and pointing my wand to the fire so that it raged to spread heat through the small space. I set the cat, it being half-cat as well as half-Kneazle, in the armchair before the fire, as I doffed my coat and hung it on a peg attached to a support beam between the main room and the kitchen. I tucked my wand under my arm and went to the cupboards, a cooler in one, to pull out a bottle of cream. Soon I placed a saucer of warm cream on the hook rug before the fire and the cat jumped down and sniffed, before lapping at his meal. I sat in the now vacant chair and watched the cat.

“What should I call you?” I asked aloud, more to myself than to the cat.

As if in response, the cat looked up and regarded me for a moment, its silver eyes coolly assessing me, and apparently finding me satisfactory. I grinned.

“Malfoy. You just gave me one of those glances…and you did not call me a Mudblood…” I laughed softly, resting my head on my fist, watching the cat lap up the cream. “Malfoy. I haven’t thought about him in a long time…”

The cat mewled softly, finished with his meal, and leapt up into my lap. I stroked his gray fur until he curled up in my lap to nap.

“I cannot remember the last time I saw that ferret. It doesn’t matter though…he’s probably enjoying some silly little life of prejudice and decadence…” I whispered, looking into the fire.

There were so many people I had not thought about in a long time. There were even those I had forgotten completely. When Hagrid mentioned names, it would take a long while for me to remember who they were. Maybe it was a good thing I was forgetting.

Malfoy, the cat, was proving to be a wonderful familiar, and perhaps that was due, in part, to his youth. Crooks was not young when I found him, and he was never as playful or so much company as Malfoy.

Malfoy liked the garden, and he liked stalking the wood mice, but never to kill, only to threaten. He watched me read, or curled up on my feet as I lounged on the fainting couch I installed two years ago against the wall near the fire. When I slept, he slept in the crook of my body whichever way I laid. He liked cream in the mornings, as much as I liked coffee (a part of my new life, eschewing English tea), and for dinner, a can of tuna or salmon.

I was glad my new familiar had settled into my home so easily. The day came that I would be leaving him home alone, and I explained to him that many days would be spent alone. The cat only gazed at me coolly and glanced away in a haughty manner that just proved that I named him well.

I had two more days off. A warm snap allowed me to move about the Forest a bit, to gather some things I had promised for Professor Slughorn, things that the old man did not have the strength or bravery to acquire on his own from the Forest. I did not mind, Horace gave me books, books I would not have been able to acquire from the Library or from the Ministry. That day it was to gather aquatic moss from the many brooks in the Forest, used in various potions, but most prominently in Horace’s version of a sleeping draught.

I dressed in my favorite pair of fatigue pants, thermal undershirt, oversized green jumper, American military issue mountain boots I had found in a thrift shop in Muggle London, and my old coat. Bidding Malfoy a goodbye, I left the domain of my home for the domain of the Forest.

In February, the sun rarely shone down through the thick branches of the trees, so there was still thick snow on the ground. The wind was not so cold in the shelter of the Forest, but my cheeks and nose were wind kissed and most likely red. The brooks were not frozen, but a month before, it would have been difficult to get Horace his moss. I left the path to places that perhaps I only knew, perhaps the only human who knew such places. There were so many invisible lines in the forest, and I knew them all after so many years. There were places I did not go, and there were places where I would often meet Centaurs that would speak with me from time to time. I had to go near one of those invisible lines, and as I did, the brook in sight, I heard a whistle.

I must not move when I hear this call, so I froze mid-step and pulled my hands from my pockets. I could feel their eyes upon me; I could feel that they knew who I was, and that I was unarmed. Two long whistles sounded after what seemed like minutes and I bowed slowly, pointing to the brook nearby. I was free to go.

After the War, no real effort had been made to soothe relations between the Centaurs and Wizarding kind. The Centaurs had been so helpful during the Last Battle, and only Firenze and a few others kept in constant contact with the Ministry. I, on the other hand, as a human, kept in contact with the Centaurs, not as a Ministry representative, but as a concerned citizen of the Forest. It was an agreement made soon after I moved into the cottage—I would keep the Centaurs apprised of the Ministry’s intentions regarding the Forest, and they would keep me apprised of any unusual movements in the Forest. For years there had been peace.

I stopped next to the brook and drew out a few empty phials from my bottomless pocket, uncorking the first of four and filling it with water. I drove my right hand into the freezing brook to grasp a clump of moss on the bottom. I repeated this process until all of my phials were full, and shoved them down into my pocket again as I rose. Glancing about, I bowed shortly again, and retraced my steps to the path.

It was a tedious process, at times, gathering stores for Horace. I pretended not to know what the ingredients were for. I never entered his office either, although every time I came by, he would ask. When he first realized who was stealing by his dungeon office door he pinned me down one night, demanding to know why I was in Hogwarts…did the Headmistress know? I explained myself, and then posed a thinly veiled threat that my comings and goings in Hogwarts not become public knowledge lest some unsavory details of his past be splashed across the front pages of The Prophet.

Horace called me ‘downright Slytherin’…and I took it as a compliment.

It was not quite midday when I went into the underground passage. I wondered if I would be able to catch Minerva without being seen by the students. It was a weekday, and at midday most students would be at lunch, so perhaps…

Past the troll statue and through the dark I moved. There had been times, such as this one, that I did not need a wand to light my way. Every step had become a habit.

There were no students about when I came to Horace’s office door, knocking four times in slow succession so that he knew who was at the door. This way of knocking had also become a habit.

When the door opened, it was to find a flustered Slughorn whose eyes were rimmed in red.

“Miss Granger, my dear girl, have you got the moss?”

I nodded, studying Horace’s flushed face.

“You need to come in, my dear, this time you must !”

I frowned. Horace was always adamant that I come and have tea, but the tremor in his voice, the redness of his eyes, made me step inside, a knot tightening in my stomach. Something was not right.

I pulled out the phials before I got lost in my ruminations at Horace’s condition, and pressed them into his meaty hand. He thanked me quickly, setting the moss on his neat desk before ordering me toward the fireplace.

“Take the Floo to the Headmistress’ office, quickly, my dear!”

I blinked as Horace pressed a jar of Floo powder into my hand, and shoved me toward the fire. I maneuvered quickly, and called for the Headmistress’ office, twisting out into the room, finding almost all the professors, Hagrid, Arthur Weasley, and Neville Longbottom standing about the circular room. Whatever conversation had been going on stopped as all eyes fell upon me.

I had been tricked, I was sure of it. Was this some sort of intervention ? How dare Horace Slughorn!

All of this slid through my mind, and immediately out of it.

“Hermione…”

I winced at the sound of that name coming from Neville Longbottom, the Herbology Professor, and deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. He had grown into a handsome man, I had to admit, but I knew that he and Luna Lovegood had been a couple, albeit unmarried, on and off for the past ten years. I had not seen Neville since Harry and Ginny’s wedding, making it clear to Minerva and Hagrid that I did not want Neville knowing I was coming in and out of Hogwarts.

Neville came forward, stretching out his hands toward me, and I, as silly as it seemed, recoiled as if he were coming to attack me. My movement did not go unnoticed by the other professors, or by Arthur Weasley who moved next, calling me Jean, and not Hermione.

“My dear, it is good to see you…” he began.

Of course, Arthur would know that everyone called me Jean; he still worked at the Ministry and surely had seen the memos with my name…

At the sound of my name, my middle name, I relaxed slightly. Arthur had aged, but his face was still as kind as it had always been. I suddenly wondered why he was there…at Hogwarts.

“I wish the circumstances could be better, my dear…”

“What do you mean?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

Hagrid blew his nose on a tablecloth-size handkerchief, and looked at me with watery eyes. He shook his great head and I felt my stomach plummet. I began looking around…Flitwick was there, Sinistra, Horace was in Floo-ing up behind me, causing me to step forward into the room…Neville, Hagrid, even Trelawney and Hooch.

“It’s Minerva. She’s…” Arthur began, resting his hands on my shoulders, staring me in the eye.

I shrugged him off, perhaps a bit too violently, and moved towards the stairs leading up to the private chambers of the Headmistress. But a voice stopped me in my tracks.

“She’s gone, Miss Granger…early this morning. When she did not come down for breakfast, I had Dilys go up to the heath painting in her bedroom and check…”

It was the voice of Albus Dumbledore, his portrait hanging just beside the Headmistress’ desk. 

“How?” I asked, shock starting to penetrate the defenses I had laid in my mind.

Albus shook his head and pulled his glasses from his pencil thin nose. “Uncertain.  Poppy is up there now, preparing the…the body.”

The hand I had laid on the brass banister of the stairs fell limply to my side. Suddenly the eyes that were upon me did not matter, and I felt myself begin to fall. I did not faint, but it was Hagrid who caught me from falling completely. I could hear some of the professors voice their concern, and I heard Neville begin to usher them out of the office, telling all of them to forget they saw me, and tell nothing to the students, as he would make an announcement over dinner.

Hagrid held me tight before setting me on a chair…and I realized it was Minerva’s chair, behind her desk.

“You alright, ‘mione?” Hagrid asked softly.

I couldn’t move as I looked up at Hagrid, Neville, and Arthur. I felt like I was seventeen again, small and weak. So many of the old emotions washed over me that I felt nauseous.

“I was going to send an owl…” Hagrid started, but stopped, looking down into my face.  I can only imagine what he saw.

It was a few more quiet moments before I could speak, and when I did, I was surprised at the venom that spewed from my mouth.

“Why are you here, Arthur?”

The men that stood around the desk glanced at each other, even Albus stiffened in his portrait, and I knew…I knew it was not just about Minerva. The old suspicions began to awaken, and I swallowed my own vomit.

Albus had said ‘uncertain’.

Minerva was old, I knew, but not so old in Wizarding terms.

“There has been an incident, Jean…” Arthur began, glancing quickly at Albus. “Harry is missing.”

I blinked once, twice. Those words meant nothing to me.

“Don’t you read the paper, Hermione?” Neville asked, and I instinctually winced again. It was not just the mention of my name, but the tone Neville used.

“I do not , Neville.”

My words came out thick, and I shoved my hand into my bottomless pocket and found a phial of combo Pepper Up and Fortifying Draught. I tried to ignore the look Neville and Arthur shared as I downed the potion, but I noted that look in the back of my mind. The potion coursed through me, and I immediately felt better, my mind not as sluggish, and my stomach not as tense.

Minerva was dead, and I had to keep it together.

“Two days ago, Harry escaped from St. Mungo’s. He injured a Healer, resulting in the Healer’s death. No one has been able to track him, until today .”

Arthur’s voice was taut, as if barely able to contain some intense emotion. I narrowed my eyes…reading the space between the words.

“He was here?”

“We believe so. The authorities have been called, but we wanted to investigate first before they came.”

I closed my eyes and rubbed a hand over my face.

“Why was Harry at St. Mungo’s, Arthur?”

My voice was calm, too calm, and when I opened my eyes, I could see that all four men, three living, one made of oil, were staring at me with fear in their eyes. I remembered these sorts of eyes, I remembered them when they looked at me at Order meetings, after the Last Battle when I advised that Voldemort’s body be disposed of and stasis Charms be put on others so that the Aurors could sort out who had killed whom. It was the suggestion that those who were captured have their memories stripped from them and saved as they were fresh and untampered. It was the fear they had for me because I had not collapsed into a puddle of emotional goo. It was the fear they had for my strategic and, at times, cold frame of mind.

This was something I had been trying for a decade to avoid.

Our pasts always catch up with us, Jean… Severus Snape’s voice said in a dark corner of my brain, the name ‘Jean’ spat out.

“Ron did not tell you?” Arthur breathed, running a hand through his thinning red hair. It was a question not really posed toward me, I knew. It was an accusation.

“Ron and I have not spoken in person for years, Arthur, and what contacts I have with him are through postcards. This fact is partly my own fault…” I conceded softly.  “So, tell me what Ron didn’t.”

Perhaps it was the fact I was sitting in Minerva’s chair, or perhaps it was my growing irritation that I had been discovered by so many people when I had relished my life of relative solitude…I didn’t know…but I felt magic in my voice, and it burned my throat.

“A year after the wedding, Harry began displaying strange behaviors…” Arthur started. “It only got worse as time went on. Molly and I thought it was depression, post-traumatic stress, something manageable with potions.”

I frowned, deeply. I could feel my face contorting.

“But it wasn’t.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “Once Harry struck Ginny, that was the beginning of the end. Everything snowballed from that moment. He stopped going to work, and eventually he was suspended from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Ron tried to talk to Harry, but Harry wouldn’t come out of his study. When the elves could no longer force Harry to eat or bathe, St. Mungo’s was called.”

I sighed. I could see it in my mind. Harry hitting Ginny, Ginny returning the Burrow, distraught…Ron going to the Potter house and trying to break down the door…Kreacher trying to bully or denigrate Harry to eat and bathe…and Harry…and Harry…

What was Harry doing?

“St. Mungo’s evaluated Harry, and declared him insane.”

My body lurched, and before I could stop it, I was laughing. I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t control the laughter that poured from me, and I couldn’t stop the tears leaking out of the corner of my eyes. They all stared at me, horrified , even Albus.

Harry had been so sane even when he feared he was not. Even after Voldemort was gone, Harry left two of the Hallows behind. I still had the book, The Tales of Beedle the Bard... That book rested on the carved headboard of my bed. It was the thought of that book that made my laughter die slowly. I was wiping my face, hugging myself; surely I was the one who looked insane. We would never be free of the Deathly Hallows, would we?

“Insane…” I said.

Neville glanced at Hagrid, but I could not read into that look.

“As in ‘incurably’? Or was there a reason why my best friend was committed to outside care?”

The anger caved in upon me, and the venom returned to my voice.

Arthur tried to appear calm, but I could tell…I could just tell that he was trying his best to not let the fear consume him.

“It was…” he started, but quickly cleared his throat, “It was what one of the Mind Healers called a post-traumatic psychosis. In Harry’s case, the psychosis is fuelled by his innate magical ability. There is no cure, no conventional cure. Therapy and time were all St. Mungo’s could see as an ultimate solution. But, something sparked the psychosis, and we still do not know what it was. And now, something else sparked this episode.

He has not been so violent before. When he hit Ginny, he immediately regretted it, but now he is so deep into the psychosis that he thinks Ginny is a First Year girl. He used to call me Dad, but he calls me Mr. Weasley again…”

Tears filled Arthur’s eyes and he quickly yanked off his glasses before his tears clouded the lenses.

As for me, I could only stare through narrowed eyes at the man. I knew that I had disassociated myself from the Weasley family, but surely… surely someone would have let me know that Harry was possibly permanently in care at St. Mungo’s. I frowned.

“He escaped. When ?”

“Two days ago. He managed to break through the protective wards and escape into Muggle London. He didn’t have any money or a wand…” Arthur explained, his voice cracking.

“And somehow, despite all odds, he made it to Hogwarts? How?”

“We are not sure, Miss Granger, but I assume that his innate magical ability, coupled with his strong feelings for this school somehow brought him here,” Albus supplied.

I sat back into Minerva’s chair, hearing movement from the chamber above.

“What does this have to do with Minerva?” I asked, tiredly.

I was almost afraid to ask, but I tried to expect the answer I got.

“We believe that Harry might either be responsible for Minerva’s death or have knowledge of what caused it,” Arthur answered, the sorrow in his voice painful, for even me.

“How could he have slipped past the portraits in this office? Or the wards on Minerva’s chambers?”

Albus shook his head, even as a painting, he seemed weary. I blew out a breath, ruffling a piece of hair that had fallen from my ponytail. I was very put out. I saved my sorrow at Minerva’s passing for another time; it would have to be anger about Harry’s situation that would propel my thoughts now.

“What has Madame Pomfrey determined so far?” I asked, my hands clutching the armrests of Minerva’s chair…and suddenly I realized that the chair would shortly be Neville’s. I turned my eyes to Neville and saw how stricken he looked, standing before me, his hands resting on the edge of the desktop.

“Minerva did not struggle. Or so it seems at the moment,” Albus said with a sigh.

My thoughts whirled, and I rose from the chair and moved to the stairs before any of the men could stop me.

“I wouldn’t, Miss Granger. The investigators will be here shortly, and only Poppy and Neville have been in the room. It would not do to have any trace of you in the room,” Albus warned.

Ever the voice of reason, I thought with a mental snort. Albus was right. My involvement with the inner workings of Hogwarts was strictly off the record. Surely, I could think of an excuse to explain my presence at that very moment, as could Arthur Weasley, but in Minerva’s bedroom…that would be harder.

“I assume that Harry’s escape from St. Mungo’s has garnered the Aurors’ attention as well?”

Arthur nodded solemnly and Hagrid moaned in grief. Neville opened his mouth to speak, but closed it with a resigned snap. I ignored the urge to embrace the half-giant and again let my hand fall from the brass railing to my side.

“ And I assume that Harry has not been found on the grounds?”

“The professors, elves, and paintings have searched, but no one has seen him,” Neville said with a sigh.

I bit my lip. “Then how do you know…”

“The school’s wards,” Albus stated, regarding me knowingly.

I nodded. The wards were keyed to me the moment I moved into the cottage. I was aware that the ancient wards that protected the cottage were connected to Hogwarts, if merely by geographic location. However, the wards would not be keyed to Harry or anyone else that was not living on or invited onto the grounds. There was a process to the wards, and ten years had passed since Harry had lived on the grounds. Only a dim recollection of Harry would remain in the near-sentient wards, not enough to alert the school that someone ‘different’ had come and gone. After Voldemort, the wards had been changed for the protection of the school and the students. Although Harry would be welcome, his magical signature would be logged and filed as ‘different’. The Aurors would see this.

“But you cannot be certain. It could have been anyone!”

I knew my words were falling on deaf ears, all in the room, even Hagrid, had already made up their minds.

“Where would he be now? Surely not Hogsmeade…”

My words died and my eyes fixed upon Albus’. Shit .

“With the additional wards, Miss Granger, I doubt it will be found.”

Only half of me felt relieved, but the other half dug into the pocket of my coat for my wand. Just touching the wood made me feel a bit better, but I did not draw it out, yet.

“What are you talking about?”

Hagrid had not asked, as he already knew. Hagrid was not nearly as dim as most people thought, and through the years, he knew exactly when to keep his mouth shut.

It had been Neville who was now standing upright, his arms crossed loosely across his trim chest. He truly cut a handsome figure, but I couldn't help but despise him at that very moment.

“It is of no concern, Professor Longbottom. Now, we should begin to prepare ourselves for the investigators, they will have questions, and possibly more information. Arthur, perhaps you should alert your family to some of what we have learned. Do not mention Harry’s visit here,” Albus instructed, his eyes twinkling even through the layers of oil.

“Hagrid, go to the gates: surely the Ministry will be here at any moment.”

Hagrid nodded and laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. I tried to smile, but gave up quickly, only able to pat Hagrid’s fingers before he left the office. Arthur left by Floo, leaving Neville and myself to look at each other.

“Perhaps I should check with Poppy…” Neville said softly, apparently thankful to tear his eyes away from me. I stepped aside to let Neville pass up the stairs and out of earshot.

“Take care, Miss Granger. You know the Forest now, better than Hagrid. If Harry is there, I fear that he may find a spot of danger with the Centaurs. He does not know the boundaries; he does not know the rules. If you should find him there, incapacitate him, and bring him to safety.”

I scowled. Albus and I had never seen eye to eye, although I would never argue with a man who was my senior, and had been far more experienced.

“He will be sent to Azkaban, insane or not, Albus.”

Albus nodded.

“And if he has murdered…” I choked unexpectedly, near to vomiting. “If he had anything to do with Minerva, he will be executed.”

Albus nodded again, his expression grave.

I felt my face contort, and then it came—something I had been wanting to say for over a decade.

“This is all your fault.”

His painted face turned away, but he did not nod. I sneered and moved across the office to the Floo.

“Where are you going, Miss Granger?”

Albus’ voice was desperate, but for which reason, I did not know. I did not turn back, but stopped before the fireplace.

“Home. If the Aurors want me, tell them to send an owl. Have Hagrid send me one, as well, when the funeral arrangements have been set.”

With that, I grabbed the Floo powder and threw it into the fire. Stepping inside, I called ‘The Cottage’, and whirled, in a wave of green, home.

Part 2

Feline Malfoy let me hold him as I cried into his gray fur, purring oddly enough. I had barely stepped out of the fireplace of the Cottage before I began breaking down. All that I felt for Minerva came out in my grief. She had been my Head of House, my friend, and my surrogate mother for so many years. She was gone… gone forever …gone before her time. I was losing my preferred family, what little I had.

I cried for twenty minutes straight before I started to think about Harry. As soon as his face, his young face, swam into my thoughts, I started to retch. Malfoy hissed when I dropped him, and I ran for the loo, vomiting the contents of my stomach, intestines, and what felt like my bowels. I was still crying, and I could feel vomit in my nose and not just my mouth. Falling back against the bathtub, I moaned. My face was swollen, my hair disgusting, my clothes wet with sweat, and my heart breaking, or at least what was left of it.

My mental image of Harry was of him on his wedding day, the last time I had seen him. He was so happy that day. His hair was still as untidy, his eyes still as green, his dress robes cut to perfection, and his smile radiant like the sun itself. The lightning bolt scar had faded so that it was barely noticeable, and his demeanor spoke of a man who had gotten, finally , everything he had ever wanted. A family…a wife…a home…normalcy.

I retched again, but nothing came. Malfoy watched me curiously from the door, his long, thin silver tipped tail swishing back and forth along the stone floor. I sat for a long time, staring at the cat, letting my body and mind settle. A very long time passed before I was able to stand to pull my wand from my coat and begin cleaning up after myself.

It was dark before I felt comfortable again in a nightgown and fuzzy slippers, a rare cup of herbal tea, and Malfoy on my lap before the fire. My head ached, but the tea was helping. No owls had come, and I felt thankful for the privacy once again. I decided that in the morning I would call on the Centaurs, a thing I had done only once when I moved into the cottage, and inform them of the current state of things. That had been our agreement, after all.

I would have to return to work again; it seemed like a sanctuary to me. No one at work had mentioned Harry before, why would they now? No one pried into my personal life…everyone called me Jean. I almost looked forward to work.

And I winced, thinking of how I must have looked in Minerva’s office—neurotic, jaded, surly.

I slept fitfully that night, and when dawn came, I was already preparing a trek into the Forest. I fed Malfoy his cream, and told him to look after the Cottage, I wouldn’t be gone long. And I wasn’t. The Centaurs were immediately upon me when I came to the edge of the nearest boundary. Two males, scouts by the look of them, listened as I told them about Harry. I asked that if they did find him to inform Hogwarts immediately. The Centaurs nodded, and I expressed my thanks. To my surprise the Centaurs thanked me for the news, I did not ask why. I made it back to the Cottage within two hours of leaving to find a familiar owl waiting on the outside sill of the kitchen window.

“‘mione, funeral in two days by the Lake. Love, Hagrid.”

The scribbles had become so familiar to me that if it had been ten years before, I would have had a hard time reading the tear-stained missive. I clutched the note to my chest and let out a sob.

It was real. Minerva was dead.

I swallowed my tears, fed the owl while Malfoy watched jealously, and penned a quick note back to Hagrid.

‘Be there in the early morning, let’s have breakfast tea. Love, ‘mione.’

I had to call off work again. I had at least two month’s worth of leave, and I had barely touched it. So, the call to work was no pain on my part, only a hint of disappointment from the Department Head who had apparently counted on me too much, but sympathized with my situation.

I went to my wardrobe and found a dress that would be suitable; a dress I knew Minerva liked, as it had been hers, many years ago. I held the dress up to my body in the mirror inside the wardrobe and smiled. I had never been one for fashion, most of my clothes were old and worn. The only thing I ever spent money on were shoes.

The dress was black sateen with a mid-calf hem, the waist was belted with wide leather, and the neckline draped in the front, almost obscenely. The back buttoned up, and the sleeves, belled and cuffed, came just past my elbows. It was a bit old-fashioned, but it was elegant. Coupled with my mother’s pearls, a pair of black patent leather pumps and a net hat, I would have made Minerva proud, looking every bit like a 1940s cinema femme fatale, missing only a small silver gun in my handbag. It had been Minerva’s favorite dress, and Minerva had given it to me.

Sad smiles were all I could manage to my reflection in the mirror. It would be pretty enough for me , I knew.

Hagrid said I looked pretty when I entered his hut, breakfast already set out. The funeral was not until noon. During my covert jog between the castle and the hut, I could see that Neville was overseeing the placement of chairs before the Lake. Apparently, Minerva was to be interred in a tomb next to Albus. I idly wondered if her portrait was already installed in, now, Neville’s office.

“It’s gonna be hard for him, ‘mione,” Hagrid said when I mentioned Neville.

Hagrid passed me an oversized cup and saucer, careful not to spill any on my lap as we sat around his kitchen table. I nodded at his words and took a sip of strong black tea, trying not to cough. It has taken years of Hagrid’s tea for me not to choke.

Setting the cup and saucer on the table, I studied my muddy boots. I had slipped my pumps into the pocket of my coat, which rested across the wide armrest of Hagrid’s armchair. I had walked through the Forest, foregoing the Floo in case I would be seen.

“The Aurors have not contacted me, have they talked to everyone else?”

“Everyone they believed to be of so-called importance,” Hagrid said before blushing. He thought he had insulted me, but I smiled. Hagrid had not meant anything ill by his words.

“I doubt there would be much I could say,” I said with a shrug. It was true, I had no real information, only speculation. There was so much I did not know.

“I haven’ heard a thing. Neville and Arthur don’ know much, either. The investigators came, and one of the Department Healers inspected…inspected the body…”

Hagrid dissolved into tears. All I could think to do was pat his large hand and push his tea toward him. Recovering quickly, Hagrid sipped loudly at his tea and wiped his tears into his hair.

“They suspect foul play, then?”

Hagrid nodded, apparently not ready to speak just yet. I sat back into the rough wood of the kitchen chair. If only I could see the Healer’s report…

“But there’s no way Harry could have done it, ‘mione, you know that, don’ ya?” Hagrid asked miserably.

I could not answer. I did not know what to think.

“The Aurors probably believe that Minerva and Harry are connected…that is usually their thinking…” I spat.

“They are still workin’ with Neville to access the wards; they were workin’ late last night. There were a few of them walkin’ the grounds with their wands out, like they were searchin’ for something.”

I hummed to myself, and remembered my tea. We sat drinking in silence for a long time, the fire nice and warm against my left side. I turned our conversation to a lighter note, mentioning Feline Malfoy. Although I told Hagrid I still couldn’t think of a suitable name. I blanched internally at the reaction Hagrid would have at the name I had chosen.

“Those half-Kneazles are sharp creatures. You couldn’ have a full Kneazle, they’re too full of themselves, not personable at all…” Hagrid went on, apparently thankful for something lighter to talk about. I found that I was thankful for light conversation, as well.

We talked about old times, the times where Hagrid had acquired some new creature or another. We talked about Buckbeak and Norbert. After a while, we were laughing again, like we had only a few weeks before. It was not long until noon came upon us, and we quickly arranged ourselves, Hagrid donning his ugly fur dress coat and me my pumps. I Transfigured my coat into a warm cloak and threw it over my shoulders, raising the hood.

As I walked with Hagrid, I could already see the people gathering along the shore, and the smaller white tomb in which Minerva was to be laid. Walking with my old friend, I felt as if we were trying to be strong for each other, glad to have each other. Hagrid had once again taken up the duty of placing the body, and he excused himself to go to the castle, and I suddenly felt bereft.

The wind was brisk off the Lake, and I lowered my hood a bit more. I noticed many familiar faces: Hogwarts staff, Ministry officials, and the stiff formality of Aurors. I placed myself in the penultimate row of chairs, on the outside of the group. I sat down and waited, watching as people began filling in the chairs. I spotted the Weasley clan, or what remained of it, toward the front. Ginny was not there. Ron was not present either, which did not surprise me. Surely he was off somewhere around the other side of the world and unable to come. I spotted the Lovegoods near the Weasleys, as well as Neville’s grandmother who had been the same age as Minerva.

There were other familiar families, all once having been Gryffindors or contemporaries with Minerva. But none of them noticed me, just as I wanted it.

When the funeral began, I remembered Dumbledore’s service. Minerva’s was much smaller than his. Hagrid came from the castle, carrying what was left of my mentor, wrapped in a red velvet shroud. He was crying just as he had been at Albus’ funeral, and I, despite my best efforts, began to cry as well.

It was Professor Flitwick who did the formalities, nearly breaking down twice as Hagrid laid the body atop the tomb. Flitwick spoke the last words, ‘so mote it be’.  The tomb flashed brilliant gold, and Minerva McGonagall was entombed. I shuddered.

The crowd began to dissipate then, some heading for the gate, others for the castle for a small reception. I sat very still as they passed, unnoticed by all. And when I deemed it safe, I stood. There were only a few people lingering; Aurors mostly, Neville and Arthur talking with an Auror I did not recognise. I moved toward the tomb, noticing that the current Gryffindor house had sent a wreath of red and yellow roses. I smirked through my tears; Minerva had cared little for roses. She preferred wildflowers, the best the Highlands had to offer. I was of the same mind. Neither of us were the hothouse flower type.

The white marble was warm from the winter sunlight as I laid my hand upon it. Three people who had been important to my development lay on this shore, and I glanced at the other two tombs. All three had been heroes, Minerva the only one to survive Voldemort’s madness. She would be the last to be entombed on this shore.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard Severus Snape snicker, and the words ‘I’m no hero,’ echo through the ether. I smiled. Snape had been a hero to me. As had Minerva.

“Any thoughts on Minerva McGonagall’s passing, Miss Granger?” a voice said from behind me and very close to my ear.

I whirled about, pulling my wand. Not another damn reporter!

But as my hood shifted, I saw that I was not aiming at a reporter, not unless he had taken up the profession.

“Oh, hexing me would not be a good idea, Miss Granger,” he drawled, his gloved hands up in a pose of surrender.

My eyes narrowed. I wanted to cackle insanely, I wanted to attack, I wanted to scream for help, and I wanted to quickly disappear all at the same time. Of all the people in the wide world, it would have to be Draco sodding Malfoy who would recognize me, and, most of all, rile me. I quickly composed myself and shoved my wand back into my Transfigured cloak, pulling back the hood to let the sunlight hit my face.

Malfoy blinked, and strangely enough, smiled.

“I am so glad I was right…it is you.”

I blinked back. He had been guessing? The bleeding ferret should have died ten years ago!

“What is it that you need, Mr. Malfoy?”

Oh, that sounded officious enough.

“I have a few questions for you.”

I sighed. “Are you a reporter?”

“Merlin’s beard, of course not!”

I felt my brow furrow. I could not remember if Draco Malfoy did anything more besides being the most arrogant prick known to mankind.

“I work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

I frowned, “You…you are an Auror?”

It seemed ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. Draco Malfoy, an Auror? Hell must have frozen over.

“A bright witch like yourself must know that there are no such things as Aurors anymore. There aren’t enough Dark Wizards to fill a teaspoon nowadays, Miss Granger.”

His tone was condescending.

“I am part of the police force, now.”

He was talking down to me as if I were three years old, enunciating the words.

“Surely, you are familiar with how a police system works, being Muggleborn.”

And he did not say ‘Mudblood’.

“Of course, I know what the ‘police’ are, you ridiculous man.”

“Do you want to see my credentials, or my badge?”

I wanted to hex him. But he did pull out a wallet from inside a pocket in his dapper gray suit. I could see a wand in a chest holster just inside, and I could tell that he had a second wand strapped to the inside of his left sleeve.

With a flourish, the wallet opened, and there inside was a silver badge, a true mark of a person who was part of the Ministry’s new concept of law enforcement. The number on his badge was 999, and I filed that bit of information away to think upon another time. His name was printed on a plastic ID card, along with a moving picture of his head, spinning slowly to show every aspect of his profile. I read the ID and quickly looked away.

DCI Draco L. Malfoy, Detective Chief Inspector.

I wanted to vomit. Draco Malfoy was the Detective Chief Inspector of Magical Law Enforcement, two steps from being Detective Chief Superintendent...

He flipped the wallet closed and stuffed it back into his coat.

“I have a few questions about your former Head of House, Miss Granger. Do you have a few moments to talk?”

So formal… I turned to regard him again. It had been almost ten years since I had last seen him, but if I had not recognized the blond hair and the trademark Malfoy family drawl, I would have deigned him to be a distant cousin of the Malfoy family and not Draco Malfoy himself. That was how much he had changed.

He was taller than I remembered, but then again, I was always on the short side. His hair was still pale platinum, but no longer slicked back. In fact, he had his hair cut very short, the only length spiked up in sharp spires. He did not look like Lucius, but more like a picture Harry had shown me of Regulus Black…Draco and Regulus were related, after all. The sniveling ferret face and cold eyes were softer, more masculine and adult. The only things that had not changed were the smug quirk of his lips and the cold gleam in his silver eyes.

“Five to ten minutes, at most, Miss Granger.”

I came back to myself, and looked about, noting that Arthur was watching my interaction with Draco Malfoy with a face full of concern from near the doors to Hogwarts. Almost everyone else was gone, and Hagrid had yet to collect and escort me to the dungeons as he had promised. I had every intention of going straight home after the funeral.

However, Malfoy’s badge was legitimate, as best as I could tell, and Arthur was not coming over to rescue me.

“Miss Granger?”

There was a new impatience in his voice, and suddenly I felt like a cornered animal. My feet itched to run…but running often gave the impression that one was guilty of something.

“Private, someplace private, if you don’t mind, Detective Chief Inspector,” I managed to say, my throat closing up from some unidentifiable fear.

Malfoy smiled, and the fear increased. “Of course, Miss Granger. Shall we walk?”

I nearly reeled when he offered his arm to me. But I took it, using my other hand to replace my hood. It would not do for anyone but Arthur Weasley to see me walking with Draco Malfoy.

This had to be a nightmare. I walked, slowly, not quite comfortable with the pumps sinking into the sodden ground. The February sun had melted most of the snow, creating a muddy quagmire for any woman in heels. But I walked, trying not to think about the man at my side and how in the world he had bought his way into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  Police Force, my fat arse!  I had always called them Aurors, but that had been a different time. I knew better than to think that Draco Malfoy was an Auror…but he must be a Hit-Wizard or some amalgamation of Auror/Hit-Wizard. Merlin, I had isolated myself too effectively.

We walked toward the greenhouses and when we came to the nearest one, Malfoy suggested we step inside and warm ourselves. I did not answer, but stepped into Greenhouse Four where Neville usually conducted Seventh Year classes. At the moment, there were only a few pots of aloe inside, and nothing else. It was warm, though, and I was thankful for that.

I watched Malfoy closely as he shut the door and drew his wand from the chest holster, moving down a row of worktables, glancing keenly about before casting a Charm to isolate our conversation with a Muffliato. With a façade of civility he motioned me to sit upon an upturned crate of pots while he pulled himself upon the edge of a worktable, sitting above me. It was unnerving. I knew he was wanting to put himself on some psychological high ground.

“You work for the Department of Mysteries, do you not?”

His voice was almost saccharine, placating. I wanted to claw his eyes out.

“You know I do.”

“Ah, but you didn't know I worked in the same building; why is that?”

He had always hated me, and I wondered how long it took for him to plan such a terrible form of revenge.

“I do not have much dealings with other departments. My work is classified.”

“Yes, as an Unspeakable. Well…I hope you will speak about a few matters that my department would like to clear up.”

I wanted to gape at him.

“First, the fact that there is no record of residence for you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“We find it peculiar, a bit suspect.”

‘We’ meaning the higher ups in the Ministry, I could only assume.

“I live in a house, which is Unplottable. If you were to send an owl, the post would arrive. If you were to call by Floo, you would most likely receive an answer.”

He smiled. It was a terrible smile, again, placating.

“You do not give your address for the sake of privacy?”

“Exactly.”

Malfoy crossed his arms, and I knew then, he was finally going to get to the point, and it did not really have to do with Minerva.

“When was the last time you saw Potter?”

The smiles were gone, as was the saccharine tone, and I was glad for it. This was the Draco Malfoy I remembered…cruel, spoilt, and demanding.

“At his wedding, eight or so years ago.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously and my feet itched again to run.

“So you had no contact with him while he was inside St. Mungo’s psychiatric ward?”

“Until recently, I had no idea that he was ill.”

“And how did you find out?”

I tried not to think too much, murmuring, “Someone at work left a copy of the Prophet lying about a few months ago…I think there was something about Harry in an editorial…”

The worst part was that I had no idea if it were true. But Malfoy nodded sharply.

“What about Ronald Weasley, has he been about, lately?”

I frowned. “Is someone suspecting Ron for something? He works in your department, Malfoy.”

“Yes, one of the last Aurors. He is suspected of no wrongdoing, I was just asking for the sake of information.”

I sighed. “The last bit of news about Ron came to me by postcard at Christmas. He said he was in Bali.”

Malfoy nodded again, and I was quickly growing annoyed.

“Look, Malfoy, I don’t know exactly what you are getting at, or what any of this has to do with Minerva…but won’t you tell me what this is really about?”

I sounded like I was begging, and perhaps I was. I had cut myself off from the world a little too well. I no longer had friends in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or in the Minister’s office, for that matter.

“This is about Harry Potter, Granger. And with you being one of his best friends, supposedly, it is only natural I ask you questions.”

He stood, brushing off the back of his suit. His silver eyes peered down at me, and I could feel him judging me, sizing me up in an instant.

“I just told you all I know. I just found out that my best friend is insane, a killer, and now on the run. To top it off, my mentor and former Head of House, has just died! I do not know what is going on, and I would like you, or someone with the capacity, to tell me!”

The tears came, and my cheeks flushed. I was stronger than this, and I certainly did not want Malfoy, of all people, to see me cry.

“Your Potter has been here at Hogwarts, Granger, and he has killed Minerva McGonagall, along with Aberforth Dumbledore in Hogsmeade. He is now considered ‘armed and dangerous’, and from all of my indications, he has not gotten far from Hogwarts.”

I fainted. Had I ever really fainted before? I was not sure… I honestly fainted at Malfoy’s words. I could not say why I had fainted, exactly, but my worst fears had been confirmed.

When I came to, it was to find Malfoy holding me as Arthur wiped at my face with a piece of wet flannel. Hagrid was arguing with someone, and I quickly realized I was on the floor of the greenhouse. Then it came…although I tried to stop it…all my breakfast and breakfast tea spewed from my mouth in a great fit of sickness…spilling down Malfoy’s impeccable gray suit.

Somehow, I felt vindicated.

Arthur sat me up on the crate from which I’d tumbled when I fainted, asking me if I had hit my head. He fussed worse than Molly ever had, and I swatted him away, resting my elbows on my knees. I finally got my head to stop spinning, and the truth of the situation settled neatly in my brain. Once again, I faintly heard Severus Snape’s voice, but I could not make out the words.

“Jean, dear, are you alright?” Arthur whispered.

I nodded slowly. It was too warm in the Greenhouse and I motioned for Arthur to help me to my feet. Outside, I realized Hagrid was arguing with two Aurors…scratch that, two detectives in plain clothes. Arthur held my arm gingerly as I made my way to the corner of the Greenhouse and began retching again. Nothing came.

I started digging through the inner pocket of my Transfigured cloak, finding the last phial of combo Pepper Up and Fortifying Draught. I used my teeth to pull out the cork, spitting it out onto the ground and dumped the potion down my throat. The effect was immediate, and I could breathe again, think again.

Arthur rubbed circles into my back, and although I found the gesture calming, I found it unnecessary. I pulled away from Arthur and walked back to the door of the Greenhouse where Draco Malfoy stood looking down the empty work tables, sick still staining the front of his nice, expensive suit. He seemed disheveled and as he raised a hand to scratch his chin absently, I noticed he was missing an emerald cufflink. A sick sense of satisfaction washed over me.

Hagrid pushed at the policemen who stood firm, gazing into the Greenhouse to Malfoy, as if expecting instructions. I realized then how important Malfoy really was, after all.

“You think he might come for me, don’t you?”

I felt Arthur’s hand on my shoulder, but ignored it as I spoke to Draco Malfoy’s back.

“It is a possibility. We know you live somewhere in the Forest, he might venture there.”

Malfoy did not turn, and it angered me.

“He doesn’t know that I live in the Forest. The only people who knew were Hagrid, Minerva, and Albus Dumbledore’s portrait!”

“And now Arthur Weasley and my men outside… Potter could have extracted that bit of information from McGonagall before he killed her, have you thought of that?”

I recoiled. No, I hadn’t had the time…

“How did he kill her?”

My voice was small, and I immediately hated myself.

“A little known Suffocating Curse. He literally stole the breath from her lungs. It was a quick death, but painful. He rearranged her body so that no one would see how she had clawed at him or the bed,” he said, still not turning to look at me, somehow fascinated with the way the sun was just then coming around the castle to light the Greenhouse.

I turned my own attention to the sick on his shoes. They were Italian shoes, worth more than what I made in six months.

“Her fingernails…” I muttered, the realization setting in.

“Coupled with his signature in the wards.”

“But fingernail scrapings are Mug…” I began.

“Our department has adopted Muggle technology, Granger. We’re not totally in the dark ages,” he drawled unamused, pulling out his wand and finally cleaning the sick off his body. He made a disapproving noise and I caught a curse under his breath.

“Why her? Why Old Abe?”

It was what I was thinking, but Arthur was the first to ask it. He was as desperate as I for answers, Harry was still his son-in-law, I believed.

“We do not know for certain, and honestly, Mr. Weasley, do you think I would tell you any more than I already have?”

Malfoy turned, his eyes like frozen mercury. The sneer on his face was familiar, as was the tone of his voice. Those eyes moved from Arthur to me, and I swallowed thickly.

“You are to be put into protective custody, Miss Granger.”

Triumph, it was clear in his voice.

“Absolutely not!”

Malfoy blinked and a few panes of glass above his head rattled. I amaze myself sometimes.

“I have not tried to keep people out of my life for ten years just to have you barging in again! I have enough protection, thank you very much. And if, for a moment, I feel as if I am in danger, I can get myself out. I did not live through Voldemort or his Death Eaters without learning how to defend myself.”

I especially stressed ‘Death Eaters’ for Malfoy’s sake, but it did not seem to phase him. He only reapplied that placating, sickly-sweet, boyish smile, and said something that shocked me to the very core.

“Have it your way, Granger…”

It was after dark when I was able to return home. After Malfoy, it was his men who interrogated me with the same questions… Then, I had to convince Arthur I did not want to go to the Burrow, that I was no safer there than my own home. If Harry were truly insane, he might as well go after his own wife rather than me. Of course, the logic of that statement was terribly flawed for many reasons. Hagrid detained me further by forcing me to eat something in the Kitchens of the castle since I had puked up everything I had had for breakfast. I ended up taking away a parcel of pineapple cake in my bottomless pocket.

I opted out of taking the Floo home, there were still too many ‘policemen’ about, watching every person in and out of the castle. However, my secret passage was still secret, and Horace stuck his head out of his office door to pass me the book he meant to give me the day Minerva died…the Lives of Dark Lords, seventh edition.

I swapped my pumps for my boots and added a warming Charm to the coat and took off into the Forest. I walked without looking, too wrapped up in my own thoughts. So much had happened that I knew it would take time to process it all. But the fact that Harry had definitely murdered Minerva seemed as much a nightmare as Draco Malfoy being a Detective Chief Inspector.

When I came upon the outermost set of wards, I frowned. What if Harry were looking for me and somehow found out that I was in the Forest? I shook my head and pushed through the first set of wards, onto the second through seventh layer within a matter of seconds. I paused at the last and tenth ward, thinking that maybe, just maybe Harry was really clever enough to get past ten layers of wards. But…I was home and everything seemed normal from the outside. I let my forehead fall into my palm at the thought of Malfoy…the cat. What were the chances that I would see Malfoy…the Detective Chief Inspector at Minerva’s funeral? I had to tell Malfoy, the cat, about this…

Through the door, locking it behind me, I started to laugh softly. If only I could just wake up from this nightmare!

I flicked my wand toward the fireplace and heat suffused the room. I did not bother with the candles, the moonlight streaming through the windows enough illumination for me to move about.

“Malfoy…Malfoy, where are you?” I called and began clicking my tongue, surprised the cat had not greeted me at the door.

A pathetic mewl from the bathroom made me turn as I was hanging my coat on the peg. I missed the peg entirely and the heavy coat fell to the stone floor.

“Malfoy, you silly thing, did you get yourself shut in the loo?” I called with a laugh, moving through the dark to the bathroom door. I tried to remember how in the world the door could have shut when I found myself falling, skidding across the stone floor until my head slammed into the front door.

Spots…only spots.

I shook my head, realizing that I no longer had my wand, and that Malfoy, my cat, was crying pitifully from the bathroom. I was on the floor. What the hell…? I could not have collided so hard into the kitchen counter, and I most certainly did not trip.

There was a shuffling sound from somewhere from the area of the bedroom and I started to sit up. In the moonlight and firelight, I could see my wand laying against the base of the central island counter, and with a wagging finger, I tried to Summon it wordlessly. However, before it began to move, two bare and filthy feet appeared in a ray of moonlight next to the island. The sight of bloody toes made me gasp, and I knew…I knew what had shut Malfoy into the bathroom and what had truly made me pause as I entered the wards.

The shadows were still too thick for me to see him, but I could smell him…body odor, soil, must…and somewhere those scents reminded me of Sirius.

“Where’s Malfoy?”

He spoke and I knew it was Harry…but the voice was different, deeper.

My coat! Damn it, there was the Portkey in my coat, and it was closer than my wand. If only I could get to that… Wait. Harry had a wand, ‘armed and dangerous’ Malfoy the DCI had said. Damn…damn it!

“Where’s Malfoy, Hermione?”

He was angry and his toes twitched…that was all I could see of him.

“Wh-what?” I asked…forgetting. My head pounded and I could feel hot blood on the back of my scalp…a concussion, surely.

He stepped forward, and I was assaulted by the very sight of him. Deranged…Bellatrix and Sirius would have paled in comparison to what I was seeing.

Harry Potter had once been handsome in his dress robes at his wedding, but now… now …my mouth quivered. Oh gods, this was not my Harry… His hair was long, spilling past his wide shoulders in inky tangles. He did not have his glasses, and I could just see a slice of emerald where the moonlight struck his gaunt and unshaven face. He wore rags that resembled what had once been neat pale gold St. Mungo’s hospital pajamas, but had been ripped in various places, the front open to reveal a pale chest and a trail of dark chest hair. It seemed that every bit of Harry was torn and raw, and even his once handsome face had the look of someone who had faced Dementors.

“Malfoy, where is he?”

Aberforth’s wand was in his fist, somehow I knew it, and I tried not to start crying.

“He’s…he’s in the bathroom.”

It was my only opening, my only chance…would my cat mind being a diversion? Merlin, I hoped not.

Harry moved, Seeker-like, toward the bathroom door, ready to blast or kick it open, and as he did, I moved. I was never a Seeker, like Harry had been, but I was fast enough to reach the coat just as he kicked in the door. I heard the impact of a random Stunning hex and saw a gray streak burst out of the bathroom. I was digging through the pocket for the Portkey, finding everything but, it seemed.

“Malfoy!” Harry roared, and I thought, for a moment I had the damn thing. “You!”

Too late! I screamed in pain and terror as a large hand grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to my feet. My body lurched and my feet literally left the floor as Harry spun me to collide with the bedroom door. My skull collided with the wood, and I saw more spots. The door gave under the impact and opened so that I tumbled into the small room, my head bashing against the side of the bed. My jaw snapped and I knew I bit through the side of my tongue.

And then, I, for the second time in a day, blacked out.

Part 3

“Why are you hiding in there, come out, I won’t hurt you…”

I had been dreaming. Harry…

“Come on, kitty…Harry won’t hurt you…”

Hissing.

I tasted blood, and I opened my eyes. Moonlight still, Harry… I closed my eyes again until the rattle and breaking of dishware forced me to accept that I was not dreaming.

“Damn it!”

His voice came from the kitchen. I was on the bed, my hands tucked on my chest as if I were dead. I still could taste blood, and I felt some also caked in the lashes of my left eye. My coat was just visible near the door, but my wand was out of range. 

Portkey…damned Portkey, I could get to it if I were quiet.

“Here, kitty…Harry’ll give you a tin of fish…”

His voice was cloying, soft, almost gentle, but I knew better. I slid from the side of the bed and noticed that my boots had been removed and set near the door.

Quiet…stealth…

“You’re not Crookshanks, are you? No, you are a new kitty…”

I cringed. Harry remembered Crooks…and he remembered Draco Malfoy, mistaking my familiar for the odious man. I crawled across the stone floor and nearly blacked out again as my head spun. I knew I had a concussion at the very least, but I knew I had to endure if I wanted to live, and I wanted to live…

“Are you Malfoy? Why would she call you that?”

I heard my familiar hiss again, and Harry’s chuckle.

My fingertips grasped the coat and I tugged, trying not to make a sound. When the coat was in my lap, I dug…dug….and came up with nothing, not a damned thing!

“What are you doing, Hermione?”

He was in the doorway with a can of half opened salmon in his left hand, Aberforth’s wand in the other. With a flick, the candles lit the room, and finally I could see Harry’s eyes. Those gorgeous emerald orbs were furious.

The coat and the salmon were suddenly on the floor, and Harry held me by the hair, lifting me to my feet, the stolen wand pressed into my throat. My arms were useless; my whole body was useless as I stared wide-eyed at the lunatic who had once been my best friend.

“Looking for that Portkey, weren’t you?”

Beyond Harry, on the counter of the island, was everything that had been in the pocket of my coat, the pineapple cake half eaten, obviously by the man who literally had my life in his hands.

“Is your cat called Malfoy?”

It seemed like an absurd question, considering the circumstances.

“Yes…” I gasped, the pain of hairs being ripped from my scalp most irritating.

“Funny, Hermione…”

“I-I thought so…”

He smiled, but it was not reassuring as he pressed the wand tip deeper into the skin of my throat. And the smile faded as he pushed me back into the room, finally releasing my hair, but keeping the wand tip firmly pressed into my larynx.

“I have been looking for you.”

I blinked slowly. “Why’s that, Harry?”

“I wanted to see you…and Ron. Where’s Ron?”

I tried to swallow, but there was blood in my throat. “He’s working in Bali, Harry.”

Harry frowned, and the wand tip pulled back slightly. “Bali? Did his parents send him there?”

Confusion, and slowly I remembered what Arthur had said…

“Yes…until everything’s settled down a bit.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

I suddenly had tears in my eyes. “I couldn’t leave you, Harry. We still have to find the last one…”

Horcruxes… The recognition in Harry’s eyes made the tears flow, and suddenly the wand tip was gone from my throat and wiry arms bound my body as he embraced me. He started to wail into my shoulder, and I tried to raise my arms to touch him, but he slid down my body to kneel at my feet. I tensed as he pressed his face into my thighs, rubbing his filthy and unshaven cheeks into the sateen of my dress. My hands rose, and I considered Summoning my wand again…until his face moved so that his nose was just at the juncture of my thighs and his hands ran up my legs under my dress.

“Hermione…gods Hermione, I missed you…”

A sob escaped me, part in sorrow for the man who had once been the Boy Who Lived, and in part to the fact that his dirty fingers had found the waistband of my underpants under my skirts.

Where was his wand? I tried not to move as my eyes cast about until I caught a glimpse of wood just near the door. I wondered if I could Summon it without his notice, hex him, and then run… I would rather have my wand, but a strange wand would have to do.

I stifled a shriek as Harry slid my underpants down my legs, and stiffened as he began gathering my skirt, lifting it slowly, trailing his rough cheek along my thigh.

“Harry…what are you…” I gasped as the cool air hit my inner thighs and my…

“Hermione…Hermione…” he wept into my leg.

I couldn’t hold back anymore, and I squirmed, nearly falling over at Harry’s tight embrace of my legs. And when his nose brushed against the coarse hairs of my…damn it…my center, I tried to jump away. I did not get far, and Harry threw me onto the bed, snarling like a wild animal.

“You know…you know…” he breathed, his hair falling into his face, a rough hand pushing it away thoughtlessly. “You know, Hermione, these coy tricks may work on Ron…but I’m getting tired of it!”

Merlin’s arse! Why hadn’t I kept a backup wand?

“Accio!”

It was out of sheer panic, but Aberforth’s wand streaked toward me…I had not meant to vocalize! When it was nearly in my hand, the wand was swatted away, and it clattered against the floor, snapping, and blowing red sparks as it flew into the kitchen.

“No! No, Hermione, we don’t play that way, now!”

Fear, unshakeable fear, Voldemort, or the thought of him had never made me shake as badly as I did before Harry Potter. And the fear quickly turned to revulsion as he launched himself upon me, pinning me down to my own bed, his face hovering above mine, leering. He held my wrists tightly above my head, and his knees insinuated themselves between mine…and I knew I was trapped.

Why did I not take that offer of protective custody?

Your silly Gryffindor pride, Severus Snape said clearly.

I groaned as Harry lowered his face toward mine, and the scent of him overwhelmed my senses. He was filthy, sweaty, and I tried not to gag.

“You are going to help me, Hermione…”

I turned my face away, I could not look into those eyes.

“You’re going to help me find it…”

Harry’s words meant nothing to me, I was not listening. All I could think about were defensive spells, something that would give me time to run to the emergency Portkey resting on the island countertop. How he had known it was a Portkey, I did not have the time to ponder. It was a wooden spindle with red thread, innocuous, and decidedly 'unmagical' by its appearance. But I could just see it on the countertop…and I could Summon it wandlessly if my hands were free.

Harry shifted and I cried out as he forced my wrists together in one of his large hands, crushing the tiny bones. It felt as if I had thousands of shards of glass for wrist bones.

“You’re not listening to me, Hermione. Pay attention, or I’ll…” he hissed, but trailed off, angling his nose down to my throat and inhaling deeply.

I tensed and squeezed my eyes shut. Harry and I had never been intimate, not in the manner that led to physicality, and to have him on me, smelling my neck, pressing me down into my own bed made me feel more and more violated. This Harry was not my Harry. My Harry would never hurt me; my Harry would never make me bleed.

“You’ll what?” I whispered, trying not to sound as rattled as I truly was. “Kill me?”

He groaned, and his tongue licked out to taste my pulse point. I shivered.

“Like you killed Minerva?”

“No, no, Hermione…not like that…” he whispered, his left hand moving along my collarbone to the front of my wrinkled dress. With a mighty wrench, the sateen ripped down to the cinched belt, exposing my black bra.

Tears blinded me again. If I could keep him calm…if only…

“But…but you’ll kill me?” I sobbed, unable to stop myself.

Harry said nothing, lowering his face to my chest so that his tangled hair fell against my face. The black locks smelled like mud and wood smoke, dirty, and I turned my head to the side of my arm, burying my nose in the intact sleeve of Minerva’s dress.

He listened to my rapid heartbeat for a few moments, his grubby fingers tracing circles into my ribs. When he was no longer satisfied with that, he undid the front clasp of my bra and ripped at the lace until it was torn beyond repair. I tried not to cry out, tried not to breathe as he rubbed his grubby cheek against my breasts, inhaling deeply as if to imprint every scent of my body into his tattered mind. Harry hummed contentedly as he ran his chapped lips over the tips of my nipples. I had to bite my lip from making a noise that would betray my fear…and my forced arousal. No one, not even Ron, had ever touched me that way.

And then Ginny Potter’s face swam into my mind’s eye. Merlin…how could Harry have become so unhinged?

“I won’t kill you Hermione…not me…but you’ll die with me…and we’ll be together forever. Ron too…we’ll all be together. Mum and Dad, Sirius and Remus, Dumbledore and McGonagall…all of us together forever…”

I took a breath, my chest was heaving from panic. Harry seemed to relish the fear, and as his mouth closed over my left nipple, I croaked.

“What about Ginny?”

Harry said nothing, his tongue twisting around my nipple causing my thighs to quiver involuntarily. Teeth dug into the flesh, and I screamed, my body trying to dislodge my attacker who was no longer the Harry Potter I knew. I could smell my own blood again, and see it running down the side of my left breast onto the bed. I thrashed my legs, and finally Harry pulled away, a twisted version of a boyish smile on his bloody lips.

“H-Harry…please…” I whispered through my tears…and immediately regretted my words. It had been a plea for mercy, but I knew that was not what he heard.

“I’ll make you see, Hermione. I’ll make you mine, and then you won’t have a choice…”

The skirts of the dress were pushed up again, and if it were not for Harry’s inhumanly strong hold on my obviously broken wrists and his weight upon my hip, I would have fought tooth and nail. As it was, to my fear, anger, and embarrassment, I could not move enough to bite or scratch. I was going to be raped and murdered in my own bed.

Minerva…Merlin…someone, gods, help me…

“You…will...help…me…” he grunted, and I screamed.

I was being torn to shreds, and blood, I could feel it between my thighs, I could feel it inside me as Harry rammed three rough fingers inside my body. My fear had drawn every bit of bodily moisture and consciousness toward my brain, and the penetration was dry… But there was blood, dark, fragrant blood as he thrust his cold, blunt fingers into me. Every movement of his fingers brought screams, such loud screams that I thought there was someone else in the room, and it could not be me who was producing such a terrible noise.

It hurt…it hurt so much that I felt as if those fingers were clawing at my womb, tearing it out piece by piece. I could feel magic in my womb, a cold, terrible wave of magic…

“You will help me find the Stone!” Harry roared back, pulling his hand away violently so that I shrieked in an absolute agony I could not remember feeling before then. Blood seemed to spray from me, and it dripped from his hand like liquid night.

Harry released my wrists, but knelt between my knees, peering down at my exposed and bloodied body. He held his bloody hand close to his chest like a precious item, and licked his lips, eyes wide. I was close to unconsciousness, bleeding from my head, my breast, and now my most private parts… I had no strength to move, and a part of my brain cursed me in Severus Snape’s voice, cursed me to calm down, cursed me to move…but I could not. All I could think of was a stupid thought…no one would ever want me now…not after this. I was damaged, absolutely damaged by the one man I had loved most of my life…my best friend…

“Tell me, Hermione, tell me…” he whispered, his body moving to bend down, his face coming nearer and nearer to the apex of my thighs.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I could not speak. It hurt to speak, it hurt to move.

His tongue lashed out first, almost to soothe the raw flesh, but then I screamed again, louder, as his mouth engulfed my wound and my clitoris, lapping at first, then biting like a devouring animal. My hands twitched, and my brain was beginning to shut down.

No, Hermione! Wake up, damn you! Fight him, fight him!

I wished Severus Snape were really there, he would have no qualms about killing this man who had once been Harry Potter. If Severus Snape were alive…surely he would rescue me from this hell.

I let go of the pain, and opened my eyes, which moved to the door, to the spindle. I reached out as best I could, mustering all my strength, and willed the spindle to my hand. If only I could just…

“Granger? Granger! Fucking hell, I’m almost through!”

It was not Harry’s voice, but a male voice that I dimly recognised. A light flashed from the main room, and there was a resounding crack that made me shut my eyes, causing my arm to fall over the edge of the bed limply. I could only hear, no longer see, or feel.

The sound of a powerful spell whizzing over my body smelled like ozone, and there was a muffled shout. Glass shattered so loudly that it deafened me, and I knew that shards of that glass were in my right arm, grazing the right side of my face. There were roars of anger and pain, growing more and more distant, and I could smell the Forest and feel the cold.

“Sergeant, did you get the tracking mark?” that familiar voice asked in a frantic, irritated growl.

“No, sir, he moved too quickly. I think he saw it coming, or sensed it.”

“No matter, he won’t get far. Secure the wards, I want this cottage invisible, closed up…alert Forensics to get their arses over here!”

“Yes, sir, I’m on it.”

“And get Healer Wiscombe to the safe house!”

“Yes, sir.”

There were people, at least eight, in my home. I could smell the Floo, and hear more people coming through.

“Cordon off the bedroom after I get her moved.”

One voice, closer, that familiar voice that had called my name...

“Is it wise to move her, sir? We haven’t documented…”

“She needs a Healer, and a safe place to recover! Potter might return, and Granger cannot be here if he does!” the voice just over me snapped.

I knew the voice, and my eyes opened a crack to gaze up into a stormy face with stormy eyes.

“Can you hear me, Granger?”

Malfoy, Draco…

“Y-yes…”

He leaned closer, his ear near my lips.

“I need to move you and get you out of this house. Do you understand?”

“Yes…” I whispered again.

“Sweet Merlin…” someone gasped with alarm from the door, but I could only see Malfoy as he wrapped me in my coat and gingerly lifted me from the bed. I cried out as he lifted my legs, the pain returning, and he paused, looking down at me with an expression I could not recognize.

My head lolled against his chest, and I could hear the violent tattoo of his heart. I could feel eyes upon me, strange eyes, and I could feel their pity. It made me want to vomit on Malfoy again.

Malfoy…gods…

“Easy now, don’t struggle,” he said, his arms clutching a bit more firmly.

“Malfoy…” I wheezed. “Where’s Malfoy? I think he hurt him…”

Malfoy paused just inside the kitchen. “What are you talking about, Granger, I’m right here…”

I sighed, but it came out as a gasp.

“Cat…my cat, Malfoy…”

I felt his body stiffen.

“Has anyone seen a cat around?” he called.

There were a few voices, but I could not hear what they were saying.

“Here, sir…”

A pitiful mewl made me more conscious of my surroundings, and soon Malfoy was in my arms, shivering as badly as I was, his tail as big as a Beater’s bat, his eyes a frightening shade of red and silver.

The human Malfoy muttered under his breath as he began moving again, every determined and heavy step jarring me painfully.

“Damn it all, Flint…Flint? Pull the comb from my back pocket, would you?”

I did not understand at first, but as Malfoy shifted me and my familiar in his arms, I understood immediately.

Portkey.

I was screaming roughly by the time I was laid down on a soft bed in some unknown place. Malfoy, the cat, lay near me, crying as I screamed, licking the tips of my right hand fingers from time to time with his rough tongue. My head was empty of all things except the pain and Malfoy’s terrible cries.

I knew there were people near me, but I had no idea who they could be. When I felt my clothing Vanish from my body, I screamed louder, suddenly cold, and vulnerable. And soon, my screams did not come, and I could feel magic in my throat. I had been Silenced.

“…possibly brain trauma…severe concussions, possibly more than…”

A touch of something cold on my forehead stopped the ache there, but the rest of my body throbbed, and my screams remained as intense and as silent.

“Has she been raped?”

“No, but penetrated. The vaginal tearing is severe, but it can be repaired. I will administer several courses of antibiotics, there is saliva in her vaginal passage. Her clitoris can be saved, but it will require at the very least two weeks of bed rest…”

“You mean he…he tore it with his teeth?”

“Yes, sir. The left nipple as well…the damage to the glandular vessels is not as easily repaired, but with time and the proper potions, I am sure we can heal it.”

“Anything else?”

“Her wrists are broken in several places. Whatever he used to bind her was terrible…”

“His hand…it was his hand.”

“One hand, a human hand?”

“Yes, Wiscombe.”

“Merlin…”

“Anything else?”

“Well, uh…bruises mostly, from shoulder to thigh. And cuts from glass, did you say a window? Most are superficial and will heal in no time, but her wrists, her face, and hips will take longer. Then there is her mental health. She is in shock, which is to be expected… Wouldn’t it be better to take her to St. Mungo’s, Chief?”

“Potter escaped from St. Mungo’s, here is better. It is far from Scotland, and the wards around the property will keep her in and him out.”

“I understand, sir. I will begin treatments, if you’ll call Madam in, we can start…”

I heard all of this, but I could not see. I could only push what I heard back into the depths of my brain to think about at another point in time. I submitted to the potions being poured down my throat and the uncomfortable prods to my genitalia. I lay very still as I began to feel flesh and bone knitting back together, but how much time had passed, I could not discern. The voices were no longer over me, but away from me, and I could only hear snatches of conversations. The people were unknown, and I wondered if Malfoy had left me to hunt down Harry.

“…a day to fully regain consciousness…”

“I need to take her statement, Wiscombe.”

Wiscombe was the Healer, and I knew the other voice, cold and stern, was Draco Malfoy. I felt safer when I heard his voice, and part of me felt ridiculous for that reaction.

Sometimes I felt gentle hands touch me, and soft fabric wrap around me, keeping the chill off my skin. Sometimes I felt my familiar’s cool nose against my knuckles and his fur against my toes.

And then, I was awake. Of course, I think I had been awake for a long while, but I could see again as if someone had removed a blindfold from my eyes. Malfoy was curled up at my side, and I realized I was laying on a large bed, larger than my bed at the Cottage. It is a soft, warm bed, with a heavy white comforter pulled up to my chin. My hair had been…cut.

I frowned as I stared up at the underside of a canopy of ruched cream silk. I could not feel my long hair about my shoulders, and slowly, I slid a hand up to find out why. My head had been shaved, and I felt sore spots on my scalp, knots, and scars…

I tried to sit up, but I could barely lift my head from the pillow. Where was I? What day was it?

“Be still, dear, I’ll call for Wiscombe,” a soft voice said from my bedside to the left.

I froze as my eyes swiveled to see a pale woman sitting on a chair, reading a book by candlelight. It was a face I had not seen in years, a face I thought I would never have to see again.

She rose slowly, her white robes falling beautifully around small, bare feet. As she walked toward a door across the room, I marveled at how beautiful her blonde hair was, the way it streamed down in back in a perfectly straight cascade of platinum. She glanced back and smiled before slipping into a bright corridor beyond, leaving the door ajar.

Narcissa Malfoy…why was she at my bedside?

The information I had tucked away was taken out again. Draco Malfoy had taken me from my home to this place, which I could only assume to be Malfoy Manor from what he had said to the Healer.

And then the information about my injuries came back.

I could not feel any pain as I lay in Malfoy Manor, but I had the distinct haziness in my mind that I was sure I was under the influence of a pain-reducing potion. I did feel sore, but it was tolerable. I was more concerned about the loss of my hair…and the state of my home and my job.

“Ah, Miss Granger, it is good to see you awake!”

Narcissa returned with a wiry older man with thick glasses and blue Healer robes. Healer Wiscombe’s face was very amiable, and as he touched my hand softly, I knew immediately, instinctually, that I could trust this man.

“I am Ernest Wiscombe, and I have been treating you for the past week. I work as the Healer for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. If you don’t mind I would like to take a look at you, see how your injuries are healing.”

He kept his distance after touching my hand, and I could sense that he was waiting for permission to come nearer. Surely Wiscombe had been trained on how to approach victims of violent crime. I closed my eyes for a moment at that thought, but opened them quickly.

“I…” I started, but my voice came out as a croak.

“Ah, yes, the potions you have been taking have irritated your throat, and you have been unconscious for about a week. A little water might help…”

Narcissa was already passing me a glass with a straw, and I did not question her involvement, not until I had full capabilities of speech, at least. I took two large drinks and immediately felt better.

“I don’t mind…” I managed, my voice still very rough. “Do I have to undress?”

“No, my dear, I just need to pull back this blanket…and sweep my wand.”

I nodded as Wiscombe slowly pulled back the comforter and I saw that I was dressed in a light white nightdress with short sleeves, vee neck, and long hem. I laid very still as Wiscombe ran his wand from the tips of my toes up to my head and down again, pausing over my chest, then my thighs. Lastly, he swept his wand over my head a few times and nodded to himself, gently replacing the comforter over my body.

“Very good. You are healing nicely. Your wrists are healed, and the wounds to your head have closed nicely…”

“And…and my breast, my…” I whispered, my lips quivering.

“Healing well. No infections, and within a week or two, you’ll be healed completely.”

“No permanent damage?” I whispered, glancing at Narcissa Malfoy who was looking down at her hands in her lap.

Wiscombe’s amiable face tightened and he took a breath. “It is too early to say. Initially, we believed the damage to be superficial, but there was also damage to your cervix. The type of damage was magical in nature, and I’m still unsure as to what the real cause was, or how it could have happened…”

I shivered, and before I could stop my words, “It felt like he was trying to dig my womb out with claws…I have never felt anything like it…”

Wiscombe nodded. “When he is caught, perhaps he will tell us.”

I blinked, and turned to look at Narcissa Malfoy who regarded me gravely.

“For the time being, I will let you rest. DCI Malfoy will be here in the morning, as will a few other people who would like to see you, Miss Granger.”

I nodded slowly…trying to process more information. Wiscombe bowed to Narcissa Malfoy and turned to go, when I remembered…

“My hair…Mr. Wiscombe, was it necessary that my head be shaved?”

Wiscombe smiled sadly in the little bit of candlelight that lit the room. “You were worse off than we had expected, Miss Granger. Your determination to live fooled us…you had a skull fracture, and we did not think you would regain consciousness. The hair was a small price to pay for healing you. It will grow. And surely when you are well enough, you can Charm it.”

I smirked as Wiscombe bowed to me, this time, and left the room. I lay for a long while, thinking, and then began to move. Narcissa Malfoy was at my side immediately, and I silently let her help me to sit up slightly. It felt good to be able to sit, although I did not have anything to do after sitting up.

“Has Malfoy been fed?” I asked suddenly, turning to look at Narcissa Malfoy. Needless to say, she appeared puzzled.

“Pardon?”

I stifled a sardonic laugh. “My cat,” I said pointing at the balled gray animal near my side.

“Ah, yes. The elves have been tending him…Malfoy…” Narcissa said with a furrowed brow. “We did not know what it was called.”

I smiled, although it hurt slightly. “He is a half-Kneazle. And I never meant any disrespect by naming him Malfoy…I didn't think I would be meeting your family again.”

“Why did you name him that?”

There was no ice in her voice, which surprised me, there was only curiosity.

“His eyes. And, he reminded me of Malfoy…a bit snobbish.”

“For Draco, I see…”

Silence fell again, and I watched Narcissa Malfoy move to take up her book. I sighed. I did not like this at all…

“Why am I here ? I assume that this is Malfoy Manor.”

Narcissa Malfoy paused, her pale hand resting on the cover of a leather bound book on the bedside table.

“This is a safe house for Draco’s department. It was part of the Ministry agreement with our family. We were exonerated of our collective crimes in return for our cooperation with Ministry affairs. And when Draco was made Detective Chief Inspector, he began using the Manor as a safe house.”

I noted the sorrow in Narcissa’s voice, but what that sorrow stemmed from was unclear.

“Why are you here, Mrs. Malfoy?” I asked softly, folding my hands on my sore legs.

“I…I have some experience with potions and Healing. I never was certified, so my methods are unorthodox. Mr. Wiscombe cannot always be here…and I…”

Her voice was penitent, and I understood. She had been watching over me, caring for me. The Pureblood/Mudblood dichotomy had been fading from our world ever since the War, and I could only assume that Narcissa Malfoy was trying her best to fit in.

“Lucius maintains the wards, and helps Draco and his men with strategy. With Potter’s escape, the Manor has become an unofficial headquarters for such meetings,” Narcissa explained, pulling her wand from her sleeve to light the rest of the candles in the room, making it a bit cheerier.

“Why here and not the Ministry?”

“Leaks in the department. Leaks to the press. The Detective Superintendent knows that Draco is basing his investigation here, and there have been no problems with this arrangement. Potter’s escape has been a sensitive matter from the beginning. But there are other cases, other criminals to be caught and prosecuted…Draco was given Potter’s case because Draco knows Potter…and Draco is a very talented officer…”

Narcissa Malfoy smiled, albeit smugly, but not at me, just the sort of general proud smile of a mother—the same that my own mother had when people used to tell her how bright I was… How bright I had been in school...

I wanted to know more, not about Harry, but about Malfoy. How he had gotten into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, how he had risen so quickly through the ranks…but Narcissa Malfoy quickly changed the subject.

“I know I should not ask this…but, how are you feeling?”

I knew she did not mean physically.

“Numb.”

“That is to be expected, I suppose.”

I nodded. “I suppose,” I repeated, “There are so many things to think about that I don’t know where to start…”

“From the beginning seems the most logical approach…”

I snorted a laugh and saw that Narcissa Malfoy was smiling kindly. It was strange to me, to have Narcissa Malfoy smiling at me , but it heartened me.

I slept, and when I awoke it was to find Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy standing at the foot of my bed, Lucius Malfoy holding a tray of breakfast and Narcissa Malfoy holding two phials of potion. I thought I was dreaming…

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” Lucius Malfoy said softly, his face made of stone.

I sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness in my back and hips. “Good morning?”

“Draco will be here in an hour, Miss Granger.  Are you well enough to take breakfast?”

I blinked at the older man. He had barely aged since the last time I had seen him, but looked healthier, and I regarded him with caution.

“I believe so…”

Narcissa, as I came to think of her, cleared her throat, aware that her husband was staring at me, and not moving to place a tray for me to begin eating. When he finally moved, he skirted Malfoy’s sleeping body and gently placed the tray across my lap, moving away slowly, but still staring at my face. I suddenly wondered how bad I really looked.

“Have some toast and tea before taking these,” Narcissa said, placing the phials on the tray as well, but sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling warmly at me.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy. I am sorry to be an imposition…”

“Tush, we rarely have visitors, but for you to be brought here in such a state…”

“Lucius!” Narcissa hissed, throwing an icy glare of reproach in her husband’s direction.

I had not been offended, but did note that the senior Malfoy’s drawl had not been one of sympathy or welcome.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Miss Granger,” Lucius Malfoy finished, bowing stiffly, and making his way quickly to the door.

“I made him come, Miss Granger. He has been avoiding anything to do with you, and I felt he should at least greet you…” Narcissa said softly, her eyes moving to her folded hands.

I bit my lip, and stared down at the toast on a china plate. “He has every reason to hate me…as do you and your son…”

Narcissa chuckled suddenly, and I watched, confused, as she laid a hand on her heart.

“My dear girl! Draco told me you had shut yourself away, but for you to be so ignorant… We don’t hate you! Quite the contrary, because of you, we were spared a great deal of embarrassment.”

“I…I don’t understand,” I stuttered, frowning.

“You have forgotten, haven’t you?”

I frowned deeper.

“At Hogwarts, after it was all over, we Malfoys were sitting on the edge of the celebration, but you…you sweet girl…you asked if we would join you. Potter and the Weasleys had separated from the rest of the families, and you said you had been left out. You sat with us and brought food and drink. You talked earnestly with us, telling us to start being truthful about our involvement with the Dark Lord. You hinted about what you knew…the Unbreakable Vow I made with Severus…Draco’s inability to murder Dumbledore… And then you turned to Lucius and called him a foul name…oh, what was it?”

“Pig,” I supplied with sigh, the memory of that night was sepia toned and so distant.

“Yes. No one had ever called him something so simple, so base in his life!” Narcissa laughed with such glee that I began to wonder at her sanity.

“Surely, I didn’t change the course of Lucius Malfoy’s life by calling him a pig?” I asked sarcastically.

“No, but it started something. For years Lucius had been laboring under a delusion. While I sought to align myself with the winning side, the right side, Lucius was so sure that he would revolutionize the world. Mind, Lucius is old-fashioned to a fault, and he is single minded…it was not just the Last Battle to make him realize how wrong he had been and for how long. It was merely the final straw for him. We barely made it out of the War with a sickle to our name, a home to live in, or a family to call Malfoy.”

I nodded. Lucius Malfoy was no saint, but as far as I knew, he was not aspiring to become the next Dark Lord. I remembered how he had searched frantically for Malfoy that day when Voldemort fell…

“Now, eat. There is a pain-reducing potion and a Pepper-up. After Draco leaves, we’ll see about getting you on your feet?”

I nodded again, and began eating. It was a difficult process after not having anything solid in my stomach for a week, but I ate. Narcissa watched like a nosy nurse, and made sure I drank my potions. When she cleared everything away, she cast a few Charms, and my face was scrubbed, my gown switched and my linens cleaned. I felt quite better by the time a knock sounded on the door and Malfoy entered with Arthur Weasley and Healer Wiscombe. Narcissa rose and whispered to Malfoy before taking a seat in her bedside chair, nodding coolly to Arthur.

Conjuring two stools, Malfoy and Arthur sat down closest to the side of the bed while Healer Wiscombe stood next to Narcissa.

“I suppose a ‘good morning’ is in order,” I said, breaking the proverbial ice. The way that Draco Malfoy stared at my face was unnerving. Arthur was looking anywhere but my face, it seemed. Again, I wished I had a mirror.

“Morning, Granger. How are you feeling?” Malfoy said, trying to dash the mechanistic quality in his voice. I could tell he was not a morning person.

“Sore. And a bit bald. Otherwise, I’ll manage.”

Arthur closed his eyes and I sighed. “I’m fine, Arthur,” I added.

It was then Arthur Weasley regarded me with tired, red-rimmed eyes. It was obvious he was having a rough time, and why wouldn’t he?

“I’m here to take your official statement, Granger. You do not mind that Arthur Weasley and Healer Wiscombe act as witnesses?”

I could not say that it made me comfortable, especially Arthur’s presence, but the need to convey the events of that night were far more important, as well as the connections I had made the night before with Narcissa as a sounding board. That, and I was still feeling a distance between how I felt and what had actually happened. Shock, maybe?

“I will consent.”

“Good.”

With that, Malfoy pulled a notepad and a Quick-Quotes Quill from a pocket in his coat, and again I saw his wand in his chest holster.

Malfoy spoke into the Quill, noting the location, date and time, as well as the people present at the interview. Then the first series of questions came, all perfunctory, all common knowledge to Malfoy, some of it answered after Minerva’s funeral. When and where did I meet Harry Potter? When did I first learn of his mental state? Had I had any contact with him before his escape from St. Mungo’s? And finally, and the real kicker: Why did I refuse protective custody?

“I refused because I believed that I was safe. I live in seclusion with many wards protecting the location of my home. Ten layers of wards protect from outside intrusions, and the Floo is warded as well,” I answered.

“Yes, a five layer ward which I had to dismantle under the authority of Article 43 of the Code of Magical Law Enforcement Apprehension Procedures.”

What Malfoy said meant nothing to me, and I think I shook my head in ignorance, something I rarely do.

“Article 43 says that an officer has the legal authority to break anti-Apparition and Floo wards of a private residence in the pursuit of a criminal who is in the midst of committing a crime. In your case, assault, and attempted rape, Miss Granger.”

I frowned, “But how did you know that…”

“A simple tracking device let me locate your home, and when I stuck my head through the Floo, I could see Potter through the bedroom door.”

I bit my lip, what tracking device?

“May I proceed, Miss Granger?” Malfoy said, meeting my eyes for the first time that morning. I nodded with a sigh, I filed my questions for later.

“Would you please recount the events from the time you returned home to the point that the detectives entered your home?”

I paused, and glanced at Arthur whose eyes had moved to my face. This would be hard, perhaps the hardest part, but I closed my eyes and began.

It seemed to take forever, trying to fit in every detail I remembered, every little thing Harry said to me. I dared not open my eyes, I could not bear to see Arthur’s face.

And then I remembered Harry’s voice: ‘You will help me find the Stone!’

My eyes snapped open, and I began to choke. Something felt wrong. My body and brain were somehow divorced, and it was wrong. I could still hear Harry's voice and his words repeating over and over and over… What was happening?

Healer Wiscombe was on me immediately, as was Narcissa, trying to hold my arms down as Wiscombe poured a potion down my throat. The pain…the pain was horrible. I could feel it in my wrists, in my head, in my breast, in my womb… It was odd, like being high. I was cognizant of the lack of control over my body and the ability to handle the pain.

“Out! All of you!” Healer Wiscombe roared to Malfoy and Arthur.

I coughed at the bitterness of the potion, and I convulsed involuntarily from the pain in my womb. It felt as though my insides were about to explode…and my brain…it was imploding from simply not understanding why I had no control.

No you don’t, Hermione Jean Granger…Severus Snape roared in the blackness of my mind. And suddenly, I could breathe, I could see, and the pain subsided as did the convulsions. I had frightened my familiar so that he cowered under a sideboard near the bathroom door, Narcissa’s hair was out of place, and sweat was pouring down Wiscombe’s face.

“What was that? Wiscombe!” Narcissa wailed, moving to wipe something from my forehead.

I lay very still on my back as Narcissa threw back the blankets to gasp.

Blood…I could smell it, I could feel it. Blood feels a particular way against your skin, and the fact that I knew what it felt like was disturbing to a part of me.

“Merlin…fetch Lucius, Narcissa. I need to examine her. Quickly, woman!”

I was helpless, and tears streamed from the corners of my eyes. What was happening to me? Why couldn’t I…?

The blood was Vanished, as were all the soiled linens. I could just see that my left breast was bleeding again, but the damage was not the same. I could hear frantic footfalls, but time had seemed to bend around me, my perception, my mind distorting it.

“The wounds have reopened, enough to make her bleed as much as the night she arrived,” Wiscombe said to Narcissa, I had not noticed her return to the room. “The damage has basically healed, but still…it is as if someone cut at the newly healed flesh from the inside out, just enough to cause this…”

“How? How is that possible?” Narcissa asked in a rushed whisper, but fell silent as the door flew open, and Lucius Malfoy entered as if a devil were on the heels of his boots. Wiscombe threw a sheet over my body, as if I were a cadaver…I wanted to scream!

“Dark magic, my dear. You feel it, do you not?”

Narcissa nodded slowly, her eyes meeting mine and softening. She ran a gentle hand along my left cheek and turned to Lucius again.

“It could be any number of curses, Lucius. How can we know which one it is for certain?”

Lucius gazed down at me, and I could see the pity and disgust in his eyes. He had his wand out, as if ready to duel some unseen monster.

“That is Draco’s job, ‘Cissa. Let him continue the interview. Whatever Miss Granger remembers might be a clue. I will return to the library, I must consult with…” he said softly, his voice trailing off to a distance, and even his eyes softened slightly before he turned away, and addressed Wiscombe, not bothering to finish his sentence. “She needs to be able to speak, Wiscombe. She is the only survivor so far…”

I blinked, and glanced at Narcissa who shook her head. What had he meant exactly?

Wiscombe sighed, and with a quick apology to me, sealed the oozing wounds on my head and breast. With a complicated series of waves of his wand over my belly, the bleeding stopped. Another potion was poured down my throat and a fresh gown was reapplied.

A good hour had passed before Malfoy and Arthur returned to the room, Arthur’s face ashen, and Malfoy’s face expressing his frustration. Before Malfoy could ask his next question, I spoke. I knew I had to say it before I was somehow unable.

“He wants the Stone.”

It did not sound right to me, but it was my voice. I knew I had to say it…

“What stone?”

“The Resurrection Stone, one of the three Deathly Hallows.”

Narcissa’s hand went to her mouth, and Malfoy’s eyes widened a few millimeters.

“He had it…”

“…and lost it in the Forest almost ten years ago,” Malfoy finished.

I felt faint, but I continued.

“I can only imagine why he wants it back, after he gave it up, along with the…”

Lightning struck in my mind, and Severus Snape’s deep laughter filled my brain.

“Albus…Merlin’s balls! The Elder wand…gods, I am so stupid!”

Narcissa pushed past Malfoy to sit on the side of the bed, a wet rag pressed against the largest laceration on my bare scalp.

Speaking around Malfoy’s mother, I met his eyes. I had to speak quickly, the pain was beginning to return, and with it, this time, I could feel the fog of pain begin to erode my faculties. “You have to check Albus’ tomb, Malfoy! It would explain so much! It would explain how he got past the portraits in the office and into Minerva’s room…”

I paused, feeling Narcissa begin to cry as blood stained the front of my gown. I had to ignore it, I had to ignore Arthur’s ashen face, and Malfoy’s scrutinizing eyes.

“He got past Aberforth…through the portrait and into the Room of Requirement. He had to sneak to Albus’ tomb and with Aberforth’s wand blow it open, repair it so no one noticed. He had the Elder wand the whole time. He had it on him…hidden in his clothes maybe; that had to be the only way he got past my wards…”

I grew faint, Narcissa weeping softly, trying to keep blood from running into my eyes. Wiscombe was ready to move, ready to tell Malfoy and Arthur to leave…

“If he has the wand…you will not be able to find him. Ron…or I, maybe…no one else.”

“But why would he do this to you, if he thought he needed you?” Arthur asked, weeping, distraught.

“…don’t know…why did he kill Minerva? Aberforth? It doesn’t make any sense… Just promise me…promise you will not call Ron back! They will kill each other, Arthur…” I rasped.

“Miss Granger, you need to lie back now…” Wiscombe started.

I slapped his hands away, and met Malfoy’s eyes again. “Find the curse that killed Minerva, Malfoy…it is a clue…”

Malfoy grabbed his Quick-Quotes Quill and tablet, and shoved them into his pocket. I fell to the bed, watching as Malfoy pushed Arthur Weasley from the room.

It felt as if my last moments were upon me…and I wanted to laugh. My life had made so much sense a month before. I had been healthy, plain, simple, Jean Granger. I lived alone with my cat, I wrote short stories, and worked in my garden. I had regular tea with Rubeus Hagrid and Minerva McGonagall. I talked to Albus Dumbledore’s portrait, and I swapped rare potions ingredients for banned books with Horace Slughorn. Those were my only friends…there were no lovers. There were no lovers because I had loved a man who was dead, and he never would have loved me…the insufferable little know-it-all.

What good is falling in love anyway?

It is the difference between hope and hopelessness, Miss Granger.

I had forgotten when I started to hear his voice in my head.

Wiscombe fussed over me, healing spells sinking into my skin, but having little effect. Narcissa wept, but she summoned elves to bring phials of various potions from her stores. Activity centered over me, around me, and I closed my eyes. This was not dying, not really; I’d been closer before. More potions, some poured down my throat, others applied to my skin. Hours and hours passed, and I let my body go numb. The pain was only an itch…

“Get out.”

My nose wriggled, there was a new voice and new warmth.

“Get out, both of you!”

The activity stopped, and the warmth of the bodies that had been hovering over me faded away. It was cold without those bodies hovering, and I opened my eyes just a crack. Draco Malfoy stood over me, looking from my bare toes to my bare chest to my bare head.

“Potter used a hex against me in Sixth Year, one he had gleaned from Severus. Do you remember what it was?”

If I had had the energy, I would have grabbed the nearest bit of cloth to hide myself, but as it was, I had no strength to even answer. His eyes skimmed over my body, coldly, clinically. I could see my own blood reflected in those eerie silver orbs.

“Sectumsempra, a particularly nasty spell, as it only could be, having been created by my former Head of House. It is worse than a regular cutting curse, far more damaging. And it cannot be healed by conventional means. However, this spell, the spell that is keeping you from healing, is not exactly Sectumsempra, but very similar.”

His voice was soft, and in no way condescending. And when he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his cool eyes were a balm to the pain that was beginning to creep back into my consciousness.

“Potter has become quite creative during his years in the madhouse. And if he has the Elder Wand, any type of spell is possible.”

I tried to open my mouth to speak, but gritted my teeth instead. The convulsions began anew, and I shuddered uncontrollably. Malfoy sighed, and put a cool hand on my forehead, the sticky contact of his palm and my bloody skin making me itch.

“I can try the counter-curse, something more than a Vulnera Sanentur, but I don’t know if it will have any effect,” he sighed, drawing his wand from his chest holster, removing his hand from my forehead.

“Close your eyes, Granger.”

I complied, it was the only thing I could do.

Words, deep and masculine, flowed over me as Malfoy seemed to sing an indistinct song to soothe my body. I knew of Sectumsempra, but not the counter. I remembered deriding Harry for using any of the advice in the Prince’s potions book. I remembered Malfoy…and how miserable he had been that year. I could not , however, hate Severus for creating Sectumsempra, I could never hate him.

Phoenix song, it was like phoenix song, but obviously not. It was not Vulerna Sanentur, but had similar strains. The song went on and on until one deep and final note came from the depths of Malfoy’s chest.

At the touch of his hand on my shoulder, I opened my eyes to meet his. The pity I saw in those orbs horrified me, angered me.

“We’ll see in a few hours, but the bleeding has stopped, for now.”

I blinked slowly, feeling as if I had just run a marathon. “Mal…” I started, but thought better of it as he stood and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood off his palm.

“Don’t mention this to anyone. Got it, Granger?” he said with his back to me.

I did not speak. He turned and pulled a sheet over me, but did not meet my eye again. Silently, he walked across the large bedroom and slipped through the door, passing Wiscombe and Narcissa as they pushed in. My eyes followed him until I could no longer see him. Tears, strangely wrought tears, filled my eyes, and I laid back a bit more in the bed, and let sleep steal my pain and worries.

Part 4

I gazed into the mirror, frowning. My head was nicely shaped, but I looked like a torture victim with scars in my scalp, dark rings under my eyes, my lips still bruised, and the clean gown hanging off my pointy frame of bones. I was never pretty, but what I saw in the mirror was ghastly .

After three days of well-needed sleep, I was able to get up and move about. Narcissa held my arm as I moved to the marble bathroom, me praying to whatever god that I did not somehow fall. The bathroom was not outfitted to be fall-proof. Every edge and counter was a possible device to my untimely death. And considering how weak I was, my fears of bashing my head on the gorgeous green marble were doubled.

I had a proper bath, after nearly two weeks of Cleansing Charms, and it felt heavenly. I had a proper meal, and it nearly made me ill…but it was delicious going down. I was able to walk to one of the large windows and look over the gardens in the back of the Manor. But, for all that time, I had not left my room or gone outside into the air. It was March, and soon the Equinox would arrive. I usually celebrated at home with a few bottles of Ogden’s and a little toast for a mild spring in my garden. I had indulged myself at the last Solstice by having dinner out.

Narcissa sat with me during the day, bringing me books that I knew were banned by the Ministry, and we did not talk about Harry although I craved news. I missed my Cottage, and the privacy. Malfoy had only been by once since I became able to see after myself, and then only to tell me that I was not allowed to return home for another week.

Healer Wiscombe came by in the mornings, amazed at how well I was healing. I said nothing. My nipple had healed, but there would always be a scar across the underside, one of several eternal reminders. The damage to my womb and clitoris was nearly healed, with no signs that it would tear open again. I would have to take potion treatments for the next few days to erase the trauma and nerve damage. The bruises were slow to fade, and my hair was slow to grow.

I grew tired of wearing nightgowns and lying in bed.

“May I enter, Miss Granger?”

I had retired to the bed again, curled up with my familiar, and a book entitled Dark Shaman of the Amazonian Basin. It was late afternoon and the sun lit the white décor of the room with a fiery orange light. I glanced up to see Lucius Malfoy standing in the doorway, his face, as always, unreadable. He wore a pair of smoky gray trousers, fashionable boots, and a cream-colored dress shirt under a vest, the shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows and the top button undone. His long silver hair was pulled into a ribbon and hung over his left shoulder. Lucius Malfoy looked roguishly handsome, aged, but handsome, and I instinctually bit my lip. I did appreciate beauty.

I nodded slowly, my eyes noticing that he had a book in his right hand and his wand in his left. As he neared, I could just make out the discolouration of his inner left forearm. I still felt a heightened sense of caution around the Malfoy patriarch, but during my time in the Manor, he had not harmed me or verbally denigrated me. I had expected it, but it never came—some childhood traumas never heal.

Lucius Malfoy strode across the room and paused at the bedside, scrutinizing me with cold, pale eyes. With a swift movement, he sat in the chair Narcissa usually occupied. We stared at each other for several more silent moments, and I broke the stillness by marking and closing the book in my lap with a snap.

“I understand that you are healing quickly,” he said with that familiar arrogant air and turning in his voice.

“I can walk on my own, eat, and bathe on my own,” I supplied, unsure as to why Lucius Malfoy would want to speak to me without Narcissa present.

“The pain…is tolerable?”

It was not a question to lead to a concerned line of conversation, and I answered.

“It is minimal, now.”

“Ah…” he said, tilting his head to gaze down his nose at me, looking to the front of my gown and then to my shaved head.

I sighed and stroked my familiar and constant feline guardian who slept contentedly in the bend of my hip where I was turned towards the side of the bed.

“Is there something you wished to speak about, Mr. Malfoy?”

Cutting to the chase…I could tell he wanted to leave and forget I ever existed.

“I came across a description of a curse in the library. Of course, it seems, now, whatever curse affected you has been countered, so I suppose I am a bit late…”

I detected a hint; a small hint of regret…and it shocked me.

Lucius Malfoy extended his arm to pass me the book he had been carrying. I paused, noticing that he still had his wand in his other hand. But, I took the book and opened it to where a red velvet ribbon bookmark rested between the parchment pages.

I read the words, realizing that it was German, and quickly translated in my mind. I blinked at the handwritten words, scribed in flowing script. The blood drained from my face as I read…and read.

“What is this book?” I breathed, unable to speak properly or tear my eyes away from the ink on the parchment.

“It is called The Hanged Man, but its real name has been lost to time.”

I swallowed as I closed the book and let it fall to my lap with Dark Shaman of the Amazonian Basin, but I wanted to throw it across the room and far away from me.

“It is a memoir of a Dark Wizard who, as you read, preferred to sexually destroy his lovers and/or victims.”

The Marquis de Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom paled in depravity…

“The marked passage is about a curse that shares many similarities with what injuries you sustained. Your injuries are also reminiscent of Severus’ Sectumsempra, and from my conclusions, what was done to you was a combination of the two…a spell uniquely Potter’s.”

I nodded slowly, my hands clenching so that I could feel my fingernails bite into my palms.

“Potter intended to literally mark you, Miss Granger, mark you so deeply that you would never be…”

Lucius paused and ran a hand over his mouth. I glanced at his movement to see that he was hiding the slight quivering of his lips. I furrowed my brow…even Lucius Malfoy, murderer, former Death Eater, was affected in some way. Whether it was disgust or some grander emotion, I could not tell, but the gesture was surprising and unexpected.

“The Hanged Man is a banned book, Miss Granger, and I think you know why. The curses and acts recounted on those pages are of the darkest magics known to the Wizarding kind. I cannot say if Potter has encountered this book, but Merlin help us if he did. I have kept this book hidden from my family and my former associates…”

With a flick of his wand, the book floated from my lap back to his hand.

“And I had intended to destroy it, as I should have when I first became aware of it. However, this book might prove useful in countering Potter…but as it is, the book is dangerous and should be, at the very least, sealed.”

A sudden hissed incantation burst from Lucius Malfoy’s lips, and I gasped as the book glowed a terrible shade of red, and the pages seemed to melt together, making it impossible for anyone to open it. I swallowed as Lucius Malfoy met my eyes, a ferocity visible in those silver orbs. He passed the book back to me, and I hesitated to touch it, but quickly placed it aside on the bed. It would take time to navigate past the spell Lucius had placed upon the book, but I knew that if I would need it, Merlin forbid, I would find a way.

“What my wife has not told you, Miss Granger, is that Potter has killed twice since your arrival here. The day Draco questioned you was the third murder, and yesterday the fourth. We feared you would be the fifth from the injuries you sustained.”

I closed my eyes. I could feel blood in my palms. Sweet Nimue…

“If your life was in danger before, it is doubly so now.”

I found I was weeping silently, too tired to let my true grief pour out of me as it should. My body quaked, but Lucius did not move. I did not expect him to sympathize, it did not seem to be in his nature. But, in a comforting way, I felt strengthened by Lucius’ coldness. It reminded me that I was very much the same as he. I had become weak by no fault of my own.

I swallowed my tears, and let the shivers pass away until I was completely still. I had to keep it together.

I wiped at the remnants of my tears, hastily, and opened my eyes to meet Lucius’ gaze evenly.

“I need my wand, Mr. Malfoy.”

I could not say why I uttered those words so suddenly, but I felt incredibly naked without my wand. If danger were coming, I would need it, and by Merlin, I would not let it go.

“I will speak to Draco.”

“I would rather speak to him myself…I need information, Mr. Malfoy, and I doubt that your son would appreciate you leaking that information to me. I hope you have told him about the book you just sealed?”

Ice, sarcasm, strength…it was coming back to my voice. All I needed was my power, and Horace would literally initiate me as an honorary Slytherin House member.

“He is aware.”

“I would like to speak with him as soon as possible. I am still under confinement, of a sort, so I trust you will relay my wishes?”

An eyebrow arched, and I narrowed my eyes. I had once been afraid of this man, but I had been a girl, then.

Lucius’ lips curled into what I construed as a smile, but it seemed strained. “I can do that, Miss Granger, and as for confinement, you are free to move about my home as you see fit.”

I blinked once, the permission given to me seemingly lightening the weight on my shoulders as if I had indeed been confined to just the bedroom and adjoining bathroom. Odd…

He rose from the chair and bent to smooth his trousers, his hair falling from his shoulder to spill down his back when he straightened. “I know you will not mention your knowledge of that book to anyone outside this house, Miss Granger, it would not do for my tattered reputation, or yours, if the Ministry learned that I had owned it at one time.”

There was a veiled threat in those words, but I could only smirk.

“I borrow books from Horace Slughorn, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll say nothing, if you’ll say nothing…”

The expression on Lucius Malfoy’s face was one I knew I would treasure. Shock, and then respect, only an ounce or so, but something I had never expected from Lucius Malfoy.

“I’ll have Draco pop in as soon as he can,” he said, the temperature of his tone warming a few degrees.

And in only about three Lucius Malfoy sized strides, I was alone with my familiar and my thoughts. I opened my palms with a wince, and sighed. I slipped the now sealed copy of The Hanged Man under the pillow with the other book I had been reading. With a wince, I extracted myself from the bed, which had been my home for nearly two weeks, and padded slowly to the bathroom.

Gazing into the large mirror over the basin of the sink, I tried to smile at myself, but my gaunt and battered face could only manage a sneer. I washed my hands and studied the crescent shaped marks in my palm. I wished I had my wand. I had to make do with a bottle of healing salve I found in a small chest set into the wall, and soon I only had more scars.

I was still unsettled. I leaned against the counter of the sink, my hands resting on the marble surface, staring into my own familiar eyes. Honey brown colored eyes, long lashes, and dark circles underneath…and in those eyes I fell, thinking.

The Hanged Man, by its own title, had various meanings. The Tarot card, part of the Major Arcana…? Maybe I should not have walked out of Divination after all. Odin on the World Tree, Jesus Christ on the Cross, two men, two trees… What did that card mean?

Sacrifice, acceptance, waiting, new points of view, truth, alignment…

I blinked. I could almost formulate something. Damn . There was something beyond the reach of my mind, and it infuriated me. I was grasping at smoke. There had to be a motive, a reason for it…to Harry’s madness, the murders, and his need to find the Resurrection Stone. It could not be as simple as wanting to see those who had died that were dear to him, it was never so simple for Harry. But then again, Harry was mad.

I sighed, finding that my lips were quivering again. I pushed from the counter, taking a few steps backward to sit on the edge of the bathtub, still staring at my own face in the mirror.

The Hanged Man… The passage had shaken me, so perverse, so vile…but I had to keep that information fresh, it was pertinent.

‘To engrave one's name into the womb of the one most important…so that she never forgets who she would serve for all her days. That womb would be at the disposal of a master who would fill it with seed, or tear it out and force the woman to devour it as punishment.’

My stomach churned.

‘To drink the blood from the fountain is to drink power…’

My heart seemed to squeeze in my chest, and I clutched the front of my soft gown.

‘To make her scream in pain and in lust, she will serve to the very end the master of her innermost heart…’

I wanted to scream.

The curse had not been exactly that, but similar, both just as Dark and terrible. It simply was impossible for me to believe that my best friend, my Harry , would ever do something to me, something that would scar my very soul! How I wanted to hate him…

For so many years I had wanted love, what young girl did not want love? I loved Viktor Krum spontaneously and all too shortly, a mere infatuation. I loved Ron, but I could not be his lover. I loved Harry, he was like my brother, or the closest thing I could imagine to be a brother. Even during the time Ron left us while we were searching for the Horcruxes, I would hold Harry much like a mother would hold a child, or an older sister would hold a little brother.

Those were the types of love I knew. And I knew they loved me in return, but it had not been enough.

My hand slid down my front to my belly, to my womb, and I wondered if I could still have children. Had Harry’s curse made it impossible for me to have a child if I wanted one? Merlin, I could hate him if he had done something like that.

A part of me felt as if I had done something terribly wrong, but the feeling passed as I looked more closely at myself in the mirror.

I had only wanted my privacy. I did not want to leave the Wizarding world, the Muggle world was far too foreign to me now. I could have easily given up, though. Maybe if I had, I would not be in this situation… No, he would have found me in the Muggle world just as easily.

We cannot run from our past.

No, my dear woman, you cannot …Severus Snape said, and for the first time, I could feel his presence inhabiting a part of my thoughts.

“Please do not be my conscience,” I begged…with a smile, noticing that my eyes had seemed to change for a moment, to darken.

He did not answer, and I did not expect him to. He was there and he was not there.

I wished he had loved me. I wished for so many things, but they would never come true. I wished, from time to time, that I had died fighting Voldemort, but I had not. Someone always had to live with the memory of those times, and I was one of those people. So was Harry…and it was obvious what it did to him…

Was I insane as well? I was the one hearing Severus Snape’s voice in my head.

I chuckled, feeling my laughter in my belly just under my hand.

I most definitely am not normal, I couldn’t be.

“What are you doing, Granger?”

I nearly fell backward into the empty tub. I tore my eyes away from my reflection to the source of the voice, the voice that had called me a ‘filthy little Mudblood’ in Second Year. But there was no scrawny, pale boy in the doorway, but a wide shouldered, tall, albeit pale, man. I took a breath and let the hand on my belly fall to my hip.

“Thinking…”

“You’ve been thinking for hours in there…isn’t your arse numb from sitting on the edge of the tub?”

He was teasing me, but he was right, my bum was tingling.

Hours? I stood unsteadily, smoothing my gown down, feeling cold after being encased in the marble bathroom. I glimpsed my reflection one last time, and lamented my lack of hair. I really did look terrible.

Malfoy stepped aside to let me pass into the darkened bedroom, the sun was starting to set on what I assumed was the other side of the Manor. I shuffled across the rug to my usual place on the bed, finding that my familiar had disappeared as he usually did to probably lurk near the kitchen most likely. Tucking my bare feet into the soft sheet of the bed, I settled on my left side, the posture I usually took when conversing with someone at the bedside. Malfoy, however, did not come to sit in the chair by the bedside, but sat on the edge of the bed, near my feet, leaning back into the footboard, his hands folded on the clad knee of dark gray trousers. He had worn a similar suit the day of Minerva’s funeral. In fact, my more recent memories of the man had him dressed in only dark gray suits, sometimes with thin pinstripes, sometimes not. The tie was always a dark shade of green silk, and the cufflinks, making his outfit seem almost too formal or too antiquated, were emeralds.

He looked terrible. Despite the impeccable cut of his suit, one tail of his shirt was not tucked in, and there was a dark spot of something damp on the lapel of his coat. His hair was untidy, the platinum spikes having lost some of their height, and his mouth was set into a grim line.

“Did you find your cufflink?” I asked, happy to break the silence between us, his eyes staring at my shorn head with an obvious distaste.

“I did not lose it.”

I sighed, “After I got sick all over you in the greenhouses I noticed you had lost a cufflink. They’re emeralds, aren’t they?”

Malfoy pursed his lips before saying, “I did not lose it.”

I did not want to argue, but I knew he was either wrong, or had more than one set of emerald cufflinks. Knowing Malfoy, he had several sets.

“But you…” I began.

“I did not lose it, I knew exactly where it went…because I put it there.”

My face surely was comical, but Malfoy did not laugh, instead he raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms before his chest.

“I put it in the pocket of your cloak when you fainted. The tracking device I mentioned?”

Hint, hint, I could almost hear him say.

“Oh,” was all I could manage.

“Father mentioned that you wanted your wand. I can retrieve it for you tomorrow, if you don’t mind waiting another day.”

“I’m just glad it wasn’t destroyed.”

“Yes. Well, Father also informed me that you wanted to speak to me.”

I nodded slowly. I needed to know more.

“About the Elder wand…”

Malfoy interrupted again, but I kept calm, and listened.

“We confirmed your theory, Granger. Potter has it.”

I had hoped I had been wrong.

“He covered his movements quite well, which makes some in the department believe Potter is not as insane as many would like to think. I believe that with the Elder Wand he Confounded the portraits for several minutes so that he would not be seen in the Headmistress’s office. I have spoken to Albus Dumbledore’s portrait, and the theory is viable.

The curse used to kill the Headmistress…is Dark in nature, and obscure. The type of curse is mentioned only in one place…”

“The Hanged Man…” I answered in a distant whisper. My sight was set in a dark place, and I could see it…

Ginny had fled to the Burrow after Harry had lashed out…Ron beating on Harry’s study door…and Harry sitting on the rug before a raging fire with The Hanged Man open on his lap.

It was only a thought, but it seemed possible.

“How do you know about it?”

My vision pulled backward into my brain proper. The anger of Malfoy’s question had startled me, and I knew I had said too much. I hesitantly glanced at Malfoy, who was still sitting on the foot of the bed, leaning back into the footboard, his arms crossed before his chest, but his eyes blazing and his hands clutching at his forearms, white knuckled.

I tried to smile, “I’m a know-it-all, or have you forgotten?”

Malfoy seemed to relax, but his eyes were burning into me.

“This is no time for lies, Granger.”

I wasn’t so obvious, I knew. And then I felt it, a nudge just between my eyebrows.

Careful there, Jean, I taught him better than Potter, Severus whispered.

“I was informed of a curse that was similar to what caused my condition; it was detailed in The Hanged Man.”

“My father told you.”

I said nothing. I wanted to tell Malfoy that Lucius was trying to help, and that the book was sealed, but there were surely other copies secreted away. Horace probably had a copy, everything else in his library was Dark…and I suddenly felt ill, knowing I had been reading such banned books as The Hanged Man.

“There was a curse in that book, then?”

Ah yes, divert course to something else…I did not want to feel Malfoy’s penetrating anger any longer. And I did not want him to find a weakness in my mind.

“An asphyxiation curse, one of three varieties. If you know of The Hanged Man, you know that much of the spells detailed are of a sexual nature.”

The anger was ebbing in his voice, but his eyes remained on me, as if looking through me. Surely he was probing for a crack to see something he deemed important, but I had been violated enough.

“Some of the spells can be used to kill. The third degree asphyxiation curse was used on the Headmistress.”

I said nothing, expressed nothing. All I could feel was the emptiness left behind, having already poured my grief out for my friend. All that remained was a growing anger, and a growing hatred for the man who was, and was not, Harry Potter.

“And the latest victims?” I asked dryly, my eyes falling to one of Malfoy’s cufflinks.

Malfoy shifted and I knew that he hoped I hadn’t heard.

“You are not going to like what I have to say, Granger.”

I lifted my eyes to his…and the seriousness of what he was about to say steeled me to expect the worst.

“The day I questioned you, Sybill Trelawney was murdered at Hogwarts. The school is now closed.”

Trelawney? Gears in the darkest part of my mind began moving, in a dire need of oil.

“How?”

No whispers, no gasps, my voice came out stronger than it had been in weeks.

“Her skin was flayed, she bled to death…”

Sweet Nimue.

“Longbottom found her in the chair she used in her classroom, nude, surrounded by tea leaves and Tarot cards.”

“And the flesh?”

“In a pile at her feet. Only her torso was flayed, not her limbs.”

I bit my lip. Only bits of information were making sense, but the rest was madness. Perhaps that was what it was meant to be, but I couldn’t overlook anything.

“Anything else, Malfoy? Any markings, any signs?”

Malfoy shook his head, and ran a hand over his face to replace it against his chest.

Surely there had been something …something to give a clue as to why Harry was… I closed my eyes, the sickness overwhelming my brain. What did Trelawney have to do with the Resurrection Stone? If anything, the barmy woman had more to do with the Prophecy we had found in the Department of Mysteries in our Fifth Year, and not much else. Trelawney was harmless.

“How did he get in? The wards…”

“We’re reviewing it all now, but with the Elder Wand, he has an incredible conduit for his magic. And…there are still many other ways in and out of the castle that have not been recorded.”

“And the latest?”

Malfoy rose to his feet.

“I’ve told you too much, Granger…”

I pursed my lips and took a deep breath.

“Who, Malfoy?”

He turned away from me, his hands clenched into fists. He was trembling from anger, I could feel it roiling off his wide shoulders, Malfoy pulsed with it.

I straightened, lifting myself off the pillows I had laid against.

“Who?” I asked again, magic lacing my voice, making me frown. I had felt magic in my voice before, but never so strong. I had not intended it…

“George Weasley.”

The steely reserve shuddered briefly, but held. My face began to crumple, but I stopped it, and the tears. Tears could come later .

Malfoy turned to look over his shoulder, perhaps checking to see if I were in some emotional distress. When he apparently thought I was safe enough to approach, he returned to the spot at the foot of the bed, crossing his right leg over his left knee as well as crossing his arms again. I could sense that he was still angry, and, like me, had managed to contain his emotions behind a cool exterior and a folded body.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Malfoy rolled his eyes and began. He had anticipated my question.

“Weasley was attacked in his own shop on Diagon Alley, late in the evening after closing. He was incapacitated, tortured, and hanged upside down after which his throat was slashed. He did not die immediately, his wife Angelina found him and tended to him, running to alert us. Weasley was taken to St. Mungo’s where he managed to live long enough to tell me what had happened and who was responsible. The nature of his wounds caused his death. No potion or spell could stop the bleeding or close the wound…”

“But your counter…?”

“Did not work, I tried, Granger, believe me, I tried .”

Malfoy was not looking at me anymore, lost in his own memories. I studied his face, seeing the fuzziness of a glamor below his eyes, obviously trying to conceal the rings. I had rings under my eyes at that moment, and I had them often just out of the principle of my work, but I never hid them. Then again, I was not in a position of authority like Malfoy, and appearance meant a lot to men like that.

“So it was a different curse.”

“A variation from The Hanged Man, once again. This time it was a variation of a lashing curse, another curse with degrees. This curse was of the highest degree…never meant to be used on any part of the body other than the back or buttocks. It is like the curse he used to brand your womb, but purposely crafted so that there is no known counter or potion that would staunch the bleeding or close the wound.

When Potter cursed you, he seemed to lack the ability to make the curse take full effect, thus my being able to counter it. Within the time between your attack and Weasley’s, Potter has gotten better…more efficient.”

I said nothing, looking down at my fists in my lap. I did not dig my fingernails into my palms, but my knuckles were white and my palms were thumping.

“Wh-What did George say?”

Malfoy sighed, disconcertedly. “I shouldn’t be telling you, Granger, but you need to know.”

“For my own safety?”

Our eyes met again. “Yes.”

I could see deep into those silver orbs, very deep. There was frustration there, and anger. I could see concern for himself, his family, his co-workers, and…

“Before Weasley died, the Healers were able to temporarily repair his vocal cords. Blood replenishers were pumping into him as fast as blood was spilling out, but he told me in not so many words that Potter was looking for Ronald. When Weasley could not tell Potter his brother’s location, he was tortured. I’ll spare you the specifics…”

“No!” I gulped. “No, I need to know, Malfoy.”

He sighed again and shifted so that both booted feet were squarely on the floor, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clasping his pale, long fingered hands before him.

“He was stripped nude and bound. His fingers and arms were broken methodically, then his feet and legs. I’ve heard it called ‘hobbling’. It was not until later he was hoisted by his right ankle to hang, his head about four feet from the floor of his shop.

While he was hanging, Potter began questioning him about you. Where you were…who had taken you… Of course, Weasley did not know.

Before his throat was slashed, Potter said something that Weasley repeated over and over, right until the moment he died. He said that Potter envied him. Potter said that he would fix everything… Don’t pity the dead. Don’t pity the dead.”

Malfoy stopped, his hands trembling, his left eye twitching.

I laid back into the pillows, unclenching my hands so that my sweaty palms rested against my legs.

‘Don’t pity the dead.’

‘You will help me find the Stone!’

I wondered if my logic was anywhere close to the truth. I had passed the point in thinking that I was simply having a nightmare…

“Where are the Weasleys?”

“We evacuated them outside the country. Ronald has been sent to stay with them, and explicitly instructed not to return to Britain. I’ve already had three Floo calls from that git, screaming at me to let him return, or to send you somewhere safe,” Malfoy drawled characteristically.

“Why haven’t you sent me somewhere?”

Malfoy’s sneer faded as he turned to regard me. “You are safe here. Besides, you were injured, I couldn’t risk worsening your condition by moving you.”

It made sense, but I felt much better.

“And moving you now might bring unwanted attention,” he added as if reading my thoughts.

I sighed. I wouldn’t leave the country by any means. Harry had to be caught and treated. Or imprisoned…although I loathed the thought. I wondered if there was anything left of my old friend, if there was still a gentle, loving part of him that would make him stop… I wondered what Ron was thinking…

“Where is Harry now?” I asked, more to myself.

“We’re not certain down to a village, but we believe he’s moving south…”

To Wiltshire.

“So, you realize what might have to happen, don’t you Granger?”

I nodded. “I would really like to have my wand back, Malfoy.”

“First thing in the morning, Granger.”

I slept fitfully, vivid dreams assaulting me, making me wake up in screams. My familiar hid under the bed and would not come out when I called. No one came to my room, and I felt terribly alone. It had been years since I had slept so poorly. Finally, though, too exhausted to fight another nightmare, my brain allowed me to sleep without dreaming.

When I woke again, sunlight streamed in through the windows on either side of the bed; it was after dawn. I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. Through my left eye, I saw something that made my spirits soar…my wand.

I had missed the stolen walnut wand. I still carried Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand ever since having been ‘snatched’ by Greyback and taken to the very house I sat comfortably inside at that very moment. I never thought consciously about that day in the parlor. The walnut and dragon-string grew to suit me better than the vinewood and dragon-string…and Merlin forbid I should ever tell anyone whose wand I carried. The transfer of ownership had taken time, but my vinewood seemed to abandon me, and it rested in my vault at Gringotts.

Atop a stack of clean clothes, my walnut wand seemed to gleam in the morning light and I crawled toward it. When I took it up in my hand, my entire body pulsed. Instant recognition. I had half a mind to hug my wand to my chest and stroke it as if I were stroking Malfoy the cat. I was the owner of this wand now; it had accepted me over Bellatrix Lestrange—a personal point of pride. I had tamed it, like taming a wild, dangerous animal.

I rose from the bed, gathered up the pile of clothes, and with my wand headed toward the bathroom. Someone, most likely Malfoy, had brought a whole outfit from the Cottage. I tried not to think about him going through the underwear drawer, but I knew he must have. Cotton underpants, black, my favorite bra, black, my favorite pair of denims, stone washed, my favorite silk camisole, gray, and my favorite jumper, loose knit soft gray wool…it was my usual outfit for home…down to the heavy gray wool socks. The only thing that was missing were my military boots and my hand-me-down coat.

I washed my face, and dabbed it dry with a thick, expensive towel. In the mirror, I looked almost like myself. The hair was a drastic difference, now centimeters-long caramel brown fuzz on a scarred, but shapely scalp. The bruises were nearly gone, but the dark circles and sunken cheeks remained. I did not look very healthy, and Merlin forbid my parents should ever see me in this shape…they would think I had an eating disorder.

I brushed my teeth with the new toothbrush I found in the wall chest, and felt tears stinging my eyes.

I could have easily gone to my parents in Australia and let the Ministry handle this nightmare. I could work on reforming my family, make as many apologies as possible, maybe get in touch with the Australian Ministry, and find work.

But what if Harry remembered me mentioning Australia?

I rinsed my mouth and wiped my tears away with my sleeve. I could not just run away because something horrible had happened to me.

Now clothed to move about, I immediately went to the bedroom door, cracking it open to find a wood paneled corridor, dark and quiet. As I stepped over the threshold, I noticed a chair sitting next to the door. Touching the upholstered back of the chair, I could still feel the warmth of a recently vacated body. I wondered who…

I shifted my wand, which I kept in my sleeve, usually in a holster that I had stored in my coat, and decided to take the right side, the north, or what I assumed to be the north passage. My wool sock clad feet sank into a rich carpet as I moved. I tried not to slink or creep, I was not trespassing, but, except for the bedroom I had just left, I did feel like an intruder.

Dim wall sconces lit the corridor, gleaming off dark wood paneling. There were a few paintings, but no portraits. I took note of the landscapes and still lifes, as well as the number of doors I passed on either side of the corridor. I heard no movement behind any of the doors, no sounds of life. I was perhaps in a guest wing…I could not remember the layout of the Manor from the last, brief time I had been there. That had been nearly ten years before, and I had had little time to contemplate the architecture.

Finally, at the end of the corridor was light, and sound. I had reached the central foyer of the Manor, and I knew I was not totally lost. Standing at a banister, I realized I was on the top floor, and far below were voices. I peeked down the adjacent wing, finding the corridor dark, and started down the stairs, pausing on the landing of the first floor. These corridors were brighter with lighter wood paneling and brighter sconces…and silenced portraits, who glared at my passing, lined the walls. The family wing, perhaps?

Down more steps, I came to the wide foyer with white marble flooring and large windows looking out across wide, rolling hills, dotted with clumps of forest. The sky was an incredible shade of blue, and large, billowing clouds ambled across the face of morning.

“Father…did you?”

Snippets of Malfoy’s voice came from down the main floor corridor to the right of the terminus of the stairs. I took two steps before stopping…I could hardly believe I was a guest in this ridiculously large house.

“Granger has…”

My name. I moved toward the source of Malfoy’s voice. My socks were a bit slick on the marble, but noiseless. Passing two different doors, hypothetically leading to two different rooms, I came to the last door on my left. A sliver of morning light came from a crack between the door and the jamb, and I passed through the light to press my back against the wall, my right ear closest to the door. I could faintly smell pipe smoke and coffee.

“She may be a Mud-Muggleborn, Draco, but she is not mentally deficient.”

Did Lucius Malfoy pay me a compliment?

“Granger is in shock, Father! Being nearly raped and murdered will do that to a person!” Malfoy snarled.

Malfoy was angry…no, that was an understatement of an adjective…he was seething.

“She seems strong enough to me, son. Her mind is of the calculative sort, she can compartmentalize her pain, her emotions, her needs…it also seems to me that she is as desperate as you are to stop Potter,” Lucius snapped back.

There was a sound of furniture moving, and I thought for a second there was a scuffle between father and son. I was wrong when I peeked through the bright crack to see Lucius Malfoy sitting in a plush green velvet armchair by a fireplace, his bare feet propped up on an ottoman, a pipe hanging from his mouth and a newspaper in his hands…a Bulgarian paper…he wore pajamas, dark blue silk, with a matching smoking jacket overtop. Malfoy, on the other hand, must have plopped down in the adjacent chair as I could just see the back of his head, his cheek in his left palm as he lounged. He was not in pajamas, but a black turtleneck, his wand holsters visible over the shirt. His feet were also propped up by the ankles, heavy black boots dangling off the corner. One long finger hooked through the handle of a large mug of steaming coffee.

I tried to see more of the room, but all I could see was a long black leather coat hanging over a chair behind a large writing desk situated centrally in the room, pushed back only slightly nearer the large casement windows. The sun was too bright to see more.

Quickly I slid back against the wall, relaxing so I could breathe properly.

“That may be, Father, but you are suggesting something that goes against the ethics of my department.”

“Oh damn those ethics, Draco. You have considered this long before I voiced the suggestion, admit it!”

A rustle of newspaper punctuated Lucius’ strong words and I clenched my teeth. The damn Death Eater was thinking of something…

“I cannot use Granger as bait, Father. These are not the old days. Besides, I have already run it past the Detective Superintendent…”

Bloody ferret!

“Then what do you propose to do, Draco? Potter is coming in this direction, and Merlin knows who he’ll kill on his way.”

“He won’t find the Manor, and even if he did, he would never get through the wards.”

“Potter moved about Hogwarts pretty easily…he got through the Granger girl’s wards…”

Malfoy growled loud enough for me to hear from outside the door.

“He is not all-powerful, Father. He’s deranged, and he will make a mistake.”

“He has the Elder Wand, son.”

Malfoy snorted. “Shall I repeat myself, Father?”

There was a pause, and I waited…and waited.

“What are you going to do with Granger?”

Malfoy sighed. “The DS wants to move her out of the country, but it would only exacerbate matters. It could lead Potter outside of Britain…”

“Then he can be some other Ministry’s problem…the ICW…”

Malfoy sighed again. “It is not that simple, Father. The press is having a field day. My men are getting harassed, hell, I’m getting harassed by people in my own department. People are frightened, confused, and it doesn’t help that The Prophet is stirring the cauldron by adding their own wild speculations.”

“Every plan I have given you is out in the open, son. Without breaking a few policies, you may not stop him…” Lucius said gently, and I wondered what his face looked like at that moment. His words sounded almost tender, fatherly.

“That’s why I have been telling Granger everything…she knows Potter better than anyone. And after what he tried to do to her, I think it is obvious that she is somehow integral to whatever he is planning to do.”

Lucius snorted, “And you shouted at me for sharing The Hanged Man with her!”

“Too much, too soon, Father…”

“That little Mud-Muggleborn would have found it eventually! Better from me than from someone else! I even sealed the damn thing; it would take days for her to get around the enchantment…decades for anyone else.”

Another long pause, another possible compliment, and my back ached, the wainscoting and chair rail digging into my lower back.

“Son, all of this…Potter, The Hanged Man, it feels so…it feels like the old days.”

Malfoy inhaled so deeply I could hear it from outside the door. “Only worse, Father. The Dark Lord was not so much of a sexual pervert, at least. But we’re on the winning side this time.”

“Yes, this time…”

I could feel my face contorting into a scowl. But a movement out of the corner of my eye made me jump and nearly slip on the marble floor. Narcissa was fast approaching me, her brow knitted in confusion. As she neared, I pushed a finger over my lips as I silently began to put distance between myself and the door. When I was close enough, Narcissa grasped my hand gently and pulled me further away, down the other side of the Manor, glancing back to the cracked door.

Through a different door and down a few steps, I found Narcissa had pulled me into a large kitchen, elves moving every which way, some preparing food, other washing dishes, some doing laundry in a room off to one side. The elves glanced up, as if waiting for Narcissa’s instruction. With a raised, pale hand, Narcissa seemed to wordlessly command the elves to go back to their work as she pulled me along the length of the kitchen. In the very back was a low nook, a booth large enough for two people to sit and not be noticed. A tiny window in the back of the nook opened onto a small kitchen herb garden, and the pane was open slightly, letting cool air into the near stifling kitchen.

“What did they say?” Narcissa said aloud, her voice almost lost in the din of the working kitchen.

I blinked at her…dressed in a long white dressing gown over a white silk shift, plain white slippers on her feet and her long blond hair plaited, falling over her right shoulder. She was radiant in the sunlight, and for the first time I appreciated how beautiful Narcissa Malfoy was, especially if she were an ally.

“I don’t…” I started.

Narcissa grasped both of my hands, tightly, her eyes wide with what I would have considered fear.

“I know Draco told you about Sybill Trelawney and George Weasley…I know Lucius showed you that…that foul book…”

“Mrs. Malfoy…Narcissa…I…”

I was flustered.

“Hermione, please…please tell me what they said…”

I blinked rapidly. Something began crumbling inside, and suddenly I was sobbing.

“The Ministry…wants to send me away…” I gasped, taking deep gulps of air between every odd number of words, and it irked me. “Malfoy said no…too much trouble…and Harry…Harry might come here…”

Narcissa wiped my tears away with a handkerchief she produced from her dressing gown, alternating between wiping my cheeks and caressing my shorn head. I missed my mother when she touched my face, and I missed my father when she touched my miserable excuse for hair. I knew I was so fucking damaged, never behaving so ever before.

“Shh, darling…he won’t find this place. You are safe here…” she cooed, her fingers tracing my sunken cheek. I knew she must have found me hideous, I found myself hideous…

“Lucius he…he said to use me as bait…”

Narcissa’s face immediately darkened. “Draco won’t let him.”

I gulped several more mouthfuls of air before answering.

“No…he said he wouldn’t.”

“Draco is not a monster, Her-Miss Granger. Lucius is not either, but he does have some monstrous ideas…”

I said nothing in reply, those dark gears beginning to turn again in my mind.

But it might work, little Jean Granger. Set a trap on your own terms, use yourself as bait, and catch the devil in a bag? Severus whispered evilly.

No. One time being tortured by my best friend was enough, Merlin knew what he would do if he had another chance at me. I did not think I could stand facing that kind of madness, not again.

“Was there anything else?” Narcissa asked, her concern prevalent in her soft voice.

“No…”

The tears had stopped, as had the sobs, and I could breathe in the breeze coming from the kitchen garden. Maybe, just maybe, there was something, one thing about Lucius’ idea that might work.

What was it Harry wanted me to do?

‘You will help me find the Stone!’

The Resurrection Stone. But why me…why did he need me to help him find it?

I could imagine Harry with the Elder Wand, Summoning the Stone and coming up with everything but…if it were not for the fact that my mental image was of the Harry that attacked me, the thought would have been comical.

I had had so little to do with the Resurrection Stone, and did not truly know of its existence until after it was gone. All I knew was the mentions of it by Beedle the Bard, as the book had been willed to me, all I knew were the connections, the coincidences…

I knew so little about the Stone, and I doubted anyone knew any more than I…through Harry’s recounting, through Dumbledore’s recounting…I only knew that the Stone could allow you to see people who have passed. The key word being ‘see’.

Unless…unless…

“Miss Granger?”

I bit my lip. I was gone again on some mental pathway, and had totally forgotten where I was and who was squeezing my hand. This was why I lived alone…

“I…I’m fine, Mrs. Malfoy, I just…”

“Talk it out, Miss Granger, if you need to.”

Her eyes were not gray or silver like Malfoy’s, but the palest shade of blue I could ever remember seeing. I had to pull myself together and tuck information into the filing cabinet of my mind.

“No, it would be nonsense…I need more information.”

Narcissa blinked at me and smiled wanly, I knew she could see through my evasion as if it were a glass pane, but she did not press me, and for that, I was grateful.

“Breakfast first, and then do something to let your mind rest. If you are like me, you worry about things too much.”

“I suppose,” I said with a hint of a laugh. I did worry about things too much, but I had always been that way.

Narcissa summoned an elf, whispering softly, while I turned my attention to the small window of the nook, staring at the azure blue sky. Within moments, plates of eggs, bacon and toast popped onto the round table of the booth, along with halved grapefruits, coffee, juice, and jam. We ate slowly, not bothering with conversation, and I let myself enjoy a delicious breakfast, cleaning my plate as if I had not eaten in days. Sitting back with coffee, I noticed Narcissa preferred tea; I stared across the length of the kitchen. The fullness of activity put me at ease, it reminded me of breakfast at Hogwarts with students all around, talking and eating, laughing and cramming in time to finish a roll of parchment for some class or another.

I was deep into my soothing memory before I realized Malfoy was striding down the kitchen toward me, his face stern and his eyes piercing.

“Mother, Miss Granger, may I join you?”

I frowned over the rim of my cup as Narcissa Conjured a chair for Malfoy to sit on the outside of the nook. I took a sip of black coffee and let my eyes focus on a point beyond Malfoy’s face.

The filing cabinet opened entirely on its own…

The Hanged Man directed the course of my thoughts, and I felt at ease to traverse that path in the safety of this warm kitchen with Malfoy and his mother within arm’s reach.

Was there any way to ascertain that Harry had read the book? Of course, he could not get such a book while committed to St. Mungo’s. Where could he obtain such an evil book that was banned and blacklisted? Had he found it on his own before being committed? What had he been doing locked up in his study? Surely, he was not just moping?

I felt my frown deepen as I took another sip of coffee. Distantly, I could hear Narcissa speaking, but I pushed her voice in with the noise of the kitchen…background, ambient sound.

Had there been an official record of Harry’s committal to St. Mungo’s? Ron…what did he remember?

What about Harry’s Healers? Were there records of treatment, therapy sessions?

I stopped. I was getting ahead of myself.

I focused on the possibility of Harry reading The Hanged Man.

“Granger!”

Fingers dug into my upper arm, shaking me. Luckily, there was no coffee left in my cup…

My eyes focused and all I could see was Malfoy’s stormy face. I blinked and set my coffee cup roughly on the tabletop, trying to shrug out of Malfoy’s painful hold.

“Snap out of it, Granger,” he growled, his jam laced breath hot against my cheeks.

“I’m fine, Malfoy. Kindly remove your hands,” I ground out.

Malfoy released me after carefully studying my face, pulling back to stand before the nook’s table and not leaning over it.

“Merlin, Granger, Mother was going to send for Wiscombe again…” he muttered, falling back into his chair, running a hand through his spiked hair.

I took a breath and turned my attention to Narcissa who seemed stricken, her wide eyes moving from me to her son. I suddenly felt guilty and lowered my eyes to my empty coffee cup.

“If you’re going to go on some mental adventure, don’t do it over breakfast…it is rude .”

I opened my mouth to retort, but I knew, in all honesty, Malfoy was right.

Breakfast continued, though I kept silent and attentive to Narcissa’s light conversation. Malfoy spoke when he was spoken to, but I could feel his eyes upon me and little nudges between my eyes that were resisted easily.

“Well now, I’ll leave you two to your coffee, I need to speak to Lucius…”

I barely acknowledged Narcissa, only smiling absently as she left the nook. The earlier thoughts were beginning to move to the forefront of my mind.

“I know my mother’s conversation can be a bit trivial and silly, but she is trying, Granger.”

I tucked the thoughts away again, raising my head to watch Malfoy pour me another cup of coffee before filling his own from a fresh pot.

“She is a wonderful distraction.”

Malfoy smirked. “You think so?”

I nodded.

“She isn’t your mother, and you do not have to keep ignoring nicely phrased suggestions and veiled threats. But, for some reason she likes you, which is a bit disconcerting for me and Father.”

I took a small sip of coffee, trying not to scald my lips and tongue. Swallowing the strong drink, I smirked.

“She is one woman living in a house of two men…” I suggested.

Malfoy snorted over the rim of his cup. “She’s a Black.”

I could not say that I truly understood what her parentage had to do with anything, but I held my smirk.

“Are you going to tell me where you were?”

I nearly choked on a sip of coffee and reached for a napkin to dab at my lips.

“Wh-what?”

Malfoy grinned, which immediately put me on edge. I had rarely seen Malfoy grin, but when I did, it usually resulted in some type of nastiness. I especially remember Fifth Year when he was on the Inquisitorial Squad…

“That mental adventure you took while Mother was trying to talk with you. She thought you were having some sort of fit again…”

I felt blood heat my cheeks. I really felt guilty.

I scrambled to recompose myself, trying not to feel awkward.

“I…” I began, but paused, setting my coffee down. “You’re the Detective Chief Inspector.”

Malfoy quirked a pale eye brow, finishing his scalding coffee with a gulp, leaning forward in his chair to place his cup near mine.

“Astute observation, Granger…yes, I am the Detective Chief Inspector, and I need to get to work in an hour. So unless you have something to tell me, I’m going to be on my merry way to the Ministry.”

Cheeky ferret.

“I…you…”

Damn it, why wasn’t it coming out right?

“Do you have any records as to the events of Harry’s committal to St. Mungo’s? Reports about his house…his study?”

Malfoy stared at me as if I had grown hair in seconds…

“Somewhere in the files, maybe.”

“Maybe?” I asked, exasperation only a breath away from entering my tone of voice.

“Flint has been compiling everything related to Potter before he murdered McGonagall. We had to get documents from other departments and begin piecing it all together. Why would you want records about something like that?”

I sighed, my fingers playing along the rim of my coffee cup. “What was he doing between the time of his marriage and the day he was taken to St. Mungo’s? Maybe even before the wedding…” I said distantly, trying to remember something, anything…

“There may be some records, reports of the house, his mental state…but you realize that I cannot let you see those records, Granger”

“What?” I squeaked incredulously.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, raising his arms to lace his fingers behind his head.

“You do not have the authority, you are not police…”

“I am an Unspeakable! My clearance is higher than yours will ever be!”

I was fuming. The ferret was not going to feed me this line of shite and expect me to swallow! I had access to every department if I wished it…

“This case pertains to you, among others, so Article 22 takes effect,” he muttered smugly.

Article 22, my fat arse. If we were standing in the halls of the Ministry I could squash him by merely breathing and wearing my Unspeakable robes.

My anger deflated. As it was, I was not an Unspeakable at that moment, and I was sitting in his kitchen. I had to think of another way of getting to that information. Ron, maybe could tell me, but how to contact him when he and his family are under protective custody? I could not ask Malfoy, obviously.

“Don’t even think about it, Granger.”

I closed my eyes and took a calming breath, opening my eyes again to glare at Malfoy.

“You might as well tell Potter where Ronald Weasley is…oh, and Levitate a bright blinking sign over your head as well.”

The ferret was exaggerating.

“Well, I’m off…” he said, leaping up from the chair, strangely rejuvenated from the night before.

He turned and began walking…deliberately.

“Malfoy!”

I hadn’t meant to shout.

“Yes, Granger?”

“Check into it, will you? Books especially…and not just The Hanged Man.”

Malfoy continued walking, throwing a hand up, as if to wave, but didn’t. When I could no longer see the shock of platinum spikes, I cursed.

Part 5

I spent the majority of the day in Narcissa’s study, after asking for just some parchment, ink, and a quill. Narcissa sat me behind a gorgeous bird’s eye maple desk, setting sheets of cream colored parchment on a blotter with a ridiculous peacock feather quill and dark emerald ink. I thanked her, reassuring her I was not sending a letter, but marking down some notes.

When she finally left me to my thoughts, I started. I pulled out drawers of stored mental notes, memories, and speculations. By lunchtime, a tray of sandwiches appeared on the coffee table between the two blue velvet couches in the middle of the room. A pitcher of cool pumpkin juice tempted me, and I paused in my scribblings to eat.

When I could feel the sun setting against my back much later, I stopped. My neck was sore, as was my hand. I had pages upon pages of notes, hastily made charts, and diagrams. None of it, however, was complete or made much sense. Almost another full day had passed, and I knew almost nothing new as to why my life had been turned upside down.

I stretched, raising my arms above my bare head, and groaned. There was still a bit of soreness in places, but I preferred the soreness to the pain. I stood and moved to the small fireplace, sliding my wand from my sleeve to magically stoke the fire. The heat felt wonderful against my legs and belly. I gazed into the fire, wondering if my cottage was sound and shut up so the elements could not get inside.

And then, a pathetic mewl caught my attention. It was a muffled sound, and I moved to the door, opening it a crack so that a streak of gray could run inside and jump up on the arm of the nearest couch.

“You naughty cat, where have you been?” I asked, betraying my happiness to see my familiar.

Malfoy the cat sniffed, and looked about the room before answering me with a long meow. I grinned and moved to the couch, sitting on the arm next to the gray animal, running my hand from his head to tail, savoring the soft texture of his fur, glad to hear him purr.

“Narcissa would have a fit if she knew you were shedding all over her velvet couch…”

Malfoy blinked his silver eyes and meowed happily. I shook my head, thankful for my familiar’s distraction.

But the distraction did not last long.

I nearly jumped out of my skin as the study door burst open and Malfoy, the Detective Chief Inspector, barrelled into the room. His hair was falling in lank strands into his face, and the long black leather coat he wore was soaked with rain.

Ignoring me, he moved to the fire, peeling off his coat, throwing it across the couch I perched upon, startling my familiar who immediately, and pointedly ignored the new person in the room. I stood and turned to watch Malfoy kneel by the fire, his turtleneck wet down the front as well as were the hems of his trousers. I could see Malfoy shiver slightly, and I wondered why he had not drawn his wand from the holster to cast a drying Charm.

“Malfoy?”

My voice seemed so small, almost childlike in its questioning, but Malfoy did not answer, his silver eyes flickering in the firelight.

I bit my lip and let my own wand slip from my sleeve again, casting a discreet Charm on his clothes, as well as the dripping coat flung across the back of the couch. When Malfoy shivered again, I knew it was not merely from the damp or the cold. I glanced out the casement windows at a mostly clear sky…it was not raining, at least, not in Wiltshire.

Sighing, I moved behind Malfoy to return to the desk, sitting down and staring at the scattering of parchment and the dark green stain of ink on my fingers. I watched him as he rubbed his hands together before the flames, his mouth tightening into a scowl. He was thinking deeply, and I supposed I had had a similar expression on my face earlier in the day at breakfast.

My eyes moved to my familiar, who had balanced from the arm of the couch and along the back to sniff at Malfoy’s coat, sneezing softly before craning his feline head to stare at the other creature that shared his name. With a silent jump, the gray cat leapt to the floor and stealthily approached the man before the fire, and with a great sway, rubbed into Malfoy’s bent body. The power of my familiar’s nudge nearly sent the man face first into the fire.

“Bloody menace!” Malfoy sneered, catching himself with a hand on the rug, turning to glare at the cat.

My familiar made a strange noise and moved to Malfoy’s hand, biting the knuckle of his thumb so the man snarled and recoiled, cradling his hand against his chest, only a little bit of blood coloring his usually colorless skin.

“Granger, you had better control this beast before I blast it back to wherever it sprang from!”

I could feel the laughter in my chest, but I could only smile. After everything , after pouring out my dark thoughts, it seemed blasphemy to laugh. It would be more natural to cry. But I did neither, laugh nor cry, I could only watch my familiar purr and sway towards Malfoy, teasing the man it was named after.

“Malfoy, that’s enough, leave him alone, he isn’t interested in getting to know you.”

I was surprised at the roughness of my voice and the power imbued in the words. I did not sound like myself, and both Malfoys turned to stare at me with my elbows on the desk, my hands folded under my chin. If Malfoy, the DCI, had fur, surely it would be on end as it was with my familiar.

Obeying my command, the gray cat quickly slinked away, hiding under the coffee table to peer back at me with full-moon eyes. I turned my attention to Malfoy as he unfolded himself to stand next to the fire, his eyes narrowed, his left arm resting on the mantle as he leaned.

“I assume your brusque entrance into the one room I have occupied today is because you have some information for me, Malfoy?”

Again, the roughness. I blinked rapidly, sitting back in the desk chair, my hands curling around the carved maple armrests. Malfoy seemed ill at ease, his face paler than usual, his tongue lashing out to wet his cold, nearly colorless lips. I accepted his intense gaze when I would have shied away from it years ago. I was being examined, but why, I could not determine.

“Squeak!” he announced to the air, and I frowned, confused

A soft pop produced a small elf standing just at Malfoy’s feet. I could not see the elf’s face, but its skin was a pinkish color, and it wore a scrap of what appeared to be a red velvet drape with silver tassels.

“Master?”

I knew then why the elf was called Squeak.

“Coffee, no cream or sugar, biscuits…inform the kitchens to keep dinner warm if we should want it,” Malfoy instructed, finally pulling his eyes from me to glance down at the elf.

“Yes, Master…”

And with another soft pop, the elf was gone. Almost instantly a tray with a coffee carafe, two blue mugs, a platter of sweet cream biscuits, and napkins appeared on the coffee table. The coffee smelled strong, and the biscuits made my mouth water.

“Come, sit, Granger, we have a lot to talk about…” Malfoy purred, pushing off the mantle to move around the couches, taking the one facing the fireplace. I stood slowly and took the opposite couch, his coat near my shoulder and the fire warm against the back of my shorn head.

Malfoy poured the coffee and passed a mug to me, which I took gratefully in my hands, finding that my fingers were icy for some inexplicable reason. When Malfoy sat back with his own coffee, his right ankle resting on his left knee, his right arm thrown over the back of the blue velvet couch, he regarded me again.

“Can I ask you something, Granger?” he asked, the corners of his pale lips curling upward.

I cocked my brow and pulled my mug toward my lips.

“Only if I can ask a question in return.”

Malfoy shrugged, “Quid pro quo…that’s only fair,” he murmured before taking a loud sip of his black coffee.

I waited. Malfoy closed his eyes as he swallowed, savoring his warm potable. I had yet to take a drink. I waited… His pale hand guided his mug to rest on the instep of his boot, his left hand balancing the hot liquid precariously.

“Why did you decide to sever your ties with Potter and Weasley when the three of you were inseparable all through school?”

I took a drink of coffee, a lovely smooth dark roast, and I made Malfoy wait…setting my mug on my knee, holding it with my right hand after I had swallowed. I took a breath and held it for a few moments before exhaling and flicking my eyes to meet Malfoy’s.

“Do you want the simple reason, or the deeper , philosophical reason?”

“Is that your question, Granger?”

I smirked. Tricky ferret…

“Spare me the swan song of your adolescent loves, Granger. The simple, quick, and dirty reason will suffice,” he drawled.

I tried not to let my anger show

“A few reasons, Malfoy… I wanted my individuality back, I wanted my privacy back, and I wanted my life back. Is that simple enough?”

He grinned, and I immediately felt my mind’s walls rise.

“Not really, Granger, but I can understand. The only thing that troubles me…well, probably not just me, but the Press and most of Wizarding Britain, is the real reason why the ‘Golden Trio’ split up.”

I sighed. “This is not a Press interview, Malfoy. None of that is pertinent to my current situation or your departmental troubles.”

Malfoy raised his cup and drank deeply from his coffee. His eyes were liquid, the corners pulled from his almost gleeful expression. “True,” he muttered over his coffee.

“So, the reason you want to know is to satisfy some sick revenge you have been harboring for years?”

I grasped the handle of my mug a bit too tightly and I relaxed my stiff fingers, using my other hand to lift the cup to my lips and drink. I was getting angry, too angry, and I wondered if Draco Malfoy had matured at all, or did he still enjoy riling me as he did at school?

“No, I gave that up years ago. My interest is purely professional. I am simply curious to know what motivations Potter might have in regards to you…you, a friend who has not shown her face to her two best male friends in years.”

“It is true that I have purposely distanced myself from Harry, and Ron, but not exclusively those two people. It has nothing to do with ‘painful memories’ or what The Prophet once called a ‘jilted love’. I still…I still love them, they will always be my friends, but their need for me is at an end. It ended when Voldemort was destroyed… I could not think for them for the rest of our lives…”

Malfoy barked a laugh, and it startled me. My anger drained away, and I felt my energy drain with it.

“So, you can think of no reason why Potter would do what he did to you, or why he pursues you now?”

“Ron is outside his reach, and for whatever reason, Harry wants him…” I muttered before finishing my coffee and sitting it on the tray upon the coffee table. I noticed my familiar curled up under the maple table, his head resting on the toe of Malfoy’s boot. Odd…

“Has the thought occurred to you that Potter might want you and Weasley because he cannot function without you?”

It had occurred to me, but it had seemed ridiculous.

“His psychosis suggests that he believes he is still sixteen or seventeen years old. In his mind, the Dark Lord is sometimes defeated, sometimes not…just as Dumbledore is or isn’t still alive…”

I frowned at Malfoy’s words. When I had mentioned the Horcruxes to Harry at the cottage, he reacted with a type of relief, as if I were speaking his language…that I understood.

“But that doesn’t explain everything, Malfoy. It doesn’t explain why he would murder…”

“No, it doesn’t.”

I stared at my empty coffee cup, the details of the night I was attacked billowing up in my third eye. I had already written it down in my notes, but the emotions I had felt myself, and from Harry, could not easily be conveyed in writing.

Aberforth, Minerva, myself, Trelawney, George…there was not a simple connection.

“And here is where I can supply some information.”

I pulled my thoughts back to the moment, gazing at Malfoy as he leaned forward to refill our coffee cups. I took mine, not fully intending on drinking, but to absorb the warmth through the porcelain.

“I went through the early files, the complaint filed by Arthur Weasley to my department…the domestic dispute…”

I blinked. It was hard to believe that the Weasleys would file a complaint against Harry for anything. Granted, from what Arthur had told me, in not so many words, the fact that Harry had struck Ginny was disturbing enough. I suddenly wondered what the circumstances had been for Harry to ever hit his wife, the girl he had loved through the nightmare of Voldemort and long afterward.

“It was the first bit of documentation of Potter's deteriorating mental state. I was only a Sergeant then, and on a different case…but I knew the Inspector who took Ginny Potter’s statement, and eventually Potter’s statement.”

I nodded for Malfoy to continue.

“I am paraphrasing, Granger. I could never let you see those documents, and you realize everything I have been saying is to stay between us?”

“Of course.”

Malfoy nodded in return. “Ginny Potter was struck across the face resulting in a broken nose and cracked teeth, easily mended, of course, but still enough for the Weasley family to go to such a length as filing a complaint. From what I gathered, earlier in the day Ginny Potter had had an argument with her husband about his work. He was an Auror, when there was still a need…”

I rolled my eyes.

“…but the argument was not heated in the sense that it became physical. More like a wife nagging a husband, from both accounts. But Potter isolated himself in his study for the rest of the day. Ginny Potter entered the study at about seven in the evening, after calls for Potter to come to dinner were ignored. She found him sitting on the floor before the fire, books, and parchment around him. After calling for him several times without a response, she pulled on his shoulder. That was when he hit her.

By Potter’s account, he claimed to have been startled by his wife. By Ginny Potter’s account, she was wilfully and angrily assaulted. I think her statement had words like ‘seething’, ‘wide-eyed’, and ‘frightening presence’.

She has been separated from him ever since. That was approximately seven years ago, Granger.”

All I could think to do was frown. I knew Ginny would not be one to stay in a dangerous or abusive relationship, even if it was with Harry. Ginny had learned her lesson very well in her First Year…and that lesson was what had kept her alive now. I envied her strength of character.

“The books? What were…” I began, my sight set upon the notes I had made on the desk.

“There were no details as to what books Potter had in his hands that night.”

I sat up straighter, ready to move to my notes to fill in blanks. It was information, but not as much as I would have liked. It strengthened my speculation, but nothing more.

“But there is a quick description of his study, and the items inside when the Aurors came six months after Potter hit his wife…”

Malfoy was baiting me. He wanted another bit of personal information from me, I knew. I met his eyes defiantly. All of Wizarding Britain had wanted to extract something personal from me. When I was eighteen, it had been who I had had my heart set on: Ron, Harry, or Viktor Krum. My personal life had been used to sell magazines and newspapers… Malfoy wanted something to use to hurt me.

“What is it you do, exactly , in the Department of Mysteries, Granger?”

Merlin, that again.

“You know I…”

“You cannot tell me…well, Granger, actually you will tell me, as it is information that will most likely aid in the capture of Potter before he decides to kill someone else.”

I bit my tongue, literally, to keep me from calling Malfoy out. I would lose my job, if I hadn’t already…I would lose my security clearance, I would lose my only source of income, and my only escape from the mundane life I had made for myself.

“I could recite the policy, Granger, the policy that exempts you for any sort of responsibility to your department while assisting in a criminal investigation, but I’m sure you already know your department’s policies by heart.”

I glared.

“Would you like to fetch a note from your department Head?” he mocked in a simpering tone.

“I am not above hexing you, Malfoy…Detective Chief Inspector or not,” I growled, shifting my arm to let my wand slide into my hand.

“Then you would find that your ‘safe house’ is no longer my family’s home, but Azkaban prison, Granger,” he muttered, meeting my glare with one of his own. “Or, you could just answer the question and continue drinking coffee, sleeping on feather beds, and keeping yourself outside the notice of the Press, and Potter.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I was tired, so damn tired, and I knew that I could just as easily ignore Malfoy, and not exhaust myself by answering his question.

“I relegate time.”

“Meaning?”

I sighed in frustration. “I work to keep the time of our world from interfering with time in the Muggle world. Our magic, our spells, our structures often coexist or cohabitate in time and space with the Muggle world. Just as there are magical devices to keep our world from being seen by Muggles, I work to keep our essential existence from colliding with the reality of the Muggle world… There is no simple explanation, Malfoy, but my coworkers call me Verdandi.”

Malfoy frowned, moving to drink his coffee again. “Verdandi?”

I took a deep breath. “How was it you were second to me in studies, Malfoy?”

He coughed into his mug, spluttering, his face flushing. “I know who Verdandi was, Granger, do not insult my intelligence. And if you want to be completely truthful about the situation, you didn’t even finish Seventh Year!”

I didn't even have the energy or will to laugh at the flustered expression on Malfoy’s face, but I did feel a bit satisfied that I had riled him.

I continued. “I also oversee the usage of what is left of a magical device called Time-Turners. In fact, you could say that I am the guardian of time…”

Damn, I had not thought of that…

“Granger?”

Harry surely remembered Third Year and my Time-Turner. Did he know anything about my work in the Department of Mysteries? It was unlikely with him being in St. Mungo’s for years, but not impossible. When one is said to work in the Department of Mysteries, there is little else to be said…and it was not a secret that I worked as an Unspeakable, but it was not broadcast to the populace either. Harry could not know about my work, but if he did, it would make me a natural choice to target.

Damn, if he was unable to find the Resurrection Stone, he might try for a Time-Turner…

No. No, it did not make sense. The Stone could only allow you to see a shadow, unless… No, that was silly… I was missing something, a big piece of something.

“Granger!”

I physically jerked at the sound of Malfoy’s voice, spilling a few drops of tepid coffee into the knee of my denims. I set the cup on the tray for the sake of not spilling what coffee was left in the cup on my only set of clothing.

“What are you thinking, Granger?” Malfoy purred, his lips caressing the rim of his cup.

I flushed, despite my aversion to the man. My mind betrayed me, admiring the silver of his eyes, the way his hair fell across his forehead in lank platinum strands, the muscles rippling under his turtle neck and holster…

Stop it!

“I’m just...thinking, isn’t that obvious?”

“Obvious, yes. Annoying to everyone in your vicinity, absolutely …”

He stretched to snatch a biscuit from the tray and bit into it slowly, his eyes still fixed upon me. I tried to let the sudden flush of blood to my face pass, but it did not…

“Now…” he said, licking crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “…is that the general details of what you do, Granger, or is there anything else I should know about?”

I shook my head, “That’s about it. I will sometimes assist in the cataloging and collecting of prophecies, or assist in recording astronomical phenomena, but I mainly work with time…”

Malfoy ate the rest of his biscuit, swiping at the few crumbs on his shirt, leaning to grab another.

I sat quietly as he ate, trying not to stare at him. And I wondered if I had suffered some sort of brain damage for thinking for an instant Malfoy was not bad looking after all…

“When the Aurors broke into Potter’s study, they quickly subdued him and transported him to St. Mungo’s. Afterward, they returned to fill out their reports,” Malfoy began, but paused as I had opened my mouth to ask.

“Photographs of the room?”

“None. It was not a crime scene…not a criminal investigation. But there was a description in the report, which I will summarize…”

I nodded as Malfoy leaned back further in the couch, ignoring the haughty expression on his face.

“As you can imagine, the room was filthy, there was a note about the smell. Books were scattered everywhere, but the ones that were found around Potter when he was subdued were noted specifically. The first was a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.”

I swallowed. It had to have been a commercial copy, which I had always assumed was much different from my copy.

“The second was, as we might have feared, The Hanged Man.”

I closed my eyes.

“The third was a copy of Skeeter’s biography on Dumbledore. There were two different types of books on potions, one banned, one used in Hogwarts curriculum. The last book, which has confirmed a possible motive behind your attack, was a book on time travel, mostly outlining the perils as well as giving instructions on how to avoid detection by the past self. The rest of what was found were notes, all illegible to the Aurors who made the report. I found out this morning that those notes have either been destroyed or are missing.”

Malfoy paused to search my face, but I did not have the energy to work the information out, so I filed it away.

“The only other information worth mentioning was the photographs pinned to the walls in no discernable pattern. Photographs of you, Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Sirius Black, Severus Snape, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Fred and George Weasley, Potter’s parents, Remus Lupin, and…myself.”

Malfoy’s face darkened at his last word, and I narrowed my eyes. All of the people he mentioned had been important in some way or another to Harry. Unfortunately, most of those people were dead. Only four of the mentioned names lived still…

“You have put eyes on Neville, I hope.”

Malfoy nodded, grabbing another biscuit and chewing it thoughtfully. I could not make my brain move any longer, and the coffee had not rejuvenated me in the least.

“Mother tells me you spent your day making notes? Anything interesting?”

My eyes were growing heavy, but I shook my head, forcing myself to stand. Managing to move to the desk, I gathered up my parchments and rolled them in my hand, turning to Malfoy and leaning my hip on the edge of the desk.

“There are too many unknowns, Malfoy…” I said softly, my eyelids getting heavier.

“Granger…”

My eyelids fell, and blessed blackness came with it. Merlin, I was in bad shape… I opened my eyes and stood fully on my feet. What had brought on this sudden fatigue?

“…go to bed already…”

From time to time, I will wake up in a ‘mood’. The morning after sitting with Malfoy in his mother’s study, I awoke in the early gray hours inexplicably angry. Ron had always said that my sudden outbursts of anger were a cause for general alarm.

I bathed, sitting in the floral scented water, seething. Even when I found that my clothing had been washed, and a fresh set of underwear had been set upon the counter, my mood did not improve a single scintilla. I dressed, my face burning as if actual flames danced on my brow.

I hated my clothes, I hated my face, I hated my lack of hair, and most of all I hated the fact that I was missing a piece of the puzzle that had become my life as of that moment. Helplessness was never a feeling familiar to me, but I felt it, and it made me angry. A part of me knew that this anger was a reaction to the stress…the stress of being attacked by one’s best friend, sexually assaulted, and left alive knowing he would kill again and again.

I crumpled to the marble floor, quaking with silent sobs.

Everything was all wrong. My life should never have been this way…and I had so little to cherish or look forward to. That much was my fault, cutting myself off from everything and everyone I loved.

I wanted my mother.

My tears slowly dried on my cheeks and in my eyes. I only had myself to rely on in this world. I had to take care of myself, and I had to stop Harry.

It was not as if Harry Potter had ever been my responsibility, but he was…had been…my friend, and he had attacked me with a brand of evil that I could not imagine.

As I sat on the bathroom floor, I wondered… What was Harry really thinking to himself when he hurt me? Did he believe that he was going to force me to do anything after he had escaped from St. Mungo’s and murdered Minerva? Did he realize how cruel he was?

I wanted to hate my friend, I wanted to pour all my anger and energy into hating him absolutely, but I could not… All I could do was try to find his motives, stop him, cure him, if possible.

That brand of insanity cannot be cured, my dear Miss Granger …Severus said in the darkness of my mind.

Hearing his voice, albeit manufactured by my imagination, was a comfort, and my quaking stopped as if someone had grabbed a hold of me. I had to face the truth, whatever it may be, about Harry.

I used the sink counter to pull myself to my bare feet, my reflection shocking me as it had for the past few days. I sniffed and turned away, leaning back against the counter, staring down at my toes. Plan…plan…I had to have a plan of action. First order of business, the Resurrection Stone. The only person that could know anything about it was the person who had given it…willed it…to Harry. That meant a visit to Hogwarts. Second order of business, go home.

I stopped my thoughts. Home… Clean clothes, a few books, especially my copy of Beedle the Bard, my old wand holster…

Third order of business, talk with Alexander Roux, the Department Head, secure the Time Room.

It was a start, and I took a cleansing breath, some of the anger was gone. All that remained was to speak with Malfoy, thank Narcissa, find a basket for my cat, and be on my way. Simple.

Or so I thought.

By the time I left my borrowed room, I wandered a bit, listening for life. It was light outside the Manor, and an hour had passed. I found Malfoy in Narcissa’s study, drinking coffee. I had not thought coffee to be so popular for breakfast, I had been the only one I knew to drink it so regularly, but Malfoy sat where he had sat the night before, drinking black coffee, reading The Prophet.

Drawing my wand, I Conjured a second cup and helped myself without asking, taking the same place I had the night before. Malfoy did not acknowledge me as I poured my coffee and took a shortbread biscuit from the tray on the coffee table. I stared at the backside of Malfoy’s paper, seeing nothing of interest, but the front page was a different matter.

Potter Sighted! Wizarding London Braces for the Worst!

“He’s in London again?”

“He’s also been sighted in York, Bristol, and Brighton…all four locations providing strong evidence that he had been there. A diversionary tactic, Granger. Potter may be insane, but he is not stupid,” Malfoy muttered from behind the newsprint.

I sighed, finishing my biscuit with a generous mouthful of coffee to wash it down. Malfoy turned to the Business section of the paper and continued to pretend I did not exist. I could see just over the top of the paper that he had changed his hair from spikes to a groomed, side part, making him appear more mature and more fitting to his age. He wore black trousers and the same black boots as the night before, but I could not study his shirt for the newspaper held before him.

“I need to go home, Malfoy.”

Malfoy did not answer.

“I need to go home.”

Nothing.

I gulped down my coffee, the fire of my anger building. Slamming the cup down on the coffee table, I flicked my wand and Vanished the newspaper so that Malfoy was forced to stare into my face, his arms lifted before him uselessly now that his reading material had disappeared.

Black, fisherman’s knit sweater with a wide collar, chest holster, and visible arm holster on the left forearm under the baggy sleeve.

“Did you hear me?”

Malfoy let his arms fall to the cushions of the blue velvet couch, his eyes burning into my face.

“I was ignoring your idiotic question, hoping you would take the cue, Granger,” he sneered.

“Why idiotic?”

I was still holding my wand firmly, but remembering that I was pointing it at a Malfoy in a somewhat threatening manner, tucked it back into my sleeve.

“I am not your bodyguard, Granger.”

I frowned. “I never asked you to be my bodyguard, and I’m not asking you that now. I am simply informing you that I will be leaving to return to my home.”

Malfoy’s sneer seemed to darken the very room. “I am surprised you felt the need to inform me at all. But, the fact is, Miss Granger, you are not to leave this house until the Ministry deems it safe for you to do so,” he mocked with poignancy and the enunciation of every word.

I could feel that fire on my brow again. “Why?”

The age-old question.

“Legally, and officially, you are under the protection of the Ministry, until Potter is caught. Unless you want to become a criminal yourself, or more likely Potter’s next victim, you are to stay in this house.”

Malfoy’s tone of voice revealed that he would absolutely love to see me out of the Manor, but as a DCI, and the man who had allowed the Manor to be used as a safe house, he had to tolerate my presence.

“I know you don’t want me here, Malfoy, and if I had had a choice in the matter, I would not have darkened your door…but I did not have a choice. So, here’s what I will propose…call your Superintendent, ask for me to be moved. Or find me a bloody bodyguard!”

“No.”

I balked, flying to my feet as if to attack, but I moved around the couch to the fireplace and began pacing before it.

“I need to go, Malfoy, don’t you see?” I gasped, my exasperation beginning to make me sound a bit unhinged and volatile.

“No, I don’t, Granger.”

“I have to stop him…I know I can…”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “You are not a Detective, Granger, there is a matter of protocol you are overlooking.”

My pacing increased, my bare feet sinking into the thick rug as if to slow me down.

“I am a witch, an Unspeakable, and I know more about this than…” I started, my voice raised into a crazed pitch.

“What you are is a victim, and the only thing you are going to do is testify at Potter’s trial, and witness his Kiss. You are not a professional investigator, there are whole departments devoted to that sort of work, so, I suggest you should calm the fuck down and have more coffee!” Malfoy roared, he was quickly on his feet, his arms crossed before his wide chest, the muscles in his neck and cheek twitching unpleasantly.

I ignored his anger. There was no way he could ever understand.

“Doesn’t it frustrate you, a lowly DCI, to be stuck with babysitting the girl he hated in school…the Mudblood?” I mocked, mirroring Malfoy, pausing in my pace to cross my arms before my own chest.

Malfoy’s eyes closed slightly as his jaw clenched, and suddenly with a great burst of palpable energy, he bent down and clutched the coffee table and flung it, and everything atop it, across the room. I nearly collapsed into a fetal position, the magic that crackled through the air frightening me, reminding me of the night Harry attacked me.

“I did not choose to become your warden, Granger. Or would you have rather I let Potter rape and torture you? Should I have watched from the Floo as he eviscerated you in your own bed? Should I have simply added your name to the list of the dead? I did not ask for this… for you!

I saved your life, I have kept you safe, I have opened my home and my family to you, Granger. If anything, you should be thanking me on bended knee…or is this how Mudbloods behave in the…”

Smack!

Malfoy’s roaring had been deafening, frightening. I honestly can say that his anger manifested itself more strongly than my own, but when he said that word, the word I hated most in the world, my own anger propelled me across the room as if on a gale wind, and my hand flew of its own accord. The strike was wickedly painful, my right hand thumping, and a corresponding hand mark welling up to bruise on Malfoy’s sharp cheekbone. His head was forcefully turned, but he gazed down at me out of the corner of his icy eyes, and I immediately regretted what I had done.

He had saved me, he had protected me…but…

I stepped back, the backs of my knees hitting the adjacent couch now that the coffee table was in splinters against the wall, blocking the door. I fell into the couch, dazed, embarrassed, and fixed my eyes on my toes.

“You could never understand, Malfoy, you have always lived in this world, and never had a need to know about mine… You can never understand how frustrating it is to love and hate a boy like Harry. He is my best friend, and he means me harm.

My life is tearing itself apart, and everything I have fought for, everything I have believed is disintegrating before my very eyes.

I may be a Mudblood,” I spat, “but I am not defenseless. If you want to ignore my conclusions about Harry’s motives, ignore my right to defend myself, you are no better than an imbecile still living your life in the old times, in the old ways…blinded.”

Malfoy said nothing, but turned his head to stare down at me evenly. The handprint was an angry shade of red still, but I had spoken my peace and I felt better for it.

“I cannot be your bodyguard, Granger. I may be a lowly DCI, but I do have some important work to do…”

The calmness of his voice was alarming.

“I will leave this house with or without your consent, Malfoy. If it makes me ‘bait’, so be it…”

Malfoy frowned, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, still standing before me. “You were eavesdropping on our conversation…”

I had said too much, as usual.

“I will speak with the Detective Superintendent about assigning a detail to escort you to Hogwarts at the very least. Your cottage is still closed, and Hogwarts is as far as you are going to go, most likely,” Malfoy sighed, bowing his back to shove his hands deeper into his pockets making him appear more like a boy than a grown man.

I nodded. It was all I could expect, I supposed, Hogwarts was my main destination. And I had already imposed myself too much upon Draco Malfoy’s good graces.

Malfoy moved toward the door, drawing his wand, repairing the coffee table and Levitating it back to where it belonged in the room…Vanishing the ruined tray, food, and smashed mugs. Without a backward glance at me, Malfoy left the room in wide, determined strides.

I counted to five, and leapt to my bare feet, my toes sinking into the plush, thick carpets, hot on the pursuit. Why had he changed his mind? I had been terrible, rude, and even cruel to him. Did he want me out of his family’s house so badly?

Up the main staircase and down a corridor I had not explored, I just caught sight of Malfoy’s pale hair entering a door halfway down. I kept to the shadows. I pressed my back against the wall next to the door, which was completely shut. I suddenly thought of Fred and George’s Extendable Ears, and my chest burned with unshed tears.

I heard Malfoy’s voice, the timbre rumbling through the door, and my chest as he called a name into the Floo. I did not hear the usual noise that accompanied the activation of the Floo, but I soon heard a voice that was not Malfoy’s. The first part of the conversation was lost to me, indistinct. However, after hearing deep laughter, the words became clear.

“…ger is thick-headed, but brilliant, Malfoy. She should have worked for our department, but that French expatriate Roux who acts as head on the ninth level snatched her up first.”

It was a male voice, older, and I guessed it was the Detective Superintendent Malfoy had mentioned.

“You will do whatever Granger needs you to do, Malfoy. And I know how you feel about her…about all of this, but Granger is our best chance at catching Potter. You are up for promotion, Malfoy, remember that. After this case, you’ll have my job.”

More laughter. Alastor Gumboil…it had to be. He had been the head of the Hit-Wizards at the end of the War. With the reshuffling of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I, again, could only guess Gumboil had been made Detective Superintendent of the new ‘police force’.

“Al, this is not about promotion and I am not thinking that far ahead. This is about catching Potter before our world falls apart. With Hogwarts closed and the curfews, the country is reverting back to the old times and petty crime is taking too many of our resources…”

“I know that all too well, Malfoy. For the time being, you will investigate with Granger, she is the only surviving asset we have, and the only lead we have to Potter.”

“Surely, there is someone else who would be better suited… I have more important things to do.”

Malfoy’s voice was polite, but insistent.

“Do you now?”

There was a pause, and I wondered what sort of expression was on Malfoy’s face.

“There is no one better suited, Malfoy. You are my best DCI, and you were given this case because of your affiliations to Potter and his victims. I have four other Inspectors who can handle everything else.”

Another pause and I craned my neck so that my ear was closer to the door. I missed whatever Malfoy had said…

“I know you have been filtering pieces of information to Granger in order to filter it back to us with the pieces put together. You have been working with her for some time now, you might as well make it official. And that is my final word, Malfoy,” Gumboil growled, and even through the door I felt the authority of that voice.

“Fuck!”

It was Malfoy, and the Floo call was over. I took a breath and moved, my bare feet padding over the carpet noiselessly. I almost ran down the corridor to the stairs, going up just as Malfoy left his room, his furious strides propelling him faster than I could move up the stairs. As he passed, he did not acknowledge or notice me, and stomped down the stairs, his face still bearing my hand print, but was flushed with anger as well.

I descended slowly, making my way to the kitchens, hoping to have a proper breakfast. When I entered the threshold of the space, I saw Malfoy at the far end, leaning down to speak with his mother who was staring back at me with an amused expression on her face. I walked down the few steps to the kitchen floor, paying little mind to the elves working all about. Malfoy stood and turned, his eyes flashing upon me. He lifted his chin slightly and strode toward me, but did not stop as he neared, and passed by me as if I did not exist.

I was not offended.

Narcissa beckoned me from across the kitchen and I moved, the stones warm under my bare feet. Merlin, I wanted my boots. Narcissa sipped her tea as I sat near her in the nook, happy to see a plate of breakfast had popped into existence before me. Without prompting, I began to eat as Narcissa watched, the amused smirk still gracing her regal lips.

“Please forgive Draco, Miss Granger.”

I swallowed my egg, and dabbed my lips with the cloth napkin provided to me. I met her cool gaze as she continued.

“Draco has had a difficult time since the War. Of course, haven’t we all ?” Narcissa twittered, but I sensed an edge of nervousness in her laugh.

I nodded.

“This case…Potter…has been the hardest yet…the most personal. So please, Miss Granger, understand…”

Narcissa’s words trailed, as if she was either unable to say more, or did not know how to proceed. The guilt I had held in place burst free and threatened to consume me. Narcissa loved her son. And Narcissa had been nothing but kind to me, and I knew it was not simply because I was a guest of sorts.

“Be careful, Miss Granger,” Narcissa whispered, and my blood ran cold, the warning in her words laced with an undercurrent of maternal magic. She grasped my left hand, her fingers cold around mine.

I nodded again. “Mrs. Malfoy…” I whispered, surprised at the emotion in my voice. “There is so much… so much I would like to ask you, but I suppose…”

I did not finish, the sound of Malfoy’s booted feet pounding against the stones making me glance up and across the kitchen. Narcissa squeezed my hand before releasing it, leaving an icy sensation upon my skin.

“Five minutes, Granger.”

Malfoy could barely contain his annoyance as he stood before the nook, his silver eyes flashing, as if expecting me to object, but all I did was blink rapidly, surprised.

“Don’t give me that blank look, Granger. I know you were listening…”

When I said nothing, Malfoy nodded to himself and turned on his heel, stomping out of the kitchen again. He was already in his long coat, his face set.

“Return, Miss Granger…there are many things I would like to tell you when times are better suited for such things.”

Narcissa Malfoy had said what I had attempted to say with much more grace than I could muster, and as I extracted myself from the nook, and my breakfast half-eaten, I turned to smile at the Lady of the house. I had been very wrong about this woman, and I hoped deep inside that I would have the ability to speak as candidly with her in the future as I had during my time spent in her home.

“Don’t worry, Miss Granger…Draco will take great care of you, despite his gruffness. He is an officer, a bit rough around the edges, but the model of an officer. He has been a boon to us…and someday, hopefully soon, I will tell you about it all…”

I smiled.

“Could you…could you possibly watch after my cat while I’m away. I can’t…”

“Of course, dear. He’s part of the family now, and has taken a particular liking to sleeping on Lucius’ lap.

Hurry now…”

I finally left Narcissa Malfoy’s presence, and I hoped it would not be the last time I would sit with her in the uncharacteristically homey kitchen of Malfoy Manor.

Part 6

Within three minutes of Malfoy informing me of my imminent departure, I was descending the stairs. I wore a new pair of heavy boots, my hand-me-down coat, which had been cleaned of my blood, and placed in the wardrobe with the rest of my battered clothing. I carried a heavy haversack over my shoulder with the book I had been reading, the sealed book, the notes I had made the day before as well as a small travel kit with some expensive toiletries from France, most likely from Narcissa.

Malfoy was pacing frenetically in the foyer, and as my new boots tapped soundly on the marble, he turned.

“We’re Apparating.”

Malfoy strode to the wide front doors, and I had to nearly jog to follow him out into the cold of the day. Malfoy paused just before the door to pull up the collar of his coat before moving down onto the white gravel drive. I took the small haversack from my shoulder and shrank it, shoving into my bottomless pocket, costing me a few steps so that I fell behind.

Old memories of my last visit to the Manor swept through my mind as I tried to keep up, but I kept them away as I finally managed to come within arm’s reach of Malfoy’s back. Together, we passed through the wrought iron gates and I felt a shift in the air around me. The wards had let me pass, and glancing back all I could see was the indistinct drive and the Manor in overgrown, burnt ruins.

Ten steps from the gate onto a muddy, disused lane, Malfoy turned and drew his wand, and I blinked at it…pausing before him, staring dumbly at the light colored wood. Malfoy frowned, and sighed as he lunged forward to grasp my right arm. I opened my mouth to protest, but time stopped for just a moment.

The world quickly compressed around us, and I was shoved against his chest, inundated with his spicy scent. My head lightened and I crumpled against him, finding it odd that Malfoy’s arms held me.

Side-Along Apparition.

The world re-expanded, and I felt pain again, slicing through my brain like a dull cleaver. Apparition was different from Portkey travel, and it had been a while since I had Apparated. My head felt as if it were shattering, the pressure inside my cranium releasing with an excruciating whistling in my ears.

Malfoy’s arms guided me to the ground, his wand moving over my face to heal shut the wounds that had suddenly reopened on my scalp. My eyelids fluttered, and soon the pain abated. I was gasping, disoriented, and tired, but I could see.

“Easy…easy,” Malfoy whispered, and I blinked, amazed at the gentleness in his voice.

He held my shoulders as I began to breathe normally, and I realized I sat in snow. I began casting my eyes about, and I saw I sat in the shadow of the Shrieking Shack.

I pushed Malfoy off in my dazed state, and with a thump, he fell back into the snow, staring at me as if I had grievously injured him in some way. If my head had not been pounding so hard, I would have burst into a fit of laughter. Instead, I drew my wand from my bottomless pocket and struggled to my feet.

Malfoy sneered as he wiped snow from the back of his coat and glanced about. It was pouring snow outside of Hogsmeade, a vast change from the breezy cold of Wiltshire.

I Transfigured my coat into a long, heavy cloak. Malfoy mimicked me, pulling up the hood to hide his shockingly pale hair and face.

“Pull up your hood, Granger, and keep it low. Stay close to my back,” he growled, tucking his wand back into the holster over his black sweater and under his dark cloak.

I nodded, pulling my hood up so that I could only see as high as Malfoy’s long fingers. The wind whipped around the creaking house like a wall of ice and I shivered, feeling a draft in my hood, wind moving about my shorn head. I adjusted the cloak on my shoulders and soon all I could see were Malfoy’s boots.

He started to walk, his soles crunching into the snow, and I moved to follow, trying my best not to let the cold deter me. It had not been so bitterly cold in Wiltshire. My boots slipped in the mix of loose and hard-packed snow as we moved from the Shack, up the lane going into Hogsmeade.

My breath came out in white puffs from under my hood as I breathed from my open mouth. Malfoy was moving too quickly, and I was slipping too often in the snow…my head still ached, and my chest burned from the exertion of walking at a fast pace.

We were nearing Hogsmeade proper, the village nearly obscured by the amount of snow falling, when I had to stop and let my head clear.

“Move it!” he snapped, stopping a few yards down the lane.

I did not answer and bent to rest my palms on my knees, taking in as much icy air as I could. I still was not in the best of health, I knew I could walk leagues in the uneven terrain of the Forest and not need to stop for a breath. I had walked the lane in and out of Hogsmeade as well, and never did I feel as if I were operating on only one lung.

I was dizzy, and I could feel cold sweat on the back of my bare neck. The snowy ground seemed so appealing, all of a sudden.

“Damn it, Granger…”

I was in his arms again, my face directed toward the ground. I wanted to sleep, to die, anything to be able to close my eyes and rest. I wanted to throw up…

Malfoy whispered to me, but I could not listen. My vision was off, and the snow was a strange shade of yellow, then green, then blue. I knew something was not quite right with my eyes, but after a few moments of stillness, the snow was white again. I could finally breathe without straining myself, and I lifted my head to stare at Malfoy’s chin.

“You’re feverish, you silly bint… should never have let you leave the Manor…”

He was angry, but he was not speaking to me as much as he was speaking to himself. I was also a bit angry, but at myself for being so weak. I had never been so weak before…

Lifting me up with ease, Malfoy set me on my feet, readjusting my cloak, pulling my hood down again. I still could not see his face for his hood, only his sharp, clean-shaven chin.

“Come along then…” he whispered with an air of irritation, taking my hand in his and pulling me along at a much slower pace.

I was sure we looked ridiculous walking down into Hogsmeade’s High Street. Malfoy stood a head and a half taller than me, and his pale hand totally enveloped my own. No one could see who we were, but if they compared sizes, one might have thought we were parent and child.

There were very few people out in Hogsmeade, which surprised me. Then again, with Hogwarts closed, the village would seem quiet. Passing Honeydukes, I managed to see official Ministry notices pasted to the windows announcing curfews at sundown, effective for all of Wizarding Britain.

I wanted to ask Malfoy more about the notices, but said nothing as we finally left the High Street for the lonely lane towards the castle.

I wondered about the people of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. The village and the castle had survived the War, and never once had the school closed because of Voldemort. It was closed because the castle’s residents had been attacked, and not the castle itself.

As we neared the gates to Hogwarts, I lifted my hood a bit, causing Malfoy to glance back with a sneer, his hand squeezing painfully around mine. I ignored the man who was pulling me along like a petulant child, and examined the figures standing at the gates.

Old Mr. Filch stood in a ridiculous looking balaclava and cloak, speaking with four other cloaked men. Malfoy growled a curse under his breath as we approached, and quickened his pace, dragging me behind him.

“Macavoy, Peters, Scruggs, Hartley, is this what you call ‘patrolling’? I walked up the lane as bold as day and no one, no one stopped me!”

Malfoy released my hand with a rough gesture, and I stepped closer, peering from under my hood to stare at the four men. I did not know any of them, but they looked younger, their names unfamiliar.

One dark skinned man stepped forward and saluted as Malfoy pushed back his hood. Malfoy frowned at the man and hissed.

“No, sir…we were just about to have a cup of…”

“Hartley, you piece of dung, you were supposed to be positioned down the lane, at the bend. And you, Peters, you were supposed to be monitoring the other end of High Street, why the hell are you here?”

Peters seemed to be the oldest of the four men, his hair a beautiful shade of honey, his face pleasant and round. He stepped forward and saluted as well, causing Malfoy to hiss again.

“Sir, I was about to return…”

“Move it, Peters. By Merlin, if I am going to have to speak with your Sergeant, heads are going to roll!”

Malfoy’s face was a mask of cold anger, and I noticed that there was still a faint imprint of my hand on his cheek, which had nearly faded from the cold. The two reprimanded men popped away, Apparating back to their posts, I assumed. Only Macavoy and Scruggs were left, as well as Mr. Filch who was grinning stupidly at the situation.

“Sir, is there a problem outside…” a dark haired man began, but stopped as Malfoy shook his head slightly, his mouth moving as if to spew some more orders.

“I have brought a consultant from the Ministry to speak to the remaining staff. The DS is aware that I am here, now, can we pass, Scruggs, or am I going to have to stand here all fucking day?” Malfoy growled at the man named Scruggs.

Consultant? I felt a slight grin crack my face.

“No, sir, just let Macavoy take the consultant through…”

I blinked as the last man, a hefty red headed fellow with large brown eyes came to my side, clutching my elbow roughly.

“She’s not some criminal, Macavoy, take it easy,” Scruggs scolded his partner, glancing past Malfoy to me, his head craning to attempt to see my face.

“Go on then, I’ll be right through,” Malfoy uttered in a low tone to me, and I nodded as the large Macavoy pulled me toward the gates.

Mr. Filch, I noticed upon approach, stood just inside the gates. As I was pulled through, I grunted, causing the man attached to my elbow to pause, but then pull me through so that I stood near the caretaker.

“You alright then, missus?” Macavoy asked in a thick regional accent that I did not recognize.

I nodded, my hood shaking around my head.

I was not alright, in fact, I could feel blood trickling from my head and around my left ear. Whatever the protections were that surrounded Hogwarts, it had probed my body, recording my magical signature, and plucked at something inside me, as if pinching me to see if I were real. I watched Malfoy walk through with Scruggs, his face hardening for a moment as he passed, he, too, apparently feeling what I had felt.

Malfoy spoke brusquely with the two men, who I assumed were constables of sorts, and then took my elbow much like the large Macavoy had, and began pulling me along towards the front doors of the castle.

“You’re bleeding again,” Malfoy said softly, irritated.

I sighed. “I know…it was the wards…I…”

“They are not really wards, per se, Granger. It is goblin magic, the strongest protective sort. It pulls apart your magic, looking for the minutest traces of whatever it deems dangerous. If you were Potter, the gates would have literally incapacitated you in a type of stasis until the authorities arrived.

Why they did not use the goblins earlier, I have no idea…” he muttered as we started up the front steps.

The idea of using the goblins to fortify Hogwarts made me uneasy.

I knew I would have to find Poppy once we got inside, the bleeding was not serious, but it was not stopping either, and I could feel it running down my neck and into my sweater.

Malfoy pushed against the large front door so that the ancient wood released a low groan, and opened just enough for us to pass inside. The first thing I noticed, as Malfoy threw his shoulder into closing the door, was how cold it was in the Entrance Hall as I could still see my breath before my face. The castle seemed abandoned, none of the torches lit and a mournful wind moving high above my head.

I pushed my hood back and shivered, glancing toward the closed doors of the Great Hall, then toward the Portrait Hall, only hearing a few whispers from the paintings.

“Look at me, Granger.”

I jumped as Malfoy stepped in front of me, grasping my face by the chin, turning my head so he could look at the opened wound in my scalp. I felt silly, but strangely comforted as Malfoy drew his wand and Vanished the blood and muttered a spell too low for me to discern, sealing the wound again.

“You need to see Wiscombe again, Granger. These wounds are not normal…” Malfoy muttered with a hint of disgust, turning my head the other way to look at the other side, his large thumb pinching my chin slightly.

“I know.”

Malfoy released me, giving my face a once-over, stepped back, and then turned away.

“Let’s go. Longbottom should be in his office…”

We moved through the freezing stone corridors towards the gargoyle and the entrance to the Headmaster’s office.

I had not told Malfoy what I intended to do from that point on, and I wondered if I should stop him from addressing the gargoyle guardian and inform him of my latest plans. I had only been allowed to leave the protection of Malfoy Manor because Gumboil had wanted Malfoy to work with me…and I needed Malfoy’s protection, although it made me feel very…odd. Ten years ago, Malfoy would have rather hexed me than protected me. Ten years ago, I would have rather given up magic altogether than be indebted to him.

Times change.

And your generation has had the benefit of being able to change with them, Severus whispered.

I tried not to smile at that comforting voice as the gargoyle informed Malfoy that Headmaster Longbottom was in the greenhouses, but for us to wait in the office. I stepped behind Malfoy as the spiral stairs curled upward.

The familiar Headmaster’s office was a wonderful contrast to the halls, warm and comfortable. Snow blew against the windows, and the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, and immediately I began looking for Minerva.

I drew my wand, re-Transfiguring my cloak to my familiar coat, doffing it to move toward Dumbledore’s portrait. However, before I could take two steps toward the portrait, the door banged open and Neville Longbottom stood just inside, snow on the shoulders of his dark red cloak having seemingly run from the greenhouses. Behind Neville was Horace Slughorn.

Malfoy’s face tightened, noticing that Neville was staring at me with a mixture of shock and joy. Horace, on the other hand, looked ill, his fat face as white as the snow falling on the grounds. Malfoy did not move from his place before the fire, and I stood in the middle of the office dumbly holding my coat before me, my wand caught in two fingers of my right hand.

“Thank Merlin, Hermione!”

The door banged shut, creating a cold draft that made Malfoy scowl.

I blinked at Neville. My old housemate looked terrible. I knew I must have looked worse, but Neville’s face shocked me to complete stillness. His normally bright face was sallow, his handsome eyes red, and his mousy hair disheveled. He had lost weight and his cloak hung from his shoulders limply: his jumper too big, his trousers held up by a cinched belt.

I took a breath and laid my coat over the back of the nearest couch, trying to mirror Neville’s joyous expression.

“We had heard you were attacked, Hermione, are you alright?” Neville asked, stepping toward me, his eyes moving from my shorn head and sunken cheeks. His worn hand raised to touch my face.

I surprised myself by backing away quickly, an abrupt cloud of fear billowing up in my mind.

Neville froze, stricken, glancing to Malfoy who had moved to stand behind me near my elbow. I closed my eyes, how stupid could I be?

Horace remained near the door, his dark eyes staring pointedly at me, and I noticed that his face conveyed a wordless message. Horace needed to tell me something. After so many years dealing potion ingredients for banned books, I knew how to covertly communicate with the sly old bastard. I was an honorary Slytherin after all, and when I nodded slowly, Horace returned with one nod and discreetly showed himself out.

“Neville…” I started, moving my eyes to my old housemate, plastering a congenial smile on my face. “I’m fine. Of course, I’ve been better, but I’m fine…”

What a lie.

“But, if you’ll excuse me, I must speak with Albus. I don’t mean to be short with you, Neville, but it has to do with why Malfoy is here with me…”

Neville’s wide eyes moved from my face to Malfoy, and his expression darkened as if a cloud had passed before the sun.

“I understand, Hermione. I’ll-I’ll be in the greenhouses, if you should need me… Malfoy.”

I could not see Malfoy’s face, but apparently a flickering of understanding passed between the two men. Neville forced a smile as he considered me again, but I could see a pain in his eyes, a pain I could not identify.

Neville turned and slowly exited the room, his eyes studying me as he shut the door. I felt sorry for Neville having suddenly been thrust into the role of Headmaster of a school that was closed.

I sighed, my shoulders falling. The depressing ambience of the castle had been amplified by its Headmaster, and I wondered how soon the world would right itself. And then I remembered…

I turned, ignoring Malfoy, and moved through the office, up to the Headmistress' now Headmaster’s desk, to face the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.

“Where is she?”

Albus’ painted blue eyes twinkled, and a smile turned his lips upward. I realized…I really did not like this man, albeit he was now a magical conglomeration of pigments on canvas.

“Protecting Gryffindor Tower, as per the instructions of her will.”

I started to turn away, but thought better of it. As much as I longed to see and speak with Minerva, I still had a line of questioning to pose to the former Headmaster. I leaned into the corner of the Headmaster’s desk, crossing my arms before me, staring evenly at Albus. After a few moments, those blue eyes turned away from me, towards the door of the office.

“I see you still carry Severus’ wand, Mr. Malfoy.”

I frowned, and turned my shorn head toward Malfoy who had also doffed his coat and was moving a wand over the door to cast a privacy Charm. It was a different wand than the one in his chest holster, the other wand I had suspected strapped to his arm.

Malfoy turned toward me, his eyes moving passively from me to Albus. In his right hand he held a long, thin wand of dark wood. It was possibly red oak or mahogany, but I was not sure. However, I was more concerned with Albus’ words.

Severus’ wand…

I had rarely seen Severus Snape with a wand. There had been that speech in my First Year about ‘foolish wand waving’… But I vaguely recalled that Snape’s wand was at least thirteen inches of dark wood and unknown core.

How and why did Malfoy have it?

Malfoy tucked the wand into his sleeve, and moved toward Albus’ portrait, his face unreadable.

“And Tom’s as well?” Albus asked, but there was no hint of surprise in his voice.

I, however, gaped. I rarely gape.

I thought I had recognised the pale wood wand Malfoy carried in his chest holster, his primary wand, I assumed. There was only one ‘Tom’ to Albus, Lord Voldemort nee Tom Riddle. If I had been puzzled at Malfoy having Severus’ wand, I was shocked that he had Voldemort’s.

“Is that a problem for you, Dumbledore?” Malfoy asked, standing near me, aping my composure by also crossing his arms before his wide chest.

“Not at all! It merely surprises me that you have never found a wand that was uniquely your own. You had mine for so long…”

Ah, yes…

“It was not really yours to begin with, though. As it had never really been Voldemort’s or Malfoy’s, although Malfoy had it longer than Voldemort, and could have used it if he had liked,” I snorted, ignoring Malfoy’s piercing eyes upon the left side of my head.

“And now Harry has it. It is his by right.”

“Perhaps so, but I would rather see the damn thing destroyed,” I sneered.

Albus said nothing in retort, but studied me, his eyes returning again and again to my bare head.

“It is dangerous for you to be here, Miss Granger.”

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes Albus could be so daft.

“There is something I need to know, Albus, and you may be the only one who can answer my questions.”

Malfoy shifted on his feet, and I let my arms fall to my sides, hands clutching the edge of the desk. Albus nodded after a moment of hesitation.

“The Resurrection Stone. Its only power is not simply what we believe it to be…not what is recorded in Beedle the Bard, is it?”

Albus frowned, shifting in his frame. “What is it you believe, Miss Granger?”

I rolled my eyes again, and my face flushed. “We do not have time for riddles and mental exercises, Albus. The Resurrection Stone can literally resurrect people, not just their shadows…”

“I didn’t…” Albus started, agitated.

“You didn’t try it yourself, but you knew, didn’t you?”

Gravely, Albus nodded, too agitated to answer aloud.

Silence fell over the office, and I closed my eyes. Sometimes I hated it when my theories proved correct.

“Time and chance…”

I opened my eyes to stare at Albus who had spoken in a near whisper, almost as if speaking to himself, which I knew he did quite often.

Time and chance…I wanted to vomit, die, or curl up in a ball and be left alone for a very long time. Yes, I hated it when my theories…

“You told Potter this?” Malfoy growled, taking a step toward the portrait, and I half wished Malfoy would use Voldemort’s wand to erase the canvas.

“Long ago…almost as an afterthought…”

Merlin…

I started laughing, much like I had the last time I was in that office. How did that poem go? Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone? Oh how true.

I flopped down in the Headmaster’s chair, throwing my right leg over the arm, laughing all the while to keep from screaming at Albus and Vanishing the oil from the canvas.

“You old fool… All these years of you feeding into Harry’s pain, his vulnerabilities, to sway the outcome of a war…you are going to lose it all because of some stray words…lose it when he somehow manages to ‘correct’ the timeline. If you weren’t already dead, I would kill you!” I progressed from laughter to screaming at the portrait, the figure in it which recoiled…the frame having cracked and the painting thumping against the wall.

I slapped a hand to my face, rubbing my eyes, then the right temple. Merlin, my head hurt. I had done it again, letting my own magic project through my voice. I would have to think as to the reason why it was happening at some later point…my head hurt…

I glanced at Malfoy, who had been watching me all the while. My skin prickled at his gaze and the way his lips curved into a satisfied smirk. I sighed.

“Why do we have to suffer for you, Albus?”

Despair laced my voice, and I had to keep my tears at bay.

“I never asked…”

“You didn’t think to ask, you just…” I trailed, sighing again to cover my deteriorating emotions. “I am just a chess piece to you, a pawn.”

“A Queen, Miss Granger, if you must use that analogy, there are better, more accurate analogies,” Albus said swiftly, his words correcting me. “Harry was the King on my side…just because the King has been checked…the game is not over.”

I stared at Albus. “Explain.”

Albus smiled, sadly, arranging his hands before him, delicately. “Protect the Queen, she has all the moves. You have been called the ‘brightest witch of your age’, Miss Granger. Did you really think it a simple compliment? You have heard it so many times, maybe the words have lost all their meaning.

Just as Harry had been groomed to stop Voldemort, you have been groomed to stop Harry.”

I was on my feet before I realized it, with my wand drawn. “No one has groomed me for such a thing, don’t you dare claim that, Albus!”

The room shook, the other portraits yelling protests from the other side of the office. Albus remained calm, bowing his head as his painted world suffered a devastating earthquake.

Suddenly, the shaking stopped as Malfoy’s hands enveloped mine, forcing my wand hand down to my side. I had not seen him move, but then again, my attention had been fixed upon Albus.

“You have all the moves, Miss Granger. Do what you feel is right. You have always known what to do…and I was not the one to groom you, my dear, someone else takes that honor…two people, in fact.”

“I am not listening to this shit now, Albus. And if you don’t have anything useful to say, I am going to leave this office and possibly never return!” I snarled.

Albus opened his eyes and raised his white head, but he was not looking at me, but at Malfoy.

“Miss Granger, if I had any more information, I would gladly give it without being asked. As it is, there is nothing more I can give you.”

“Not even a speculation as to where Potter might be now?” Malfoy asked, his official DCI tone of voice employed.

“I thought about Number 12 Grimmauld Place early on, and sent Phineas to check, but no one has been there for years.”

Malfoy snorted, “Phineas Nigellus Black is confined to the view of one room…but Grimmauld Place has been searched, Potter has not been there.”

I bit my lower lip. I had not pondered the possible whereabouts of Harry. There were places he could hide, places he could go, but that was only to capture him. I wanted to stop him…

I shifted my feet. There was nothing more to be learned from the room. I passed Malfoy and Albus’ portrait, and retrieved my old coat, shrugging into the warmth. I tucked my wand into my pocket and strode to the door, passing through and shutting it behind me, leaning back into the wood. Malfoy would soon follow. However, Malfoy did not come, instead, I could hear him speaking to Albus.

“You are far too resistant, Mr. Malfoy.”

“A quality that has kept me alive, Dumbledore.”

“Every Queen needs a Knight, every Fool needs a ruler to protect it…”

I heard Malfoy scoff. “You were a fool when you were alive, you are just the same dead.”

“The Fool is not my part to play, Mr. Malfoy, but I digress…it seems fate has found you fit to play a major role in this story, whether you like it or not…”

I stepped away from the door, feeling a surge of magic pass through the walls, and all was silent. I stepped onto the staircase and was halfway down when Malfoy exited the office above me. Through the dark of the stairwell, I could see he had reapplied his cloak, not having re-Transfigured it, and was tucking his light colored wand into his holster.

I decided to think about Malfoy’s wands later.

We met again in the corridor, I in my ugly oversized coat, he in his elegantly Transfigured cloak. I did not ask about the sudden surge of magic I had felt or Albus’ words, but I did mumble that I wanted to see Minerva. Surprisingly, Malfoy followed me as we moved down the near frozen corridors to the Portrait Hall and up the moving stairs towards Gryffindor Tower.

The silence in the castle was deafening, and the portraits that watched Malfoy and I were strangely hushed. It was unnerving, and the slowness of the moving stair was becoming an irritation. Finally, I stood before the portrait guarding my old dormitory.

I smiled, I couldn’t help myself. Minerva’s portrait was large, and in it she sat in a chair in her old Transfigurations classroom. She wore her best dark red robes, her hair pinned up in beautiful ruby coloured pins. Sunlight fell over her from an unseen window, and I felt tears burn in the corners of my eyes.

However, Minerva slept in her chair, her head propped up on her right fist, her left hand holding a wand, resting in her lap. She slept peacefully, breathing evenly.

“She won’t wake.”

The voice was muted, and as I lifted my chin to glance at the portrait immediately above Minerva, I remembered the round face staring down at me. The portraits had been moved around since the last time I had been in the hall and I never passed through during my time living in the cottage. The less the portraits knew of my presence in Hogwarts, the better. However, the kind face beaming down at me was none other than the former dormitory guardian, the Fat Lady.

“She’s been sleeping ever since the portrait was placed after the funeral. I gave up my post happily for her…but there are no students…”

“She hasn’t been awake at all?” I asked, the disappointment clear in my voice.

The Fat Lady shook her head, her dark coiffed hair bouncing about her wide shoulders. “The new Headmaster comes every day to try to talk to Minerva, but he always walks away after a few minutes. I have to pop down and open the door sometimes when someone needs in. But, it is like this sometimes, especially if the portrait is new.”

I nodded, Albus’ portrait had slept for a very long time. It was not until what would have been my Seventh Year did he respond to anyone.

“I will watch over her, Miss Granger, do not worry.”

A tear trailed down my cheek as I looked at Minerva again. Oh, how I wanted to talk to her, hear her voice again.

“And dear?” the Fat Lady asked in a familiar melodic voice. “Do something about your hair before Minerva wakes, you look terrible.”

I nodded, a laugh trying to well up from my chest, but stopped in my throat.

I inhaled the rest of my tears and turned to start up the stairs again when Malfoy, who had been silent all the while, grasped my wrist.

“Where are you going, Granger?”

I turned, meeting his eyes, which flashed brilliant silver in the filtered light of the Hall. Looking down on his face, I was struck at how pale and perfect he was…he was like a white marble statue, but I knew it was the quality of the light in the Hall and the tears in my eyes that made Draco Malfoy seem so beautiful.

“To Trelawney’s classroom,” I answered as if Malfoy had just asked the stupidest question of the decade.

“Why?”

The pressure on my wrist increased slightly and his warmth suffused my skin and traveled to my chest. I gently extracted my arm.

Why indeed? There was a little niggling bit of thought in my brain, it was the memory of only a few minutes before…something Albus had said. Analogies…Trelawney…and The Hanged Man.

“There is something that bothers me…” was my answer as I started up the stairs again, my hands grasping the railings as I climbed. My head still thumped painfully.

Malfoy followed close behind me, and every time that I stumbled on the step, I felt his large hand against the small of my back, keeping me from falling backward. I could not really think too much about how warm and big his hand felt, and I could not really think about how he would gaze at me when I would turn to him. No, I had to keep my mind focused.

I knew I needed to see a Healer about my head. Maybe a specialist, and not Wiscombe. Wiscombe was suitable, but he also was attached to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Finally, I entered Trelawney’s classroom, pausing to catch my breath and hoped that the pounding of my heart in my brain would slow and eventually stop. I leaned against the back wall, wheezing as Malfoy passed by me and into the dim light of the classroom.

Even with Trelawney dead for some time, the room still reeked of a strange mix of incense and weak tea. I had left this classroom in my Third Year, and had not ever returned. As I scanned the room, I found little had changed. There were still small tables clustered about the middle of the room, chintz poufs for students to sit, and Trelawney’s spindly table and matching chair in the middle of the room.

Malfoy moved to the opposite wall, pulling aside heavy curtains to uncover a large round window, spilling gray snow laden light across the room. Around Trelawney’s central space was a floating blue line, glowing faintly in the light. It reminded me of Albus’ age line around the Goblet of Fire, but I knew what it was…a Ministry sanctioned cordon, allowing only certain people to cross and barring all others. It was a literal barrier compared to the Muggle version of police tape.

I pushed off the wall and made my way down the row of low tables with crystal balls perched on fake gold stands. Malfoy stood by the window, leaning back against it to gaze out of the frosted glass to the Lake. I was thankful for his limited involvement as I approached the cordon, careful not to touch it. I had heard that anyone trying to cross a barrier as the one I skirted, received a nasty hex and a strong Confounding to boot.

There were congealed puddles of black blood staining the floorboards, shards of a crystal ball…and scattered atop those things, Tarot cards. I let my eyes move from the floor to the chair. Trelawney had draped the chair with gauzy scarves, as she had used to decorate the rest of the room, and it was unnerving that those scarves, albeit garish in color, were now stained black with blood.

It was like something out of Muggle horror films. There was a distinct odor as well, one I had not noticed when I had entered, but one that I knew. It was the smell of excrement, bile, and death. It was not overpowering as the lingering scent of incense that permeated everything in the room for the past twenty years. I was suddenly glad for that headache-inducing incense. After the Last Battle, I never wanted to smell the scent of death again.

I could see a particularly dark stain before the chair, where Trelawney’s flayed skin had been piled, and I could see bloody fingerprints upon the shards of the crystal ball that I assumed had been knocked from the side table inside the cordon. I sucked on my bottom lip, moving around the cordon to get a better look at the table.

“Why hasn’t this been cleaned?” I asked distractedly, but glanced quickly out of the corner of my eye to Malfoy who had not moved from the window, his arms crossed before his chest.

“Documentation. The Forensics teams have been through, but the blokes in charge of documentation are taking their time with this one.”

I nodded, but to me it just sounded like laziness on the part of the police. I thought no more of it as I stood as close as I could to the table, noting the empty base the crystal ball had been knocked from, an empty cup of tea, a small incense coffin, and four Tarot cards smudged with bloody fingerprints.

“Trelawney’s fingerprints?” I asked aloud.

“Yes. Potter’s were found on the shards of the crystal. The bloody fingerprints on the crystal is Potter’s blood, he must have cut himself somehow.”

On the shards? I took a breath and leaned closer, my eyes fixing upon the cards.

Had I stayed with Divination, I might have been able to identify the exact deck Trelawney had used, but as it was, the only way I could think to describe the illustrations on the cards was medieval.

The cards were arranged in what I considered to be a pyramid, one card above two others…actually, three others with one card overlapping another. At top was The Fool, below, on the left was The Emperor, and on the right, The Hanged Man resting atop The Magician. I leaned back, straightening. Trelawney had touched the cards with bloody fingers, either during or after Harry… I took an unsteady step back.

Proper analogies… I sucked my lower lip between my teeth again.

“You did not mention this to me, Malfoy,” I muttered after a moment, turning my shorn head to look at the pale man, he was still gazing out the window.

“The cards? I did mention those.”

“Not the configuration or the exact cards.”

Malfoy sighed, his eyes swiveling to the table and then back out the window.

“I thought you did not believe Divination to be an art worth mastering, Granger.”

I did not answer. I did not want to verbally spar with Malfoy at that moment, I, instead, began racking my addled mind for what I remembered about Tarot symbolism.

The configuration had significance, the top card being the base from which to begin. It was possible that the top card represented the querent…The Fool. My lips twitched, there were so many meanings to that card. But the card that really put me ill at ease? The Hanged Man.

“Too much of a coincidence…The Hanged Man…”

A shift in the light startled me and I realized Malfoy had moved from the window to stand a quarter of the circular cordon to my right. His eyes fell upon the cards and his lips twisted in obvious distaste.

“I…I know so little about Divination, I cannot begin to interpret the significance of the cards in the configuration…”

My voice trembled, and my head began to pound harder. I was thinking too hard, too deep, and I desperately wanted to sit down, but the only option was the chintz poufs.

“The Fool is the protagonist, Granger…a person represented who seeks experience and knowledge over the cost of his welfare. The key words being ‘seeking’ and ‘knowledge’. There is a lot more to The Fool than that…

And then The Emperor, he is the father figure, in this case the lord of the land, the protector, and the hand of autonomous justice.

And The Hanged Man…”

“Yes, I know. But why this configuration, and why The Magician underneath The Hanged Man?” I huffed. I really did not like the feeling of Malfoy lecturing me, then again, he had stayed in Divination while I had walked out.

Malfoy smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets, reminding me of earlier in the day when he had done the same thing.

“I can only speculate, Granger, but it is clear that the querent or the person of true importance referenced in the spread is The Fool.”

Analogies…

Malfoy continued, “Potter could not have been the querent as his character does not fit. But The Hanged Man…”

“Yes…” I whispered.

So much about Harry reflected the symbolism of The Hanged Man. But who was The Fool, and who was The Emperor? And then there was The Magician who was very different from The Hanged Man.

Action versus inaction, creativity versus conformism, manipulation versus acceptance…two sides of one…

I blinked. The Fool had two paths, protection under The Emperor or conflict of The Magician/The Hanged Man. I licked my lips, my eyes moving over the table.

The Hermit.

I had not seen it at first, the empty teacup obscuring the face of the card, but I could just make out the words from under the shadow of the handle.

It seemed ironic that The Hermit was separate from the others, obscured. However, it rested above The Fool on its side as if it had fallen there by chance and was ignored as there was an empty teacup sitting atop it.

The Hermit…the interpretation of the card was a bit simpler in my mind. Reclusive, introspective, philosophical, and I wondered if that was where I fit in.

If Harry was The Magician/Hanged Man, I was the Hermit…

I closed my eyes as a particularly nasty slice in my brain stopped all cognizant thought. The room, its ambiance, and the conflicting odor of death and sweet incense were making my headache worse.

Slowly, I moved around the magical cordon to stand next to Malfoy. If I were going to fall, I would rather have him catch me than suffering a hex by unconsciously crossing the barrier. As I came to his side, my head began to clear.

“Do you remember when I walked out of her class?”

Malfoy smirked. “A glorious day, another class I did not have to share with you…”

I rolled my eyes, only succeeding in making myself dizzy. I had to get out into better air. I made my way to the door slowly, Malfoy on my heels, and when I was clear of the room and into the empty corridors, I could breathe.

Glancing back up at the entrance, I sighed. “Trelawney was rarely correct, but when she was…her predictions were explosive.”

I let the mental image of the cards on the table flash behind my eyes. I had imprinted the sight as best I could.

“Those cards could mean anything, Granger. Trelawney was a barmy old bat.”

“Better to consider everything, Malfoy, than miss the one thing that will explain why all of this is happening.”

Malfoy’s face darkened with repressed words, but I ignored his expression. Malfoy was not a fool, but he had not been the one attacked by Harry Potter either. However, I could not tell if I were any closer to formulating an answer as to why Harry was tearing our world apart. As I stood in the corridor, Malfoy was staring at me, his face shuttered with anger, I was more concerned with why my head was hurting so terribly, and why the wounds were refusing to heal. My head injuries had not been caused by magic, but by sheer battering, and I knew that if I were to puzzle out Harry’s motives, I needed a clear mind.

But it would have to wait…at least for a while.