Chapter 2: Horcrux Hunting
When Draco woke up the following morning, he was still curled up in front of the bedroom door. For a moment, he considered locking himself inside and never coming back out; what did he have to live for now? But an overwhelming curiosity about Hermione's well being forced him to his feet.
He brushed the wrinkles from his dark suit jacket and opened the door. The hallway was quiet. Draco made his way downstairs, careful to avoid making unnecessary noise. When he neared the parlor, he heard soft voices coming from the kitchen. He tiptoed down the hallway until he was near enough to make out what they were saying.
". . . just trying to point out that if he gets ahold of that wand, we're all dead," Harry said.
"What wand?" Draco whispered to himself. "Who are they talking about?"
"Mr. Ollivander," Hermione said, "what can you tell us about the Elder Wand?"
"My dear, it is just a legend. A story in a book of fairy tales," Ollivander replied softly.
"But, say for a moment that it does exist," Ron said. "How would You-Know-Who get to it?"
"There are stories among wandmakers," Ollivander started, "about a very powerful wand that has left a bloody trail of destruction in its wake. Supposedly the only way for the wand to recognize a new master is that its old one must first be defeated."
"Do the stories mention anyone in particular?" Harry asked.
"As a matter of fact, yes. There was a rumor many years ago—likely started by the man himself—that Gregorovitch, another wandmaker, was in possession of the wand and attempting to duplicate it." Ollivander sounded curious now. "Why do you care about a mythological wand?"
"I'm just trying to understand You-Know-Who a bit better," Harry said.
Draco could tell he was lying from behind the closed door, and he wondered what Boy Wonder could possibly be up to.
"I see," Ollivander said.
"Thank you for your help, Mr. Ollivander. You can go get some more rest now, if you'd like," Hermione said kindly. "We really do appreciate everything you told us."
"Any time, children."
Draco heard the scraping of a chair, and, before he had the chance to duck out of sight, Ollivander was in the hallway. They locked eyes. Draco held a finger to his lips, a pleading look on his face. Ollivander eyed him suspiciously but walked away without revealing his location. Draco breathed a silent sigh of relief.
"Do you think the wand really exists, Harry?" Ron asked.
"I do," he replied. "I know I'm supposed to fight it, but I had another vision of You-Know-Who searching for Gregorovitch a few days ago. He found him, and Gregorovitch admitted that he hadn't been in possession of the wand for some time. He said that Grindelwald had stolen it from him."
"Visions? He can see what the Dark Lord is doing?" Draco whispered again.
"Grindelwald?" Hermione said, surprised. "He was the wizard that Dumbledore famously defeated in a duel."
"Does that mean," Ron said slowly, "that Dumbledore has had the Elder Wand all this time?"
"I think so," Harry said.
"Dumbledore was buried with his wand," Hermione said quietly. "It's at Hogwarts."
"Well why aren't we going to get it?" Ron demanded.
"It's probably too late for that now. You-Know-Who found out this information a long time ago; he's probably already got it with him." Harry didn't sound discouraged, though. If anything, Draco thought he sounded hopeful. "But I don't think the wand will work for him."
Draco's heart stopped. Whoever defeated the wand's owner was the wand's master . . .
"Why not?" Hermione asked.
"Because You-Know-Who isn't the one that defeated Dumbledore."
Draco's eyes widened. "They don't mean . . .?" he murmured.
"Hold on," Ron said. "Didn't you say that Malfoy Disarmed Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower?"
"Exactly," Harry said.
"So the Elder Wand is loyal to Malfoy?" Hermione clarified.
"I believe so, yes."
Draco couldn't stand it anymore. He barged into the kitchen. "What the bloody hell do you mean the Elder Wand is loyal to me?" he demanded.
Harry shot out of his chair, where he was sitting at a table Draco was sure hadn't been there the night before. "Malfoy! How long have you been out there?"
Draco hesitated. "I was on my way down for some food, and I just barely heard you say that thing about the Elder Wand," he lied.
Harry seemed to relax. "It's just a theory."
Ron glared at Draco. "How dare you eavesdrop on us!"
"I wasn't eavesdropping," Draco denied, feeling a bit guilty. "I just barely got here!"
Harry studied Draco for a long, tense moment. "Malfoy, come and sit down. There is something we should probably discuss."
"Harry, don't tell him! We can't trust him!" Ron nearly shouted.
"Ron, calm down," Hermione said. "Harry's right. If Malfoy really is the master of the Elder Wand, we're going to need his help."
"Who says I want to help you?" Draco snarled.
Hermione looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "You might not say it out loud, Malfoy, but if you didn't want to help us, you would have let Bellatrix kill us yesterday."
Draco's shoulders slumped. He stalked over to the table and sat roughly in the only vacant seat—on Hermione's left. "So what?" he asked sullenly. "Just because I didn't let my psychotic aunt murder you doesn't mean I suddenly want to fight for the bloody Order." He scratched uncomfortably at the Dark Mark etched into his left arm.
A somber silence filled the room. Draco felt so confused. By now his family had probably awoken from being Stunned last night and had discovered his treachery. He would forever be a pariah in his own home. Surprisingly, he felt no real sense of loss. His opinions of the world had started changing right around the time that Granger had punched him in the face during third year. He fought a smile at the memory.
"Let's just pretend, for a moment, that I decide to help you. What would I have to do?" Draco asked.
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, but Hermione had the courage to speak up. "Nothing at first, unless you wanted to. Your part would only come at the end of this, when Harry and You-Know-Who finally confront each other."
"What's the holdup?" he wondered.
"Horcruxes," Harry said quietly.
"What're Horcruxes?"
"You-Know-Who wanted to split his soul so he couldn't die," Harry explained. "He contained each part within an object of importance to him."
Draco's eyes widened. "The diary . . ."
Harry nodded. "The diary from second year, the one your father slipped into Ginny's cauldron that day at Flourish and Blotts."
Draco wanted to deny that his father had been the one to do it, but he knew that the diary had once been in a glass case in his home. He remembered the Dark aura that permeated the room it was kept in. "Have you found any others?"
Ron scowled in Draco's direction. "Why should we tell you?" he mumbled angrily.
"Because maybe I know where some others are!" Draco yelled. "Don't forget that my blasted father is in the Dark Lord's inner circle!"
"How could we forget?" Ron snarled. "You followed him around like a lost puppy for years!"
Draco jumped to his feet, pulling his wand out as he did. He pointed it at Ron. "So help me, Weasley—"
"That's enough, you two!" Hermione shouted. "Sit down, Malfoy!"
Draco frowned at her, but did as she asked.
"To answer your question, Malfoy, yes. We have found others. And we've figured out what some other ones might be." Harry folded his hands atop the table calmly.
Draco did not understand how Harry could be so blasé about the subject. "Can I ask what they are?"
Harry nodded. "The diary, of course, you know about. Dumbledore found an old ring that once belonged to You-Know-Who's grandfather and he destroyed the Horcrux inside. The night that Dumbledore died, he and I had been out searching for another Horcrux. It was a locket that used to belong to Salazar Slytherin."
"And the locket has been destroyed?" Draco clarified.
"It took some time, but yes, it's been destroyed."
"Why did it take time? Didn't you find it with Dumbledore?" Draco couldn't help the curiosity that was building inside.
A dark expression crossed Harry's face. "The short version of the story is that Regulus Black beat us to it. The locket we found that night was a fake. Regulus had brought it back to his house and ordered his house-elf to destroy it, but the elf couldn't do it. One day, bloody Mundungus Fletcher broke into the house and stole the locket, and it wound up with Dolores Umbridge."
Malfoy's eyebrows rose. "She works at the Ministry. How did you get it back?"
"Polyjuice Potion," Harry said, a slight smile on his face. "That was quite an adventure."
"We really did find Gryffindor's sword in the woods," Hermione pitched in. "And because it was imbued with basilisk venom, it has the power to destroy Horcruxes. Ron—" She glanced over at him, a sweet smile on her face. "—was the one that officially destroyed the locket."
As much as he loathed to admit it, Draco was impressed at the lot of them. Even he wasn't brave enough to do some of the things these three had done. "You mentioned that you thought you knew what the other Horcruxes were?" he asked.
"Yes." Harry absently rubbed the scar on his forehead. "Helga Hufflepuff had a cup that she was rather fond of. It went missing about fifty years ago—right around the time that You-Know-Who attended Hogwarts. It makes sense that he would use it. He seems to have some strange attachment to the founders of the school."
"Except Gryffindor," Draco muttered.
"Actually, you're right," Hermione said. "The only famous artifact of Gryffindor's is the sword, and we know it's not a Horcrux. But we do think he has something of Rowena Ravenclaw's."
"So that's five," Draco said. "What about the other two?"
"One of them is his pet snake, Nagini. It has to be," Harry said tiredly. "I have no idea how we'll get rid of her."
"That's still only six."
"Thank you for stating the obvious, you git," Ron snapped.
"Weasel—"
"Come on you two, get a grip," Harry barked.
Draco glowered at the table.
"As far as we know," Hermione said quietly, "You-Know-Who wasn't able to complete his seventh Horcrux before he tried to kill Harry sixteen years ago."
Harry looked down at his hands and refused to meet anyone's gaze. In that moment, Draco knew he was hiding something, for the boy had never really been great at keeping secrets. Instead of examining the revelation further, Draco decided to pitch in.
"I know where the cup is," he said quietly.
"What?" Ron yelped.
"I said I know where the cup is."
"I heard you, I just didn't believe you!"
"Where is it Malfoy?" Hermione asked, intervening.
"It's in Bellatrix's vault in Gringotts." Draco glared fiercely at Hermione.
"That makes sense," she whispered. "She was so angry when she thought we'd somehow broken into her vault to get the sword."
"Do you know where the other Horcruxes might be?" Harry asked eagerly.
Draco shook his head. "I have no idea where the Ravenclaw thing is, but Nagini never leaves the Dark Lord's side. He's had her in this impenetrable magic bubble for the last year." He couldn't believe how ridiculous it sounded.
"At any rate, you've still helped us," Harry said. "So thank you."
"Why are you being so nice to me, Potter?" Draco demanded. "I don't like it."
"Maybe it's because there's just not enough time to be petty about childhood arguments," Harry reasoned. "I don't have the energy to hate you anymore."
Draco was taken aback. "I—oh," he mumbled.
"I also wanted to apologize, Malfoy," Harry continued. "For what happened last year. When I hit you with that curse in the bathroom, I didn't know what it would do."
Draco was pretty sure he couldn't take any more surprises. For the rest of his life. "Well, I—thank you," he stuttered.
"Now that we've buried that hatchet," Harry said. "We need to come up with a plan to get the cup out of Bellatrix's vault."
"Do I have to stick around for this part of the conversation?" Draco asked. "Or can I go rummage up some food?"
"You can leave if you want to," Hermione said. "Thank you again for your help."
Draco nodded at her once then stood up and went out the back door into the overgrown garden. He didn't like what their kindness did to his insides. It was too unreal. He was glad, just a little bit, that Weasley still hated him. That, at least, felt normal. He craved normal. Draco sat on a bench that was nearly obscured by the bushes that had grown out of control.
It made him so angry sometimes, the way everything had turned out. He had been fine living in his prejudiced world until the bloody Dark Lord had to return. God, what he wouldn't give to return to the end of third year. To, even for a moment, tell Granger how brilliant he thought she was. He never would have dared to tell anyone what had changed in him that night, after she punched him.
After all the curses and mockery he'd thrown her way, Granger had never broken. And when he egged her on the night Buckbeak was supposed to be executed, she didn't run away crying as he'd expected her to. For a moment, the smallest moment, as she approached him, he thought how beautiful she looked in the light of the setting sun. And then she hit him in the face.
That night, safely locked in his bedroom, Draco let himself consider what had happened. It didn't take long for him to realize that he wasn't disgusted at her touch. He wondered when that had happened. It still wasn't enough to completely erase his upbringing, though. He buried his confused feelings and continued tormenting Granger and her friends as usual. He found it was great fun to tell lies about them to that reporter, Rita Skeeter, in fourth year.
Draco shook his head to clear his thoughts. He couldn't let them affect him so much. He was still Draco Malfoy, after all. He still had his pride, and he wouldn't let them take that away, too. He may have turned his back on his parents, on his entire life, but that didn't mean he had to suddenly be friends with them. In fact, he would much rather not be friends with Potter and Weasley. He was still far too confused about his feelings for Granger to sort out what he wanted in that department. It was all too hard.
Draco closed his eyes and let the warmth of the springtime sun wash across his skin. The outside world was quiet, and he found it strangely peaceful here, in the middle of a city of Muggles. It wasn't long before the sunshine and cool breeze coaxed Draco into a dreamless sleep—the first one he'd had in years.
Some time later—he wasn't sure how long—Draco sat up on the bench, staring around in confusion. For the briefest moment he wondered where he was, until last night's events returned. He stumbled to his feet and went back into the house. Potter, Weasley, and Granger still sat at the kitchen table, conversing in low voices.
"How's it going, losers?" Draco asked rather rudely.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Back to the bad attitude, are you, Malfoy?"
"Bugger off," he responded.
"We were just finishing up our plans to get the cup out of Gringotts," Harry said, pretending he hadn't heard their exchange.
"How, exactly, do you think you're going to manage that?" Draco asked derisively.
"One of Bellatrix's hairs got lodged in my jumper yesterday," Hermione explained. "And I've still got some Polyjuice Potion left. Nobody will be the wiser."
Draco scoffed. "Newsflash, Granger. Gringotts has increased security. You'll need her wand to even get past the goblins."
Hermione's confident demeanor faltered. "Harry, we didn't think of that!"
Draco smiled coldly. "Then it's a damn good thing I took everyone's wands back at the manor, isn't it?"
"You have her wand?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"Hers, both of my parents', and all of the snatchers'." Draco was feeling quite proud of himself for having thought to bring them. "Oh, and I also brought back all of your wands."
Her eyebrows rose. "I don't know what to say."
"You could try 'thank you,'" Draco suggested smugly.
"I guess we will continue as planned," Harry said. "Griphook will help us get into the vault in exchange for the sword, we'll get the cup, and be out of there before anyone suspects a thing."
"When, exactly, were you planning on doing this?" Draco asked.
"Well, we thought we'd leave tomorrow—" Harry started.
"Are you a bloody idiot?" Draco demanded. "Granger was just tortured. She's not fit to go anywhere, let alone impersonate the craziest witch in Britain!"
Too late he realized how his outburst would appear. Ron stared at him openmouthed, while Harry had cocked an eyebrow in amusement. Hermione just looked at him with wide eyes. He couldn't tell what she was thinking.
"What would you suggest we do?" Harry asked.
"Well, I—" He faltered. "At least take some time to recuperate before you run headfirst back into danger."
"Maybe he's right, Harry," Hermione said softly.
"All right," he acquiesced. "We'll stay here for another few days. When you're feeling better, we'll go after the cup."
"Good." Draco stormed upstairs before the others could reply.
Once he was back in the empty bedroom, he couldn't sit still. He paced from the door to the window and back again, over and over. He had to stop her. She was going to get herself killed. The idea of her lying cold and dead hundreds of miles below Gringotts made him want to throw up. But he didn't know what he could possibly say that would change her mind. She'd always been tenacious and determined. It used to piss him off, but now it scared him. He'd risked everything to save her life, and now she was just going to throw it away with both hands.
Every time Draco reached the window, he decided that he would go with them, if only to keep her safe. But every time he reached the door, he convinced himself that he didn't care whether she lived or died. Of course, he was lying to himself, but he wasn't sure which decision was the lie just yet. How do you change everything you've ever thought to be true in one night? Draco ran his hands through his hair. The whole situation was maddening. Suddenly too hot, he tore off his suit jacket and threw it to the floor. He still felt like he was suffocating, though. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and threw open the window. The cool breeze wafted across his face, calming his nerves the slightest bit, but he was still full of anxiety.
A soft knock at the door roused Draco from his reverie. He stomped back over to the door and yanked it open. She was standing in the hall, looking the slightest bit nervous.
"Can I come in?"
Draco grunted and stepped back, allowing her access. He closed the door once she had crossed the threshold. He didn't want to be the first to break the tense silence. He couldn't. So he stared at her, waiting for something to happen. Hermione walked over to the window and leaned against the sill, letting the breeze brush her hair back from her face. Draco thought, in that moment, that she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Then he mentally berated himself. He couldn't afford to think like that.
"It's so nice here," Hermione said softly. She turned around to look at Draco. "Don't you think?"
He shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever."
Hermione tilted her head to the side, examining him shrewdly. "What is going on inside your head, Draco?"
Draco clenched his fists. He hated when she called him by his first name. It sounded too sweet, too perfect, too good for him. He shook his head, indicating that he didn't want to talk about it.
"Why won't you tell me?" Hermione shifted on her feet uncomfortably and winced when something caused her pain.
Concern raced through Draco's bloodstream. "Are you all right?" he asked before he could think about it. "Here, sit down." He approached her and extended a hand, helping her to sit on the floor.
"There you go, doing that again," she murmured.
"Doing what again?" he demanded, standing in front of Hermione and staring down at her.
"Acting like you have actual emotions." She stared back at him, completely serious.
"Hey, I'm not—" Draco cut himself off. He had been so close to admitting to her . . . something he hadn't yet admitted to himself.
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You're not . . . what, exactly? Are you really here to help us, or are you pretending?"
Draco was suddenly exhausted. He walked to the corner and slumped to the floor a mere two feet away from Hermione. He put his head in his hands. "Why did you let me stay if you thought I was pretending? Why bother letting me live, even?"
"I didn't," she whispered.
Draco looked up at her. "What?"
"I didn't—I don't—think you're pretending," she said a little more clearly.
Draco scrutinized her. "Why? You have every reason to hate me, so why would you put your faith in me?" He looked down at his hands resting on his knees. "I'm a monster," he whispered.
Another tense silence permeated the room. Draco wouldn't—couldn't—look at Hermione. Every time he looked into her amber eyes, his resolve melted just a little bit more. He didn't know why he even bothered. It was obvious that she was in love with the weasel. What was the point?
"I remember what happened, you know," Hermione finally said. "You . . . you were so gentle." She sounded confused. "Why? Why did you save me?"
"I don't know," he mumbled.
Hermione's expression sharpened. "You're lying; I can see it on your face. You do know why. Please tell me."
Draco looked up at her helplessly. "I—because, I . . ." He trailed off, unable to voice it.
"Why, Draco?" she implored.
Draco really considered telling her in that moment. But he was afraid. He arranged his expression into its usual scowl and glared at her. "It doesn't matter!" he exclaimed. "I just did, okay? It happened, it's over. Why do you even care?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Hermione shouted. "I'm trying here, and you're just being a prick!"
"Well, maybe I don't want you to try! Did it ever cross your mind that I don't want your sympathy or concern?"
"Why not?" she challenged. "Is it because I'm a Mudblood?" She lifted her arm and flashed the ugly wound at him.
Draco flinched as though she had slapped him. "Don't judge me! You have no right. You know nothing about my life—"
"Then tell me!" she interrupted. "Why are you so afraid to have a friend?"
"I don't need friends!" he roared. "Just leave me alone!"
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You're wrong, you know," she said a bit softer.
"Oh yeah? What am I wrong about this time?" he snarled.
"You do need friends."
"I don't need anyone," Draco enunciated slowly. "Now get out."
Hermione struggled to her feet. She walked unsteadily to the door before turning back to face him. "If you don't need us," she whispered, "then what are you still doing here?" With that, she left the room, slamming the door hard behind her.
Draco wanted to break something. But there was nothing in here to break except for himself. He wondered exactly how long it would take for him to fall apart, and who would be there to pick up the pieces when he did.
