A/N: And now we will learn a little bit more. I am trying to explain how Hermione ended in the place that she did which made the epilogue impossible. Hopefully, this chapter makes a start on it, yeah?
Also, thank you to my first 2 reviewers: HallowedRain8587 and Dindore. I love knowing that someone else is as intrigued as I am when my brain does these odd little things.
As always: JK Rowling is a Goddess, I am still broke and own nothing beyond my poorly conceived plot.
The sun had dropped well below the horizon line when Hermione heard a light tap at her kitchen window. There was a chance that it was nothing important; maybe a bat confused by echolocation or a bug who was drawn to the brightness in her window. None of that mattered. With a minimum of fuss, the young woman (caramel skinned, frizzy-haired, dark of eye) rose from her couch and her mindless telly watching and stalked into that room, her eyes immediately drawn to the large owl who glared at her through the glass.
"Back so soon, huh?" A few moments later, Hermione had opened the sash and waved the gorgeous bird inside, her right palm extended for the plainly wrapped package the owl had carried from its home. "Okay, give it to me."
With a few hoots which sounds much like derision, Aeneas did as commanded and turned away, launching himself back into the dark. Hermione closed her window and turned back to the living room, her slender fingers already plucking at the paper. A breath later, she held a small stoppered vial in one hand. A note was wrapped around it.
Miss Granger;
This is my memory of the event
One hopes you have a way to view it.
As for our meeting?
Saturday afternoon, at 3 pm
I would prefer to use the manor for this.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Cordially,
Narcissa Malfoy
The painful thudding of her heart was the only thing to give away the fear that she felt. SHe had hoped to hear about it, to learn what she could. Was she ready to see it for herself? Had the woman actually seen Ron's death? Or was it only the memory of what she'd heard?
'Doesn't matter. I need to know,' she thought. After all, that was the truth. She did need to know, to understand. This memory could help both her and Harry and even Ron's family. 'Buck up, Hermione. You asked for this.' That was true. She had wanted to know but she hadn't expected Narcissa to go so far in helping her learn.
'Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Just get the pensieve.'
Unlike most, Hermione actually had a small portable version, one she'd started messing about with once Harry had allowed her to view Dumbledore's memories at Hogwarts'. She could see the usefulness in such an endeavor, the notion that not all memories could be kept true after years of living. What this ultimately meant for her was that she had a small collection of memories, mostly concerning Ron and her parents, which she'd gathered and bottled over the past two years.
This newest memory would just be one more.
A wave of nausea almost brought the slim young woman to her knees but she fought it off and headed for her study. The apartment was designed to be an open floor plan, at least when it came to the sitting room, dining area and kitchen. However, the two bedrooms were situated back a short hallway. The door on the left led to her study or what should have been the second bedroom.
It was that room that she entered. Sighing softly, Hermione pulled her wand from her sleeve and made a brisk movement in the air while saying "Accio, pensieve!" Moments later, a large, shallow bowl made of varigated marble and inlaid with amethyst, azurite, bronzite, fire agate, hematite, and malachite around the lip, flew to her hand. Various runes were carved into the stone and the wisps of the previous viewing could be seen, as it rose above the bowl's deepest point.
Hermione placed the pensieve on the specially built stand and opened the small cabinet just to the left of it. Slender fingers rearranged the various vials there so that room could be made for this newest memory. Of course, she realized that she was pushing it off, the viewing, and so she stopped, drew breath, and opened the vial. With shaking fingers, the young witch tipped the vial over, allowing the silvery mist to swirl down to the bowl which awaited it.
A deep breath.
Another.
Finally:
A snake, long and evil, large and varicolored, slithered from her spot next to the pale, slim form which sat ensconced on a dark throne-like chair. Before the pair, a huddled redhead, hair disheveled, body gaunt, bloodied, bruised. He was wearing the same clothes as the night he'd left their tent.
"Where did you leave them?"
The young man said not a word. No at syllable. Nothing.
A sibilant hiss as the diminutive frame of Bellatrix entered the view of this memory, small booted feet moving soundlessly across the parquet flooring, a floor in hues of deepest brown and brightest green. The red there was not wooden. In fact, it did not belong there at all. It belonged inside the body of the man who struggled, again and again, to stand.
The memory shifted.
"Ickle Ron was not helpful. Told us nothing, nothing at all."
Draco, pale and gaunt with white blond hair shoved willy-nilly by trembling fingers stared at the rotten toothed female who gibbered and giggled much like a wild thing. Eyes returned to the woman who still spoke, her voice like nails on a chalkboard.
"I tried everything, just like the Dark Lord said. I tried things the Dark Lord did not say, but that stupid boy..."
Draco interrupted. "Not so stupid if he didn't tell you, Aunty Bella." His voice was devoid of all emotional resonance but was there a hint of pride? A touch of remorse?
Bellatrix lashed out, first her hand and then the wand. "Crucio!" She laughed and then said it again. "Crucio!" Through it all, Draco screamed and screamed, voice loud and filled with so much agony. It was almost impossible to think, to hear it and not do something. Anything. Everything.
"Stop that!" Voice a snap. Cold. So cold.
"Teach him to know his correct place then. The Dark Lord loves me best of all and He will not stand for such disrespect from a boy who couldn't do his job!"
The screaming stopped and soon, dark eyes focused on the table before her, darkly painted lips glossed with a sheen of spittle.
"As I said, he gave us nothing. So Nagini ate him, after Greyback, dirty thing, got a taste. He's gone now. Sad that. I am almost sure that Potter would have been devastated if we could have placed the blood traitor where his body could be found."
"But, Bella, he was just a boy. How could you believe for one moment that any child deserved THAT!"
"There are no BOYS, Cissy. This is war and he was on the wrong side!"
Hermione straightened from her bent position and turned away as the bile in her throat released itself to the floor in a pungent splatter. She gagged, again and again, until there was nothing left of her meal, only a hollow ache, and a raging head. Tears streamed from dark cocoa eyes but Hermione ignored them, ignored everything as she tried to get her nerves back under control.
Five minutes later, the witch was steady enough. With a quick wave of her wand, she checked the time, just after nine, and debated her next move. She wanted, no needed, to share this with Harry but there was no guarantee that he would believe it without seeing it for himself. For that matter, Ron's family needed to know the final dispensation of their child, their brother, and Hermione could not, for the life of her, figure out an easier way of giving them the truth outside of allowing Arthur to see it for himself.
So, that is what she would do.
Tomorrow. After work, she would go to Arthur Weasley and allow him to see what she'd seen. She knew the Ministry had a pensieve on the premises, located on the Minister's level. Kingsley would surely allow him to view the memory there. At the end of the day, that knowledge would go far in allowing others to heal.
That was the most important thing.
What of Narcissa, though? Obviously, no one had ever bothered to ask the woman if she had been party to Ron's death or disappearance. Judging from the memory, at one point, the young man had been in her home. Hermione knew that to be a hard fact as she remembered that particular bit of floor from her own impromptu visit. However, if Bellatrix had been the one to tell Narcissa about it afterward then Ron's death had occurred elsewhere.
Hermione thought on it for just a bit longer and finally decided that Narcissa would suffer no ill effects from sharing the memory with her or the others. She had not been responsible for either Ron's capture or death and had even protested his ill use. Trapped as she had been with Death Eaters, and even Voldemort, there was no way she could have done anything for the young man and there had even been hints that her own death was in the offing. No, Narcissa would definitely be fine. Not that Hermione would allow worry over Narcissa's freedom to alter her plans.
After all, the family deserved closure.
With her decision firm, Hermione turned her attention toward the mess she had inadvertently left in the corner. A few flicks and it was gone. Another few flicks and murmured incantations put the rest of the room to rights and no more than five minutes later, the lonely young woman was on her way to bed.
Sleep would be hard to find.
~O~O~O~O~
The rest of the week unfolded in just the way she had expected.
Thursday, both Harry and Arthur watched the proffered memory in Kingsley's office. There were tears after which the three traveled to the Burrow to break the news to Molly and Ginny. It was Molly who owled the rest of the family and declared that Friday evening would be a memorial dinner for their lost boy. Of course, everyone showed up.
Friday night was filled with laughter and smiles as each person shared their personal memories of the lost, lanky red-headed wizard. To Hermione, it had felt like a home going, one that had been long overdue. Of course, there were more tears but the knowledge of Ron's final moments, even without his body, started the healing process for all involved.
It was worth it.
In the midst of it all, Hermione had recalled her lack of response to Narcissa Malfoy and borrowed the Weasley's owl to send her acceptance to the proposed tea time and location. This meant that Ginny's brain had to be picked as she had no clue as to what would be appropriate for such a meeting.
"It's just tea, Hermione," Ginny laughed. "Overdressing would be an awful faux pas."
"What would be considered overdressed," was Hermione's query.
"Well, figure light make-up, no pants, maybe an A-line dress," an aside, "You do own one, right?"
"A few, smart arse."
"Good. Low heels, hair up or down. Easy." Ginny nodded as she finished with her instructions.
Hermione gave the gorgeous redhead a tight hug. "Thanks, Gin. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Ginny giggled. "It's obvious! You'd be badly dressed!"
~O~O~O~O~
Noon on Saturday found Aeneas back at her bedroom window, a small envelope clutched in one taloned foot. Luckily for the owl, Hermione had just exited her en-suite and noticed him there. A small shriek still managed to release itself into the air as a momentary panic set in but soon enough, the young woman had wrapped her favorite robe more securely around her figure and hustled to the window and him.
"Something else, huh?"
The large raptor settled himself on her stand and started to preen his multicolored feathers, his large eyes at half mast due to the brightness of her room. With a soft hoot, he dropped the scroll and watched as she scooped it up. Once she had the parchment firmly in hand? He returned to cleaning his feathers.
Hermione unrolled the scroll, her eyes widening as she noted the handwriting.
Granger;
I am sure my mother has not informed you
that I will be on hand for your tea.
After all, the information you offer
could make things easier for me.
The floo in our central hall will be open at 3 pm
DM
"Well, shit."
Her reaction was not all that odd. Hermione had not laid eyes on the youngest Malfoy since the Battle of Hogwarts. She had gone back once the school was repaired but very few Slytherins had done so, including the snarky blond. Of course, she comprehended the need for his presence but it was going to be hard enough returning to the scene of her torment. Dealing with him could well tip it into monstrous.
She just hoped he had changed enough to be cordial.
