When Harry woke up alone, still fully dressed, in Ginny's childhood bed, he had to think hard to remember why he was at the Burrow. It came to him in drips, his mind working in a muggy fog- the party, Ginny, the message on the wall. She hadn't cried long in his arms. The house had quickly emptied of other guests, and Molly had sent an owl to Seamus telling them not to expect his guests home tonight. Harry had slowly stepped the two of them- a unit of clinging shock- to Ginny's bed and she had pulled him in with her. The last thing Harry remembered was holding her, counting her heartbeats until he knew she was asleep.
Ginny was sitting at the kitchen table when Harry found went downstairs. She looked the way he felt, her head in her hands, her flat hair tied up in a haphazard knot, her grass-stained jeans and tee-shirt wrinkled by Harry's own eager hands the night before. A steaming mug of tea sat in front of her, and a plate of scones was on the table, looking untouched. Molly must have been up with her earlier. "Hey." Harry started softly, not sure where Ginny's mind was or if she was ready to talk. She looked up at the word, and her eyes went straight to his hair. It must have been wild, because she nearly smiled. Running a hand through the black mess, Harry rubbed his neck shyly and motioned to the stove, asking if the water was still hot. She nodded.
"Are you feeling alright?" Harry asked, facing the tea kettle as he poured himself a cup.
"Depends- do you mean the hangover or the fact that my parents' house was broken into and kids were terrorized last night?" Ginny's voice was emotionless, and surprisingly light.
Harry winced as he turned around and sat at the table near the scones, which he began picking at. "I forgot about the hangover."
Her eyes on the table, Ginny exhaled a scoff. "No kidding." Her slim hands wandered restlessly around her mug. Without thinking, Harry reached out to calm them.
Ginny's head whipped up to meet his, her mouth open. "Last night..." she looked down at his hands covering hers and Harry realized he had crossed a line and pulled his back quickly.
"Sorry. I didn't think…" He began, not wanting her to think that because of a kiss he thought they were back together. Unless.
"Harry." Ginny's tone was soft and deep, the kind she used to use in bed sometimes. He found her eyes. "I have to catch her. That's all I can think about right now."
Harry couldn't help but snort at the irony. "I know the feeling." She smiled at it, a taste of bitterness in the corner of her mouth.
"That's not to say it wasn't, um, nice." She made a little uncertain laugh and Harry wanted to bottle it up for later.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Nice, eh?"
"Shut up."
Harry laughed, and the hangover encouraged him to follow her instructions. He moved the plate closer to her and nodded, encouraging her to eat something.
After a few minutes in the peace of shared misery, Ginny spoke. "It's only been a week." Confused, Harry didn't respond. "It's only been a week since she's escaped, and look what she's been able to do, Harry."
Harry swallowed thickly. "We'll find her. We will."
He watched her, wondering if tears were coming, or anger. Neither did. "We should change. Ron, Malfoy, and Hermione are on their way."
"Are you going to tell them what it meant?" Harry asked his question, knowing the decision had to be entirely hers. Only the two of them knew it, but it was hers. "You don't have to, you know."
Ginny nodded. "I am. I think-" she sighed "I think they deserve to know. Besides, I figure two things. One, the people on the list are in it together. Two, the more trustworthy people that have all the information, the faster you solve the puzzle."
Harry nodded, still chewing. "You trust Malfoy?"
Ginny considered this. "I do. I think he's…emotionally invested." She wiggled her eyebrows at him and he laughed, accidentally spewing a few small pieces of bread, which made Ginny giggle and pick up a crumb to throw back at him. "You're disgusting."
Harry grinned at her, happy to feel juvenile for a minute. She shook her head as she bounced up the stairs and out of sight.
Harry was standing to wash the empty plate and cold mugs when Mrs. Weasley stepped quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen. He did a double take when he saw that her hands and arms were stained dark red and she carried a bucket that smelled strongly.
"It was just paint dear." She shook her head as she poured the dirty water down the sink. "Thought it best to get it off the walls and out of our minds as soon as possible."
Harry agreed with a mumble. He wanted to hug her. Instead, he thanked her for the scones and kissed her cheek before climbing the stairs two at a time and rummaging through Ron's old things for clothes that would fit.
Hermione's eyes were doing that thing where they got larger and darker, filling up with pity and concern. Ginny hated it. As the five of them sat around Molly's kitchen table, Ginny made the mistake of sitting directly across from her friend, who mouthed, "Are you okay?" while all of the boys mourned their morning-after headaches. Ginny just gave Hermione a single nod. Fine. Don't ask again. Please. She knew how to change the subject, so she silently nodded towards Harry, a quirk in the corner of her mouth. Hermione's eyebrows climbed as her cheeks rose into a grin. Ginny shrugged, then winked, which made them both giggle despite themselves. The men looked up, as though noticing their presence for the first time.
"Right" Ginny could tell her voice still carried some laughter in it. That was okay. "It's been a week since Bellatrix escaped." Groans circled the table.
Ron muttered, "Blimey, is that all?"
"Exactly. And since we clearly haven't caught her yet- though the DMLE and DA are working at it, I promise you all- and she's managed to…erm, scare, I suppose, us a couple times now, I thought it was about time we all got together and caught up on a few things." Ginny nodded to mark the end of her sentence and waited. She glanced at Harry, who raised his brows as if to say "Well? It's okay if you don't want to."
Ginny sighed, looking down at the familiar wooden table. This had often been her favorite chair and there was a little groove on the seat where she had gripped and rubbed circles into the wood when she was scared or anxious or angry at her brothers. She let her index finger find the softened place again now. "I suppose it's only fair if I begin. Ron, I think you'd left already, and Malfoy, I don't know how much of this story you know." The blonde nodded at her to go on, perhaps granting her permission, but it felt more like encouragement. "Last night, Bellatrix- or someone on her orders- wrote on the wall in red paint, 'No one's ever understood me like you Tom.'" Ginny took a shaky breath. "I don't know about you lot, but I thought her reasons to come for revenge from almost everyone on the list made sense- but me. Well, I get it now." She considered forcing a laugh but the faces around her were solemn, interested, patient. They didn't need humor. She found Hermione's pitying eyes, then Harry's full of jade kindness. "I…" Ginny could hear her heart in her ears. She didn't know how to say this out loud, to make it concrete and give it volume. She looked up, finding courage. He's dead. It doesn't matter anymore. Not to anyone, but her.
"I've probably been more… intimate with Voldemort than anyone. Save Harry. I wrote in his diary for nearly six months. We all know how he got in my head and possessed me, that's old news. I think it's easy to forget how much trust a diary- a memory- has to create to get a little girl to do terrible things like that. What she wrote on the wall was a quote, something I wrote to Volde- to Riddle. My theory is she's a bit jealous. I figure if anyone would actually like the feeling of Voldemort possessing them, it would be her." She had done it. Harry, on her left, pushed his hand forward on the table. It could have been nothing, or an invitation for comfort. She pat and squeezed it briefly. "So. Now that's out there. It seems our biggest problem is Bellatrix being able to get into nearly anywhere she damn pleases. Any theories?"
Awkward laughter, everyone glad to be through with the drama.
Ginny began again, after a pause. "Hermione, what wards did you have on your apartment?"
Hermione's eyes were shining, she must have been suppressing tears. "Right, er, Harry did the Auror standards, you did the DA additions, and Molly's family protections." Ginny nodded. "Oh and the key, of course." Hermione and Harry laughed, but everyone else at the table gawked at her.
"You use a muggle lock on your door?" Malfoy's voice, but mild, and curious.
"Could anyone have taken your key?" Ginny asked.
Hermione's wild frizz danced as she shook her head. "No, but Harry has a spare, in case of emergencies." Mouths were open.
Harry looked around at the purebloods and grinned. "That's the normal thing to do."
"Weird." Ron shrugged, then stopped. "Oi! Is that the key that's in with the spoons and forks?" Harry laughed and nodded.
"Okay. Those are all the same wards that are up here, so we need to ask Mum if her ward has any holes in it, and check the standards for weaknesses. In the meantime, we'll stay hidden and up the security at our locations." Ginny nodded decisively.
The group was quiet for a moment, before Malfoy cleared his throat, looking hard at Hermione, who was shaking her head. They were having a non-verbal argument, the three Gryffindors watching in earnest. Finally, Hermione huffed out a sigh and rolled her eyes just as Malfoy flexed his strict posture and coughed. "Granger's been having dreams." He addressed Ron, Harry, and Ginny, ignoring Hermione, who was blushing unpleasantly and sucking on her lower lip. "But they're not dreams. I'm fairly certain it's legilimancy."
Harry's face grew dark immediately. "But she would have to be nearby."
Malfoy shook his head just once, his voice oddly calm and removed, almost treating this as an intellectual exercise, a hypothetical situation that wasn't sitting right beside him. "Her scar. The knife was cursed, it could even have some of Bellatrix's blood in it. It's just a theory, but the wards at the cottage are extreme, and the vividness of these dreams, the bitch would have to be in the room otherwise."
Several strange feelings came over the room. Harry and Hermione winced at Malfoy's language, Ron looked impressed, and Ginny wondered how he knew the exact vivacity of these dreams.
"How do you know they're not just nightmares?" Ron.
Hermione finally spoke up. "That's what I asked!"
Malfoy opened his mouth, but was beaten to it by a surprise ally in Harry. "Malfoy lived with maybe the most powerful Occlumens and Legilimens in the world for a year." Ginny watched Malfoy shrink inwardly, his lips pressed together and his head down. Ginny knew it to be an act of kindness that Harry didn't say Voldemort's name. Then again, he didn't need to. "Plus, he hid things from Snape, which was impressive, and his mum's supposed to be one of the best living Occlumens." Malfoy looked up at him at the mention of Narcissa. Not with anger, just surprise. Harry answered, "She was only in Azkaban for a few days, but she had hardly any damage from the Dementors."
Ginny was trying to think. She wasn't sure how Hermione's dreams came into things, or what, if anything, needed to be done about it. She would have to admit herself completely in the dark on this kind of magic. She looked around the table, but only Harry was looking at her. She blinked. He nodded. "Ginny, I think we need to get Hermione some Occlumency lessons, as soon as possible. And she needs to report any future visions to us." Ginny nodded. Thank you. Hermione looked between the two men, eyes concerned, her mouth peaked as if she wanted to refuse the order but agreed with the decision. "Malfoy, I think you can do the lessons, don't you?" Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, but agreed. Ginny had thought of it as a kindness to her, since she had no idea how one even learned Occlumency or how to find a teacher, but maybe Harry had just given Malfoy a little gift.
"That's settled. Last but not least, Malfoy Manor. I know you two haven't had much time, but have you gotten anything from the books Narcissa sent?" Ginny watched Hermione glance at Malfoy, who gave her a small, permissive tilt, his hair, less tidy than usual, falling into his eyes.
"We have the beginnings of one." Hermione answered for both of them. "One of the books, you saw, was basically all about blood purity. Malfoy says there's really a whole section in the Manor library, it must be fascinating, all the history and customs of the pure-blood families, and the laws that they actually fought against, did you know they were once more of a radical activist sect?"
"Hermioneeeee" Ron whined. He and Harry gave her their patented "You're boring us with Hogwarts, A History" look. Malfoy looked conflicted.
"Right. Sorry." Hermione's hair shook with her furtive apology. "Anyway- there was a chapter on loyalty spells, stuff the group would use to test your commitment to pure-bloodedness." Ginny must have looked as confused as everyone else at the table, because Hermione clarified, looking frustrated. "I think to move through the wards, either in or out, a witch or wizard would have to be pureblood and fully committed to the pure-blood cause."
"But…the Malfoys have always been pure-bloods, and, er, rather committed to it wouldn't you say?" Ron looked warily at the pale man across from him, but Ginny thought it was a fair point.
"What makes you think she would be sure this would work on Narcissa, Hermione?" She asked, diplomatically. Ron sighed in relief.
Hermione bit her lip and looked down at the table, then at Malfoy. "The, er, dreams I've had? I had one about Malfoy." Ginny caught a flash of a blush on Malfoy's neck. "And a similar one about Narcissa." Malfoy's eyes shot to Hermione's, his expression at once angry, scared, surprised, and worried. Hermione found his eyes and stopped talking. Quietly, she addressed only him. "It's okay, I talked to her this morning. She showed me her arm. It was just a dream."
Suddenly feeling like she was interrupting something intimate, Ginny coughed. "Her arm, Hermione?"
Hermione rubbed her lips together nervously, but Malfoy stepped in for her. "Granger had a vision that my arm was being carved into by my aunt, like hers was. Only it was a much nicer word. I'd imagine it was a similar word for my mother?"
He looked at Hermione, who nodded, bringing herself back to confidence. "Traitor. Which is why the ward makes sense. They've both been, well, traitors to the cause, I suppose."
Harry sighed, and Ginny found herself relieved to remember his calm presence in the room. "That would be an incredibly advanced curse. I think we should ask Bill to explain what that might look like, what breaking it might take."
Ginny looked around the table. Ron looked bored, but healthy. Harry, concerned, writing up new orders for some Aurors in his head. She loved to watch his mind work like that. Hermione looked exhausted and exhilarated simultaneously, which was no surprise. She loved a good fight as much as Harry did, she just wouldn't admit it as readily. Malfoy, this wild card man that was now her ally, her protectorate, looking thoughtful and restrained. Ginny counted, and found it fairly easy, considering last night's events. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. Good.
"Well if that's all, Hermione you should start lessons right away. And keep reading. Harry you'll speak to Bill and change the security teams. Let's make sure no one on the Manor's detail is pureblood, and I think we can safely take folks off of Grimmauld Place. I'll talk to Mum about her ward and reset the ones here and at Hermione's flat. Am I forgetting anything?" Silence. Harry's eyes admiring her. Anxiety a palpable thread winding through the group. "Okay then."
Hermione and Draco sat on the floor in the bedroom at Shell Cottage. Cross-legged and across from each other, Hermione was having a hard time focusing, and a harder time letting Malfoy teach her.
"Close your eyes." Hermione rolled hers obstinately, but obeyed. "The hardest part is focusing, clearing your mind." She took a deep breath in, exaggerating it, feeling Draco's eyes on her chest. "Try to make a space, between all your thoughts. Imagine creating a yard, building a fence and keeping anything distracting you outside of that fence." Hermione imagined Bellatrix, her family, Ron, Harry, and Ginny on the other side of the fence. And Draco, standing pressed up against the wrought-iron bars. "Focus on the yard. Make it a white space, clear it of everything. When something else pops up, put it back over the fence." The strangest things came into Hermione's mind; old facts from history books and a question she got wrong on an Arithmancy exam, Ron's freckled shoulders and Harry's fading scar. "Come on Granger, you've got that big brain, you just need to focus it." Hermione whined with the frustration. Then the list of horcruxes she had repeated in her head like a mantra for months, the taste of her mother's biscuits and her routine walk to her office at the Ministry.
She opened her eyes and found Draco sitting cross-legged, very close, his knees an inch away from hers. He must have been nearly whispering. His eyes were so clear and quiet on hers. He emanated a strange calm.
"I can't do it." His proximity made her whisper, too.
"Yes, you can." He didn't sound like Draco Malfoy. He sounded like a monk or…he sounded like Snape: controlled, absolutely sure. A thought occurred to her.
"Who taught you?" Her question appeared to take him off guard, knocking him out of his closed-off peace. "Was it Snape?"
Draco pressed his lips together and she realized they had been slightly agape. "No."
"Your father?"
He scoffed. "He wasn't one. Never had the control for it." Hermione thought she heard him mutter under his breath something about intelligence, but didn't press it.
Hermione watched his gray eyes staring at the ground between them. She wanted to run a finger on the cheekbones that made him seem so sad. "Oh. It was your mother." She realized it as she said it, her voice rising like a question, though it wasn't one. She was sure. Draco looked up, a curious, small smile on his thin lips. "Your father…" She saw his eyes harden in an instant. Without thinking, Hermione picked up a hand to touch him, but didn't. She didn't know where to, and now her hand was hovering oddly between them and her breath was heavy.
"She taught me a trick. It might help you." His voice was hot asphalt on her bare feet, prickly and exciting.
"Yes, please!" Hermione almost laughed at her own excitement. Immediately closing her eyes and settling into her seat, she moved to set her hand back on her knee, but gasped when Draco gently held onto it instead. She peeked; his eyes were open, his lips curled up slightly.
"Go to your clear space, put up your fence." Hermione shut her eyes hard and started with her breath. She built her fence. She tried to ignore the feel of Draco's hand that was gently holding hers in the air between them.
"Okay." She was whispering again.
"Okay." She felt him move her hand to her knee and fought the surprising feeling of disappointment, but he didn't move his. He was sailing their hands together, down to her. She relaxed her hand and let him manipulate it. He placed her hand, palm up, on her knee. "Is that comfortable?" Hermione lost her fence, but focused on her hand, moving a half inch to set her knuckles more solidly on her kneecap. "Good girl." Something reptilian in her reacted to his words and she shut it down. His hand was on hers again. This time, it mimicked hers. His hand lay palm up, resting in hers. She cradled the gentle weight of it. "You lost your clear space, Granger." She bit her lip and smirked in silent confession. "Find it again." He waited longer than she needed. "Okay. Stay in your clear space. Now, read my hand." Hermione tilted her head in silent question. "Just…" she felt his slow breath on her cheek. "Catalog every part of it. Imagine you will be asked to draw it in perfect detail. Build an image of it in your clear space, but remember you must keep everything else out." Hermione groaned a little, wanting to show her frustration with the difficulty without admitting defeat.
Hermione let her mind soak in the weight of Draco's hand. She moved her thumb to gently memorize the texture. She remembered her meeting with Draco a few days ago. She huffed at the difficulty of counting the lines in his knuckles. She banished the apartment of mud to the other side of the fence. She slowly spread her fingers to curl further around his hand, finding the lines on the outside of his palm. She stretched her pinky, finding his wrist and his quick heartbeats. She wondered what he was thinking, if he was practicing, and moved that thought outside of the fence. She realized she had forgotten his smooth, short fingernails against the base of her palm and spent what could have been hours re-building them in her mind, trying to place the little white line in the right place for each one.
"Good." Draco stretched out the quiet word, but it shocked Hermione anyway. She caught her breath and found it difficult to open her eyes. He tried to pull his hand away, but it was hers. She knew it better than she knew her own, so she curled her hand around and held it. When she prepared for the light, which was blinding, she looked immediately to his hand. She turned it over and over, finding the little scar she had missed, and the wrinkles between fingers that she had forgotten. His arm was so relaxed in her own that she forgot he was there when he suddenly laughed. "I will need that back, actually." Hermione found his face and gaped, realizing the trance he had put her in.
"That was…"
His smile stayed somewhere in his eyes, but he was back to business. "Do you know how long you were practicing for?" She shook her head and the smile was back on his lips. She wanted it to stay, for some reason. "Nearly an hour. That's good." Hermione felt her eyes widen. An hour?! It could have been two minutes and she would have believed it. "Did you have other thoughts?"
"Yes."
"And you put them over the fence?"
Hermione nodded, wanting praise like she was in class again. He knew her. "That's perfect, Granger." She had to suck on her tongue to keep from grinning. "Okay, I tried to put a few images into your head-"
"What?!" She finally released his hand. "You were in my brain?"
Draco tilted his head, his composure unchanged. "I don't think so, but I don't want you to get too big for your britches until I know for sure."
"You tried to though?!"
"Granger. What do you think she's trying to do?"
Hermione drew a breath so deep into her lungs that it felt cold in her chest.
Draco gave her a second, then began again. "Did the lake at Hogwarts show up?" She shook her head, anxious for the rest of the list. "Good. How about the meeting we had a few days ago?"
Hermione's face fell. "Yes. Briefly."
"Okay." He didn't seem concerned, which annoyed her. "How about the Quidditch World Cup in fourth year?" Hermione's brows went quizzical without her meaning to make them. "No."
Draco hesitated, but seemed to decide it would be okay to set his hand-the one that practically belonged to her now- on her knee again. She reached out to the warmth. "One out of three, Granger. That's very good."
"She can still get in."
He huffed with frustration. "You let one thought in, very early, in your second try, and I was very close by." He rolled his eyes. "You're very good. Annoyingly so. You just need to keep practicing." His hand was still on her knee.
"Are you doing this all of the time, Malfoy?" Hermione's voice was quiet. The question felt intimate, more intimate even than exploring his hand for an hour.
He seemed to have to think about his answer, and he glanced at his own hand on her skin. She thought his fingers might have twitched, but he didn't move it. "Partially. I'm not a full Occlumens."
"Not like Snape." Draco shook his head.
Hermione felt her heart reach out to him. He was more…human, more vulnerable, than Snape, than Bellatrix, probably than his own mother. She really, really wanted to touch those cheekbones now. His hand was on her knee. She probably could. She didn't think he would bat her away. She held her breath, and reached out, feathering one of his sharp cheekbones with her thumb. "I think that's a good thing." The space between them was tight and heated, and she had to exhale, so she pulled away. Knowing she would, she lost his hand in the process.
"Well. You need more practice." Hermione smiled at the pale pink blush that didn't suit him but bloomed onto his cheeks anyway.
She nodded. "Definitely."
He pushed himself to standing and Hermione followed. "You should get some shells from the beach for your object practice tomorrow."
Hermione smiled wide at him. "Don't you think I'm too advanced for that?" She laughed, teasing him, knowing he didn't want her to practice on anything but him anymore than she wanted to hold a cold shell for an hour.
He rolled his eyes and sneered, back to his normal self again. "I knew you'd get full of yourself if you were any good at this."
Draco lay awake on the floor, listening to Hermione's sleeping breaths and trying not to get angry at her. She had had a dream about his mother being tortured, and hadn't told him. Of course she hadn't told him, I mean it wasn't as though he had a clean record as far as tempers go. He had no idea how she trusted him to sleep at the foot of her bed but he wouldn't question what he had gained. Traitor. Well, it certainly sounded like Bellatrix. Granger thought that history was interesting, well. She wouldn't if she had listened to his aunt tell it. She was a fanatic. Her message to Ginny Weasley didn't surprise him one bit. It would drive Bellatrix crazy-well, crazier- to know a blood traitor little girl had been in Voldemort's mind, even just the pieces he gave to her. Bellatrix would actually be jealous. Outrageously so.
Draco almost shivered. Bellatrix having escaped was turning his life upside down. He hadn't been able to work in days, and he didn't see how he would be able to. He had gone from weekly meetings flirting with Granger to being afraid for her on a daily basis, nevermind sleeping two feet away from her, constantly tempering his breath and holding in his strange, tainted happiness at being around her. He was scared for his mother and for Granger and, hell, even a little bit for Potter and the Weasley girl. But the thought that haunted him every chance he thought he had been freed of it, was of his father. If Bellatrix could get out, couldn't he? Wouldn't he? Wouldn't he hate his wife for her betrayal, and him even more for his changes? His father had kept him scared and small and angry for so long, even if he was an adult now….Draco just wasn't sure if he had the strength to defy his wishes without the comfort of that blessed island.
"Why don't you go for a swim?" Draco was shaken from his thoughts by the small voice coming from the bed. "Isn't it beautiful at night?" Is she talking to me? "Let's hold our breath!" Hermione's voice got louder as she repeated these phrases, over and over, a child-like laughter escaping from her throat. Finally, screams.
Draco clumsily rushed out of bed and over to Hermione, shaking her and watching her face, drained of color, come back to life. "Granger! Granger, wake up you're having another vision!" I think? Her skin was clammy to the touch and it scared him. Warming her cheeks with his hands he got very close to her face. She wasn't waking up. "Come on! Hermione! Merlin, Hermione! Wake up!" He wiped the cold sweat from her forehead and pinched her cheeks, bringing color into them again. Finally! Her eyes opened slowly.
"Draco?" He nodded, feeling his heartrate return to normal in his chest.
"You had another dream, it's okay. It's okay." He looked at the window behind her bed, at the wild sea and the quiet sky.
Hermione was quiet, catching her breath. Then, in a pained whisper, a realization: "she knows where we are."
A/N: Thanks for reviewing, y'all! Some of your reactions make me laugh so hard! I'm glad you're enjoying this story as much as I am!