Always Pure Chapter 11: Can You Hear the Bell's Ring, a harry potter fanfic

Thank you guys for all the amazing reviews and the patience for my posting schedule; life has been very hectic for me. My mother is not in good health and I'm struggling to handle that in addition to a Chemistry Degree and working. So, I really do not have a lot of time, any of my free time either goes into working on this story or more often than not, catching up on sleep.

There were really too many guests to list them all, but thank you for all just the same—I read them all, but I did not have the time to respond and for that I am sorry. I appreciate all of you who reviewed, your reviews made me smile!

Also as far as updates go for this story—follow me on Twitter ( Aven_Love) to get updates about this story. In fact if you have a question and a twitter, shoot me a tweet to ask! I'll probably respond quicker than to a review (sorry about that! But I usually disconnect my net to study/ do homework).

A BIG thanks to the beta Angstar54! Really do not know what I would do without her, so I think I'm going to dedicate this chapter to her. And the usual disclaimer still applies: The characters and canon situations in this story belong solely to JK Rowling and any company affiliated with her. If needed any other item belonging to another will be copyrighted at the end of the chapter. The plot however is solely mine.

Chapter 11: Can You Hear the Bell's Ring?

Hermione's body tensed. It took her a minute, but she finally managed a motion—a shake of her ahead, a refusal. "No," she whispered in complete disbelief. The brunette did not know much about Horcruxes, but from being in the Common Room so often, she had heard talks about such dark magic—the dangers it possessed and a bit of what it took to make such a thing.

And she did not want to believe this to be possible. But, looking at Regulus—his eyes mixed with shock and horror—she knew this to be real . . . and she knew that this bit of information changed everything. Whatever the Order had been expecting, hell, whatever she had been expecting to happen… this never even came to mind. "Oh, Leo," she whispered reaching out for him.

He let her engulf him in her warm embrace before completely breaking down into tears. Hermione knew Regulus had been taught that men should not cry, for it is a sign of weakness; and yet the tears refused to stop. But she thought even Orion would cry at this discovery because the addition of Horcruxes upped this war to an entirely new level…an extremely dangerous one at that.

The tears in her brown eyes began to fall as she comforted Regulus; she could not hold back these tears, not knowing the sheer act of vileness it took to make a Horcrux, not knowing whether or not her Leo had to witness this atrocity. Ire raged against the sadness within her; she felt torn. On the one hand, Regulus suffered severe emotional trauma—he would not act this way otherwise; he always did want to look strong—and that angered her. She wanted the person who caused her Leo to feel this way dead. But on the other hand, seeing her friend cry like this broke some of her own resolve.

If Regulus—always strong, brave, courageous, and good within the face of adversity—could be this broken…then what does that mean for her? For anyone? Despite the strong front she had put up, her false façade of bravado when Voldemort was ever mentioned, Hermione had always felt terrified. She tried to be strong, to be everything she knew her friends would need. But she was still so young, so inexperienced at life and all that it could offer her. How could she stop a madman and live?

Perhaps the real crux of the problem . . . her real fear… is of death itself. Sure she would give her life, without even a moment of hesitation, if it meant Regulus or Narcissa would live. Hermione supposed that would include Bellatrix too, that was to say if the older witch did not end up her opponent in the end. But would she really be able to give up her life, even if it would save the masses, if none of her friends were in danger? Would she really be able to walk into a war knowing she would forfeit her life, but keep her head held high anyway? She had one life to live, while Voldemort had multiple. Despite Regulus only ever mentioning one, Hermione could not help but think he had more. To make a Horcrux meant to be afraid. A man afraid of dying, so truly afraid that the result was him making such a monstrosity, would have made more than one. And that thought truly scared her. Would she be willing to risk her one life against a man that was practically immortal for strangers?

"We will stop this," She whispered to Regulus, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Hermione tried to keep a firm resolve in her words, despite how little she believed in them; but she would find a way to make them real. The brunette would find a way to keep her friend safe, even if it meant her death. She did not believe in many things. This approaching storm had shown her false gods, demigods, could be gods that would always appear in the eyes of men—but she never believed in a single one of them. She never believed in much of anything, but she believed in him. Her faith in Regulus would always outweigh any of her insecurities or fears. Her faith in Regulus would keep her going.

"I want you safe, my Leo." She whispered to him. "I will keep you safe." The last part, whispered aloud, had been more of a reassurance for herself than to Regulus. They would die for each other and they both knew it. Some people thought their relationship as something strange. They were far to affection to "just be friends", yet neither of them saw it that way. They loved each other, and that love was deep and fierce and all consuming.

Perhaps, at one point both of them figured they would end up together, but as the years progressed the idea of dating someone who knew you so completely just seemed unnerving to the both of them. How could you shag someone who is essentially your sibling? They kissed a few times, when they were younger and thought things could turn into a romantic relationship. None of those kisses had ever produced sparks; they never made their knees weak or their heads fuzzy. So Hermione and Regulus decided to keep their relationship a fiery, all consuming storm of platonic love.

'And it will be that platonic love that will cause such devastating destruction,' Hermione thought. It might sound silly, or even childish, but if Regulus ever died then nothing would ever stop her. Hermione would see to it that the world burned for such a crime. It would be a sin to kill such a bright star, and if anyone ever succeeded in such a feat, they should very well be prepared to face her fury, because nothing short of a Dementor's Kiss would stop her.

"What are you thinking about, Bambi?" Regulus' coarse voice broke Hermione away from her train of thought. When he pulled away she noticed his eyes were puffy and red from the crying; but she could see he felt better, if only slightly.

"That I would kill for you," Hermione answered honestly. She knew Regulus would know if she lied, he always did. Regulus seemed surprised by her statement, and she had to wonder why. Surely it did not surprise him that she would want him safe? That she would take the risk of fracturing her soul if it meant he lived another day? They were family.

"You cannot be surprised by that fact, Leo. This war just advanced to a whole new level of horror—and your risk of dying just blasted through the ceiling and I quite frankly do not like those odds, not at all." Hermione explained. She knew Regulus would probably disagree with her reasoning; out of the two of them, he would forever be the lover. His compassion would always win out. Sure, he would threaten and coerce someone, but he would never willingly take a life—at least not without feeling guilty about it. Hermione on the other hand, she would feel guilt at the death of someone, but she had long ago steeled her heart. She might not be able to die for strangers, but she would always risk dying for Regulus.

"No." Regulus eyes narrowed at her statement, like Hermione knew they would. Had the topic not been so serious, Hermione might have laughed at the finality of such a statement. He felt so sure that such a simple word would change her mind.

"There is no discussing this, Regulus. I know you. You are reckless if you think it will help, if you think something is right you will do everything within your power to fix it…even at the risk of your life!" Hermione said. At first her voice started off soft, but as the words progressed, so did her volume. The brunette tried to be reasonable—she tried to keep her voice level. But with such a severe topic, she could not help but raise her voice. Did Regulus not realize how important he was to her? If he died she had no one.

"And you would not do the same? Really, Hermione," Regulus sneered her name, and it took all of her strength to keep herself from flinching. He had only used that tone a handful of times, but each time it felt like pins and needles. "How much longer do I have to hear you call the cauldron black? How much longer do I have to listen to you whine and try to be a martyr? The world does not need just you saving it!"

His words stung, even more so because she knew they were not out of just anger. For Regulus to be telling her this now, he must have thought this at some point. And although it hurt, Hermione understood his pent up frustration. She and Regulus were similar in many ways, especially when it came to doing the right thing. But unlike Regulus, she had nothing to lose.

"I am not, and never will be a martyr," she stated softly.

Regulus glared at her, his cold steel eyes so piercing that Hermione had to turn away just to keep from flinching. She hated to see him like this, and it broke her heart that such an icy stare was directed at her. "Do not bother lying to me," He stated coldly.

Suddenly something in Hermione snapped. She could take his jeers and rude remarks, but she could not take such blatant distrust directed at her. Not when she trusted him with so much of herself. "I am not lying! Just because you do not care about your life does not mean that I share the sentiment! You matter! Despite the demented family you come from, despite all the bad people you sometimes associate with—you are important. You can change things!"

Unaware of her rising tone, Hermione continued on in her rant. She wanted Regulus to understand why she would risk her life for him, why she cared so much that he lived. It infuriated her that he thought so lowly of her, that he really believed she would want the fame of a martyr—that she would risk her life for such a foolish notion.

"My life—an adopted girl who is not even important by the standards of the 'Blood-Traitor' Potters—cannot fix anything. I cannot make people see reason, to see the right thing to do. I am nobody special. Had it not been for you, I wouldn't have ever been someone to anyone. You made me better, still make me want to be better. And even if you could never make those changes you could still make so many people better. So yes, I will risk my life to keep you safe and there is not a damn thing you can do about it!" Hermione's throat became hoarse by the end of her rant.

She had not even realized she had been screaming until the echoes of her voice sounded in the silent room. She trusted Regulus with everything in her, but even she never revealed such thoughts to him. How could she have ever revealed such deep seated insecurities to him when she refused to face them?

Regulus did not know what to say to his friend's diatribe, so he just wrapped his arms around her small frame, pulling her close, and remained silent. He wondered how she could she think so lowly of herself. When he and so many others thought the world of her? He saw how that Weasley kid adoringly praised her, how the younger Slytherins eagerly tried to gain a spot in her good graces, how so many people would do anything she asked simply because it was her asking it. She made changes, small things here and there that did so much for so many people. Yet she appeared to be blinded by her own insecurities.

For the first time in a long while, Bambi actually appeared human—broken resolve, insecurities, and all. It felt nice to see her not hiding behind a façade of stony expressions. In fact, a small part of him felt privileged that she would trust him with such an intimate part of herself, but the larger part of him ached at how low she thought of herself.

He did not know where exactly such a low opinion came from, but Regulus bet it started with the Potters. And even if it was unintentional, they would be forced deal with it—because such a fantastic person should never feel like they were unimportant. Even though Regulus would love to be the one to fix it, he knew such a thing could never happen. Even with his intelligence, there was no way he could mend years of damage done by loved ones. Only the Potters could fix this mess. But that would not stop Regulus from seeing it done and giving them hell for it along the way.

His Bambi deserved more, so much more.

He would prove it. No matter how long it took.

Because she was worth it.

"Lady Malfoy, what brings you to our humble home?" Dorea Potter asked as she entered her parlor, surprise clearly visible on her face. It had been a long time since the Lady Potter had interacted with anyone in her biological family, excluding Sirius. So to say she had been surprised when a house elf told her that the Lady Malfoy currently waited for in the parlor was a dreadful understatement.

"I know your opinion of our family," Narcissa responded with narrowed eyes. She paused, carefully calculating the right words to say next. The older witch standing regally before the blonde grew up as a Black, so intimidation tactics would prove useless. "It would be wise of you to silence such opinions," Narcissa stated, conviction laced every bit of her tone.

The gentle tone of Narcissa's voice did nothing to alleviate the anger that swelled within Dorea. "How dare you come into my home and demand me to change my beliefs!" If the Lady Potter's icy tone and narrow eyes made Narcissa discomforted in anyway, she did not let it show. In fact the blonde knew better than to interrupt the diatribe that her cousin intended to perform. So she listened; listened to the ranting about pureblooded bigotry, the corruption of their beautiful society, the madmen and the deranged Black Family. Narcissa had certainly wanted to hex her cousin at some points during the tangent, but managed to keep herself relatively collected. Finally, when it seemed like all the screaming would finally end, Narcissa spoke.

"How are you any different than the people you claim to despise so much?" The genuine curiosity of Narcissa's seemed to startle Dorea. The older witch had no idea where this woman intended for her question to go. Yet Narcissa obviously did not plan on elaborating her question any further, despite the Lady Potter's confused expression.

"I am fighting for the right side; the one saving lives instead of destroying them." The Lady of Potter Manor responded, her voice firm and conviction lacing her tone. Narcissa knew that her cousin believed what she said and that caused her to shake her head.

"At one point I would have agreed with your assumption; for I would also have sided with my husband, who I know would always try to do right by our family." Narcissa admitted honestly, startling the older witch all the more. Dorea felt uncomfortable in her own home, unsure of exactly why Narcissa would be here in her parlor if not to intimidate her family into backing out of the war. She had expected scare tactics and jeers as it was a common policy used within the female social circles—men play soldiers while the women wage a silent war. Therefore, the Potter Matriarch had not expected a truthful admission, and could not help but feel smug at the younger witch's statement.

"Granted I would not assume your side would be right, as you so bluntly put it." Narcissa replied in her usual haughty tone. Despite willingly laying a small part of herself bare before someone she disliked, Narcissa did not come to make the older witch feel better about her pathetic existence. A snake never showed weakness unless it benefited them in some way, and the Lady Potter should never have forgotten that small fact. "Especially since your notion of right is misconstrued from the very beginning."

Narcissa could not help the smirk that graced her lips when Dorea's smug expression dimmed into one of mutinous discontent. A snake can shed its skin—removing a layer of itself—but that does not keep it from being a snake.

Dorea's eyes turned calculating as she thought of a response. Women in Pureblood society often waged a war of words; always playing a defensive game, while still aiming for the killing blow. Yet the Matriarch found herself in a bind, since she could not form the words to properly defend herself against Narcissa. And how could she when she had no idea the reason behind the battle? "And why is my notion so misconstrued?"

"You are strange in your beliefs, cousin." She finally said, shocking Dorea at the familial name. "You speak of freedom and doing what is right, but do you really know what those phrases mean?" Narcissa allowed a sly smile to grace her lips, allowing herself a few minutes of absolute silence. The Malfoy bride refused to further elaborate, instead preferring to make her cousin uncomfortable. Within their society what one say's is extremely important, but sometimes the silence proved invaluable as well. It often emphasized the main point, check mating the entire game.

Dorea spluttered completely unladylike at the young witch's words. How dare this silly little girl claim she knows nothing of what she is trying to defend! Why would she bother in defending them had she not known? So, she made her vehement disagreement known to the blonde witch.

"Do you know how Bambi refers to your family?" Narcissa asked, her eyes narrowing and her voice chillier. "She said you all are like men in a mist, seeking freedom and not knowing what it really is." The Lady Malfoy watched as her cousin's eyes widened and her mouth hung agape. It was then that the blonde witch finally decided she had enough of playing with her food: she wanted to go in for the kill. The Malfoy bride wanted this matter to either be resolved or ended entirely. One way or another it would be—either by her cousin's hand or her own.

"Yet it sickened my sister and I, knowing she knew how wrong you lot were, but she still spoke of you so adoringly. That she still loved you, irrevocably and unconditionally. You lot who did nothing to earn her devotion or love, while my sister and I had to fight tooth and nail for those very same emotions." Narcissa's ire had spiked as she continued to speak. She had longed to say this for so many years and now that she finally had the chance she would not pass it up. She wanted to make her cousin break down in tears, begging for her daughter's forgiveness. But even if she could never manage that, she would be more than content to see the guilty look in the Lady Potter's expression. "We hate you for it."

"She is my daughter, her loyalty will always be to us." Dorea said firmly. Though Narcissa knew by the worry in her eyes that not even her cousin really believed what she just said. "Plus, you've hated me before you even met my daughter."

"We both know that is not true." Narcissa stated coldly, her eyes blazing. She knew her dear Bambi has always been an extremely loyal person, but as far as her loyalty goes, only Regulus received it so completely. Yes, Bambi would remain loyal to those who raised her, but that loyalty only extended as far as any other pureblood's would. Unlike them, Regulus received it completely, in all of its entirety—should she choose between her cousin and the Potters, Narcissa had no doubt in her mind that that Regulus would be the one Bambi chose. "We hate you because of her, because despite what you claim of right and wrong—you know nothing; not when you cannot even extend those phrases to her."

Those words finally struck their mark, and Narcissa got what she came here to see. The guilt that marred the Lady Potter's face had been well worth listening to the older witch's tirade. But despite how pleased the remorseful expressed made Narcissa, she wanted more.

"We cared nothing for you when you were a simple blood-traitor. No hatred, no love, nothing. But for Hermione, for your daughter, we would wage war. Regulus, I, and Bellatrix have done everything in our power to keep her from harm—we love her, flaws and all because she has accepted us without judgment and with arms wide open." Narcissa would not tell the Lady Potter of the trouble it took for them to get Bambi to feel such a way towards them; Narcissa knew that she and her sister were just more than happy that the sweet young witch did care for them; even if they did not deserve her affection.

"So I will tell you now, it would be wise to silence your beliefs of the Blacks. The older Blacks might be bloody sods, but the younger generation is risking our very lives to keep your daughter safe." Narcissa stated. The simplicity of her tone made what she said all the more upsetting to Dorea. Clearly, the Malfoy bride felt conviction for what she said. And perhaps that belief is well deserved. Dorea knew nothing of what her daughter did outside of school. Nor did she know anything about the trials her daughter might be going through—but Narcissa most likely did. A pang of jealous hit Dorea as she wondered how many times her daughter went crying to the younger witch.

The Lady Malfoy's voice drug the older witch out of her thoughts. "You might be willing to let her die on the front lines, but we are not." With that said, Narcissa stood and flooed home. She said nothing more to the Potter Matriarch: no snide comment, no farewell, nothing.

The silence deafened the Parlor as Dorea sat there stunned. They had a war and Narcissa clearly came out the victor. The blonde witch's words seemed to have etched their way into her heart. She had known that her daughter stood brave and defiant in all that she had done—from being sorted in Slytherin, from being isolated by her brother, to apparently even waging her own war against injustice. Her daughter had wanted them to grow up, to see the world for what it really was—lonely, chaotic, messy, and yet so wonderfully beautiful with someone there.

Her daughter had flourished into a wonderful woman, and Dorea had missed it because she let petty jealousies get in the way. She had been so blinded by her dislike of the Ancient and Noble house of Black, firm in her belief that they were rotten people and corrupting her daughter. She had never even thought that maybe Hermione really did know how to handle herself and who to consider worthy of her friendship and trust.

The Potter Matriarch needed to believe more in her daughter. Hermione had long ago proven herself capable of handling herself. Yet despite that, her daughter still felt alone and terrified. Dorea now knew that Narcissa had come here to tell her that—that despite all that bravado, her little girl was still frightened and needing support. Support that a family she hated had been giving Hermione.

"I'm so sorry, baby girl." She choked out, as her sobs became uncontrollable. This would change, Dorea vowed. She would make sure that her daughter never felt that way again—at least not alone. The Potter Matriarch had allowed herself several minutes to sob, before she collected herself.

It was time her family had a discussion.

"They call her Bambi, I'm not really sure why—but she is really pretty and very nice." The affection in the child's voice rang out, surprising the adults. The Weasleys had always known that Bill adored an upper year student; but up until now, they never really had a name to call her.

"Bambi?" Molly asked questioningly. The red-haired witch had wondered if her oldest boy's imagination had just got the best of him, as he tried to show off to his younger brothers. Even in the Wizarding world, Bambi seemed a strange name. To her surprise, Bill just nodded and took a bite of his food. "What is her real name?" Molly questioned, shushing her son youngest son Percy has he tried to get her attention.

"Hermione," Bill answered simply. This name seemed to have frozen his parents, especially his mother who looked to his dad in sheer surprise. The only Hermione they knew was the Potter's daughter, and from what they heard from other Order members—their son Percy had been sick and they could not attend the meeting—she had gone mental during the Yuletide holiday. Arthur shook his head at his wife, before turning his attention to his son.

"Has she ever hurt you?" He asked gently. With the way his eldest so ardently spoke about the young woman, Arthur doubted that the girl ever hurt him. But he felt the need to ask the question nonetheless. If it really was the Potter girl, she hung around with a bad crowd—one that hated the Weasley family with a burning passion.

"NEVER!" Their eldest son yelled, passionately. If the mutinous expression their eldest gave them was anything to go by, the Weasleys could clearly tell that their Bill hated someone even thinking Hermione would harm him. Somehow that knowledge made them more relaxed. Arthur and Molly had raised their boys well, and if their sons ever felt uncomfortable around someone then they usually told their parents. If Bill trusted Hermione, then they could not see the harm in keeping her around him. After all, if it was the Potter Girl Bill talked about then she would be gone within the year anyway—she should be graduating Hogwarts.

"So how did you meet her?" Arthur asked.

"Ice cream!" Percy answered instead. Molly looked at her son, a frown adorning her face. "Sweetheart, you need to eat dinner before you have dessert." She chastised softly. Molly then turned her attention back to Bill as she waited for him to answer her question. Yet her eldest seemed to have remained quiet, a grin on his lips. He looked like the cat that ate the cream, and for some reason that aggravated Molly. So she repeated her question.

"Ice Cream." Percy repeated once more, his tone firmer in imitation of his older brothers when they wanted a toy he played with. Molly shook her head at Percy, denying him his treat. He could have the blasted ice cream after he ate a proper dinner.

An exasperated sigh came from her middle child, causing Molly to look at Charlie with a curious expression. "Mum, that's how Bill met Hermione—she got him some ice cream in Diagon Alley a few years back." Molly turned to Bill, silently asking him if that story was indeed true, and received a nod.

She remembered that day clearly. The red-haired witch had been so frantic with worry when her son ran off alone in Diagon alley. Bill had always been a sensitive kid, and instead of ignoring the teasing words of the other children like she had asked, Bill got upset and ran off.

Molly had spent hours searching Diagon alley for her son, even calling in some of her friends in the Magical Law Enforcement for help. When they finally managed to find Bill, Molly was stunned to see her child smiling and happy. Of course she wanted her child to be happy, but to see him so happy after running off in bloody Diagon Alley made the mother rather confused. She had been expecting to console her son, convince him to ignore the words of the mean children. Instead it seemed like he just brushed it off.

Molly had not asked him about his strange reaction until they got home and Arthur saw his eldest son safe. When questioned about his strange behavior, her child just told her, "I'm waiting for the world of colors to hit." That statement had shocked her, but when she tried to pry further she received no response. It seemed her son did not want to divulge any more information than he already needed to.

Yet, despite how closed lipped Bill had remained about his explanation, he seemed completely okay with talking about the woman herself. Though never before today, did she know that mysterious woman who helped her son had been Hermione Potter.

With all that she had heard about the Potter female, she never would have expected the young witch to go out of her way to help comfort a distraught child. Yet, when she looked at Arthur, she noticed her husband did not seem nearly as surprised.

"Well, I think that is wonderful to hear, son!" The Head of the Weasley family replied with a smile. Molly could see that her husband meant every word. Arthur genuinely felt pleased with this news, and Molly could see why. After all the war was brewing, bells were ringing. Death would be upon them all, and no one and nothing would be spared from its wrath—not even the loss of a child's innocence.

So it felt nice to hear that someone, a Slytherin no less, took the time to help a child. It felt nice, to know that good people still existed in this dark times. It felt nice, knowing that someone cared for strangers.

The bells could keep getting louder, because she no longer feared that they would toll for her son's innocence.

Alright so we finally get to see some of Hermione's really feelings and her insecurities. Personally my favorite part was Narcissa digging into Dorea—I think that finally hit some things home to the mother and perhaps we can see some changes now. I was not really enthusiastic about the third scene, but I did feel that we should get another opinion on Hermione; plus I love writing young Bill.

Tell me your views of this chapter. Also, if you have a twitter, shoot me a tweet with some of your questions I would love to hear them.

-Kori

As usual the copyrights are shown below.