Disclaimer: Regarding the last chapter's note, I just want to say thank you to everyone who informed me about the writing contests, it's definitely something I'll keep in plans for the future! I unfortunately can't submit Inverse as of now because they only accept finished works, but I suppose it just fuels me to write faster. You guys are all lovely though, and I appreciate the encouragement. Oh, and I don't own Harry Potter of course.
Chapter 25: Miscalculated Detour
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When Saturday arrived, Hermione flooed to the Burrow with her trunk packed and was greeted with a suffocating hug.
"Hermione!" Ginny said cheerily, laughing as a bit of ash and Floo powder tracked on her shirt. "Where have you been? I told you to come right when summer started!"
She grabbed her trunk and began hauling it through the living room.
"I've been a bit busy," she answered vaguely, waving a hand. "You know my parents only see me twice a year, so they want to go places when I come home from break."
"But it's almost August!" the redhead pouted, opening the door to their room.
"I know, I know," Hermione nodded, tossing her trunk by the empty bed. "I've well… I've actually been going to the Ministry a lot for the past month."
"The Ministry?" Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Whatever for?"
"Hermione!"
The door flew open again to reveal Ron and Harry, the former holding a large chunk of bread in his hand. Harry seemed to look significantly brighter since she had last seen him.
"You know, Ron, knocking doesn't take too long nor is it hard," Hermione commented, feeling a smile take her lips.
"But this is my house!" he answered, looking rather astonished that she had suggested such a thing.
"My room, brother, incase you forgot." Ginny jeered at him, crossing her arms.
Hermione laughed lightly, walking across to give a tight hug to both boys. There was always a feeling of emptiness when she hadn't seen either of them for a while.
"And how have you been, Harry?" she titled her head, trying to study for any signs of self-neglect.
"All right," he answered, raising and lowering his shoulders. "Hardly had to spend a whole week with the Dursley's."
She narrowed her eyes, trying to see under his charade. When Harry had visited her at St. Mungo's, he had been visibly overridden with guilt and refused to accept her consolation about her injuries. A momentary look of regret flashed behind his green eyes before it was covered by his smile again.
"Anyway, Hermione," Ginny continued. "What were you doing at the Ministry?"
"Ministry?" both Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows.
Inwardly sighing, she walked back to her trunk. "Not much. You know… just this and that."
"Come off it," Ron said interestedly. "Tell us what you were doing there."
"Oh, all right," she breathed, sitting at the empty bed. "I've been taking Apparition lessons there twice a week. I—erm—wanted to get my license early you know?"
"Early?" Ron lowered his jaw. "Just how early are you planning? You can't actually test for it until you turn seventeen, right?"
Ginny rolled her eyes this time. "Her birthday's in September you dunderhead, she'd be getting her license in a month."
"Oh right," he shrugged, looking mildly embarrassed. "I always forget you're a year older than us…"
"It's not a big issue, really," Hermione waved a hand, glancing between the three of them. "So what's been going on here? Where is everyone?"
"Well as you know," Ginny began, sitting down on her bed. "Bill brought… her over here to stay with us—I don't even know where she is right now, not that I care or anything, she just treats me like I'm five—anyway, Fred and George have been staying at their shop in Diagon Alley, Percy is still being a prat and not coming home, and—"
"Ginny!"
The door abruptly opened for the second time, followed by Mrs. Weasley's head. "Come down and help me with lunch will you—Oh, Hermione, dear! You're here!"
The Weasley matriarch cut through the room to give her a warm hug, rubbing her back in a very motherly way.
"It's good to see you in one piece," she continued, patting her shoulders. "You would not believe my heart when I heard you had to be sent to St. Mungo's for critical care—oh, dear, you feel a bit thin—no worries, lunch will be up soon."
With that, she turned on her heel and walked towards the door, but not before grabbing Ginny and dragging her out as well.
"Mum!" she yelled in clear refusal. "I'm talking to this lot!"
"No, now! You can all talk later."
The door closed with a click, but Ginny's complaints continued until they faded with distance. As soon as silence settled in the air again, a quiet sigh escaped Harry's lips.
"What's wrong, mate?" Ron raised an eyebrow.
Harry's mouth settled into a tight line. "Actually, there's something I have to tell the two of you. I… I wasn't being completely honest about everything Dumbledore told me that night we went to the Ministry…"
"What do you mean, Harry?" Hermione left the bed, approaching him with a worried expression.
"The prophecy," he mumbled. "I know it all—about me and Voldemort. I just—let me explain…"
.
When another Apparition lesson with Professor Twycross had gone by, Hermione flooed straight into Diagon Alley instead of the Burrow, eager to find some answers. After much thought and deliberation regarding her findings in the magical trunk, she decided there were two places she needed to visit; the Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and Ollivander's wand shop.
The sun was low in the sky and the wide streets had mostly cleared out of its usual crowd. To her dismay, she noticed the way people traveled in tight groups, never stopping too long at a single place, keeping to themselves. She supposed it had been this way since the news of Voldemort's return.
Shaking away the sense of trepidation, Hermione walked down the South side of Diagon Alley, having flooed in closer to the wand shop than the bank.
She palmed her own wand in her pocket, swallowing down her sudden nervousness and pushed open the old wooden door.
A bell rang through the shop as the door closed behind her and Hermione took a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of wood. The sound of a ladder sliding across the shelves caught her attention, an elderly wizard peeked his head through the back corridor.
"Well, if it isn't Miss Granger," he greeted, slowly stepping down from the tall ladder. "I remember now… Ten and three-quarter inches, Dragon Heartstring core, with a bit of vine wood, correct?"
She nodded, surprised and impressed. "Yes, sir."
"I see you've come alone," he noted. "Have you lost or broken your first wand?"
Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. "No, sir. I… actually came here because I wanted to ask you some questions."
He raised a bushy white brow.
"When I first stepped into your store six years ago, you said something very interesting to me, sir," she explained slowly, watching his expression. "You said that the wand chooses the wizard."
"Indeed," Ollivander nodded once, "and you wish to know why that is?"
She paused, shifting her weight between her feet. "I'm developing a theory, sir, one about magical inheritance within the family. I've done a fair bit of research regarding the basic process of wandlore, because I believe it ties in with what I want to discover."
He looked mildly interested. "And that is?"
"That magic isn't just a supernatural force that's perfectly spread amongst every witch and wizard," she said, starting to pace now in thought. "Just like when you create wands out of certain types of wood and cores, each one results in a different… I suppose the best word here would be personality. Magic is filled with all kinds of characteristics and temperaments, if you will."
"However," she continued, raising a finger, "there are consistencies within the materials you use. You told me that as a general rule, Dragon heartstrings produce the most power, capable of learning quickly and having a strong sense of loyalty to its owner. This sort of regularity could also be seen in family members—that's why some of my friends like Ron and Neville, could use secondhand wands from family without too much of a problem—their magic aligns well enough for the personality of the wand. That says something about the magic inside us, doesn't it? That it responds, that it's alive."
Ollivander was now sitting behind his counter, his attention completely focused on her. "So you're saying the magic inside of us is similar in nature to our parents and perhaps any siblings?"
She nodded. "I'd like to call it a magical core of some sorts that's genetically created during the nine months of development. Characteristics of magic from both parents are used for the makeup of the child, like they are locked to the physical body at birth. This may be why we feel tired or out of breath after over exhausting our magic."
"But Miss Granger, I believe you are missing two crucial points within this theory," he tapped a finger against his cheek. "Because according to your thinking, there should be no such things as Squibs or Muggle-borns, but yet there are."
She released a tight sigh. "I think that the chance of being passed down a magical core is different from the ability to utilize it."
His eyes grew wide at her implication. "Are you saying, my dear, that those who show no sign of being magical, could still be housing a magical core of their own?"
"One they can't use themselves, and only pass on," she corrected. "Because ultimately, the magic chooses the person, just like the wand chooses the wizard."
Ollivander paused, eyes glazing as if thinking of something long ago.
"Compatibility," he said at last, "between the magic, the wizard and the wand… I see why you've come to me."
She hesitated for the briefest of moments, stringing her fingers together. "I understand that your wandlore is a carefully guarded practice, but is there anything you could tell me to either help or break the theory?"
Ollivander hummed, placing a stray strand of white hair out of his line of sight. He appeared contemplative for a moment, eyeing her with a critical gaze as if determining her worthiness. After a moment, he raised a hand, beckoning her forward.
Heart racing, Hermione took three steps out, leaning against the counter to face the elder wizard.
"Magic and its origins have always been a mystery," he said quietly, eyes rather wide, "but if there is one thing I'd like to share with you, Miss Granger, it is how I've come to see that wizards are quite short sighted in regards to other branches of magic that does not seem to come from their own."
She blinked. "Other… branches of magic?"
"Curious isn't it, how magical beings and beasts other than humans seem to have their own brand of magic that isn't affected by our own spells?" he questioned. "Take into account the Elves that can move freely in and out of Hogwarts, completely ignoring the Anti-Disapparition Jinx, or the Goblins who can easily best wizards without the aid of a wand… Do you know why that is?"
"No, sir…" she admitted, shaking her head.
For the first time in their conversation, he gave a curious smile. "Perhaps your answer lies with them. However, I do warn you now, Goblins are not the friendliest of beings. Highly clever and intelligent, yes, but their knowledge always comes with a price."
She gave a grim nod. "I was actually going to visit Gringotts as well… I believe I have something of theirs that I could possibly bargain for.
"Oh?" he raised his eyebrows. "Well then, I can only wish you luck from here, Miss Granger. I do expect—"
A sudden shiver ran down her back as the doorbell rattled against the frame, and Hermione felt the cold breeze rush in. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her. She turned on her heel, finding a very tall and imposing man standing at the doorway, grinning like Christmas had come early. Two figures flanked each side, cloaked in a long black robe and a white skull mask.
Death Eaters.
For a moment, her heart seemed to stop.
She glanced back at the large man again, taking in his rough features and thick facial hair, finding recognition somewhere in the back of her mind. From the way Ollivander's face twisted in fear, he too, recognized the man.
Fenrir Greyback.
"What's this?" his gruff voice cut the shocked silence, eyes boring into her. "A customer after hours?"
Hermione instinctively took a step back, feeling the countertop dig into her back.
"What do you want?" Ollivander asked, clearly having found his voice. He sounded much more confident than he looked. "If you're here to cause mayhem, the Aurors will be on their way for your arrest."
He grinned, sharp canines gleaming. "Why, Mr. Ollivander, we only want to ask for your company. Think of it as a nice vacation."
Hermione felt her hands tremble at the implication. They were trying to kidnap Ollivander.
She glanced at the three of them by the door, taking into account what she could observe and frantically attempting to formulate an escape plan.
Greyback was by far the biggest threat. Even without the full moon, she knew he could easily overpower them in terms of physical strength. The two Death Eaters behind him were a complete unknown. One was equal to the werewolf in terms of height, the other was about a half-head shorter. Hermione could see nothing under the black hood or mask; it was impossible to tell if they were even male or female.
Swallowing back her fear, she gripped her wand, taking a conscious step in front of the old wand maker. Regardless of what she saw, she refused to sit back and let Ollivander be kidnapped.
"He's not going anywhere with you," she said boldly, lifting her wand.
Greyback didn't seem deterred. In fact, he looked amused. "And who are you girly? Thinking of protecting the old man?"
"And if I am?"
He snorted loudly, rolling back his arms in a stretch. "It's a shame, but the wandmaker's coming with us."
She exhaled, trying to loosen her muscles. "I'm not moving."
"Oh?" Greyback raised a thick brow. "And you, Ollivander? You're going to cower back there all day?"
Hesitant shuffling sounded behind her. "I—"
"No! Mr. Ollivander, stay right there," she pleaded; glancing back to make sure he hadn't moved.
It was a crucial mistake.
Faster than she could respond, an incredible force slammed into her, thick fingers wrapped around her neck. She felt her back ram into the wall by the counter, causing countless of boxed wands to fall from the shelves. Stars danced in her vision as Greyback's hand tightened around her neck, cutting off her air. She could feel his abnormally sharp nails pressing threateningly against her skin, his faces inches from hers.
"You're quite the pretty little thing," he said conversationally, as if he wasn't holding her by the neck. "A little temperamental for my tastes, but still young… I'm sure a bite or two wouldn't hurt—"
"Stop!" Ollivander yelled, raising his own wand now. "Let—Let her go. She has nothing to do with any of this."
Hermione tried to speak, but it felt like her jaw was about to break from the strain. She couldn't breathe. Her head was spinning and Greyback's face began to shift in and out of focus.
Greyback turned his head. "You don't get to make any requests, Ollivander. Grab him."
The two Death Eaters moved, but Ollivander wasn't done yet. "I'll go peacefully! Please! There—there is no need to fight. Just let her off and I'll go with you without a word."
No. She would not be a liability. She refused. Hermione struggled harder now, clawing and trying to pry off Greyback's fingers. Nothing seemed to work. She knew from all her research on Professor Lupin that werewolves were much more stronger and durable, a sense of helplessness washed over her.
"My shop is quite well known," Ollivander continued, his wand moving between the two Death Eaters. "Even at this time, people will hear and react to the noise. The Aurors will be here straight away. Are you going to throw away your task for one girl?"
The werewolf narrowed his eyes dangerously, grip tightening. Right when he seemed ready to snarl back a retort, a new voice cut in.
"Greyback," the shorter of the two Death Eaters called. His voice was muffled through the mask, yet undoubtedly male. "The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting."
He gave a wolfish snap in return, clearly irritated by the Death Eater's words. "Watch who you're barking to, pup."
Thick tension filled the air.
"If you want to inform the Dark Lord of our tardiness due to indulging in your personal desires, then by all means, continue," the Death Eater said calmly. "After all, you know him better than I."
After a silent moment, his fingers slowly pried off of Hermione's neck and she felt herself being thrown onto the floor, colliding painfully against the wood. Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably, her lungs burned with every breath she took. The room danced nauseously in front of her eyes and she was briefly reminded of her Occlumency lessons with Snape.
"Let's make this quick, Ollivander," the werewolf growled out, stepping towards him. "Close your shop."
Unable to refuse, the elderly wizard picked up all the fallen wands on the floor, quickly placing them into the correct box and returning them to the shelf. He cleared away the loose materials on his counter and flipped over the welcoming sign on his window to read 'closed'.
From the edge of her vision, Hermione saw a dark boot step inches away from her face and before she could stop him, Greyback's hand caught her jaw, forcing her to look up. His thumb and forefinger pressed against her cheeks, he grinned.
"You've lucked out, girly, play time's over for now," he said, then suddenly grew serious. "I don't have to say what'll happen to precious Mr. Ollivander here, if you go telling people about this, do I?
Her voice seemed lost. She couldn't speak.
"I'll find you again," he warned, eyes blazing. "I'll track down your scent. I'll enjoy playing the game. Then I'll tear that face of yours right up."
Without waiting for her to respond, Greyback unceremoniously released her jaw, letting her cheek to slam onto the floor.
"Let's go."
The telltale ring of a bell sounded through the shop as Ollivander was forced out the door, Greyback right on his heels. The Death Eaters followed after, cleanly exiting the store as if they were never there to disturb it. The shorter of the two seemed to pause briefly at the doorway, pale fingers twisting his wand as if contemplating a spell. After a second of hesitation, he too walked out the door, grabbing onto the other Death Eater's arm and with a loud crack, they all vanished.
.
Cleaning up after herself and creating a plausible story for the conjured wrappings around her neck was much easier than Hermione expected.
Laughing sheepishly, she waved off Ginny's concerns, rubbing the back of her head. "Sorry I'm a bit late. I, well, had a little accident while Apparating today."
"Accident?" the redhead repeated, aghast. "What did you do, splinch yourself?"
"Just a bit," she said, smiling reassuringly. "But Professor Twycross was very quick to patch it up. Didn't hurt at all."
Ginny pointed to her cheek, raising an eyebrow. "And why's your cheek all bruised up?"
Hermione sighed. "I sort of landed on my face, okay? Clearly not my best moment. Your mum wouldn't happen to have any bruise salve in the house, would she?"
She laughed lightly, the worry now gone. "Of course she does. With brothers like Fred and George in the house, it's a bit of a guarantee. Wait here, I'll go grab it for you."
And the questions ended after that.
The remainder of summer would have been considered pleasant in Hermione's opinion, if it weren't for the constant feed of Death Eater movements that seemed to grow increasingly each week. Harry's birthday celebration had been interrupted by Lupin bringing the news of Igor Karkaroff's body being found in some deserted shack up north. Her mind immediately went to Viktor and worry for his school when she remembered his last letter, stating that his Quidditch team were touring somewhere near Italy.
"Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?" Bill asked, passing the juice. "The man who ran—"
"The ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?" Harry answered, frowning. "He used to give me free ice creams. What's happened to him?"
"Dragged off, by the look of his place."
"Why?" Ron asked, swallowing back his eggs.
Lupin sighed, running a hand through his grey streaked hair. "Who knows? He must've upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean."
"Talking of Diagon Alley," Mr. Weasley inputted, "looks like Ollivander's gone too."
Hermione dropped her spoon.
"The wandmaker?" said Ginny, wide-eyed.
"That's the one. Shop's empty. No sign of struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped."
She swore something inside her screamed as she bent under the table to pick up the silverware. Grabbing the spoon, Hermione swallowed back the overwhelming guilt, hoping that her face gave nothing away. If she had been stronger…
"But wands—what'll people do for wands?"
"They'll make do with other makers," Lupin replied, handing her another clean spoon from Mrs. Weasley. She accepted with a nod of thanks. "But Ollivander was the best and if the other side have got him it's not so good for us."
Hermione's mood grew worse when their letters and booklists arrived from Hogwarts the next day, enacting a family trip to Diagon Alley for Saturday.
Except that she would be expected at the Ministry for another Apparition lesson that day.
Half of her wouldn't dare to miss a lesson, especially since the request was from Dumbledore, but the other half, which she was ashamed to admit, was afraid of returning to Diagon Alley again.
When she realized such a ridiculous thought had passed through her head, she smacked her own forehead, causing Ginny to give her a strange look. Hermione released a deep exhale. She was better than this. It was one mistake—one she swore she wouldn't make again—and she was going to fix it. She would find Ollivander even if it took the rest of her life.
Mind set, Hermione brought up the issue during dinner on Thursday night.
"I know Mr. Weasley can't get off work any quicker, so if I could just head to Diagon Alley about an hour earlier alone, I would be able to make it to my lesson," she explained.
Mrs. Weasley looked as if she had just suggested cutting her own arm off. "Most certainly not! You would just have to owl your Professor that you'd be busy that day."
Ron snorted. "Hermione? Miss a lesson? Mum, that's a good one. Besides, d'you honestly think You-Know-Who's going to be hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blotts?"
"Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?" Mrs. Weasley harped, eyes narrowing. "If you think security's a laughing matter, you can stay home and I'll get your things myself—"
"No, no, I wanna come!" Ron backtracked quickly. "I want to see Fred and George's shop."
"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione interrupted smoothly before the mother hen could continue. "I'm very aware of the danger but I promise to take care of myself. Since Hagrid's going to be there, I could check in and out with him as I come and go. I just… I'd feel terrible for Professor Twycross when he took the time to teach me this summer."
The elder witch opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by yet another one of her sons.
"Mum, just let her off," Bill encouraged, waving a hand. "You have no idea how much security has tightened over the past week since the disappearances. Especially in Gringotts, it's taking about five hours for the public to get their gold at the moment. Hermione will be fine."
"It'll be in bright day, Mrs. Weasley," she persisted, seeing her chance. "There'll be tons of other students doing their shopping as well. I assure you it'll be all right."
There was a tense silence as Mrs. Weasley glared at Bill for supporting this, then at Hermione for causing possible doom. At last, she relented.
"Fine, but only this once," she raised a finger, emphasizing the fact. "Clock in with Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldron and make sure to do your best at the Ministry. Can't have you splinching your poor self again."
She winched slightly, rubbing her bandaged neck. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I'll do my best."
Contrary to what she insisted, Saturday was overcast and murky by the time Hermione flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. She checked in with Hagrid as promised, smiling at the old gamekeeper as she walked in.
"Hermione!" he raised his hand. "Good ter see yeh! Arthur told me yeh were comin' early."
"It's good to see you too Hagrid!" she greeted, hugging him as best as she could. "Unfortunately, my schedule's a bit packed at the moment and I'm expected for a lesson soon. You're waiting for Harry, right?"
He nodded. "The Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o' Aurors, but Dumbledore said I'd do."
"That you will," she laughed. "Anyway, I'll come see you once I leave. It should only be about an hour."
After waving farewell, Hermione stepped through the back entrance, tapping on the correct set of bricks, just like she had seen Professor McGonagall do so many years ago. As the magical entrance opened up to Diagon Alley, Hermione paused, taking in the scene.
Bill was right. They had really tightened up the security last week. Every store was covered in purple Ministry of Magic posters, carrying everything from wanted signs to security and self-defense advice. A number of shop windows were boarded up and a few shady looking stalls had opened up on the streets.
Grimacing at the sight, Hermione went straight away to Flourish and Blotts, sliding out her booklists for the year. Much like the years before, many of them were books she had already checked out once in the Hogwarts library, or bought earlier for the sake of getting ahead. She ignored the dodgy-looking wizard trying to sell her some fake amulet and headed inside the bookstore.
Just like she had remembered, Flourish and Blotts was the same on the inside, filled with the smell of parchment and ink and piles and piles of books lying around. She walked quickly through the aisles, already having memorized the layout of the store in her first year and selected out the books she needed. After grabbing three thick tomes for some extra reading, Hermione checked out at the counter and left the store somewhat in a better mood than she had come in.
Books always seemed to have that effect on her.
She made a quick stop at the Apothecary, picking up some ingredients she knew were a must. There was a sad moment of silence as Hermione stared at a jar of horned slugs, realizing that neither Harry nor Ron would be in her N.E.W.T.s Potion's class with her. Professor Snape only accepted 'O's in his class.
When the moment of self-pity passed, she picked up some treats at Eeylops Owl Emporium for Faris and headed to Madam Malkin's, eager to get a new set of robes.
The door opened with a quiet ding and she stepped into the cozy store, noting the older witch near the back of the room.
"Welcome," Madam Malkin turned and smiled warmly, "Hogwarts, dear?"
"Yes please," she nodded, taking a good look around the racks. "And some leisure robes as well."
"Come this way—leave your current robe on that chair," she asked, stepping around a large rack and pointing to a raised platform in front of a large mirror. "Now let's see you…"
Hermione shrugged off her old robe, dropping it in the designated area. She stepped onto the dais and raised her arms, allowing the older witch to pull a measuring tape across each section of her body and jot them down on a slip of parchment. After a few more measurements were taken, Madam Malkin summoned a black and red robe, tossing it around her shoulders.
"Oh dear, what happened to your neck?" she pursed her lips, carefully adjusting the fabric around her collarbones as to not jostle the injury.
"Apparition. I was being clumsy and got into an accident," she explained, smiling crookedly.
Madam Malkin nodded. "Oh, poor you… and your cheek too? I can see there was quite a nasty bruise there. It's still a bit discolored."
She nodded, unable to move her body as Madam Malkin was pushing sharp pins into the areas that needed adjustment.
"Have you come alone dear?" she asked with a hint of worry in her voice.
"Oh no, I have friends who are waiting outside," she lied smoothly, not wanting a look of pity or a lecture from the older witch.
"That's good, walking alone in these troubled times is never a good idea… There we go, I'm almost done."
Just then, another small ding ran through the store, indicating another customer. Hermione frowned, thinking that Harry had arrived a lot earlier she had thought he would. Glancing at the mirror in front of her, she saw a flash of white blonde hair in the reflection.
She turned around so quickly; Madam Malkin released a yelp of surprise. Her breathing seemed to stop as she locked eyes with him.
"Draco."
True to her eyes, he stood in the middle of the long store, his face caught in a momentarily look of disbelief. His gaze traveled from her eyes to her cheek, then to her bandaged neck.
The door opened once again and a tall woman stepped into the store. Hermione immediately recognized her from their brief meeting over Christmas Break.
"Draco, I told you to stay close," Mrs. Malfoy chided quietly, unaware of her son's expression. "I don't want—"
"Mother, we're leaving," Draco cut her off hurriedly, turning on his heel and pushing Narcissa Malfoy towards the door again.
She refused to let him leave like this. "Draco, wait!"
Ignoring Madam Malkin's voice of protest, Hermione jumped from the platform wincing as multiple pins stabbed against her skin from the sudden movement.
"Wait! Can we please just ta—" Hermione's voice screeched to a halt, she doubled over slightly, clutching her burning neck.
She still couldn't properly raise her voice.
Releasing ragged breaths, she swallowed; feeling as if she had just drank another bottle of doxy poison. To her surprise, Draco had stopped, staring at her with an inscrutable expression.
"Listen," she forced out hoarsely, reaching for his forearm.
As if just realizing she was there, Draco immediately yanked his arm away, pulling his hand towards his chest.
"Do—not—touch—me!" he hissed, eyes wide with anger. But she could have sworn there was a flash regret behind it all. And surprisingly, fear.
Hermione retracted her hand as if she'd been stung, feeling her mouth open slightly at his blatant rejection. It felt as if someone had dropped a bludger over her chest. She hadn't seen him since her flight to the Department of Mysteries and she was dying to hear an explanation of what had happened. Anything.
"Why?" she choked out quietly, feeling her eyebrows knit together in confusion.
The blonde turned away, walking through the racks of robes towards the door.
"Hang on just a minute," Mrs. Malfoy narrowed her blue eyes, looking between the two of them. She finally turned to Hermione. "You… You look familiar. Aren't you the witch I met just last December?"
"That isn't her," Draco answered instead, having found his voice. He tried to push her towards the door again but the older woman was having none of it.
"Stop that, you know I don't forget people I meet easily," she gently laid a hand of his shoulder, halting his escape. Her gaze settled on Hermione again. "It looks like you remember our encounter as well… and you know my son. I don't think I caught your name last time—who are you?"
"I'm—"
Draco broke away from Mrs. Malfoy's grasp and stepped in between both witches like a wall. "She's nobody. It's not important. Now let's leave, mother."
Hermione felt her chest cave painfully at his words. She stared at the back of his head, unable to make out his expression. She didn't understand why he had quite literally done a full turn around in a matter of months. Just what had happened with him?
"But—"
Not waiting for another word, Draco took his mother and pulled her away, swinging the door open and causing the bell to ring noisily. Surprise and displeasure flashed across Mrs. Malfoy's face as she was towed out, her blue eyes staring at Hermione's still form with a gleam of curiosity.
The door swung closed again. Hermione stood in the aftermath of the encounter, wondering out loud how things could have gotten so backwards.
No answer came for her.
A/N: Don't kill me guys, I promise they'll have a proper reunion and talk soon... or so my plan goes. Summer is officially done and over with so we are now moving onto Hogwarts, and all the fun that comes with sixth year (I'm still tinkering with the details but most of the plot has been set).
Anyway, we didn't get a lot of Fenrir Greyback dialogue even in the books, so I kind of just wrote him as I went. I hope he seems believable. Speaking of him, there's an interesting theory that I found through tumblr about Draco being a werewolf instead of a Death Eater. Not sure how long it's been around, but I was reading through someone's argument for it and they made it sound quite possible. This is all of course, through book canon and not film canon. Have any of you guys seen it?
El