AN: Back to the story, then. I fondly refer to this chapter as the beginning of the end. We're getting close to finishing!
Oh and a quick apology – I had forgotten about the fact that Hermione stuffed the beaded bag down her sock when the snatchers came, not in her sleeve. I've fixed that in my earlier chapter.
I also want to give a HUGE thanks to all of the favoriters and followers and reviewers. For the ones who have stuck it through the whole time and for the new ones each time and for the incredible guest feedback I get I am so grateful! Thanks
"A baby! Imagine!"
"I know. Sometimes I forget things like that exist anymore."
"Things like babies?"
"Oh, sod off. You knew what I meant."
Ron and Hermione walked towards the bench behind Shell Cottage as they'd made a habit of doing at least once per day now.
"I'm really happy for Lupin. Glad he's sorted out everything in his head."
"Me too. He's going to make an incredible dad."
They sat down side by side.
"Definitely. And even if Teddy had turned out to be a werewolf, I reckon Lupin's one of the best blokes around."
Hermione nodded her agreement. She was happy for Lupin and Tonks. Even so, she felt a heavy weight on her chest.
"Yeah. He is."
"What's wrong?"
She glanced up at Ron, staring worriedly down at her and wanted to cry. His was the worst possible face she could be looking into thinking things like this.
"What? Hermione, what is it?"
"Nothing, really. It's foolish."
Ron rolled his eyes. "How many times have you used that line? It's never foolish or stupid or anything else. Just tell me."
This was a topic they almost never addressed – maybe they'd mentioned it a few times in Hogwarts – a bit at the wedding – but she'd never come right out and discussed it with him. The idea of it made her blush.
"Really, Hermione, you can tell me."
"Er … it's just that I … this all just made me think that … well it's just a silly notion."
"Even if it is silly, I won't take the mickey, I promise."
"Well I haven't let myself think about the future much, you know, seeing that it was so uncertain. But tonight … with Lupin and Tonks, I just can't help thinking that I really, really would like to be a mum."
Ron's voice was low when he spoke again. "Well that's nothing to take the mickey about, is it?"
She sighed and leaned into his arm.
"You know, Hermione, it's not weird that you think like that. I mean, watching Bill and Fleur and Tonks and Lupin – I really want that too. My whole life I've known I was going to be a dad. And now I can't be sure of that."
"Well you'd make a great one."
"And you'd make a great mum."
"Imagine a handful of little Ron's running around!"
He chuckled and made a noise somewhere between incredulousness and longing. "Not too many … but yeah … someday I'd like that a lot. And you – you'd have all your brilliant little Hermione's. They'd be fascinated by things like Arithmancy and Runes. And stubborn – no one would walk all over them."
"They sound like terrors!"
They chuckled, and Ron continued. "They wouldn't be. They'd be really kind. And the best friends anyone could ask for."
Hermione felt her heart flutter a bit, as it always did when Ron got sentimental like this. His arm slid around her back, and her head fell back on his shoulder.
"Yes … I suppose I could live with kids like that."
"They'd be great. Running around with their little Bulgarian accents…"
Smack!
"Ow, blimey, I was only joking!"
Hermione sat perfectly upright, glaring at Ron. "My children will not be Bulgarian, Ron."
His eyes widened and he nodded. "Right … I know."
"I'm not interested in marrying Krum, Ron."
She knew that he knew this, but it still made her stomach flip when he beamed at her words.
"I know you're not." She settled back into the curve of his arm.
"Besides. Such prodigious, stubborn, irritating children would be a tad overbearing with an accent like that."
Ron snorted. "Vell, profezzor, ze volfsbane potion eez very eezy to make, you zee, I am breelliant!"
Hermione sniggered. "You certainly win the prize for smashing together the largest number of accents. Did I hear a little French in there?"
"Runs in the family." Ron gestured to the window of Shell Cottage where his brother and French sister-in-law were asleep.
"Ah. Naturally."
"No, in all seriousness, you'll be a great mum, Hermione. And, for the record, I've never seen you in a fight where my money wasn't on you. I reckon you're getting out of this just fine. And you'll have your brood of prefects and head boys and girls that never get away with anything because their brilliant mum's the best in magical law the Ministry of Magic has ever seen."
Hermione could really picture this future – she would never have admitted it, but in her version of it, her brood of brilliant children was sporting shocks of ginger hair.
The next few days passed by either too slowly or too quickly – never at the right speed. Finalising all of their plans reminded Hermione of Grimmauld Place and the Ministry. That had been nerve-wracking, to be sure, but nothing compared to the feat they were about to attempt.
The morning of their venture into Gringotts was colder than Hermione liked. She was already shaking from fear – and she couldn't afford to be. No one would buy a trembling Bellatrix Lestrange.
Hermione sat on her side of the small room, staring into the putrid polyjuice potion. It was black – as black as unicorns were white. She sniffed it once and dry heaved, but knew that she needed to drink it all. They had to ensure the longest disguise they could.
She performed a charm on her tongue to temper the taste, but it wasn't very effective and the smell alone could do her in. Finally, she plugged her nose and swallowed. Her eyes watered and her chest backfired, urging her to retch it back up. Still, she chugged the rest in three large gulps.
Hermione could already feel the pain and discomfort of morphing into another person, but it was nothing compared to actually drinking the stuff. This change felt stranger than any previously – even the cat. She felt herself growing in stature and presence. And when she looked in the mirror, she shivered.
She was already holding them up, so Hermione hurried out to meet the boys on the front lawn.
"She tasted disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots!" she said as she reached them, ignoring the glances of disdain in her direction; Bellatrix's effect was overwhelming. "Okay, Ron, come here so I can do you…."
"Right, but remember, I don't like the beard too long." He came to stand in front of her, still looking rather alarmed by her transformation.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome!"
"It's not that, it gets in the way! But I like my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did last time."
She rolled her eyes, but was glad that he was acting like himself at least. Even she had a difficult time looking at herself in the mirror.
Hermione set to work on each of Ron's features. It always made her nervous to do things like this – too much steady eye contact and unabashed studying of his face. Since she generally only ever snuck glances at him. Allowing herself to stare right at him felt wrong and indulgent.
Ron's ginger crop of hair became a straw coloured mane. His long, slightly crooked nose shrunk back into his skull and widened while the freckles on it vanished. His eyebrows and mustache came in fully, hiding much of his face.
"There. How does he look, Harry?"
"Well, he's not my type, but he'll do." Ron and Hermione chuckled and Hermione's laugh came out sounding all wrong. She stopped immediately. "Shall we go, then?"
Passed the Fidelius Charm borders, they disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione barely had a moment to feel nostalgic before Harry hurried them into the pub. Tom's eyes flashed apprehensively as they entered.
"Madam Lestrange." He inclined his head slightly.
"Good morning."
He looked alarmed and she didn't need Harry's hissed, "Too polite!" to know that she had slipped up. "You need to treat people like they're scum!"
Hermione shivered just thinking about acting like Bellatrix, but she knew that it was necessary for their plan to work.
"Okay, okay!"
Her heart sank the moment she stepped foot on the cobbled pathway. The ice cream parlour, cauldron shop, Ollivander's and even Flourish and Blotts were all boarded up. Harry's wanted poster leered down at them from every angle and new shops with names like, "Jordan's Book Shop: Everything to know about the Dark Arts" were stationed in each corner.
Of all the depressing changes, none made Hermione more revolted that the throngs of people in rags, begging for coins, insisting their magic lineage.
"I got me 'ogwarts acceptance le'er just like everyone else!"
She wanted to weep and do whatever she could to fix it. However, they vanished on sight of her so she could scarcely get near enough anyways.
Hermione hated the feeling of being hated. One man in particular with a red spotted bandage over her eyes kept shooting her looks of pure loathing. She was about to say something to Harry when he came hobbling over.
"MY CHILDREN!" She had never heard such a voice – broken and shrill. "Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know! You know!"
Keep calm. Keep calm.
"I … I really –"
He jumped at her and she could almost see the face of Greyback going for her throat. She was too stunned to move or say a word. However, in the next instance, the man flew back with a blast of red light.
Hermione was simultaneously relieved and heart broken – whoever that man was, Voldemort had taken his family and most likely killed them all. As foolhardy as it would be to fling himself at the real Bellatrix, she didn't blame him in the slightest. Even though she knew it wasn't really her fault, Hermione felt a bizarre responsibility to him and a desperate desire to make everything right.
"Why, Madam Lestrange!"
She stiffened and, barely clinging to her cover, managed to turn slowly and stare at the man with the contempt she had practiced in the mirror for days. In her best impression of Bellatrix, she said, "And what do you want?"
He looked offended and taken aback. Obviously this was the wrong tone. Now their cover was probably blown. She wanted to grab Ron and Harry and get out of there.
"He's another death eater – Travers."
Harry's whisper was barely audible but enough to calm her down.
"I merely sought to greet you. But if my presence is not welcome…"
"No, no, not at all, Travers. How are you?"
The words felt too civil coming off her tongue, but the man looked mollified.
"Well, I confess I am surprised to see you out and about, Bellatrix."
"Really? Why?"
"Well … I heard that the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the … ah … escape."
What were we thinking?
Hermione's brain was urging her to go into overdrive like she always did in a crisis. However, she remembered Malfoy Manor and knew that she couldn't afford to panic. Steeling up all of the false arrogance and pride that Bellatrix's identity gave her, she said, "The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past. Perhaps your credit is not as good with him as mine is, Travers."
She felt both reassured and sickened at how uncannily like Bellatrix her words sounded.
Travers glanced around and caught sight of the man on the ground.
"How did it offend you?"
It?
"It does not matter. It will not do so again."
"Some of these wandless can be troublesome. While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case at the Ministry last week. 'I'm a witch, sir, I'm a witch, let me prove it to you!' As if I was going to give her my wand."
Hermione tried her best to look appropriately appalled.
"But whose wand are you using at the moment, Bellatrix? I heard that your own was…"
"I have my wand here." Hermione's did not have to falsify the ice in her tone, now. "I don't know what rumors you have been listening to, Travers, but you seem sadly misinformed."
The man looked too suspicious for comfort, but, thankfully, he dropped the subject.
"Who is your friend? I do not recognize him."
This part was easy – something she had rehearsed.
"This is Dragomir Despard. He speaks very little English, but he is in sympathy with the Dark Lord's aims. He has traveled here from Transylvania to see our new regime."
"Indeed? How do you do, Dragomir?"
Hermione felt sickened that within minutes Travers had gone from a pitiless, despicable monster of a man to a charming, polite gentleman all because of presumed blood status.
"'Ow you?"
She took it back when Travers looked nauseated even to touch Ron's hand. Apparently foreign blood was tainted too.
"So what brings you and your – ah – sympathetic friend to Diagon Alley this early?"
"I need to visit Gringotts."
"Alas, I also. Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends."
Hermione resisted the urge to visibly cringe. Griphook couldn't take well to that.
"Shall we?"
How to get rid of him now?
She walked in silence and tried not to breathe too hard or touch him at all. Somehow their plan would have to go forwards, but at this point she had no idea how to make it happen. They reached the steps of the bank and, as expected, the two wizards stepped towards them.
"Ah, Probity Probes. So crude. But effective!"
Hermione had a bizarre desire to giggle at the name 'probity probe' but she resisted. They moved forward to inspect her and, nervously, she waited for the distance in their eyes that would mean Harry had confunded them.
"One moment, madam." The guard wielding the probe looked confused as to why he was.
"But you've just done that."
"Yeah, you've just checked them, Marius."
Hermione breathed an internal sigh of relief and tried to ignore the fact that Travers had just witnessed the men bypass scanning her. And who could mistake the look in their eyes? Certainly not a trained dark wizard.
Pretending nothing was amiss, Hermione continued into the bank where a long table stood, manned by goblins. They needed for Travers to go first, so she hung back. When it was clear that Travers would wait for her anyways, she pulled Ron aside.
"What you can see of Gringotts is barely a fraction of the structure," she said, and Ron smirked a little. He managed to look interested, though, and she continued, describing each of the features in sight.
Once Travers had his key back, Hermione stepped up.
"Madam Lestrange! Dear me! How … how may I help you today?"
"I wish to enter my vault."
Something about their shrewd eyes left Hermione in no doubt that, should anyone discover them, it would be a goblin.
"You have … identification?"
"Identification? I – I have never been asked for identification before!"
She could see their suspicion. They knew that something was wrong.
"Your wand will do, madam."
They had been warned. They knew that Bellatrix's wand had been stolen and they were going to be caught. Caught – and tortured? Her stomach dropped, but she could do nothing now except hand it over.
"Ah, you have had a new wand made, Madam Lestrange?"
Hermione frowned – she hadn't expected that in the slightest. "What? No … no, that's mine –"
"A new wand? But how could you have done, which wandmaker did you use?"
Hermione was at a complete loss for what was going on. She could only stand silently as Travers held out a hand and inspected her wand.
"Oh yes. I see. Yes, very handsome. And is it working well? I always think wands require a little breaking in, don't you?"
Regardless of the fact that Hermione felt the situation spinning rapidly out of their control, she forced herself to simply nod. The goblin that had inspected the wand in the first place clapped his hands and gestured a younger goblin over.
"I shall need the Clankers." The other goblin brought them back moments later. "Good, good! So, if you will follow me, Madam Lestrange, I shall take you to your vault."
Hermione had done nothing but look fearfully between the goblin and Travers. Now, though, she glanced over her shoulder to find Ron regarding her anxiously. He shrugged and, imperceptible to anyone else, sidled forward enough to brush his hand against hers.
It was small, but it was enough for her to slow her breathing and control the baffled expression on her face.
"Wait, Bogrod!"
Another goblin ran towards the one who'd inspected the wand. Hermione tensed – their faulty story could only hold against so many. Assuming it was holding at all.
"We have instructions. Forgive me, Madam, but there have been special orders regarding the vault of Lestrange."
He leaned over to whisper to the first goblin.
"I am aware of the instructions. Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault … Very old family … old clients … this way, please."
With gaping holes in their story, no idea what Harry or Ron might be thinking, no way to communicate with them and a sinking feeling that told her this would not end well, Hermione followed them back.