HARRY
Hermione sat him down in one of their favorite armchairs by the fire with a mischievous smile on her face. "Spill," she commanded him. Even Ron looked interested. Harry sighed in defeat.
"Lucius Malfoy has escaped from Azkaban," he told them heavily.
Hermione's eyes went wide, and Ron jumped to his feet with a cry of, "WHAT?!"
"Ron!" Hermione shushed him. Then, turning to Harry, she said, "How do you know?"
Harry explained everything Draco had to him. When he'd finished, Ron and Hermione were silent.
"Well," said Ron quietly. He paused. "But why couldn't he have told us himself?"
Hermione smirked. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"
Harry was very aware of the fact that his cheeks were turning bright red.
Ron screwed up his face in an effort to understand. Harry could almost see the cogs turning in his head. Finally, he shrugged as if he were saying, I give up.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously Draco wanted to see Harry alone, didn't he?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Am I right?"
Harry slumped in his seat, ducking his head. "Yes."
Hermione grinned. "And? What happened?"
Harry's checks turned, if possible, even redder. "Do we have to— "
"Yes," said Ron and Hermione in perfect unison.
"Really mate?" Harry turned to face Ron accusingly. "You too?"
"I live to embarrass my best mate," said Ron with an evil grin.
Harry groaned. "Fine. We—erm— "
"Kissed?" supplied Hermione helpfully.
Every sensible part of Harry's body was screaming at him to bolt up the stairs to the safety of the boys' dormitory, but he forced himself to speak.
"At first," he said jerkily. "Really suddenly. Then I pushed him away and he told me about his dad, and then we—you know—again."
"Hmmm," hummed Hermione satisfactorily, her eyes twinkling.
"Urgh," Ron groaned, his nose wrinkled in disgust.
Hermione rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. "Honestly, Ron, you're so immature."
Ron threw up his hands in surrender. "Hey, it's kinda gross! Kissing, I mean."
Hermione's eyes grew stormy. Ron, sensing danger, quickly said, "Of course, that doesn't include you, 'Mione." At Hermione's glare, he sighed. With a defeated tone, he continued, "Besides, I did it loads with Lavender in sixth year."
"Speaking of Lavender," cut in Harry, grateful for the chance to change the subject. "What do you guys think we should do to help her?"
Hermione snapped her angry eyes to him. Her expression softened. "I don't know."
"There's got to be something we can do," said Ron.
"I think we'd have to know what the Death Eaters are threatening her with first. Then we'd be able to help."
Harry nodded in agreement. "That shouldn't be too hard. Trouble always seems to find us without us trying. And where trouble goes, information follows."
Ron laughed. "He's got a point."
"So our brilliant plan is to wait," said Hermione skeptically.
"Yep," said Harry, leaning back and stretching leisurely. Ron smiled.
Just then, a figure came lumbering over to this gathering. It was Neville.
"Hey guys," Neville greeted, sounding a little downtrodden.
"Hi!" said Hermione brightly. "Here, come join us— "
She waved her wand, summoning another chair from across the room. Neville sat with a muttered, "Thank you."
Harry watched the boy as he fidgeted in his chair. He could tell Neville was still feeling guilty about being Imperioused. His slow movements, crestfallen expression, quiet words, and aversion towards meeting them in the eye told him that much. But what could he do to convince Neville that he trusted him?
"Hey, Neville," Harry said suddenly as an idea struck him. "You know Lavender Brown? Have you seen her a lot this year?"
Neville nodded. "Yeah," he replied, looking confused. "Why?"
"Well, she was working with this new group of Death Eaters."
Neville's eyes widened in shock. "Really?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "We know she's not doing it willingly, though. She's being threatened. Thing is, we don't know what she's being threatened with. Do you have any idea what it could be?"
Neville thought for a moment. Finally, he slowly said, "Well, she has been acting a bit strange the past couple of weeks. But what it could be—I have no idea. Sorry guys."
The tiny bubble of hope growing in Harry's chest burst. He leaned back and sighed in disappointment. "That's alright, Neville."
There was a short pause, broken by Neville saying, "She has been talking about Parvati a lot recently. You know, her best friend, Parvati Patil."
Hermione's head snapped up, but Ron was unconvinced. "So? Maybe she's been feeling especially lonely lately."
Neville shook his head. "No, it—it's not that. I meant every time she mentioned her it's like she was trying to tell me something. She would—would stress weird words and repeat Parvati's name unnecessarily. I don't know. Maybe it was just me— "
"No!" Hermione exclaimed, eyes wide. "No! Not at all!" She twisted in her seat to better face Harry. "Don't you see?"
Harry stared at her blankly. "What?"
"Ron?" Hermione asked, tuning again, but the boy only shook his head.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, use you head. Obviously, it's Parvati."
All three boys were now staring at her in confusion.
"Parvati!" Hermione repeated, as if the answer was hitting them all repeatedly over the head. "Really? One of you has got to know— "
"Just tell us, Hermione," Ron groaned, but Harry was starting to get an idea.
"You're saying the Death Eaters have got Parvati," Harry said slowly, "and are using her as leverage against Lavender."
Hermione beamed at him.
"But, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "She could've meant nothing! I dunno, I still think she was just feeling lonely."
Before Hermione could argue her case further, Harry felt a warm hand on his shoulder: it was Ginny.
"Oh, hey." He greeted her with a smile. She grinned back.
"Here," said Neville, standing and gesturing for her to take his seat. "I'm tired anyway. See you!"
He departed for the boys' dormitories, looking far happier than he had been when he'd sat down.
After he'd gone, Ginny spoke again.
"So, Harry, I've been meaning to tell you something," she said, leaning back in her newly acquired chair.
Harry felt his stomach drop. Was this something about Draco—?
"Luna and I have been thinking to start up the DA again."
Relief spread from Harry's chest to the tips of his toes. But then another weight took its place as he realized the possible implications of her words. "Ginny, I don't think I should— "
"Oh! Not you!" Ginny assured him with a smile. "No, we've agreed that Luna and I can take over as teachers, and when we're gone we can pass it on to someone else. It's just since exams are only a few months away, we figured we could offer some assistance with the spellwork."
"That's awesome, Ginny!" Harry said with honest enthusiasm, relieved that he wasn't going to be the leader. He didn't want younger students showing up only for the chance to gawk at the famous Harry Potter. Pushing those bitter thoughts aside, he asked, "Who'll you invite?"
"Anyone that wants to come," she replied. "Since we don't have to keep it secret anymore, we're posting something on the bulletin board."
"What'll you teach them?" asked a curious Hermione, leaning forward in interest.
"Oh, all sorts of things," Ginny replied. "Hexes, jinxes, curses, charms—whatever they want."
"Like a study session?"
"More practice rather than study, but yes."
Ron whistled. "Good luck," he said with a chuckle.
Ginny wrinkled her nose at her brother. "Well, I'd better get working on it. I promised Luna I'd have a poster made by tomorrow."
She, too, left for the dormitories, leaving Harry, Ron, and Hermione alone.
There was a long silence, the three each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione took out an unfinished potions essay and started scribbling away. Meanwhile, Ron muttered something under his breath.
"Sorry, what?" Harry asked him, reaching for his bag.
"I—nothing." Ron emulated him. "I just—why Malfoy?"
"Oh." Harry leaned back, bag in hand, his cheeks turning red once more. He thought. Why had he chosen Malfoy? The boy was arrogant, selfish, a bit of a prat—but still somehow endearing to him.
"Honestly?" he answered slowly. "I have no idea."
Hermione snorted. Somehow, in the amount of time it had taken Harry to think of an answer, she had written an entire paragraph.
Ron, however, didn't seem to find his answer amusing. "Just—be careful, mate," he told Harry. "I don't trust him."
Harry stayed silent.
HERMIONE
The last bit of snow that had fallen melted as the final week of March approached, bringing spring weather to replace it. As exams loomed nearer, Hermione found herself in the library, researching information for a particularly long and difficult Transfiguration essay set by the new teacher, Professor Fujii.
Selecting a few choice books from the shelf, she hurried off to find an empty seat. Eyes skimming the heads of the other students, her gaze strayed on one who sat alone, pale blond hair tinted with the leftovers of blue dye.
"Your blue hair is fading," she told Draco Malfoy as she dropped her books beside him, causing the boy to jump violently.
"Oh," he said, a hand reaching up to fiddle with the strands mindlessly. "Yeah. I suppose the ever-lasting charm is wearing off."
Hermione shifted slightly to better see what Draco was working on. "What's that?"
"Oh, erm, nothing." Draco slid the parchment that looked suspiciously like a letter out of her view. "You?"
Hermione decided not to push. "I'm just researching for Fujii's essay."
Draco nodded, shifting uncomfortably. As Hermione got to work, he simply watched her, twiddling his thumbs and trying to appear nonchalant. At last, Hermione looked up and sighed.
"Draco, who was that letter for?"
Draco jumped, startled that she had guessed exactly what it was that he'd been working on. Nevertheless, he tried denying it. "I—it's not a letter," he insisted.
"Who's it for, Draco," she repeated with a stern yet (hopefully) comforting tone.
Draco tensed, and Hermione worried for a moment that she'd pushed him too far, but then his shoulders slumped.
"It's to my mother," he muttered.
"Why? Is everything okay? Or is it about— "
She couldn't make herself finish the statement. The fact that Lucius Malfoy had escaped his imprisonment and joined a new group of Death Eaters terrified her, although she did her best to hide it. She hadn't told anyone about her constant nightmares, the flashbacks to the haunting war against Voldemort, and the thought of one of her nightmares becoming reality—well, how she'd reacted last time showed the answer to that quite plainly.
The memory of seeing her parents' bodies still haunted her, making her woozy and lightheaded whenever she thought of them. Unbidden, a picture of blood and mangled limbs flashed before her eyes, making her jerk in horror. But she quickly shoved it deep, deep down, instead trying to focus on the task at hand: Draco.
"It's about him, yeah," he said, snapping her back to the present.
She examined him carefully. If she compared his movements to how he'd acted before, Draco looked shattered, although he was doing a good job at hiding it. His expression was carefully controlled, but Hermione could see a slight twitch by his eyes and the tensed muscles of his shoulders. It was so small, so infinitesimal, that if Hermione wasn't actively looking for something wrong, she would never have noticed. And it was too good to be natural.
"Did you practice controlling your emotions?" Hermione asked cautiously, well aware that she might be crossing an invisible line. Sure enough, Draco snapped his gaze to her, a fierce fire in his eyes, and Hermione recoiled in its intensity. "S-sorry," she stuttered.
Draco's gaze softened. He sighed. "Sorry. I just—I try not to talk about the war if I don't have to."
Hermione nodded in understanding. Truth be told, she did the same thing, and so did Harry and Ron. None of them talked about the years ruled by the fear of Voldemort, and none of them wanted to.
"We do the same," she said. "Harry, Ron, and I."
"Yeah, well... I did. I mean— " he swallowed— "I learned Occlumency from Bellatrix. And I figured out how to hide my emotions as time went on."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I just— "
Draco elbowed her. "Shut it, Granger. Now help me with that essay."
Hermione laughed in disbelief. "Really?"
"Yes!" Draco reached for his bag, drawing out a long roll of parchment covered in neat cursive writing. "I'm still half a foot short."
She took from him his essay. Quickly skimming over the words, she set to work, wondering how much help Harry and Ron would need if Draco was struggling.
She reached the Apparition borders of Hogwarts. Ignoring the panicked shouts of her friends behind her, she twisted, Apparating to the opposite end of the castle.
Quickly, she stepped through the borders again, muttering a quick spell. She would need this if she wanted to go very far in her search.
The idea had occurred to her a couple days ago. At the time, she'd felt like slapping herself for not thinking of it sooner. She'd resolved to use it as soon as the weekend came, but that date had since been erased due to certain emergencies.
As it was, she watched as her desired object soared towards her: Ron's Deluminator.
She felt bad about stealing it without at least telling him, but she knew that he would never let her go if she asked. Not now, after the letter.
She deftly caught the Deluminator with one hand, then promptly stepped out of the Apparition wards, once more turning on the spot.
She found herself in a small, deserted alley of Perth, Australia. Quickly exiting and blending in with the crowd, she tucked her cigarette lighter look-alike in her pocket. She would use it soon.
For now, she found the nearest Wizard place: a pub named The Flaming Broom. Inside it was dark and murky, filled with what she was sure were thieves and runaways of every kind. Fingering her wand beneath her robes, she ordered a firewiskey, not to drink but to blend in with the crowd.
With a jolt, she realized she still wore her Gryffindor emblem and colors. With a wave of her wand, she severed the Gryffindor badge from the cloth and stuffed it and her tie in her beaded bag, which she now constantly carried in her sock. Not only was it handy, but it carried all the things she deemed too valuable to carry in her regular school bag.
She glanced around subtly, hoping no one had seen, but saw no eyes upon her. She looked back at the bartender, who'd finished preparing her drink, and hurried off to find a table in a secluded corner.
She flopped into a chair, which creaked and groaned under her weight. Then, with a glance around to make sure nobody was watching, she reached into her pocket and took out the Deluminator.
How did it work? She recalled Ron's explanation of how he'd found them, telling her that he'd clicked it and a ball of light had floated inside him. With a curious frown, she clicked the Deluminator.
The few lights in the pub went out, and absolute darkness fell. There were many groans and a large amount of swearing from the surrounding costumers. With stifled yelp, she rose from her chair, clicking the Deluminator again and immediately Disapparating from the scene before the outlaws could retaliate.
She landed on a deserted countryside. A forest was spread out to her right, and she stood in a valley of flowers that extended as far as she could see to her front, behind, and left. This was one of the first places she'd visited when she'd begun her search for her parents.
She rolled the cigarette lighter in her hand. What was she going to do? Wait for her parents to say her name? But their memories were erased or, worse, they were—she couldn't bear to think of it.
No, Pansy and Blaise had been lying. Her parents were alive. Setting her shoulders, she opted to search through the countless records of the people of Australia once more, in hopes to find a recently-moved Wendell and Monica Wilkins.
A few days passed with no luck. This was not unusual, but Hermione still found herself disappointed, as well as a little panicked. If anything had happened to her parents and she was never able to find them nor know what happened to them—she'd go crazy.
Sitting in a booth of a Muggle restaurant in Mackay, Australia, she ordered a small coffee and a sandwich. She had various papers scattered across her table, most of them records, some of them police reports. These she read with barely disguised horror, wondering what she would do if she found her parents' fake names listed amount them.
As the server bustled away, she leaned forward, tracing a finger down the report. Thankfully, she saw no familiar names. She almost sighed aloud with relief.
A small, unbidden part in the back of her mind told her that it was possible that her parents had been killed in the Wizarding World and therefore the Muggles would not know about it, but she forcefully shoved the thought aside. Placing the reports in her discard pile, she moved on to the next list of records, reading the lines of names. Again, she found nothing, but she simply moved onto the next list.
This was what she'd been doing as she moved from city to city, scouring the continent of Australia as thoroughly as she could manage. With each new city, no matter how big nor small, a tiny flare of hope lit up in her chest, only to be snuffed out every time she had to discard the next paper. Still, she pushed onward. After all, she'd only been searching for a few days. She would find something soon.
Just then, her server returned with her coffee. She sipped at it mindlessly, still concentrating entirely on her work. Turning to another paper, this one showing a large, detailed map of each and every city in Australia, she squinted at the names of the cities around her. Maybe she would head to Ooralea next—
"—Hermione, I remember. Oh my god, you wouldn't—you can't— "
Hermione jumped as she heard her name. Whipping around, she focused her gaze on the consumers around her, searching for the one that had spoken her name, but none of them were paying even the slightest attention to her. Frowning, she turned back to her papers, fingering her wand nervously, when she realized: the Deluminator.
She reached into her beaded bag with a frenzy, drawing out the object and almost dropping it in her haste. Without considering the consequences, she clicked it—and a tiny ball of light emerged, floated towards her, and stopped right by her heart. She could feel its warmth as it hovered there, and she knew just what she needed to do.
Dropping a roll of cash onto her table, she abandoned her papers and hurried from the restaurant. In the secluded alley behind it, she Disapparated, trusting the Deluminator to lead her to where she needed to go.
She appeared in a small Muggle neighborhood. Had she looked around, she would have seen that it was a nice place, with trees scattered around and an overall clean physique. But Hermione's gaze wasn't focused anywhere but on the house before her.
It's paint was beige and newly applied. The house had a copious amount of windows and a large garden out front, giving off an air of friendliness. But an evil stench seemed to radiate from inside the building, and it terrified Hermione.
She approached the cutely furnished front porch, trembling from head to toe. Reaching for the front door, she tried the lock—it turned.
She sucked in a breath. Trepidation filled her, but she pushed it aside and opened the door, silently stepping inside.
The front hall was empty. To the left was the kitchen—also empty. To the right, a study. Before her were the stairs leading up, which she took three at a time. Pausing for a moment in front of the three doors that led off the landing, she opened the first.
Inside was a small bathroom, surfaces thoroughly wiped clean and each personal hygiene product organized. If Hermione hadn't been so terrified, she would have smiled nostalgically, remembering all the days of strict dental work in her childhood.
She stepped out and closed the door.
The next opened into a storage room, meticulously organized like no storage room should be. Again, she closed the door.
There was only one room left. Stepping forward, she turned the knob—and screamed.
It was a bedroom. A bedroom with a large bed, a large window, and a beautiful wallpaper depicting a lovely woodland forest covering the walls. A bedroom meant for a couple.
A bedroom covered in blood.
The bed was stained. The walls were dripping with the stuff. And the curtains were covering the window, blocking the light and making everything seem much more sinister. But the worst part was what lay in the middle of the room, covered in the most blood of all.
Hermione fell to her knees beside the bloody bodies of her parents, so badly mangled that they were almost unrecognizable. Their arms and legs were twisted in unnatural positions. Every inch of skin had been brutally slashed by what seemed to be a wicked blade. And bruises peppered their bodies, colored purple and green.
Hermione screamed. She screamed and screamed until her voice grew hoarse and her lungs craved air. But she didn't care. Her parents were taking their final breaths. She lay a trembling hand on her mother's shoulder.
"H-Hermione?"
Then, with one last shudder, Mr. and Mrs. Granger slumped, their muscles relaxing and their eyes seeing no more.
Hermione jerked her eyes open to see the light of the fire, the scratching of Harry's and Ron's quills a distant noise compared to the sound of her parents' final ragged breaths.
"Harry, Ron," she said, her voice feeble. "It's time I tell you want happened in Australia."