A/N: Hullo, welcome to my second fanfic. If you've ever read my first "Never Is Enough", just let me tell you that I think this is far and away better. I still plan in finishing NIE, but this one has captivated my attention better than the other one. If you wish to review, don't hesitate to give me the bold truth. If you think it's awful, let me know. I have no problems with taking criticism. Also, the next chapter will be shorter seeing as I've already written it. I hope to have it up in a week or two.
A small bit of this was inspired by George Orwell's "1984". The title was inspired by the fantabulous Barenaked Ladies, a Canadian rock band. And no, they're neither naked nor ladies.
Many thanks for Jane, April, and Gwen who beta'd this for me. You guys rock!
Disclaimer: Nothing in this belongs to me. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling, who is neither god nor goddess, but a simple mortal. May we all follow her example.
What A Good Girl - Chapter 1: Memories
"When I was born, they looked at me and said
'What a good boy, what a smart boy, what a strong boy'
And when you were born, they looked at you and said
'What a good girl, what a smart girl, what a pretty girl'
We've got these chains hanging 'round our necks
People want to strangle us with them before we take our first breath
Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same
When temptation calls, we just look away."
- Barenaked Ladies
"Ms. Granger!"
Hermione jerked with a start out of her thoughts. Her head whipped up and she looked at the secretary who was glaring at her with snappish green eyes. The woman raised a thin black eyebrow and pointed to Mr. Bradbury's office. "He is ready for you now, Ms. Granger. I suggest you don't keep him waiting."
Biting back a retort, Hermione took a firmer grip of her resume portfolio and rose. Smoothing her black robes, she walked to the door indicated with confidence and pushed it open.
Behind a desk, looking at papers, sat Mr. Bradbury. He looked up and nodded at her. "Ms Granger? Come, sit down please."
Telling herself to stand tall, Hermione swept into the Mr. Bradbury's office. The walls were covered in bookshelves and books and a handsome mahogany desk sat in the center. There was one leather-covered chair and Hermione sat in it. She folded her hands over her folder, looked at the man behind the desk, and forced herself to smile.
Mr. Bradbury had shortly-cut brown hair, brown eyes, and serious horn-rimmed glasses. He returned Hermione's stiff smile and reshuffled his papers. "So, Ms. Granger, you're interested in the position for research assistant in the Curses Department here with the Ministry?"
"Yes. I believe that my prior experience would make me perfect for the job." She quickly handed him one of her resumes and for the next hour Mr. Bradbury questioned her thoroughly on her class work at Hogwarts and research consulting experience. When the interview wound down to the end, Hermione braced herself for the inevitable.
Mr. Bradbury toyed with the quill he'd used to make notes. "Well, Ms. Granger, you have considerable experience. Of course, we still have candidates to interview but you are more than qualified for the position. You should hear back from me in about a week about the position in Curses."
"Thank you, Mr. Bradbury," Hermione said and waited for the unavoidable question.
He paused and looked at her with a foolish grin on his face. "Ms. Granger, if you don't mind, may I ask you about Harry Potter?"
Even though she knew it was coming, and had heard the question thousands of times before, Hermione still stiffened. "What is it you would like to know?" She couldn't afford to tell him to bugger off.
Mr. Bradbury leaned forward. "Is it true that he went crazy and lives in Antarctica away from all wizarding contact? That he's shaved his head and grown a beard?"
Hermione struggle to keep her face and voice pleasant; half of her wanted to laugh in his face at the ridiculous rumor, the other half wanted to cry. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Bradbury, but I haven't been in touch with Mr. Potter in years. I'm quite unaware of his whereabouts and habits at this time."
The man's face showed the surprise and disappointment that countless others had exhibited. "But…you helped him bring about the downfall of Vol…Volde…Voldemort!" He stumbled over the name that years of habit had suppressed.
"Yes I did, Mr. Bradbury. But those days are long gone. Harry and I became busy and we drifted out of contact." Inside, Hermione prayed that he'd leave things at that. She could barely manage to utter the half-truths that she had told countless other people.
"Oh. Well, then." Mr. Bradbury looked down at his papers and then looked up with an insatiably curious look in his brown eyes. "How was it? You know…the final confrontation? Against Vol…demort."
She wanted to scream. However, she wanted this research position more. "It was quite awful Mr. Bradbury. I'm very glad that its in the past and done with." She said the last firmly, hoping he would take the hint that she didn't want to elaborate.
"Oh." Finally he sighed disappointed and offered his hand across the desk. "We'll be in touch with you Ms. Granger. I hope you have a nice day."
Forcing her hand forward, Hermione shook hands and left without another word. She left the office hurriedly. Out in the waiting room, the secretary ignored her utterly as she sat filing papers. Tucking her head down, Hermione found her way back out into the hallway of the Ministry, down the levivator, and into the front reception area. She went to the desk and got her wand, which had been taken from her upon entering the building. Ignoring speculating looks, Hermione hurried out of the Ministry and past the guards. Finally, when she had left the boundaries of the Ministry steps, Hermione gathered her will and Apparated to her flat.
She appeared in her tiny living room. Sighing, Hermione dropped down onto her couch. Her tired brown eyes took in the dishes scattered across the kitchen table, the newspaper clippings littering the living room floor, the dingy bare beige walls around her. He nose wrinkled at the slightly moldy smell. Putting her wand on the small couch side table, she turned on the small radio.
"...And its been discovered that the victims died from imbibing the Burning Potion." The perky voice chirruped from the speakers. "As you know, it's a rare Dark Arts potion that eventually dissolves a person's insides unless counteracted within the first minute of dosage. This potion is quite illegal and if anyone has any information on this recent death, please owl…"
Hermione promptly switched the radio back off. She was in no mood to hear about a witch or wizard's insides burning up. She gave another cursory glance at the employment newspaper clippings and got up to make some dinner.
Standing by the microwave as she waiting for her beef and potatoes to heat up, Hermione's thought inevitably wandered to the interview earlier that evening. Wrapping her arms around herself, she wondered if it was always going to be like that. Going through life being asked about Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort, having assumptions being made on her. She had thought that after awhile, people would have forgotten about it or at least moved on. But after three years, people were still curious about the whole mess. Even though the Daily Prophet had done a whole issue on the defeat of Lord Voldemort, wizards and witches wanted to hear it firsthand from her.
Hermione had spent the first month after the Downfall in bed and the next eleven months at home. She hadn't wanted to have any contact with the wizarding world for that first year. She hadn't wanted to talk to anyone about the ordeal, not after the first and only briefing with Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge. She had refused to talk to reporters, refused to talk to anyone except her parents. And she had refused to talk to or even see Ron and Harry. Not that it had mattered; they hadn't wanted to see her either.
The microwave beeped and Hermione pulled out her dinner. She made her way over to the tiny kitchen table and pushed some dirty dishes over to make room. Sitting, Hermione mechanically began to eat. It was the typical microwave dinner, tasting like cardboard, but she didn't care. It didn't require thought to make and that was what was important.
After finishing, Hermione threw the plastic tray away and looked out the small window. It was five o'clock and still daylight out. As much as she wanted to crawl in bed and fall into oblivion, she couldn't yet. Sighing, Hermione went back to the living room and knelt next to the current day's paper spread out on the floor. That morning, she'd only gone through half of the employment section in the Daily Prophet. She might as well go through the rest.
Until two months ago, Hermione had been self-employed as a research consultant. Occasionally wizarding companies would hire out for extra research on projects and spells and Hermione would attempt to get those jobs. The economy had been good and she'd been able to find enough short-term assignments to make ends meet. However, when the Wizarding Stock Exchange (WSE) had taken a swan dive, companies had stopped hiring out for extra research. Hermione's work possibilities had dwindled to non-existent. She had quickly realized that she needed to find a regularly paying job in order to keep her tiny apartment and independence. So, Hermione had reluctantly brushed up her resume, pulled on her formal robes, and hit the streets.
However, the WSE remained low and businesses continued to lay wizards and witches off. And even though Hermione had graduated from Hogwarts with top honors and had around two years of experience in research, she couldn't find work. Either employers wanted applicants with less experience or others had more experience then her. And the fact that she was quasi-famous didn't even help. In fact, she wondered if it hurt, especially when the interviewer found out that she wasn't in contact with Harry Potter anymore.
For the next hour, Hermione went through the rest of the employment section looking for prospects. There were depressingly few. She circled the possibilities in red ink and resolved to owl the next day and see if she could wrangle any more interviews.
Finishing with the last page, Hermione looked to the window again. Still daylight. She turned off all the lights in the kitchen and living room and went to her bedroom where all her books lay scattered about. She picked up a huge one, one her parents had bought her, "Most Potente Potions: Dark Arts Edition". It was huge and was taking her awhile to read through and take notes on. Even though she wasn't currently employed, Hermione was determined to keep expanding her knowledge base. The more she knew, the more marketable she was.
After finally getting through the chapter on "Possessions: How To Force Those To Your Will", Hermione decided it was time to go to sleep. She took a quick shower, changed into her blue cotton pajamas, and swept off the books littering her bed.
Turning off the lights, Hermione slipped between the thin sheets. She stared at the ceiling, trying not to think. But her brain inevitably turned to the interview, where Mr. Bradbury had asked about Harry. She shuddered and curled up in the blankets. She hated it when people asked her about Harry and Ron. She never knew what to say, or how to explain the truth to them. After awhile she'd stopped explaining, giving people the short, vague answers that she had given Mr. Bradbury instead of fruitless explanations.
Hermione still remembered clearly the day during her seventh year when Dumbledore had called her, Ron, and Harry into his office and asked them to sit.
Albus Dumbledore looked far older then ever before, deep circles under his eyes. His robes looked like they hadn't been changed in days. Of course, it was understandable; he was trying to find a way to defeat a nearly immortal wizard.
After fifth year had started at Hogwarts, a castle had sprung up five miles from school. The Aurors who went to investigate were later found dead. It was quickly discovered that the castle was Voldemort's. Fudge's attempt at suppressing the panic failed. When the killings began again, many had fled the country. Not too many students had been allowed to go back to Hogwarts. Harry was here because the Dursley's didn't want him. Ron was here because his family was working with Dumbledore to defeat Voldemort and they deemed Hogwarts the safest place for him. She was here because she had convinced her parents to let her stay.
The odd thing, which Hermione found out from the Daily Prophet, was that the outside of the castle was a complete copy of Hogwarts. Nobody knew what the inside looked like, but one could only assume that the inside was the same too. Hermione wondered why Voldemort would copy his old school as his base of operations.
Dumbledore coughed, grabbing Hermione's attention. "Now, you three know that many witches and wizards are trying to work out a way to defeat Voldemort. Ron, your parents are involved, along with many others. Well, our efforts have not been in vain; we've come up with a way and need you three.
"I won't go into a lecture on how it will be dangerous and you will very likely die, you three know that. I will, however, tell you why I'm you instead of professional wizards into Voldemort's castle. The reason resides solely with Harry."
Again, Hermione wasn't surprised. As she shared a glance with Harry and Ron, it was obvious that they weren't either.
"Lord Voldemort has some of Harry's blood in his veins. While Voldemort considers this an advantage, he neglects to realize that it is also a weakness. My spell makes use of that weakness. That is why I need Harry."
Dumbledore had then turned his attention to Ron and her. "I need you two because the spell is…well…too big. I can't place it in one person; Harry couldn't hold that much power. Two people could, but I've decided to place it in three. Let me explain my reasoning."
Then, Dumbledore had told them that he planned to place the spell directly in Harry, Ron, and her. To work the spell, they would have to sneak into Voldemort's castle, touch him, and recite the trigger words. The spell had two effects; it would take away Voldemort's powers irrevocably and then perform a sort of 'Avada Kedavra' that would kill him absolutely. As Dumbledore had said before, two people could perform this spell. However, he was aware that one person could die before getting to Voldemort and couldn't ignore that danger. That's why both Hermione and Ron were both going to be given the second half of the spell. If one of them didn't survive, the other could still perform the spell with Harry. It was essential that Harry survived, since the spell needed Harry's blood in order to be performed correctly.
Furthermore, in order for the Death Spell to work split in half, Dumbledore would place the Iunctura spell upon them. This would literally create a living bond between Harry, Ron and Hermione. The obvious pre-requisite for the Iunctura to work was that the persons involved had to be very close. Ron and Hermione were clearly the closest to Harry out of everyone else in the wizarding world. Not even Sirius Black knew Harry like they did. That is why they had to be the ones to go with Harry and not adults.
Hermione allowed a small smile to drift across her face as she remembered how the Iunctura bond had changed them. She felt, as did the boys, a physical awareness of the other two, when within a close proximity of each other. They could even feel general moods and emotions. The week before they left for Voldemort's castle had been wonderful; Harry, Ron and her had never been closer.
Such a shame that it had ended so soon.
Slowly, Hermione's eyelids began to droop as the stressful day caught up with her. Not wanting to reminisce about the past a moment longer, she surrendered to the dark and her dreams.
For a long time, Hermione had been alone in the small room that the Dementors flung her into. It was devoid of any furniture, the walls and floor made of concrete. While Voldemort's castle held the same room structure as Hogwarts, it was very, very different from her beloved school. She spent her time dozing (propped up against the farthest wall from the metal door) and wondering what was going to happen to her. Nobody came to see her, to make demands, to feed her. As the time lengthened, Hermione began to wish fervently that someone would at least come to threaten her a little.
And then the door opened.
Her head snapped up and she stared from her cross-legged position on the floor. Lord Voldemort stepped easily into the room and smiled at her. She knew it was him, knew it couldn't be anyone else. He was tall and thin, his skin white as paper. His eyes, a brilliant scarlet, were the only spot of color in his face. His nose was flat with slits for nostrils. He looked like an albino snake, ready to strike at any moment. She wondered insensibly if his tongue was forked.
Voldemort's colorless lips stretched into a smile. "Hermione Granger, I believe. Best friend to Harry Potter. Confirmed bookworm. I'm so pleased to have you here at my humble abode." His voice was high, thin, and horrible.
She gaped at him, completely surprised. "You know who I am?"
Voldemort nodded, his smile growing a trifle larger. "I've always known who you are Hermione. Ever since you aligned yourself with Mr. Potter, that is. I try to keep up on his acquaintances."
Hermione's mind whirled and she struggled for something clever to say. "Let me go!" She winced inwardly at how scared the words sounded.
The snake before her sniggered and she couldn't suppress the involuntary shiver at the sound. "Why, Hermione, don't you like it here? I haven't even done anything to you yet."
She stared at him, trying to swallow around the lump in her throat. "Yet?"
"Why, yes Miss Hermione, I'm going to hurt you. In fact, I'm going to destroy you."
Hermione breath caught. "Kill?" She knew that this was a possibility, even since Voldemort had risen her fourth year at Hogwarts. For the past three years, she had prepared herself for the likelihood of dying before she graduated from Hogwarts. Still, she had always believed that she would survive.
"In a sense." Voldemort folded his arms nonchalantly. "Hermione, you're a seventh year at Hogwarts. I imagine that you've had the traditional field trip to St. Mungo's." He didn't wait for her to affirm this. "Do you remember seeing a married couple there? By the name of Longbottom perhaps?"
Hermione managed to nod. She didn't see the point in lying.
"Now Hermione, you surely know that my Death Eaters put them there. Right after my Fall, they were tortured for information of my whereabouts. It seemed to drive them mad, didn't it?"
Her throat closed. "Seemed?" she choked out.
"Ah, you're a quick witch Hermione. You pick up on word choices easily. Yes, Hermione, seemed. But what if they weren't insane? What if they were only acting insane? What if on the inside, they knew perfectly well what was going on?" The crimson eyes seemed to take on an inward maniacal glow.
A sudden image flashed before Hermione's minds eye. She remembered seeing a small face peeking out of the small window of cell that held the Longbottoms. It had been Mrs. Longbottom, a loopy grin on her face. She had been pulling out her hair, her mouth moving in incomprehensible speech. Her eyes had been horrific. Opened to their widest, the pupils had consistently darted around, not staying on one place for more than a second. Hermione had had nightmares that night because of those eyes, because of their wildness.
"Yes, Hermione. They were never tortured, just cursed. The Longbottoms are quite sane, just trapped in their minds, their bodies. Forced to act insane, not able to communicate with anyone, not even their son." Voldemort giggled, the sound chilling Hermione's blood. "Poetic justice against the wizarding world for defying me, I think. And while I was not the one to curse them so, I surely do know the curse performed on them. I'm quite anxious to try it out, to see if it still works Hermione. Do you know who I want to try it out on? Do you, Hermione, the smartest witch at Hogwarts? Do you?"
She didn't want to believe him, not at all. She wanted to tell herself that he was bluffing. But something in his eyes, in his voice, told her that he was telling the horrible truth.
"Yes, Hermione, you'll be the first that I perform the Dementis Curse on. Unless…"
Hermione's heart leaped and she inadvertently leaned forward in a sudden flash of hope.
"...Unless you give me something that I want Hermione. If you do, I'll just kill you then. A quick, clean death. Much preferable to spending the rest of your days trapped in St. Mungo's I'm sure you'd agree."
"Wha...What do you want?" Inside, Hermione's mind was running around in circles. You can't do this, you can't deal with the Dark Lord, this is insane, don't listen to him, don't do it, you can't, you can't, you can't!
Voldemort's crimson eyes gleamed. "Why, Hermione, I want you to tell me where Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter are."
Hermione felt suddenly and strangely relieved. This wasn't something she could even consider giving him. Finding strength in that knowledge, Hermione sat up straight, looked Voldemort straight in the eye, and said "Never."
"Really. Never? Won't you even consider dear Hermione? Think about the Longbottoms, Hermione."
"No, I would never tell you where Ron and Harry are. And stop calling me Hermione! I'm not your friend!" She was surprised at the sudden strength in her voice even though her hands were shaking slightly from fear. Just keep thinking about Ron and Harry.
"My, my, such vehemence!" Voldemort shook his head. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter what your answer is. It's fun for me no matter what. I was just giving you a chance to die peacefully." Without warning, the Voldemort darted swiftly forward and grabbed her arm. "Now, this won't hurt a bit, be a good girl. You've always been a good girl, haven't you Hermione?"
Her first thought was to twist away and make a run for it, but the moment Voldemort's fingers closed on her skin she couldn't move. Her eyes widened as he yanked her to her feet, pulled out his wand, and licked his lips. "Hermione, one last chance. Tell me where Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley are and I'll just perform the Avada Kedavra curse instead."
She couldn't speak through her tightened throat but barely managed to shake her head negative.
"Alright then. Dementis personam gero!"
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. A thick, swirling fog came out of nowhere and clouded her eyes till she could see nothing else. A cold wind sprang up. It whirled around her, numbing her senses. First she couldn't feel her feet, then her legs. As the creeping cold swept slowly up her body, the fog before her eyes began a whirlwind. The most horrid thing was that her hearing was perfectly fine; she could hear the vicious laughter of the Dark Lord.
Inside, Hermione was shattering. She couldn't stand this. She couldn't live like this, completely numb, covered in a whirlwind. It was impossible, unthinkable. And in that moment of complete fear and panic, she forgot about Lord Voldemort. She forgot about Dumbledore's desperate plan. She even forgot about Harry and Ron and their living bond. All she knew was that she was screaming before the numbness could take over her mouth, "No, no, take it off, I'll tell you, I'll tell you where they are, please, take it off!"
The laughter stopped and she heard "Discutio turbo!"
And the cold receded. The fog dissipated. And Hermione, tears rolling uncontrollably down her face spilled it all. She told him where Ron and Harry were supposed to meet her in the castle, that Harry had his invisibility cloak, that Ron had an invisibility charm placed on him. She told him their plans, how the spell was supposed to work, the trigger words they needed to say. And when there was nothing else to tell, she continued to babble the same information over and over until Voldemort stopped her.
"Ah, my dear Hermione, thank you so much for the information. You have been most helpful and have earned your quick death, though it will not take place now. Unfortunately, most unfortunately, your news was not needed."
Through her tears, she looked up at him, horror growing in her chest. He smiled at her. "Why Hermione, I already know where your Ron and Harry are. I've known for several days. In fact, they were both captured shortly after your own capture. You see, they're here in the castle Hermione."
Lord Voldemort pointed his wand at the opposite wall and it suddenly swirled with color. There, on the wall, were Ron and Harry. She heard screaming, their screams, their pain. She heard them both betray the other and her, driven nearly mad by the Dementis curse. Then, the figures disintegrated until it was just a wall again.
Hermione could barely hear through the sudden pounding of her ears. But she heard Lord Voldemort quite clearly as he leaned and whispered in her ear. "Yes, Hermione, you betrayed your deepest friends. You betrayed the living bond that was placed on you. And they betrayed you just as quickly. Betrayer and betrayed. How does it feel Hermione? Please be truthful."
When she didn't answer, couldn't answer, he let go of her arm and left the room. Hermione fell to her knees and didn't bother to get up.