The Seventh Moon
Author: IcyFire
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Sorry I didn't update for so long - I had this killer English paper due and I had to study for my finals (Ugh!). But now that's all over except I have tons of AP work to do over the summer. Anyhow, this chapter doesn't really tell you anything new. I'm still developing the plot. It's all very predictable and rather dull. Next chapter will get more interesting though, at least I think so.
Thanks to my reviewers: Dreaming One, Tainted Black, avri, Jen-Jen, BlueBird, ..., Nefer Tawa, lucy, Kou Shun'u, Katieshaz, nicole, Dragon Bad Faith, HarryPotterWanter, Marigold, cherie, KaimooGoldfish, White Raven, Deese-Rouge-Cheveux, HeatherMalfoy, Dragonfires, Manuela, Aranami, dan_lover, Yousei Kaijou, me, myself, and I, tom4eva, zali, Deimos, DevilPrincess, girl who forgot her Fanfiction.net password, Amy, aku-neko, pink-perk-2007, AlyBaby, Jules, Elfmoon87, FairyFloss, Magical Magic, sum1, Lela, Cutiepie99, lexi, ashlyeanne, and anyone I might have missed.
Disclaimer: As much as I would like to believe that all of this is mine, unfortunately, it's not except the plot.
"Aurora Riviera died sixteen years ago."
Hermione felt her insides freeze as the words slowly sunk in. She was dead? After all of this time, she was dead? She couldn't believe it. If it was true then it meant -
"I thought you would have known," Professor McGonagall said, interrupting Hermione's thoughts and regarding her with concern. "I hope you're not too disappointed."
Dead. Gone. Dead. The words drummed into Hermione's mind and she battled to grasp their meaning. Dead? Gone. Buried. Six feet under. Hermione took a deep breath, although trying to be discreet and fought for self-control. She steadied herself and gulped, hoping that she didn't look too disturbed. After all, she didn't want the professor to suspect anything.
"How - when - ?" It came out as an intent breathless whisper.
"Sixteen years ago, I do believe," came the reply with an added sigh. "So many of my young graduated students died around that time. It was a terrible time for all of us in the wizarding world."
Hermione knew what the professor was referring to - she was talking about the Dark Lord's reign of terror. Did that mean - ? Taking a deep breath, she asked her next question. "Was it - " she paused slightly, "You-Know-who?"
The professor frowned and searched her memory. "I'm not quite sure if he was indeed connected with her death. They found her body in a small cottage in the Enchanted Forest."
"Cottage?" Hermione asked, as she remembered the exact details of the photograph. "Near a waterfall?"
"I'm afraid I don't know," Professor McGonagall answered, wondering, although not questioning, why Hermione had brought up the subject of a waterfall.
Hermione nodded to herself, noticing how rapidly her heart was beating. Inhaling deeply and plastering a very constrained smile, she rose from her seat, her legs feeling numb. "Thank you, Professor."
Without another word, she moved quickly to the door, not in the mood to care whether such a sudden action would be considered rude by the professor. As her hand reached the doorknob, she hesitated. Before turning it she had one more pressing question that she wanted to be answered. Spinning around, she looked directly at the professor.
"Do you remember exactly when she died?"
Professor McGonagall looked startled at her sudden outburst. "I fail to see how I am so forgetful about important events while I remember random details about other things. In fact, I do remember the date. It was in September."
"September?" Hermione asked curiously, as something nagged at a hidden corner in her mind. Somehow, that month seemed so familiar for some reason. September was the month she left for Hogwarts every year. September was -
"Yes, yes. September 19th, if I remember correctly."
And then it hit her why she knew that month - that date - so well. It was her birth date.
"September 19th..." those two words slipped softly from her mouth as she gripped the doorknob so tightly that her knuckles turned a deathly white color, and turned it. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even tell the professor good-bye, but merely stepped out of the classroom without another care.
As she closed the door gently behind her, she saw a tall figure approach her from the side in her peripheral vision. She didn't need to look up to know who it was. Suddenly, the sorrow she felt was replaced by rage, by anger, as she tried to piece everything together.
"Don't talk to me," she said coldly, before he could get any words out. "I don't want to talk to you."
And then, as an afterthought, and quite a bit warmer: "I need some time to think things over."
Hermione hurried down the corridor and out of sight before he could come to his senses. He didn't blame her for being like this. If it was the other way around, and he had found out after all these years that he was a mudblood - he'd probably feel the same way. In fact, he'd probably feel worse. He didn't understand why she'd feel so terrible about finding out that she was - okay, well, he'd admit it - a pureblood. So maybe she wasn't a pureblood. Maybe she was only a half-blood - it was still better than being a filthy, no good mudblood.
In his opinion, she should have been proud of finding out that she wasn't a mudblood. He didn't understand why exactly she seemed so peeved about it. Everybody who wasn't a pureblood wanted to be a pureblood like him - Draco Malfoy. In fact, every wizard in the whole damn school probably wanted to be him. But Hermione had acted as if that was the last thing she'd ever wanted - like she actually enjoyed being a mudblood and would rather die than find out she had wizarding blood in her.
Of course he'd heard everything they said in the Transfiguration classroom. The Riviera girl was dead and apparently Hermione wasn't too happy about it. From what Hermione had said, it seemed like she didn't even want to know the woman - whom she regarded with much disrespect. Why the news of her death affected her so much was beyond him. Perhaps she had been looking forward to finding more about her parentage and now her chance was gone. That was about all he could interpret.
He craved for more information - he wanted to find out exactly what was going on - the history of Aurora Riviera and anything else he could find on the way. He wanted the knowledge, wanted to be one step ahead of Granger, and there was only one way he'd be able to do it.
He'd write a letter - yes, that was the perfect idea. He'd write a letter to that dolt that owned the Dark Arts shop in Knockturn Alley. What was the place called again? Oh yes, Borgin and Burkes. And considering they had every little piece of information about the Dark Arts, Dark Magic, and Slytherins, Draco was sure he'd be able to dig something out of the owner. What was his name again? Oh right, Borgin. That thick-headed bloke who worshipped his father. He'd do anything to get on the good side of the Malfoy family - and Draco Malfoy was just about to give him that chance.
Hermione slammed the portrait shut with such force that she was sure that it had caused a big enough racket that students were probably gathering in front of it, being as nosy as they were, to see what was going on. It would be an understatement to say that she didn't care. She didn't care what they thought of her anymore. The years of stressing over essays and potions had all magically evaporated. Her marks didn't matter any more - nothing mattered, in fact.
She wandered into her room in a daze and plopped down on the soft bed, the mattress conforming to her as she fell upon it. Lying spread-eagled on her fluffy gold sheets and watching the silky drapes of the canopy flutter restlessly in the breeze from the open window, she let her mind wander.
Dead. Dead. Dead. Those words hit her with full force now. They taunted her - crept into the deepest chambers of her heart and filled her with a sorrow that she hadn't expected to have. She had wronged her own mother, and the realization caused a fresh pang of grief within her.
She remembered what she had said - that she couldn't ever care for this woman, that she couldn't ever feel anything for this woman - the woman who sources claimed to be her mother. To Hermione, she had been an object, an animal, just a name - someone, something that she wouldn't ever care about. She didn't know how wrong she could be.
Perhaps that was the reason why she had told Draco off coldly. She didn't want him to see how wrong she could be. She'd always been right, always. Hermione had told Draco she hated that woman who gave birth to her and could never feel anything but loathing towards her. But now, she knew she was wrong, taking a sufficient blow to her pride. She was wrong about Aurora. Aurora hadn't given her up - she had died. Nobody could help dying, could they? It definitely wasn't her fault. Guilt crept into Hermione as she thought of this.
Maybe Aurora did love her once. Yes, she had to have. Hermione's hand snaked down the side of the bed, reaching into her book bag to fish out the picture she was looking for. She shaky hands, she held it up above her and gazed at it.
She gently ran her finger down the photograph and traced the face that she now knew as her mother's. In the picture, she looked so real, so full of life. She ran her finger along Aurora's face almost as if she was trying to reach out for her.
Hermione was sorry that she had never gotten to know this woman. If she died sixteen years ago, did that mean that she had been able to be with her child for a year? Hermione closed her eyes and searched her memory, hoping to find any clue - anything about Aurora. Anything about a woman with beautiful raven hair and deep blue eyes. There was nothing.
All she could remember was a woman with the silky blonde hair that she loved to run her fingers through when she was young. It was the same woman who read to her before bedtime at night, spawning her interests in books. It was the woman who had been there always to comfort her, love her, guide her, encourage her. That was the only woman she could remember.
Yet Hermione couldn't forget the intense blue eyes of the dark haired beauty she had so recently grown to know. She wondered if Aurora was somewhere up there, watching over her. Would she be able to recognize her own daughter? Did she know that Hermione was somewhere in the world, thinking of her?
If Aurora was still alive, who would Hermione have chosen? The mother who had given birth to her or the mother who had brought her up? The answer came fast - of course she'd stay with her mother - Elizabeth Granger. There wasn't anyone in the world she loved more. She felt terrible for her decision though, terrible for even thinking about it. It was unfair, she knew, to the deceased woman who had once loved her.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her pillow, staining it with tears.
Oh mother, she thought through the quiet sobs, I wish I could have had the chance to love you.
"Longbottom," came the nasal voice of the Gryffindors' least favourite teacher as he circulated around the dungeons, glancing over students' shoulders to see the consistency of their potions.
Neville, who went completely rigid with fear, looked over at his fellow Gryffindors for support. As usual, most sympathized with him while giving Snape a venomous glare behind his back.
"Your draught is far too glutinous," he said with a sneer glaring down at the shaking boy. "I specifically instructed you to add powdered the Hethia herb, not, what I suspect you've added, the Gerber weed. Seven years at the finest wizarding institute in the world and you still can't tell the difference between the two. You can be sure that I will inform the Headmaster of this and perhaps begin the process of your disenrollment."
Snape took one last look at Neville and then swept out of the room, his billowing cloak stirring up the dust in the dungeons, causing many students to cough. Several Gryffindors approached Neville intermittently and tried to console the frightened boy. After seven years under Professor Snape's instruction, Neville was still as vulnerable as ever. Apparently, he had yet to learn to ignore the professor's snide remarks.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said, approaching the short, plump boy. "I should have been watching what you were putting in the cauldron and brought it to your attention if you accidentally did something wrong, but I've been sort of - "
"It's okay, Hermione," Neville replied, looking down at his shoes. "By now, I should know more than to get ingredients mixed up. Snape's right - I'm just failure."
"Neville," she said, shaking her head slowly. "You're not a failure. You're brave - after all, the Sorting Hat did put you in Gryffindor, didn't it? And you know so much about Herbology - Professor Sprout absolutely adores you!"
"Do you really think so?" Neville said, lifting up his face and looking her directly in her eyes.
"Of course, Neville. I think you're brilliant."
Neville took a long, deep breath. "I feel like I'm letting my whole family down. I'm an insult to the family name. Gran was the only one who thought I'd ever become anything, and even now she's having doubts."
"I'm sorry, Neville, but you shouldn't think that way. I know that you're important and that you'll become someone important and influential someday, despite what you think," Hermione said, trying to comfort him. "Look, you can do anything you want to do, and don't let anyone convince you otherwise. You did so well on the O.W.L.s for Potions that Snape had to let you into this N.E.W.T.s class, remember?"
Neville turned away. "That's because I was set on becoming an Auror - to be like my parents. I just want to live up to them, that's all."
"And you're so good at Defense Against the Dark Arts. You've improved tremendously over the years. You're better than almost all of our year at many subjects. Don't listen to Snape - he just wants to get to you. You'll become a great Auror and you'll make your family proud," Hermione said, believing every word that she was telling Neville.
"My mum and dad - they were both prefects you know. Pity that they had someone like me. Anyhow, they're both dead now," he shrugged and pretended that it was no big deal. "Well, as good as dead, anyhow."
"I know how you feel," Hermione said absentmindedly.
"You still have both your mum and your dad, don't you, Hermione? How can you know how it feels?" He said, pulling away from her.
Hermione turned away and stared at the stone floor of the dungeon. "Neville, there are some things that you will never understand."
Professor Snape chose that exact moment to re-enter the dungeons. In Hermione's opinion, he didn't look quite too happy. In fact, he was probably in one of his more foul moods. Without a word to anyone, he walked briskly over to his desk at the front of the dungeons and seated himself. He grabbed a quill and dipped it into a jar of black ink, hesitating before letting it flow on the yellow parchment in front of him. He looked up from it and scanned the class.
"Take one of the vials in the cupboards in the back and fill it with the Utopian Draught you have created. I will be checking the potency of these to evaluate your potion skills," he snarled, "or lack thereof." He enunciated his last words carefully, his gaze landing upon none other than Neville Longbottom.
Hermione was one of the last to arrive at the cupboard and the selection of vials was greatly reduced. However, she was able to pick out a pretty, transparent pastel blue colored one and returned to her cauldron. She dipped the ladle into the cauldron and lifted it up a moment later, wrinkling her nose at the strong, unpleasant odor of the green liquid. Being careful because the vial was made of glass, she tipped the ladle and began slowly pouring the liquid into the vial. After her mission was completed, she set the vial upon her desk and turned to put the half-full ladle back into the cauldron.
A piercing scream rose in the dungeon and she felt herself being pushed forward onto the ground. In an effort to catch herself, she let go of the ladle that was still in her hand, and immediately regretted it when it fell to the ground and the green liquid formed into a puddle at the base of her cauldron.
Turning around to see what had caused the commotion, she saw that a large black spider was crawling around in Pansy's blonde hair. Piecing the puzzle together, she figured that Pansy probably was the one who screamed and in panic, had accidentally knocked her over, spilling the Utopian Draught.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ron, who was in the other side of the dungeon, shudder with disgust. She knew that out all of the creatures in the world, Ron hated spiders the most. Her gaze turned back to Pansy as the helpless girl screamed and screamed, trying to fling the spider from her lacy robes. Her attempts were futile - it was obvious that the spider was caught between the frilly laces and netting of her robe and couldn't leave even if it wanted to.
Served her right, Hermione thought, for breaking the Hogwarts dress code. Students were required to wear only black robes, but apparently Pansy thought she qualified as an exception.
Finally, Draco Malfoy stepped up from the back of the dungeon, drew a wand from his robes and whispered, "Removiado!"
With a small pop, the spider disappeared and Pansy looked as though she was about to burst into tears. Sniffling loudly, she grabbed onto Draco's arm, much to Hermione's disgust, and leaned her head against his shoulder.
The bell startled the class, although not unpleasantly, as it gave them a reason to leave the dungeons. Sighing, Hermione turned back to the mess on the floor. She saw Harry and Ron make their way over to her from a distant corner in the dungeon.
"Do you want us to wait for you?" Ron asked, holding his nose from the odor of the potion.
"No, it's okay. I'll catch up with the two of you later after I clean this up," she said, wiping up the draught with a worn rag.
The two boys shrugged and then left the dungeon, leaving only Hermione and Professor Snape. As she wiped the floor, Hermione realized exactly how quiet the room had become and the silence was eerie. She worked quicker, hoping to get out of there as fast as she could.
"Miss Granger, trying to sneak into my cupboards again?" came Professor Snape's voice from behind her, catching her off guard.
Hermione jumped at the sound, but quickly recovered. "No, Professor, I was just cleaning up a spill."
The professor sneered at Hermione and reached out toward her book bag. "Then I'm sure I wouldn't find anything...incriminating...if I looked inside your book bag, now, would I?"
As an instinct, Hermione reached out to grab for her book bag just as Professor Snape did the same and the bag ripped open down the middle, spilling the contents. Hermionie wasn't worried, of course, since she hadn't stolen anything from his private cupboards. She was peeved, however, since this meant that she had to pick up the books and scraps of paper off the ground and would delay her exit from the dungeons.
Scanning and finding no illegal ingredients in her bag, Snape threw her a menacing look as a cover for his apparent disappointment and stepped past her to return to his desk. However, something caught his eye as he did so. Turning back, he leaned down and picked up a photograph that had slipped from Hermione's book bag. When Hermione realized what it was, she had half a notion to rip it from his hand and take off from the dungeons. That would cost the Gryffindor House about two hundred points, so she didn't want to risk it.
Hermione thought that he would probably throw some insults or lame remarks at her, and was surprised to see that he froze when he saw the photograph and some sort of realization dawned on him. However, his reaction didn't last long.
"Aurora Riviera," he said, with the same nasty tone of voice he always possessed. "How interesting."
How did he know her? Hermione figured that she might as well try to dig some information from him. "Did you know her?"
"Hmm," he replied, wearing a very ugly half-grin on his face. "In fact I knew her very well. She was in my year at Hogwarts."
Hermione stared at him, hoping he would continue and reveal something new about this woman that she was dying to know more about.
"Every boy wanted her, every girl wanted to be her. Need I say anything else?" he said, throwing the picture back into her book bag. "Your new idol now? Miss Granger, perhaps you should know that no amount of looking at her picture will do you any good," he said, looking at her from head to toe with disgust.
Professor Snape returned to his desk, leaving Hermione staring after him. Her mind ignored his last insult. There were a billion questions she wanted to ask him, but her desire of leaving the dungeons overpowered the want of answered questions. She grabbed her book bag and walked briskly towards the entrance to the dungeons. However, she hesitated at the door, almost as if she knew the professor was going to say something. And she was right.
"She was great person," the professor said, and Hermione was surprised to find no hint of sarcasm in his voice at all. He sounded almost...friendly.
She nodded and turned to step out the door when his next words struck her.
"Too bad she had to turn to the Dark Side."
~*~
No, Hermione thought as she hurried through the corridor, it couldn't be.
Dark Side? Aurora Riviera on the Dark Side? Was she - no she couldn't be, she just couldn't be.
There was only one place Hermione could go for answers and that was the library. Forgetting completely about her promise to meet up with Harry and Ron, she made her way to the fifth floor where the Hogwarts library was.
Upon entering, she threw her books onto the nearest table she could find and combed the shelves of any books that could show her the truth. Scanning the shelves, she pulled out a few books she thought that might be helpful: Death Eaters - The Reign Of Terror, The Dark Lord And The Death Eaters, Death Eaters And Their Influence On Society, The Rise Of The Dark Arts.
She brought the thick, dusty books to her table and stacked them on top of each other. Picking a random book, she opened it and searched for anything that might clue her in on some information about Aurora. At last, she found a list of names of all the Death Eaters on file, although most of them had already "repented" of their evil doings and claimed loyalty to the ministry.
It was arranged in alphabetical order according to last names, and Hermione scanned the page for any mentionings of "Riviera." Much to her relief, she found nothing. Perhaps Snape had been wrong about her. Perhaps he was thinking of someone else.
Hermione decided to double check so she flipped to the back of the book and looked for "Aurora" and "Riviera" in the index. There was still nothing, and she hoped that would hold true for the other books too. She put the first book aside and flipped open another, and another, and then the last one. Still nothing.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, and realized how fast her heart was beating. As her heart rate slowed and Hermione calmed down a bit, she figured that Snape, being the evil twit he was, must have tricked her. Feeling embarrassed that she had actually believed the man, a pink tinge appeared on her cheeks. However, that soon vanished when she remembered something that someone else had said when she first entered Hogwarts. What was it again? Something about how there weren't any Slytherins who didn't go bad.
She dismissed the thought. After all, Professor Snape was a Slytherin, wasn't he? And he didn't go bad. Well, although he was a Death Eater at one point in his life, and most students hated him, he was on the Light Side. Perhaps there were other Slytherins who didn't follow the Dark Lord either. Hermione was sure Aurora was one of those.
She let herself relax again before another thought winded its way through her mind. Gasping at the thought of it, she jumped up from her seat and left to search for Harry. She had questions to ask him.
"Harry!" Hermione practically shouted as she entered the Gryffindor common room. Her eyes searched around the warm, cozy place for a sign of her friend.
"Hermione!" Harry said, waving at her and smiling delightfully.
Hermione swallowed and hurried over to the armchair where he was seated, a big Transfiguration textbook open in his lap. She plopped down on a large, cushiony couch near his armchair and tried to regain her breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
"Harry, I really need your help," she said, her eyes sincere.
When Harry saw her serious expression, he sat up, leaned towards her, and prepared to listen like a good friend.
"In fourth year, during the last task of the Triwizard Tournament," she said, and immediately felt bad as she saw him cringe. She knew it was it least favourite subject and mentioning it always opened old wounds. "You said you saw You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters, right?"
Harry nodded and looked away. "Hermione, you know I don't like to talk about this."
"I know, I know," she said, placing her hand over his. "But I really need this. I really do."
When he didn't answer, she continued.
"You told Ron and me about it and I remember you said that the Dark Lord said that three of the Death Eaters died in his service, right?"
"Yes, why?"
Hermione gulped. "Harry, he said three died. And from what Sirius told us in fourth year, we know that one of them was Rosier, and another was Wilkes."
"And that has to do with everything because - ?" Harry raised his eyebrows.
"That's only two Death Eaters," Hermione said, drawing up her own conclusion, and feeling a lump in her throat.
"Yes, so?"
Hermione swallowed hard and hesitated before asking her next question.
"Who was the last one?"
Harry shrugged and sunk back into the armchair. "Does it really matter?"
"Yes, it does, Harry. More than you can imagine."
"Look, Hermione, I really don't know. Have you tried looking in the library?"
"I was just there. The only other Death Eater confirmed dead is Barty Crouch Jr., you know, the fake Moody from fourth year."
Harry was beginning to catch on now, although he still didn't know Hermione's purpose. "But Voldemort said that three of his Death Eaters were dead before Barty Crouch died from the kiss or was even found out yet."
"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed. "I checked the Death Eater records, and the only three dead are Rosier, Wilkes, and Crouch, but Crouch doesn't count because he was still alive when You-Know-Who said that three of his Death Eaters were dead."
"Are you sure there were any other dead Death Eaters on the list."
"I'm positive. You should have learned to trust me by now, Harry. You know I never do things half-ways."
"So this means..."
Hermione looked down and took a deep breath. "I suppose it means that there was another Death Eater out there somewhere that the Ministry never knew of. I wonder who it could have been."
"You really are curious aren't you? I suppose you want to find out who that Death Eater was, report it to the Ministry, and receive an Order of Merlin?" Harry joked, raising his eyebrows at her.
"Of course," Hermione replied saracastically. No, that wasn't it. She wanted to find out who it was because that was the only way she could prove to herself that her mother wasn't involved in the Dark Arts. It was the only way she could bring her mind to peace.
Draco Malfoy sauntered through the halls of Hogwarts with his left arm wrapped around Pansy Parkinson as they made their way back to the Slytherin common room. The students who were gathered in the halls, some from Slytherin and some from other houses, would wave at them or mutter a greeting of some sort.
And as usual, Draco and Pansy, or whomever he was with at the time, would look down upon them and greet them back or wave at them as they passed. In fact, they looked like a king and a queen on some festive holiday, coming into a town full of commoners and waving at them from their carriage.
Draco knew the power and influence he held in the school. Practically the whole student body bowed down to him, with the exception of a few here and there. Harry Potter and his gang were the perfect example of one of these groups of, well, rebellious people. Draco didn't like Potter at all. In fact, he hated him. Although he would never admit it, most of his hate was spawned from jealousy. Potter was always the better seeker, the better captain.
Since first year when the two had began their rivalry in quidditch from Neville Longbottom's Remembrall, Draco had felt like Potter was always a step ahead of him. Not to mention how Madam Hooch told the whole class that his riding position on the broom was wrong. He'd been terribly insulted then, and had even considered asking his father to fire the old woman. However, he opted instead to have his father pay for a private quidditch trainer who would help him rise to success. He hated how Potter was still better than him, no matter how much training he received. Potter always was the faster flyer. Potter always caught the snitch. Potter was always the most loved, showing off that ugly white scar on his forehead. Potter was always -
Pansy made a whining noise and frowned at him. It wasn't until then that he realized how tightly he was holding on to her. He loosened he arm he had around her and continued his train of thought. And then there was that Weasel. The freckled redhead who practically lived in a thrift shop. They probably didn't even have a vault in Gringotts. After all, what's the point of a vault if you don't have any money to put in it?
They were two floors away from the common room and Draco could feel Pansy's long, manicured nails digging sensuously into the flesh on his back even through the robes he was wearing. As he began to ponder the feeling, he decided that he liked the feeling of nails on flesh much better than having clothing in between.
His mind however, decided to attack its next victim. Potter. Weasley. He counted them off mentally. Who was next in line? Ah, Granger. He flinched a bit at the thought of the name, however Pansy didn't seem to notice. He hadn't talked to that Gryffindor for more than a week since her meeting with Professor McGonagall.
They had almost talked and chatted as if they were good friends and now there was some distance between them. Whenever he passed her in the halls, he would look at her, expecting her to smile at him or make any friendly gesture. However, she never did. The only thing she did do was do duck her head down a little farther, pretending she hadn't seen him and walk past him silently.
Of course he knew why she did this. She was scared of him - scared of what he knew and how much he knew.
And soon, I will know everything, he mused.
As soon as the reply to his owl would come back, which he sure hoped was in the very near future, he would know everything. And then Granger would have to beg him for answers to very one of her pressing questions. He felt an overwhelming surge of power as he thought about this. Oh, what he could do with that power.
Perhaps exchange information for a few small...favors? He immediately recoiled at that thought. They could never have any sort of relationship. Here he was, the son of the wealthiest wizard in Europe, born into one of the most prominent and influential families in the world. She...well, she definitely lacked the proper upbringing that characterized every girl in the Slytherin, or rather, Draco's, world.
They could never become anything, ever. He wondered curiously why he was even thinking about such a thing. It was disgraceful, insulting to his family name. Imagine what his parents would say if he brought a mudblood home. Alright, so what he had already done that. But as far as his mother knew, Hermione Granger was Lavender Brown.
And well, she wasn't exactly a mudblood anymore. He had to give her credit for that. What she was he didn't know. All he knew was that for seven years of his life, the mere thought of her was repulsive. And yet, not more than a week ago, they had been talking and walking together as if they'd been best friends for years. So maybe circumstance did change.
Draco made up his mind that there was no way he would ever pursue anything with her. He chuckled quietly to himself of the lunacy of that idea.
Yet he couldn't help wondering how her nails would feel running across his back, or of her delicious lips pressing into his, or of how soft her skin would feel against his, or of her -
Draco mentally slapped himself. He couldn't believe he was thinking about her that way. That was...disgusting.
As Draco and Pansy entered into the Slytherin common room, his best friend Gregory Goyle ran up to his side like a rhino through the safari, bulldozing anyone who was in his way.
"Draco," he said, panting, obvious not quite athletic, "Cocoa arrived just a few minutes ago with a whole flock of owls and they left a whole pile of packages for you."
"Where are they now?" Draco asked urgently, leaving Pansy's side, much to her displeasure.
"Snape had us carry it all to your room. He said that the owls probably couldn't get through the locked balcony in your dormitory so they came and dropped everything in the common room," Gregory said slowly, forgetting a few words here and here and always correcting himself.
Satisfying Pansy with a quick but deep kiss, he hastily hurried through a special portrait in the Slytherin common room that magically connected to his private Head Boy quarters.
As he entered his room, he realized why Snape had been so eager for Gregory to remove the whole delivery from the common room and deliver it to his. A quick estimation told Draco that there were probably around twenty large packages centered in a pile in the middle of the lavish green carpet. On the top of the parcels, there was a yellow envelope addressed to him. Without hesitation, Draco grabbed the letter and tore open the envelope, revealing a folded parchment with a matching color.
The torn envelope fluttered to the floor as Draco unfolded the parchment and scanned the letter quickly.
Dear Young Master Malfoy,
I have sent with my owls every book, every artifact I could find that even remotely mentioned the subject you sent in your letter. I am glad I could have been in your service. Please feel free to owl me if you need anything else.
In your service,
Borgins
Casting the letter aside, he reached for the package at the very top. After ripping off the brown wrapping paper, he saw that there were five heavy books. Taking the first one and sitting down at his desk, Draco flipped through it slowly, looking for any mention of something he was looking for.
And he found it.
His silver eyes darted hungrily across the frayed sheets of the old moldy book. As he read, his expression grew from confused to serious and urgent. He'd read enough.
Slamming the book shut and jumping from his seat, he told himself he would read the other materials later, but right now he needed to see Granger. There were some things that she deserved to know.
"Granger!"
The name rang out through the long, echoing hall.
Hermione whipped around to look behind her and saw to her displeasure Draco Malfoy sprinting hurriedly up to her. She didn't want to talk to him. He knew her deepest, most feared secret. What did he want now with that knowledge? Blackmail her?
But that wasn't all she was worried about. She knew that he thought she was a fool. In fact, she knew she was a fool. She had told him countless time how she felt about Aurora - that the woman didn't deserve respect or much of anything. And now that she knew the truth, she felt so...stupid. She had been falsely accusing a woman who had loved her of doing something terrible. The mere thought of it brought a pink tinge to her cheeks. She was horridly embarrassed about the false conclusion she had jumped to.
That's why she hadn't wanted to talk to him - he was bound only to make her feel worse. She already felt bad enough, like a criminal of some kind.
Hermione sighed and quickly turned back around again, beginning to walk quickly. Maybe Draco would get the clue and just leave her alone for the time being. However, the heavy footsteps behind her continued and they only got increasingly louder and louder.
Hermione decided to turn around again, to face Draco and tell him to leave her alone and perhaps run off before he could say anything else. But as she turned and saw him closing in on her from about thirty feet away, she knew something was amiss.
Her heart stopped when she saw his face. It told her everything she needed to know. A sudden coldness swept over her as she realized that Draco had found out something, and from the looks of it, it was probably something that she didn't want to hear.
No, she didn't want to hear it. No, no, no!
Her mouth open in an "o," she whipped back around again and prepared to take off as fast as she could. She didn't want him to tell her what he knew.
"Granger!"
She stopped in her step, feeling as if her legs were iron weights. She didn't want to be there but she couldn't move a step. What if...what if...She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to hear anything.
Oh, God, please don't let him say it...
Closing her eyes softly, she heard his breathless words behind her.
"Aurora - she was a Death Eater."
TBC
A/N: As I said, this chap really didn't tell you much, just like the last chapter. The next chapter should bring some interesting revelations, though. Please bear with me! Guess what? I'm getting eight adult teeth pulled on June 3, so wish me luck. I think I'll seriously burst out crying during the procedure or something, considering it's me and all. I'm totally non-pain-tolerant. And then I heard from this one lady that she knew someone who got 8 teeth pulled and then DIED. So...if the next chapter doesn't come out in like a month or two then I'm probably dead. All in all, I'm completely TERRIFIED. *bursts into tears*
