Personal Reasons Chapter 1: Default Chapter, a harry potter fanfic

A/N: I know one shouldn't start another story while writing one, but the bunny was so cute I just couldn't kill it. It is going to be two chapters long (perhaps plus a very short epilogue), unless something really strange happens. Grateful thank to all my reviewers. The story is dedicated to Naya Snake, because it is her fault. The bunny was (very pleasantly) conceived during reading her wonderful story. Check her in my favourites :)

Summary: Hermione Granger isn't infallible, nor is she always the wise one. Sometimes a know-it-all can be fed up with being everybody's perfect girl and try to prove to everyone she was chosen to be Gryffindor for a reason. Results are, of course, pretty disastrous… Hermione's POV.

Disclaimer: Of course - it couldn't be mine. Life isn't that pleasant.

Genre: Angst, Drama, Action, Pre-Romance.

Rating: Strong PG-13, for violence, some mention of sex and language.

Personal Reasons

Dumbledore looks at me in that grandfatherly way of his. But this time there is no twinkling, no humour in his eyes. Just sadness. But that is understandable. I have disappointed him; I have nearly killed myself; I have put his plans in jeopardy. All because of my stupid foolhardiness.

He staples his palms and asks me a question. I ask him to repeat it, and repeat it he does.

"Miss Granger, why were you out on the school grounds—alone—at night?" I wish he would swear. Some "bloodies" and "damns" wouldn't go amiss. I wish he would shout at me, punish me, do anything. Just not be so sad. It makes me feel so guilty that I feel like opening my veins in front of him, just to show him I am sorry. Sorry I did what I did, and even more sorry that it resulted in what it did. But I don't know how to answer his question. That is, the answer is simple. I could just tell him, "I wanted to prove to my friends I am no coward, sir." Or, even more incriminatingly, "I had a bet with Neville and Parvati that I would prove to them I wasn't all books and rules, sir. That I was in Gryffindor for a reason."

But I just say, "There was no real reason, sir. I was just being foolish."

I remember that scene in "Lion King" in which the father lion – what was his name, anyway? – tells his son, Simba, that real courage isn't about seeking danger, but about facing it, when necessary. Or something like that. I wish I had remembered it… My, what time can it be? It isn't completely dark, so that would be about… Five? Six AM? So, it was just ten hours ago?

Dumbledore sighs sadly, and I hide my face behind a cup of still-hot chocolate the house elves made for me. I am deadly tired, and I just wish I could go to bed. Sleep for the next three years or so. Until everybody forgets about my mistake.

But, even if everybody forgot, I would still remember. I don't think I can ever forget.

Short of Obliviate, at least. But I deserve to remember.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"What're you doing, 'Mione?" I hear Neville ask, and I feel my blood turn to ice. And then it is boiling, and I am certain my face must be disgustingly red. "I hate it, when you call me 'Mione," I spat. "I am HERmione, understood?"

But he just smiles this perfectly innocent smile of his, the smile that makes me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him heavily – pretty futile wish, as he is at least a foot taller.

"And if you bothered to look at the book I have in my lap, you'd see I am studying Transfiguration. Which is just what you should be doing, considering the fact that we have a test tomorrow, and last time you tried, you couldn't change water into glass if Trevor's life depended on it."

Now it is his turn to blush. But he is no longer that sweet, shy boy we all knew and liked. Now he gives as good as he gets. So I shouldn't be surprised, but still I am, when I hear him shot back, "At least I am a Gryffindor, and not a Ravenclaw in disguise!"

I feel that there will be a moment when I will regret it, but still I answer, "I am as Gryffindor as any one of you. I like books, but I know there is more to life than that, and I can prove it."

The inter-house rivalry has increased quite a lot lately. The attacks of Voldemort's supporters are getting more and more frequent. There are victims. Dead man, raped women, tortured children. I should tell them that we should get prepared for what awaits us in the future and stop behaving like some silly first-years. But I am too proud to admit that I sometimes also suspect that I landed in the wrong house. That I would just mix better with the silent, bookish Ravenclaws who solve problems rationally rather than emotionally.

"Really?" Neville attempts a sneer and fails miserably. So miserably that I am on a verge of bursting into laughter. But I do not.

"What are you talking about, Nev, 'Mione?" It is Parvati. Just what I need at the moment. I grit my teeth at the "'Mione" and wish glares could kill.

"Oh, Her-mione just told me that she was a Gryffindor to the core and could prove it," Neville answers idly, mockingly stressing the first part of my name. I am getting really angry. What happened to the boy who trembled when someone as much as called his name loudly?

"Really?" Parvati seems most interested. "So we can dare her?"

"Yep," Neville nods happily.

"You know guys, you are really original when it comes to avoiding learning," I answer, saccharine sweet.

"So, let's put it like this. If you are a real Gryffindor, Her-mione, you will leave the dormitory at ten PM – just when curfew starts – go to the greenhouses, stand in front of them and shout "Voldemort" at the top of your lungs."

"And how will you know that I do so?"

"We will borrow Harry's Map, so we will know you are there. As to the shouting, we will trust you to do it."

I knew it was a bad idea to let the other Gryffindors know about the map. But then, we didn't really have another option, back in September, when we had to take turns watching the map for any signs of Death Eater activity on school grounds. Unless Harry would, for once, listen to me and tell the teachers, of course.

"Right. I will do it. Damn you two."

"So, Miss Granger, you didn't have any reasons to go to the greenhouses?" Dumbledore looks tired, I note. Tired and old. I feel an overwhelming desire to cry.

"No, sir," I mumble. And then, finally, I confess. "I wanted to show others that I am courageous."

Now he seems pretty taken aback. "I assume you realise now that what you did wasn't courageous."

"Yes, sir. It was stupid, foolish and disgustingly childish of me."

I don't want to tell Harry about the bet, so I don't ask him for the Cloak. I just take off, hoping that no one will notice me on my way. Or, perhaps, that someone will notice, and send me back to the dormitory. I wish I hadn't agreed, but it's too late to withdraw now. They'd all think me a coward.

It is completely dark outside the castle but, even inside, the light is, at best, dim. It is a safety measure taken against rule-breakers lately. The penalty for sneaking outside the Tower, Dungeon or whatever area belongs to one's respective House is severe. The rule-breaker can, at best, expect the loss of about a hundred house points and a detention. At worst, they get about a dozen detentions with Filch and total loss of house points. But to be caught outside the castle can very well mean an expulsion. The teachers claim that they aren't going to be held responsible for those who do not value their own lives. I think about it – the word "expulsion" rings in my ears like a chant – as I reach the front doors.

I wonder whether the evil Neville had this all planned. If not, how could he possibly know about the exact hours when Filch opens the doors? Neville said that Filch would open them at fifteen past ten and keep them open for about an hour. All I have to do is hurry, and I will manage to be there and back in less than half the time.

It is dark. The light of the stars and moon isn't enough to give me a clear way towards the greenhouses, so I stumble more than once on my way. I do not run – not only is it too dark to attempt it, I am also aware of my poor physical condition. Reading and keeping fit do not go well together.

It takes me about twenty minutes to really reach the greenhouses. I am panting and cursing Neville's – and my own – inconsideration. We didn't think about the impact the darkness would have on my speed. Perhaps if the moon was full – no. That would mean only more dangers, what with the werewolves that are rumoured to live in the Forbidden Forest.

I take my breath. The darkness seems to be getting even darker, as if the stars were going dim. I think about Harry before I shout,

"VOLDEMORT!"

There. I did it. Nothing happened, and now I can go home-

Is there a shadow moving behind that tree?

I look Dumbledore in the eye and take my breath.

"And then I shouted "Voldemort,"" I murmur, quietly.

"That was what alarmed Mr Filch, yes. But when he reached the greenhouses-"

"I was already gone," I finish.

I look around, suddenly feeling more frightened than I have ever felt before. Even more frightened than in the Department of Mysteries. Because that time, I had my friends with me. Now I am completely alone. I have my wand at the ready, and I approach a rock to cover my back. I remember each and every lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts Tonks ever gave us. I don't make any sounds, and prepare for the worst.

And then I hear something move to my right, I turn my head to look at it, whatever it is, and notice another shadow. Now I am sure that I must be outnumbered, and I decide to try whether it is true that attack is the best defence.

"Stupefy!" I shout in the direction of the person – if it is a person – to my right, then I cast a glamour and break into a run.

I hear someone shout "Crucio!" but don't turn, just make a sudden jump to the left and the ray of red light misses me. I am wondering whether it would be best to run in the direction I am, or try to alarm those in the castle. I sincerely hope that Neville has already notified the teachers about the strangers on the grounds.

"Miss Granger, you must consider yourself very lucky that Mr Longbottom was looking at the Marauders Map at the time, or we might have not known about the problem until morning or even later."

I flush, but don't comment on the statement.

I hear them gaining on me. There must be at least three of them, judging by the voices.

"Stop, you stupid Mudblood!" I hear one of them shout. "Or you will wish you were never born!"

I am not stupid. Firstly, I wish that already, and secondly, they are going to hurt me whether I obey them or not. If they catch me, that is. So my only hope is to reach the castle.

"Incendio Maximo!" I hear one of them shout, and a giant fire bolt misses me by inches.

I don't speak. I am short of breath anyway.

And then I see something in front of me. A human silhouette, dressed in black robes. The man – for it is a man – seems to be glowing in the pale light. I try to duck him. But he is fast as a lightning, and if his paleness and fang-baring smile hadn't tipped me off, I would have recognised him as a vampire anyway.

His hand grabs me by my left wrist, and with my right hand I try to stupefy him. The spell bounces off his quickly-cast shield, and then he is throwing his own spell, a pain-inflicting curse that I remotely recall reading about sometime last year. The pain curses through my body and I think I'd collapse if not for his strong hands keeping me in place.

At that moment I think I'd readily swap my knowledge for a pair of athletic hands and legs, hands to help me wrench his wand away from him, and legs to carry me back to the castle. I can see it, and finally I realise I should be shouting for help. I would curse my own stupidity if I had time.

"HELP!" I shriek like a banshee, meanwhile still trying to wrench my wand-hand from his grip. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

I think I can hear someone running in our direction, and I thank the heavens for being saved when the man lets go of my hand. Yes! He is going to try to escape, I know, and I can't bring myself to care. He can escape for all he wants – I am safe, there will be no teeth sinking in my neck, drinking my blood as I was already beginning to imagine!

And then I realise he is still clutching on my other hand, I tug it, intent on breaking free, when suddenly the world seems to start spinning around me in most unpleasant way, and I feel a pulling in my navel, and for the first time in my whole life I feel a curse word, a real curse, one for which my parents would punish me instantly, trying to break free from my mouth.

A fucking Portkey.

"Are you completely sure the man who Portkeyed away with you was a vampire, Miss Granger?" There is a sense of urgency to Dumbledore's voice.

"Yes, sir. He was thin, to the point of bony, he had long, pointed fangs and when he involuntarily touched my silver earring he averted his hand immediately as if it stung him," I answer curtly.

"Yes, I suppose that about settles it."

I see Dumbledore squeeze his eyes shut for a couple of seconds, and then open them again, forcing them to focus. I can see he is exhausted – he couldn't have had any sleep this night, what with my escapade, and I feel sorry for having been sarcastic about that.

"Sir, is that bad a sign? That vampire, I mean?"

"Miss Granger… I am afraid that will make the papers any day now, so I might as well tell you. We have been hoping to get the British vampires to sign a treaty; we offered them equal rights and in response they were to ally with us against Voldemort. It appears that he was more persuasive."

I nod my head sadly.

We land heavily on something hard, and I feel my knee bump into an edge of something made of metal or stone. The pain shoots through my leg and I hiss furiously, trying to regain my balance.

The man has no such problems. It is a matter of a second before I feel the tip of his wand press to my neck, dabbing into the skin. If it was a bit more sharp, it would draw blood, I realise.

"You just try to escape," he breaths inside my ear. His voice is strange; cold, aggressive and frightening. He pronounces words very carefully, as if English wasn't his first language. "You just try, and my teeth will be where this wand is."

I nod ever so slightly, while he pockets my own wand. Then, he takes his wand back from where it is dabbing into my neck and points it at me.

"I will go right after you, so do not, I repeat, do not try to escape. I will give you directions."

He definitely has a thing for repetition.

I am told to go forward, then we turn left, then right. I finally have a while to take in my surroundings – we seem to have landed in a kind of park. There are trees here, but placed too regularly not to have been planted by man. The grass is also cut short, and in the distance I can see some sort of building.

Apart from directions the vampire speaks no word, so I am left to my own thoughts. What is happening? They couldn't have known I was going to leave the building; I didn't know I would. So that must have been a chance meeting; Death Eaters – for I have little doubt the man is one – roaming Hogwarts grounds. That's rich. And a bad sign. The battle must be close, then.

Finally, we reach a more brightly-lit area and my captor lets a sigh escape him – now, that is most interesting. He looks young to me. Perhaps this is his first mission ever? Perhaps he has never really hurt anyone… Well, he is a vampire, but not all vampires drink blood – that is, not all vampires drink human blood. And even fewer kill their prey. Then, maybe I should talk to him…

"My name is Hermione," I inform him. I remember once reading about criminals having more trouble to hurt people once they knew something about them. Something personal. That could be my chance.

"I am just sixteen, please, don't take me there. Don't hurt me, please, I am my parents' only child, they have no one else…"

I just hope he is no rapist. If so, the word "please" was the worst possible choice.

I cannot turn around to risk a glance at him, but I can hear a change in the rhythm of his walk.

"I didn't do anything to you, why did you bring me here? You want to give me to Death Eaters? They will kill me, and I haven't even lived yet…"

I must admit I sound awfully stupid to my own ears, but I hear his breathing change, and he speaks, sternly,

"Shut up. Shut up, or you will regret it!"

Now I know he is new to this business. I am, too, in a way.

"Please, don't let them kill me. I am just a schoolgirl, what good will that do?"

"You were heard shouting our Lord's name."

Ah, Well, yes, I did that. Just a stupid bet, actually. No, let's just take it to somewhere nice and discuss over a cup of tea – blood – whatever you vampires drink, will you?

"And you are a stupid Mudblood."

Funny how these jeans can betray you. Or are that my shoes? You are sure Pure-bloods don't wear sneakers made in America?

Oh. And did I ever mention my doubts about the fact that the epithet 'Mudblood' so often goes with 'stupid'?

"I am too young to die," I say in what I hope is my best pleading tone. "Just let me go and no one will be the wiser. Do you want my death on your conscience?"

I swear, if I had twenty minutes more, I'd crack him.

Unfortunately, just then, we reach the gates to the…

I guess this is a manor. A real one, and here I was thinking that these pure-bloods were exaggerating, talking about their houses as if they were at least royal residences.

Any king or queen could be living in that house. I can't help but admire its beauty. It is stylish. It is neo-gothic, or at least renovated to be neo-gothic.

It is where I will probably die.

I could imagine worse places, actually. But I can think of a much better time. Like, this time of a year, a century later.

"How big exactly was that manor, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asks, urgently. I try to remember the exact size, but I've always had problems with identifying distance and so I can merely hazard a guess.

"I am not sure, Headmaster. About as long as the castle, but with just two floors. It had neo-gothic look to it," I add. "And… sir, I can't be sure, but I think it could be Malfoy's."

"What makes you say so, Miss Granger?" he asks, sharply.

"When I was walking down… one of the corridors… I looked at the family portrait, and it showed a blond man with similar mouth shape and eyes like Draco Malfoy's."

In the gate we are greeted by another man dressed in black. His face is obscured by his hood, and when he speaks to my captor, his voice goes in a low hiss.

"What iss that?" he asks, and I can't help but notice that the vampire, although taller, seems to shrink when confronted with that man.

"A Mudblood who was wandering on the grounds. It dared use Master's name."

"It did?" the man's voice takes on interested note. "Show me," he commands.

And so I am pushed forward and the guard grips my chin forcefully, then moves my head left and right, taking in my face. I start to shake in fear, as if the shock was wearing off. I can't see any way out anymore.

"Take her to Thatcher," he decided, at long last. "He will know what to do. And hurry up; the meeting is scheduled in an hour."

"Yes, sir."

He seizes my wrist again, and we enter the building. The corridor is well-lit, with what looks like thousands of candles, some sitting in silver candelabras of snake-like shape, some simply floating in the air above our heads. I can't help but admire the carpets that we tread upon; they are, predictably, green and silver, but their texture, as far as I can tell, is fine and the design-

My mind is trying to focus on details in an attempt on forgetting the reality. As if it would go away. I know this, I remember it happening before. I cannot let my fear rule me. I have to try to fight for my life.

Is there a chance to escape the vampire? If it exists I can't see it. If I try to run for the door, he will most likely stun me, and his ability to run at least thrice as fast as I can is a sad fact. And even if I reached the door, there will be the Guardian waiting. And if the vampire fears him, I should as well.

But this doesn't mean I shouldn't at least try to memorise the plan of the corridors.

We go along the same long one in which we started. Then, we take a right corridor, a smaller and darker one, and reach stairs. They seem to lead to the cellar. Although here the cellar is probably called the dungeon.

Seven, eight, nine stairs. A turn and another set of these. Nine, just as well.

Doors, heavy wooden doors. I have never been interested in this sort of thing, so I can't tell what kind of wood it is, but I'd hazard a guess – hard, heavy and very expensive.

And so we enter.

"They called the man Thatcher?"

"Yes, sir. They seemed to be quite a bit afraid of him as well."

"Do you think it was a name or a nickname?"

"I… don't think he is a man of nicknames, sir."

"Timothy. I am glad to see you. And who are you bringing with you today, ah?"

The man speaks with ease and friendliness and I can't understand why my vampire seems to cower in front of that Thatcher. The man stood up from behind his desk as we entered. He is quite short, but he has long hands and large palms, and he is so thin that it makes him seem taller. He is very pale, and I can clearly see veins underneath his skin. His smile appears genuine, and his eyes, a rather pleasant pair of dark brown ovals looks at me with just a hint of surprise.

"This is a Mudblood, sir," the vampire answers, his hand gripping on my wrist so tightly I hiss in pain. The Thatcher's eyes dart to the wrist at the sound and he makes a small tutting sound.

"Now, Timothy, that is no way to treat a young lady. Let go of her hand."

Timothy obeys instantly, and he flinches as if slapped.

"Now, please tell me, who you are, Miss…"

"Granger," I volunteer. Not really sure why, actually.

"So, Miss Granger. I take it you are from Hogwarts? It seemed to me that Timothy was supposed to be visiting the grounds tonight. Weren't you, Timothy?"

And just a short time ago I was shouting at my friends for using 'Mione. This man would probably call his wife 'Catherine' while climaxing.

"Yes, sir. And one of ours found her wondering around greenhouses. They stayed and I brought her here, sir."

"That much I've gathered," comes the short answer.

After that a silence falls, and Thatcher furrows his brows, and looks expectantly at the other wizard. "And what, pray tell, do you expect of me?"

"Sir, I thought-"

"No, Timothy. You did not. You kidnapped her because an opportunity presented itself, and now something must be done. She saw our faces and our location. What do you think should be done, Timothy?"

All this is said completely calmly and quietly, yet after Thatcher is through, the vampire looks ready to wet himself. I still don't understand what is the issue. Then the older wizard looks at me and asks,

"Miss Granger… I suppose I may call you by your name, can't I?"

"Yes, sir. I am Hermione."

Where did THAT come from?

"Now, Hermione. We are quite at a loss here. I mean, the situation is tough. What do you think should we do? What would you do if you were in our place?"

"If I was a Death Eater and a Mudblood saw my face I'd kill her," I answer, and I feel my insides go cold at the sound of my own voice. For as much as the voice, vocal cords, tongue, teeth and breath are mine, the thought is not.

"That seems unavoidable. But maybe… just maybe we could work a compromise, don't you think, dear?"

The words roll off his tongue smoothly, as if they were buttered, and I feel like I am drowning in that voice. So smooth, so pleasant. I should just do…

"Whatever you say, sir."

"Now, that is my girl. Come closer, Hermione."

I don't want to come closer. I know I don't, but somehow, some part of me wants nothing more than to obey the man and I take a step, and then another, and I am standing two steps away from that man. And I can smell him now, a spicy kind of smell, masculine smell, but underneath there is another tone to it – like the smell of rotting leafs and warm stones, if stones had smell.

"Look me in the eye."

I meet his gaze. Did I think his eyes brown? They aren't, not really. They seem to change as I look at them, from a pale shade of hazel to obsidian black, and I am suffocating, I can't breath, his eyes are entering my mind, and I think that is what Harry described as Legilimency, the man is now inside me, sifting through my head, and I try to block him off, but I can't. All I can do is try to show him memories that have no meaning… but why should I anger him, he is my friend, he wants to help me… I should show him my secrets, show him what I know about Har-

I am being raped, a part of me, somewhere far away realises. It is like a rape done to the mind. It hurts, and the helplessness…

And suddenly I am free, and only then do I notice that I am lying on the floor, choking on my own blood. I must have bitten my lips while trying to fight him off.

"Hermione… we are only trying to find a way to make us all happy… why are you hurting yourself?"

His voice comes from somewhere above me. I push myself to a semi-sitting position. My vampire is standing about three feet away from Mr Thatcher and when our gazes lock I think I can see… compassion? Fear?

"Come, child. I will ask you a few questions and I you answer truthfully we will find a way to let you go. I promise you that."

He smiles, and a fleeting thought passes through my mind that if there were tryouts for "Jaws VIII", or whatever number they reached by now, the man would win with one hand tied behind his back. For in comparison, the shark's smile seems quite friendly and harmless.

"Now, Hermione. Tell me, when are you going to enter the Member of the Phoenix?"

"Never," I answer, truthfully. I am going to die today, after all, aren't I?

"Is that so?" He seems quite doubtful. "I am not sure whether you understood the question, dear. But let's try something else. What is Harry Potter most afraid of?"

I feel my mouth open against my will and I answer truthfully.

"Dementors, sir."

His eyes shine gleefully. He opens his mouth, probably to ask me another question, when the door opens, and a cloaked and masked man enters.

"Thatcher, Jagger - what the-" He looks at me and his eyes flair. "Now…" he drawls and I instantly recognise his voice. That hair of his is well-hid under his cloak and if it wasn't for the voice…

"Miss Granger. A pleasure to see you again. My pleasure."

I have never been so close to fainting in my whole life.

"Malfoy," I spit. "I thought you were rotting in Azkaban."

But there is a definite advantage to his being here – Thatcher can no longer attempt these tricks of his.

"No a know-it-all, after all. There is someone rotting in my cell, I am sure… But I have much better things to do out here."

He finally fully enters the room and takes off the mask. I gasp in shock at the view of his face.

No longer the fallen angel. His face is crossed by an ugly red scar, going from his left brow to the right corner of his lips. He scowls under my scrutiny and I avert my gaze. His once perfectly straight nose is now as hooked as Professor Snape's.

"Like what you see, Miss Granger?" he smirks. "It was my dear wife's niece's doing. During my first attempt at an escape, she shot me with a severing hex. Good with a wand, that much I have to give her. I can't wait to see her again," he finishes, dreamily.

I feel as if we were alone in the room. When he entered, both Thatcher and Timothy took a step backwards, both proverbially and literally. He has power over them, and perhaps…

It would be better for me to die, after all, than spill all the secrets of the Order that I know.

"She will no doubt be glad to see you, too. And I must say, that scar of yours is much more intimidating than Harry's."

Lucius Malfoy's eyes flash angrily, he tightly grips on his cane and for a second I am sure he is going to blast me to pieces, but he just stares at me and after a moment he grins evilly.

"Thatcher, I am taking her with me."

"But sir, I was just-"

"I am going to bring her back to you, no fear. And after I am through with her, you will find her much more cooperative, I am sure."

Thatcher falls silent and Malfoy stretches his hand. It lands on my head, and he takes a short while to sift his fingers through my hair. And then, completely unexpectedly, he catches my hair strongly and twists his wrist so that I feel as if he is tearing my hair from my scalp.

"I am proud to invite you to a tea I am going to share with a couple of friends," he hisses in my ear, as he pushes me outside the door and out of the room. "They will all be delighted to see you. Dolohov seems to remember you fondly."