Chapter Seven

Continued

I let Draco's words register in my mind.

Blaise is a deatheater. Blaise is a deatheater. Blaise is a fucking deatheater.

"Wait," I said, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact. "So… Blaise is a deatheater?"

He nodded. Despite his assurance, I still felt I needed to be told over and over again.

"But, but," I stammered. "I thought that you could only be a deatheater at eighteen. Blaise is only seventeen. Isn't he?"

"Yes, but there are some families, like his and mine, that are exceptions." He sighed. "Hermione, it's really complicated."

I kept staring at him. "Well, try me."

He sighed again and began. "You see, Voldemort has some families on a contract. That means that their whole entire family line is supposed to join the deatheaters. Some families are the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Zabinis," he looked at me for a second, "and my family. The children of these families become deatheaters at sixteen."

Okay, this was blowing my mind here. Draco was supposed to be a deatheater?

Well, I can't say this completely surprised, seeing how his father is such a bastard.

What I couldn't believe was that there were deatheaters in this very school; not just soon- to- be, but present. My mind went back to that day the deatheaters broke into our school… But wait a second…

A light bulb went off in my head, and I felt foolish for not thinking of it sooner. "Then that means a deatheater in our school let Voldemort's troops that night! Because they couldn't have just-"

"-broke in through a wall by force or regular magic." Draco finished for me. "Hogwarts can't just be broken into like a regular muggle house. It was an inside job."

"Do you think Blaise was in on it?"

"Judging by the way he was with Ginny, I say I doubt it. I'm guessing that it was one of the others."

I gulped at his words. "Do you know," I started tentatively, "how many deatheaters there are in this school, right now?"

"To tell you the truth, I haven't a clue. I only know Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise."

Something else occurred to me. Why wasn't Draco a deatheater if his family was one of the contracted families? I asked him this.

He looked down at his hands. This seemed to be a sensitive subject with him, but he continued anyway. "You see, Hermione, not all deatheaters' kids want to be like their parents. So if their parents get captured and thrown into Azkaban, the contract is broken, and they get their choice back. That's why I was so grateful when you and your friends got him caught in my fifth year. One year later, I would have become a deatheater."

I took his hands in my own. I knew that even though his father was so evil, Draco always wished that they were close, wished that they had a normal father- son relationship. He wished that Lucius had never gotten involved with Voldemort.

"Poor Ginny," I murmured. I tried to imagine how I would feel if Draco was a deatheater.

"There's something else." He wrinkled his face in concentration. "I don't remember what it is, though. I think that when a contract is broken, some kind of automatic memory charm kicks in and somehow…"

"Somehow, what?" Draco was still staring off into space, thinking.

"I don't know. It's been bugging me since Lucius got thrown to the dementors. There's some kind of secret Voldemort has that he doesn't want uncontracted deatheaters to know."

This was a lot to register.

"Draco, you're sort of scaring me."

He looked at me and smiled slightly. I knew it was fake, but it comforted me nevertheless. "Sorry 'Mione."

I smiled back and snuggled up to his chest. "Don't be."

I was just worried about Ginny.

Wednesday Night

After a while, Draco had gone back to his room, leaving me with my thoughts. It was really, really late. Technically, it was Thursday morning, but to me, it isn't the next morning until the sun is up again.

The lights were off, and I was in my bed. But I couldn't sleep at all. How could I, knowing what one of my best friends was going through?

In the midst of my worries, Ginny came through the door of the room we shared together, sobbing.

I got up right away, turned on the light, and saw her spread out on her bed, and she looked drunk.

Shit.

This only happened twice for her before, and it wasn't pretty. The thing is, Ginny doesn't normally drink. She only does it when something horrible happens to her, and she needs something to make her feel good again. The last time was when her boyfriend dumped her after having sex with her.

The bastard. I had to get Harry and Ron to beat him up afterwards. Which they were only too happy to oblige. Especially Ron.

Actually, if I recall correctly, Fred and George got to him afterwards as well.

"Ginny," I said, slapping her lightly on the face so she would wake up more. "Ginny, come on, stay with me, come on…"

She was still sniffling and groaning as I led her to the bathroom; but she didn't resist because she knew that she needed me right now. And I knew what she needed.

She needed to puke.

I held her hair as she threw everything up into the toilet. When she was done, she leaned over the edge of the bowl, and cried. As her best friend, it was a heartbreaking sight.

Through her tears, she blubbered random words. "Hermione…I'm sorry… Blaise… I… sorry…he's a…"

"Shh," I soothed her, "It's okay, Ginny, tell me about it in the morning." By now, I had gotten her to her bed and under the covers. "Hold on, girl, let me get you a sobering potion; it'll help your headache."

She nodded weakly. I gave her the potion and pressed a cold compress to her forehead and sighed. "What am I going to do with you, Gin?"

Still closing her eyes, she smiled at me.

"Thanks, Hermione. It's nice to have a big sister."

I looked at her sadly, wondering why such a sweet girl should go through so much pain.

It was Voldemort. It was all because of Voldemort.

The Next Day

I woke up to see Ginny out of her bed, staring out of her window.

I rubbed my eyes and croaked, "Ginny? What are you doing?"

She looked back at me with sad, red eyes. I got out of bed and said gently, "Hey, Gin. What's wrong, huh?"

She looked down and began tearing up again. "Oh, Hermione." She attempted a smile, but it immediately dropped to a frown once more. "I lied about Blaise and me."

I smiled sheepishly and plopped down next to her. "I know, Ginny."

"You do?"

"Yeah." I sighed. "Me and Draco saw you yesterday talking to him by the lake."

She sighed as well. "Well, then I guess you know."

"Why don't you explain further?" I prompted her as I reached for a box of tissue.

She took one but didn't bother to use it. "We've been seeing each other since Brad dumped me." Brad Glenmore was the Hufflepuff guy who shagged her and dumped her. But that was over a year ago, at the beginning of her fifth year.

"Bloody hell," I breathed. "And you never told anyone?"

She shook her head. "Nope. After that fucker broke up with me, Blaise just sort of started talking to me in the library and we just, you know, hit it off."

"Wow," I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I looked up at her sharply. "Have you," I made a gesture to her, "with him yet?"

She shook her head. "And now I guess it might never happen."

After a bit of silence, I said, "You love him?" She nodded. "Then go after him, hunt him down, and set him straight."

She laughed weakly and said, "Hermione, you don't get it. There's this thing…"

I waited for her to continue.

She was crying again. This had to be really bad. I was getting really, really worried.

After she calmed down again, she said to me, "Hermione, Voldemort's deatheaters…"

She stopped and tried once more. "If Harry does kill Voldemort… Oh, who am I kidding; when Harry kills Voldemort…"

She looked out of the window again and continued. "…All his deatheaters are going to die with him."

I let this sink in. "And Blaise is one of those deatheaters."