It was just a cup. She stared at it as she ascended the stony steps out of the cave. Shiny, symmetrical—sort of pleasant in a purely aesthetic sense. Still, Hermione carried it with her shirt sleeve, afraid to have her skin in contact with the metal for an extended period of time. After all, however innocuous it may seem, it did contain within it the soul of the most evil wizard of all time.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, smiling as the walls of the tunnel receded and sunlight bathed her face for the first time in days. Ah…gentle breeze, rustling leaves, everything that made her love being outdoors. Usually in the summer, she spent most of her day outside, lying in the grass and reading. The mild warmth of the soil rising up to greet her in gentle waves and the smell of the freshly cut grass wafting about her senses—that, ladies and gentlemen—was summer for Hermione Granger, and she missed it fiercely.
THUMP.
Hermione squeaked in surprise as she was all but tackled by two tall figures and wrapped in and bear-like hug.
"You're alright!"
"You are alright, aren't you? You look alright."
"Did you get it?"
"Did Malfoy do anything?"
"Should we kill him?"
"The offer to torture him for no reason hasn't expired yet, has it?"
"What are you talking about? There are plenty of reasons to torture him."
"No," she managed to gasp as the air finally went whooshing back into her lungs. Ah, the hazards of having two rather large, male, teenage Quidditch players for best mates. "No torture. Here."
She held the cup aloft and both Harry and Ron stopped gibbering and stared at it.
"Hermione, you're amazing," said Harry sincerely. She blushed, and handed the Horcrux to Harry. He accepted it slowly, and turning it gingerly in his hands examining the dull sheen of its surface.
"Wow," breathed Ron, staring at it with wide eyes. "Shit. I can't believe that's…what that actually is. Shit." Harry nodded in agreement.
"Four down," said Harry softly.
Three to go…finished Hermione. Though the real problem that was about to present itself, she realized, was how they would actually go about destroying it. She had been wondering about Dumbledore's withered hand ever since Harry had first mentioned the Horcruxes…and the ring…
"We can walk back towards town and Apparate home," said Harry decisively, without breaking his gaze on the chalice. "We'll decide exactly where home is on the way." They nodded in agreement.
Malfoy, meanwhile, had climbed out of the cave directly behind her and begun dusting himself off. He stood a little behind them, mostly ignoring what they were doing. They were all rather smudged with dirt, and it was particularly noticeable on Malfoy's complexion—the amazing albino boy. He looked irritated and began performing cleaning charms on himself, waving his wand rather vindictively at the accumulated filth, as if it had insulted him on a very personal level.
"Oy, Malfoy!" called Ron, turning his gaze from the Horcrux. "If you're done preening like a little girl, we should probably get going."
"Fuck you Weasley," replied Malfoy. "My family likes to practice a little thing called hygiene, I don't suppose yours has even heard of it…"
Ron got a little red, and opened his mouth to say something.
"Oh, stop," said Hermione, exasperatedly. Just what they needed—another sniping bicker-fest. Besides, Ron would probably lose.
Oh, dear. Did she really just think that?
They began walking, hoping to at least reach a road before sundown. If they could get their bearings, they would have less of a chance of splinching. Going to a strange place was one thing, but going back home via Apparation was actually quite simple—if one takes the proper precautions of course.
"Not the Dursley's," said Ron. "No offense, mate, but those people are repulsive." Hermione stepped down over a rotted tree stump and steadied herself as both feet hit the firmly packed dirt of the robe. They were discussing possible places to stay.
"None taken."
"Well…" said Hermione, thinking carefully. "Pretty much our only possibilities are our homes, or Hogwarts, I suppose…"
"That's still a problem," said Harry, frowning. "Anywhere we go, we're putting our families in danger." Malfoy looked at him, but didn't speak.
"Going to Hogwarts would make us a lot more conspicuous," pointed out Hermione. "Rita Skeeter is practically living in Hogsmeade now. It's a media circus."
"So where the hell are we supposed to go?" demanded Ron. "Should we just keep moving?"
"That's almost as dangerous," said Harry, shaking his head. He sighed. "So where should we stay? An inn?"
"I have an idea…" said Hermione quietly.
"What is it?" asked Harry.
"Well—I wouldn't mention it if we had any other options…" Her expression was apologetic.
"Why not?" he said quizzically.
"Because I don't think you're going to like it."
000
A little over half an hour later, they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at a large empty space between two Muggle houses. Great. An empty space. Charming.
"How do we get in?" asked Potter. He did not look too excited at the prospect of 'getting in' to wherever the hell they were going.
Granger looked at the space uncertainly. "We all know where it is…" she said slowly. She looked at Draco. "Except for him."
"The Secret Keeper is gone," said Potter softly. "So...what does that mean? Is the charm broken?" They were looking at Granger. They were always asking her something. Merlin, was the girl supposed to know everything?
"I'm not sure," she said. "But I do know that Sirius transferred ownership to you, Harry." She looked a little more confident. "There are a lot of security measures on the house, outside of the Fidelus. Just…call for it."
"Uh…right," said Harry. He looked at the empty space, gesturing uncertainly with one hand. "I'm pretty sure that Number 12 Grimmauld Place is right here," he said in a loud voice. Nothing happened. Instead of looking back at Granger, he began to look irritated. "Hey," he said a little louder. "This is my house. I want to see a house right here. NOW!"
Fuck that. Granger did know everything. There was a building appearing between the two houses, inflating quickly into existence and pushing the houses aside.
Number 12 Grimmauld Place. At least that's what the plaque on the side of the large, run-down house. From the outside, it looked as though it had been abandoned for several decades. It was coated in peeling black paint. It looked like a traditional wizarding home, however dilapidated it was. Draco would rather stay in there that any of the other places that had been offered. Actually—he would rather stay at his own house, but he had no idea what had become of it.
"Eh, crap," said Weasley, staring dejectedly at the house. Potter didn't look very pleased either.
What was Weasley complaining about? thought Draco. This ramshackle piece of junk was probably a palace compared to the shoe box the Weasley family most likely lived in. Hey, why hadn't he said that aloud? Maybe he was going soft…
They moved forward along the front walkway, towards the battered black door. There was a curled silver serpent serving as a knocker. Draco smiled. Now that looked welcoming.
Hermione reached forward and grasped the doorknob. She made a motion to turn it, but there was a sudden zapping sound and she withdrew her hand with a sharp intake of breath.
"Ow!" she yelped. She muttered angrily under her breath about prejudiced security systems. "Harry, would you?"
Potter grabbed the handle and pushed the door open with a creak. It opened to reveal an expanse of shadowy, sinister looking hallway. They walked inside. A thick layer of dust seemed to have taken up residence on every available surface.
"Ugh, it's become even more repulsive, if that's possible," said Potter in disgust.
"I don't know," said Draco shrugging. "I kind of like it. It just needs cleaned up a bit."
He was greeted with three incredulous stares and an oppressively lengthy silence.
"You're a psycho," said Weasley finally. Draco walked away, rolling his eyes. "Did anyone else notice he's a psycho?"
"Well…" said Granger evenly. "I guess we can make ourselves…comfortable…" Potter snorted.
"Yeah, right."
Draco wandered around in the hall, noticing a showcase of portraits covered in thick, velvety curtains. He peeked under one, only to be greeted with the vision of a very wrinkly, quite mad looking old woman wearing a rather ugly bonnet. She appeared to be dozing, but her eyes snapped open when the curtains parted.
"Who are you?" she demanded in a shrill voice.
"Draco Malfoy," he responded calmly.
"Malfoy?" The woman narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "My sister had a daughter that married into that bloodline, excellent family, quite respectable."
"That's me," said Draco, puffing himself up importantly. Finally, some recognition. "I am the only son of Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy."
" 'Cissy Black! My niece! Respectable girl! Beautiful, and what a handsome son she bore. Tell me child, where is your mother? Is she here?"
Draco swallowed. "She's…"
He heard footsteps behind him. The portrait seemed to forget him, its eyes bulging wildly as it launched into a tyrannical series of crazed shrieks.
"MUDBLOOD! SHAMING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS! GET OUT! GET OUT! GET—" Hermoine pushed past Draco and, with some exertion, managed to pull the curtains shut. She turned and leaned against the wall, panting.
"What are you doing?" she hissed in a low, urgent voice. "Do not disturb the angry portraits of Sirius's crazy relatives!"
"Fine," said Draco, not really caring either way. She held a finger to her lips and they both walked quietly out of the hall, into the living room. "You know Granger," he said thoughtfully. "I think that might have been my great-aunt."
She stared at him. "Brilliant," she said flatly. "Just bloody brilliant."
000
They were discussing the next step. Hermione had the diary open on her lap. Mafloy, naturally, was next to her. She could feel the hot prickle of his eyes, staring at her, boring into the side of her head—but she refused to look at him. That made her feel somewhat guilty. Problems needed to be met head on, but right now, she was too preoccupied. At least that's what she kept telling herself.
She was skimming down Regulus's list of Horcruxes. Though he attested that there was an incredible amount of secrecy within the ranks of Voldemort's lieutenants, Regulus managed to find out a fair bit of information—most of it he was probably not meant to know.
"He knew there were more than five, though he only saw three with his own eyes…" said Hermione, without taking her eyes off the page. "A chalice, a ring, and a locket…"
"So he didn't know about the diary?" said Harry, furrowing his brow.
"There are seven total, right?" said Ron.
"Not counting the—er—bit that's in him, so that means that there are only six," said Harry wisely.
"Seven," said Malfoy. "Merlin and Agrippa. Seven Horcruxes." He shook his head.
It was a great deal to contemplate. A part of Hermione wished she could read more about them, but a part of her was also repulsed at the thought of learning about something so terrible. The division of a human soul? When you actually thought about it, it was a monstrous concept…
"I think the real question is—" said Harry. "Should we destroy this one first? Or should we go after the rest of them?"
"I vote we destroy that thing. Right now," pitched Ron. "In fact, I think yesterday was a little too late."
"We don't know the consequences of that," said Hermione warily. "Don't you remember Dumbledore's hand? Here—wait—" She flipped pages until she found what she was looking for. It was one of the last entries.
"I plan to take the locket of Salazar Slytherin and destroy it the moment I lay down this diary. However, destroying a Horcrux is no simple matter. It takes a tremendous amount of power…Leading theory states that only the creator of a Horcrux, meaning the one in which the other piece of the soul resides, will be able to destroy the Horcrux without suffering devastating damage…It would take an extremely powerful wizard to destroy one without dying himself…which is why by the time you read this, I will probably be dead. Either way, it will be by the hand of the Dark Lord."
Hermione lowered the diary and sighed. It still didn't tell her everything. Would Voldemort be able to sense it the moment they actually destroyed the thing? Did it matter? Would one of them have to give up their lives to destroy it? And the bigger problem was that she knew Harry would volunteer unhesitatingly to sacrifice himself, and she couldn't let him. Not yet. There had to be another way…
"OK…" said Ron.
"So your best bet is to get the fucking things together before the Dark Lord notices and comes and slaughters us like cattle," drawled Malfoy, crossing his arms and hunching down into his chair. "And before Golden Boy there can throw himself into the dragon's mouth and die for the good of bloody humanity, because that's probably what it'll take."
Hermione tried not to look stunned. No. They were not thinking along the same lines. That would be insane. They weren't, OK! Merlin…
"A—anyway," she said finally. She mentally ran through the list of Horcruxes.
Riddle's diary—destroyed…by Harry... The ring on Dumbledore's finger last year, apparently destroyed, though the consequences were apparent on Dumbledore's hand. (If anyone could destroy a Horcrux and live to tell the tale—it was him.) The locket—theoretically destroyed by Regulus and replaced with a fake one. It was strange to think...he might have been writing these words in this very room…
The chalice was glittering dully on the table next to Harry's armchair. There was also a 'mystery Horcrux' which no one seemed to know the identity of. By Hermione's calculations, it should be something that belonged to Godric Gryffindor. However, Hermione had no idea if Voldemort had actually managed to get his hands on something that belonged to Gryffindor and apparently, neither did Regulus.
According to Harry—and Dumbledore—there was a cup that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. Regulus had no idea (what or) where it was. It had not been given to him to hide—probably a wise strategic move on Voldemort's part—showing all your proverbial cards to one man was not exactly a prudent strategy. All that Regulus knew was that another Horcrux had been given to 'the Dark Lord's favorite, his most loyal servant," which could be a lot of people, she supposed. Two Horcruxes had been given to lieutenants for safe keeping, but the aforementioned was 'something from the Dark Lord's youth' so she naturally ruled it out as the diary.
That of course, left Voldemort himself, assuming Harry and Dumbledore's theory about "seven" was correct. Since he might prove a teensy bit more difficult to destroy than a series of inanimate objects, Hermione thought they should probably save him for last.
So they actually weren't doing too bad.
"According to what we know so far, there are three that are already destroyed, two that we haven't found yet, one that's sitting on that table, and one that's walking around murdering innocent people."
"How can we find the other two?" asked Harry, his expression forming into his 'determined' face.
"I don't know yet." Hermione shrugged helplessly. "Neither does Regulus. I'm afraid if we want to go forward, we have to gather our own information."
"How are we supposed to get information on Death Eaters?" demanded Ron, throwing up his arms in frustration. They all looked at Malfoy.
"Hey, don't look at me!" he said angrily. "They don't like me. They're trying to kill me, remember? Besides, I gave you that ruddy diary, what else do you want?"
"We're asking for your advice," said Hermione. There it was. A useful ally. "Who could we go to?"
Malfoy looked as though he was considering being smug about this for a moment, but he quickly sobered up and looked thoughtful. "You're not going to find a reliable mole in the Dark Lord's ranks, not right now anyway. I'm sure I've lost my allies within the organization, but…"
He was so calculating, thought Hermione. He knew the consequence of every relationship, every moment.
"There are a few people on the outside who I might be able to…persuade a little bit of information from," he finished.
"Where?" asked Harry in a very to-the-point tone. "How quickly?"
"Knockturn Alley, I suppose," replied Malfoy evenly. "And I don't see why I couldn't go right now."
"Right—" said Harry. "We'll all—"
"I'll go alone, Potter," snapped Malfoy. "I don't need you to be my fucking babysitter."
"How do we know you'll come back?" asked Ron accusingly. Should they care if he came back? They didn't really need him to read the diary anymore…
"Well I guess you don't, do you, Weasley?" he said. Harry frowned. He clearly felt it was wrong to let him go alone.
"Here—" said Harry. He popped a trunk out of his pocket and restored it to his normal size. "Take this." He pulled a long stream of silvery fabric out of his trunk and handed it to Malfoy. "Try not to get killed before you can bring us back information, alright?"
Wow, thought Hermione. Could it be that actually passed for…civility?
Harry ignored the fact that Ron's eyes were popping out of his head. Malfoy stood and walked towards the door. He would be back. Hermione, despite everything she had ever known, was inclined to believe him.
000
An invisibility cloak. It figured. Snape had mentioned him having one before, but to be honest, Snape tended to be a little nuts.
Draco smiled inwardly as he glided along the London streets, invisible. Weasley was right. He could leave if he wanted to. But he already knew he wasn't going to—he just wasn't sure why. They didn't really need him. Potter-the-bloody-Golden-Boy would probably kill the Dark Lord, one way or another.
Could it be…he actually wanted to help?
…He liked the way Granger had looked at him just then, as he left. Like he wasn't pitiful or helpless or arrogant or scum—like he was person. And Merlin help him, he got more satisfaction from that one glance than from anything in a long while.
He slipped soundlessly through the dismal atmosphere of the Leaky Cauldron. He had considered using the Floo Network, but he was fairly sure it was being monitored by both sides. He sighed, turning left into an alleyway. The route was familiar.
As soon had thought about it, Draco realized there was one reliable source of information he could exploit no matter what—Borgin. Borgin had his ear to the proverbial ground. He knew what was happening in the world of the Dark Arts. It was his trade to do so, of course. Draco believed his value was underappreciated. He knew a great deal more than most 'outsiders' did, but he was dismissed and ignored as being little or no threat. Draco couldn't blame people for thinking that way. The man was such a simpering little wimp. All Draco had to do was wave the Dark Mark in his face and the man practically pissed his robes. He smiled to himself again. This was going to be easy.
000
The bell on the door tinkled softly in high, dissonant tones. Draco stepped gracefully through the eerie atmosphere of the shop, watching as Borgin wrote in his logbook, his large feathery quill wobbling back and forth in the dusty air. He set the quill down on the counter and turned around, rooting through suspicious looking bottles. Draco approached the opposite side of the counter. He leveled his wand at the back of Borgin's head and pulled of the cloak with a whooshing sound.
"Mr. Borgin," he said in a voice of deadly calm. Borgin jumped about a foot in the air and whirled around, flattening himself up against the wall.
"Y—young Master Malfoy," he stammered. "What brings you here?" His fingers edged towards the shelf.
"If you move your hand any closer to the wand you keep stuck under that shelf, Mister Borgin," said Draco pleasantly. "I will blow it off. Do you understand me?"
Borgin paled slightly and swallowed, nodding. He surveyed Draco for a moment, then seemed to come to a conclusion.
"Master Malfoy," said Borgin, puffing himself up with a little bit more confidence. "It is known in the circles I travel in—" Draco snorted inwardly. As if he actually traveled in those circles, more like licked their boots… "that you have fallen out of the favor of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So…" He allowed himself a small smug grin. "You will forgive me if I am disinclined to feel threatened by a—"
"If you are going to call me a child, Mr. Borgin," said Draco, keeping his light, pleasant tones, "you would be very much mistaken. You should recall that I am legally an adult now, and all the threats I have made over the past year still stand." Borgin shifted uncomfortably, his grin fading.
"Furthermore, if you are truly as well versed in current information as you claim, you would realize that I am in quite an uncomfortable position. I am a man, Mr. Borgin. A very desperate man at that. You see, I have no allegiance left to anyone. Which means—" He raised the tip of his wand slightly.
"If I were to kill you right now, it is simply because I feel like it, and I will be in no lesser or greater trouble, for no one gives a newt's eye for the state of your health and well-being, Mr. Borgin, and you very well know that." Borgin retreated backwards, leaning into the solid wall of shelves behind him, all but cowering.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice almost a whimper.
"Information," said Draco. "Something you claim to have an abundance of, it seems."
Borgin crossed his eyes in an effort to get a more holistic view of the wand tip thrust into his face. He swallowed. "Yes, sir," he said in a weak voice.
"Good." Draco smiled. "What do you know about Horcruxes, Borgin?"
000
Malfoy returned a few hours later, slamming the door behind him. He looked furious. He stormed into the living room and threw the invisibility cloak onto the couch next to Harry.
"No luck?" said Harry, looking disappointed. Malfoy let out a stream of expletives before responding coherently. "Erm…"
"I found out plenty," he said throwing himself down onto the couch. He folded his arms and scowled.
"Are you gonna share or should we just bloody guess, Malfoy?" said Ron, throwing him a look of enmity.
"Well…" Malfoy related slowly. "It depends. I talked to Borgin. He's heard a few things over the past few days..."
"Such as?" inquired Harry.
"The Dark Lord is holding a celebration in order to venerate the triumph of his most loyal servant," said Malfoy, through gritted teeth. Harry's eyebrows raised.
"Most loyal?" he pressed. Hermione's interest was peaked as well, but it wasn't necessarily the answer they were looking for. After all, Voldemort's favor had probably shifted across the decades, hadn't it?
"Snape," snarled Malfoy. "I'm pretty damn sure it's for Snape." Hermione considered carefully. She felt incredibly betrayed as she thought of her former teacher. It was something she could never quite reconcile in her own mind. Dumbledore had trusted him. He always had, though no one else understood why. He had trusted him—and Snape had betrayed him. He had betrayed him to his death. Did that mean Snape's loyalties had always lain solely with Voldemort? Was he the 'most loyal, favorite servant' that Regulus had spoken of? If so, that would mean…
"There's more," said Malfoy, his hands clenching convulsively. "This part is mostly rumors, whispers, rather unfounded because it's kept so quiet…"
"What?"
"The rumor is that the loyal servant is returning something of value to the Dark Lord, something that he has been keeping for years, something that the Dark Lord now believes is in great danger."
Harry's eyes widened. "A Horcrux?"
"Most likely," said Malfoy. Hermione drummed her fingers along the surface of the currently blank diary. Whether the Horcrux was in Snape's possession or not, if it was going to be moved to 'the celebration,' it was the perfect opportunity to steal it.
"What kind of celebration are we talking about here?" asked Hermione. "Could we sneak in?"
Malfoy continued to look angry, his pale face contorted with rage. "The way I understand it, it's a kind of ball, a tradition amongst purebloods for centuries. Dancing, all that bullocks…for a special occasion."
A special occasion. The death of Albus Dumbledore. The thought of a celebration for such an event made Hermione feel sick to her stomach. She ignored it. Malfoy continued.
"I'm pretty sure we could sneak in," he said venomously. "I know the location fairly well. It's a house, with a huge formal ballroom in the basement. Perfect for such functions. In fact, it's housed Ministry formal events for centuries. And with the owners gone, it's even more convenient. So I don't think we're going to have trouble sneaking in, or navigating, even though security is nearly impenetrable."
Ron looked rather bewildered. "So…where is it?"
Draco's eyes flashed. He spat the next words with such venom that it sounded to Hermione as if he were uttering a dark curse.
"Malfoy Manor."
000
AN: Ah ha ha. Can you tell I love to torture Draco? It's because I love him! (hehe) He's so awesome.
Rachel: Yes, it's TOTALLY Buffy/Spike. The X/C was just the one kiss.
Thanks to everybody who reviewed! I love to hear feedback! It keeps me on the right track. For example, if the story is starting to get boring or drag—let me know and I'll try to spice it up a bit. Next Chapter: Hermione and Draco go dancing. Mmm…sexy, sexy dancing…
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