Hermione sat very blearily at the Weasley dining table the next morning, with only a handful of sleep in between wretched, angry messages with Draco. Mrs Weasley, unimpressed with her and Ginny's lateness, had woken them up and made them come to breakfast. Ron and Harry were already finishing their tea, their conversation immediately halting as she and Ginny were frogmarched into the kitchen for food.
"You look tired," Harry said obviously. Ron glared at him, but Hermione wasn't mad – she was sure he was right.
"I didn't sleep well," she said hoarsely. She had spent hours sending Draco messages. Arguing that the protection clause in the Vow superseded the qualifying, traitorous clause of non-interference. Telling him he was sick and hateful to turn her Vow on her. The "best of your ability" is not a useless suicide mission, Granger, he argued back. If you're right, then what's stopping you? Taunting and assured.
Hermione had never felt the Vow before, aside from the terrifying psychological fear of stepping a toe out of line and being stricken down by death. Now, she realised it had been influencing her free will for weeks. Driving her to reply after he lifted his too-controlling Imperius; holding his bangle in her hand when she wanted to throw it as hard as she could in her parents' home. Stopping her in Devon with a simple no after she threatened to break into Malfoy manor and pull him out.
"In my mind, and my heart, and my hands," Ginny had whispered one night many moons ago, when they were both drunk and Hermione's hungry curiosity rose to the surface. "So close I couldn't see it or feel it. Until it was far too late." The possession sounded eldritch and foreign. Hermione hadn't really understood, despite Ginny's brave, raw truth, that she had meant that Voldemort's influence felt so natural it was not noticeable. She had never felt so stupid.
I can tell now, she sent to him, after the roosters started crowing and angry tears had given way to a bleak insomnia. I can feel it. It's influenced my actions for weeks. Do you control it? Is it an Imperius by another name?
No, Draco had said. It's bigger than us, Hermione. Just like you say Potter's mission is. He described how his deliberate recursion of the Vow bound him as well; how when she broke down in the hospital wing, he made his choice and then felt the earth shift under his feet. It was still vastly unfair, but Hermione felt a tiny bit mollified it was not a one-way chain.
The worst part was he'd even told her. I hope we did fuck up our Vow, he had plainly written after Dumbledore had been murdered and Draco had incapacitated her with magic over her mind and soul. How she had missed such an obvious guilty conscience was hard or humbling to say.
A hand waved in front of her, and she looked up at the movement to see Ron.
"Maybe you should go back to bed," he said. "Or at least not attempt any complicated wandwork."
"I'll be fine," she replied, rubbing her eyes. "What does Fleur need help with today?" Ginny groaned loudly next to her.
"There's silverware to polish, thank you, Hermione dear," she said. "Ginny, you can do that with Hermione too." And so she focused on polishing cake fork after cake fork for hours, until Ginny poked her and pointed towards Mrs Weasley dragging Harry into the pantry.
"Ah," Hermione said.
"Yep, I'm sure all Harry needed to change his mind was a stern talking to," Ginny said, throwing her cloth down. "Come on, smoke break."
"I'm not smoking with you when your mum's about," Hermione hissed. That was just inviting trouble when she was already on thin ice with the Weasley matriarch.
"She's busy berating Harry," Ginny replied, poking Hermione ticklishly in the ribs until she stood up and walked out into the herb garden with her.
"So," Ginny said airily, after Hermione sniggered when she tried and failed to blow a smoke ring. "Who's the boyfriend?"
Hermione felt the smile slide right off her face. "What?"
"Or girlfriend," Ginny offered, aiming a hex at an approaching gnome.
"I don't have one," Hermione replied. Ginny blew smoke out her nostrils, looking annoyed.
"Secret, huh? Well," she said, her expression changing to a more thoughtful one, "maybe that's for the best. If you're going off to fight Voldemort."
Hermione wished she could get up and leave, but that would only confirm all of Ginny's suspicions. She must have caught her with her bangle one night…she'd have to be more careful around Harry and Ron.
"Ron would be fucking annoying about it too, I guess," Ginny commented. Hermione wished the ground would open up and swallow her in.
"No? Nothing?" Ginny asked, peering at Hermione through the midday sun glare.
"I'm not dating anyone," she lied feebly. Ginny exhaled, removing the cigarette from her mouth with her left hand.
"Shame," she said dispassionately. "Petrificus totalus."
In her tiredness Hermione was far too slow, seconds late to the Shield Charm that would have stopped Ginny's hex. She was completely frozen as Ginny reached over and pulled the bangle off her wrist, panic distracting her from trying to force the hex off without a wand or words.
Ginny twisted the bangle in the sunlight, squinting at it. She snorted and rolled her eyes, aiming her wand at Hermione to release the bind. Before Hermione could respond Ginny was holding the bangle back out to her. Hermione snatched it from her hand.
"Merlin, Hermione. You can't send secret messages every night and not expect me to be worried," Ginny said. Hermione looked down to read the message Ginny had seen. I hope you're asleep. I know you're mad but I'm not sorry Hermione. I'm so glad you're alive.
"This is a war. How can you be so embarrassed about some sappy love letters?" Ginny looked away, kicking the dirt. "Don't scare me like that. I was worried it was some evil shit for a minute."
Hermione's mouth was so dry she couldn't respond. Ginny clapped her on the back and suddenly passed her smoke to Hermione just as Mrs Weasley emerged.
"Are you guys – done yet?" Mrs Weasley asked, looking judgingly halfway through her comment at Ginny's lit cigarette.
"No," Ginny said. "Who knew we had so many forks."
"Well, hurry up," Mrs Weasley snapped. "You need to mop all the floors too, and I want the attic aired out today as well. And Hermione – really, that's a bad habit for a witch to pick up, please wash your hands before finishing the silverware."
Ginny winked as Hermione reeled: how completely she'd been outplayed, the absurd dumb luck that she had managed to keep the secret.
"Where have you been all day?" she asked Ron, who had stumped inside looking grumpy and dirty as she set the table.
"Fighting every last gnome in the garden," he said, sounding extremely fed up. Hermione smiled sympathetically.
"I think I've polished a thousand cake forks," Hermione replied. Ron frowned.
"Have you –" he started, but there was a sudden crash from the kitchen.
"Ron?!" Mrs Weasley shouted. "Get in here, I need your help –"
Ron hurried off into the kitchen.
Hermione had had found all of two English-Welsh translations when Harry flopped down on the couch beside her.
"Hey," she said distractedly.
"Hi," he said, sounding just as tired and annoyed as Ron. She tore her eyes from the tiny illegible text to see he was coated in a sort of orange and grey dust.
"What have you been doing?" she asked.
"The bricks in the front path needed relaying," he said.
Hermione frowned at him. "Says who?" she asked, but Harry merely shook his head and rolled his eyes, too tired to explain. "Listen," she said, leaning over to grab the Old English reference guide Ron had long since abandoned. "Harry, there's so many languages we –"
"Hermione!" Mrs Weasley called sharply; she jumped, but Harry was so exhausted his gaze merely moved to where Mrs Weasley stood, carrying an enormous basket of laundered sheets.
"Do you need help, Mrs Weasley?" she asked politely, abandoning her dictionaries and standing up.
"Yes, dear – could you please fold these and put them in the linen cupboard on the third floor?" she said, passing the giant basket to Hermione. "Well, Harry, how did you get on with the bricks?"
A dim understanding came to Hermione, muffled under layers of clean sheets.
"Hi Harry, can I sit next to –"
"Remus! You should really tell Hermione about that hinkypunk problem you had in Cardiff," Mrs Weasley said, pushing Hermione gently and firmly down the table. The potatoes on Hermione's plate wobbled just as precariously as Mrs Weasley's flimsy excuses to keep her, Ron and Harry apart.
"Hermione!" Ginny mocked quietly, as Remus looked confused and turned away from the table again, back to whispering in hushed tones with Tonks. "How could you think of even talking to Harry when we haven't washed all the cutlery for a fifth time."
"Very foolish of me," she agreed, moving down the table to sit by Remus and Tonks, who immediately stopped talking. She actually had a question for Tonks anyway.
"Hi, Hermione," Tonks greeted.
"Hi," she said, leaning in to whisper quietly and cut to the chase. "Listen, Tonks – do you have access to Moody's house?"
Tonks blinked at her, eyes suddenly looking sad. "Well – yes. Why?"
"If you're ok with it – I was thinking, keeping some of Moody's Polyjuice Potion stock on hand might not be a bad way to protect Harry," she said.
Remus sighed. "You're not wrong," he said. "We've already moved it to our place, but we can get you a couple vials."
"Thank you, Remus," she said sincerely, as Ron caused another outburst by trying to sit beside Harry.
Yaxley thinks the Ministry will fall in a few days, she read two hours later, evening cigarette and tea in hand by the Burrow's gate. It turned out it wasn't too hard to find time alone under Mrs Weasley's watchful eye, so long as it wasn't anywhere near Ron or Harry.
Does he know where Harry is? she asked, wondering if a Death Eater was standing by the Burrow at this very moment, waiting in case Harry stuck his nose outside the protective charms.
Ottery Saint Catchpole in Devon, blinked back at her. She grimaced.
"Damn," she said out loud, sipping her chamomile. It was hardly a secret where the Weasleys lived, nor that Harry spent a lot of time with them. But it was still uneasy to think that the Death Eaters knew where he was, without ancient blood magic protecting him.
Let me know if you get any warning they're gonna break down the front door, she sent back. Maybe it would be prudent to pack most of Harry and Ron's belongings now.
I take it you think staying is the safest option? Draco asked. Hermione rolled her eyes.
For now. We're warded up to the eyeballs. Harry's seventeen in a couple days, so we may as well wait the Trace out, she etched back.
Something occurred to her. Are you seventeen yet? When is your birthday?
They were getting so accustomed to messaging over enchanted metal, she could sense the slight pause before he replied. I turned seventeen on June 5, he eventually replied.
"Ah," Hermione said quietly. During the Imperius. I missed it, she sent; and then decided to add Happy birthday.
It had not at all been guaranteed he would make it to seventeen, after all. It was something to celebrate. Even if belatedly, even if she was still absurdly mad at him.
Thank you, he sent back, so formal and sincere Hermione couldn't help but laugh, biting her lip to stop giggling to herself like a lunatic.
Did you celebrate it? she asked, wondering if Pansy and his mother continued their avalanche of gifts from the hospital wing. Hopefully he hadn't spent every moment of the day in front of that bloody cabinet…
I caved and asked you to hang out, her bangle glittered. Hermione frowned and tried to remember, but it was lost in a haze of Imperius.
I don't remember, she admitted.
It was totally miserable, he described. Hermione could believe it – she could barely look her parents in the eye after she put them under. Until I asked about your birthdays as a kid.
"Oh lord," she said, physically cringing as she remembered an extremely embarrassing incident on her ninth birthday involving her cousin Alvita and her childhood crush Mark. I told you about the Alvita thing, didn't I, she asked, steeling herself for the truth.
I laughed so hard my stomach ached, he sent back, totally unabashed. It was the best gift I've ever received.
He probably sorely needed a laugh at the time. Hermione felt a little better knowing that someone had enjoyed that extremely ill-fated laser tag outing, even if it was a decade later.
September 19, she sent back, throwing down the gauntlet. You owe me an equally excruciating or hilarious anecdote.
Impossible, he replied quickly. Nothing that funny has ever happened to me.
Spoiled brat. Well you could always try finding Mark Wright and falling in love with his mullet, she deadpanned. They bickered about eighties hairstyles and man-thieving cousins until her cigarette burnt out, and the dregs of her tea grew cold.
It was another full day of cleaning and renovating the Burrow from top to bottom before she managed to catch Harry and Ron.
"It really is messy in here," she said doubtfully, ducking into Ron's room. Mrs Weasley had ordered him to tidy it, and indeed, Ron and Harry's stuff was strewn all over the place.
"Don't start, Hermione," Ron groaned, falling onto his bed. Hermione figured she'd just grab a pile of their laundry and shove it in with the rest of her packing when he wasn't looking. It was actually pretty funny to think that the Death Eaters might take over the government before Ron managed to clean his room.
"Some of it is your stuff, anyway," he said accusingly, pointing towards the books beside his wardrobe.
"True," she admitted. "I'll sort these now."
"You do that," Ron said, voice muffled in his pillow. "I'm going to lie here and pretend Mum doesn't exist for a minute."
But Hermione had scarcely started before Ron's mind was ticking back over the war. "Do you really think Mad-Eye died?" he asked quietly after all of thirty seconds of silence.
Hermione tried not to grimace. "Bill wouldn't say so if he wasn't sure," she said, trying to respond reasonably. "And Fleur was crying, remember…"
"Oh, yeah…" Ron said, suddenly leaping off his bed dramatically as they heard footsteps outside his door. "I'm doing it, ok -! Oh, it's you."
Harry wandered in, sitting on his camp bed. "How did you get away?" he asked her.
"Ginny and I made the bed for the Delacours yesterday," she replied.
"We were just talking about Mad-Eye," Ron said, restating his unfounded idea that Mad-Eye had somehow survived a Killing Curse to the face at several hundred feet. Harry also did not think it was worthy of much consideration.
"How can Bill be sure?" Ron persisted.
"He fell, Ron," she said impatiently.
"But he could have used a Shield Charm –"
"Fleur said his wand was blasted out of his hand," Harry cut in, eerily accurate memory.
"Well, all right, if you want him to be dead," Ron snipped back.
"Ron!" she exclaimed. "Of course we don't want that! But we have to be realistic."
Ron looked between her and Harry. "I guess the Death Eaters tidied up after themselves. And that's why no one's found him," he said.
"Yeah, like Barty Crouch, turned into a bone and buried in Hagrid's front garden," Harry said, voice strangely harsh. "They probably transfigured Moody and stuffed him –"
"Don't," she said suddenly, but Harry's horrible, truthful words had hurt her too quickly, and suddenly she was crying all over her copy of Spellman's Syllabary. Harry started apologising; Ron leaped up again and was suddenly huddled next to her in the corner, all kind words and sympathy. It was rather strange; normally the emotional sensitivity between Harry and Ron was the other way around.
"Sorry," she said thickly, wiping her eyes on the handkerchief Ron had pulled out of nowhere to offer her. "It's – it's just awful." She closed her eyes and tears continued to flow.
"Right after Dumbledore…I never imagined Mad-Eye dying." His death had terrified her, more than Dumbledore's had. "He seemed so tough," she said sadly. And it wasn't enough, it was nowhere near enough to be tough to survive Voldemort.
Ron cracked a joke about Mundungus and opined about learning from Moody's death, but it just made her feel worse. She stepped out from underneath the arm he had somehow crawled across her shoulder, wanting to move on from her embarrassing outburst.
"Anyway," she said. "I'll finish figuring out which of these we're taking with us. If our luck so far is anything to go by, everything on Ancient Runes should be kept."
"I forgot that we're hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library," Ron said sarcastically. Harry was silent for a moment.
"Listen," he started, and Hermione looked at Ron meaningfully. Here we go, she could tell they were both thinking.
"I know you said you wanted to come with me –"
"Unbelievable," she sighed, turning back to her book pile as Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, 'Hogwarts, A History' – yes, I want to keep this."
"Wh – hey, listen!" Harry said, and she could tell Ron's patience snapped at the same time as her own.
"No, Harry, you listen," she said tersely. "We're coming with you."
"But –"
"Shut up," Ron said.
"No!" Harry insisted. "Look, I know you've said you'll come, but – are you sure you've thought this through?"
Thought this through. Thought this through. Hermione felt her soul might have ascended from this earthly plane at the sheer fucking cheek of Harry's question, if she hadn't chained it to Draco Malfoy to give Harry one more chance.
"Well, let's see," she spat, throwing a useless Lockhart book at the floor so she wouldn't chuck it at Harry's head. "I've been packing and preparing for weeks so we're ready to leave at a moment's notice, which for your information has involved some pretty difficult magic. Not to mention, smuggling some of Mad-Eye's Polyjuice Potion stock right under Ron's mum's nose, so we can disguise you and ourselves when needed when we're on the run."
"And I Obliviated my parents. They've got new names and a new life ambition to move to Australia, so the Death Eaters won't track them down and murder them." She looked at her feet, guilt suddenly eating up her anger. "And they don't know about me. So if I don't survive...they'll be fine."
Ron was back, trying to put his arm around her again; she mumbled at him and stepped away, again. Something about when he tried to get close to her was –
Hermione suddenly stilled, suspicious of the prickly, unpleasant goosebumps that had risen across her shoulders where Ron had touched her. Malfoy, you little shit. There was no way to tell anymore, whether it was a genuine annoyance or a weaponisation of Draco's Vow that was making her skin crawl when Ron tried to comfort her. Did he intend to magically push away every friend that wasn't Harry?
Harry mumbled out an apology for not taking her seriously, but Hermione's anger at his insulting question was long forgotten. All her thoughts were now focused on ripping the bangle off her wrist and tearing a certain trust fund dickhead in Wiltshire a new one.
Ron took Harry to show him the alibi he was working on with his father, and Hermione yanked the bangle off her wrist.
Would you like to explain why my skin crawls when someone tries to hug me? she sent, staring at the bangle and hoping Draco would reply quickly. But it stayed still, and she had to swallow her anger for later as Ron and Harry returned from the attic, and Mrs Weasley burst into Ron's room with incandescent rage that they had managed to spend five minutes together.
He played dumb at first, but soon enough she was back to having a full-scale argument over Draco's Protean charm, crouching by the remnants of Sirius' motorbike next to the chicken hutch.
Why is Weasley touching you? Why are you with him? What the fuck do you think you're doing? So many questions, none of which were relevant to protecting each other or the horcrux mission.
Ron is on the mission with Harry too. So whatever you're doing that's causing this, stop it. It's interfering with my mission, she had argued. The ugly truth became quite plain at that point, and Hermione realised she had never actually told Draco before that she was one of three people on her mission, and that the third person on it was Ron.
What, has the mission changed to fucking the Weasel? There's no way anything you're doing with Potter requires Weasley.
What the hell is wrong with you? Were you actually planning on going back to him?
What part of "Unbreakable Vow" is so hard to understand? You are tied to ME.
The hypocrisy was insane. How Draco could let Pansy frigging Parkinson buy him every gift under the sun, and then turn around and berate her because a friend tried to cheer her up, was beyond her.
So Pansy can write you love letters, but no one is even able to pat me on the back after a friend dies? she sent back sarcastically.
Stay well fucking clear of him, Granger, he wrote back, ignoring her argument. Unbelievable.
Unbelievable was a good word for it. She stood up suddenly, scaring the chickens, and went to find Ginny.
"Oh, hey," Ginny said absently as Hermione walked back into the Burrow. "Fleur was –"
She stopped talking as Hermione curled up next to her on the couch, leaning against her.
"You ok?" Ginny asked, squeezing her hand.
It was just like always – the warm and comforting embrace of a friend. So she didn't unwillingly revulse from every friend, then. Hermione broke away from Ginny, not sure what to say.
"Yeah," she decided to lie. She didn't know what to think now. She couldn't parse her own feelings from the magic of the Vow at all. Who was to say it wasn't her exponential guilt that clawed under her skin when Ron touched her, or years of frustration at his often unhelpful responses finally coming to a head.
Harry's birthday did not provide an opportunity to talk to Ron. When she tried to tug him away from Harry and Ginny, there was just an uncomfortable silence between them. And when she caught up with an arguing Harry and Ron by the chickens, Ron was back to obnoxiously inserting himself into Ginny's personal life, his ugly sexist streak shining through.
Her navel-gazing about Ron only lasted a few hours, though. A Patronus interrupted at the start of Harry's birthday dinner, right after Remus had slipped her a flask of thick, grey liquid.
"Minister of Magic coming with me," Mr Weasley's voice announced as what looked like a silvery otter evaporated.
Mr Weasley and I have the same Patronus form? she wondered unhelpfully, brain fixating on the unimportant revelation the charm had brought to Devon. Remus and Tonks jumped as though scalded, practically running over the fence and Disapparating; the rest of them barely had a chance to look at each other in shock before the gate opened and Mr Weasley walked through it, Rufus Scrimgeour following closely behind.
"Sorry to intrude," Scrimgeour lied as they reached the head of the table. He looked terrible – Hermione tried to remember if he looked so haggard when he rudely questioned her at Hogwarts a few weeks ago. He summoned her, Harry and Ron into the sitting room.
"I have questions for the three of you, and I think it best to ask them individually. You two –" he pointed at her and Harry – "can wait upstairs. I'll begin with Ronald."
"No," Harry said; she nodded firmly too. "You can talk to us together or not at all."
Scrimgeour did not react for a moment, but then shrugged easily. "Ok, then. I'm here, as I'm sure you know, regarding Albus Dumbledore's will."
Ah, Hermione thought; and she snuck a look towards Ron and Harry, thinking about office break ins and Ministry auditors. They unhelpfully looked back at her, too.
Scrimgeour seized on their looks as surprise rather than guilt; but Harry cut in to ask a very good question about what exactly had taken the Ministry so long to fulfil the will. He quoted the Decree for Justifiable Confiscation at her and she couldn't help rebuking him; it was a terrible habit.
"That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts. What evidence did the Ministry have that Dumbledore was trying to pass on Dark items?" she asked, but Scrimgeour ignored her.
"Are you planning a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?" he asked snidely. God, the man truly was an unmitigated piece of shit.
"No," she said, before she could stop herself from being rude right back. "I'm hoping to do something worthwhile with my life."
"Why have you decided to give us the items now, if you seized them before?" Harry asked, cutting across her.
"He can't hold them for more than thirty-one days without proof they're dangerous," she said, not wanting to rely on anything Scrimgeour had to say about the letter of the law.
"Were you close to Dumbledore, Ronald?" Scrimgeour asked, ignoring her completely. Even with Professor McGonagall's advance warning, Ron buckled under the questioning. However, Scrimgeour did finally hand over the item Dumbledore had left Ron: an artifact Dumbledore himself had created, a Deluminator; no one in the room had any idea why Dumbledore had chosen this item to bequeath to Ron, though.
And then Scrimgeour turned to her; Hermione steeled her heart so she wouldn't burst into tears like she had the other day with Harry. "'To Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard', in the hope that she will find it entertaining and instructive.'"
The Minister pulled a very old book out of his bag. The binding was barely holding together, clearly extremely well-loved.
God she was weak; despite her best efforts, tears fell down her face at Dumbledore's thoughtful gift.
"Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Granger?" Scrimgeour asked. She sniffed and wiped her face on her sleeve.
"He-he knew I liked books," she replied thickly. Scrimgeour tried to push on why Dumbledore had left this book, but she had no idea nor inclination to help him. And then Ron put his arm around her again and she ground her teeth; she could hardly wriggle out of his grip when the three of them were all wedged onto a single couch and Scrimgeour was interrogating them.
And then Scrimgeour handed over, far and away, the most important gift: a Snitch. All pretence of patience and good will left the conversation as Scrimgeour rebuked any of Harry's questions. He even asked Harry about his actual fucking birthday cake and she couldn't help but laugh.
"Wow, hear that Harry," she said before she could stop herself. "There's a secret message from Dumbledore just waiting in your birthday cake!"
But Scrimgeour revealed his theory, which unfortunately made a lot of sense: the Snitch would remember Harry's touch as the Seeker that caught it, and therefore Dumbledore may have hidden something inside that would only reveal itself to him.
The Minister held out the Snitch and instructed Harry to take it; she tried to think of some way he could take it without touching it; even if he had a long sleeve shirt on, Scrimgeour would force him to touch it anyway – would a Shield Charm work? But obviously Scrimgeour would see –
Harry hesitated, but relented – all for absolutely nothing to happen. The four of them stared at Harry's hand, blinking in shock at the anti-climax.
"Dramatic," Harry deadpanned; both her and Ron laughed, until the shake of Ron next to her sent a wave of irritation through her body, and then the unconscious or magical physical response itself made her even more annoyed.
"That's all, then?" she asked, taking the chance to pry herself away from Ron and stand up.
"No," Scrimgeour snapped, but she stood up anyway. "Dumbledore left you a second request too, Potter."
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"The sword of Godric Gryffindor," Scrimgeour replied. He did not move to fetch it as he had the previous three items, though; they all looked at Scrimgeour's bag and knew no sword could fit in it.
"So where is it?" Harry asked.
"That sword was not Dumbledore's to give," Scrimgeour said. "As an important historical artifact, it belongs –"
"It belongs to Harry," she snarled; she could not help it, the nerve of this man and the government power he used to bully Harry. "It chose Harry, he pulled it out of the Sorting Hat when –"
"According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor. That does not make it Mr Potter's property, no matter what Dumbledore may have said." Scrimgeour stared at Harry, his expression hungry. "Why do you think –"
"Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?" Harry interrupted; he was also obviously sick of this conversation and wanted to hurry it along. "Maybe he thought it'd look nice on my wall."
"This is not a joke!" Scrimgeour said, loud and angry. "Did Dumbledore believe only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he believe you are destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"Interesting theory," Harry said; Hermione could see a vein popping in his neck. "Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort?" And then, Harry verbally tore the man to shreds. She'd seen it before – for all of Harry's perceptive kindness, he could turn it on its head to be accurately and painfully cruel when he wanted to. But she had never seen him turn so against someone as important as the Minister for Magic, and never with such anger.
"Maybe the Ministry could put some people onto that, instead of wasting time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban? Is this actually what you've been doing for the past few weeks, Minister? Sitting in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People died – I was nearly one of them – Voldemort chased me across three counties, he killed one of your best Aurors, but there's been no word, no help from the Ministry about that, has there?" Hermione couldn't breathe; Ron looked equally frozen as Harry yelled at the Minister. "And you come here and expect us to cooperate with you," he spat.
Scrimgeour, understandably, yelled right back at Harry; both of them jumped to stand and shout in each other's faces. Scrimgeour poked Harry with his wand, burning a hole in his shirt. Ron pulled out his wand, and she pulled on Harry's hand uselessly, trying to pull him away from the incensed Minister. It was no use, though; Harry stood firm and straight, refusing to back down, telling Ron to stop being so thick as to threaten the Minister. Scrimgeour continued yelling at him, his insults far less effective or pinpoint than Harry's.
"It's not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job!" he yelled at Harry, getting right up in his face. "It's time you learned some respect!"
But Harry replied so quietly and disdainfully that Hermione wilted, even though his heinous words weren't aimed at her. "It's time you earned it," he said; and then the front door slammed open, Ron's parents running in to defuse the situation, and Scrimgeour seemed to recover himself. The moment passed.
The Minister left, and they all ate a hurried dinner and admired the gifts Dumbledore had left them. Harry whispered for Hermione to meet him and Ron upstairs after everyone else went to bed, and Hermione sat on her mattress in Ginny's room, reeling from everything.
"Did he really burn a hole in Harry's shirt?" Ginny asked. Hermione nodded.
"They had a proper argument," she said in hushed tones; she still couldn't quite believe Harry's nerve. "Harry just – let him have it. I know he's angry but –"
"But probably not the smartest idea," Ginny finished for her, though she wore an unconvincing smirk on her face. "Whatever. Old bastard had it coming."
Hermione didn't really disagree. She pulled her bangle off to check something quickly with Draco; they hadn't exchanged messages for over a day, which was as close as they had gotten to a fight since he had Imperiused her in May. Ginny already knew this part of her secret so it didn't feel too bold to send a message in front of her. She wiped his unbelievable to check if he knew what the Minister had been busy with over the past few weeks. He probably didn't, yet, if Yaxley was to be believed.
"What will secret girlfriend think about fighting with the Minister?" Ginny asked absently, brushing her hair while looking in the mirror.
"Mm," Hermione replied non-committally, carefully turning the pages of the book Dumbledore had given her. "D'you think your mum is asleep yet? I need to go talk to Ron and Harry."
"Haha, I bet," Ginny said, "I'd maybe wait. So, how'd you get together with Mr Protean Charm?"
Hermione jerked her head up; Ginny's eyes narrowed.
"Yeah, I figured it was a guy and not a girl. I'll take women off the list, then," she said, fiddling with a bottle of black nail polish on her dresser.
This needed to be nipped in the bud. "Ginny, please don't try to guess," she asked honestly. "It's –"
"I know, it's dangerous and important and all that," Ginny said testily. "I definitely know." She tapped her fingers on small bottle. "Does Harry know?" she asked.
Hermione really wished they were not having this conversation – it was so awkward to discuss with Ginny when Harry had made a very different choice. "N-no," she said.
Ginny pursed her lips slightly. "Do you think he'd try to make you end it?" she asked.
There was absolutely no way to end it, but Hermione could hardly tell Ginny that. "Maybe," she said vaguely, trying to imagine a normal relationship and what Harry might say. "He probably would say it's my choice."
An ugly look crossed Ginny's face, and Hermione knew they were both thinking about Ron's interference. "Yeah," Ginny said roughly, but she turned away and did not continue the conversation, to Hermione's relief.
Hermione started translating the title of the book and the chapters within it. The Wizard and the Verbing Something? Some sort of water of wealth? The Warlock's Adjective Heart? A story about three brothers, and one title where the only word Hermione could pick out was the pronoun.
"Think they're in bed, if you wanted to head up now," Ginny said, turning off the light. Hermione Silenced her footsteps and walked up quietly to Ron's room, charming the door to prevent a listening Mrs Weasley just in case.
Ron was clicking away with the Deluminator already; like Scrimgeour had discussed, it merely seemed to turn the light on and off in the room.
"Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have singled you out in his will just to give you a cool light switch," she said, trying to find some sort of idea in her head for what Dumbledore had intended to achieve or communicate with leaving Ron the Deluminator.
"Why couldn't he have given us a hint when he was alive?" Ron asked.
"I know," she said. "What was so important that it had to pass through the Ministry, but not tell us about last year?" She stared at the runes she had barely started translating. "Maybe he thought it was obvious?"
"I always said he was mental," Ron said, shaking his head. "Brilliant and all, but cracked. Leaving Harry an old Snitch – what the hell was that about?"
"Has he hid something in it?" she asked, turning to Harry. "I thought for sure something would happen when you took it, Harry!"
Harry pulled the Snitch out and held it in front of him. "Well," he said carefully, "I wasn't going to try too hard in front of Scrimgeour, was I?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, heart racing; but Ron had understood. He pointed at the Snitch and Harry.
"That's the Snitch you nearly swallowed!" he exclaimed.
"Exactly," Harry said, and he put the Snitch to his lips. It did not open, but something new had appeared on the edge of the golden ball.
"Writing! Harry, look, there's a message –" she said, pointing.
"'I open at the close'," Harry read aloud, looking up at her and Ron. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Goddammit, it was a riddle. They all stared at each other gormlessly for a minute, but no brilliant strokes of inspiration came to any of them.
"And the sword," Ron eventually said.
"I bet it's because it has basilisk venom encased in it, from when Harry killed it – Goblin blades take in things that can make them stronger. So I bet it can destroy horcruxes too, and that's why Dumbledore wanted to pass it to Harry," Hermione said, rubbing her arms nervously. "Thank god we picked up the basilisk fangs - Ron, if you hadn't thought of that before we left –"
"Yeah," Harry said, cutting across her. "But – I'm kind of worried that's not the only reason Dumbledore wanted us to have the sword."
Hermione felt a sinking disappointment. "What?" she asked. Harry looked quite miserable.
"You heard Scrimgeour…that was an awfully specific theory, about the Sword of Gryffindor being the only thing that could kill the Heir of Slytherin." Harry looked at Hermione, worry lines crinkling around his eyes. "What if that's what we need to do, after the horcruxes have been destroyed? And we don't have it?"
She looked down at her feet, worried now as well. "Didn't you say – didn't Dumbledore say Voldemort would be mortal?" she asked. "But – you're right, it did sound like Scrimgeour has spent all his time on this over the past few weeks…" Why hadn't the Minister been more open with Harry about what he found? Maybe that was unfair to expect; they had certainly not given Scrimgeour any information that they had.
Hermione needed Malfoy to stop being mad about Ron so she could ask him to try and find out more about what Scrimgeour knew. Given how helpfully the politics of the Ministry played out after Voldemort's initial return, possibly he would aim to Imperius the Minister rather than remove him from office? That would be what she would do, if she were Voldemort and trying to take over the government…and if that happened, would there be a chance that Draco could get the info out of Scrimgeour?
But Hermione quickly realised this was a fallacy. If the Minister was Imperiused by Voldemort, he would hand over all his information to him, and any intel that could harm Voldemort would be wiped.
Maybe their only chance was trying to talk to Scrimgeour again before Voldemort attacked. Ron's dad might be able to meet with Scrimgeour and convince him to reveal what he knew…
"What about the Bard's book, then?" Ron asked. Hermione looked up; she couldn't help being surprised, reading was not Ron's favourite pastime.
"You know this book, Ron?" she asked. He gave her a funny look.
"Of course I do!" he said. She looked at Harry, but he seemed just as nonplussed as she was.
"Oh, come on guys," Ron said, chiding them. "All the old kids' stories are meant to be by Beedle the Bard, aren't they? 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune, 'The Wizard and the Hopping Pot', 'Babbitty Rabbitty-'"
"Excuse me?" Hermione interrupted, unable to keep a laugh out of her tone. "'Babbitty Rabbitty'?" No wonder she hadn't been able to translate that title.
"Come off it! How have you not heard of Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump?" Ron asked. Hermione rolled her eyes, understanding the gist of the book now.
"So they're magical children's stories, then?" she asked. "Harry and I had muggle stories growing up, they're different." Draco's vague interest in Charlotte's Web swam to the front of her mind. Come to think of it, muggle children's stories had just as ridiculous names. "Like Rumpelstiltskin," she said, picking the most ridiculous title she could, and Ron laughed too.
She looked back down at the book, pondering. "I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them," she said, and then they all jumped as a floorboard outside creaked.
"Could be anyone," Ron said, "there's like fifty people shoved into this house…"
"Oh well. They'll be out after tomorrow," she said. The wedding had really snuck up on them. "We should probably go to sleep…it wouldn't be good to oversleep."
"Yeah, a brutal triple murder by the bridegroom's mother might put a bit of a damper on the wedding," Ron said, making both her and Harry laugh.
She paused on the landing by Ginny's door as an unhelpful response from Draco landed in her hand.
Why do you need to know what the Minister's been doing?
Hermione felt her eyes glaze over. Answering a question with a question – so annoying. But she relented. Because he was just here interrogating us and alluded to a theory about how to destroy Voldemort, she sent back, sitting on the top step by Ginny's door.
If Scrimgeour has your location you need to leave tonight, the bangle quickly flashed back. Yaxley is moving against him tomorrow. He's going to torture anything he can out of him.
There was the Minister's fate, glowing pre-determined on the dark stairs. And there was her signal, to get Ron and Harry out.
Hermione went down to the laundry to find whatever clothes she could of Ron's and Harry's. Their belongings could be packed tomorrow morning. But she couldn't really leave the Burrow with them now, before the coup happened That would look extremely suspicious. It was possible the coup would fail, or wouldn't be complete before the wedding was over, and then they could make a convenient exit before the government came back with a much less polite approach than it had this evening.
Will you be there with Yaxley? she asked. She normally tried to avoid asking detailed questions about what Draco was doing to stay by Voldemort's side. But this was too important.
Not unless he brings him to the manor, Draco replied. Hermione could feel it – any secret Scrimgeour had was not going to reveal itself to her before it landed and died at Voldemort's feet. She could hardly ask Mr Weasley to contact the Minister now; it would absolutely look like she was compromised once the Minister was attacked tomorrow.
If you hear anything about a sword, please tell me, she sent back, mostly giving up.
Do you have somewhere safe to go? Draco asked, after she shoved a pile of clothing into her beaded bag.
If the Ministry was going to fall, the Death Eaters would be so busy that it might be a relatively auspicious time to visit Grimmauld Place. Any other time they would surely not be as distracted. Has Snape tried to get back into the old Order of the Phoenix headquarters? she asked.
He said he couldn't. That Mad-Eye auror cursed it. It sounded like no one could enter.
Was Snape just stretching the truth to cover his own skin, or had Mad-Eye cursed the house so bad that no one could go back? Hermione worried for a moment before pushing it out of her head - they were going to have to try regardless. Hopefully as the legal owner of Grimmauld Place, Harry would at least be able to enter.
I've got some ideas, she said vaguely, thinking of a map of forests across the United Kingdom she had bought from the eager salesman in the Birmingham outdoor activities shop.
It was strange, how fast she had gotten used to just doing chores with Harry and Ron. It had basically been like a holiday from reality. The nervousness returned, heavy in the hot summer air.