Chapter: Mess
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"A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything."
-- Friedrich Nietzsche
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Hermione lay awake and thought of the war.
She runs.
"Stupefy!"
Hermione hears footsteps pounding behind her, their rhythm short and sharp in the resonant halls of the old school. She barely recognizes it now. The place that used to be her sanctuary, her shrine of knowledge, is nothing more than a crumbling castle now, appearing no different than any normal ruin in the Scottish countryside except for the odd-shaped curse scars and scorch marks on its face.
She points her wand over her shoulder. "Petrificus Totalus!" Someone falls down with a grunt.
They fire curses back at her but she weaves haphazardly as she runs and manages to escape them. A jet of green light screams past her head. She runs faster.
Her breath hurts but she doesn't stop. They are yelling. "It's the Mudblood Granger—the Dark Lord wants her alive! Don't use Avada Kedavra, Avery!" A low hiss of warning that sounds like Lucius Malfoy.
Saved by a killer, she thinks as her lungs heave.
"Stupefy! Impedimenta! Stupefy!"
They almost hit her with an Imperio and Hermione has had enough. She's tired. Tired of running and tired of fighting and angry at being chased. Time is up.
She stops and turns on her heel, facing her pursuers with a gleam of hysteria in her eyes.
"CRUCIO!"
The Death Eater she thinks is Lucius Malfoy stops cold, his body seizing in rigid tremors, an eerie series of jerks that looks curiously robotic. The others stop and stare at her. They weren't supposed to use the Unforgivables.
She can feel how strong the curse is, and for a moment feels like she shouldn't stop. Let him feel it.
You killed Luna. You killed George. You almost killed Ginny, but you probably don't remember that.
But Harry's voice sounds in her head and she breaks the connection, breathing hard. Malfoy twitches on the floor, eyes rolling, his words almost incoherent as he tries to speak.
"K-Kill he-e-er…"
She runs.
Finally she takes refuge in what used to be the Potion's dungeon, Snape's old domain. Funny, she thinks, because she thought she heard his voice among the ones chasing her. She falls into one of the old desks, taking comfort in the familiar combination of flat plains and uncomfortable edges.
She had used an Unforgivable Curse.
She had liked using an Unforgivable Curse.
She sighs and cradles her head in her hands, hoping that surge of power she felt is not addictive. She stays like that for quite a while, her still-quivering wand resting innocently in her lap.
She hadn't known that a wand trembles after it is used to cast an Unforgivable.
Something bursts through her barricade at the door and stumbles into the room. Hermione jumps from her seat and point her wand at the person, who is holding his arm very close to his body.
It is Draco Malfoy, and he is bleeding.
"Get down on the floor!" She says harshly, shooting warning sparks towards the stone at his feet. He turns around quickly, his eyes narrowing as he sees her. Now she can see his wound. The gash curse has rented the sleeve of his robe and the skin beneath, the long line of red down his forearm stark against his paleness.
"Granger…" He breathes dangerously, his wand closed in his fist quicker than she can see.
"Get down! Expelliarmus!"
She has the advantage, and he knows it as soon as his wand slips from his bloodied fingers. She catches it deftly and slips it into her robes. Looking very murderous, he obeys her stiffly, crouching into a tightly coiled spring of tension.
"What are you doing here?" She askes, her tone shrill.
"Same thing you are, I should think," he replies simply, motioning towards his arm.
She finds herself at an impasse. She can't very well arrest him and lead him out through a castle teeming with Death Eaters, but to let him go would be treasonous. He is fumbling with something in his robes, and she yells at him to stop.
"I'm only getting a bandage for my arm, Granger. Relax, will you?"
He sounds very casual, and it annoys her intensely but she lowers her wand. She watches him as he wraps the torn bit of cloak around his bleeding arm awkwardly and makes no move to help him. He gives her an exasperated, hateful look but stays silent.
Hermione talks now, to give herself time to think of something to do. "How many people have you killed today, Draco?" She uses his first name purposefully to unnerve him, although it seems to have no effect.
"I don't do the killing. We're too young, he says."
"Ah… So if your side is defeated in this war maybe not all of you will go to Azkaban, is that it? Maybe some of you can continue the legacy."
"Something like that," he mutters, the look on his face hidden. "Are you going to give me my wand back at some point?"
She stares, one eyebrow raised as she paces the width of the room, ears trained continuously on any noises from outside their sanctuary. "Why would I do that?"
He shrugs, watching her as he rips off the ends of his makeshift bandage with his teeth. "Because you're bloody Hermione Granger. You know what they call you? 'The Good Girl.' That's your name on our side. He wants you alive, you know, and everyone figures it'll be easy, bringing you in. You're the easy one, the good one. You'd never resort to the Unforgivables like your friends Potter and the Weasel. You're not the kind of person to fight dirty," he explains, a self-absorbed sneer gracing his features as he sees her irritated response to his taunting.
"'The Good Girl,'" she repeats, an ironic half-smile on her face. She remembers that surge of power. "Right."
In the end, she lets him go. She gives him back his wand and levitates him fast through the door so that it shatters into rotting-wood splinters and he lands hard on the stone floor. On her way out she walks over his bruised body as he curses her in low groans and she wonders what could have been.
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Hermione had all but forgotten that brief encounter, for it was practically insignificant in the entire mess of the war in her mind. As the war progressed, the Ministry had gradually become less strict about the use of Unforgivable Curses by non-Aurors, and in the end their side had been delivering nearly as many Cruciatus, Imperius, and Killing Curses as the other.
What could have been.
She had not allowed herself to think much about her other, much more recent encounter with Malfoy. Her stomach felt slightly ill whenever she did allow herself to wonder over it, but she didn't believe it was due to disgust.
And that was why she didn't let herself think about it.
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"There's a revised edition of Hogwarts, a History out, Hermione," Harry said coyly, hefting the substantial tome in his hands and feigning a toss in her direction. Hermione squeaked and lunged to catch it, frowning disapprovingly when she recognized the feint. She snatched the book from his grasp and began to flip through the pages, entirely absorbed.
Flourish & Blotts was exceptionally crowded. Christmas was approaching—and by approaching, Ginny had so wittily said as they squeezed their way between costumers, they meant two months away—and by the looks of the throng every wizard in Britain would be receiving a book for the holidays. The Harry, Ginny, and Hermione had all agreed to meet in Diagon Alley for a weekend outing between friends, and, as per usual, Hermione had insisted on visiting the expansive bookstore first thing.
"They've added a new section on wards, Harry!" Hermione announced excitedly, her eyes wide as she read.
"Interesting," Harry deadpanned, the greenness of his eyes twinkling.
He's happy.
Hermione rolled her eyes, watching Harry and Ginny as they grasped hands and went off to find the Quidditch section. She continued to skim through her chosen book until a voice interrupted her.
"I never read that book, I'm afraid; my parents preferred that I went to Durmstrang," Vulpe said, smiling faintly as she leaned against the bookshelf next to Hermione, who started and nearly dropped her book. Vulpe's smile widened apologetically.
"Oh," Hermione said weakly, trying to quell the racing of her heart. She had believed Vulpe to be Bellatrix, only for a moment. "That's a shame. I knew someone from Durmstrang once and he said it wasn't as nice as Hogwarts," she explained bluntly.
Vulpe shrugged. "I wouldn't know." She paused. "Victor, right? I heard him talking about you once."
Nodding, Hermione watched the other woman—girl, rather, for she was very young. "We met during the Tournament." The casual conversation was very unsettling, and Hermione found herself shifting anxiously. They were silent for a moment, Vulpe having picked up a copy of Hogwarts, a History.
Hermione studied Vulpe for a substantial length of time as she read, her straight black hair falling over the paleness of her cheeks. She was so like her mother, and yet so different, the spark of madness that had seemed to come hand in hand with Bellatrix noticeably absent from her daughter's eyes. Finally unable to take the silence any longer, Hermione spoke. "Did you need something, Vulpe?"
Vulpe shook her head. "No… not really." She seemed to hesitate, her eyes flitting from one end of the room to the other jumpily. "Um… You knew my parents, right? At least my mother…"
Hermione nodded stiffly, her mouth drawn tight.
Vulpe looked distinctly uncomfortable and her shoulders pulled in on themselves a bit. "Well… would you… would you tell Harry that—Oh Merlin, my mother is rolling about her grave right now. Would you tell Harry that I'm sorry? Mum was always a bit… zealous. She did some terrible things. I know…I know what it's like to lose someone that you love, and I heard Harry was really upset when Sirius died. And all the rest, too," she finished, wincing slightly at the last phrase.
Hermione's mouth had dropped open sometime during this speech and stayed there. "W-What?" She asked eloquently.
Vulpe sighed. "You have to understand that I barely knew my parents. They went to Azkaban when I was about one. I think that Voldemort did some great things—not good," she added, seeing the look on Hermione's face, "but definitely remarkable. I don't agree with the majority of his reasoning, and I've got nothing against muggle-borns or muggles, for that matter. I just… wanted you to know that. At least there's one person in your audience every Saturday who agrees with what you say. I think, though," she added, her eyes mirthful, "that you're getting through to at least some of them."
Hermione nodded numbly, blurting out the only thing she could think of. "Just wondering…who did you stay with while your parents were in Azkaban?"
Vulpe smirked. "Good question. My Aunt Andromeda, mostly. You know, the Black who disgraced the family and married a muggle? I stayed for a bit with Narcissa, as well, but I couldn't stand Lucius. He gave me the willies."
Hermione cracked a wry smile. "I completely understand, believe me. I know your cousin well… I wonder why Tonks never said anything?" She asked, genuinely curious.
Shrugging, Vulpe considered the question. "I never really had that much contact with her, to be honest. I went to a different school and then she was in Auror training."
Hermione thought for a moment, slightly cautious as she voiced her next inquiry. "You… um… You know Draco Malfoy relatively well, then?"
"Yeah."
"Is…Is he all right? He was acting a bit strange after last lesson. Did the war…?"
Vulpe chuckled, running a hand through her hair and pushing it from her face as she replied, "Oh, no. He got off comparatively easy—no mental problems. Or at least, none that he didn't have before the war," she quipped, grinning. "Why do you ask?"
Hermione dropped her eyes, a frown marring her shadowed face. "No reason."
"Hermione? What's going on?"
Hermione spun and caught sight of Harry, his brow furrowed and shoulders stiff as he assessed Vulpe's appearance. Ginny was peering at Vulpe from around Harry's shoulder. Hermione shook her head. "Nothing, Harry."
Vulpe's eyes widened as she saw Harry and she departed hurriedly with a rushed "see you on Saturday."
Ginny watched her go, frowning. "Who was that? She looks like—"
Hermione and Harry interrupted her simultaneously, "It's a long story."
The redhead glared at them. "Fine. I'm going to buy these," she said, motioning towards her impressive stack of Quidditch books and subsequently marching off.
Hermione and Harry stood in silence for a moment, before Hermione said quietly, "She says sorry, Harry, for her mother. She's…sensible."
Harry nodded, the only indication of his surprise one slightly raised eyebrow. "Hmm," he voiced speculatively.
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Next Saturday Hermione met her students at the main entrance of the Ministry. They looked rather perplexed at the absence of a proper classroom, but Hermione offered no explanation.
She didn't look at Draco, but she could feel him looking at her.
Hurrying to stay on track, she asked brusquely when each student was gathered around her, "How many of you have spent more than fifteen consecutive minutes in Muggle London?"
Vulpe was the only person to raise her hand, and the rest of the group commenced to glare sourly at her. "What?" She asked accusingly, glaring right back.
Hermione tried not to smile. "Good. Please apparate with me to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, and we'll go from there."
This is definitely not an ordinary class, she heard someone whisper to his companion, and simply smiled.
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"What is it, is man one of God's blunders or is God one of man's?"
-- Friedrich Nietzsche
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Author's Note: I know, a bit shorter than the rest, but I'm leaving for California for a couple of days to visit my cousin at five in the morning and I wanted to get a chapter out before I left.
Yay Vulpe! Sorry, I just had to get that out.
Thank you to all the reviewers! There were lots! I love you all!
It has just occurred to me that the flashback in the beginning of this chapter could be a decent one-shot… hmm… Anyway, enjoy, and tell me what you think.