CHAPTER 2: Hogwarts
Hermione stepped into King's Cross with a sigh. She hoped (rather desperately) that her mother would be okay on her own. But then, Crookshanks was there to guard her, so there shouldn't be a huge problem. And their next-door neighbor, Mr. Schwinn, had said he would check up on her.
She smoothed the front of her shirt, a spaghetti strap tank top, and checked that her skirt faced the right way before wheeling her cart through the pillar to Platform 9 ¾.
It was nearly 11, so Hermione pulled her luggage off the cart and boarded the train. She looked through compartment after compartment until she finally found Harry and Ron.
They jumped up immediately, issuing apologies for their behavior. Hermione waved them off, insisting that it was fine and forgiven, which it wasn't, really. She was amused that they still had matching black eyes (now faded with age), but the cuts (not the bruises) were healed.
Ron's nose was so bruised it looked an unhealthy yellow color. "Mum was so mad at us that she refused to heal us. Said 'it'd do you good to heal the muggle way. Maybe then you'll be less inclined to engage in violence.' Or something like that," Ron explained.
"Well, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have said that you two started the fight," Hermione lied.
"No, you were right. We hit them first," Harry said reasonably. Ron shot him a sour look but didn't object.
"Before long, Hermione and Ron were called up to the front for prefect business. As they were leaving, Harry gave Hermione a queer look. "What's the on your shoulder?"
Hermione frowned, looking over at her right shoulder. Nothing. She stiffened and turned to her left. Her tattoo. Her eyes widened. She had forgotten about it completely. She'd been wearing spaghetti strap tank tops all summer to show it off to her father. Now most of the tops she owned were of that style, because she hadn't been willing to have her father see her without something she was doing, saying, or wearing screaming defiance at him.
She gnawed her lip and looked at Harry, false innocence written on her features. "A tattoo?" She phrased it like a question.
Harry's eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Ron jumped behind Hermione to examine her shoulder. "That's so cool! Is that what a tattoo looks like? I've never seen a real one before. Can I get one too?" he said excitedly. Apparently, tattoos weren't very common in the wizarding world.
"Look at the time, we're gonna be late!" Hermione bolted, and Ron followed because he was too interested in the black star to leave it be. Hermione stepped into the nearest bathroom (Ron almost followed her in, and she had to push him out, reminding him that he wasn't female, and this was a bathroom for that gender) and arranged her hair to cover the star, mentally kicking herself for putting it in so obvious a place. She exited, and she and Ron continued on their way down the corridor.
A few minutes, Ron broke the relative silence of the hall. "Why did you cover it up?"
"You and Harry weren't supposed to know that it even existed. It was my own bad judgment that made me wear this top and let it be seen," Hermione answered truthfully. If they saw the tattoo, there would be too many questions asked about it. The same went for the dark mark (she winced at the thought of that one; that wouldn't merely fit under the category of "too many questions would be asked"), and possibly even her navel ring, to a lesser degree. Best that they not know.
"Why not?" Ron inquired.
"Why, here we are!" Hermione opened the door to the compartment and quickly stepped inside, effectively cutting off Ron's barrage of questions. Ron stepped in behind her sullenly.
"Well, now that we're all here, I'd just like to say that the fifth year prefects can look to the sixth and seventh year prefects for any aid or guidance that you need, and especially the Head boy and Head girl. All older prefects may leave to patrol the halls while I brief the new prefects on what to do," Professor McGonagall said swiftly.
Hermione held back slightly so that she had as many people between herself and Ron as possible. At last, she peeked out the door cautiously. Ron was waiting for her though, and he pulled her out before she could retreat, banging her shoulder on the doorway in the process. "We need to talk," he said gruffly as he dragged her down the corridor. Hermione resisted, knowing that he was taking her to Harry's compartment.
Ron, however, was bigger and stronger than Hermione. He practically lifted her off her feet the last few yards. Ron banged his elbow on the door until Harry opened it, looking wild, expecting something terrible (Hermione imagined the scene would have looked comical were she not in it, but as she was being held off the ground by Ron, somehow she couldn't find the heart to laugh at it). Harry's wild, panicked look turned perplexed at their situation, and let them in, where Ron tossed her onto a seat and guarded the door with Harry.
"Hermione, I thought we were your friends. Why would you not tell us about the tattoo?" Ron's voice was filled with pain and she had to look away. "Is this why you didn't come to the Burrow this summer?" Ron asked her softly. Her anger flared up. She knew they'd talked about it during the school year, but in the summer, she'd not gotten an invitation as she had the years before. How could he be so rude as to remind her that she'd not been invited!
"At the beginning, yes. I might've come later though, if—" the door slid open.
"What's all this ruckus?" Came a drawl that was too familiar. "There've been complaints up and down the hall about some noise coming from this compartment." Malfoy looked at each of them and he smirked.
"Oh, it's the Golden Trio. No wonder people were complaining. Now, don't try to jump on her all at once. Take turns. We wouldn't want our precious Mudblood princess to get hurt, now would we?" He sneered at them and left. Hermione seized her chance and shot from the compartment like an arrow from a bow. In fact, she got out of the room so fast that she ran into Malfoy, knocking the both of them over. He shoved her off him.
"Get off me, you filthy Mudblood!" He made a sound of disgust and wiped off the front of his robes. She dodged behind him just as Harry and Ron charged out of the compartment.
"Come on, Hermione, it can't be so bad," Harry coaxed. Hermione though fast and realized she'd been stupid to act like this and make a big deal of it. Now they'd know something was up.
"Yes it can," she called from behind Malfoy, then paused. She was hiding behind Malfoy. Seeming to realize the same thing, and refusing to act as a bugger any longer, he turned to stand with his back against the wall. Stripped of all shields, Ron snatched her up for the second time that day and dragged her into the compartment, snarling at the people who had come out of their own rooms to see what was going on. Harry beckoned them into the room quickly and slammed the door shut so hard that it bounced back and he had to close it again.
"Now, what can be so bad that you'd rather we not know about a little star?"
Hermione pretended to fret as she grasped an idea. It would be the truth, of sorts, and if played correctly…it may just work. "You'll probably think it's stupid," she said slightly thickly, thinking of every sad thing, every injustice that had happened in her lifetime in order to summon tears. She looked at them through blurry eyes, and knew that they would think the excuse stupid.
"Try us," Ron said harshly, then his face softened slightly at the tears in her eyes.
"Well, Viktor began thinking that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work out." He had. And Hermione had agreed with him—but she wasn't going to tell Harry and Ron that. "And I remembered that in one of his previous letters, he had said he thought tattoos were cool. So I got one so maybe he wouldn't break up with me, but he did and it was horrible…" During her speech, she had let the tears slip out and roll down her cheeks. Finished talking, she looked out the window vacantly, willing the tears to continue.
Ron paced the small room furiously. Hermione jumped when Harry awkwardly put his arm around her to comfort her.
"Ron, please stop the death threats," Harry said. What Hermione had thought was merely angered muttering were death threats, apparently. She pitied Viktor when Ron next saw him. Ron stop pacing, and his mumbling stopped, and he looked to her, running a hand through his hair. His gaze fell to Harry's arm on her shoulders and his eyes narrowed as he glared at Harry.
"It's better this way, really," Hermione said, giving a pathetic smile and pretending not to notice the look Ron was giving Harry. But Harry had already gotten the hint and quickly took his arm off her shoulders. Ron nodded slightly to him. Harry mumbled an excuse that was quite incoherent and left the compartment.
Ron was silent. Hermione wiped her eyes, catching sight of her watch just as Ron began to speak, "Hermione, I—"
"Ron, we've completely neglected our prefect duties, and we'll be at Hogwarts in five minutes!" She looked at him apologetically. "Can we continue this later?"
Ron looked pained, but he agreed and left Hermione alone to change.
Hermione wondered what Ron had wanted to tell her. There had been an odd look on his face, in that flickering glance he'd sent her before leaving. It was a look of…she shook her head, unable to place it.
Just as she finished buttoning her robe, the train stopped. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. She smoothed her robes, pinned her Prefect's badge onto the chest guiltily (she'd completely shirked her duties!) and was out the door. She caught up with Harry and Ron at the carriages.
The carriage ride seemed like old times. Hermione put a firm blockade between herself and the thoughts that Harry and Ron didn't care about her. With that barrier set, she was able to act nearly normal around them. It was good enough to fool them, at least, and they were content.
Everything seemed so…normal. Hermione was surprised by that. And she felt both relieved and dismayed by this. Relief because it would be easier to play out her lie. Dismay because…well, it was almost too easy, and maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong and they did care about her.
But no. Her decision had been made. She'd chosen the dark side, and it was too late to change her decision now.
Her thoughts drifted during dinner, and it was only years of habit that made he hear all of what Professor Dumbledore was saying. He spoke of house unity and also reminded them about the off-limits areas, and…
No Hogsmeade weekends this year. Nearly every mouth in the Hall was agape. No Hogsmeade? Why not?
"That's right," Professor Dumbledore's face was oddly grim. "No Hogsmeade visits. I know many of you enjoy these trips, but with Voldemort at large, I just cannot put you in that kind of danger." Many of the angry murmurs hushed, but some started anew. "Now, I know some of you," he glanced at Harry, "may think you can beat him. But many older, more experienced wizards have gone up against him before, and all have failed.
"However, since you cannot go to Hogsmeade, I have talked to all of the shop owners, and most have agreed to have Hogsmeade come to you. So, I am very happy to announce that during the first full weekend of every month, nearly every shop in Hogsmeade will be set up in the Entrance Hall for your enjoyment. Each shop will have their basic and most popular wares, and if you wish for anything that is not supplied there, the shop owners will be happy to have you pay for them there and they will owl you the item later.
"And now, having said everything that had needed to be said, feel free to eat up!"
Hermione picked at her food, suddenly not hungry. She didn't particularly mind that they couldn't go out to Hogsmeade (it would be in their very own Entrance Hall, now), but thoughts of Voldemort led to Harry and Ron, an uncomfortable topic. They appeared to be her friends, but…they didn't really notice her. She heaved a sigh and pushed her plate away. Without Harry and Ron, who were her friends now?
With a jolt, Hermione realized she was now alone at Hogwarts.
Suddenly chilled, Hermione stood, and under the pretense of needing to use the bathroom, hastily left the room. Two pairs of eyes watched her departure: one pair blue, shining from behind half-moon spectacles, the other a brilliant, worried green.
Hermione put her back to the door of the bathroom. She wallowed in guilt and self-doubt. She'd betrayed both Harry and Ron, though neither knew it. She'd also betrayed about three-quarters of the school in the same act, but none so much as Harry and Ron. Had she done the right thing? Now she wasn't so sure. A small voice yelled no, but there was the larger one, saying, they never appreciated you. Never. They're only getting what they deserve. Rising in strength slightly, the smaller voice said, you'll lose your best friends. But the larger one seemed to smirk as is said, you'll make new ones. And, Dumbledore was saying something about school unity. You will make that happen, because you'll be friends with the Slytherins. The larger voice had won.
Hermione composed herself, took a deep breath, and left the bathroom. Just as she reached the Great Hall, Harry came out of the doors. Hermione stifled a groan. This wasn't as easy as she'd thought. "Hello, Harry," she said calmly. "Do you need to use the bathroom too? I won't keep you waiting," she stepped out of his way.
Harry's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong here—he just wasn't sure what. Fine, he'd play her little game, but he was determined to figure out what had happened. "Thanks," he said gaily, though his eyes were still slightly narrowed.
Hermione sighed in relief when he'd left, then entered the Great Hall again. Harry watched her from behind a statue, and one question in his mind stood out—What the hell was going on!
That night Hermione flopped into her bed with a sigh. How ever was she going to make this work? Why had she even agreed to this? But, then again, Harry hadn't even noticed anything was wrong. He didn't care about her—and that's how he'd lost her friendship. With a smirk to the darkness, sleep was permitted to kidnap her.
After a good night's sleep, Hermione was less jumpy and quickly took up her double role ad Voldemort's heir and (pretending to be) Harry and Ron's friend. It was far easier than the day before, and she mentally stored any information that may prove useful to Voldemort. Timetables were handed out that day, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron were pleased to see that their least favorite classes were evenly spread out for once.
With a pseudo grin, darkness in the depths of her eyes that was masked by its opposite, and feelings of guilt, betrayal, and (a little bit of) satisfaction riding secure in her heart, she began the school year.
Over the next month, the seemingly impossible task of pretending to be Harry and Ron's friend began to be simply a risky game of pretend. It became a rather dull chore, like having to play boring little kid games with young children while babysitting: un-challenging, and easy to win.
Relations with Malfoy, however, had become so weird and confusing to the bullying blonde and his cronies that the "Golden Trio" was simply sneered at and ignored and avoided at all costs.
The first encounter happened one day at the end of Care of Magical Creatures. Malfoy was insulting Hagrid, as usual, before he decided to slander Harry, Ron, and Hermione as well. Hermione stared at him, an uncanny glean in her eyes and a smirk lifting the corners of her mouth in an I-know-something-you-don't-know fashion until he was too disturbed to make fun of them and walked away.
Several more similar run-ins happened until Malfoy was so disgruntled by her stare and superior smirk that they were merely ignored.
Notes to and from Voldemort were weekly. The two of them discussed many things, and Hermione was surprised to find a growing liking for him, and between keeping up in her classes, tiring excursions with Harry and Ron that wore her thin simply because of how often they were all together, and weekly correspondence with her "father," late September came as a surprise.
The reality of the whole situation hit Hermione with rather a rush. Voldemort's last letter had strict instructions for her to follow:
Tonight, you are to go to the Slytherin commons while everyone is at dinner. The password is "dragonflame". Mr. Malfoy will be waiting for you during that window of time. Be sure to wear a cloak and do not let him know who you are beforehand or all is lost. You are to accompany him to the Shrieking Shack. Be there by 6:30, even if you must run the whole way. Do not be late. Do not be seen or there will be dire consequences.
For some reason, the letter sent chills up and down her spine. She breathed a slight sigh of nervousness and went about her day as normally as she could, but the thought hovered obnoxiously in the back of her mind.
After classes, Hermione excused herself from Harry and Ron's presence and went up to her room, feigning illness. She pulled out several jars of hair products from her trunk and went through the laborious task of straightening her hair.
By a quarter to five, Hermione was done straightening her hair, leaving it lovely, sleek, and straight. With shaky fingers, she pulled out a magazine from her trunk also. It was the type of magazine she'd never buy, full of hair, makeup, and fashion tips: none of the stuff that mattered. Indeed, she hadn't bought this magazine, having filched it from Lavender when she wasn't looking because it had an article on streaking your hair magically. She flipped to the page and followed the directions, and at nearly 5:15 she was happy to have her hair now straight and with blood red streaks to match her dress.
Now it was time for the last part. She'd taken the liberty of looking up curling spells in the library. Now, she used these on her hair to give herself perfect, softly curling ringlets. Finally satisfied, she looked at her watch. 5:37. She put a charm on her hair to keep it from getting ruined along the way.
Quickly dressing in black pants and a black turtleneck shirt, she slid from her dormitory, pulling on her long black cloak and arranging her hood to leave her face in shadow. Taking secret passages, both to reach her destination quicker and to remain unseen, she quickly reached the dungeons.
Where she stopped.
She realized she didn't know where the Slytherin commons were. Hesitatingly, she spent ten minutes of her precious time wandering the dungeons. Suddenly a wall to her left opened, and out walked a familiar blonde.
"About time," a familiar drawl sounded. She considered turning around and smacking him for his impudence before she heard him continue more softly, "I was beginning to worry."
Surprisingly, she grinned before composing herself and saying gruffly, "Let's get going, we haven't too much time." Not too long after, they were safely out of the castle. Hermione had, along the way, tucked the route to Slytherin in the back of her mind just in case for later.
Taken aback, a frown shaped Hermione's mouth. She hadn't expected Hagrid to be out right now. But it seemed he was merely running late to dinner. As he passed, he looked at the pair suspiciously, before saying roughly, "shouldn't yeh two be at dinner?"
"We were merely going on an evening stroll. Something werong with that?" Draco intoned innocently. Hagrid's black eyes narrowed before he continued inside. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief before she and Malfoy continued on their own way.
Malfoy and she didn't converse much as they hastened on their way. The young man had tried a conversation in the beginning, saying, "so, do you know what this whole ball thing's about? I've heard they've had balls before, but usually everyone knows what the occasion is beforehand…?"
"I know, but I am not to speak of it," Hermione said.
"So…er…" Malfoy said when the pause grew overlong and awkward, "what's your name? I'm Draco Malfoy, of course."
"Of course you are. I will see you at the ball and introduce myself to you then." Finally Malfoy took the hint and gave up on conversation, and they continued with their brisk walk.
Checking her watch continuously to not be late (and having to run the last bit of the way), they arrived at Hogsmeade just in time. As they neared the Shrieking Shack, a loud crack sounded as someone Apparated in front of them.
"Right on time," a voice said coldly before handing them a pocket watch. "Three…two…one…" A jerk behind their navels and they dissolved from Hogsmeade.
The second the pair appeared in a long hall, they were whisked away, Draco taken the left whereas Hermione was led down the long hall to an office at the other end.
"Sir?" she asked hesitantly to a chair behind the desk whose back was to her.
"Ah, Chicklet, you're here."
Grinning softly, Hermione said, "Yes. I still need my makeup done and to put on my dress and shoes. I already did my hair." She took off her cloak, letting it fall to the floor before she walked around to the other side of the desk. "What do you think?"
The chair swiveled slightly to get a better look at her, and beneath the shadow cast by the hood of the cloak, she saw teeth bared in a smile. "Lovely." He examined her a little more before indicating a door behind her. "You may go get ready in there, and I'll call in someone for your makeup." With a nod to her father, Hermione walked through the door.
The bathroom she was now in was huge. Nearly larger than the Prefect's baths in Hogwarts, it was all made of shining white marble, the ceiling a pale, pale pink to match some of the pink running through the marble. Multiple showers, a huge bathtub, a sink big enough to sit in, and a huge towel rack with large fluffy pink towels and her dress hanging on it. Her dress was both the most colorful and the darkest thing in the room, and easily captivated the eye. A chill ran up her spine as she guessed that's what the night would be like: the thing that drew the eye, that held attention, that everyone saw. She wished she could melt into the marble at her feet.
With shaking fingers, she dressed herself in the blood-red gown.
Draco Malfoy sighed with relief to be home. He loved being at the Manor, it always gave him good feelings as he remembered what had happened here, and when he had fallen and laughed at himself there. The second they'd gotten to his house, his escort had been swept down the hall while he was pulled off to the left. Realizing there was no time to dawdle, he scurried up the stairs to his room to change into his dress robes and fix his hair.
When he was finally satisfied with his appearance (except for one rebellious strand of hair that kept falling over his eyes and would not stay back), Draco called in a house elf to lead him to his parents.
"Ah, there you are, Mum!" He kissed his mother's check and embraced his father momentarily.
"Perfect timing, Draco," Mr. Malfoy said, "we're about to be let in." True to his father's word, the doors opened just at that moment. With a grin, Draco and his family joined the line of people filing in.
It was a large ballroom, though decorated rather subtly in black and white with the occasional skull or serpent. In accordance of the festivities, everyone was dressed similarly in black or white (fewer white than black by far) dress robes, some trimmed with the opposite color.
Five long minutes of boredom for Draco, who knew practically no one, and cared to talk to less. But then…
The large doors creaked open. Draco snorted quietly: all doors in his house were kept perfectly oiled—the creaking was merely for drama.
Draco struggled to the front of the parting crowd. He saw Lord Voldemort, a hooded, imperious creature whose posture and obvious confidence proved him to be a leader. He walked alone, a true king, to the dais and stood in silence until he was sure everyone was watching him. He smiled.
"Hello, my followers. You may have wondered why I called you here tonight—we rarely have balls anymore. I have a very special guest." He paused, and Draco imagined for a moment that his smile grew sick with a predator's desire, "and I would like you all to meet…my daughter." He gestured to the still-open doors.
Every head in the crowd swiveled. A cloaked and hooded slight form stood in the doorway. As they watched, she shed her cloak like a cocoon, letting a nervous house elf retrieve it from where it pooled at her feet. Studying her, he noted she was about his own age; she stood tall, confident, and the upward tilt of her chin showed pride and dared someone to defy her. Her eyes flashed brown as she began to walk through the parting crowd, observing the room quietly. Among the blacks and whites in the room, she was a refreshing splash of color. Her eyes caught his, and she smiled.
It seemed to Draco that the world spun sickeningly. The girl in the red dress was the only thing there, her hair in perfect red-streaked brown curls, though all he saw were her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes. And he knew in that moment, that he was in love with this girl. He had been born to be her lover, no more, no less in the eyes of the world. Though he knew he would be much more than just a lover to her, though only the two of them may know it. It was love at first sight, though it felt like it had been planned for all eternity.
But then her eyes turned away, though the smirk stayed on her lips. Shaken from what he'd just experienced, Draco licked his lips nervously as the girl walked to the dais. She accepted Lord Voldemort's arm and he led her to the center of the platform.
"Okay," he admitted, "She's not my birth daughter." Some of the confused looks dissipated, but his comment created more confusion than there had been before. "But," Lord Voldemort continued, "I consider her as such, and that is how she will be treated." He grinned sickeningly, his eyes dancing. "My Death Eaters, please meet," Draco thought the man looked quite mad now, "your new Dark Lady." The crowd gasped, and the hairline control Lord Voldemort had on them broke. They began whispering amongst themselves.
Draco, though, had eyes only for the girl, and she turned to stand on tiptoe and whisper something in Voldemort's ear. He frowned and said something quietly back to her, disapproving. She murmured something back, smiling reassuringly and clutching his arm hopefully. He nodded reluctantly. She stepped away from him, grinning brilliantly and he pulled her back, asking her something. She answered him confidently, and he seemed to light up with pride before announcing the dancing could begin. An orchestra started up, sounding out a waltz. Slowly, couples began to dance, still murmuring to one another.
The girl stayed up on the dais, though Voldemort vanished into the crowd. She seemed hesitant, and upon closer inspection, her smile looked pasted on. With a jolt, he realized she probably knew no one there. Biting her lip, she looked achingly familiar as he walked up to the dais.
Catching her eye, he beckoned to her. She glanced around as a guilty child does for their parent before she scuttled over to him. She towered over him on the dais and crouched to equal their heights before seeming to realize it was improper (and probably not good for her dress) and standing again, bending over to him. He laughed silently at her antics before hiding his amusement so he'd not anger her. "Would you like to dance?" he asked up to her, smiling disarmingly.
She bit her lip again, and he ached to know who she reminded him of, and then she nodded. He reached up his hand, and she hesitated before taking it. He led her to the steps, and she flowed down them gracefully.
They danced, and Draco began to feel the silence between them awkward. "So—" he began, but she cut him off.
"Do you recognize me?"
He was startled by the question, but covered it. "I…no. You seem familiar, but I can't place it."
She smiled smugly. "Good. This'll be fun." His stomach seemed to kiss his shoes, and he looked at their feet. He felt her gaze upon him, heard her intake of breath to speak…and then she stopped everything, seeming to reconsider. Draco pulled her back into the waltz as she thought.
"Never mind," she grunted to him. He raised his eyebrows and suddenly understood. She had been scared up on that dais, all alone, and he had rescued her. "I'll say it cleanly and be done with it." She eyed him in annoyance. "Why did you have to be so nice?" She gave a hearty sigh. The song ended, and she drew back. When he made a move to reclaim her as his dance partner, she shook her head grimly, "you won't want to."
Draco was confused. He'd felt a connection with her. Why wouldn't he want to dance with her? She met his eyes squarely. "You must promise me you won't tell anyone at Hogwarts. Not even other Death Eaters' children." He looked at her warily. "Promise!" she said fiercely.
"I promise," he choked out.
She leaned close, pressing her cheek to his to speak into his ear. "You thought I looked familiar. Let me give you a name for that face." She drew back and met his eyes squarely. A niggling thought in the back of his head…
"Hermione Granger."
That was all it took. He stepped back in shock. Mind reeling, he recalled her entrance. Made to be her lover my ass, he thought. He needed to remember this next time he let his imagination loose. I can't believe I let myself dream of this…this Mudblood! Her eyes narrowed as if he'd said the word aloud.
"I am no more and no less than your precious Lord Voldemort," she snarled, stalking off to sit on the smaller of two thrones now on the dais, leaving him shocked, amazed, puzzled, and completely without recollection that he was to be initiated that night.
The best part of "Believe" is the "Lie"
—Fall Out Boy "Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year"
