/
"Hermione, I got a letter from my dad," Ron said over his uncharacteristically empty plate the morning of Gryffindor's first Quidditch match of the season. Hermione knew Ron's nerves had been getting the better of him the last few weeks; on more than a few occasions Harry had mentioned— correction, complained— that their red-headed friend was turning practices into routine nightmares for the whole team. Hermione recalled Ginny had also had a few rather choice words concerning her brother's behavior.
Despite Harry's prolonged encouragement, Ron looked rather green this morning.
"He said Bill will be home for Christmas, he can look at your necklace then."
Hermione frowned, handing the unread letter back to Ron.
"I thought I told you, Ron, I'm staying here for the holiday."
"I still don't understand why you're not going home, or why you won't at least come to the Burrow for Christmas," Harry said, diverting his concern from Ron to her for a moment.
"I'd love to come, really," Hermione lied, at least partially.
Felix Felicis was reaching a critical stage, and she wasn't about to leave it in Nott's hands. More significantly, her fears concerning returning home to her parents were overwhelming.
Hermione had at last decided on a plan for their safety, a plan she dreaded, and she didn't know how she could face them when she knew their days together were numbered.
"But I just can't— I need the time to try to get ahead of the work for next term—"
"But there isn't any work over term," Harry said, loading Ron's plate with toast and attempting to maneuver a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. Ron looked as though he were fighting the urge to throw up.
"Everything in class is ongoing though, you know that, Harry— oh, Ron, please, Harry's right, you should try to eat something!"
"Cheer up, Ron!" Called Lavender from a few seats down the Gryffindor table. "I know you'll be brilliant!"
Ron ignored her. Hermione shot Harry a nervous glance, thinking Ron's lackluster response to Lavender's attention did not bode well for Gryffindor. Harry's expression told her he was thinking much the same.
"Tea?" Harry asked him in a tone that reminded Hermione very much of Molly Weasley. "Coffee? Pumpkin juice?"
"Anything," said Ron glumly, at last taking a— undeniably moody— bite of toast.
"Here—" Harry offered, shoving a glass of pumpkin juice in Ron's sullen face.
To Hermione's disbelief, she could have sworn she spotted Harry drop something into the glass… something from a small, golden vial.
"There you go, Ron. Drink up."
No… it couldn't be. It was totally illegal to use it during a competition like Quidditch, but surely, Hermione hoped, Harry wouldn't use his liquid luck for this… not when there were so many more important things…
That's why you're making more, remember? Her inner voice reminded her, as if she could forget the weeks she'd spent toiling in a boiling hot room that was no larger than a broom closet with Theodore Nott.
Ron raised the glass to his lips, and she couldn't help but speak up.
"Don't drink that, Ron!"
Both Harry and Ron looked up at her; Ron in alarm, and Harry in consternation.
"Why not?" Ron asked.
Hermione stared at Harry in disbelief, but he didn't even blink.
"You just put something in that drink."
"Excuse me?" Harry said innocently.
What is he playing at?
"You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, stowing the little bottle hastily in his pocket.
"Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!" She said again, alarmed.
But Ron picked up the glass, drained it in one gulp, and said, "Stop bossing me around, Hermione."
"Clear, sunny day today, Ron, ideal conditions," Harry said with exaggerated enthusiasm as he pointed up at the Great Hall's enchanted ceiling. "Must be our lucky day."
Hermione sighed.
Ron's eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. "I... you..." Ron had dropped his voice, he looked both scared and excited. "My drink ... my pumpkin juice... you didn't...?"
Hermione watched in irritation as Harry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing except, "We'll need to get going soon, better eat up!"
"Good luck today, Ronald," Luna announced airily as she walked by their spot at the table, her lion hat already roaring loudly.
"Luck, eh?" Ron announced coyly, now grinning broadly at Luna, "How about that!"
Hermione took the opportunity to whisper into Harry's ear. "Harry, I can't believe you'd use it for Quidditch— what about Dumbledore, and… and Voldemort!?"
"Look who's talking," he whispered back. "Confund anyone lately?"
"That's—" she sputtered. She couldn't believe it, she didn't want to believe it. "That's different."
Harry dismissively turned back to Ron, who was now talking animatedly with Luna. "Ready, mate?"
Hermione crossed her arms in anger and took out her Ancient Runes textbook, which was obtrusive enough to hide the Marauder's Map so she could look for Malfoy without anyone's notice.
She spotted the names Crabbe, Malfoy, and Nott up on the seventh floor nearly as soon as she'd opened the book.
What are they doing up on the seventh…The Room of Requirement… of course! She thought excitedly as her heart began to race.
Suddenly, it all made sense; why it seemed Malfoy and Nott had disappeared from the map… all the times she and Harry had seen Crabbe and Goyle's names up on the seventh floor…
Maybe I'm getting a bit of a cast from Ron's liquid luck… she thought hopefully, admitting she wasn't sure if the potion even worked that way.
She briefly considered telling Harry about her suspicions, but figured he'd hardly care at the moment.
Plus, Hermione reasoned, he'd never give up Quidditch for much of anything, especially Malfoy…
Luckily, she had no such loyalty to the sport.
"I've got to go," Hermione announced as she r slammed her book closed, the map still tucked neatly inside.
"Wait— Hermione, where are—" Harry began to ask, but she had already rose from her seat.
"Good luck!" She called, Harry's indiscretion forgotten for the moment. "I'm going to go find a good spot in the stands!"
She made her way toward the Great Hall's large doors without any intention of attending the match.
/
After sprinting to retrieve Harry's Invisibility Cloak in Gryffindor Tower and running just as quickly to the seventh floor corridor, Hermione was bent over, gasping for breath.
From her spot down the hall, still under the Cloak, Hermione spotted a younger student shuffling her feet and looking up at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls to dance the ballet.
She checked the Map again, sans Runes book, to be sure. Like before, Malfoy and Nott had seemingly disappeared from the map, but Hermione noted right away that there was no second-year girl in the hall.
It's Crabbe…
Under different circumstances, the thought of Malfoy forcing Crabbe to drink Polyjuice only to transform into a twelve-year-old girl might've been comical, but Hermione was focused on more important things.
What are they doing in there, and how am I supposed to get in with that oaf in the way?
She vaguely wondered who would replace Malfoy on the Slytherin team for the match, now that it was obvious he was otherwise engaged.
Remembering Malfoy seemed about as talented a Seeker as Harry, Hermione considered it was perhaps Ron's lucky day.
She resisted the urge to scoff out loud at Harry's use of Felix Felicis.
Even Malfoy seems to have his priorities better sorted than Harry…
She shook her head, arguing with herself. She was being silly; the tasks of a Death Eater were hardly things that should even need prioritizing in the first place, but Hermione couldn't help but wonder: What exactly is Malfoy prioritizing? And when did Nott start getting involved?
She quietly lowered herself to the floor into a seated position as she tried to determine the best course of entry.
She sat for a time in a quiet alcove, and considered creating a distraction, or running to tell Filch that it seemed there was a student suspiciously lurking around on the seventh floor. But these options seemed rather weak.
She sighed in exasperation. Maybe I should just stun him.
Hermione realized it actually wasn't such a bad idea.
But then what will Crabbe tell Malfoy and Nott when the spell wears off? She wondered. Someone invisible stunned him?
Crabbe would certainly be confused, which Hermione admitted was not too out of the ogre's range of normalcy, but she knew better. Crabbe might be as daft as they came, but Malfoy and Nott certainly did not share this quality. Stupefying Crabbe (and Crabbe's subsequent explanation) would be a dead giveaway to Malfoy and Nott's sharpness; Malfoy knew Harry had an Invisibility Cloak, and he was suspicious of her enough already.
Alter his memory, a voice in her mind whispered.
Hermione knew she would have to practice sooner or later— now that her plans had been made. She would need to be able to successfully perform such a spell on her parents in only a matter of months.
Right, she thought to herself resolutely.
She silently approached the Polyjuiced Crabbe, who remained completely oblivious to her presence.
It's almost too easy.
"Stupefy," she whispered, aiming her wand. She did not want to risk the chance of a failed nonverbal spell.
Crabbe fell to the floor with a thud.
Based on her research of memory spells, she knew it'd be easier to just wipe his memory, but she also knew that could be somewhat of a giveaway when Malfoy and Nott undoubtedly questioned Crabbe later and he wasn't able to remember what had happened.
Although, it's not out of the realm of possibility Crabbe would just forget, Hermione thought. He's got the brains of a troll— no, actually, that's too kind… a stone.
She grinned, amused by her own thoughts.
Hermione aimed her wand again at the now-unconscious Crabbe and closed her eyes in concentration. She'd read it was best to base altered memories in reality, to use pieces of truth to shape a more convincing lie.
She'd bet ten galleons that Crabbe would much rather be at the Quidditch match right now than keep watch alone, disguised at a scrawny, twelve-year-old girl. She grimaced at the memory of the taste of Polyjuice.
Hermione took a deep breath.
"Memoriae muto," she whispered. She watched as the Polyjuiced Crabbe's eyes fluttered open, flashing white.
"You got bored and decided to go to the Quidditch match," she murmured, and the Polyjuiced Crabbe's eyes returned to a normal shade of dark brown before closing again.
She could only hope her spell had worked.
Hermione levitated the still-unconscious Crabbe to an empty classroom on the fifth floor. Luckily, the castle was mostly empty due to the match, and she wasn't seen.
She returned to the seventh floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy.
I need to see where Malfoy is hiding, she thought as she walked past the entrance to the Room of Requirement three times.
But nothing happened.
It was worth a try, Hermione thought, knowing her first attempt was likely to fail. She considered she'd have to be as specific as possible for the room to reveal itself.
But even this knowledge was not enough, as Hermione met failure attempt after attempt. One hour passed, then two, and her frustration was close to boiling.
"What are you looking at?" She snapped at Barnabus the Barmy, surrounded by his uncoordinated tutu-clad trolls.
"And they call me barmy," he replied.
/
"She's still out there," Draco said irritably, slipping his ring, the inside of which read 'Seventh fl. hall,' back on his finger.
"The match can't last forever—"
"Technically it could, and our odds are shite with Potter and Harper playing Seeker," Draco muttered.
"Well, Granger will give up eventually," Theo replied, wholly unconcerned, as he rhythmically tossed an apple into the air, catching it each time in the palm of one hand.
Draco shot his friend a highly skeptical look. "Are we talking about the same person? She's about as likely to give up as she is to suddenly take up a renewed interest in Divination."
Theo smirked at the memory of Granger's short stint in Divination. "Sounds like she's about as stubborn as you."
"Bloody Crabbe— I'm going to murder him," Draco threatened, ignoring Theo's comment. He did not like to consider the similarities he shared with Granger.
Draco and Theo had been in the Room of Hidden Things most of the morning, trying— and failing— to mend the Vanishing Cabinet. When they'd been ready to leave, Draco, as usual, changed the signal on one of his Protean coins— another of which he'd given to Crabbe— but Crabbe had never responded with the signal that told them they were in the clear to leave the room.
"He probably got bored and went to the match. You really know how to pick 'em, Draco. Quality henchmen you've got there."
"What does that say about you, Nott?"
Theo replied by chucking the apple at Draco's head, but Draco silently cast a severing charm as it soared mid-air, cutting it in two. He caught both halves of the fruit in each of his hands.
"Show off," Theo muttered as Draco tossed him one half of the apple, which Theo proceeded to eat.
"I bet Granger's stunned Crabbe and shoved him into a broom closet somewhere. But I want to know how she suddenly seems to know we're in here." Draco said, shooting a suspicious look Theo's way.
"Seriously? You think I would tell her? I thought we'd moved past these little indiscretions."
"You're working with her on that potion all the time. Seems a bit unlikely she just happened to figure it out all on her own, not long after I told you about the cabinet."
"Who knows how Granger knows the things she does? Plus," Theo said, finishing off his half of the apple and rising to his feet. "Did you even think she might not be on to us? Maybe she's just trying to get into the room for herself."
Draco had considered the possibility, and truthfully, he didn't think it wasn't all that farfetched, considering how often Hermione had used the room last year for Dumbledore's Army meetings.
He cringed at the memory, wondering for perhaps the thousandth time why he'd been so compelled to be a part of Umbridge's— that disgusting toad of a woman— Inquisitorial Squad.
Because you're a fucking idiot, Theo's voice answered in his mind.
Oh right, Draco thought without argument. That's why.
But Draco knew it was a bit more than his idiocy that had led him to the Inquisitorial Squad. He hated to admit it now, but his hatred— and jealousy— of Potter had led him to make incredibly ignorant decisions on more than one occasion. The Inquisitorial Squad was near the top of the list.
"I'm done sitting around," Theo announced. "This room is full of things people wanted hidden— think of the value… and the potential blackmail! I've had my eye on that smokey-looking orb that's over by the statue of Merlin…"
"Be my guest," Draco replied dryly, sharing no such interest.
"So you're just going to stand here staring at your ring until Granger leaves?"
Draco sighed in defeat and followed Theo.
They meandered through the room, passed heaps of broken and damaged furniture, towering stacks of books of every color and size, flying catapults, a huge mirror gilded with gold, a piano forte that looked about as old as the castle itself, countless fanged frisbees atop bookcases and tucked in dark and tangled crevices. They interrupted their exploration to engage in a spar with two rusty, bloodstained swords— a confrontation which Draco quickly lost, entirely distracted by the mental image of Granger in the hallway just on the other side of the wall.
"Did you feel that?" Theo asked abruptly, pausing mid-lunge.
Draco halted too, thinking perhaps Granger had found her way inside.
"Feel what?"
"Something feels… I'm not sure— wrong…"
"Welcome to my reality, Theo, so glad you finally made it."
Theo ignored Draco's snide remark and lowered his sword to search the area around him— he scanned stacks of books, a heap of broken chair legs, and a bust of an ugly warlock— his eyes never settling. He couldn't shake the abrupt sensation of menacing dread that had washed over him, like some sick sort of deja vu— not that he really believed in such things— but there was no denying he'd felt the sensation before…
But where? Theo wondered. And when?
"Look," Draco interrupted, gesturing to the ring he'd removed from his finger, his own sword now abandoned on the floor. "I think she's leaving."
Draco moved toward the exit, leaving Theo standing alone with his ominous unease.
Something's not right… Theo considered, a chill running down his spine.
"Are you coming, or what!?" Draco shouted from across the room.
Theo scanned his surroundings a final time, his scrutinizing gaze lingering for a moment on a gleaming tiara atop a pile of ratty wigs, before running to catch up with Draco.
/
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A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you're enjoying this fic. A special thank you to reviewers, I really appreciate you taking the time to share your thoughts on this story :)