/
Hermione was certain the sound of her rapidly beating heart would surely give away her position, but she somehow made it through the castle undetected.
"Acid pops," she whispered to the gargoyle outside of Dumbledore's office. The stone statue slid aside, revealing a narrow, spiraling staircase.
She'd only ever been in the Headmaster's office twice before; when she'd been given a time-turner so she could attend all of her third-year classes, and in fourth year, when she'd agreed to float unconscious at the bottom of the Great Lake as Viktor's "something dear." She idly mused the memory no longer made her blush as it once had.
In general, her interactions with Dumbledore had been extremely limited since the start of her magical schooling, more often than not revolving around something to do with Harry.
She swallowed nervously as she slowly ascended the stairs.
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore's calm, even voice called from behind his desk as he spotted her from across the room.
His blue eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. "I expected Harry this evening, after young Mister Weasley's unfortunate accident, but I'm pleased to see you."
"I'm sorry to come so late, professor—"
"Nonsense. These days I find sleep to be as rare a thing as Fawkes himself," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the great phoenix, currently asleep on his perch. "The hour makes no difference."
I can relate, Hermione thought tiredly.
"Tea?" Dumbledore offered, gesturing for her to occupy the open seat across his desk. "Professor Tonks introduced me to this lovely Earl Gray blend—"
He waved his hand in silence and a teapot and two teacups, complete with saucers and biscuits, appeared before them. Hermione found the smell of the steeping tea both calming and clarifying.
"Is that lavender? And rosemary?"
She saw Dumbledore grin with pleasure.
"Quite astute. But there is one more ingredient. Care to venture a guess?"
Hermione took a deep breath.
"Something floral?"
Dumbledore nodded in approval as the teapot began to steam.
"Rose petal."
"Thank you," Hermione said graciously as the pot poured some of its contents into her cup. She took another deep breath of the delicious aroma.
"I believe I can accurately guess why you have come to see me this evening, Miss Granger, but I do not wish to assume."
Hermione nodded in silence, bracing herself. Despite his kind assurances, she had no intention to waste the headmaster's time.
"Professor, sir— I believe the necklace that cursed Katie Bell and the mead that poisoned Ron were both failed attempts to…" she trailed off, unable to meet Dumbledore's gently inquisitive gaze.
He merely waited in patient silence.
Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself. "I believe these were both failed attempts to… to kill you." She'd meant to sound more eloquent, but could admit the topic hardly lent itself to such things.
She looked up and saw Dumbledore's gleaming eyes studying her over the rim of his teacup.
He already knows. He always knows…
Uncomfortable, she busied herself with her own teacup.
"I do not minimize your concerns, but I think it practical to inquire what has led you to believe this?"
She was in no hurry to implicate Malfoy; in fact, she hoped she would not have to utter his name at all.
"Well," she took a deep breath as she set her teacup atop its saucer. "Both incidents seem to have quite a lot in common." Hermione repeated what she had explained to Harry and the others in the hospital wing. "Both ought to have been fatal and weren't, and neither the poison nor the necklace seems to have reached the person who was supposed to be killed…"
"…and that person, you postulate, is me?"
"Yes," she responded quietly.
"And I'm sure it has not gone unnoticed by you that both acts have been rather crude in nature?"
"I thought… more desperate— professor."
"Ah— well done, Miss Granger. You have reached the root characteristic, I believe. Desperation makes one do unimaginable things— things one never imagined oneself capable of… crude acts most certainly fall under that proverbial umbrella."
Hermione nodded in silence and took another sip of her tea.
"I have also made note of the similarities between both incidents. But what leads you to believe I am the intended target, and not, say, Professor Slughorn… or Harry?"
"Well—" she began, uncomfortably. "Your, um— preference— for mead was made known to others."
She watched as Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily.
"Clearly it is no secret I have quite the affection for the honey liquid, not while Professor Slughorn roams these halls."
"Sir— I—"
Dumbledore held up a kind hand. "No need to worry, Horace will be none the wiser of our conversation this evening, Miss Granger. You need not worry about implicating him. But I do see how you made the connection between Professor Slughorn's poisoned mead and myself. Horace did inform me gift had been meant for me. May I ask you now about the cursed necklace?"
Hermione could have sworn she saw Dumbledore's eyes glance quickly at the necklaces at her throat before she spoke, but it happened so quickly, and the knowing twinkle in his eye was so distracting, that she couldn't be sure.
"I know that the person who I believe purchased the necklace, the same person who I think somehow arranged for a student to bring it to you, also heard of your preference for mead. I believe that person had access to poison, and to Slughorn's intended gift for you… and…" she paused, uncertain how much she should reveal.
"Go ahead," Dumbledore encouraged gently.
"Professor Snape has been offering to assist this person, he even… he made an Unbreakable Vow to protect them."
She felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her chest, but Dumbledore's expression remained wholly unchanged as they sat in silence for a moment, as if what she'd revealed was no surprise to him.
"Am I correct in thinking you have no concrete evidence?"
"Yes," she answered honestly, wondering if she would even choose to present the evidence to Dumbledore if she had any in her possession. She suddenly felt very foolish.
"And am I also correct in thinking that you are purposefully avoiding saying the suspect's name?"
"Yes," she answered, her shame doubling.
"You must fear for this person, perhaps even care a great deal for them and wish to protect them? How lucky they are, to have your support."
Hermione said nothing. It was hard for her to admit, but she could no longer deny she was protecting Malfoy, but it was even more difficult for her to consider why she was protecting him. The only answer she'd been able to produce through the gray fog was that it felt like the right thing to do.
"Miss Granger, I have always been quite the skeptic in this regard, so you can imagine my surprise when I learned the value of directness this year. And while I continue to find it wholly against my nature, against my reason, and even my better judgement at times, I wish to be direct with you now. Your own discretion with a milieu of information all these years has certainly proved you are one who can be trusted."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Y-yes, professor, of course."
Dumbledore nodded encouragingly. "I'm glad I can count on your discretion now, with what I am about to say… I am well aware of Professor Snape's vow. I also know of the suspect you do not speak, who it is you wish to protect, and I most certainly share your suspicions concerning the threat on my life."
"I—"
"I appreciate your concern about my safety as well… in fact, it touches this old wizard's heart."
"Of— of course, professor," Hermione said quietly, completely flabbergasted.
Dumbledore smiled and took a long sip of his tea.
"So what will you do, sir?" She asked tentatively.
"Me? Well, I suppose I will do nothing. I will certainly not stand in the way."
"Nothing—?" Hermione asked in utter disbelief, unable to tear away her eyes from the headmaster.
"Do you know of any of the accused's future plans? Perhaps a plot that has not yet come to pass?"
She hesitated. She'd been hoping to avoid this subject, as much to avoid implicating Malfoy as herself.
She sighed.
"There is a broken vanishing cabinet in— in the school. Its twin resides in a shop in Knockturn Alley, Borgin and Burkes. The person I suspect who is trying to hurt you is also trying to mend the connection between these cabinets."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence as Dumbledore seemed to mum over this information.
"This cabinet you speak of has most certainly slipped my attention… But my decision has not changed— for now, at least."
"But, sir, you must do something—"
"On occasion, doing nothing accomplishes more than doing something."
Hermione felt panicked.
"I mean no disrespect professor, but… but why? Why not intervene?"
"That question, Miss Granger, I will choose to answer in what is my usual custom— indirectly."
Hermione's eyes followed the professor with deep curiosity as he rose from his seat, his midnight blue robes floating behind him. He paused before a large stone basin and beckoned her over.
She hastily obeyed.
"I'm sure Harry has informed you of the memories we have been exploring in the Pensieve?"
"Yes, professor."
"Again, I do appreciate your discretion with the matter, Miss Granger, and Mister Weasley's too. I can not stress the delicateness, and importance, of those memories… and the memory I have tasked Harry with retrieving."
Hermione nodded in awed silence at the sight of the large yet shallow stone basin.
"But this evening I wish to show you a very different sort of memory in the Pensieve. I hope you will find it enlightening…"
Hermione watched wide-eyed as Dumbledore focused his gaze in concentration, bringing the tip of his wand to his skull. When he pulled the wand away a moment later, a long, glowing silvery hair was attached.
He guided it into the silky liquid of the Pensieve and said, "Take my arm, Miss Granger, and we will dive into the memory."
Hermione did as she was instructed, and before she could take another breath she was falling down, down, closing her eyes tightly at the sensation of weightlessness. She opened her eyes only when she felt the ground beneath her feet once more, and found Dumbledore's office had vanished. Before her now stood not one, but two Dumbledores beside a set of intimidating wrought-iron gates.
The Dumbledores were nearly identical save for their robes, the depth of some of their wrinkles, and one notably damaged hand.
Hermione's eyes traveled upward, taking in the sight of a long gravel lane on the other side of the locked gate, lined on either side with a neat, manicured hedge. The lane lead to a sprawling manor house set against the lush backdrop of a clear summer's day.
Hermione was shocked to see Dobby hurrying toward them down the otherwise empty lane.
Why is Dobby here…? Hermione began to wonder, but then she remembered just who Dobby had worked for before he'd been set free— the Malfoys. Dumbledore had brought her to Malfoy Manor.
But when is this memory from?
When Dobby reached the gate, wringing his hands nervously and panting for air, he addressed the Dumbledore with two healthy hands and slightly more shallow wrinkles.
"What is your business, sir?" The elf's voice was high and frantic. Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for Dobby, remembering his descriptions of the abuses he'd suffered at the hands of the Malfoy family.
"Good day to you," Dumbledore greeted cheerfully. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, although you are welcome to call me Professor Dumbledore. I have an appointment with Lucius Malfoy."
"Professor Dumbledore!" Dobby squeaked as he snapped his fingers and the gate creaked open. "My name is Dobby, Professor Dumbledore, sir. Yes, Madam waits for the professor in the drawing room…"
"Madam?" past-Dumbledore asked gently.
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore, sir, Headmaster at Hogwarts School… Master was needed at the Ministry, so Madam waits in the drawing room for sir. Follow Dobby, quickly, Professor Dumbledore, Madam does not like to be kept waiting… oh no…"
The younger Dumbledore followed Dobby toward the Manor's front doors, and present-Dumbledore beckoned Hermione forward with a nod of his head. As they hurried along the neat gravel path, the faint echo of a far-off fountain reaching Hermione's ears, interrupted suddenly by an abrupt rustling of leaves overhead. She looked up to see the flash of feathers of a large albino peacock sitting atop the hedge, watching them with keen interest as they passed.
They reached the Manor's expansive iron doors at last, and as they stepped over the impressive threshold, Hermione's jaw dropped in awe of her surroundings.
The entry room was about as grand as the Great Hall; the ceiling was vaulted high above, most of the stone floor was covered with a plush, ornate carpet, and the walls were lined with immense tapestries, gilded framed paintings, and the magical portraits of pale-faced onlookers.
"This way, please, Professor Dumbledore!" exclaimed Dobby as he led them down a dimly lit hallway toward a set of towering wooden doors, one of which was propped open.
Hermione could feel her heart racing as they entered a room equally as spectacular as the entrance hall; a long, wooden table sat at its center and glimmering chandeliers were suspended above from yet another vaulted ceiling. Two elegant marble fireplaces, currently dormant, adorned with towering gilded mirrors, decorated each end of the room. Hermione's eyes were drawn to a grand piano beside one of the fireplaces, and she couldn't help but imagine sitting atop its bench with Draco at her side, as they'd done on Christmas Eve.
She shook her head, willing herself to focus.
"Dobby has brought Madam her company!" squeaked Dobby as he bowed low, the tip of his nose pressed against the floor. "Professor Dumbledore! Headmaster at Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
"Thank you, Dobby," replied Dumbledore graciously.
Dobby's eyes widened in awe for a moment before he spotted his Madam's stern glare. The house elf promptly vanished from the room.
Hermione's eyes scanned the immense room, and to her great disappointment, she found only Narcissa Malfoy, alone— her son nowhere to be found. She was dressed in silken pale gray robes trimmed in a delicate silver thread. The light fabric gracefully floated at her sides as she glided toward Dumbledore. Her blond hair was tied back in a sophisticated twist, and she certainly looked younger than she had that August day in Madam Malkin's, but Hermione mused the woman appeared no less fierce, her expression no less incomprehensible; she emanated composure and strength… and a piercing sort of discernment— not unlike Draco's— that sent a chill down Hermione's spine. Even though the scene unfolding before her was a memory, she felt as though Narcissa could not only sense her presence, but see right into her thoughts.
"Headmaster— I apologize for Lucius' absence. He was called to the Ministry, you see. He sends his regards. Now… to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting? Surely my son's letter could have been delivered via post?"
Letter? Hermione wondered. Does she mean acceptance letter?
"Narcissa, thank you for agreeing to meet, and please give Lucius my greetings when he returns. I know your time must be quite a precious commodity these days," Dumbledore replied as he stepped further into the room.
Hermione and present Dumbledore followed close behind, and she reached out her hand as they passed the open piano, her fingers gently gliding over the keys. Even though she was inside a memory, the keys were cool and smooth to the touch; the sensation sent a shiver up her arm. as she wondered how many times Draco's fingers had touched the same keys.
Present-Dumbledore observed Hermione's action with curiosity, but his attention escaped her notice.
Narcissa's expression did not change.
"But to answer your question, it is not wholly uncommon for myself nor for Professor McGonagall to hand-deliver our acceptance letters— for select students, of course…" Past-Dumbledore explained.
Hermione recalled her first time meeting Professor McGonagall, when she'd first learned of Hogwarts existence. She'd been beyond thrilled to receive her letter, to finally be able to answer why she'd always been so different from her peers, to explain all the strange things that seemed to happen around her, to understand why she'd never really fit in…
Again, Hermione tried not to let her own memories, thoughts, and emotions get the better of her. Dumbledore was trying to show her something, after all.
Turning her attention back to the memory, she could tell Dumbeldore was humoring Narcissa, and it did not seem to be lost on the witch; although it was no secret she believed herself and her family above all others, her knowing look made it clear to Hermione that Draco's mother was clearly more perceptive than his father.
"Well, Draco is a special boy— a most talented wizard… but that is no doubt expected, considering his lineage. It pleases me to see Hogwarts seems to appreciate this fact."
Hermione sighed in exasperation and disgust, present-Dumbledore's knowing glance again escaping her notice.
"Draco will have the opportunity to prove himself… the same opportunity all of Hogwarts' students are given."
"And prove himself he will, you can be sure," Narcissa assured pridefully, but not without tenderness. "Draco is ambitious, and he is diligent with his work." It was clear to Hermione Narcissa loved her son very much, and she found she was unable to disagree with her description of Draco's better qualities.
Hermione admitted Draco was ambitious and diligent.
With what he wants to be diligent with, Hermione mused with a smirk. And he's selectively loyal, to a fault… and skeptical and stubborn and…
"I will be glad to give Draco his letter."
"Actually, Narcissa, I am hoping to present the letter to Draco myself… if you will allow it, of course."
"Yourself?" She replied in suspicion. "Surely a Headmaster's time is also a most precious commodity?"
"Quite right, but my students are of utmost importance to this headmaster."
They regarded one another in tentative silence for a moment; Narcissa's expression now tinged— albeit almost indiscernibly— with irritation, while past-Dumbledore betrayed no such displeasure, his eyes twinkling with mirth.
"Dobby!" Narcissa called smoothly, and Dobby appeared before them once more, his knees shaking with what Hermione recognized must be fear.
"Yes, Madam? How might Dobby serve you?"
"Please bring Professor Dumbledore to Draco, I believe Lucius last saw him in the garden before he left."
"Yes, Madam!"
"I apologize for the— help— today, Headmaster," Narcissa explained, directing a glance of scorn in Dobby's direction. "We very recently were forced to remove our butler from the premises. One never seems able to find reliable help these days…"
"It is no trouble Narcissa, I can assure you Dobby has been a most faithful and willing attendant today."
Dobby looked as though he might faint at hearing such— likely rare, Hermione realized— praise.
"Until we meet again," Dumbledore bowed curtly in Narcissa's direction, a sentiment which she gracefully returned with a slight nod, her gaze equally unflinching and discerning.
"Follow Dobby now, Professor Dumbledore! Please, sir."
They followed Dobby and past-Dumbledore through a maze of lamplit hallways and closed double doors until at last they reached a long wall of tall, narrow, glass-paned doors; Hermione saw lush greenery and vibrant sunlight beyond.
As they stepped into the garden onto a sprawling stone patio surrounded on all sides by the most extraordinary English garden Hermione had ever witnessed, she took a deep breath of freshly mowed grass and something subtly floral; it oddly reminded her of her parents' garden at home.
She also found the gentle bubbling of the garden's multiple fountains undeniably calming, despite knowing to whom the property belonged. The garden stretched as far as she could see, ending in rows of neat hedges and, beyond that, a lush, green wood.
What a place to grow up, Hermione mused in awe. Malfoy Manor was as intimidating, but not quite as frightening, as she'd imagined.
"Dobby, you may leave me now, I rather find myself in need of a long walk," past-Dumbledore said congenially.
"But Madam instructed Dobby to bring Professor Dumbledore to—"
"I will find Draco, and then I will be sure to see myself out, and promptly. I give you my full assurance."
Hermione's eyes swept the expansive grounds again, wondering just how past-Dumbledore planned to find past-Draco.
As if reading her thoughts, Dobby replied, "Young Master Malfoy seems to Dobby to spend more time by the forest's edge lately."
Dumbledore nodded in gratitude, "Good day, Dobby."
"Good day Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
Dobby swiftly disappeared, and past-Dumbledore began a leisurely stroll toward the woods, stopping every now and then to smell a red or white rose and to clip a particularly shapely petal or leaf, which he tucked into the pocket of his sweeping robes.
Hermione at last spotted Draco's platinum blond head from a distance, noting with curiosity that he seemed intent on concealing himself in the shadows at the edge of the forest. Draco's back was to them as they approached, and he was hunched over, shovel in hand, a fresh mound of dirt at his feet.
"Bugger off, Nott— I'm not in the mood," Draco announced angrily without turning around.
Hermione was shocked to realize just how much his voice had changed in six short years. Present-Draco was certainly no longer the child that stood before them now.
"That is no way to speak to one's friends, wouldn't you agree Mister Malfoy?"
Draco turned suddenly, clearly taken by surprise, and the shovel clattered to the ground as he pulled his wand from his pocket. Hermione saw his face at last, and his features were nearly just as she remembered at their sorting ceremony… but he seemed to her to be so much more innocent than she recalled… he was just a boy.
She was again struck by how much he had grown and changed since then, since the time of Dumbledore's memory.
Have I changed that much too? She wondered.
But there was something else different about Malfoy's appearance in Dumbledore's memory; his hair was uncharacteristically disheveled and his typically pale cheeks were flushed, Hermione assumed from the effort of digging. His hands, face, and clothes bore the signs of his manual labor too, spotted with bits of grass and dirt and dust.
"Father says Malfoys have no need for friends— only followers," Draco replied resolutely, his guard held high.
Both past and present Dumbledores wore matching expressions of concern.
"You may lower your wand, I mean you no harm," past-Dumbledore gently informed.
"You're Albus Dumbledore," said Malfoy, lowering his wand, but Hermione noted he did not tuck it away. She knew Malfoy would no doubt recognize Dumbledore from any number of sources… the Prophet, a chocolate frog card, or perhaps a chance meeting at the Ministry when accompanying his father to work.
"And you are Draco Malfoy," replied past-Dumbledore plainly. "You may address me as Professor Dumbledore, and I shall address you as Mister Malfoy, or Draco, if you prefer."
"You've come to bring me my acceptance letter?" Draco said, ignoring niceties, his eyes widening slightly at the prospect.
Clearly not everything has changed, Hermione thought in dry amusement.
"Why, yes, I have. Congratulations, Draco, you have been accepted to what I believe is the finest school for witches and wizards."
Hermione saw Draco's eyes light up in excitement for a moment before his expression again returned to skepticism and suspicion.
"But father said my letter would come in the post."
"Each year I personally deliver some of our acceptance letters… to select students," Dumbledore explained, and Hermione could see he had chosen his words carefully in order to assess Draco's response.
Dumbledore's words seemed to please Draco, as Hermione knew they would; he liked to consider himself special, worthy, even now.
Draco crossed his arms across his chest in satisfaction, a painfully familiar lopsided smirk now gracing his face. Hermione withheld the urge to roll her eyes.
"I see you are already prepared to join us at Hogwarts in September… is that a new wand I detect? One never mistakes Ollivander's fine work."
Draco nodded proudly, and Hermione was irritated to find eleven-year-old Draco's reaction quite cute.
"Hawthorn wood and unicorn hair. It chose me. It's been loads better than the other wands father made me use."
Hermione looked to present-Dumbledore questioningly, knowing that the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery forbade children from practicing intentional magic before outside of school before coming of age. The headmaster merely shook his head gently to say that now was not the time for questions, and Hermione turned her attention back to the memory playing out before them.
"I see you're not using your new wand to dig that grave, however… curious."
Grave? Hermione wondered, tearing her eyes away from Malfoy's current expression of obvious shock and guilt to observe the fresh mound of dirt behind him, at the base of a wide tree. Only then did she notice a small, flat stone set beside it; clearly, past-Dumbledore was right, Draco had been digging a grave…
But for what? Or whom? Hermione suddenly felt sick to her stomach at the thought.
"It's not a grave," Malfoy replied, and if she didn't know him well, she might've believed him. His voice was even, cool, practiced. A sudden pang in her chest, Hermione mused that even at eleven, Draco was already accustomed to suppressing his emotion and any potentially perceived weaknesses… accustomed to deceit. Dumbledore also saw right through this act, however.
"There is no shame in burying the dead, Draco. It's one way we can honor those who have passed, human or creature. I remember my first pet well, Hebert the toad. He lived an extraordinarily long life for a toad, if I recall. I buried him by a pond, with the hopes his kin would come and visit him."
"It wasn't my pet," retorted Draco, as if the idea of a pet somehow repulsed him. "Father says pets are a sign of weakness… it was a wild ferret, in the garden. I fed it petrified beetles sometimes, and—" Malfoy looked away, clearly disturbed.
It was only then that Hermione noticed the faint streaks of tears that had cut through the dirt on his cheeks— the vestiges of tears now dried.
"Your father took notice of your interest, I assume?"
Malfoy nodded solemnly.
"He told me to— to kill it, with my new wand. He told me the spell, but I—" Draco looked away.
"You could not murder the creature?"
Malfoy looked up again, his eyes wide, and Hermione remembered one of her little yellow birds, the one Malfoy had kept alive for her to heal.
"Will I learn the killing curse at Hogwarts? Maybe if I could practice—"
"No, Draco," Dumbledore interrupted gently, but firmly. "Hogwarts, like the Ministry, does not condone the use of the killing curse, nor any of the Unforgiveable Curses, let alone teach them. In fact, any use of these spells will result in expulsion. Do you understand?"
Draco's expression again turned stony.
"Yes."
"And I would be remiss not to warn you, Draco, use of the Unforgiveable Curses, particularly the killing curse, punishes the user in much more serious and destructive ways than expulsion or a sentencing by the Wizengamot. These spells mark one's soul, change the very fabric of who one is…"
The edges of Hermione's reality began to blur, the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves and the light smell of roses fading away, as present-Dumbledore placed a hand on her shoulder, and his memory came to an end.
She was weightless again before the headmaster's office rematerialized before her.
"Professor, I— I have so many questions," her voice was weak, her head reeling from what she had just witnessed.
"I will explain… with the hope of answering your questions, Miss Granger."
She nodded silently.
"In truth it is not my custom to personally deliver acceptance letters. I have, over the years, delivered a number of such letters to Muggle-born students like yourself, but as I'm sure you know, Professor McGonagall took over this responsibility years ago."
Hermione nodded, listening with bated breath.
"As you have now seen, and as Harry has no doubt explained to you concerning the case of young Tom Riddle, I do on occasion take the opportunity to deliver these letters myself. In Draco's case, I was deeply concerned just what kind of child he had grown to become. I wished to be prepared."
"You see, Draco is the heir of two ancient pureblood magical families, both with a historical predilection for Dark Magic, certain prejudices, and, in this century, support for Voldemort and his teachings. Draco, as you learned in my memory, was undoubtedly primed throughout his early life by Lucius… primed for what exactly, I was not entirely sure. To be a leader of the next generation of Death Eaters, should Voldemort one day return? To befriend Harry?"
"Professor, why would've Mister Malfoy wanted Draco to befriend Harry?"
"Ah… there have been rumors ever since the day Voldemort's killing curse rebounded off of Harry… whispers that Harry would bring about Voldemort's return, or perhaps, be an even more powerful dark lord himself."
"That's absurd," replied Hermione, who considered the idea of Harry, who was often selfless to a fault, as the next Dark Lord entirely preposterous, even comical.
"To you presently, Miss Granger. But the events surrounding Voldemort's supposed defeat and Harry's survival were mysterious…. and people could not help but speculate then as they do now about his status as the 'Chosen One.' I was concerned Lucius planned to study Harry, to attempt to harness, and undoubtedly abuse, Harry's power… or perhaps, to prime both Draco and Harry together, young pureblood men, to lead a new era founded on the baseless prejudice of pureblood superiority."
Hermione grimaced at the thought.
"It is also no secret that Malfoy Manor is shielded by a number of ancient and nearly impenetrable wards, which, as you no doubt gleaned, allowed Draco to learn and practice magic even before starting school, all without Ministry detection. And so, for the reasons I have now described to you, I felt it prudent to deliver Draco's acceptance letter, to give him the benefit of the doubt… before I allowed my own prejudices to override evidence."
Hermione nodded in understanding at the implications of his words.
"As you saw, some of my suspicions were correct. Lucius had indeed primed Draco in the Dark Arts, even going so far as to begin teaching him the Unforgiveable Curses…
"But Draco couldn't do it," Hermione mused aloud. "Lucius killed the ferret."
Dumbledore nodded.
"Although it was not Draco's inability to perform the killing curse that struck me. It was his burial for the creature… clearly, he felt some form of—"
"Remorse," Hermione interrupted quietly, her eyes wide and unblinking as she met Dumbledore's twinkling gaze.
"Correct. It was clear to me Draco had the capacity to feel remorse… and much more than remorse, he was capable of compassion. He could have easily used magic to bury the creature, but he chose to dig the grave himself, with his own two hands. Considering his magical background, and the circumstances of his upbringing, this was remarkable."
Hermione vividly remembered the concern she'd seen flash across Draco's gray eyes at the sight of the dying yellow bird, and she remembered her argument with Theo, about Malfoy's true intentions; at the time, she was reluctant to believe his true intentions could ever possibly be good. A lot had happened since then, however, and she was beginning to see that Malfoy's choices and circumstances were as gray as her own had become.
"I will admit I was surprised that day, but pleasantly so, to discover a boy who had managed to develop a conscious— one capable of remorse, compassion, and…" Dumbledore paused and Hermione looked up to find his eyes were twinkling again.
A lump formed in her throat at the word he did not speak.
"Well, I hope you do not mind if I dare to venture to say that it seems you have perhaps already discovered these characteristics for yourself," Dumbledore said gently.
Hermione reached for the necklace at her throat, speechless. It was true she had sought Dumbledore to warn him, but she had also hoped to gain clarity. Everything was now even more ambiguous, more uncertain, than it had been before, her feelings in particular.
Dumbledore glided across the room toward a towering bookcase, but she stood entirely immobilized.
"It is Draco's conscious that I count on, you see," Dumbledore said as his eyes scanned the rows of books. "Ah, here it is."
He plucked a rather worn, nondescript leather-bound book from the shelf and strode back to where Hermione still stood, still rooted to the spot.
Dumbledore placed the book in her waiting hands and she looked down to find a single rose petal atop its leather cover.; a familiar, subtle scent wafted up to her nose. Her eyes widened in shock in recognition— it was a petal Dumbledore had clipped from Malfoy Manor's garden; somehow, its ruby coloring and sweet aroma still remained.
"Professor… is this..."
"For you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore interrupted. "I hope you find this text equally as enlightening as my memory."
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione managed, her voice barely above a whisper as she gently tucked the rose petal inside the front cover.
She took the interaction as her dismissal, but as she reached the top of the spiral staircase, Dumbledore addressed her again.
"Miss Granger, if I may…"
Hermione turned to look back at the professor, and found the twinkle in his eyes had darkened, his features somber.
"It has been my experience that the heart and the mind are often at war with one another, blurring one's ability to make choices… to differentiate right from wrong."
"So which should I follow, sir?" She asked timidly. "My head or my heart?"
"That is a very good question, one humans have been asking themselves for ages… a question even I can not answer. But I suggest you consider another question now, perhaps a more important question… When, Miss Granger— when. When is the right time to follow one's head, and when is the right time to follow one's heart?"
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A/N: I really enjoyed writing an interaction between Hermione and Dumbledore, and building Draco's characterization. I hope you liked reading this chapter; I'd love to hear your thoughts!
At first I considered Dumbledore would never knowingly stand down if he suspected Hogwarts was about to be infiltrated, but in HBP it seems possible he wouldn't intervene with the cabinet for three main reasons; 1. He wants to protect Draco, and knows the most realistic way to do so is to let him continue to try to carry out his plan 2. He is already planning his own death with Snape, and 3. He knows Snape needs to gain Voldemort's complete trust in order for Harry to ultimately defeat him.
Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!