/
With the use of a translation glass— a flat, handled circular device used for translating texts to one's desired language— Hermione quickly discovered the book Dumbledore had given her wasn't nearly as old as she'd expected; the cover was simply well-worn, as if someone had read it over and over. She wondered if perhaps the ardent reader had been Dumbledore himself… and if so, why.
For the Greater Good, its author mysteriously printed as "Anonymous" and printed in Cyrillic, detailed Gellert Grindelwald's rise to power; it was no surprise to Hermione she hadn't heard of the book before, some of the events— and ideals— described in gruesome detail. There was no doubt in her mind the book was at the very least banned from the library and certainly no longer in print; she absently wondered if another copy might be tucked away somewhere on a shelf somewhere at Greystoke Castle.
Before Theo and Draco had joined Hermione in the Room of Hidden Things before the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match, she had hastily flipped through the book's contents, discovering a brief, albeit wholly useful, section dedicated to the popularization, use, and magic of Vanishing Cabinets. Scanning the page, it became instantly clear to her that Dumbledore wanted her to know how to fix the cabinet, but she could hardly fathom why.
With no time to fully comprehend the information Hermione had quickly scanned, she'd unceremoniously shoved the book back into her bag once Draco and Theo arrived.
With the bit of information she had somehow managed to absorb— the cabinets needed to face the same direction in order to work— they had, for the first time, succeeded in transporting the animated doll they used for Healing assignments to Borgin's and back without noted injury.
Hermione wasn't really sure why she had let on this information so freely; she was supposed to be thwarting Draco's plan… right?
But if she were to admit it to herself, she'd felt she had no option but to test the information in the book in order to really believe that yes, Dumbledore had given this knowledge to her not simply willingly, but purposefully.
He wants Draco to succeed.
Hermione had gaped, stunned, at the doll's unharmed re-appearance.
They'd rejoiced at the progress (Hermione's joy markedly less enthusiastic, even though she could not deny the tug of strange satisfaction she'd felt, simply for the fact that her book-guided theory had been correct), but their excitement had come to a harsh end as they failed to safely transport the large mandrake— an actual living creature— Theo had stolen from one of Sprout's greenhouses. Needless to say, the mandrake had not made it back in one piece.
Draco's silence had been enough to reveal his frustration. Hermione had done her utmost to mask her relief.
Not long after the match had ended, she had returned to Gryffindor Common Room to find Harry was nowhere in sight, the rest of her housemates in quite a somber state. Ginny and Neville had promptly informed her that McLaggen had lost them the match, and had nearly killed Harry in the process.
So she tucked For the Greater Good back into her bag as she headed to the hospital wing. In truth, she wasn't thinking much about Harry's injury, preoccupied as she was wondering why it seemed Dumbledore wanted Draco to succeed, why it seemed the Headmaster wanted her to help him.
The sun had just set as Hermione passed through the wing's double doors, the stone floor and walls bathed in red, orange, and gold.
"I'm glad you're okay, Harry," she said truthfully as she took a seat between Harry and Ron's hospital beds. Grimly, she wondered how many more times her best friends would land themselves in the Madam Pomfrey's care before they all graduated.
If we graduate, a voice in her mind whispered darkly.
"It was nice of him to drop in," said Ron, grinning, sitting cross-legged atop his bedsheets.
"Tell me— what happened again?" Hermione asked, scowling at the sight of Harry's hand wrapped in bandages and the dazed look on his face.
"Cracked skull," explained Madam Pomfrey as she emerged from her office, bustling up to push Harry back against his pillows. "Nothing to worry about, I mended it at once, but I'm still keeping you in overnight. You shouldn't overexert yourself for a few hours."
"I don't want to stay here overnight," said Harry angrily, sitting up again and throwing back his covers. "I want to find McLaggen and kill him."
Hermione couldn't argue; in fact, she'd love to do it herself, for more reasons than one.
"I'm afraid that would come under the heading of 'overexertion,'" said Madam Pomfrey, pushing him firmly back onto the bed and raising her wand in a threatening manner. "You will stay here until I discharge you, Potter, or I shall call the Headmaster. And Miss Granger, visitation hours are nearly over. I expect you to be gone when I check back here in thirty minutes."
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," she replied, hiding her smirk as she watched Harry sink back into his pillows, obviously fuming.
"D'you know how much we lost by?" Harry asked Ron through clenched teeth once Madam Pomfrey disappeared through her office door.
Hermione barely refrained from rolling her eyes; Harry's skull had only just been cracked open like one of the doxy eggs McLaggen was so fond of, yet all he could think about was the final score of the match.
Typical.
"Well, yeah I do," said Ron apologetically. "After McLaggen bludgeoned you in the head, final score was three hundred and twenty to sixty."
"Brilliant," said Harry savagely. "Really brilliant! When I get hold of that bloody git—"
"There won't be anything left for you to get ahold of after I'm through with him," Hermione interjected.
Harry grinned appreciatively.
Or maybe I could get Malfoy to handle him again, she considered, trying not to smile at the memory of his powerful stunning spell and the sound of McLaggen falling to the floor.
Although, Hermione considered, remembering Harry and Draco's confrontation just before the match, Malfoy would probably rather congratulate McLaggen for a job well done.
She frowned.
"You don't want to get hold of him, he's the size of a troll," said Ron reasonably. "Personally, I think there's a lot to be said for hexing him with that toenail thing of the Prince's."
Hermione glared at them. Harry at least had the decency to look slightly guilty.
"Don't tell me you're still trying out the Prince's spells…"
"He deserves it," Harry mumbled.
Ron nodded in silent affirmation.
And while Hermione quite agreed, she couldn't escape Theo's words from reverberating through her mind…
"Who are you to decide who deserves what fate?"
Bugger, she thought.
"Anyway, the rest of the team might've dealt with him by the time you get out of here. I'm sure they're not happy," Ron added hastily, obviously keen to avoid the subject of the Half-Blood Prince.
There was a note of badly suppressed glee in Ron's voice; Hermione could tell he was nothing short of thrilled that McLaggen had messed up so badly, and she was certain Harry could tell too, even with his current head injury.
"I could hear the match commentary from here," said Ron, his voice now shaking with laughter. "I hope Luna always commentates from now on... Loser's Lurgy…"
"McGonagall actually let Luna commentate?" Hermione asked incredulously. It was difficult to imagine Luna's airy, and rather less-than-succinct, voice echoing through the stands.
"Sure did. It was brilliant," replied Ron, grinning broadly. "Too bad you had to miss the match to work with Malfoy," Ron continued, his grin transforming into a frown of disapproval. "Have you figured out what he's been up to, by the way? You seem to spend a lot of time with him these days."
She glanced at Harry, who was now wearing a matching frown. She remembered his confrontation with Draco before the match and quickly looked away.
"Don't remind me. I wouldn't have to if he wasn't so rubbish at Healing," she lied lamely. "And no… I still have no idea what he's been up to."
"Too bad we couldn't get someone to tail him, I'm sure Aurors do it all the time," Ron added casually, and Hermione did not miss the spark of revelation that crossed Harry's features.
As if my life isn't difficult enough already, she mused darkly, thinking the last thing she needed was for Harry to redouble his espionage efforts.
"I should get going," she added hastily, glancing at the door to Madam Pomfrey's office, her thoughts traveling again to For the Greater Good. "I'll see you both tomorrow…"
Hermione hugged Harry and Ron before leaving through the wing's double doors.
Despite the book's dark subject material, she could not ignore her thirst for the knowledge within; she could hardly wait to re-open the book back in the safety and privacy of the curtains of her four poster bed, where she could lose herself in another time, another life, within the book's rose-scented pages.
/
Draco pressed his fingertips to his eyes— as if this act of pure exhaustion would somehow provide him with new insight into the book laid out on the table before him— but when his eyelids opened again in the dim light of the Room of Hidden Things on Monday evening, all he could see was the blood-red flash of Voldemort's glare, all he could hear was the echo of a hiss, the warning that had invaded his already fitful slumber only days ago.
"Do not fail me Draco…"
Somehow, Draco felt Voldemort's first Legilimency intrusion into his mind— after his failure with the cursed opal necklace— had been more tolerable. His mother had been at the receiving end of the Cruciatus, but at least he'd gotten to see her then; confirmation that she was still alive, that her resilience hadn't faltered. And even though it had become clear to Draco that Voldemort— thankfully— knew nothing of his failed poisoning attempt, his mother had been absent from Voldemort's most recent "visit," and, as Draco quite suspected had been the snake's intent, it had been torturous.
Anger surged inside him and he shoved the hefty text he'd been trying to read away so forcefully that it knocked into Theo and Hermione's carefully stacked pile of books and research notes. The heap thudded to the floor, setting off a chaotic chain reaction of various alarms, bells, and whistles scattered throughout the room.
Draco swore and rose from his seat to put the stack back in order, freezing at the sight of Hermione's familiar, tidy handwriting, not because of what was written on the parchment, but simply because it was an extension of her… of her slender fingers poised around her quill, of the way she bit her bottom lip in concentration…
Stop, his head told him.
Draco let the parchment float back to the floor and stood without any further attempt to clean the mess he'd made. He needed to clear his head.
The piano forte, the same one he'd played at Christmas, caught his eye.
/
Hermione used the rest of the weekend without Ron and Harry to finish reading For the Greater Good. By Sunday evening, to her immense and equally present joy and fear, she was quite certain she understood exactly how to fully mend the connection between the Vanishing Cabinets— theoretically, anyway.
She still could not fathom why Dumbledore wanted her to know how to fix the cabinet, but what troubled her more was not knowing what to do with the new information. Hermione now felt she knew a bit how Harry must feel after his conversations with the Headmaster.
Hermione reasoned she didn't actually need to do anything quite yet, or at least she told herself so; with the upcoming Apparition test, ever-mounting N.E.W.T.-level coursework, and in-progress Felix Felicis, there was certainly more than enough to keep her busy.
She knew she couldn't just outright tell Malfoy and Nott how to fix the cabinet, not without a plan first… she also knew she couldn't just abruptly stop helping them in the Room of Hidden Things without creating even more suspicion.
Ultimately, Hermione decided she would act as though she was still unsure how to fix the cabinet, with the hope the solution would remain a mystery to them…
At least until I can think of a better plan, she thought, unsure of what 'better' really meant at this point.
Harry and Ron were both released from the hospital wing on Monday, and Harry had yet another private lesson with Dumbledore that evening. It was also Theo's turn to check on Felix, and Draco had mentioned something about prefect duty. Hermione used their distraction as an opportunity to examine the Vanishing Cabinet alone, something she had yet to do.
She entered the Room of Hidden Things to find she was not alone, however. The soft, haunting notes of a slow piano melody met her ears, and, even though she knew it had to be Malfoy, even though her head told her to leave, she tentatively followed the sound through the narrow pathways of hidden things.
Hidden in the shadows, unknowingly holding her breath, Hermione caught sight of his face reflected in a tall, shadowed mirror propped beside an armoire near the piano; she listened in awe, struck not so much by the song, but by the rawness, the honestly, in his expression. She'd glimpsed it before, of course, but she could not tear her eyes away.
She wondered if perhaps Draco had always been too fearful to be himself— too fearful of the vulnerability that came with such a thing— or perhaps it was the pressure of his family's expectations— or maybe he was only just now discovering who he really was.
It seemed to Hermione the most likely answer was a combination of all these factors, plus a healthy dose of something more… something beyond her understanding.
She could no longer deny her deep curiosity— compulsivity— to discover more about Draco… to know and understand the real him; although rare, every brief glimpse this year— in Knockturn Alley, on the Hogwarts' Express, beside him in a cloud of snow their magic had unintentionally created together— left Hermione with an ache for more.
She wondered who Draco hoped to become… if he even had such hopes. Perhaps any future at all seemed as shadowy to him as it did to her.
"I thought you were trying to avoid me, Granger," Draco said darkly as he noticed her reflection in the same tall, gilded mirror partly obscured by thick velvet drapes. He vaguely considered the mirror hadn't been there at Christmas. He stopped playing and turned to face her.
With the silence, his anger and desperation came rushing back. Again Draco tried to ignore the fear that coursed through his veins at the memory of Voldemort's last intrusion into his mind… the Dark Lord's threat had been clear: complete your task— and soon— or die.
Hermione jumped in surprise at being noticed, reacting instinctively, falling into old habits, at the sight of his glare."Do you only know sad songs, Malfoy? How predictable."
"What're you doing here?" He snapped, ignoring her comment.
She frowned, all softness and tranquility now drained from the room.
"I came to do more research," she lied.
He immediately thought of the sight of her familiar handwriting, of the parchment he'd clasped in his hands, but he could not stop his eyes from narrowing in suspicion as he rose from the piano bench.
"Already trying to escape Potter and Weasley? They've been out of the hospital wing for what—five hours? I suppose I can't say I blame you."
Hermione rolled her eyes, "You really just can't help yourself, can you? Watching Harry's every move."
Draco ignored this comment.
"I know you're up to something, Granger… you know, I've been erasing and modifying Crabbe and Goyle's memories all this time, but I think your mind should be even easier…"
"Please," replied Hermione, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."
"Because you can't fix that cabinet without me," she answered without hesitation, her gaze following Draco's striking reflection in the large gold-framed mirror as he strode toward her.
"Funny, that. How many weeks have you been "helping" us now? And look at that, the cabinet's still rubbish."
"And it would still be rubbish without my help… but you'd be even farther away from a solution. You'd never have transported the doll without me."
Draco knew she was right. His jaw clenched in irritation, his eyes traveling to the necklaces at her throat.
"Don't you have other things to waste your time on… like Potter's recovery from his little head injury? I didn't think McLaggen was capable of such a rare stroke of brilliance…"
"Shut up, Malfoy—"
"Y'know, maybe McLaggen isn't as useless as I thought—"
"Why are you so obsessed with him?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowed.
"Who? McLaggen? Guess it all started when he decided to—"
"You know I'm not talking about McLaggen," Hermione snapped, trying and failing to erase the sudden recollection of the sight of Draco's eyes after he'd hexed McLaggen the night of Slughorn's Christmas party; the burning memory of the sensation of his arm around her sent heat— strong and sudden— through her core.
"I—I'm talking about Harry. All these years. Why are you so preoccupied with him?"
Draco laughed, his tone biting.
"You would say that… being the one person who is beyond preoccupied with the git… you know, you're the worst of them all, Potter's little worshippers."
Exasperated with this exhausted pretense, Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes.
"Truth hurts, doesn't it, Granger?"
"Sure, Malfoy," she replied dryly, taking a step backwards, if only to dissipate the warmth she'd felt at the memory of Draco and Cormac's conflict. "You seem to know an awful lot about cursed necklaces and poisoned mead, but what do you know about truth?"
Touché, Draco thought, trying not to show his surprise at her mention of poisoned mead.
So she knows…
He shook his head internally. Lucky guess.
"I could ask you the same question."
They glared at one another in electrified silence.
"So maybe you aren't as in love with 'The Chosen Arse' as much as I thought, considering you're still lying to him, and Weasel, too… but the question remains, Granger— why…"
Hermione said nothing, not because she didn't want to give him the satisfaction that he'd got under her skin, but because she didn't have an answer.
"Why are you helping me?" Draco blurted. The question nagged at him, and often, her true motives still so unclear. He'd begun to wonder if perhaps there was something more… something he was missing.
As they stood on guard in silence, the image of Dumbledore's memory flooded Hermione's mind— Draco's remorse, the grave he'd dug by hand, the gentle scent of the Manor's roses…
It was all too much. What am I doing?
"I'm leaving," she announced.
Draco reached out to grasp her arm, but Hermione had sensed it coming, and swiftly dodged his grip. She felt his fingertips brush against her arm as she whirled around to face him, poising her wand just below his chin with one quick movement.
For a moment, Draco and Hermione were reminded of their confrontations on the Hogwarts Express and Borgin and Burkes all those months ago, but more striking was the realization of how much had changed in each of them— between them— since then.
Hermione's golden brown eyes were mere inches from Draco's light gray ones, and both felt as though the shortened space between them was vibrating, humming.
"Try me," she breathed. He glanced down at her wand for a moment, smirking lopsidedly.
"Something's changed—" he whispered, trying and failing to extinguish his involuntary urge to pull her closer. "Ever since Weasley was poisoned. I don't know what it is, but when I find out—"
"—you'll what? Hex me? Erase my memory? Go ahead and try. And don't you dare talk to me about change."
The words seared their way from her heart into her lungs and throat, forced their way, burning, onto her lips.
"Look at you— you're falling apart. Forget McLaggen— even Goyle could take you in a duel." Her chest constricted painfully at the changes of his features, the ones she noticed more and more each day— the narrowing of his already lean frame, the growing gauntness of his cheeks, the ever-darkening shadows beneath his eyes.
"And what're you doing up here alone… where's Nott? Or did you decide it was a good idea to destroy the only real friendship you've ever had? You don't deserve his friendship, you know—"
She's right… Draco thought despondently. He backed away.
She regretted the words the moment she spoke them, but how could she take them back?
"Let me go," she whispered, her voice wavering.
Suddenly cold, he stepped aside. Her words left him raw.
Hermione promptly turned her back to him, her eyes welling with unshed tears as she disappeared amongst the stacks of hidden things.
Draco watched her go in painful silence, wincing at the sudden stab of pain in his forearm. His Mark had yet to take hold.
He slumped back onto the piano bench and caught a glimpse of himself in the gilded mirror; through his utter exhaustion and pain he couldn't be sure, but for a moment, he thought he saw Hermione's image still reflected there beside him.
/
/
A/N: I'm sorry this chapter took me so long to post! I really wasn't very happy with it when I re-read it, so I took some time for edits. I'm still not completely happy with the chapter, but I hope you enjoyed reading.
Much of the text from the portion of this chapter with Hermione, Harry, and Ron in the hospital wing is directly from HBP.
Thank you very much for reading and reviewing!