SORRY FOR THE WAIT. UPDATE TO TEOAL COMING SOON.
Four.
Hermione leaned against the wall, her legs stretched out on the floor. She rolled her shoulders forward, wincing. They ached from having been hunched over the cauldron stirring for the past hour. Her hair had frizzed, it tickled her shoulder as it ran along her skin. The vapors coming from the cauldron weren't unpleasant, but they did make a room musty. A light sheen of sweat glazed her forehead.
"There," she said, pushing her hair from her face. Her back ached. "Now we don't touch it for the next twenty-four hours."
Harry nodded, his eyes on the bubbling cauldron.
"Mark the time, someone who has a watch," Hermione instructed.
Ron glanced at his wrist. "Right."
Draco was unrolling his sleeves, pulling them back down to button at his wrists. He caught Hermione's eyes on him as he did so, and looked at her, silently inquiring if she had said something. She merely turned away, a faint smile on her lips. Perplexed, Draco looked away.
"I don't know about you lot, but that wiped me out," Weasley said. "This damn potion's too complicated to make."
"It's good that there's four of us to do it all together," Hermione said. "Remember how we just barely managed to do it our second year?" She shoved the lengthy—and complicated—list of instructions back into her pocket.
Ron shook his head. "I almost tripped over it, too. You wouldn't let me near it for a week." He stretched, went to the door. "I wonder if Kreacher's started dinner yet."
Hermione started. "It's almost dinner time?"
Harry pulled back the curtain over the window. The sun had set; the sky was ink-dark.
"Still an hour left until," he said. A yawn broke from his mouth. "I'm going to sleep."
"You're not going to eat, first?" Hermione asked.
"Not if someone doesn't wake me in time." He left the room, Ron behind him.
The cauldron bubbled quietly. Hermione's tired gaze was fixed on the wall adjacent to them. Regulus's room was dingy and dark, just like every other room inside Grimmauld Place. There were no decorations on the wall. When they had been preparing the room for potion-making use, she had looked through the drawers, unsure of what to find. They'd all been full of torn-up papers and dried-up ink, photographs that had been ripped in half but revealed no familiar faces. She'd found some messy drawings in there, too.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up.
"We should go, too," Draco said. "If you're hungry, I'll ask Kreacher to fix something up for you."
His kindness still surprised her, sometimes. Would it ever stop? She supposed it was a great thing to have to get used to.
"I'm too tired to get up," Hermione said, smiling that faint smile again.
"Then I'll join you." Draco sat beside her on the floor, his arm pressed against hers. She hesitated, then leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. Draco felt warmth run through him at the gesture; something tender and so great it might burst in his chest.
Hermione fell asleep almost immediately, her energy depleted by the annoyingly complicated task of preparing the Polyjuice potion. She had given each of them a job to do, and they had performed it as best they could, but she had still done the brunt of the work. She had done this before, he'd remembered. And Potter and Weasley certainly trusted her with the task. He could imagine the disastrous results they might have come across had either one of those two done it themself. He had offered to take on more work—Weasley had muttered 'don't do it,' at him, but Hermione only shook her head sharply and asked Potter to chop faster.
Draco turned carefully so as not to wake her. Her face was a little flushed from the vapors of the brew and all the exertion of the past few hours, but her furrowed brow had smoothed out and her mouth was a little slack. He admired her for a moment.
Hermione sighed softly in her sleep. Her breath warmed his arm through the fabric of his shirt.
How do you do it? He thought, still looking at her.
She was such a hard worker. She took on so much. How did she handle it? He supposed it was habit by now. Perhaps it had always been in her nature. That was something he could believe more readily. That and the fact that she didn't trust others to do things was common knowledge. Neither Weasley nor Potter was the greatest of Potions students, he supposed she'd become painfully aware of that a long time ago.
He reached up with his right arm and brushed some tendrils of hair from her forehead.
She was so still as she slept. She didn't twitch once. He could feel her pulse through his arm. He settled back against the wall slowly, and within minutes, her rhythmic breathing wove sleep's net around him too, and soon enough, it snared him.
Harry, who'd gone to the loo just after leaving the Malfoy and Hermione, had just reached his room when he felt his pocket and realized the Snitch had fallen out of it. It had become a habit to carry it everywhere with him in the hope that something might trigger it to open or react in some way to give him the clue he needed. Or if he ever had an epiphany about what 'I open at the close' meant, he wanted to waste no time in finding the Snitch to discover what it would do.
He almost resisted the urge to stay in his room and go back for the Snitch later. But he was still on his feet, so he figured he'd just go and make it quick. He went up the stairs, nearly silent in his worn socks. Years of pretending to be invisible at the Dursley's had made him light on his feet, and on other's ears. He could thank them for that, at least. The door to Regulus's bedroom, now their makeshift Potions room, was still open. He started to rush in, the image of his bed calling to him in his mind's eye.
He stopped short, seeing who sat on the far side of the room, huddled together.
Hermione and Malfoy both sat against the wall, deeply asleep. Malfoy's head was tilted back, Hermione's head had dropped to his chest, her hands in her lap. One of Malfoy's hands had made its home on top of both her hands.
Harry could only stare at the foreign picture, trying to make sense of it.
Hermione's words echoed back to him from what felt like months ago, now.
"He's different."
That was becoming clearer to him day by day, and the close quarters they were in were bound to reveal more of Draco Malfoy than he'd ever seen before, or really cared to know.
He murdered Dumbledore, a voice said in his head. Harry felt his insides twist.
It was part of a plan, another voice reasoned. Dumbledore asked him to kill him. You may not have wanted to accept it, but you saw the conflict on his face. You saw the regret, after.
The malicious voice continued, undeterred.
Now he's wrapping himself around one of your best friends, and you remember very clearly what he did to her. How do you know she hasn't been enchanted by him to stay by his side?
His eyes were on their joined hands.
I trust her, he thought. I always have. If she believes him, I can try to, even if I don't like it.
He'll only bring you to more trouble.
That, Harry didn't doubt.
He blinked. His eyes suddenly felt very dry.
Not for the first time, he wondered how much had happened between them before the night Dumbledore had died, that Hermione hadn't told them.
His gaze lingered on their joined hands again.
There was so much behind that one gesture. He wondered if he would ever hear it. Part of him cringed at the thought, but he couldn't help the morbid curiosity that surfaced whenever he saw the two of them together.
Of all the things he'd never expected to happen in his life, this had been at the bottom of the list.
How long had he been standing there, staring at them? His ears went hot. If either of them woke up now…
He was about to turn and leave when he remembered the reason he'd come.
If he went in, they'd wake up and see him there.
He remembered his wand and grabbed it from his pocket.
"Accio Snitch," he whispered. The Snitch floated to him and landed in his palm.
Harry cast one last look at the couple (that word felt wrong even in his head) and ghosted away.
Draco and Hermione awoke a half hour later. She stirred first, and his eyes opened, clearing slowly as she sat up and stretched.
Draco yawned widely.
She straightened, her hand on his thigh for balance. Draco's gaze sharpened at once on that hand and its proximity to his groin. She appeared not to notice and moved it a second later. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
"I need a shower," she said, her voice thick with exhaustion. Clearly, the nap had not helped.
"I'll join you," he said again, half-jokingly. "To save water."
She smiled, swatted his arm, and stood. She reached down and offered her hand to him.
He took it, and she gripped it, ready to help haul him up, but before she could, he pulled her closer, leaning forward to place a kiss on the back of her hand, lips brushing softly against her knuckles.
She held his hand tighter.
"Come on, Mr. Romance," she said, her voice teasing, but full of warmth. "My arse hurts from sitting on this floor for so long. Let's go."
This time, he allowed himself to be pulled, and he stood up, caught her waist in one arm, her cheek with the other, and kissed her until he drew out a soft, pleased moan from her throat.
"Mr. Romance, am I?" He asked, his voice low and vibrating against the skin of her throat. "Would you rather have something else?"
"I like it plenty," she said, smiling. "I'll be honest, I always thought you were…" she grasped for the right word.
Draco raised a brow, grinning. It was a rare treat to see her at a loss for words.
"Rougher, I suppose," she finished, frowning slightly. "Not to sound critical. I just never pictured you so gentle."
Draco thought for a moment.
"Our first kiss," he began, turning slightly red, "wasn't too far off the mark from how I like it. But with everything that happened before and after, I didn't want to do that again—at least not to the point where it would remind you of that time." He brushed his hand along her cheek. "I don't want to scare you off."
Hermione nodded, touched. Still, dissatisfaction needled at her, prodded at her to speak her mind.
"I don't mind it," she said slowly. "I appreciate you doing that for me. But I sense you're holding back."
Draco, not quite sure how to respond, shrugged one shoulder.
"Would you rather I didn't?"
Now it was her turn to go red, but there was no shyness in her eyes, only desire when she looked up at him.
"You don't have to treat me like I'm fragile. You know I'm not."
That he did, indeed.
There was a beat of silence. Her stare was challenging, beckoning him forth, and Draco couldn't help but admire her forthrightness as he backed her into the wall, heart racing, his forehead touching hers. His heart pounded with excitement as her meaning wrapped itself around him.
"You want more, do you?"
"Yes," she whispered. Her face was flushed, her breaths heavy in anticipation. Their eyes were locked together. Neither could look away.
"I may not have much experience, if at all," she said, her face turning redder, "but I don't want gentle all the time."
His hands were on her waist, sliding slowly down to her hips, taking in the feel of the curves that made up that trip. She raised her hands to fall about his neck, clutching him tightly.
"What do you want, then?" He asked.
By way of reply, she took one of his hands and pressed it to her breast, gasped as he immediately cupped it roughly in his hand and began to massage it through her clothing. She brought his head down for a kiss, and her lips were like wildfire, ravaging him with a hunger he reciprocated easily.
Who'd have known such passion lived inside her? Often, even in years past when he'd still hated her, he'd imagined what she might be like in bed. He'd assumed she'd be cold in demeanor and stiff as a board. It was a horrible thing and he was aware of that, but to look on himself now with her actually experiencing it, was boggling.
His other hand pressed on her middle, flat against her, and roved down the worn material of her blouse. His fingers pointed down; he could feel every breath she took as he pressed closer to her. Her tongue found his, tasted him. He groaned. She broke the kiss, panting, to grab her wand from her pocket and pointed it at the door, which closed silently. He caught the shape of the 'Muffliato' on her lips as she cast it over the room. She put the wand away and met his eye. Her hands came up to unbutton the top half of her blouse, and when that fabric was out of the way, she undid her bra and untangled herself from it without taking off her shirt, which amazed him, as he was used to girls magicking their clothes off.
Her breasts were freed, her skin mottled with a blush from the humidity of the room. Her nipples were hard. Draco stepped back into her, pushing one knee between her legs. She smiled, and the gleam in her eye only made him harder for her.
"Who are you, Granger?" He whispered.
She pulled him against her. He bent lower, his hands on her breasts, lavishing them with attention. She let her head fall back, soft, pleasured noises coming from her throat as he took a nipple in his mouth and played with the other while his free hand dipped low again until it sat on the fixture of her jeans—a cold button that he tugged on once, a silent query.
"Yes—" she cut herself off with a moan as he teased her, sucking lightly on her nipple.
It took a moment to undo her jeans. He pressed his palm flat against her pubic area, feeling her heat through her panties. Her hips pushed into his hand. He ground back against her thigh and groaned.
He slipped a finger between her panties and her skin. When she didn't protest, he added another, and another, until his whole hand was pressed intimately against her and the thick thatch of hair he found there. He felt his cock throb, and slowly twirled some of that lovely hair around his fingers, more turned on than he'd ever been in his life.
She had noticed his hand pause there and cleared her throat.
"If you don't like it, I can—"
He trailed his middle finger along her slit, delighted at her wetness. She gasped.
"Please don't," he murmured and kissed her between her breasts. "I like it very much."
He stroked her again, pushing his finger between her lips to find her clitoris. When he found that hard, slick little bud, he applied light pressure on it and began to stroke in circles as his tongue worked on her nipple.
"Oh," she said, her knees buckling.
Draco moaned in response, and the vibration of his moan against her body had Hermione's head falling back.
"Draco," she whispered. Her eyes were closed tightly, her mouth was parted. "We should go to your room."
Draco unintentionally brushed against a spot that had her exclaim sharply in pleasure, her hips bucking.
He grinned and stroked it again, more slowly.
Her body trembled, pressed between him and the wall. He trailed the tip of his tongue along the peak of her stiff nipple.
"I'm not leaving this room until you cum," he said, and she groaned, more out of pleasure than frustration as his fingers quickened their pace.
"You stubborn arse," she said, grinning, eyes still closed, a heady flush creeping up her neck.
"You know you love it," he said and kissed her. Her hands clutched at his hair, one trailing down shortly after to feel his back, to grab at his arse.
"Faster," she panted. Delighted, and painfully aroused, Draco obliged, experimenting in different speeds until hit the right one and she begged him to keep at that pace until he felt her breath hitch twice, and her body convulsed slightly, arching into him.
"Ah—" she bit her lip, and when she opened her eyes, they were bright and unfocused.
He met her eye and licked his fingers clean, a naughty smile curving his lips. Her knees went weak again.
Her hand grazed his erection, straining through the fabric of his trousers, and he sucked in a breath, watching that hand rub him slowly.
Their eyes locked.
"Bedroom," she said.
"Why not here?" He asked, stupidly, just as they heard a CRACK outside the door.
Lightning fast, their hearts having jumped into their throats, they scrambled to fix themselves. Topless, and without her wand, which she'd left on the work table, she dove behind a curtain just as the door opened.
"Kreacher would like to announce that dinner will be served in ten minutes," came the House Elf's croaking voice from the door.
Draco cleared his throat.
"That's great, thanks."
There was another CRACK as the House Elf disapparated. Draco released a shaky breath and his eye caught on a flash of color on the floor—Hermione's top.
He felt his face flood with color. It was directly in view from the door. And worse—Hermione's bra was slightly visible beside it.
He summoned them with his wand quickly, and went to the curtain, pulling it back slightly.
"I think he knows," he said softly. "Your stuff was on the floor—I should have hidden them—"
Her head was down, her hands covering her breasts. His first thought was that she was crying, and his stomach sank.
Then she looked up, laughing so hard tears streamed from her eyes.
"Oh God," she gasped. "That's twice now we've been caught! Oh no…"
"I should have listened when you said we should have gone to the other room," he said, handing her things back. "I'm sorry."
She took her clothing back gratefully and turned her back to him as she redressed.
"It's alright," she said, still winding down from her laugh. "We'll just have to be more careful. I don't need anybody else winking at me."
"Who's winking at you?" Draco asked.
"Fred and George, ever since they caught us snogging at the Burrow," she said and turned back to face him. "Jokesters, the both of them, but they forget I caught them with wizard magazines once in fifth year."
"Really…"
"Oh, yes," she said, grinning. She'd gone to the door and looked at him expectantly. "Let's go to dinner. I'm famished."
"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked.
Harry had just entered the musty, uninviting living room, where Ron lounged on one of the couches, flipping through a book without reading any of it. Dinner had been quiet, and fast. Harry hadn't gotten that nap he'd wanted. He hadn't felt tired after his encounter in the Polyjuice room and had spent the past hour pacing around the third floor.
"I saw her in the library with Malfoy."
Ron made a face and turned another page unhappily.
Harry picked a seat and sat down. His scar ached a bit, but not enough to warrant alarm. He'd woken with a headache and had all but forced himself to get out of bed.
"There's nothing to do here," Ron muttered, and threw the book to the other end of the couch, toward his feet.
"I thought you were reading."
"That author's as bad as Lockhart. All he does is bring up anecdotes from his life instead of actually talking about anything interesting."
"That's a shame."
"I'm going to lose my mind in here." Ron sighed and crossed his arms, scowling.
He wondered what Hermione was doing. He could picture her in that gross library, Malfoy seated beside her. Where they actually working in there? Or did they only stay in there so often so they could do things they couldn't do around him and Harry?
Jealousy thrashed inside him like a trapped eel.
"What does she see in him?"
Harry blinked, having been dozing off.
"I dunno," he said. He thought back to that morning, what he'd stumbled upon.
"So he isn't ugly to look at. Is that all there is?" Ron asked. His brows were bent.
Harry put aside the book he'd intended to read. He hadn't even opened it yet. Its cover boasted a worn, almost illegible title, but the title page on the inside had caught his attention: History of Dark Magic.
"You know Hermione isn't shallow like that," he said.
"She went after Krum, didn't she?" Ron asked.
"Krum pursued her." Harry eyed his best friend. "You're jealous again."
Ron didn't deny it this time. He pulled at some loose threads in his shirt rather sullenly.
"She's known me just as long as she's known him. I'm not perfect, but I'd like to think I'm not as big of a prick as him. Why stay with him, with everything that he's done?"
Harry took his spectacles off, cleaning the lenses with his shirt.
"She said he's changed. I believe her." He paused. "He's shown us he wants to be on our side. I can't know everything that they've said to each other, but if she trusts him and forgave him, I trust her that she made the right choice."
"What if she didn't?"
You don't know her at all, do you? Harry thought.
He hesitated. "If he proves us wrong, we'll deal with it."
The image of Malfoy and Hermione's joined hands flashed through his mind's eye again. He pushed it away and reached for his book.
The Polyjuice wouldn't be ready for weeks. Every other day they worked a little more at it, but its strict brewing process prevented them from really being able to make enormous progress in one day. It was hard and frankly tedious work, and they were usually exhausted when their makeshift Potions session was over.
They received the Daily Prophet every day and passed it around, grim-faced as they caught up on the latest news. Voldemort's influence in the Ministry was made more apparent when the Wanted posters bearing Draco's name disappeared, and Harry's replaced it, along with a picture, which had been splashed on the front page of this particular day's issue. The advert claimed he was the prime suspect in Dumbledore's death, which had shocked Ron when he'd first seen it.
"Why switch you out with him?" He'd asked, gesturing angrily over his porridge. He'd looked intensely at Draco. "There were witnesses who know you did it!"
"We are those witnesses, Ron," Hermione had said, fighting the uneasiness that had settled on her shoulders. "It was just the four of us. Now that we're gone and can't testify, who's going to know the truth?"
"We gave our accounts to the Order!" Ron replied. "They know Malfoy did it!"
"Why would they listen to them?" Draco had said, angry and bored. "Voldemort's plants at the Ministry can probably misplace some files, or find other ways to make sure no one believes the truth. It's not hard to bend the truth."
"Yeah, I'm sure you know all about that," Ron said angrily.
"I'm telling you what to expect," Draco snapped. "You can't always think things are going to work out in favor of justice. I know that's a laugh coming from me, but I came from that other side so at least I know how things are more likely to go."
Ron had shaken his head, but not replied.
More people were disappearing. There seemed to be a new case every other day. Most of them were women. Hermione always lingered on those brief notices, a crease between her brows.
In between the news and trying to read up on Horcruxes (which was turning out to be absolutely fruitless), lounging around in frustration and talking to each other, there wasn't much else to do, and it was slowly driving them mad.
"We could just pop into Hogsmeade for a few minutes," Ron had suggested once, as Hermione had been rearranging the contents of her bag for the fourth time in a week. "We could use charms to disguise ourselves."
"We could," Hermione said, "but why do you want to go to Hogsmeade? We're brewing the potion so we don't have to rely on charms that might go wrong. We're preparing for a mission, not a night out at the bar."
"Says who I want to go to a bar?" He'd asked, scowling.
"Three days ago you talked about going to the Three Broomsticks!"
"Are bars not a good place to hear the current gossip?" He'd asked defensively.
"We could attract the wrong attention," Hermione said. "All sorts of people spend time in bars. We want to be seen as little as possible."
"Hence the disguise charms."
"Have you forgotten they've got the Dementors stationed at Hogsmeade again?" She'd asked sharply. "They're increasing surveillance everywhere. We can't just go waste time dallying around random places when we should be looking for Horcruxes. And if you're so insistent on disguise charms then have at them, but I haven't seen you practicing them at all since we got here."
He had given up, after that.
Harry spent much of his time wandering around the house, deep in thought, one hand on the Snitch in his pocket, as if it were an egg he'd hoped would crack open eventually. Grimmauld Place's tiny library, unfortunately, had more books about the Black's family history than anything else, spanning multiple generations. Hermione had caught Harry reading one of them, dated around the time of Sirius's birth. When she had asked about it later to see if he had learned anything, he'd only shook his head, and muttered something about the pages being torn out.
When the first Death Eater popped up outside the wards of Grimmauld Place a day later, nobody had batted an eye. They realized with a dull sort of dread that they had expected it. A quick back and forth from Pansy and Ginny informed them that there were still watchers outside of the Burrow and that as far as the Order knew, the other side didn't know they were hiding out there.
"They probably suspect someone's there," read the message from Ginny, "but they don't know who. Stay low and don't go outside, McGonagall says."
Hermione spent most of her time checking on the Potion, making sure it was perfect. Harry had asked if it really needed to be checked so many times in one day, but she couldn't help it. So many things could go wrong so easily, and with the amount of time they were losing over brewing it in the first place, she couldn't bear to even entertain the notion that something might ruin their Polyjuice before it would be done.
When she wasn't doing that or reading from one of the many books she'd brought with her hoping for some useful information, she arranged and rearranged her bag, ever mindful of the disaster at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and wanting to be prepared at a moment's notice. Draco would read with her in silence—she could feel the restlessness tearing at him—he felt useless here, and it was apparent when he would pace up and down the length of his room, bored out of his mind. He would ask if she needed help with anything, and the answer was usually no, but she hated seeing him so lost and dejected, so she would give him a fresh book from her stores and ask him to find any mention of Horcrux or anything that related to the dark arts. He would find spells in some of these books that he would practice—the most recent had been designed to create a sophisticated illusion: a duplicate of oneself. It was quite an advanced spell, and she had watched for the better part of an hour as he'd tried again and again, admiring his intensity on mastering the spell. So far he could only manage to conjure a ghostly form beside himself but had been impressed with his rapid progress and dedication.
She herself had tried some of those spells and had succeeded at almost all of them instantly. She had written them down onto bits of parchment so she wouldn't forget them and might practice again later.
Time passed strangely in the dim halls of Grimmauld Place. From the moment of their arrival, Hermione had felt herself slowly becoming restless with each day that passed, feeling that they crawled by at the rate a flobberworm might crawl a mountain. She would wake and work on the potion with the others, dine with them, read or practice spells—sometimes she would just sit down and then wake up from a nap she hadn't intended to take. Sometimes, if she and Draco had been in the library and she would fall into one of those accidental naps, she would wake hours later in her own bed, confused as to how she'd gotten there until Draco had told her he did it because she had complained about how uncomfortable the chairs in the library were once. After that, he'd decided to carry her up to her own bed so that she might sleep better. That made her feel lucky in a way she'd never thought she'd feel.
Despite her and Draco's fledgling relationship, she was starting to feel Grimmauld Place shrinking down around her to the size of a chicken coop. She hadn't anticipated that becoming a fugitive and dismantling Voldemort's power would be so…boring.
This is only the beginning, she often reminded herself. If we'd been more prepared from the start, we wouldn't be sitting around waiting like this so often.
She would learn in time that this was not always the case.
Nobody came to visit them, as they had warned Pansy and Ginny against it for fear of being caught by one of the Death Eaters stationed either at Grimmauld Place or the Burrow. They communicated frequently through the charmed galleons, however, and learned something very interesting.
"Tonks says they've found Mundungus," Hermione said one day as they sat in the dining room, tired from looking after the Polyjuice potion. It was almost done—all that was left was give it a few more days to brew before they could bottle it.
Ron looked up sharply. "Good. I hope they throw him in Azkaban, the traitor."
"Where was he hiding?" Harry asked.
"Somewhere close by Knockturn Alley, at some abandoned church. She says she found him selling hawked goods not long ago, but was only there for intel. They found his hideout two days ago. Apparently, someone built a bunker underneath that church."
"Not Mundungus, surely," Ron said, scoffing.
"From what Ginny says Tonks told them, it looks like that bunker was built decades ago," Hermione said, gratefully accepting a cup of tea from Kreacher, who had come in with a tray of sandwiches floating behind him, and full tea service in his hands.
"Either way," Hermione continued as Draco sat down beside her, "she says he tried to run but they took him in for questioning."
"Did he say why he ratted us out?" Ron demanded.
"Tonks told them he owed someone on their side a favor. A big one, and they didn't want money. He couldn't name the person, but he said they wanted to know how much security there was around the Burrow. I don't know how much Mundungus told them, but Tonks suspects they got him while he was drunk, and he probably told them more than he meant to."
"He shouldn't have told them anything," Ron said, disgusted, looking away. "He put my family in danger all because he's too poor to pay off a debt."
"He was just trying to survive," Hermione said. "It was wrong of him to do it, but what other choice did he have?"
"He could have run away!"
"How effective would that have been?" Harry asked. "What if they'd caught him, and taken every bit of information they wanted and extra from him? The situation at the Burrow would have turned out much worse, Ron."
Ron sighed harshly. "Fine. Fine. I didn't think of it that way."
"And," Draco added, "we might have found Mundungus dead rather than alive."
"I said fine, drop it!"
Draco shook his head and turned away.
"Anyhow," Hermione said after an awkward pause, "Mundungus admitted to stealing loads of stuff from this place and selling it all."
"What exactly did he sell?" Harry asked at once. "And to who?"
Hermione held up a finger. "They took Mundungus to the Auror's Department at the Ministry an hour ago," she said. "After the Order got all the answers they needed from him."
"So we're going to have to find him, then, and ask."
Hermione shook her head, a faint smile on her face. "I asked Ginny if she could get to Mundungus without being noticed. Pansy was her lookout, and I asked her to ask him if he remembered taking a locket from here and selling it." Her eyes locked onto Harry's. "He did. He described it exactly the same as the fake. He couldn't get it to open."
"Who did he sell it to?" Draco asked.
Hermione's mouth settled into a grim line.
"He says he sold it to a fat, short woman who looks like a toad."
Silence reigned in the room for approximately three seconds.
"There's no fucking way," Harry said, rising quickly from his seat. "There could be loads of other women who look like her."
"Ginny says they kept asking to make sure, and Mundungus insists the woman was wearing all pink."
Harry was shaking his head.
"Fucking hell," Ron muttered.
"Why would she want the locket?" Draco asked, frowning.
"She probably recognized it as a Slytherin artifact," Hermione said, shrugging. "Imagine if you stumbled upon a relic from Merlin, or one of the school founders. Would you just walk away?"
"Only if it belonged to somebody else," Draco said honestly.
She nodded, and he couldn't tell if she was doing so because she'd expected his answer, or because she was admitting that she would do the same. Her look was not judgmental, and that gave him some relief.
"Did she even know it was real?" Ron asked.
"Did Mundungus?" Hermione asked. "Probably not, and he likely sold it for much less than what it's worth. I'm sure she ran to have it appraised afterward, if she wasn't already absolutely sure."
Harry was thinking of the sword of Gryffindor, how it had appeared for him in the past, how Dumbledore had left it to him, but was lost. If he ever found it, what would he even do with it? There were too many bad memories wrapped around it, now.
He shook himself out of the thought.
"So she's got it, then," he said, and it was no use to even try to continue to deny it was her because of course the woman he hated most in the world had exactly what he needed. He was through with these unpleasantly ironic surprises. "We need to steal it from her."
Draco choked on his tea. Harry slid him a napkin.
"And how," Draco asked, wiping at the liquid on his chin, "do you propose we do that?"
"The Polyjuice is nearly done," Ron said. "We take it and break into her house, steal it when she's not home."
"What if she's got security around her home?" Hermione asked.
Harry snorted. "She's isn't that important, no matter what she thinks."
"Potter, I believe I'm seeing another side of you I didn't know existed," Draco remarked. "Fascinating."
Harry shot him a 'don't start with me,' look. He looked at Hermione.
"Can you ask Ginny and Pansy to find out where Umbridge lives?"
"I can't imagine how they're going to explain that one to McGonagall," Hermione said, and reached for the galleon.
"Not through McGonagall," Harry said quickly. "Ask them to ask Fred and George for help."
"Okay."
"We're really going to do this, then?" Ron asked, grinning. "We're going to break into that old toad's house." His grin faded. "Merlin, what do you think it's like in there?"
"Even pinker, and even more kittens than she had at Hogwarts," Draco said tonelessly.
"Well, that's a given. I'm willing to bet she'll have copies of her decrees on her walls," Ron replied.
"No," Draco said. "I'm sure we're going to find a poster of Potter somewhere." At Harry's doubtful look, he added, "After all the trouble you gave her? I'm positive she's determined to be the one to find the 'Undesirable Number 1' and turn you in."
"Before we do anything, we need to do research," Hermione said.
"Research?"
"We need to locate the place, watch it for a day or two, and learn her schedule. We should go in disguise, obviously, and see if she has anyone living with her, and form a plan around that…" She made a face. "Honestly, I'm not sure I like this idea."
"What else can we do?" Draco asked.
"It's either that or sneak into the Ministry," she said. "And I like that one much less."
"It'll be alright, Hermione," Ron said. "We break in, steal the necklace, and we run like hell. In and out."
Hermione didn't look convinced at all.
"Do you think we can pull it off?" Draco asked later, when Harry and Ron had gone, and he and Hermione remained alone in the dining room.
"Yes," she said slowly. "But it's incredibly risky—even with the Polyjuice. We'll have to take extra with us, and hope that doesn't deplete the amount we have to the point we'll waste another month making more." She tucked her hair behind one ear. "No matter how careful we are, things always go wrong—I know it'll happen again, and that's why I'm nervous."
"Then we'll prepare for the worst," Draco said, laying his hand over hers on the table. She smiled, tired.
"Thank you," she said.
"Why thank me?" He asked, frowning.
"They don't always listen when I've got concerns over something. Harry does, sometimes, but the conversation loses its track and then even I forget. I try not to remind them so often because I don't want to sound unbearable, but lots of accidents in our past could have been avoided…" she trailed off and rubbed at her forehead, embarrassed.
"If they'd just listened," Draco finished.
"Yes."
Draco gently flipped one of her hands over on the table and traced over the creases in her palm with a fingertip.
"I'm surprised that's the case," he said. "I always assumed you were the leader of the three."
"Harry is, not me," she replied, watching his finger trail across her skin. Their tea cups sat empty and long forgotten on the table, the tea leaves gathered in small, misshapen piles at the bottom. They could hear someone walking around upstairs—Harry, or Ron?
"I suppose since I get the best marks out of the three of us they think of me as the planner," she said, softer now, as if she was afraid of being overheard. "I don't mind, not really. I do like to organize."
"And you're excellent at it. But…" Draco prompted, sensing she was about to say something she normally kept to herself. His finger trailed up to her wrist and traced over the delicate blue rivers of veins that converged there.
"I wish they didn't leave all the responsibility to me," she said. "I love them, they're family to me. But they act without thinking sometimes, and then I'm left to deal with the fallout."
She reached to him and touched his chest, her fingertips trailing down and curving, as if she had memorized the exact location of that scar. He held his breath, wondering if she would trace the others, too, but she had made her point, and her hand fell away from him. He was holding her wrist now.
"'Deal' with?" He asked. "You're not responsible for what they do. Is that why you came to see me in the Hospital Wing? Were you going to apologize on his behalf?"
"No—I don't know." Her head fell back and she sighed, looked at him. "I couldn't believe that he'd done it. I wanted to see the proof, and what that spell had done. I wanted to see if you were okay, even if I didn't know why. I'd never thought he was capable of that."
"What would you have done if I hadn't woken up and seen you there?" He asked.
"I would have snuck away," she said. "The whole time I was walking up to your cot, I was terrified. I didn't know what to expect. I wanted to see if it was as bad as the others were saying. I knew you were different by then, which I guess is why I cared." She couldn't meet his eye, suddenly. "I think I was starting to believe we'd made some progress by then, however little. I think I was unconsciously afraid that Harry doing that to you would put us back at square one."
"You had nothing to do with it," Draco said, moved by her confession. "I knew as much the moment I woke up and saw you there. You wouldn't have come at all if you'd supported that. And it was technically my own fault. I started the fight, after all."
Hermione shook her head, the scene of the aftermath still fresh in her mind.
"The curse he'd used on you, he got from a potions book somebody had scribbled in years ago, and that person had created their own spells. That person must have been some sort of genius because they knew all sorts of tips and shortcuts that would cut down the potion making process. That's why Harry got so good at potions all of a sudden. He was really interested in the spells, though. I warned him not to use any of them but he did, and it could have killed you."
"Who created the spell, then?" Draco asked. His scars began to itch.
"We never figured it out. The day after, we had a huge row over it in the bell tower. The worst we've ever had."
"How bad?"
"Ron wouldn't speak to me for a while, after. Harry and I were on better terms, but I was still angry. He'd lied to me about where he was going that night—he'd seen you on the Marauder's Map and was going to confront you. He'd never lied to me like that before."
"Well, it seems you've made up since then… " He frowned. "What's this Marauder's Map? I feel like I've heard you mention that before. I take it isn't some regular map."
"Oh, sorry. Harry's dad and his friends made a comprehensive map of Hogwarts when they were students here, and charmed it so it would know the whereabouts of anyone in and around the castle. Harry was using it to track your whereabouts."
"That sneak. That explains everything." Draco uttered a humorless laugh. "A map that knows where everyone is and a legitimate Invisibility Cloak. In Potter's possession, no less."
"They were his father's," she reminded him.
"So if he was tracking me all that time, why didn't he attack me sooner? I spent a lot of time in the Room of Requirement."
"That's what had us baffled," she said. "The Room of Requirement is the only spot on the map that we know of that won't reveal who's inside. We'd lose sight of you for hours, and since we figured you didn't know how to use that room, we expected you'd gone somewhere else."
Draco nodded. "An unlucky break. There was a time or two, when I almost wished I'd be caught, just so I didn't have to go through with the mission." He raised a brow at her. "I didn't know you'd been tracking me, too."
"I wasn't," she said. "Harry was convinced you were up to something. He'd track you throughout the day with the map and tell us when he couldn't find you anywhere. I wasn't sure what to believe, since every time you and I came across each other, you did the opposite of what I expected you to do. I was suspicious, but I couldn't believe that I felt you were honest."
Draco brought her wrist to his lips and kissed it, just as the galleon in her pocket flashed hot. She pulled it out and looked at it. She stood up suddenly.
"Let's go to the library," she said, her voice urgent. "We need to find a map. We've got Umbridge's address."
A/N:
I am SO sorry for the hideously late update. This past semester absolutely kicked my ass and I struggled to find time or energy to write. I'm very ashamed of myself, and want to apologize for this filler chapter update, but promise there's action in the next one. Thank you all so much for being patient, and hope you enjoy!