A/N: Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, review, follow and fav. Here's a little exposition and plot thickening for you.
Chapter 2
She didn't have long to wait before she would leave for the Burrow, but Hermione used the time to her advantage. After setting the house to rights – the rushed packing hadn't been neat, despite her use of magic – she sat down and had a long cry. Exhausted, she fell asleep at the kitchen table, arms wrapped around Crookshanks, hair fanning out around them both.
She awoke as suddenly as she'd fallen asleep. It was barely first light, and the half-kneazle purred a morning greeting to her, but Hermione barely noticed.
"They'll question me," she said aloud. Crookshanks stopped purring and caught her eyes. She looked wanly at him before explaining. "Snape says I'll be safe at Hogwarts, but if he's the headmaster, that would mean Death Eaters in Hogwarts… and V-Voldemort will want to question me about… everything."
She got up from the table, groaning a bit at the crick in her back. She started pacing, her mind jumping ahead of itself, racing to keep up with what she had been too exhausted and panicked to fully realize the previous night. She was now well within reach of the Death Eaters, and of Voldemort himself. Although Snape had claimed to want her as Head Girl for political manoeuvring, it wouldn't be his sole reasoning; the Head of Slytherin would have ulterior motives. She shook her head, petting Crookshanks absentmindedly.
"We leave to get Harry in a week," she told him. "That might be enough time to start preparing… something. Be back in a bit, Crooks."
Waving her wand to change her appearance and clothing, she stalked to the front door.
It was past midday when Hermione stumbled back home. Her glamours were barely holding, and she realized that, aside from being tired, she was also extremely hungry. She put her packages onto the kitchen counter and fixed a quick lunch for herself (tomato soup) and Crookshanks (tinned tuna).
Afterwards, she unwrapped the smallest package first, placing the tiny little bottle on a high shelf in the kitchen before turning to the rest. The largest package contained a tome entitled Mind of Mettle: an Advanced Guide to Occlumency by Artemis Sentinella. Along with the other beginner's books on the subject, it had seemed to be waiting for her on a back shelf in Flourish and Blotts. However, Dividing Mind: Picking Your Own Brain (Apart) by Conjunctivus Escutcheon, had taken her all over Knockturn Alley to find. She shuddered as she handled the book, whose black leather cover featured a skull cleaved in two with silver wisps of thought matter pouring out. The final package contained a small bottle of Dreamless Sleep.
Aside from daily missives to her parents, who reported that Snape had modified the house as he'd promised, Hermione spent the following seven days immersed in Occlumency study and practice, stopping only when Crookshanks nudged her – and only to eat small meals and, late at night, to take ever-increasing doses of Dreamless Sleep.
The beginner's manuals had been next to useless – Hermione mastered the basic concepts of mind magic in a matter of hours.
There was more of value from Sentinella, starting with one simple fact: Professor Snape had not attempted to teach Harry Occlumency during the fifth year. The book dedicated an entire chapter to the importance of not blanking one's mind in the face of an attack. It transpired that Occlumency was based not on lack of thinking, but on constructed thinking. As Sentinella instructed, Hermione began to segregate her thoughts from her emotions, filing them into separate cabinets in her Mind's Eye, the venue where Occlumency should take place – a blank stage of sorts that could be formed to suit the individual witch's needs, and which Hermione visualised as a bright office space. It was a little hard at first, but classifying, filing, and generally sorting through things was something Hermione did extremely well, and with substantial relish.
Toward the end of the week, Hermione bravely turned her attention to Escutcheon. Glad that she had her Mind's Eye in action, Hermione was able to carefully separate her disgust from her fascination with the material. Escutcheon advocated a method he called Intercision to carefully cut pieces of the mind away from the larger Mind's Eye to be stored in the farthest recesses of the brain, where the basic functions took place. It would be nearly impossible for a Legilimens to find these pieces without killing the victim. Escutcheon warned of dire consequences should any part of Intercision be unsuccessful: it was possible to cut away parts of one's own soul. She wouldn't do it, she told herself.
But the Horcruxes. If Voldemort finds out what I know about the Horcruxes… and Harry's hunt for them…
Although she gained confidence in her ability to Occlude, Hermione was aware that she was not actually practicing Occlumency. She needed a Legilimens to do that, although she had managed a decent simulation using the Veritaserum she'd procured from an apothecary in Nocturne Alley. She'd spent twenty Galleons on the tiny bottle of clear liquid, and she was intensely glad she'd bought it. After dosing herself, she would try not to answer the detailed questions she'd printed out on flashcards. It was something, at least, if not a fully functional method of practice for a Legilimency attack, and her tolerance for Veritaserum would preclude its use against her.
But she felt that she was not fully prepared for the worst. For Intercision. The files of memories, thoughts, and stray ideas labelled "sensitive" were carefully delineated in her Mind's Eye. She envisioned a bright blade, sharp and true, sparking with magic and intention. Every day, she prepared to slice away the highlighted files, to cut them out, and wedge them back.
She started to prepare a space in the recesses of her mind for it. This was the hardest part because making space around her autonomous nervous system was careful, time-consuming, terrifying work without room for trial and error. Unless she was able to prepare fully, the memories would go back there should she perform the operation, but they would be irretrievable, as would she. It would put both her reserve of memories and herself beyond the reach of anything Voldemort could do.
The Burrow was a-bustle yet sombre. Despite the jokes he and Fred made about it, George's wound was ghastly. The entire household was preparing feverishly for Bill and Fleur's wedding, but the loss of Moody and Hedwig weighed heavily on him, Ron and Hermione, and the latter had to work hard to keep from blurting out that she had terrible news of her own.
The matter was brought to a head with the arrival of The Daily Prophet one morning. Mrs Weasley handed the paper to Bill, who spat coffee all over it upon seeing the front page.
"What is it, Bill dear? Is someone hurt?" Mrs Weasley asked him immediately, wiping at his face with a dish cloth.
"Mum, get off!" he leaned away from Mrs Weasley and met Hermione's eyes from across the breakfast table. She felt her stomach drop. He used his wand to set the paper to rights before handing it over. "You should see this, Hermione," he said, quailing his mother's protests with a dark look.
Hermione nodded in thanks before looking down at it.
"What the fuck?" Ron exclaimed next to her, earning a smart smack across the back of the head from Mrs Weasley, who peered over Hermione's shoulder to read as well. "Ouch, Mum!"
The headline merited spat coffee, heated exclamations, and the trembling that now infused Hermione's hands, making the entire paper shake.
"Let me, 'Mione," Harry murmured, taking the paper from her and laying it out on the table across their plates.
HERMIONE GRANGER: HIDDEN HALF-BLOOD! by Rita Skeeter, special correspondent
In a startling development last night, this reporter was made privy to news that will shake the Wizarding World to its very core. An impeccable source confirms with proof by Pensieve, medical records, and registered correspondences that Hermione Granger, well-known Muggle-born and best friend of The Chosen One, is, in fact, a Half-blood. It transpires that Granger's mother had a short yet torrid affair with a wizard who, unfortunately, remains anonymous, but who fathered the young witch and broke ties with her Muggle mother soon thereafter. This reporter has seen the evidence and can say with utmost certainty that that great bastion of house elf rights, that proof positive that Muggle-borns can exceed the expectations of Wizarding kind, is not Muggle-born at all –
The article went on. And on. It both extolled and undermined all of Hermione's involvement in Harry's life, and all of her academic accomplishments. It provided a detailed timeline, details of her mother's lies to her father, and their previous history of infertility. All of it fabricated, and all of it now on the public record. Hermione felt herself almost start crying, somewhere remotely, but she tucked that whinging part of herself away into her Mind's Eye.
"Is this true? Did you know?" Harry asked. He looked pale and furious, as he always did after reading Rita Skeeter. His green eyes flashed and his scar stood out sharper than usual.
"Of course she didn't," Ron said, putting his arm around her shoulders and handing her his handkerchief. Hermione tried for a moment to accept the comfort he offered, but she couldn't. Not when his was an utter lie, and she was complicit in it. Not when she had her head down, her face hidden by her mass of hair to conceal that she was not crying.
"Oh, Hermione dear," Mrs Weasley said tearfully. "And to have that foul woman spreading news like this all over the Wizarding – "
Hermione fled the table, almost toppling her chair over backwards in her need to get away. She ran upstairs to Ginny's room and slammed the door shut, using her wand to lock and ward it before sitting down on her camp bed.
Away from the others, she let her Mind's Eye dissolve. Fury and disbelief rose to the service.
How could he? How dare he! Didn't he fuck with my life enough? How the hell am I going to show my face anywhere after this?
"What do you mean 'the two of you?'" Ron asked forcefully, standing up from his bed.
"Shh, Ron!" Hermione put down the book she was holding (Hogwarts: A History), and placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Do you want your mother to find the three of us up here together?"
"But you can't mean that you won't be coming with us! What will you do? Where will you go?" Ron stared at her pleadingly.
"I'm going back to Hogwarts."
"Hermione, no." This time it was Harry who spoke up. "I don't think you'll be safe – "
"What about Ginny, then?" she asked him. "You'll send her back to Hogwarts, but not me?"
"She's different," he answered. "She's not as heavily connected with me as you are. If the Death Eaters find out –"
"They'll leave me well enough alone. Don't you two see?" She looked between her two best friends, heart aching at telling them more lies. She neutralized her emotions once more before continuing. "I'll be fine. Ron's supposedly being sick with Spattergroit will emphasize the fact that Harry is alone. They won't care about me."
"But Hermione," Ron said quietly, looking pained, "they'll capture you. They'll torture you. They'll use you to get to Harry – "
"That's true of absolutely everyone that Harry knows, Ron," she said, concentrating on keeping her voice calm, and on not looking at Harry. She knew what this admission would do to him, but she pressed on. "We can't all stay in hiding forever. And I'll be more useful at Hogwarts than with the two of you."
"How do you figure?" Harry asked. He looked pained, but not angry.
He's really grown up, she realized, and he never needed Occlumency to calm his emotions. It's compassion has matured him…
This was it – time to make the pitch. If she could convince Harry now, it would all fall into place beautifully, horribly, perfectly. At least Snape had set things up for her neatly enough.
"I'll have full access to the library, the ghosts, the castle itself and all of its resources," she answered. "I've already asked Fred and George to figure out a way for us to communicate, and I'll be able to help the Order while I'm there. I can be a go-between so that you and Ron aren't completely isolated."
"And if the Death Eaters take Hogwarts?" Ron asked harshly. "When they take it?"
"I'm Half-blood now," she sharpened her voice, and stood up to turn away from him. "There's proof, according to Skeeter, and I'll get my hands on it first thing – she can't keep her sources from me, not after printing that filth."
It was the first time she had spoken of the article since it had come out the day before.
"You mean you really think she's right?" Ron asked, side-tracked.
Hermione nodded, her back still to him. Emotions tucked carefully away, she put on her best know-it-all expression, turned around, and faced him.
"Yes," she proclaimed. "There are archaic – and very strict – magical laws in place that prohibit the defamation of one's family name. If she didn't have proof to back up her claims of my mother's infidelity, I would be able to file a grievance against her. Given my history with the beetle -" Ron grinned briefly " - I sincerely doubt she'll have done her homework incorrectly. But I will check."
"Who'd have thought we'd ever see the day," Ron said, "when our Hermione is trying to get us to believe something Skeeter says."
Hermione swatted at him, and then continued sorting through the books, some to be packed in the beaded bag, and some to be left behind. She was almost through preparing for the boys to leave and, though she longed to add her things to theirs, she had made a separate copy of the beaded bag for herself.
After a few minutes, Ron excused himself for a bathroom break.
"What are you not telling us, Hermione?" Harry asked as soon as Ron closed the door.
She caught her breath when she looked at Harry. He sat across from her on his camp bed, hands folded beneath his chin, intensity radiating off of him despite his apparent calm. Her Mind's Eye had been up since before she started this conversation, and as she looked at Harry Hermione felt it strengthen. She needed to be calm now; she needed to match him this once. He had always been savvier than her – she had the brains, she knew that, and Ron had the heart. But Harry… Harry was sharp in a way she never would be.
"Don't you see the – "
"Yes, I get the benefits of your plan. What I want to know is how and when and why you suddenly came up with it."
"Are you angry with me?" she asked, hearing her voice climb in defensiveness as she reached for the emotion in her Mind's Eye. Good. Distract him. "You're angry that I – "
"Not at all," Harry interrupted. "But I need you to answer my question. What's really going on? And why do you keep looking like that? What's happened?"
Hermione felt herself sway, her Mind's Eye straining. She focused inwards, she could do this.
"When did you learn how to do it, Hermione?"
"What?"
She felt like his eyes were x-raying her.
"When did you learn Occlumency?" he asked.
The visualisation of her Mind's Eye collapsed, leaving her with a jumble of – everything. She met Harry's eyes again, and felt the difference; she could see him, not just how he looked and what he represented within this conversation, within her set of goals for the day and the larger plans she had. She could see her best friend and confidant, she could see his concern for her, and she could feel her affection for him. All of it at once, collapsing onto her.
"I – I don't know w-what you – " she stuttered, reeling.
"Yeah, you do." He leaned forward, studying her. "I spent months in fifth year trying to learn that from Snape. Then I spent half of sixth year in detention with him. You think I don't know Occlumency when I see it?"
And now the one emotion she had tamped down furiously over and over since that night – since the sparks and the dark knowing eyes and the overstuffed suitcases – the panic flooded her so that she felt horribly buoyant with it.
"I can't talk to you about this," she whispered, feeling her eyes fill with tears.
It was too much, to feel again. She realized that she had been using her Mind's Eye to the fullest extent she could since before even arriving at the Burrow. Now that Harry had shut it down, she felt exposed, raw, sensitive, and profoundly exhausted.
"Well, at least you're talking now."
"What was I doing before?" she asked, horrified that she'd somehow let everything slip to everyone.
"I don't know. But you sounded off. Like you were always straining for something." He looked less fierce now, but no less determined. "Why were you Occluding, Hermione?"
"Because I don't know how to do this otherwise, Harry!" she burst out, feeling tears pouring down her cheeks. Ron would be back any moment, but she couldn't stop herself from crying. Finally, she told him the truth: "Because I need it for when the Death Eaters do take Hogwarts. And for when I have to face V-Voldemort on my own."
He nodded. He didn't look fierce anymore; his green eyes were concerned, and desperately sad.
"I guess you can't tell me anything else. I don't reckon you'd do this if you didn't have to." He waited a moment, and she nodded. "But I do want to ask you anyway." He set his jaw, and looked apologetic. "Hermione, where are your parents?"
She shook her head, fighting hard now against the tears.
"I can't, Harry. I – I can't say another word about it. If h-he finds out –"
"Voldemort? Hermione, please tell me. This is my fault – you're in this because – "
"No," she said, wishing she could tell him and share some of this burden, some of the panic and guilt. "No. If I do, he'll – he'll – "
Hermione felt a sob break just as the door opened and Ron came back in. He rushed to her, glaring at Harry before putting his arm around her shoulders in a gesture that was becoming achingly familiar.
"Harry! What did you do?" Ron demanded.
"Nothing," Hermione answered for him. "I'm just sad that I won't be coming with you two."
Harry nodded, his eyes holding hers as Ron held her. And, as she offered him a watery smile, Hermione reflected that the Wizarding World might not be so doomed after all.
"Here they are," said Fred, handing Hermione two pieces of parchment with a flourish. "Matched and mated."
"Breath is bated," George said. "Is that what we should call them, Fred?"
"Breath is bated?"
"No, what you said."
"When?"
"Just now."
"No," Hermione cut in repressively. "You both agreed to forget these items until the war is good and over."
"Ah, 'matched and mated,' you mean," Fred said, waving Hermione's protests away airily.
Smiling at the twins and shaking her head, Hermione handed one parchment to Ron. She tapped hers with her wand. Nothing happened.
"Uh…" Hermione began, puzzled.
The twins just grinned, and for a moment Hermione forgot some of her trepidation and anxiety at this vision of proud mischief before her.
"Oy!" Ron yelled, dropping his parchment in surprise. It had turned from snowy white to inky black, as though it had been charred through.
"That happens if you need to communicate in real time," Fred explained, examining his fingernails nonchalantly. "It alerts the other party that a message is forthcoming."
"In real time?" Hermione asked, incredulous. "But how – "
"Ah, ah, ah," George tapped the side of his nose, "can't expect us to give up our special, soon-to-be patented secrets, Hermione!" He added in an undertone: "Especially since said items will be forgotten."
"This is truly amazing," she murmured. "It's like email in the Muggle world, but without an internet connection. Amazing." She turned back to the twins, who continued to grin. "What else?"
"Much, much more, dearest Hermione. If one of the attuned parties touches the parchment and there is a message in wait, it'll be warm. Room temperature if there's nothing." Fred smirked. "No one else will be able to see the changes in colour, or feel the changes in temperature. What they see will be a copy of whatever official document they think important enough to return to you."
"Blimey," Ron muttered, still staring at the parchment. "Let's try it out!"
They spent the next half hour before breakfast experimenting with the twinned parchments, and Hermione discovered that the twins had truly outdone themselves. She had asked them to develop a simple back-and-forth system, but not only could she communicate with the boys in real time, she could also send them urgent messages that would cause the parchment to flash red. She could use either her wand or a quill and ink to write out messages, which meant that she didn't even have to touch the parchment to use it, and could therefore do so subtly in the presence of others. Best of all, the paper would refuse to reveal its contents for anyone but herself, Ron, or Harry.
After breakfast, the twins gave the parchments to Bill, requesting that he use his curse-breaking skills to crack them. Bill returned the parchments late in the evening, half frustrated, half admiring, but none the wiser to the messages they held.
Hermione was satisfied that she could communicate with Ron and Harry, and she did her best not to think of what might happen if someone breached her defenses. She felt weak compared to the clever twinned parchments, but Harry was the one who helped her there. After the heated encounter with Scrimgeour on his birthday, he cornered Hermione specifically to tell her that her Occlumency skills were first rate.
"What?" she said, surprised. "But you could tell exactly what I was doing the other day. I'd almost given it up as a bad job."
"Yeah, it was obvious what you were doing because you never stopped doing it. When Scrimgeour was questioning us, you kept going back and forth, and at one point I stopped being able to tell when you were or weren't Occluding. Hermione, it was brilliant."
"Okay. Okay, that's good," she said, feeling a little breathless. "I'm not sure how much further to push it, but – "
"I think the key is doing it only when you really need to," he said.
She nodded, thinking about Snape. He seemed to Occlude all the time, but she now suspected that most of his façade was created by sheer force of personality, rather than the magic behind Occlumency.
"Here, by the way," she said, handing Harry the beaded bag, which she'd wrapped in festive paper that morning. "Happy birthday."
He handed her the Marauder's Map in exchange, and Hermione tucked it away carefully into a pocket. Harry unwrapped his gift and looked at her, raising his eyebrows. Hermione fought and failed to keep the grin off her face.
"Open it, you dolt."
"Nice to be treated sweetly on my birthday," Harry muttered good-naturedly, opening the purple beaded handbag. He gasped, the bag rocked, and some of its many, many contents tipped over with a resounding crash.
"Hermione! What did you do?"
He was returning her grin now.
"Undetectable extension charm," she said, shrugging modestly. "I wish I'd made something a little less conspicuous for you to carry around, but I'd already worked on it before…"
She cut herself off, realising that she'd almost said, before Snape took my parents. Harry gave her a quick, hard hug.
"Before," he agreed, looking suddenly fierce. "We will get them back. I promise you." He patted her arm consolingly, and then shook the beaded bag slightly to listen to its contents shift about again. "Thank you, 'Mione. You'll have to give me a list or something of everything in here."
"There's already one in there. Just use a Summoning Charm. I think I've covered everything, but make sure you keep the bag on you from now on, Harry. I don't know when you and Ron will need to get going, but you should be prepared."
He nodded his agreement before running off to show Ron. Hermione sighed. The parchments were done, Harry's bag was packed and in his possession, she had the Map, and even Dumbledore's mysterious gifts to them were secured… except for the sword of Gryffindor, of course. Now they just had to wait.
It was chaos. The beautiful wedding had broken suddenly and violently, and Hermione had just enough time to give Harry and Ron a quick but assertive nod goodbye before they Disapparated together. She didn't know where they planned on going, and she hoped fervently that they would be safe. She whirled, trying to get her bearings, when a strong hand seized her arm.
"Well, if it isn't the former Mudblood," a dreadfully familiar, drawling voice said in her ear. "I think someone of your status should have a personal escort to the Ministry."
Before Hermione could do anything, before she could draw her wand or see what had become of the Weasleys or the Order, she was enduring Side-Along Apparition with Lucius Malfoy. She was horribly disoriented upon arriving at their destination, but she was aware both of the moment when Malfoy disarmed her, and of the precise location of the marble floor she knelt upon.
"Ah, Lucius," said a sweet voice from somewhere behind her. "What have you managed to find?"
"A so-called former Mudblood, and a current accomplice of Undesirable No. 1," the unctuous voice answered.
Hermione felt hard fingers pinching her chin, and her face was forced upwards from the floor of the Ministry of Magic so that she beheld the waxy, smiling visage of Dolores Umbridge.