November 4th
Hermione could not rely on anyone. Was that a lesson she was doomed to repeat over and over again? Would there ever be a day when she actually learned it? After she left Antonin the day before, she was embarrassed to admit that she spent the rest of the day feeling sorry for herself. It disgusted her when she slipped into those episodes of self-pity and inactivity. If she'd succumbed to the darkest thoughts in her mind years earlier, she wouldn't have been able to survive once she was pulled out of her broom cupboard.
Feeling sorry for herself never brought her the results she desired. Annoyed, she brushed off the sorrow that plagued her and came up with a plan. It was past time that she started to make an actual dent in her list of enemies. While she'd been careful not to hurt anyone that might actually be a spy for her husband, it no longer seemed so important. It wasn't as if she was on Antonin's side any longer. Once again in her life it was Hermione against the rest of the world. She couldn't afford allies. They would only disappoint her again.
Only a sense of loyalty to the past kept her from completely chucking out her previous plans. When she took the list of Rodolphus' allies to Ron for independent verification, she put his life and his family's life in jeopardy. It wouldn't take much investigating to discover that her former best friend was in some way involved in her quest to rid their society of those that offered their allegiance to Rodolphus. She was already certain that Draco Malfoy knew that she'd met with Ron at least once. Likely that bit of information had already made it to Rodolphus' ear.
She had to do something to keep the suspicions off of Ron. There was history between them that she couldn't forget. No matter how many years she tried, she couldn't. With the death of the Dark Lord, it was even harder. Was it possible that a day would come when they could openly be friends again? When they could talk about Harry and not be afraid of what everyone around them thought? She'd only been able to speak about her best friend in quiet whispers alone in bed with her husband. Even then they both knew that it was dangerous to talk about him. Because Ron put himself and his family in danger helping her with her list, she couldn't just abandon him.
Seeking out Percy Weasley for assistance was an idea she had that was quickly squashed. Not only did she not know where to find him, she didn't want to rely on anyone. Too much could go wrong if she had a partner. At least if she failed and something catastrophic went wrong, she only had to worry about her own fate.
It was dark before she emerged from her room at the Three Broomsticks armed with a plan. The tavern was busy for a Sunday night which made sneaking out easier. She didn't want Thorfinn to see her leave. When he appeared to be lost in thought at the bar, she rushed across the room and out the front door. If he followed her, she didn't know what would happen. Maybe he would try to stop her or he would offer to help her. Neither option was good.
The streets were empty as she made her way across the village. November in that part of Scotland wasn't the best time of year to go for a late-night walk. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body, hoping that she wouldn't lose her nerve with each step she took. No one crossed her path. She was glad. There would never be a time when she could walk through Hogsmeade without thinking about the day that Hannah was murdered. She could hardly wait for the day that she would make Aubin pay. But in the meantime, she had to be extra careful. One wrong move and she would be dead. A single misstep and everything that she'd sacrificed would be for nothing.
Ron's house felt eerie from her position on the pavement when she approached it. Because it was usually so full of life, the absence of activity was noticeable. A shiver ran up and down Hermione's spine. Her earlier fears of a partner being complicated no longer seemed important. She wished she wasn't alone. Knowing that she'd come so far that she couldn't back down, she snuck around to the back of the house to make certain Ron was home. Almost tripping on discarded children's toys in the back garden gave her the added boost of courage that she needed to continue. This wasn't just for Ron. It was for the seven children who called him 'daddy' and their future.
Her former best friend was seated at his kitchen table enjoying his evening meal when Hermione peeked into the window. There was no other indication that he wasn't alone. She knew she would have to be even more careful than she already planned to be if his wife or one of his children was inside. Ron would never forgive her if someone he loved was hurt in the subterfuge. Not even if it was an accident.
Satisfied that he was present, she slipped back away from the house to sit in the shadows. The attack on her own home and the subsequent attack on the Yaxley home gave her the idea that she needed. She learned a long time ago how to conjure Fiendfyre and control it to the extent that anyone was able to control it. After being caught in the fiery torment of the Room of Requirement during the final battle and witnessing Vincent Crabbe perish in his recklessness, she was obsessed with learning how to prevent such a situation from ever happening again. Antonin had been completely against her learning how to cast such a dangerous spell. In his capacity as her teacher, he tried to put his foot down to prevent her from going down that path. Naturally, she wasn't deterred. If anything, his vehemence only encouraged her further. Seeking out a veritable expert on the Dark magic, she soon found a willing tutor in Felix Travers. Any bond of friendship Antonin once had with his fellow Death Eater and Azkaban escapee was dashed in his anger that she went behind his back to learn something he thought would only end in her death.
Maybe it would. She couldn't ignore the dreams she'd had since that horrible day twenty years earlier when she was stuck in the flames. Sometimes she could swear that she still felt the flames licking around her, desperate to catch onto her clothing. Was it any wonder that she'd been so anxious to learn how to control it? In her own way, she felt like she was safer if she could conjure it herself. But, at the very least, it offered her an opportunity to make the attack on Ron's house that much more believable and frightening. Who would dare to use Fiendfyre in a simulated attack? No one would believe it was all an act. Ron might even believe that it was real. She needed to count on his appropriate reaction. It would only last for a short time. Just long enough for the nearest neighbors to see the flames and come running. She'd banish it long before anyone was in any mortal danger.
She readied herself for the moment she would have to utter the words. Dark magic took a toll on those who dared to utilize it. With her wand pointed in the direction of the house, she went over the proper incantation in her head several times to calm her nerves. Just as she was about to cast the curse to bring cursed fire and destruction to the home of the wizard who was once her friend, the entire house exploded into a shower of glass shards and wood splinters. The impact of the blast threw Hermione backwards. Her first thought as she fell was a worry that she would hit her head again. That was the last thing she needed. Hadn't her poor body been through enough?
When she landed on the ground and miraculously managed to avoid hitting her head, Hermione was terribly confused. What just happened? She knew that she wasn't responsible. The incantation to conjure Fiendfyre had been on the tip of her tongue, not a reducto or whatever else spell was used to cause the explosion. Once she was satisfied that she was uninjured, she pulled herself up to her feet. She needed to be far away from the scene of the crime lest she be accused of being responsible.
Shouts were already heard coming from multiple corners of the village. As concerned neighbors rushed to what had been the Weasley home, Hermione only had a few moments to hide behind a large hedge in the garden of the house next door. Just by sheer luck she was able to find a hiding place where she could watch the scene unfold. It could be described as nothing less than chaotic. People she'd known quite well over the twenty years that she'd lived in Hogsmeade began a frantic search through the rubble. No one seemed to know whether or not anyone was inside when it happened. It would've been too suspicious if she'd suddenly arrived and announced Ron was there. They would wonder how she knew that. Killing Rita Skeeter in front of a witness was one thing. Committing a terroristic act on the family home of a respected Death Eater with influential connections was another. She'd gotten away with Rita's murder because no one cared. Ron Weasley would be different.
Someone thankfully had the presence of mind to cast a human-presence revealing spell. When it was discovered that there was still at least one beating heart underneath the rubble, the rescuers became more frantic to levitate away the bits and pieces of the demolished house. A loud shout from those in the midst of the recovery effort helped to calm Hermione's racing heart. Ron had been found. For the moment, at least, he was still alive. Whether he would remain so wasn't certain. As she watched Ron's unconscious form be pulled from the rubble, she felt both relief and sick to her stomach. Was she somehow responsible for this? Did Rodolphus discover that Ron was helping her? Maybe Rabastan was suspicious of his former protégé.
Thorfinn was right. Everyone who came into her life was fucked. Hermione couldn't bear to stay there another moment. Because of her meddling, because of her deep desire to remember the past when it was better left forgotten, she condemned a father and a husband to a painful death. She just could not imagine that after what she witnessed, Ron would come out of it unscathed. Magic could only do so much. Looking at the scene one final time, Hermione moved away from the hedge she was hiding behind.
A lone figure standing at the outer edge of the back garden caught Hermione's eye. Completely transfixed by what was happening meters away, Ginny Weasley was horrified. In the light of a nearby lamppost, she was able to see the wetness on the younger witch's cheeks. Unconcerned that she was exposed where she stood, Ginny continued to watch her brother's house with silent tears streaming down her face. What was she doing there?
Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. More villagers were arriving every moment. She could't afford to be caught there especially considering her recent bloodshed. As she took the long way behind gardens and around the back of houses to the Three Broomsticks, she couldn't get the image of Ginny crying as she watched her brother be pulled from the ruins of his home out of her head.