Chapter Six

Nott's Knot

The next morning Hermione woke with a strange sense of foreboding. She couldn't place why. It wasn't because a dead wizard was turning her life in to a pile of dragon's... She shook her mane out of her ponytail and stretched. With thoughts like that, that early in the morning it was apparent that she had been with Harry and Ron for too long.

While she readied herself for what lied ahead, her mind stuck on what she was dreading. The visit to Malfoy's house. Not the Manor, but the place where he died. One thing was for certain, she wasn't looking forward to it. She wondered morbidly if the blood had been cleaned.

Shacklebolt had sent her all of the information she needed from her newly acquired riches. She knew Malfoy had a lot of money, but her jaw had dropped at the exact number, but for the time being she was leaving the money in the Gringott's vault. She would make plans for it later. What couldn't wait was his house. She had to see it. There was no explanation of why, she just had to.

The foreboding preserved in her until she was downstairs. Then it became something new. It was her morning to cook breakfast.

Ron sat at the table with his feet propped up on it, fiddling with the mirror. Harry was perched on the counter where Ginny usually sat, inspecting the watch.

"I haven't had you two cook for me in three weeks. I think I should have this week off."

Ron guffawed, "we cooked, you weren't there. You were too busy with that book."

"I gave you fair notice that I wasn't going to be there," she argued, but as she argued she took out pots and pans, spinning dials on the cooker.

"Get your feet off the table, Ronald."

He huffed, but she could feel his smile. It was almost like normal. Almost. It would have been if they weren't tinkering with Malfoy's old things.

"It might be a joke," she told them. "Malfoy's last laugh." She knew it wasn't true, but it had to be said. It was something she would've said, right?

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry doubted as Ron sat the mirror down superstitiously as if it would blow. "He left you everything. All of his money, everything he owned, all of his families possessions belong to you now."

"I suppose..."

"Which reminds me, Kingsley said that though the wand belongs to you it wasn't found on his body. Seems as though the murderer took it."

Body... Murderer... She grimaced.

Harry noticed. "You still won't tell us?"

"No," she snarled.

"Okay," he shrugged, but his brows furrowed, and his movements became more rough with the watch. "What are you going to do with all of it?"

"I don't know... I could sell the property, give the money to charity." She honestly hadn't thought enough of it, not in light of what she was about to do.

Ron gasped in horror but Harry nodded. "That's a good idea."

She started boiling the water, heating the pan. "Can you take over?"

"Sure, but where are you going?"

"I have an appointment." She took her jacket from the kitchen chair as Harry took her place.

"You can't avoid cooking for us for long," Ron called at her back. He was responded by the door slamming.

***

Malfoy's house was nothing like she'd expected it to be. It was small on the bank of a private beach, which according to the paperwork Shacklebolt sent over belonged to her. The private beach wasn't the surprise, her shock weighed completely upon the one level, sky blue house.

When she came closer she saw that the green door was lying against the frame. Its hinges had been blown apart, black splotches marking the place of explosion. Carefully, she set it aside, withdrew her wand, and stepped inside.

The windows were gone, shattered, glass crunching under her sneakers. She could taste the salty air, the ocean louder due to the echoing. She stood in the empty room, the furniture gone - sold - burnt. She had been told the whole room was drenched in his blood. He had lost every drop, had to, it was too much. She tried not to think of that and it was hard, even if the place was haphazardly cleaned. She didn't spot any blood.

The glass glittered from the gold outside. By her foot she saw a portion of a colored piece, of silver and red. Carved into it were the words, "trust your instincts." She picked it up staring at the words that sprung tears and fresh heartache.

"What is it Draco," she asked softly to the void. "What did you try to tell me? Why didn't you just say it? Why did you always have to make everything difficult?"

It was the beginning of Hermione's first year. In fact it was her first night in the castle that was Hogwarts. She had been told by Headmaster Dumbledore that the castle was quite large but she hadn't even imagined how glorious it was. She wasn't even ready for the beauty of the enchanted ceiling showing the night sky just as if it was really there in the Great Hall.

By the old hat she had been sorted in Gryffindor House (just like she wanted, it was the best), and she was happily eating with the rest of her classmates. She chatted excitedly with an older student named Percy, but she couldn't give him all of her attention.

The blond boy that was sitting at the Slytherin table was staring at her. She found it peculiar, because it was her, not Harry Potter, the famous wizard everyone was noticing. It wasn't a mistake though, his eyes smoldered into her own. It didn't make sense. She was ordinary.

"Don't get interested in him," Percy said in a fake whisper.

"Why?"

"Gryffindor's and Slytherin are rivals. And, anyhow, he's a Malfoy, comes from a pure-blood family that detests Muggles and Muggle-born's alike."

She didn't want to be the annoying child that questioned everything. She preferred having the answers. Still, she didn't have all of them. She asked "why," again.

"You are too young to know."

She glared but had not abandoned the young Malfoy's stare, and he turned a light pink, looking quickly away. She wished he hadn't. He was the only one who seemed not to have been annoyed by her. Even that plump boy Neville was awkward and began avoiding her. They hadn't even made it into the castle when he tried to hide in the crowd.

Percy could've been wrong. Maybe Malfoy wasn't prejudice like his family. Why did there have to be rivals? There could be an understanding. She could befriend him.

He glimpsed up and smiled. She smiled back. It was a start.

"Who are you?!"

Hermione spun. She didn't think, she yelled the first spell that came to her mind. There was a flash of yellow sparks and a loud crash as the person collided with the wall. She gradually approached the crumpled and still body, her wand steady.

Lying there, unconscious was a man. He had large ears poking through his average brown hair, his face stuck into a surprised leer. Theodore Nott.

She groaned at her luck. She just attacked Malfoy's best mate.

As gentle as she could she laid him flat on the floor. She made a pack of ice, the water from the ocean and a bit of magic to freeze it, and her sock to hold it. It was better than nothing and she didn't want to take him to St. Mungo's. She didn't want to answer any questions that would surely arise.

She waited approximately eight and a half minutes for him to wake. She slid the pack over his forehead as she waited. Beads of perspiration trickled into his hairline. She felt his head for a bump and breathed in relief when she felt one behind his ear. It was a good sign, he was going to be alright.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, but the moment they rested on her, he wasted no time glowering.

"You," he snarled.

She pressed the ice more firmly to his head in reminder that she hadn't left him, or worse murdered him. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect anyone to come here."

"Forgot Draco had friends, didn't you? Leaves every bloody Knut to you."

"If you want it, you can have it, Nott. Take it all. I don't care."

He touched her hand, taking the make-shift pack from her. With hesitant pace he sat himself up against the wall. "I don't want any of it. He gave it to you for a reason. I have twelve years worth of holiday gifts from him."

"Then why the attitude?"

"You bloody as hell hexed me!"

She bit the inside of her cheek in order to keep her lips in a thin line. It wasn't hard to do once she started questioning why he was there. She suspiciously eyed him. Friend or not, Malfoy was dead, and someone killed him.

"What," he demanded.

"Why are you here?"

"There was a picture I wanted from here, but I reckon it's been tossed too..."

"Do you know who killed him?"

He scowled. "If I did, wouldn't I have said something?"

"Would you?"

"Is this an interrogation?!"

"No, but -"

"I was his best mate! You know that better than anyone! You know me, Granger! Look me in the eye and ask me if I killed him! And give me a fucking motive, I dare you!"

She was breathing harder, chewing her lip for whole other different reasons. She didn't want to cry in front of him, but she was, and furiously she wiped them away.

"Sorry." He sounded half sincere and half appalled, his tone considerably lower. He didn't do well with tears. "I know what he meant to you."

"That was six years ago!"

"And so you know, he never stopped feeling what he did."

It was nice, that he knew not to say that word, but coming near to it at all was more than uncomfortable... It was wrenching. It was too much. She didn't want to know all of that. None of it. "No," she said, barely noting that the word was spoken aloud.

"Granger -"

"He chose his side! He didn't want me!"

"He was doing what was best for you!"

"By fighting against us?!"

"By keeping you safe from his life! The Dark Lord threatened his family! If he found out that he was in love with the Potter's mudblood - Granger!"

She stood before he could finish the sentence. She ran out of the house, breathed in the salty air and disapparated. As everything disappeared in a whirlwind of color she thought of the house, clean from the massacre, the earnestness Nott showed, and the last burning look Malfoy had given her in her office.