Chapter Nine

Harry's Hope

It was eleven at night, but she couldn't wait for an appropriate time. The vial was burning in her hand, the letter tempting. She wasn't ready for another letter and so she ripped it from the vial and laid it aside.

Dressed in her burgundy cloak she took the Floo to Harry's. She didn't send an Owl of warning, she was too anxious to receive a response. She just hoped he didn't have company, then she would feel rude.

Halfway down the hallway to his bedroom she collided with him, his hands a grip on her arms to keep her steady and upright. He looked surprised, his brows raised questioningly, but there was something else too... He was pleased.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you, but I need to use your pensive. If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't, I've never minded before. You're not taking on too much again, are you?"

"No, no, I"m not." That was a lie and they both knew it.

He sighed and released her. It was then that she realized he didn't have a shirt on. She gazed over his scars, one in particular she lingered on. The round one on his chest where she severed Voldemort's locket from. The others were less significant to her. He had so many, but that one she caused by her own wand. She hated to do it, to see him bleed. It was necessary.

"Hermione - "

"Sorry,"she muttered quickly, embarrassed, moving past him to his bedroom, not once meeting his eyes. He didn't follow her.

It was a simple room, done in bright colors of blue and green. He hated dark rooms. It wasn't as a large as he thought it was, once his bed and wardrobe were in, it appeared significantly smaller, and so she placed a grand mirror on his closet door. Dean had come by and painted a realistic mural of a window overlooking a colorful garden.

She saw the picture on top of the blue wardrobe. Beside the Quidditch pitch, Ron was jokingly aiming a Quaffle at Harry's head. Harry, however, was too busy looking down at Hermione who hugged his waist, not minding the sweat and grime after his winning match against Ravenclaw. They were sixteen in that photo. Fred had taken it. None of them knew... Blissfully unaware... Fred would die the following year, they wouldn't return for the seventh year (except for her, two years later).

She tore her gaze away and went inside the walk-in closet. On a stone table was a basin. She closed the door behind her and uncorked the vial. She poured the contents in, the swirling smoke filling it like water.

Then, she dived.

Hermione stood out on the grounds of Hogwarts. She could see the vestige of the Whomping Willow in the darkness, and her late cat Crookshanks leaping bounds through the tall grass, his bushy orange tail flicking side to side. There was a slight aching for him,she missed him, he had passed on in his sleep years ago. She was sure though, that he was not what Malfoy wanted her to see, so she looked elsewhere.

At the bottom of one of the towers was a shadow. She crept closer and made out the unmistakable white-blond hair and thin figure. Malfoy. He leaned on the stones, his arms crossed impatiently with his overly-expensive broom was propped up beside him.

It all was very real, as though anytime he was going to see her there. It hurt her, physically pained her deep down that he didn't. She was close to him, as close as anyone could come to a memory, and she couldn't feel him. He was so alive then but soon she would have to return to reality where he was no longer living.

Two more people came around the side, and he kicked off, his sneer menacing. .He approached his burly goons, Crabb and Goyle.

"I've been waiting for ten minutes Where have you two idiots been?"

Crabb stumbled for words and Goyle scratched his head in contemplation. Finally, Crabb spoke, "we, um, ran into, Granger."

"And," Malfoy snapped.

"Um, she tried to send us off to our dorms, but, um, Theodore showed up."

"Theo? What happened?"

"He hexed her and told us to move along," Goyle said gruffly albeit slowly.

She knew when the memory was.. It was their sixth year.

Malfoy shrugged in an uncaring way, but there was worry there. "Fine. He'll take care of her."

Nott did take care of her. She remembered his apologizes and warnings to stay out of the corridors late at night, that was when she woke up. She hadn't told anyone about that. Even Malfoy had apologized later the next night.

"Want our help?"

"No, stay here and keep a look-out!" He seized his broom and swung a leg over, kicking off into the air.

The scene faded only a moment, bringing her into a dark room. She saw herself lying on the floor, Nott over her body. Malfoy flew in through the open window wearing the same green robe.

"She's fine, Draco," Nott said dryly.

He dropped his broom and came to kneel beside her. He checked the pulse on her wrist. "Are you sure?"

"I cast the hex, yes, I'm sure."

He felt her forehead, and put a finger under her nose to inspect that she was still breathing.

Nott looked on worriedly. "You care too much for her, mate."

"I know."

"This can't end well."

"I know, Theo."

"You didn't get the ingredients you needed, did you? For the -"

"Shhh," he hushed.

"She's not awake."

"Don't talk about it."

"Oh, no, don't tell me you're feeling guilty? I heard that you were bragging on the train this year, how can you feel guilt now? You're so close. Don't mess this up now."

He picked up her hand, feeling her fingers. "She could die."

"She's not going to die -"

"I didn't mean tonight..."

"She's a Mudblood. Potter's friend. She should die."

Malfoy bowed his head, his chin to his chest. "She's beautiful. Mine. She shouldn't."

"You know she might."

"Not if I can help it."

"You can't protect her!"

"I have to!"

"Then let her go. Let Potter and Weasley protect her. The best thing you can do is let her go. She'll be safer when she's not with you. Imagine if someone found out, they'd all think you were traitors. You wouldn't be accepted on either side, and you'd die. The Dark Lord will kill you for your treachery and you know it!"

"Better me than her..."

"You know I'm right."

"I know. I'll have to let her go. But Nott, you don't fool me."

"What?" He was genuinely confused.

"I know you care for her. Promise me, if the day comes that I can't be there for her, if I can't protect her, that you will. However you can. Promise me."

His face screwed up in resentment. "I promise."

The empty classroom fell away and she fell backwards, toppling into Harry's bedroom. She cringed at the pain the wooden floor brought to her back. Harry stood above her, already kneeling to help her up.

"What did you see?"

She moved out of his hold, too uncomfortable. He still wasn't wearing a shirt. "A friend."

He peeked into the basin and she whipped out her wand. The memory went up in a puff of smoke. He jerked his head to her, hurt and curiosity crossing his features in turn.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled again. "It was personal." Personal indeed. It wasn't something that he could possibly be ready to see. She wasn't ready to have seen it... She strolled to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Stay here. You must be tired."

"No, I need to go home. Think things over..."

"What is there to think over?" He trailed her out into the hallway.

"Everything."

He grabbed her hand pulling her to a stop in the lounge. "Please, Hermione. Stay."

With hesitation and regret she slipped out of his hold. "I can't. I am sorry, Harry. I... I just can't."

She took the fireplace home, her sights to her sneakers so she wouldn't have to see his heartbroken face. She was tired of hurting him. She was tired of everything.