Hermione spent the next few days rotting in the great library of Malfoy Manor. She read through books upon books about the dark arts that the Malfoy library was filled with, but all that she read there about Horcruxes and all she read about the Hogwarts founders' special items she already knew plenty of.
Malfoy would spend all those days away. Hermione wasn't sure what exactly his research consisted of, but she was certain he wasn't staring at books all day. And maybe that was for the better because he apparated home one day and she saw something like triumph in his eyes.
"I think I know where it might be," he said, coming into the library, his hair unusually disheveled and his eyes peaked in interest.
Hermione sat up straight from the book she was a few hundred pages in. "Really?" she asked, sleepiness evaded by the news. "What did you find?"
He sat at the desk facing her. "I was thinking that it must be somewhere close to Voldemort, somewhere even closer to him now, because he knows his Horcruxes are being destroyed, so he must want to keep them all where he could protect them, just like you said." Hermione nodded, listening to him carefully. "We had an Inner Circle meeting today, and I spoke with Aunt Bella. She wasn't even supposed to be there because she keeps losing her sanity more with each passing day and is becoming impossible to talk to, Voldemort said it himself. But I find interesting what she has to say."
Hermione's insides turned cold. "You didn't tell her about—about—"
"Of course not, Granger. She doesn't know about the Horcruxes, and I didn't tell her about it."
Hermione swallowed. "Then what did you talk about?"
"Nothing much. Mostly she spoke and I listened. I think she has no one to talk to so she thinks I'm the best audience."
Hermione shook at that thought. Malfoy still called her Aunt Bella even after all she did to him, after he was tortured by her just like many others – and still, she was his aunt, and he wasn't forgetting that. He must've been raised like that, to respect his familial elders no matter what. Hermione's heart broke a little at that thought.
"She talked and talked about how rich she's getting from this war, and how her stacks of gold get bigger every day from what she mugs from lowlifes, mudbloods and muggles." He sneered at the last part. "I asked her where she's keeping all that gold and if her vault can fit all of that – her husband's money is all gone and the Black family riches are passed down to me – but she got very offended when I asked that, defiant even." His face darkened. "At first, I couldn't understand why would she be like that about her gold – I'm not going to steal it, Merlin knows I have enough of my own. And then it dawned on me – this isn't about gold."
Hermione stared into his discolored eyes. "You think the cup is in her vault."
He shrugged, but his eyes gaze deep and focused. "I'm not certain. But it could be. It's worth checking it out. I can get in and out of there quite easily because I'm the High Reeve and no one will dare to even bat an eye if I want to get into my aunt's vaults – he who is more feared gets more doors open," he finished, his eyes turning distant and cruel.
"Won't she find out?" Hermione asked.
"I don't care even if she will. She won't be able to do anything about it."
"And what if she tells Voldemort?" she kept on worrying.
He shrugged carelessly again. "It'll be my word against hers, and whom do you think he'll believe – a mad woman or his right hand?" he stated, grinning darkly.
Hermione breathed in and out, fortifying herself. "Okay," she spoke. "Means we're going to Bellatrix's vault. To steal Hufflepuff's cup. And we're hoping to get away with it."
His eyes glistened dangerously, his voice getting low. "In case you misheard me, Granger, I said that I am going, not you. You will stay here, reading your little books—"
"I will not stay here while you go out there and risk your life to retrieve a Horcrux that I asked you to get!" she shouted, almost jumping out of the chair. Immediately she wished she hadn't spoken, it was an instinctive reaction.
"It's not a risk, I have all the right to get into those vaults, they're mine more than anyone else's. I appreciate you pretending to care about my life, but I don't need your worry."
Except I'm not pretending, she realized, dread filling her whole.
"Okay, but—what if I can help you search for it? I can imagine it will be difficult to find if Bellatrix has as much gold as she kept bragging to you about. Besides, I'm your wife, remember, so maybe you want to buy me a wedding present with the money or something like that? It's a great excuse."
Something Hermione couldn't recognize, something dark and luscious and obsessive shone in his eyes.
She saw him biting his teeth.
"I really would rather you stayed here safely," he said.
"I really would rather not," she countered.
Malfoy snarled, the sighed heavily. "Merlin's balls, Granger, you're insufferable." He went quiet for a moment, scrutinizing her, perhaps expecting her to stand down. But as always, Hermione stood her ground. "Fine," he gritted through his teeth. "We'll go together."
It was early afternoon of the next day when Hermione was going down the stairs to meet Malfoy and Apparate to Diagon Alley. She wore a dark long-sleeved dress with a black cloak on her shoulders to blend in with the crowd better. Mipsy helped her brush her hair up into a neat bun. Malfoy said she could take her wand with her, but nobody must see she has one.
She was in the lobby waiting when Malfoy appeared before her clad in Death Eater's robes. Hermione looked him up and down, he watched her, too, but neither of them said anything about one other's outfits. Malfoy came to stand next to her and reached out his hand for her, saying, "Ready?"
She took it.
The plan was to Apparate to Diagon Alley and to visit some shops, maybe go for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron because going straight into Gringotts would be a tad suspicious. Hermione was nervous to see how everything looked like after six years of war under Voldemort's rule, the last time she was there—it brought too many bad memories.
They Apparated.
The Leaky Cauldron was not as she remembered. The shabby place was somehow even shabbier now. It was dark and there was only one person at one of the tables and two men by the bar, as well as the old Tom behind the bar. Upon their entrance, all the eyes turned to them, firstly looking at the High Reeve who did not take off his mask, then at Hermione, clearly not recognizing her.
"High Reeve," Tom spoke, his voice frightened. "Is there anything I could do for you?"
"We're just passing by," Malfoy said, keeping up with that merciless threatening tone of his. "But me and my wife will have a drink at the table. I'll have Firewhiskey and she," he gestured to Hermione, "will have wine, elf-made."
Hermione was going to have a serious talk with him once they got home.
Tom's anxious gaze flew to Hermione, something quite like recognition crossing his features. Then he caught himself. "Yes, of course, please, sit. I'll have someone serve you right up."
Malfoy turned away from the bar, going to one of the tables and taking Hermione with him. They sat down, and Hermione wondered if he was going to take the mask off. He just sat there stiff as a bone for a moment.
And then revealed his face. It seemed harsh and merciless amidst the sharp shadows. His eyes scrutinized her, and she wanted to say something, but she knew it could be dangerous – there were ears everywhere.
Then the bartender came, breaking their eye contact. Hermione couldn't believe what she was seeing – the middle-aged woman seemed a lot skinnier and paler than when they last met, her golden hair had lost its sheen, and she looked scared and exhausted.
"Here are your drinks, High Reeve," the woman said in a shaky voice.
"Madam Rosmerta," Hermione murmured.
Madam Rosmerta's eyes widened when she recognized Hermione, and the woman started shaking when she realized she was with the High Reeve. Hermione didn't know what she was doing here at the Leaky Cauldron, but she assumed something must've happened to the Three Broomsticks.
Malfoy gave her a death glare.
"It seems my Mudblood has forgotten when she's allowed to speak," he drawled, his voice full of ire. Right. She mustn't have reacted like that. Act as if you are beaten but not broken. I need to hold up to my reputation, Malfoy had told her. She definitely didn't seem like she was beaten now.
Hermione bowed her head down in submission.
Malfoy turned to the older woman, that same cold expression on his face. "Thank you, Rosmerta."
Madam Rosmerta seemed shaken both by meeting Hermione and being thanked by the High Reeve. She left them alone, walking away on wobbly legs.
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered.
Malfoy didn't answer. Hermione was about to drink her wine, but she saw him evaporate his own Firewhisky out of the glass. That's right. They shouldn't be tipsy when they're doing such important work.
He had warned her before that it was best if they stayed at the Leaky Cauldron for at least a quarter of an hour. Ten more minutes left.
Madam Rosmerta must've told the other visitors that the High Reeve was here with Hermione Granger because all of them started throwing not-so-hidden glances their way. Madam Rosmerta probably thought what Malfoy wanted them all to think – that Hermione was his to control, that she was his to own, even though he called her his wife. They must know that title can mean no good.
Hermione saw a muscle twitch in Malfoy's jaw. She looked into his hardened face while he was lost in thought, probably plotting their upcoming endeavor. Hermione was washed by an awful sinking feeling when she began to grasp how different everything could've been. If there was no war, no Voldemort, Malfoy and she would've most likely ended up somewhere completely else. Maybe, just maybe instead of sitting at the Leaky Cauldron pretending to drink while getting ready to rob Gringotts, they would be having a date instead, both of them excited but quite shy, both of them full of dreams for the future, two young people with their whole lives ahead of them, happy and optimistic. They could've fallen in love and they could've had a life, now that she looked into his eyes she was sure of it.
She tried to imagine what he would look like without that ghastly scar and without that forever scornful expression. And what would she look like? Would her hair be let down freely, would she wear clothes she'd actually want to wear, would her face seem kinder, softer? Would she sleep through the whole night without having nightmares?
She will never have a chance to know any of those things. All they had was now. And now was not enough.
Fifteen minutes passed, and Malfoy stood up, nodding to Hermione to do the same. They left without saying another word to anyone. They walked down the dusty ghostly Diagon Alley which now was practically empty save for a few people that passed them, giving the High Reeve and his wife strange looks. Malfoy had his mask back on and everybody knew he was the High Reeve, so nobody dared to stare. Still, those horrified looks made her feel sick to her stomach.
Gringotts was the only building that hadn't lost its glory. Both the outside and the inside seemed marvelous as always. Malfoy went to one of the vacant high tables and addressed the goblin on it, saying his name and his title. The gnome looked up from his table, his eyes widening.
"Well, of course, High Reeve." Then his small eyes turned to Hermione. "And the young lady with you is…?"
"My wife," Malfoy answered dryly.
"May I ask the name, High Reeve?"
"You'll find all the documents here," Malfoy pushed a file to the goblin. "I have no time for chitchat. I'm here to take an important heirloom from my Aunt Bellatrix Lestrange's vault."
Hermione waited for protests, for talking back, for frowns and scorns, but all the goblin said was, "Yes, of course, I'll have someone take—"
"I'll find my way there myself, thank you," Malfoy deadpanned.
Nobody stopped him. Nobody questioned it. Malfoy knew how to use all the machines to get up, then down, then left, then right, then left again. It was obvious he was here before.
It's too easy, Hermione thought. The vault won't open. The cup won't be there. Or something like that. It cannot be this easy.
But the vault did open when Malfoy used one of his knives to cut a small incision on his palm to open the door with his blood. It all worked. The vault was the size of the whole Hogwarts ground floor. There were piles and piles of gold inside. They both went in and the door behind them closed.
Malfoy looked around and Hermione noticed how his shoulders tensed. "Most of these are fake," he stated. "Doesn't mean the cup will be easier to find."
"Accio Hufflepuff's cup!" Hermione's voice echoed through. Nothing. She sighed. "Well, I guess we'll need to do it manually." She turned to Malfoy. "I hope this type of slave work won't exhaust you too much?"
He rolled his eyes. "Amusing, Granger. Let's get on with it. The faster we find it, the sooner we can destroy it."
They started looking for it, digging through the piles of gold and golden things – Hermione was shocked by how many different objects there were. They both decided to separate into different corners to cover more space. Hermione scrutinized every little thing there that resembled a cup, but the real cup was nowhere to be seen. They spent what must've been hours there and Hermione started to worry that someone will come here and tell them to leave because they'd spent too much time there.
Just then, she saw a small cup cuddled in the corner on one of the useless piles. The shine of it was greenish rather than golden, and it looked just like the ones she saw pictures of in books, albeit she expected it to be bigger.
"Malfoy, I found it!" she yelled out, reaching out her hand to take it.
"I'll be there in a moment!" was the last thing she heard him shout as she clutched the cup to her chest and darkness descended upon her.