'Look what you made me do'
by: Catstclaire
Summary: I found a tiktok with this POV from Wendy @snakesinthegardenx. I really liked the idea of what it would look like if Hermione set out to kill Harry. How would she do it? When would she do it? Where? I stuck to much of the Tiktok's pov but did not flesh it all out since this is a oneshot. Here's what i took from it that i wanted to play with: Hermione Granger has gone dark. The loss of her parents, then her child, they were jarring reminders that the war was far from over. Hermione cannot allow Draco to be another casualty, so when Voldemort calls out for Harry's head in exchange for Draco's life Hermione answers the call without regret.
Author's note: This is a simple one shot. Inspiration of the title from Taylor swift. Disclaimer I wrote this while whine drunk.
Prologue: Hermione's own parents. Ron Weasley. Ginny Weasley. Neville Longbottom. Pansy Parkinson. Luna Lovegood. Hagrid. Hermione wasn't sure which of them she missed the most since their untimely deaths. What she was sure of, is that she would have given any one of them- all of them- every last one of them while they were alive in order to have saved her child. That wasn't how it worked though not in reality, or at least it wasn't supposed to. One life wasn't typically exchanged for another. Voldemort had never been known to play by the rules. Harry's life for Draco's. Yes. Hermione decided. Yes. It had to be done.
It was June.
Hermione hated June. It reminded her to much of the end of each school year at Hogwarts. When June came it had never failed, trouble came with it. The end of school term signaled some new peril that would threaten and try to kill Harry, and inevitably she and Ron would be pulled into it. Voldemort. A basilisk/ Voldemort. Dementors. A magical death tournament/ Voldemort. Voldemort. It was a never ending cycle.
There were of course other reasons for her to hate June. June was the month her parents went missing without a trace. They were dead of course. They had to be by now. June was the month Hermione had been blasted with a spell by a masked death eater, which ended up killing the unborn child in her womb. June was when she had a still born daughter who had Draco's hair color, but Hermione's curls. June was when Ginny had to hold her down while they took her daughter to be buried in the gardens of a muggle cemetery. June was when Draco told her he named the baby Astra, because Hermione was to out of her mind to do so.
June was an entirely horrid month, one Hermione typically spent drinking dreamless sleep as often, and frequently as she could. Dissociating wasn't a healthy coping mechanism but it was easier not to be present.
She didn't have the luxury of being able to dissociate this particular evening in June, however. It had taken all of her strength to pull herself out of bed, and ignore the next dose of dreamless sleep Draco had left by the bedside table.
There wasn't much time. No one knew yet, what had happened. That Draco's and Ron's mission had gone horribly wrong this evening. That Ron was killed on sight, and Draco was currently being held by Voldemort.
Once Harry found out Hermione might lose her only window of opportunity.
Voldemort had extended a deal to her, and only to her. He wanted Harry's head in exchange for Draco's.
Hermione swallowed down the aching sense of betrayal along with a healthy helping of polyjuice potion 10 minutes after her conversation with Voldemort.
10 minutes.
10 minutes was all it had taken for Hermione to throw away over a decade of love and friendship between her and Harry. Had she always been this disloyal, or perhaps had she finally just been worn down? She'd saved Harry so many times before- this time she just couldn't not at Draco's expense. That was where she drew the line of friendship apparently.
Draco joked she should have been made a Slytherin in first year, and perhaps he was right.
There was a point in time Hermione would never have considered giving Harry up for Draco. She would have died gladly for Ron or Harry. That was before she came to fall deep in love with Draco though. That was before the Golden trio stopped being the beacon of light that signaled all that was good in the world. It had been many years since Hermione considered herself or any member of the Order 'Good'. They all had blood on their hands by this point, that was the only reason they were still standing.
Choosing to kill Harry Potter this night would just be another thing Hermione could hate about June every year.
There were storm clouds gathering up above in the sky. The sun was setting, and the stars would soon blanket the heavens. Hermione pulled her borrowed hand me down cloak tighter around herself even though it wasn't at all cold outside. She was freezing none the less. An air of icy dread had started to set in as she walked down the narrow path way. The cobblestones were old, and the shoes on her feet made her even clumsier, she tripped a handful of times before she came to the clearing in the woods the portkey had been hidden in.
As a fail safe 2 years ago Harry had put a portkey in the woods behind the home she shared with Draco.
"Just in case you need to get to me, quick." Harry had said smiling. He was always worrying after Hermione. Especially after the baby. He had put the portkey here for her, so he could keep her safe. So if somehow she and Draco had been compromised, they had somewhere to go.
The portkey was an rusty old watering pail, covered up by mud, and sticks. Hermione frowned at it for a few moments, as if glaring at some manky old junk would make her task any easier.
"Accio- portkey." She said, and a broad freckled arm rose out of her cloak to catch it midair.
She whirled around, and her stomach twisted briefly, but she landed entirely gracefully. She wasn't a child anymore. She was a fully realized witch. She had Severus Snape to thank for the tutelage he provided her post Hogwarts. Snape took the hopeful dewey eyed school girl 7 years at Hogwarts had shaped her into and he fine tuned her into a threat to be reckoned with.
Hermione found herself across the street from an unassuming little toy shop. The building had broken gutters, and windows that were shattered out onto the sidewalk. Hermione ignored the sight, she knew it was just a glamour. As she stepped closer to it the glamour dissolved, and whisped out of existence as the home recognized her.
Harry and Ron had decided out of necessity, and comfort to share a house. Ron had mostly one offs with a string of women they could never recall the names of, nor could he. And Harry had only ever had eyes for Ginny. Neither Harry nor Ron had any interest in any serious relationship and so it only made sense for them to share a home. 2 eternal bachelor's. Hermione had laughed at them at first, but then she had felt quite bad about it. When she started to think on it she realized how incredibly lonely they must both be. Ron had grown up in a home full of people and laughter, he probably hated living alone. Ginny had died, and so Harry couldn't share a home with her. Hermione found she was actually quite glad they came to live together, that they had each other for company. Since Draco, she couldn't put in the time with them she used to. She mostly saw them at Order meetings and holidays these days.
Draco saw both of her best friends more often than she did. Kingsley had kicked her off missions after she lost the baby, and he hadn't even entertained the thought of giving her another. 'To fractured.' She overheard him tell Mcgonagall. 'Can't predict what that one will do, anymore.' It was Kingsley's way of saying he didn't trust her anymore.
Hermione crossed the street, and Harry and Ron's actual house came into a more clear view. She came to stand in front of the little picket fence Draco had helped them put up. A crack of lightning shot down, and a cat darted across the street in fright. Hermione pulled her hood down just as the rain started to come. She tilted her face up towards it, she let the slick droplets glide down her cheek bones, and she ran a hand through her choppy short hair slicking it back.
For a brief dreadful moment she wondered. Had this been what it was like? When Voldemort showed up to the Potter's house on Halloween in 89? Had he felt the way she felt right now? Torn, and unsure. How alike exactly were she and Voldemort?
She stared at her hands, even though they weren't really hers. Pale, freckled, one of them clutched her vine wood wand.
The sky was entirely dark now, and a cluster of stars was twinkling. The rain picked up and instead of light droplets, fat globules began to hit her. She was quickly becoming soaked.
"Fuck." She mumbled out as a light flicked on in the upstairs master bedroom. Hermione pushed through the picket fence, and it squeaked with the effort. The path to the house was short, and Hermione admired the Rose's she had planted there long ago.
The front door banged open, and with it the screen door.
"Ron!" Harry called out into the darkness, and she heard as he fumbled for the porch light. "I've been waiting around for you for hours, mate. Get in here before you catch your death." Harry commanded looking at the spot Hermione was stood in.
"Right." Hermioned answered in the dulcet tones of Ronald Weasley. "Coming."
As she approached their house she spied a newly formed puddle on the ground, and Ron's face looked back at her in it. Freckled, sallowed cheeks, and flaming red hair. Snape never seemed to have much of any kind of nicety to give her when he worked with her but when he had he always commended her on her brewing skills. Especially where polyjuice was concerned.
Harry got her into the house and immediately started pulling off Ron's cloak from her shoulders. He hung it up to dry on the rack.
"How'd the mission go?" Harry walked passed the sofas in the living room, and headed for the kitchen. Hermione followed. "You and Draco make it in an out allright?" Harry pulled the tea pot out from under the cupboard.
"Yeah. I'm here, aren't i." Was all Hermione could muster with half her nerves already shot to hell. Her wand was pressed tightly against her stomach in her shirt. Any second she would have to do it. Any second she would have to pull her wand out and-
"Let me make you some tea," Harry peered down at her from across the kitchen counter like Molly used to when anyone was feeling ill. "you look dreadful mate." Harry pulled a stool out, and motioned for her to sit, so she did.
Hermione watched him work. He filled the pot, pulled out teabags from the cupboard. Then he stood on his tiptoes to reach two mugs on the top shelf. She figured Ron was probably the one who had put those there, he probably usually pulled them down for Harry. She tried not to think to hard on the fact that these were Harry's final moments in this world. And he was making who he thought was his best friend, a cup of tea. Harry was probably still the very best of them. All though he wasn't entirely light or innocent, when it came down to it he was still a better person than Hermione. If the roles were in reverse. Harry never could have done this to her.
She swallowed, and reminded herself of Draco. Draco needed her to do this or he would be killed. She couldn't chose Harry over Draco. Hermione would have gladly died for Harry a hundred times over, but when it came to Draco she would kill for him. She would kill her best friend in the world for the love of her life.
She gripped her wand and pulled it from the bottom of her shirt. She held it behind the counter where Harry couldn't see.
"Tell me what happened, Ron?" Harry's green eyes were bright and warm, always so caring. "Draco's allright?"
"Yeah." She replied, and mumbled under her breath. "He will be."
The mugs clinked as Harry set them on the counter. He pushed one towards her.
"Good." Harry sighed a breath of relief. "I don't know what she'd do, if something happened to him." Harry shook his head, and rubbed his stubbly chin hair. He turned his back to her as he pulled the teapot off the stove as it whistled. "I probably worry about her as much as Draco." Harry laughed.
There it was her chance. Harry didn't need to see it coming. It would be kinder that way.
Hermione's arm brushed against a picture frame on the counter as she leveled her wand at Harry's back. It was from their last year at Hogwarts. They were sitting by the black lake. The golden trio arm and arm with one another smiling. There was snow on the ground, and it had been Christmas time she recalled. They'd been so young, and carefree, back then Hermione thought it could always be like that. Ron and Harry were her best friends in the entire world.
Hermione's hand relaxed a minuscule degree, as she hesitated. Her wand hung in the air. "If something ever did happen to him- to Draco- and it came down to it- between you and him- you'd understand wouldn't you?" Her voice was strained, and Harry was suddenly tense. He turned around slowly with teapot in hand.
Harry's eyebrows rose up in shock when he saw the wand pointed at him. "Ron- mate- wha-" Then Harry's eyes darted to the cloak he had hung up on the rack. Then his eyes darted back to the wand pointed at him. Recognition flickered across his face.
"Ron left that cloak at your house a week ago..." Harry sighed and laid the teapot down gently. "Hermione."
He didn't seem angry. Or disgusted. Even worse Hermione realized, he seemed disappointed. Like how teachers would look at her when she misplaced a comma, or forgot to properly space a term paper. She would have preferred anger, or disgust. She could have handled him cursing at her, or calling her 'No better than Peter Pettigrew.' That's what she thought of herself after all. She and Peter Pettigrew were about to be synonymous with one another.
"What's happened Hermione?" Harry drew his arms around himself. "What's going on?"
"Look what you made me do, now Harry." She brandished her wand. As if to emphasize her words another crack of lightning came, and the house groaned as the wind pushed against it angrily.
There was a part of her that hated Harry in that moment. That blamed him for not having died as an infant, because if he had none of them would have ever been in this mess to begin with.