"It's got to be the real one," insisted Harry again. "If they were reproductions, then Slytherin would be wearing a locket, Ravenclaw her diadem, and Gryffindor would have the sword. But he can't get any of those because two of them have been destroyed and the third is in McGonagall's office."
"But why would he want his Horcruxes all in one place — all on display like that?" asked Hermione in frustration.
"I bet he's not being rational. He has more control than ever before; I bet he wants to flaunt it. Plus, we know he's got a thing about Hogwarts. That's probably why he chose to put up a statue of the founders: Hogwarts may not be under his control — yet — but he's got power over Hogwarts's history as well as the Ministry."
Hermione fiddled with the end of her sleeve, thinking. It made sense, and Harry had a much better intuitive understanding of Voldemort's thoughts than anybody else, save for perhaps Dumbledore.
But if the cup was real, they had to go to the Ministry.
"Well, we can't not check it out," said Ron.
Draco had excused himself shortly after their conversation began and Hermione found herself missing his presence.
Go to the Ministry? he would cry, outraged. She didn't look forward to telling him about whatever plan they were about to develop.
"We can scout it out, first, like we did with Malfoy Manor, just to get a sense of what we're up against," declared Harry. "Then, we can work out how we'll actually get the cup. Even if it isn't the real one" — despite saying this, he sounded doubtful — "we'll probably get some useful information out of it."
Hermione realised she'd pulled a thread loose from her shirt and slid her wand from her trouser pocket. "Reparo."
Harry was looking at her, expectant and hopeful. "Hermione? What do you think?"
"I —" What did she think? "I think you might be right, but I'm not sure how we'll get into the Ministry and out again without being caught. We haven't got any Polyjuice — or anything at all but our wands, really."
"And the Cloak," added Harry.
"And the Cloak."
"I'd have to come with you this time," Harry stated. "There's no way you could get the cup out with just three of you."
"What," said Ron, voice heavy with sarcasm, "you don't think accio Hufflepuff's Cup would pull it off?"
"Yeah, and then you have to fight your way out after everyone sees it fly off the statue."
Hermione's heart jolted at the thought. This was sounding more and more impossible. "Well, we won't know exactly how to do it until we know what kind of security is in place," she reminded them, more so to soothe her own nerves. "Then we can work out how best to go about it."
The boys nodded in agreement. "We'll need Malfoy, too," said Harry. "Unless you think he won't help us?"
"What? Of course I think he'll help us. You-Know-Who is just as much a threat to him as he is to you or me, Harry."
Harry shrugged. "Fine. You want to go and get him, then? We need to start planning."
Hermione conceded and stood from the kitchen table. Harry and Ron hunched over the Prophet, analysing the grainy image for helpful clues. Hermione suddenly felt very cold. If they couldn't get into Malfoy Manor with Draco's help, what chance did they have of infiltrating Voldemort's Ministry of Magic?
But this was different: She agreed with Harry. Malfoy Manor had been reckless and unnecessary, but this was the first and possibly only clue as to Hufflepuff's Cup's whereabouts and to ignore it could cost them the war. They had to move quickly, too, before Voldemort figured out what they were up to. What if he went to retrieve his other Horcruxes to adorn the statues, only to find them missing? Surely he would hide the cup away forever, and they'd never be able to find it.
Fortified by these thoughts and the cool, unquestionable logic they carried, she searched the house for Draco once again. She found his bedroom empty, as well as the library, which left her at a loss. Grimmauld Place had so many drawing rooms and parlours and bedrooms. To search them all would take ages.
"Draco?" she called down the empty second-floor hallway. She got no reply.
Vexed, Hermione began a methodical search of the house, keeping her footsteps light so she might hear any sounds of life lurking in one of the forgotten rooms. It occurred to her to call Kreacher, who would no doubt be delighted to fetch Draco himself, but his absence now concerned her and she longed for a private moment with him, wherever he was.
She found him, eventually, in the Tapestry Room, contemplating the names and faces woven into the walls again. After a moment's hesitation, she came to stand beside him. One of his arms reached out for her, wrapped around her shoulders, and held her against his side, though his eyes didn't move from the wall.
"Sorry," he told her softly. "I heard you looking for me. I was… distracted."
"I can see that." She searched the wall, trying to work out who might have captured his attention this time. She spotted Sirius, but that didn't feel right. "What are you thinking?"
"R.A.B.," he said plainly, and Hermione's eyes flew to Regulus, beside his brother's scorched portrait. "He was only a little older than me when he died, you know."
"He was a hero. Maybe now we know the truth, people will remember him as he really was."
"He was a Death Eater."
"But he changed his mind, he —"
"Do you think so?" Draco asked, curious. "He thought the Dark Lord was wrong in his methods, but he never let go of his belief in purity. His bedroom is upstairs. The walls are covered in Black crests and Slytherin banners."
"People change," she insisted. "He did what he did because he cared about Kreacher, a house-elf. That's not something a Death Eater would do. And maybe — maybe if he'd had the chance to live longer, he would have changed his mind about other things, too."
Hermione realised then that Draco's left sleeve was rolled up. Slipping out from beneath his arm, she reached for his left wrist and ran her fingers up his arm to his elbow, across the stark Dark Mark, and slowly rolled his sleeve back down. With careful, meticulous movements, she buttoned the cuff around his wrist.
"Harry and Ron are planning how to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic as we speak."
Draco scoffed quietly. "You're all insane."
"You'll come, won't you?" She almost wanted him to say no, to promise that he would stay safely at Grimmauld Place until they came back, or forever, if they didn't.
"Don't be silly; of course I'll come."
She smiled at him and rose on her toes to kiss his lips before taking his left hand and pulling him from the room.
"Is this for a Hor-cricks?"
"Horcrux."
"Right."
"And yes, yes it is."
"Oh, lovely," he drawled. "Whatever that means."
They would go with the Cloak, of course, with Ron and Draco charmed, seeing as they weren't as Undesirable as Harry or Hermione, and would be relatively easy to disguise once their hair colour was altered.
First, they would survey the perimeter. If it was safe — well, safe enough — they would attempt to enter the Ministry, just to get a sense of what the Atrium was like. They all understood that if the opportunity to take the cup presented itself, they would take it. If not, they would use the information they'd gathered to devise a proper scheme to retrieve it later.
It was as sound a plan as any, Hermione thought, and she reminded herself that it was a necessary one. This was not fifth year, when Harry had dragged them to the Department of Mysteries on a whim.
And since they couldn't risk the cup being moved, they would go tomorrow. Of course, once they'd made their plan, there was no need to wait. Harry and Ron were restless, impatient, whilst Hermione spent the hours going over the plan over and over in her head, running every possible scenario until she was jittery and on edge.
Draco was stoic. Hermione didn't know if it was out of fear or resentment; she refused to believe he was that laissez-faire about infiltrating the Ministry of Magic during wartime.
Later that night, as they lay together, his hands were cold and his body stiff. She wrapped an arm around his middle, hoping to relax him against her, though she was just as tense.
"Granger?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"Why aren't you thinking about your parents?"
Hermione opened her mouth and shut it again, all of her prepared reassurances and platitudes suddenly rendered unnecessary. Instead, a heavy burden of shame washed over her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered in the darkness, his hand rubbing uneven circles against her back. "I'm just… curious."
"The Order hid them months ago," she explained needlessly. "I guess… I guess I've been avoiding it because I don't need to think about them — I know they're safe — and if I do think about them, I'll… I don't think I'll be able to stop."
Draco mulled this over for several seconds and Hermione realised she had no idea what he was thinking.
"It's not because they're Muggles," she said quickly, "but — but being at Hogwarts made our relationship difficult, too, but I —" She choked and was surprised to find emotion squeezing her throat shut.
"Hey — shh, it's okay — I'm sorry I asked. I was just curious."
"It's alright. I'm alright…"
Several minutes passed, during which Hermione schooled her breathing back to normal and tried to brace herself for sleep.
"Granger?"
"Yes?"
"If we don't come back tomorrow —"
She sat up. "No."
"But —"
"No, Draco. You want to know how to do it, how to survive something like this? Don't entertain the alternative."
"But —"
She leaned over him, hands on either side of his head as he watched her with wide eyes. "I'm serious. We're coming back, and that's the end of it." And she leaned down and pressed a hard, relentless kiss to his lips before returning to her side of the bed. She heard his rushed breathing behind her.
She prayed that in twenty-four hours, they would be here, just like this, with another maimed Horcrux downstairs.
Hermione awoke feeling queasy. The sun was not yet up, but she couldn't bear to just lie in bed awake, so she snuck back to her room and dressed for the day, double checking her shoelaces were done up as tightly as possible. It wouldn't do to trip and fall on a day like this.
Harry was already in the kitchen when she went down; apparently, she wasn't the only one with a case of anxious insomnia. He looked serious, though he gave her a smile when she came in. Hermione noticed he wasn't eating, just drinking black coffee. One look at the eggs laid out on the table sent her stomach roiling and she decided she would follow his lead.
It felt too similar to the day they'd gone to Malfoy Manor which, in Hermione's opinion, did not bode well. She did her best to ignore it.
Ron and Draco came down shortly after. Ron was the only one who dared to pick at food, until Hermione eventually persuaded herself that she would need energy and could not afford to be distracted by hunger whilst in close proximity to the Ministry — and whatever that entailed. So, she tore bits off a dry piece of toast until her stomach had settled enough. Harry and Ron were poring over the day's Prophet for any useful information; they'd already combed previous editions for clues about the Ministry's new security measures. Draco just looked stoic again. Occasionally, she would catch his eye and wish she knew Legilimency, though it probably wasn't necessary; behind that cool gaze, he was projecting panic, radiating it into the kitchen. She was reminded of third year, the terror in his cowardly eyes as Buckbeak had lunged.
She swallowed. His morbid outlook was affecting her too much; she needed to be brave for both of them.
The clock in the kitchen informed them it was half seven. The sun should be rising now, Hermione realised. The rush of people hurrying to work would begin. It was time to go.
They all stood together, their chairs scraping on the wooden floor, and Kreacher immediately set to work clearing the table of their uneaten breakfasts. As they went up the stairs, muted sunlight met Hermione's eyes. It felt profound in a way she didn't appreciate.
In the entryway, they went about the disguising charms — transfiguring noses and charming hair colour — until Draco and Ron were unrecognisable. Just to be safe, Hermione pointed her wand at her own face until her nose was shorter and her hair several shades lighter. She would be under the Cloak, of course, but it didn't hurt. Harry did the same.
Then, once they'd confirmed they were ready, Hermione and Harry swept the Cloak around themselves. Hermione cast a Sticking Charm, securing the silky material to her shirtsleeve. It was so much easier to be under the Cloak with just Harry; they could stand fully upright, as long as she remained flush against his side and, given how nervous she was, she didn't mind that at all.
Ron went first, clutching Draco's elbow as they stepped onto the stoop and immediately vanished with a crack.
Harry let out a shaking breath; Hermione didn't know if it was from fear or excitement.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, unsure if her voice still worked. Together, they went to the door and, as soon as their feet touched concrete, Harry's hand secured around hers and a sharp tug behind her navel dragged her away.
