AN: Happy Holidays, dear readers! A lovely dose of angst for your pleasure!
As always, thank you for your continued encouragement, and patience with us and our story. It means the world that you trust us with these characters while we take them on this crazy journey! We hope you enjoy this update!
Chapter 15 - Phantom Touches
Draco - December 25, 1996
Draco returned to consciousness in fits and starts. Every muscle and joint in his body ached, and each pulse of his blood seemed to only spread a coldness through his veins. Like he'd never be warm again.
Fearing that it wasn't over, he waited, listening for long minutes before risking opening his eyes. He could hear the moans and harsh breath of another person near him. But his aunt's terrifying cackle was absent, and the air lacked the sharp crawling sensation of the Dark Lord's magic.
With much trepidation, Draco tried to open his eyes. A sharp sting and tearing nearly drew a scream from his lips, but he bit it back. This pain was preferable to what awaited him if he drew the wrong attention. He stopped trying to open his eyes and instead tried to speak.
"Miffy." His voice, not more than a whisper, rasped across his lips. A pop confirmed it had been enough.
"Master Draco, no, nos, I—I." The house-elf whimpered next to him, her little hands ghosting across his back.
They were alone. She would never offer such compassionate touch in the presence of others.
"'S-okay," he mumbled towards the stone floor, his breath hitching as he inhaled. Mother?" His eyes still wouldn't open, but a sharp metallic tang filled his nose as he tried to shift positions. He wasn't sure if it was his own blood he smelled, or the revel's other victims.
There was a soft pop, and then two more in quick succession. He gritted his teeth, and attempted to push himself up, growling as his struggle applied pressure to his hands.
"Fuck! "
The pain was too much to bear. His arms gave out, and he collapsed back onto the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears back. He refused to give Yaxley and the lot of them any satisfaction.
A firmer voice spoke next to his ear, "Mistress is being next to you, Young Master. Yous is in the drawing room. Whats would you have of us?"
A loud sniffle from a few feet away must be Miffy, presumably next to his mother.
Draco released a sigh of relief. "Most secure?" he asked Murphy, the most senior of the Malfoy elves.
"Your rooms, Young Master."
He forced himself to raise his head and turn. His mother's crumpled form lay only feet away from him. Her normally perfectly coiffed hair was in a jumble around her face, her hands covered in what looked like scorch marks, half coated in what he hoped was someone else's blood. Her porcelain skin was ashen, the muscles in her arms still spasming.
How fucking dare they touched her!
Draco locked eyes with Murphy, who stood ramrod straight awaiting instruction. The disgust and outright rage building low in his gut matched the look of pure murder on the old elf's face.
It would be excruciating to apparate, but Draco needed to get his mother to safety before anyone came back. He swallowed around his thick tongue. He nodded to Murphy.
"Take us there… please."
A sharp crack, a sense of weightlessness, and then stabbing pain as he hit the floor. Draco screamed as every muscle in his body cramped. Banging his fist against the soft carpet, he hissed in pain as he forced himself to his elbows in search of his mother. The tension dissipated almost instantly at the sound of her harsh breath and sobs.
"Zips, to Mistress' lab, bring potions—sleep and pain. Miffy, the kitchens, soup…"
Murphy continued to give orders and Draco let himself fall back to the floor. It was over.
For now.
His mother's sobs ebbed, her breathing quieting as the elves attended to her.
A vial appeared before him.
"Drink, Young Master. Rest." Murphy tipped the glass to his lips.
Relief was a cool liquid running down his throat, and sleep called to him over the pain. The elves and the Manor would keep them safe. He let the pull of unconsciousness drag him under.
Hermione - December 25, 1996
Plans for the next day were all settled, but Hermione was restless. There was a gnawing discomfort just under the surface of her every movement, yet she couldn't keep still. Instead, she walked the halls of Hogwarts, hoping to find relief.
As with the other years when she'd stayed in the castle over the holidays, the Christmas festivities were lively. But rather than enjoy them, they grated on her nerves. She did her best not to think about the house-elves that had labored to produce it.
At least Dobby and Winky earn wages…
The thought of frivolity felt wrong; she wasn't in the mood at all. While it would probably be nice to attend the various activities set up for students throughout the castle, she'd much prefer to be alone with her thoughts.
Try as she might, Hermione couldn't put her parents out of her mind. Christmastime had always been her favorite growing up, especially the times her father had whisked her and her mother away on a surprise ski holiday.
Had she not stayed at Hogwarts, she would be in Switzerland on one of those holidays at that very moment. But she'd declined to join them, and she didn't regret it. Their safety was paramount, and that meant keeping her distance.
Earlier that morning, she'd received a letter and two presents from them under the decorated tree in the common room. Both presents had been books, one about the Roman occupation of Dalmatia, and another on cultural customs across the Balkans. The letter had informed her they'd been offered an extension on their assignment in Croatia, assisting refugees.
Though she missed them terribly, the further away her parents were while Voldemort continued to gain power, the better. She already had to hide so much from them out of fear that they would try to convince her to leave Hogwarts. Now, with Draco and this growing bond between them, her continued separation from the Muggle world was for the best.
She tugged on the neck of her knitted "H" sweater. It was a little itchy, and Mrs. Weasley had made it just a bit too snug across the chest. Could the dull pain that had begun to bother her earlier be a result of the tightness? There was a spell for that, but it wasn't one she'd committed to memory. She'd be seeing Mrs. Weasley the next day, and she would know.
That was one nice difference between Fourth year and now; Mrs. Weasley wasn't mad at her this holiday. As if Rita Skeeter was ever believable, yet everyone had, even her close friend's mom. It was incredibly annoying.
What a disaster that was…
Hermione turned the corner into the portrait hall that filled the stairwell between the first and second floors.
"Happy Christmas, Miss Granger!" the portrait of Greta Catchlove called out, as she shifted her tray of cheeses away from another portrait.
"To you as well, Mrs. Catchlove."
The portraits seemed in good spirits and she was more than a little relieved not to see the Fat Lady and her cronies.
"The Fat Lady has organized quite a nice holiday display on her end of the seventh floor corridor. Have you seen it?"
Speak of the devil. Hermione shook her head. "I haven't had the pleasure."
She must have walked past it at some point. Though she had been more than a little preoccupied. Not to mention, busy avoiding said portrait.
"You must go and see," she declared with a decisive nod.
Greta Catchlove's portrait was always friendly and if Hermione were ever interested in charming cheese, she knew with whom to speak. During second year, Hermione had come upon Ron caught in conversation with her about charcuterie, of all things. Given his general distaste for learning, he'd been surprisingly receptive and even taken down a few notes. Then again, the subject had been food .
A group of the giggling portraits floated by in the frames lining the closest wall. What must it be like for the portraits to move freely from frame to frame for their entire existence, merrily attending feasts and parties? She pictured Greta Catchlove floating from floor to floor, offering her cheeses. How silly!
Hermione gave the portraits a quick wave, and a twinge cramped along her wand arm. She turned to hide her discomfort before they took notice and hurried to the closest moving staircase.
Midway up, her foot caught on the stone edge, nearly sending her to her knees. She climbed these stairs all the time. Why was she suddenly so fatigued?
The top of the stairs was a welcome relief. She pulled at the neck of her sweater again. When had it gotten so hot?
She slipped from the fifth floor to the sixth, unnoticed. The phantom memory of Draco taking her hand and pulling her along into the shadows brought an ache to her chest.
Gods, she missed Draco. Her dreams didn't help matters. Some of them felt so real, while others were memories from their night together in the Room of Requirement.
Making her way up the stairs to the seventh floor, she ran her fingers across her lips. A pale comparison to the heat of Draco pressed against her, and the softness of his lips as he'd kissed her goodbye for the fourth time in a row. Both unable to drag themselves apart that last morning. His cheeky smirk brought a smile to her lips. His ego must have grown exponentially after all that.
Merlin, he's going to be insufferable when he returns…
A sense of dread had been slowly consuming Hermione since she woke that morning. The letter from her parents had helped, but only nominally eased her concerns. Even now, hours later, her chest was still tight, like someone was sitting on it, keeping her from taking a full breath.
Draco's words in her last lucid dream haunted her. " Keep you safe… " He'd given her the barest of details on his current situation. But she knew in her very core that it was bad. Was that this feeling?
She slipped her hand into the pocket of her denims and rubbed the fake galleon that had been part of Dumbledore's Army communication. She'd charmed them not to wear so, despite having rubbed it frequently, it remained shiny and new.
It made her wish she and Draco had some means of communicating. They just hadn't had the time to devise something. Sending him an owl was out of the question. If the wrong person intercepted it, they'd both be in danger. When he returned, they would have to discuss contingencies for the reality of their circumstances. Assuming he wanted to pursue whatever was between them. It wasn't like they'd had a lot of time to discuss that either.
She reached the entrance to the Fat Lady's Corridor, but felt a pull down the other end of the hall. Slow, measured steps brought her to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and his trolls.
The Room of Requirement.
Her magic longed for Draco. She could request Draco's room and maybe it would help her feel closer to him.
She paced past the wall three times.
Give me Draco's room.
The delicate door appeared, and a wave of calm swept over her. She could finally relax. With a heavy sigh, she collapsed into one of the overstuffed wingback chairs in front of the fire.
The holiday spirit had never settled over her like in past years. It just didn't feel like Christmas. Of course, being away from her parents wasn't helping, and she missed Harry… and Ron. But the worry she felt over Draco's wellbeing was at the forefront. The low hum of anxiety and something darker continued to grow, calling for more and more of her attention.
The beautiful sitting room and her memories with Draco in it helped, but nothing seemed to distract her fully from that feeling.
Gods, I wish I could just talk to him about all of this!
Was he feeling it too, this darkness? Were these his feelings?
Hermione tugged her thick ponytail, haphazardly braiding the ends as she gnawed her lower lip. This inactivity was maddening; she wanted answers. She closed her eyes and focused on her breath.
Breathe in.
There wasn't anything more she could do about it for the moment, and spending any more time thinking about it all would only make her feel worse.
Breathe out.
She had a busy day planned for Boxing day and it would be best not to appear too stressed during the visit.
Maybe sleep will help .
She rose out of the wingback chair, and after a moment of hesitation, headed for the chaise lounge. She probably shouldn't sleep here, but she wanted the comfort of her memories.
Mid-step, a sharp pain lanced through her ribs. She stumbled forward, just barely catching herself on the back of the chaise.
Her insides spasmed, and she clutched at her side.
So much pain. Arcing across her nerves. Stealing her breath.
Her knees buckled, and without her grip on the chaise, she landed on the hard floor.
"What…in Merlin's…name." She panted, reaching out for the leg of the chaise and gripping it tightly. Of course, this would happen when everyone she knew was away from the castle.
The pain throbbed in waves of sharp highs and dull lows, causing her to hyperventilate.
Breath in. Breath out.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. She gasped as another sharp pain emanated from the back of her neck. She bit down on her lip, the copper taste hitting her tongue as she tried not to cry out. A distant scream tore across her mind and her vision blurred—distorted around the edges. It was this room, but not. And then, as quickly as it began, it was gone.
She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, still panting for breath, and pushed herself upright, blinking slowly as she tried to refocus.
"Shite…"
Her thoughts immediately went to Draco as she patted herself down. No pain. She rubbed a hand across the back of her neck. The auditory and visual hallucinations—for she could think of nothing else that made sense—were gone. But the dread remained, and with it helplessness.
Hermione sniffled, wiped at her wet cheeks, and then climbed onto the chaise. A plush blanket appeared next to her, the same one Draco had draped over them when they'd spent the night together.
She brought it to her nose and inhaled the smell of his still lingering cologne.
"Happy Christmas, Draco," she whispered to the room, and drew the blanket tight around her, imagining it was his arms wrapping her in his warmth, his magic.
The sting at the back of her throat grew into more tears that burned down her cheeks as she burrowed deeper into the chaise.
It was frustrating not having any answers. The fresh wound to the aching absence that was Draco filled her with sorrow, which seemed ridiculous since they'd shared only the briefest of moments. They hardly knew each other, but he'd become so very important to her.
More than ever, she needed to know more about bonding. She needed to know what was happening to them. It was more than intellectual curiosity. Now, she feared it was their lives, because the dread, the pain, the dreams, she was quite certain they were coming from Draco. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
Draco - December 26, 1996
"Are you going to nap for our whole revising time? Really, Draco, we have such little time together already as it is! And I've got three inches of parchment to finish for Professor Vector."
Blinking slowly, Draco rubbed the back of his neck and pulled himself up from where he rested on his forearms. "Maybe?" he said, finally looking up and smirking at the witch across from him. His witch.
Even when she whinged and nagged him about schoolwork.
"If I'd known, I would have found more active company." She leveled him with a look. "I'm sure Theo would have joined me."
Then she, his cheeky witch, winked.
Draco laughed. "Come now, Love, my company is always better than Theo's."
Rolling her eyes, she harrumphed and dropped her gaze back to her book. Draco couldn't get over how adorable she was when in full swot mode. How could he ever have found her anything but alluring and just fucking wonderful? Potter and Weaslebee were complete knobs, never realizing how lucky they were that she gave them the time of day.
"I'm pretty sure the constant ranting from your father helped," she said, eyes still intent on her reading.
"You reading my mind now?" Draco asked, as he stood from his seat and walked around behind Hermione. He settled his hands on her shoulders and neck, and kneaded the tight muscles.
"You should relax more, Hermione." He leaned his head down until his lips caressed her ear. "I could help you with that."
"Oh, I'm quite sure you could," she said, and then hummed when he dug his thumbs into the base of her skull and rubbed small circles.
Her head dropped forward, allowing him more access. Draco, continuing the small circles from her neck, back down to her shoulders, turned and placed soft kisses down the column of her neck.
"Sure you'd prefer Theo's company?"
"You do have your benefits." She laughed softly and then turned to face Draco. Her hand reached up and cupped his jaw. "You look so tired, Draco. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."
Shaking his head, he caressed the side of her face with his finger. "Protect me from what, love?"
"From all of it. From…him."
Draco frowned. "No, it's not your job to protect me."
"It is. I can feel you here." She placed her other hand on her chest above her heart. "You're hurting, and I can't get to you."
Draco rested his forehead against hers. "I'm here, Hermione. You're touching me right now." Her silky skin and sweet scent both aroused and comforted him. "Nothing hurts. It feels so good to just be next to you."
She shook her head and a window he didn't realize was behind her suddenly filled with the rising sun. It cast Hermione into shadow with a golden halo around her wild curls. The light grew brighter and brighter until she was nothing more than a silhouette.
"Granger? Hermione!"
As she faded away, something darker and crueler took root, replacing the warmth and happiness of just moments before.
Pain.
Light. And pain.
And no Hermione. She'd been so real…
With a groan, Draco forced his eyes open and found that much was changed. He could open them without feeling like he would tear his eyelids off. His body still ached, and the light streaming in his window made his head feel like someone was stabbing him. But given how he felt the last time he awoke, this was an improvement.
Perhaps he wasn't as entertaining to torture after the last three times. Then he remembered waking and calling for the elves. How long ago had that been? Hours… Days? He'd lost all sense of time.
Slowly he pulled himself to sitting and took in his surroundings. He lay in his bed. The elves had replaced his bloodied robes with a light pair of sleep pants and left his chest bare, except for the crisscross of bandages.
The other side of his bed was empty, but looked disturbed, as though someone had been lying there until recently.
Draco turned and let his legs dangle off the side of the bed. He couldn't help the whine that hissed through his teeth, but at least it wasn't an agonized scream.
Yes, much better , he thought bitterly.
Sounds from his receiving room startled him. He reached for his wand, despite the searing pain in his muscles, and pointed it toward the door.
"Draco? Are you awake?" his mother's voice asked, though it was barely recognizable for how hoarse it was.
"Yes, Mother." Squinting, he watched as his mother slipped through the door, quietly closing it behind her.
Draco slid off the bed, steadied himself against his side table, and gauged the ability of his legs to support his weight. They could, but he felt like a newborn colt for all his clumsy stumbling and the trembling of his muscles. His mother crossed the room towards him, her own movements stilted and slow. She stopped just inches away, her hand outstretched.
He reached for her and asked, "How are you?"
Her eyes filled with unshed tears, glassy and red. "Not well, and you?"
"Never better…" he said sardonically, wincing slightly as she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.
Tutting, she turned his face from side to side, observing whatever bruises had formed by now. "I never heard what happened. Not that He ever needed a reason."
Draco shook his head. "I…"
He swallowed the rising bile as the Muggle man they had ordered him to torture flashed across his mind.
"I was unable to perform the Cruciatus on a Muggle." He should occlude, but the guilt over what happened to the man was too much to bear, rendering him unable to do anything but relive it.
Nodding with a wince, she dropped his hand and turned away from him. "You must mean it," she said, and walked over to the closest sofa, her steps stiff.
He gave her a curt nod as he, too, settled onto the sofa.
"They will not allow this to stand. I expect you'll be forced to perform a demonstration of your loyalty." She collapsed in on herself, a lone tear slipping from her eye. "You must not fail. I don't fear death, but I think we will not be so lucky."
He slammed his balled fist against the arm of the sofa.
She was right, of course. What a fool he was for grasping onto the hope that he'd remain free from performing something so horrible.
"Yaxley Imperiused me and forced me to do it."
The back of his throat tightened, and his eyes burned yet again on the verge of yet again breaking the lie that 'Malfoy's do not cry.' He was a Malfoy and had cried more in the last few months than in all the rest of his life.
A pathetic disappointment of an heir… Though he'd never spoken those words, Lucius' drawl voiced them in his mind.
"I am so sorry," his mother said, her words trembling.
"As am I. I wish I could say it was the most appalling thing I witnessed at the revel. But it wasn't." Bile burned the back of his already abused throat.
"Severus can teach you how to bury the memories, if you need."
Memories of Muggles being dragged by their hair, tortured screams, burning shrubs, and the glee of the Death Eaters flooded his mind.
He desperately wished to forget it all, but it felt wrong to be released from all those people's suffering when he had been part of the cause.
"Can you not help me?" The shame he felt at having participated at all would slowly eat him alive if this continued, and for someone like Snape to see it in his mind firsthand was not ideal. "The Dark Lord wasn't able to find my true walls. Not even Aunt Bella could get through. They believe I have only rudimentary protections in place. I could protect you there. They'd never know."
Staring into the crackling fire before them, her brows furrowed. After a beat, she shook her head slowly.
"No, Draco. I don't think I'm able to assist you with that. I know what you must have gone through. But seeing it, experiencing it through your memories… I cannot."
With his head bowed low, he accepted the weight of her rejection. They both were weary and vulnerable. He wouldn't push her.
Once he had the chance, he would have Professor Snape help him, because he didn't think he could function if he had to see the looks on all those Muggle's faces.
The room fell silent, the air heavy with unspoken words. For now, he would try to occlude them away.
He buried them within the arched petals of white lilies. It was weak, but it would work for now. Later, when he had time to face all he'd seen, he would find them a better home in his garden.
Anything to survive. Anything.
Hermione - December 26, 1996
Hermione yawned into her cup of tea while she waited for Professor McGonagall in the Professor's Common Room.
After collapsing in the Room of Requirement, nightmares had plagued her. She woke every hour in a cold sweat with all of her limbs shaking. It had taken all her strength to make it back to her room in Gryffindor Tower before her absence was noted.
Finally, just as the sun was rising, her mind had quieted, and she'd fallen into a strange dreamlike slumber that left her feeling like she'd taken dreamless sleep.
A familiar flutter played at the edge of her magical core, just as it did when she woke from the odd dreams she'd been having. It was like when Draco was near.
But he wasn't. Couldn't be.
Perhaps not near, but possibly connected to her even at a great distance. If yesterday's incident wasn't a fluke, then it was an explanation and magic had taught her that sometimes the impossible was possible.
She tried to reach for the flutter, but then it was gone. An icy shiver raced up her spine at the loss. She rubbed at her arms, but the warmth she created offered little comfort.
The door opened, a draft causing the flames of the fire to flicker and wave. Professor McGonagall strode into the room, her hat slightly askew.
"I apologize for my tardiness, Miss Granger. Professor Dumbledore needed a word before he left." She righted her hat, and adjusted her robes, before taking a seat across from Hermione.
"I didn't even realize he was here." Hermione placed a spare bit of parchment between the open pages of the book she'd been trying to read and slipped it back into her bag.
"Just briefly. He's been traveling quite a great deal of late, as I believe you are aware."
Hermione nodded and took a sip of her tea. Professor McGonagall summoned her own cup and watched Hermione over the rim.
"There are a few, well really"—she sighed heavily—"just one thing, he would like me to discuss with you before we head to the Burrow. Would that be all right? I know you must be eager to see your friends."
"I am, but I'm happy to discuss whatever it is." Hermione straightened in her seat, set down her cup, and focused her attention on her Head of House.
If Dumbledore had a message for Hermione, it must be important. Most likely something to do with Harry. Their lessons so far had been odd, from what he'd described. Perhaps Dumbledore wished for Hermione to assist Harry since he had a bad habit of putting off assignments until the last minute if they didn't interest him.
Professor McGonagall gave her a long, almost beleaguered look. "You are aware the portraits and ghosts around the castle report all manner of things to the headmaster."
She nodded. "They function as a kind of monitoring system."
"Yes, I suppose you're familiar with the idea since they use those, um… kam-ras in the Muggle world."
"Yes, Professor. Video surveillance is nearly ubiquitous in places like Muggle London." It still surprised Hermione when adults she admired stumbled over such commonplace Muggle things. It was really a shame the wizarding world kept itself so isolated.
"In any case, it has been brought to the headmaster's—and my—attention that you are spending a great deal of time with students outside your own house."
Hermione relaxed in her chair and released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. This wasn't about Harry. Except… her chest clenched. This was about Draco.
They hadn't been very circumspect despite the comments from their classmates. An oversight that apparently had drawn the attention of the headmaster.
Hermione, always quick on her feet, smiled and let out a soft, fake laugh. "You had me worried, Professor."
"Worried?" Professor McGonagall's head tilted as she ran her eyes over Hermione's face.
Tone it down, Hermione.
She resettled in her seat and placed her hands in her lap. "I thought the Headmaster might have something he needed me to do for Harry."
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, making direct eye contact with Hermione. She wasn't a Legilimens as far as Hermione was aware, but she was much less easily redirected than most.
"We are keeping a close watch out for potential bad influences."
"From my study group?" Hermione asked, trying to arrange her features in surprise rather than the incredulity she truly felt. "It's true that I revise with the Prefects and a few other students. Some are Gryffindors, Neville for instance."
"Yes, Mr. Longbottom. He's quite starting to come into his own. I know his Gran well—too well, perhaps. But back to the matter—"
Hermione lifted her hand and worked to keep her tone level. "You and Professor Dumbledore are concerned I'm spending time with non-Gryffindors?"
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and looked away. " Concerned , might be too strong of a word. He—that is, we—just wanted to remind you of the risks given the information to which you are privileged. Certain sorts of witches and wizards might try to befriend you to gain access to that knowledge."
Deciding to be intentionally obtuse, Hermione asked, "Isn't that the point of a study group, to share your knowledge?"
McGonagall frowned, and her eyes narrowed. "Miss Granger, I think you know perfectly well that is not the type of knowledge to which I'm referring."
Hermione sagged, chastised. "I would never put Harry at risk. Nor the Order."
"Not intentionally." Professor McGonagall's presence softened, a pitying look flashing in her eyes. "It can be shockingly easy to lose one's objectivity when romantic feelings are involved."
Did they truly think she was so susceptible to charm and a handsome face? Draco certainly had both. But their very magic had drawn them together. It was no ploy. Not an attempt to gain insights into Harry. If anything, she'd gained more intel than she'd given.
If she gave him up now, before anything had even begun, she would always regret it. She also wasn't sure their magic would allow it.
As she could say none of this to Professor McGonagall, she settled on teenage indignation.
" If I were romantically involved with someone, I don't see how it is anyone's business. Does the Order now dictate my social life? Who I'm allowed to date?"
"Youths," McGonagall muttered into her teacup and took another sip. She vanished the now empty cup and smiled wryly at Hermione.
"Of course not. Though perhaps I might suggest discretion and caution. I realize that members of the Order having an opinion on your social life , as you put it, is unorthodox. But can you blame us for being concerned that you are spending time with at least two students who are the children of known, active , Death Eaters?"
Magic surged through her. So strong, she wondered if she could channel it into wandless magic. She pushed it back to her core and reined in her anger.
"What happened to magical cooperation and inter-house unity?" She tried to take a centering breath, but her anger barely receded. "Because neither Theo nor Draco are their fathers. Which you and Professor Dumbledore would know if you got to know either of them."
"I'll concede they are both exemplary students when they apply themselves. So please don't misunderstand me when I urge caution. I can see where you would be drawn to what I'm sure is interesting intellectual discourse. But you should be careful not to allow those relationships to move beyond that sphere."
"And what of Padma Patil? Should I be wary of her as well?"
"Her family are not sympathizers of You-Know-Who."
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Hermione stood and walked her cup to the small basin next to the tea service. "Everything in the wizarding world seems to come back to who your parents are. Look at me. Anytime people talk about me, they use a qualifier."
"Pardon me, Miss Granger. I think I'm missing your point."
" Muggleborn Hermione Granger." With a wave of her wand, she charmed her cup to wash itself. "She's so bright. Did you know she's a Muggleborn? It's so surprising…"
Her head of house grimaced. "Well, yes. That's the very reason we urge caution. Those families do not think highly of your blood status."
"So it follows that they could only befriend me to use me?"
"I hate to say it, but that is our fear, yes." Professor McGonagall's shoulders sagged. She looked tired, more so than Hermione had realized at the start of their conversation.
Hermione took a slow, steadying breath. "Are you telling me not to be friends with them?"
"No. I don't believe that would be a productive course of action. We, the headmaster and I, are urging caution and discretion."
Hermione nodded. "Message received."
"And?"
"I'll take it under consideration."
"I suppose that is all we can ask." The professor stood and brushed the wrinkles from her robes. "Well, then, are you ready to head to the Burrow?"
"I am. I'm quite looking forward to spending time with Harry. We've been practicing Patronus communication."
The sour expression that Professor McGonagall had worn during the previous conversation disappeared, and a genuine smile took its place.
"Impressive. If you both find it acceptable, I'd be happy to provide a critique of your application and perhaps discuss further implications?"
"Yes, Professor, I know we would both like that," Hermione said, feeling back on familiar ground and much relieved for it.
She clapped her hands and stood back up. "Excellent. Then let us be off and after we've all had a spot of breakfast you and Potter can join me out in the garden," McGonagall said, stepping up to the floo and grabbing a discreet urn, which she then held out to Hermione.
Hermione stepped into the flames as she grabbed a pinch of powder. "The Burrow!"
Her world shifted and spun, leaving Hermione holding her breath, wishing for it to end. And then it did. Abruptly, as always. She stepped out of the grate, dusted off her robes, as she watched where she stepped when someone pulled her off balance.
"No time, Hermione. We have to talk. Now!" Fred, or maybe it was George, said, tugging her the rest of the way out of the grate and immediately to the stairs.
"Fred, um... George," she said, taking in the slightly different way he held himself. "What's going on? I'm not in the mood—"
"No pranks, no games. This is serious."
The floo chimed, and Professor McGonagall stepped out. "Mr. Weasley, what are you doing to Miss Granger?"
"Oh, sorry there, Professor." George released Hermione and straightened her jumper. She was not impressed. "Just needed to borrow Hermione for a moment."
"Miss Granger, I will be in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley after Mr. Weasley has his moment." She brushed off her tartan robes and strode purposefully out of the sitting room.
"Come on, Hermione. This is important," George whispered, dragging her the rest of the way up the stairs.
"My legs were perfectly capable of walking up those stairs on my own. Thank you very much— oh !"
Hermione found herself pushed down onto a twin bed next to Ginny. With an uncomfortable look on her face, the youngest Weasley shifted away and continued to tear at a cuticle. On the opposite bed sat Harry and Ron, with Fred leaning against the desk below an oddly shaped window.
"What is going on?" Hermione asked.
"The antepenultimate day before Christmas, Snape—"
"What the bloody hell is the anti pen... whatever?" Ron asked, interrupting George.
"Antepenultimate. It means the last but two, or in this case two days before Christmas," Fred said.
"Pretentious git!" Ron crossed his arms with a scowl.
Harry tilted his head and squinted at the twins. "Are you trying to flirt with Hermione?"
Fred winked, and Hermione's cheeks heated.
"It isn't an uncommon word, honestly." Hermione straightened her jumper and tucked a stray coil of hair behind her ear. "And besides, George promised no pranks. Now, will someone please explain why I feel as though I've been kidnapped?"
Harry leaned forward and shoved a crumpled ball of newsprint into her hands.
"Read it," Harry said.
Hermione mouthed along with the headline. "Muggles attacked in Hampstead!" The headline screamed in a jarring, bold font. It hurt her eyes to even look at the words.
It's okay, Hermione, they're away, they're safe. No one can get to them. They're safe.
She kept chanting the words to herself. Unless she could convince one of the adults to walk her past the wards and into the village, she had no way to contact her parents. To ensure they were, in fact, safe.
"What… is this?" Her grip on the page grew tighter. "The Death Eater's attacked my parent's neighborhood?"
No one answered her. The world went painfully quiet as she took in the article.
"Dead Muggles in the street" "Tortured"
She swallowed as the article grew darker.
"Missing presumed taken" "Worst attack."
Inhaling slowly, she loosened her grip. It was not referring to her parents. They were in Switzerland, far away from it all.
"It's okay. I mean, it isn't, but my parents are out of the country. They won't be back until April."
Her parents had planned to shift more of their time to working with international aid groups after Hermione finished school. Hogwarts had shifted that timeline for them since they hadn't planned to send her to boarding school. She was glad it allowed them to pursue one of their passions. But she also missed them.
The time she'd spent thinking about them the day before was a balm to her growing fears. She'd never been so glad to have missed another holiday with them.
It was growing more difficult to manage her feelings around their relationship. She loved them very much, but had less and less in common with them as the years passed. And worse, she had to hide so much from them out of fear that they would pull her out of Hogwarts. It was just easier to keep some distance, especially since soon Voldemort would start making bolder moves.
The further away her parents were when that began, the better. And maybe if she kept telling herself that, she would start to feel better about it, too.
She'd never been so relieved about them extending their contract with Médecins Sans Frontières.
Hermione looked up to see all of their faces staring at her in discomfort. "What?"
"As Fred was trying to say before—"
"—Snape warned the Order three days before the attack. We didn't know the precise location, but the general area. He sent a Patronus as the attack started. Dumbledore didn't send backup."
Whatever calmness she'd gained dissipated instantly. Everyone in the Order knew where her house was. She'd spent hours over the summer break describing the rich magical history of Hampstead to them.
"That's my home. My parents could have been there!" Likely would have been if things in Bosnia hadn't gone completely sideways. Her brain caught up with the rest of what the twins said. "What do you mean Dumbledore knew? The Order knew and didn't send backup?"
The paper was now a crumpled ball in her hand, slightly warming from her magic as her temper grew, though no one else seemed to notice. Her magic seemed to be running hotter. Something she'd have to contemplate later.
"Well." Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "The Auror core was dispatched very quickly." He flinched as the paper flew past his head.
"I can bloody read, Harry Potter. Death Eaters murdered the sweet little old lady that lived just down from my parents and used to sneak me biscuits!"
Hermione rubbed her temples and tried to breathe as deeply as she could, but felt a restriction around her ribs. Sharp spikes of pain fueled her anger.
"I can't believe this!" She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to find equilibrium. Her magical core warmed, and familiar magic seeped into her, calming and centering her.
"Could it be a coincidence?" Ginny asked softly.
Hermione let the magic ground her, and immersed herself in the much needed respite of analysis. Could it have been a coincidence? They lived close to London proper. There were several wizarding hamlets nearby. Affluent neighborhoods attracted more media attention.
"Yes," she answered, "it is possible. And if it was intentional, their intel is—"
Harry's hand gripped her wrist, stopping her from speaking. "Who knew they would be out of the country?"
"Several neighbors, some other family members. I told you , Harry. I think Ron may have known," she said, turning to look at Ron.
"Yes, you told me, but until Fred and George shoved the Prophet at us this morning, I'd forgotten. I don't remember telling anyone."
"Anyone else?" Harry asked.
Had she told Draco? She couldn't remember specifically, but he knew she was staying at Hogwarts, so logic followed that he would assume her parents would be away.
Regardless, she felt certain he wouldn't suggest their location or risk them. He likely didn't know exactly where her home was; she couldn't remember ever being that specific.
Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm fairly certain I didn't tell anyone beyond you and Ron. Oh! And Padma. We were in the library talking about the hols while we finished up an arithmancy assignment. Anyone could have overheard us."
"That's good, but also bad. It doesn't allow us to narrow the field at all," Harry said, finally releasing Hermione's wrist.
"That's not necessarily true. Not that many people outside the Order would know where my parents live."
Fred and George shook their heads. "It'll be on record with the Ministry as part of the underage magical monitoring."
"I'm of age."
"Recently, and according to Percy—"
"—they're lazy about archiving that sort of thing."
"Oh. Oh!" Ginny bounced in her seat. "This could mean they've infiltrated that office at the Ministry. Which would also mean…"
"They can find any Muggleborn's family," Harry finished Ginny's thought.
Hermione felt a chill run up her spine, and then pain lance through her chest. "What can we—"
"Children! What are you all doing up there!?"
"That'll be Mum. We won't drop this, Hermione—"
"—we promise," Fred finished.
Ron nodded his head in agreement and turned to open the door to the twin's room. "Sorry Mum, just having a bit of a catch up is all."
"We were thinking of playing a little three-a-side pickup," Ginny said, hopping up from her spot on the bed next to Hermione.
Mrs. Weasley narrowed her eyes and nodded, encouraging them out. Hermione hesitated and then moved along, walking next to Harry.
"I don't want to play," she said, just loud enough to be heard over the loud Weasley kids.
"It's fine. Lavender should be popping through the floo—" the floo chimed as he said the word "—she can play and you can relax. Have some tea?"
"Yeah, I will. I have a lot to think about."
The peculiar book she had received during Draco's absence crossed her mind, but she dismissed it quickly. She didn't need an old reference book.
What?
Harry's nod broke her focus from her strange thought. "We can talk about it more. I know things are tense but, Hermione, no matter what, you are one of my priorities, and so are your parents."
Hermione took his hand and squeezed. "I know, Harry, but now I'm worried for more than just my family."
He released her hand and wrapped his arm across her shoulders instead, pulling her into a side hug. "Me too. Me too."
The rest of the group, with the addition of Lavender, headed off into the back garden and Hermione stood at the window watching them collect brooms from the garden shed.
"Professor McGonagall wanted me to tell you she'll be back soon. She got called away," Mrs. Weasley said, joining Hermione at the window.
"Thank you for letting me know. She's going to work with Harry and I on our Patronus messaging."
She smiled fondly at Hermione and then looked out the window. "Such bright things you all are. The boys and Ginny will be out there playing quidditch for a while, dear. Are you sure you want to stay inside?"
Hermione straightened her back and turned to face the Weasley matriarch. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley."
"I can tell something's bothering you, child. I'm sure it must be hard, not being able to be at home with your parents," she said, taking a seat at the large family table and gesturing to a seat for Hermione.
Did she not know about the attack? Or perhaps she just didn't know that was Hermione's neighborhood…
She opted for a half truth. The easiest explanation without commenting about the attack. "I'm sure they're having a lovely holiday, but yes. It's always been hard to be separated this time of year…"
"I understand the feeling. The first year Charlie didn't come home, it was quite difficult. Those dragons took up all of his time. Though he has made up for it with his other visits."
"Is it the same now with Bill?"
Mrs. Weasley scrunched her face and seemed to hesitate. "It's… hard, yes. Though I think his absence is more due to a certain lady-love than it is to work obligations." She grimaced. "But it's still hard. They were both set to spend Christmas here, but the Order has them working on something. Not that they'll tell me."
Mrs. Weasley looked at her family clock. Charlie and Bill's arms sat at the "Traveling" marker. Shaking her head, she turned away from the clock and grasped Hermione's hand, giving it a firm squeeze.
Pulling out her wand, Mrs. Weasley directed a kettle to the cooker, and with a final flourish, a plate of delicious looking scones landed on the table between them.
"Now, here's what we're going to do. I'll put that kettle on. We'll have a nice hot cup of tea, perhaps with a little extra in it. It is still Christmas." Mrs. Weasley winked. "We'll have ourselves a bit of a wallow over those we miss, and when the kettle is empty, we'll get on with it."
Hermione let out a breath and some tension she didn't realize she was holding. "That sounds lovely."
Mrs. Weasley reached out and gave her hand an affectionate pat before getting up to attend to the whistling kettle. "Oh, dear, before I forget. Remus sent something over for you. It's sitting by the hearth."
Hermione rose from her seat and made her way out of the kitchen, back to the living room. As Mrs. Weasley had said, there was a parcel wrapped in brown paper, tied up with string, and a folded parchment on the top.
Taking the bundle, Hermione brought it back to the table just as Mrs. Weasley was directing mugs to fill.
"What's he sent you, dear?"
"Books. I was trying to do some research in the library on a topic with only the most limited of resources."
"Really? How odd, that's supposed to be one of the best libraries in the country. I think only the main Ministry library and perhaps the library at Malfoy Manor, of all places, are more extensive. What topic are you researching?"
Hermione debated making something else up, but then it occurred to her that Molly Weasley came from an old pureblood family as well. Maybe she'd know something.
"Bonding actually."
"There weren't any books at Hogwarts on magical bonds?" She looked incredulous.
"It was very limited."
"What got you interested in that?" Mrs. Weasley asked, returning to her seat at the table.
"A few different things, I suppose," Hermione said, taking a sip of her tea, while she decided how to proceed. "It started with wondering about bonds with magical familiars"—not entirely a lie, she was interested in that—"but that led me to a book on pureblood marriage bondings. I supposed it became a bit of a case of Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole."
"Alice?"
"Oh sorry, Mrs. Weasley. It's a Muggle story. A curious girl falls down a rabbit hole into a different world that makes no sense to her and she has to find her way home."
Mrs. Weasley smiled. "That sounds like a story that likely resonates for you, yes?"
"Very much so. Even after six years, I still find myself discovering things beyond my imagination. In any case, I wanted to know more, and Madam Pince carefully let slip that all the books on bonding and associated rituals had been removed by order of the Board of Governors. I'm not sure why they would do that, but I have a few guesses, if I'm honest."
"Mmm... the old sort have always guarded their knowledge tightly. Many wizarding customs are only passed from parent to child at certain milestones. I am aware of several attempts by various writers to publish books on those rituals."
Mrs. Weasley leaned in, a gleam in her blue eyes. "However, not one of them was ever published. And the writers, well, it won't surprise you to know that they found themselves with comfortable jobs that occupied far too much of their time to continue with their writing."
Hermione chuckled into her fist . "The pureblood elite manipulating people to get their way. I'm shocked!" She continued to laugh, and Mrs. Weasley joined her.
After they'd calmed, Mrs. Weasley continued, "My grandfather was very against outsiders learning family secrets. So it isn't just the pureblood elitist types. I'll admit to having been quite lax in sharing the Prewett family traditions with my children."
Hermione quietly sipped her tea and absorbed Mrs. Weasley's words. She might prove a useful person to discuss her questions about bonding.
"Sorry, dear, I'm rambling on. What books has Remus sent you? I don't have any to add, but"—she tapped her head—"I have quite a lot of years of knowledge up here."
Hermione carefully untied and unwrapped the package, revealing a stack of three books.
Traditions & Rituals by Spruce Snowbell
Of Traditions Moste Sacred
On the Nature of Blood Bonds by Hobson Fallohide Burke
"Oh, blood bonding, I'm quite curious about that," Hermione said, turning the last book over in her hands. "Odd, the second book doesn't have an author."
Mrs. Weasley reached out and picked up the book, opening it for a moment and nodding to herself.
"That's because it's a Black family journal. You're of age now, so I'll trust you can handle it, but do be careful reading that one. It's likely to be full of unpleasant things," she said, a soured look on her face. "I've never heard of the other two. But the Burke's were a large pureblood family. Spruce Snowbell." She seemed to turn the name over in her head, and nodded. "Probably a pen name. After you give them a read, please feel free to owl if you think I might be able to answer any questions. Remus said he expressed a similar offer in his note. Though he grew up with a Muggle mother, so his knowledge had its limitations. I'm afraid his father wasn't the sort to… well, anyway, I'm here. And Arthur, too! And if we don't know, we'll find someone who does. Now that settles it. Let's finish this tea."
Hermione smiled, a little more of her upset and worry from earlier melting away, even if in the back of her mind that nagging sense of dread remained. It had quieted enough for her to enjoy her day.
AN: (Pssst - hint hint - wink wink - next chapter!)