They spent the next hour arguing about what to do. Or rather, Harry and Gin argued.
Hermione was mostly silent. She was reeling, slightly, but also not. She had done plenty of reeling already, in the hours before and after Malfoy came to her.
Lucius was free. It made a lot of sense. The tunnels - she'd allowed herself to forget about them. Mistake. She'd trusted Harry when he said he'd dealt with them. Mistake. Azkaban, the tunnels, the politics of the guards - it had all been happening while she paid no attention. Mistake. The only question was what role Draco had played.
She saved that speculation for later. It was best done in private, in the middle of the night, when she could cry if she needed and linger over the place he occupied within her.
Harry felt strongly that all three of them should go to the Ministry, where they were safest.
Ginny wanted to take Hermione to the Burrow to see the Weasleys for a belated Christmas celebration. "It's sufficiently warded, you know that. They're all desperate to see her, Harry. And it will be good for her - for both of us - not to sit in this flat all day, worrying about . . . things."
That was kind, and true.
But Hermione was going to see her parents and told them so. She hadn't spent all that time, years before, helping them remember her again for nothing. Besides, it had been too long. Months. It wasn't fair to them to cancel at the last minute. She knew they counted down the days to her visits.
Moreover, she wanted to be with people who knew nothing about her current circumstances. People who loved her and would hug her without pity or expectation.
"You cannot," protested Harry. "Lucius is out there - Merlin knows where."
"You better find him then," Hermione said blandly. Knew he wouldn't.
That irritated him. "We're doing our best. Practically everyone at the Ministry is on it, obviously. Along with all the Azkaban guards and dementors who can be spared."
"Okay. Seems unlikely that with all that to hide from, he'll worry about me." She smiled, snippy.
"What about Draco? He has an interest in you, obviously. What if he finds you?"
"If he finds me I'll deal with it. I have my magic back."
"Been practicing dueling, have you?" Harry's eyes flashed. Sarcastic.
"Malfoy won't hurt me." She resisted the urge to raise her voice. She remembered his face, in her bed, when he realized what he'd done to her. "You're bleeding." Hermione had no real reason to believe it had been genuine - but her instinct told her it was. He'd been convincing in his shock. In his frustration and disappointment. Doesn't like virgins. Irrelevant information, now. But noted.
"His father might," argued Ginny. "Even if it's a small chance, there's still a risk. Please - come to the Burrow. I don't want to face Fleur without you. And Ron's in such a terrible mood these days."
"We can go to the Burrow sometime this week," Hermione promised. "Before New Year. But today - I'm going to see my mum." That was the end of it. "I'll take the Muggle trains. Lucius doesn't care about me - he isn't going to hunt me down. He's probably busy helping Draco plan his homecoming."
Silence fell.
"About that," started Harry.
Hermione couldn't. Not right then. "I want to think. Let's talk, tomorrow."
Ginny stepped in, supportive. "That's a good idea. We can meet here. Harry, invite whomever you want from the Ministry. Bring some ideas, each of us - and we'll strategize."
So at that they disbursed - Ginny to the Burrow and Harry to the Ministry, by way of the Muggle railway station, where he insisted on escorting her. "Just in case."
They walked in silence for a long time until Harry broke it. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked. "I can't imagine - going from being that close to a person and then not seeing them anymore. I've never had to do that. It's so . . . abrupt."
Hermione appreciated it - the question. Malfoy was omnipresent still. Her footsteps on the cobblestones seemed to sound his name. "I'll be fine, Harry." Eventually. Maybe. Or maybe not. "I'm very sad, yes. But - I have a project now. Several, in fact. Interrupt his project, whatever it is, for starters. Return to the Ministry, address the work that's no doubt waiting. Help find Lucius. Figure out what attacked me and prevent it from ever hurting anyone again. It's plenty to do."
"I have no doubt that by the end of the month you'll have accomplished it all."
"Let's hope it keeps me busy more than a month." She forced a laugh. "I think I'll need to stay occupied - for much longer than that."
Harry met her eyes, frowning. He understood. Her heartbreak would last - was going nowhere soon.
They'd arrived at her platform. "Have a fun day with your parents," he said. "I'll see you tonight."
Because he'd be at Ginny's. Was she going to have to endure them, together all the time? But Hermione would be gracious. Hopefully they'd think to cast a silencing charm on Gin's bedroom. If not, she would do it for them.
She allowed herself to think, on the train.
She tried to remember Malfoy ever mentioning Azkaban, or his father, or the tunnels.
Ron had reported that Lucius wouldn't receive his and Pansy's owls in Azkaban. In hindsight, that was strange. If she was imprisoned, and surely bored, she would want any scrap of information she could get. Any contact with the outside world was welcome, to a prisoner. Right?
But Lucius had refused. "Even when we sent word to the Azkaban guards that it concerned your safety," Ron had said.
She had been so depressed she hadn't thought much of it at the time - hadn't thought anything of it. Now she wondered what Malfoy felt, to hear it.
Probably all coordinated in advance. Malfoy had snapped at Ron and Pansy - not to contact his parents again.
The next time they'd spoken of his father it was when they were having - what she'd thought was - a heartfelt conversation about getting out of the caverns. Lucius had made Draco the head of the family in an old magic blood ritual. Before he went to Azkaban. "Unpleasant," and she still believed that part. She could only imagine. Maybe someday she'd research it.
He hadn't wanted to talk about his family - of course.
Never wanted to talk about personal things. To reveal anything about himself.
Hermione leaned her head into the glass, gazing out at the world passing by. Boxing Day was a day for many Muggles to rest. Children were playing with their toys. People were enjoying their gifts. She realized her fingertips had found her neck. Malfoy's Mark. Now that she had magic back she'd have to heal or hide it before she saw her parents. They would definitely notice, prominent as it still was. Ginny and Harry had been too polite to comment on it.
She wondered what Malfoy was doing with the gift she'd left on him. Had his mother seen it?
Before she could focus on it - the hurt - they'd arrived at her parents' station. Mercy.
Monica and Wendell had pulled out all the stops - their house was properly bedecked in every decoration Hermione had ever made. And then some. It was comforting, to see it. It took her back to a simpler time. Childhood, when a little cardboard and glue and glitter was magic. Before people died and there was a war and she learned what fear was. Before the creature ripped away her joy.
That was a good reminder, actually, as she settled into her parents' big familiar couch. Today, these few hours with them before she had to return to her life and the safety of magic and wards, was about finding some of that joy. Reclaiming it for herself.
While her mother chatted about patients - "few people properly understand the connection between gum health and heart health, it's really too bad" - her father doted on her, pressing wine and nibbles into her hands.
Hermione smiled, content to be loved on for a bit.
They made dinner together, and it felt nice to play sous chef at her father's side. Nostalgic. Her mother looked on from the kitchen table, asking about work ("busy, thanks") and friends ("How is that Ron fellow?" "He's well, Mum. Seeing someone new.").
When she asked to please leave the sausage out of the sauce, her father inquired, curiously, whether she'd gone vegetarian.
"Kind of, yeah."
"Permanently?"
"Ah, I'm not sure. It doesn't sit well with me, these last few months. I think maybe I've changed, a little."
That opened the flood gates. "You do seem - different," he said, eyes kind. Too kind. Ouch.
"I'm alright." Hermione thought about how good it would feel - to share a nugget of truth. "Candidly - I'm going through a bit of a breakup."
Her mother's eyes widened - with hope, briefly - before she squelched it. "I see. Was he . . . unkind to you?"
Yes. No.
"We want different things."
Her father reached for her hand. "I can see how much you're hurting, dearest. I'm sorry."
Her mother nodded. "Thank you for telling us. We figured it was work stress - from what your colleague mentioned."
"You mean Harry?" He'd written to them, he'd said, in the cave. To buy her some time before they expected to hear from her.
"No, the other one."
Colleague. "What are you talking about? Which colleague?"
"Kennilson, I think his name was. He sent that update while you were on your trip."
"Fowler Kennilson?" The hairs at the back of Hermione's neck prickled. Kennilson, in the Department of Magical Accidents, was a complete and utter wanker. The kind of man who looked at your tits while he proclaimed that he'd "just had an idea" - one that a witch had already voiced, five minutes before. Ginny hated him and Hermione agreed. "I thought only Harry wrote to you."
"Potter, yes. He wrote first. Said you wouldn't be in touch for a few weeks, that your work excursion had been extended. But we were worried, so we directed a note to you at your flat. Kennilson sent such a nice letter in response."
"Can I see it?"
Her mother shrugged. "I'll try to find it. I think it might be in my office."
Hermione was already wiping her hands, leaving the kitchen. "I'll get it."
They kept all their cards and correspondence in a drawer in the desk. Hermione rushed to it immediately, rifled frantically through the stack. Saw Malfoy's handwriting. Neat script that slanted slightly to the left.
Her stomach plummeted.
Gods, what had he done?
And - how did he know Kennilson? A mystery for another day, when she was back at work. She could add it to the list of projects.
She read it, heart racing, hands shaking.
Mrs. & Mr. Granger,
I write regarding your daughter. She's a colleague of mine, and I've supervised her on a recent work trip. It's turned out to be quite the remote expedition - her role more pivotal and difficult than mine - and unfortunately I don't expect her to be able to be in contact for some time.
I can confirm that she's well. Nor is she alone - she was accompanied by several old schoolmates. You may have heard from one of them, Mr. Potter.
Though I am reluctantly prohibited from disclosing more about her assignment, I assure you she has watchful eyes on her. You needn't worry about her safety, it's our highest priority.
She has relayed that she loves you and looks forward to your seeing each other at the holidays. If you have any urgent need to contact her, please write back - if you send it to her flat I'll have it collected.
She is a pleasure to work with.
Fowler Kennilson
Hermione held it to her chest, closing her eyes. Malfoy. A pleasure to work with.
It was undated. She brought it back to her parents, waving it lightly. "When did you get this?"
They looked at each other. "Was it middle of September, Wendall?"
"I thought it was October. After her birthday, wasn't it?"
Her mother scowled. "No, because I remember I re-read it on her birthday. It made me feel better."
"I'm sure you didn't, I recall when it first came. It was definitely after we sent her present to her flat." Her father pursed his lips. "Though maybe it could have been at the very end of-"
"That's fine, it doesn't matter," Hermione interrupted, irritated. "Sometime in autumn. I was gone from August to . . . just recently."
"Gracious," her mother said, eyes wide. "I wish we could know more."
"Me too."
Sensing something, her mother rose. Came and hugged her. "This Kennilson fellow seems like a lovely chap."
Hermione laughed, loudly. "He's the worst." The absolute worst. And began to cry.
Then her father was hugging her too, and they were all standing in the kitchen, holding on, and her mother wiped tears off of her daughter's cheeks that she didn't understand the root of. For several long minutes Hermione felt like a child again. All was well. The pain of losing Malfoy was just a scraped knee, a broken wrist. It would mend. If only.
She left to catch the last train, with promises of a holiday in the late spring. "Perhaps Italy?" her mother suggested.
"Gods no. Please - no," Hermione said, too fast. "Nothing so romantic as that."
"Of course," her father said. "We'll find somewhere chock full of old people and dull activities."
"Perfect," she agreed, and they bid her goodbye, smiling. She waved, as she walked down the street.
Joy, yes. She'd recaptured a bit of it.
It was lovely and quiet as Hermione walked to the station - Christmas lights twinkling on houses and over the street. A few families milled about, and the occasional person with a dog. Muggles, living their lives, hugging their children. This is what we protect, she remembered. This is why Harry fought. Not just for wizards and witches - but for them. For all of them. And they'll never even know.
Resolve restored, she boarded her train to London. Apparating alone felt too risky. Malfoy had cured her in some ways, she acknowledged, as she settled into her seat. She certainly felt well physically. Not at all like she'd spent the vast majority of the last four months in bed or on the couch. But her magic was weak, a bit - a muscle that needed to be stretched. She didn't want to risk getting splinched. Or, worse - winding up somewhere she didn't intend to go.
The next day, after another night of fitful rest on Ginny's couch, the plan took shape quickly. It had to. Malfoy's party was just a few days away. Gathering together to stop danger - it was like old times, which was horrifying to accept.
They met in Ginny's flat, as she'd offered. Hermione, Harry, and Ron. But Harry invited a bunch of trusted aurors too, young blokes who had more eagerness than sense. "We need that," he told her. Hermione shrugged. Fine. They were smart, smooth-faced, good-looking. They shook her hand with admiration and respect, and at least one with a twinkle in his eye. She found their presence profoundly irritating and promptly ignored them.
No, her focus was on another man. A well-dressed blond one, with gentle, strong fingers - that he wielded for pleasure or for a Crucio to the back. A man she'd called once, accidentally, her worst enemy. Now - she meant it. Every bit of the pain and wreckage of her heart, of his betrayal, she channeled into revenge.
Which meant Hermione stood, first, as everyone else got comfortable on chairs and the couch and pillows on the floor.
Ginny had distributed snacks and butterbeers and lists of expected attendees at Malfoy's party - jotted at the pub from Hermione's memory of Kirby's recitation. So the focus was distracted when she coughed, pointedly.
She coughed again, looking 'round at her oblivious audience.
She clinked her beer with her wand. They were too busy, chattering.
Trying not to seethe, she shot sparks at the ceiling.
"Merlin, Hermione - what was that for?" Ron exclaimed.
"I don't even know why you're here," she said crossly. "You can leave. Go back to sleeping with the enemy."
That shut him up. Harry and Ginny frowned.
"Right," Hermione continued. "Now that I have your attention. I already have a plan."
They stared at her.
"We're going to Malfoy's party."
The room erupted. But all she heard were varyingly loud excuses and surmountable hurdles. She waited until they were finished and back to staring at her, slack-jawed. It took a long time.
"I'm happy to go alone," she held up a hand to quiet Harry, "but I know you won't let me. As a concession, I'm willing to be accompanied. I think, actually, that Ron should join, given his entanglement."
Ron blushed. "What about your entanglement?"
Harry was making noises, so she leveled a look at him. "You're too important. If something goes awry and we're captured or injured, it's not a big deal. Ron and I aren't essential. But you are - we need you to stay back. Because I'm under no misapprehension that whatever the Death Eaters are planning will be ended by us crashing their little summit."
"Then why go?" asked Ginny quietly. "Why put yourself at risk?"
Hermione expected it, and answered honestly. "I want to shock Malfoy. I want to see his face when I greet him, and I want to ruin his night. If they are stupid enough to have Lucius there, I want his father to see that Draco knows me - really knows me. It serves at least two purposes. First, it may drive a wedge between Lucius and Draco just as they probably want to look united. Second, it disrupts the evening itself. Who knows what's planned. Maybe it's just drunken revelry. But maybe it's more. For all we know they've brought Voldemort," Ginny and Ron and the aurors flinched, damn them, "back to life. I'd like to learn that now if so."
"They haven't," said Harry patiently. Then he sighed, and surprised her. "It's not a bad idea. I agree that Malfoy - Draco - will be gobsmacked if you just . . . show up. If he's expecting anything he'll be looking for subterfuge, spying, polyjuiced aurors. But not -"
"You, in a fabulous dress, on Ron's arm." Ginny nodded. "I agree. Let's knock him dead."
Literally.
"That said, we'll be providing backup," said Harry. "No, don't argue. It's not optional. We'll make sure there are about fifty Ministry employees at the ready, surrounding the manor grounds. And you'll have an armed escort - this lot at the helm." He indicated his hangers-on, who were practically salivating at the whole exchange. Storming a Death Eater reunion on New Year's Eve - career-making stuff.
"How will we all get through?" asked Ron.
"We'll just walk in," she said. "Malfoy won't hurt me."
"What if he does?"
She'd thought about it for hours in the quiet of night. "He won't." He couldn't. He already did the worst. If he Avada Kedavra'd her she'd be grateful for ending this agony in her chest. There were worse ways to go. She'd seen them.
"What if he hurts Ron?" Ginny, worried about her brother. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes.
"Ron will go straight to Pansy's side. She'll protect him."
"I don't need her to protect me -" he protested.
There was one question no one had asked yet. Hermione hoped they wouldn't.
Harry was thinking the plan over, peppering his aurors with questions and confirmation that they wouldn't let Hermione out of their sight. That they would use the opportunity to surveil and gather intelligence on every attendee.
Everyone had more butterbeers while they hashed the details. Hermione stayed silent, listening in only occasionally. She didn't care about the details - except, perhaps, what she would wear. For that, she had a vision, and only a couple of days to make it happen. Ginny had the right idea, a dress, and would have to help. She owed her a favor.
"-then we'll have the warrant," Harry was saying. "If Malfoy's got security, or guards, or trolls, or whatever. I'll have the Wizengamot issue one - permission to search on suspicion of the harboring of an escaped prisoner."
Right - the whole point. While she was engaging with Malfoy, Harry's doting admirers would be searching for Lucius. She kept forgetting. She supposed she didn't take it seriously. Malfoy wouldn't have his father there, in the open, days after getting out of Azkaban. But as a pretext for them entering with armed aurors, it wasn't a bad one.
"Then where am I supposed to go with Pansy once you're leaving?" Ron kept asking. He was quite keen on getting permission to 'extract her,' as he called it.
"What will you do with her once she's extracted, Ron?" Hermione couldn't help it, goading him.
"Take her back to his place and play their gross little games," humphed Ginny. "Which - please just stay there. No one wants to see you two slobbering all over each other when Malfoy and his friends are trying to bring He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named back."
"Actually, we don't know if that's their plan," said one of the aurors. Trying to catch Hermione's eye, to impress. "It could be-"
"Harry, get them in line." Hermione had had enough. She yawned. "I'd like to go to bed now. And - you're sitting on it." She stared pointedly at some of Harry's minions, sprawled on Ginny's sofa. They stood in unison, scooting toward the door. Yes. Go.
Ron and the aurors and Harry all said their goodbyes - plainly ignoring her, rude as she'd been, which was fine, she didn't care - and left. Harry kissed Ginny on the way out, and Hermione turned away.
Kisses. Malfoy. She collapsed, face buried in the pillows, and tried not to remember.
Ginny insisted that they visit her parents the next day. "They miss Fred terribly this time of year. I know a visit from you will help to cheer them. Mum's been very worried."
So Hermione allowed herself to be dragged to the Burrow, full of love and memories and wafts of grief.
Sure enough, Mrs. Weasley enveloped her in a bear hug immediately, and hadn't even released her when Mr. Weasley joined in. "Hermione. Tell us everything."
Her eyes widened over Molly's shoulder at Ginny, standing behind her parents. She shrugged unhelpfully.
"Oh gracious. There's not much to tell."
Mrs. Weasley pulled back to eye her suspiciously. "Ginny said you were sick with the same thing she had."
"Um, yes." Kicked herself for not getting more details of who-knew-what before they arrived. But she'd been distracted, by memories of Malfoy. Ginny had been talking, trying to brief her. Hermione hadn't been listening.
"But you look quite well."
"Thanks, I'm much improved."
Mrs. Weasley squeezed her again. "I'm thrilled to hear it. Now - let's eat. I made your favorite, Hermione. Steak!"
She smiled weakly. Made sure she sat at the end of the table, as far from Molly as possible - so that she could quietly skip the platter of meat when it was passed to her. Not quite cured, she thought, as she looked at it and felt her stomach object. The monster's residual effects lingered still.
She was sitting across from Bill and Fleur, who were teasing each other softly about something secret. Gentle shoulder nudges and fingers on forearms. Actually, maybe it wasn't the meat that turned her stomach - maybe it was them. It was so sickeningly sweet. She tried to pay attention to Harry instead, arguing with Ron and George about something-or-other.
"I can't just take over the hunt, Ron. It's not my area. There are Ministry politics involved."
"That's bollocks, Harry, and you know it. You'll do a better job than all of them."
"I didn't do a very good job getting those tunnels sealed," Harry frowned. "He still got out."
"You did your best," said Ginny and Mrs. Weasley at the same time. Hermione hid a face behind her napkin. Clearly Harry's best hadn't been good enough.
Lucius - free. She had been trying not to think of it - at her parents' home and today. She had an outfit to plan. A confrontation. She didn't care about Lucius - he was a problem for later. For other people.
"D'you think Draco got him out himself?" George asked. "Lucius was discovered missing on Christmas Day. So maybe they coordinated it for the night before. Holiday, guards distracted. Makes sense."
Harry put a finger to his lips, considering.
"No," Hermione said loudly. They all turned to look at her. Oops.
"How can you be sure?" Mr. Weasley sounded skeptical.
This was awkward. She felt her cheeks turn the color of hot coals. "Ah. Um. Well. See -"
Ginny to the rescue with a speaking glance at Harry. "Draco was at home that night. With his mother. Right, Harry? The Ministry confirmed it."
"Erm. Yeah. Malfoy - has an alibi." Harry looked at Hermione.
"Huh," scoffed Ron. "I think you might want to double-check that. If he didn't get his father out, who did?"
"Any number of people." Hermione couldn't help herself. "The Carrows, for some. They were . . . rumored . . . to be the leaders of this little movement."
"But now it's Malfoy," said Ron. There was a hint of fire in his eyes.
"Maybe Pansy's going to be his date on New Year," Hermione said, between gritted teeth. "They'd make a lovely match."
"They've already been a match." Ron was seething. "Or didn't he mention that? They fucked each other -"
"Ronald Weasley, language!" protested his mother.
"On and off. For years," he finished. "She's done with him. He did something unforgivable."
Hermione did not want to have this conversation - not with eight pairs of eyes on her and eight frowns. George in particular looked disgusted. But - she had to know. "What did he do?"
Ron laughed. "He really doesn't tell you anything, does he? He shagged her cousin."
Pansy's cousin. "When?"
He shrugged. "Year ago at least, I think it was. Right before Pans started going out with Alonso Carrow."
Fleur interrupted. "This feels like a private conversation," she suggested gently. She reached across the table and set a hand over Hermione's. "Are you alright? You look-"
"I am fine," she insisted. But she was standing. "If you'll excuse me, I need to visit the loo."
She took her time, staring at herself in the mirror for long minutes while the sink ran. She fiddled with her hair, tucking it behind her ears and pulling it back out. How much did they all know? Clearly some had been told she'd been - involved - with Malfoy, in some capacity. Molly and Arthur were holding back from saying anything bad about him. But the extent of their awareness was unclear. Maybe better that she didn't know. One less thing to feel anxious about. She could hear strains of conversation about the Death Eaters' plans. She cracked the bathroom door.
"They probably want to overthrow Kingsley," said George.
Harry was ruminating. "It's possible I guess. Influence Ministry policy. Maneuver Lucius as some kind of leader."
"I think they just want to have their stupid parties, mates," countered Ron. "Pansy never mentioned -"
The way he said her name - so familiar. Was that how she sounded when she said "Malfoy"? She hoped not. It was an obvious tell.
Wanting to avoid it all, Hermione left the loo and slipped out the back door, into the garden. She needed some air. And it was a nice night - cold and clear.
The stars twinkled cheerfully. A reminder, perhaps - to keep it in perspective. She hurt today, yes - but life would continue. Time marches on. You won't always feel like this. She knew that, objectively. She had to learn to believe it, in her heart. Simply had to let the days, weeks, months to come do their job. Remove her from the source of the pain - and healing would be inevitable.
Except in this hour she found herself imagining where Malfoy was - what he was doing.
Was he with his father? Slapping each other's backs, reminiscing, celebrating their success? Some part of her thought not. He was too calculated for that, to risk being seen with an escapee so quickly. No, they would bide their time before reconnecting.
He was probably at home, preparing. Bossing Kirby around, testing the wines, coordinating arrangements with his mother.
Or maybe he was with another witch. He'd lied about everything else. Having a lover was likely to be one more thing. Pansy's cousin, perhaps. That was news. Hermione wondered what she looked like. Surely she'd be pretty, like Pansy. Hermione could see it, this faceless, nameless witch in his lap. Malfoy, grinning up at her while she ground on him and mussed his hair. She would probably wear posh lingerie and perfume, scratching him with long nails. Gods - would he actually have a date to this party? She hadn't considered that. If he did -
"Hermione?" Ginny was there, placing a hand on her shoulder, as they both looked up at the sky.
"Please don't touch me, Gin." She couldn't stand kind touch, not right now. It was liable to make her cry.
Ginny removed her hand. "Of course, I'm sorry. I don't want to disturb you but I had a thought come to mind, listening to Harry and Ron discuss the plans."
"Go ahead."
"It sounds like you're hell-bent on going in there in a few days to confront Malfoy. I get it, I suppose. And clearly, it's what you want, so I won't stop you. But - what are you planning to say to him?"
There it was - the question no one had asked.
Hermione's heart thudded. She needed to practice the words.
"I'm going to tell him that I - how I feel about him."
Silence.
She finally turned her head, to see Ginny's surprise. "That you lov-"
"How I feel," she said, cutting Ginny off. Still unspeakable. To anyone but him.
Ginny dashed away a tear.
"Not what you expected?" Hermione smiled sadly.
"No."
"Good. Hopefully he won't expect it either."
"Are you hoping Draco will-"
"Say it back? Redeem himself? Explain it all away?" She laughed. The sound was heartbreak. "That's all over. No, Ginny, my instincts tell me the truth will distract him more than anything else. And while I'm telling him, and hopefully catching him off guard, Harry's little fan club can do whatever reconnaissance they think they need."
"So it's a diversion?"
"It's more than that. Honestly, I want to punish him. I have to believe that it will hurt. Some part of him, anyway."
"Leave him with regrets?"
"More like give him something to think about when he's sitting in Azkaban for helping his father escape."
Ginny frowned. "You say that like it's what you want."
"I'm very angry. I know it - that I'm lashing out. But I'm also trying to be practical. Malfoy misled me for months. I don't know why. I doubt he'll tell me, knowing him as I do, but maybe he will. I hope so. If he doesn't, though, I hope that me being honest will be punishment or cause for reflection. At the least, it will make me feel better - to say it."
"It's understandable to lash out, I think." Ginny sighed. "I'm sorry for the role I played. If I'd never asked him to come back to your flat, after the cave -"
"No." Hermione was emphatic. "Let that go. He would have come to me, eventually. I know he would have. There was something between us already. You just - hastened it along. And helped me in the process. I did need him, though I was loathe to admit it."
Ginny shrugged. "I wish it had been someone else."
"Me too. But - we play the cards we're dealt. Maybe with someone else the healing wouldn't have worked at all and I would have died or something."
They both thought about that for a moment. Ginny wiped away a few more tears.
"You're so strong, Hermione. I love you."
"Thanks. I love you too."
They smiled at each other before Ginny said she'd leave her alone for a bit longer. She went back inside.
Hermione looked out over the garden. Up again at the stars. The dark and cold and loneliness prompted her to think of a time that had been the opposite. She missed the sun and the warmth and the beauty of the moors, the day she'd left the cave with Malfoy. She wondered if she'd ever see that view again. Probably not, now that you know who owns it.
Stop. She had to get better at controlling her thoughts. So she practiced what she'd done in the cave, with the terrible visions. She wrested them away from him and his body and his hands and his Dark Mark - and onto other things. Things like how she should do her hair on New Year, and whether to wear perfume, and the dress she needed to procure.
Three days later, on the last day of the year, Hermione accepted a mini-victory from her friends and Harry's aurors - in the form of wide eyes and stunned silence. It had taken a whirlwind of activity and Ginny dropping everything to assist, but they'd done it: they'd turned Hermione into the loveliest possible version of herself.
She'd had her nails buffed and polished, her skin scrubbed and oiled, every hair that wasn't on her head or eyebrows or eyelashes carefully magicked away. Her face was so covered in creams that it glowed.
Her reflection in the mirror was particularly impressive because she wasn't sleeping well. Ginny's couch was not especially comfortable. Moreover, it was hard to relax into sleep knowing that Harry and Gin were surely entwined together and casting silencing charms at Gin's bedroom door just a few feet away. A couple of days before, feeling tired, Hermione dug Malfoy's potion kit out of her knapsack. She'd packed it just in case. Found, and took, a Pepperup potion, as her fingers lingered over the case. But it reminded her too much of him, his pretend concern. She shoved the empty bottle back in the kit and kicked her knapsack to a corner.
Hermione hoped that there would be a resolution tonight. An end to this saga. Perhaps she'd get lucky and Lucius would be there - which would give the aurors cause to arrest the lot of them and throw them all into Azkaban. Then she could go back to her flat, and her life, and pretend none of this ever happened. If, though, Lucius wasn't there, as she expected - she could create her own resolution. She would confront Malfoy and try to get some answers - answers sufficient enough that she could begin to move on.
But, first - they had to get in.
She'd let Harry fuss about that part. He didn't have to concern himself with his appearance, since he wouldn't be attending. He could focus on the necessaries with the Ministry and the backup plans.
Instead Hermione had focused on her dress, her shoes, and the glamour charm she'd use to disguise herself from Malfoy and his friends until the right moment.
The glamour was a tricky one. She hadn't tried it before. It had taken several hours of frustrating practice the day after they went to the Burrow, between dress hunting expeditions.
"Going okay?" Ginny had asked, arms full of groceries, returned from the shop.
"You tell me," Hermione said. She'd just cast her best one yet. She turned away from the mirror she'd propped up against the arm of Ginny's couch, which she'd been watching intently as she worked.
Ginny nearly dropped the bags. "Wow - yes. That's incredible."
It was an impressive bit of spellwork, the glamour. It concentrated the magic in one spot, changing how others viewed Hermione's face - leaving her body unaffected.
"What does it look like?"
Ginny stepped forward, examining her carefully. "It's you, I suppose - but also not. It's hard to explain. I think, because I know you, I can still tell that it's you if I concentrate very carefully. Only if I focus on my memories and what I recognize. But if I didn't know you very, very well, you would appear to me just as a generically beautiful woman. I couldn't quite describe you, after. Except as 'pretty.'"
"So - vaguely remarkable, but not specifically recognizable?"
"Yes."
Perfect. Hermione turned this way and that in front of the mirror, testing the charm. It really was neat. To the Death Eaters, she'd just look like a random witch in a nice dress. They'd notice only that she was acceptably attractive to be admitted to their space. Then, when she was face-to-face with Malfoy, she could remove the glamour, and let him be shocked.
She slept better that night, comfortable in her expectation that his mouth would fall open. And that he'd be angry at her intrusion into his home, among his friends. She'd like to make him angry. "Kirby invited me" - that would be a good line. But she didn't want to get Kirby in trouble. Drats. She'd have to think of something else. Maybe she'd get to see his mother. "Nice to meet you - love your pool." She was amusing herself, a welcome distraction from the ever-present pain, when she drifted off.
Fleur came over, the morning of the party, and they set up shop in Ginny's bedroom and made a day of it. Ginny served flowery liqueur drinks and croissants while she perched on an extra chair, watching Fleur's handiwork. And - Fleur was an artist. She spent hours doing Hermione's hair until it was perfection - nary a strand out of place.
"Effortlessly elegant," said Ginny wonderingly, and Fleur snorted.
"So effortless eet only took four hours."
She'd pinned it, the curls laid over each other and meeting in a high chignon. Tendrils framed Hermione's face and neck. Fleur taught her the release spell - Offero - for when she got home. "You just fleek your vand like this," she demonstrated, "and eet will come undone."
When Hermione's hair was finished they ate dinner - "You need your energy," Ginny insisted, shoving takeaway at her - and then Fleur applied her makeup. Another painstaking process while Ginny flipped through A Witch's Guide to Cosmic Cosmetics, practicing some of its tricks on herself. Hermione didn't look until the end. When Fleur handed her a mirror, she blinked.
She was the most beautiful she'd ever been.
"Thank you, Fleur. You've performed a miracle."
Hermione shoo'd them out to the living room so she could have a moment alone to slip into the dress. That was a miracle unto itself. They'd scoured London for what she wanted - and found something even better, in a high-end Muggle boutique. A few alterations at a Diagon Alley tailor, to add a pocket for her wand, and to lower the neckline, and it was finished. She was satisfied. It did what she needed it to do.
She walked out into a room of anxious chatter. Harry was there in his work robes, holding Ginny's hand. Several of his most trusted aurors were with him, stepping on each other to introduce themselves to Fleur. Ron had just arrived, in dress robes and a tux. His hair was brushed back like Pansy, presumably, had taught him. He looked - great, actually.
But when Hermione appeared they all fell silent, staring.
It lasted long enough to be awkward.
"Blimey, Hermione," said Ron finally. "You're going to kill him."
That's the goal.
"Well, then. Let's be off."