Chapter Eleven: Mudbloods and Murmurs

The next few days passed by in a blur for Rob, he couldn't help but worry about what was happening back home. His family and Harry and Hermione must've been looking for him, he just prayed that they knew he was still alive. Regulus worked long hours, so Ron started helping the rest in their research into different magical items created by the Hogwarts founders.

"Looks like Hufflepuff invented an early toothbrush?" Sirius said, his eyes unfocused from reading. "No—sorry that was her cousin."

Andromeda turned out to be very helpful, and even showed Ron a couple of dueling tricks that he could use. In exchange, Ron helped Andromeda care for her elder sister during the day. Narcissa Malfoy scared the daylight out of Ron the first time he saw her come down the stairs. Her blonde hair was tangled in a mess, and her eyes unfocused. If she knew any of them were there, she didn't show it.

"My sister's husband was executed by the Dark Lord himself," Andromeda explained. "He was caught making plans to flee the country. Poor lamb can't even bring herself to eat most days … and her son was sent away to the academy, he's only allowed to come home during breaks." Narcissa hummed absentmindedly next to them.

Ron learned that Hermione was alive, that at least stopped her from appearing in his dreams cold and vacant as Peter Pettigrew had been when—Ron felt very sick at the thought. Was it wrong to hate Harry, this version of him, for everything he'd put them through? Everything Ron'd seen so far told him that this world tightened its grip around a person's free will like a noose, he couldn't get Delphi's scream out of his head. But at the same time, he wasn't sure what he'd do in Harry's place.

"I know the only three parselmouths alive in the entirety of western Europe," Regulus said, more bitter than angry. He flipped the locket over again to look at its emerald encrusted surface. "And all three would probably have to kill me if I asked them to open it." He looked up at James, hopeful. "You wouldn't happen to—"

"I can't speak to snakes." James snapped, clearly upset about the question. Regulus scowled and made another note in his journal.

"So—so Nagini is a person, right?" Ron tried to change the subject. "In my world she's just a snake you-know-who feeds dead bodies to."

"Yes, well, I can't confirm she hasn't eaten people." Regulus coughed. "I don't really know her all that well, neither of them talk much, and out of the two siblings I'd rather avoid her. You're right though Ron. She can turn into a snake—she's a maledictus, it means she has a blood curse," he added, acknowledging the look of confusion on Ron's face. "Eventually she'll transform permanently, but for now its drastically affected her magic, killing is pretty much all she can do to stay useful ..."

"All three of them seem to have run into accidents, then?" James said, Ron could see his hand twitching in rage. "One dead, one cursed, and one with a massive scar across his head ..." He counted on his fingers.

"Shocking," Regulus leered sarcastically. "Did you really expect the Dark Lord to be less firm? He's not exactly the type of parent that'd check under the bed for monsters, or take his kids to the zoo for an outing."

Eventually it was decided that James and Lupin would break into Gringotts, Sirius found a description of a cup once owned by Helga Hufflepuff that matched a present Regulus saw Riddle give to Bellatrix Lestrange. Ron tried to distract himself when they left, helping Andromeda clear out a pixie nest from the attic. He didn't want to look at the clock, and confirm how agonizingly long it'd been since they left. He tried to remember the steps his mother taught him, covering his nose and mouth before he sprayed the noxious gas onto the nest. It seemed like another life entirely, when he'd done the very same thing earlier in the summer. At around one in the morning, Ron heard the door slam shut.

"We got it—we actually got it," a triumphant voice called from downstairs. Ron raced back down to see James and Lupin, apparently unharmed, and holding a small golden cup. It seemed innocuous, certainly moreso than the locket, although Ron suspected that had more to do with their original owners than what Riddle had done to the artifacts. James smiled for the first time all week, panting as he threw himself down in one of the arm chairs.

"It was genius, Remus managed to make one of the guard dragons go haywire, they didn't even see us slip in—" James said, "and even better, we found your older brother Bill. He's working at the bank!"

Hermione lay back on a plain bunk, further in the dormitory hall she could hear some of the other students milling about. They were excitedly discussing their weekend plans, some of them were even going home … Hermione listened bitterly, feeling the burn in her arm from the tracking curse they'd placed on her. Dora, or Tonks as she'd told Hermione she preferred, apologized as she placed it on her. But it didn't matter, she couldn't leave the school without raining hell down on herself. She'd cried the first several nights, but that'd been an awful mistake. She still felt the bruises from the beating she received from several sixth-year girls.

It was an insult, these people gleefully killed her parents before she turned eleven, and now she was expected to become a solider for them. She'd heard horror stories about the London school for years, they were all true; but it was the blind acceptance everyone around her seemed to have that really got under her skin. She knew she wasn't the only one the aurors had falsified blood statuses for, she suspected there wouldn't be enough students if they'd stood by their word and only took in purebloods and the very best of half-bloods. But she had no true way of knowing who was who …

Someone roughly kicked the foot of her bed, Hermione looked up to see one of the prefect boys. "Visitor here to see you, Granger, get up," he looked gauntly at her. Hermoine got to her feet, hating herself for doing what she was told.

"You're not supposed to be in the girls' dormitory, Malfoy," one of the fifth-years shouted, her voice grated on Hermione's ears like nails on a chalkboard. It seemed to irritate the boy too.

"Not your concern, Parkinson," he said, turning to leave.

"Eugh, its bad enough they let you live," Parkinson sent a curse flying over his ear, Malfoy turned to face her. "But now you think you're above the rules too? What are you going to do, call your boyfriend?" she tried to dig in the last words like a knife. Malfoy sent a red curse flying towards Parkinson, and she crumpled to the ground.

"Move," he instructed Hermione, rounding back on her as the other students continued to hiss insults at the two of them. This she could work with … she needed allies here … Malfoy led her down the hall, towards several of the classrooms. The London School was significantly smaller than Hogwarts, split between two old muggle office buildings. Malfoy jerked his head, ushering her into the open door of a classroom. He didn't follow her in, but instead slammed the door shut behind her. Hermione's mouth ran dry, it took every ounce of restraint not to attack her visitor.

Harry surveyed her coldy, he'd drawn a chair up to one of the tables in the middle of the room. She couldn't believe he dared look her in the eyes, after everything he'd put her through …

"Haven't seen your ginger minion running around," she snapped. She didn't care who he was, there was nothing more he could do to her, nothing more to take. "What, is he too good to go here too?"

"Take a seat, Granger," there was no malice in his voice.

"No," she had her wand, she could do it, "no, I know exactly who you are, everyone here does. What's to stop me from killing you before your daddy comes to save you?" The boy laughed humorlessly.

"Technically speaking, I'm not supposed to be here," he ignored her threat. "Have a seat … please …" he added the last word silkily. Hermione weighed her options; she could listen to what he had to say and then kill him. She took a seat at the desk opposite to Riddle.

"I know the last few days have been hard for you," Harry said, it was almost easy for her to believe that there was supposed to be sympathy in his voice. "But I promise, it does get easier, and you're a ruthless enough witch to survive." He tapped his fingers on the table, as if debating whether he wanted to say more.

"I have a favor to ask of you," he continued. He spread out four different wanted posters onto the desk.

Hermione was relieved to see James, Sirius and Remus, but she hadn't expected to see the ginger boy. Didn't he say his name was Weasley, or something? Hermione felt her heart tighten. Was this going to be an interrogation? They'd already questioned her back at the ministry, thankfully there was just verituserum on hand then, but now … she felt a slight pain in her eye.

"Oh no, no its not like that," Harry said quickly. She realized he was a legillimens, clearly not a very good one, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to tell what he was doing. She tried to close off her mind, it was easy to do. She still had so much to grieve …

"What do you want?" She asked quietly, focusing her energy on closing her mind to him. Harry narrowed his eyes, picking up on what she was doing.

"I have connections," he breathed, "I can make things … easier for you here ... I just need to know where they went. Please, it's important."

"I don't know—and even if I did, I wouldn't—"

"I'm not going to hurt you if you don't tell me," Harry said, interrupting her. "I don't like—I'm not like Bella. Look, its just an offer." He placed a shining silver sickle on the table. "If you want to talk, you can flip the coin, it'll burn and I'll come find you. See, I've got a duplicate." He took a second sickle out of his pocket. Hermione stared at the sickle on the table. He'd already tricked her once, what good was there in doing it again?

"Just think about it, Granger," Harry said. He stood and began to make his way towards the door. Out in the hall she could hear the two boys talking together.

She grabbed the sickle and stuffed in in her pocket, at the very least she could trade it for something with another student.