Chapter Sixteen
Hermione called in sick to work the next day sending a hastily scrawled note about a disastrous shellfish experience that was wreaking havoc on her gastrointestinal system as her cover story. Ordinarily she would have powered through. After all, she'd spent countless workdays sleep deprived from a previous night's reading session which had gotten away from her, but Hermione just couldn't face a day of sitting at work pretending everything was fine.
She certainly didn't feel fine.
She felt sick.
She had known the Dark Lord's supporters after the war had a rough time re-adjusting and that those who were publicly known were treated harshly but she had never expected it to have gone so far and so unchecked.
Did Harry or Ron know about this?
There had never been a whisper of this at the ministry or in the papers. Could things have truly gotten so dangerous without anyone noticing?
If Hermione hadn't just spent the last evening scraping what was left of Malfoy off of the stone floor of his study, if she hadn't seen the fear and desperation in Zabini and Nott's faces as they watched him nearly die, she wouldn't have been inclined to believe them.
But she did believe them, and under the numb acceptance and disbelief a small spark of anger was beginning to burn.
She had risked her life nearly every year since she was 11 years old, mainly to keep Harry and Ron alive and from expulsion but also for the greater good of the wizarding world. She had been harrassed, abused, tortured and disfigured all for the sake of a better Wizarding World. She had not given up her childhood and drenched herself in war for the very people she sacrificed everything for to turn around and behave the same way as the people she had been willing to die to defeat. Perhaps worst of all, they were harming people indiscriminately, people who she had never even heard mentioned during any of the trails. People who were probably only guilty by association or circumstance.
Crookshanks yowled from the kitchen. It was well into the afternoon, Hermione had yet to get out of bed and Crookshanks was clearly displeased with the cruel disregard for his breakfast.
Hermione begrudgingly threw off her blankets and made her way to the kitchen. The weather for late August had been warm and clear but today the sky outside reflected her mood. Thick dark clouds roiled across the sky heavy with the promise of rain.
She fed Crookshanks, ignoring his reproachful looks as he ate and set to making herself a cup of coffee and a bit of toast. Her stomach was in knots from hunger, anxiety and going to bed with only half a teacup of brandy in it. Toast seemed like a safe option.
What Hermione really wanted to do was talk to Harry, to demand some answers. Yet she knew in return Harry would want to know why she was asking about Astoria Greengrass and a handful of other cold cases he probably had never even heard of. And as much as Hermione wanted to talk to Harry, she knew he was downright terrible at keeping secrets from Ron and Ron would not be understanding in the least.
The war had changed them all in different ways but it had made Ron harder and colder. She didn't blame him, the war had changed everything for him, torn his family apart, but where once her words could reach him, make him see another point of view, he now seemed unreachable. How many times had the discussions between the three of them about the trails dissolved into screaming matches? How many times had she watched his heart harden and flinched at his indifference? His temper and lack of empathy had been the final nail in the coffin of their brief relationship.
She could practically hear Ron's raging if he knew she was helping Nott, Malfoy and Zabini. See him sneering as she tried to explain and reason with him. She knew Ron was one of the Aurors who took vicious delight in the random raids and inquiries into the Slytherins from their year, would he retaliate against them more harshly because of her involvement?
It was uncomfortable and unsettling to be feeling protective of the Slytherins but how could she not be after last night? Zabini's face, agonised and pleading, Nott's anxious and terrified and Malfoy…
She left her half eaten toast and took her coffee to the spare bedroom, it was no use stewing over her feelings on the matter. She had agreed to help them and she intended to do just that, she was nothing if not a woman of her word and she knew just where to start. Books.
A few minutes later she emerged from the room with her arms laden with books on potion making, ignoring Crookshanks who was helping himself to the butter from her uneaten toast (Probably in retaliation for his delayed breakfast) she sat down on her living room floor and began reading.
"I heard someone did the samba with some shady shellfish and is paying the price. But fear not! I brought non-seafood based soup and crackers!" Ginny sang as she brushed soot off herself and stepped into Hermione's living room. "You know, I love what you've done with the place, very homey and all that but when I'm ill I tend to not to empty my bookcases onto the floor so I can absorb the information by osmosis." she said dryly looking down at her friend who was laying on her back on the floor reading, stacks of books piled around her.
"Don't be silly Gin, I only took half of a bookcase off the shelf." She sighed, dropping the book she was reading to her chest. "And I'm not really ill, I was just playing hooky from work. Who told you I was home sick?"
"Harry sent me an owl, Ron is out with another patrol for the week so he stopped by your office to see if you wanted to grab a coffee but June said you were home ill." Ginny navigated her way past the books and into the kitchen.
"Thank you for bringing me the soup and sorry you went through all this trouble just for me not to be actually sick Gin. You didn't skip practice on my account did you?" Hermione asked guiltily.
"In this weather? Not a chance, they cancelled practice once the winds picked up. Coach doesn't want to take any risks before we play Romania in a week." Ginny said from inside the refrigerator where she was putting away the soup. "I'm glad you're taking some time off, you haven't taken a day for yourself since I got Dragon Pox two years ago and you stayed with me because Harry was off on some top secret mission or whatever. Though I do wish you would have spent it doing something other than reading, we could have gone and gotten our nails done or- HERMIONE JEAN ELIZABETH GRANGER!"
Hermione, who had just gotten off the floor to stretch, jumped a foot in the air as Ginny bellowed her full name in a terrifyingly similar fashion to Molly Weasley. She turned to Ginny, concerned and scared at being yelled at.
Ginny's mouth was hanging open in utter disbelief. " .YOU. WEARING?"
Hermione didn't understand and looked down confused, she was wearing her pyjamas but that wasn't anything for Ginny to be screaming about. They frequently changed together at one or the other houses for girls-nights-out so there was no reason for her to get bent out of shape about a Weird Sisters t-shirt (Hermione was fairly certain it had been Ginny's at one point) and joggers.
Hermione's brain went blank.
She wasn't wearing a Weird Sisters t-shirt and joggers.
She was wearing a slightly too large grey t-shirt and black shorts that went past her knees. Her mind spun back to the previous evening and the blood drained from her face.
She had gotten Malfoy's blood all over her shirt and joggers.
He had complained about her ruining his fancy chairs.
Zabini had gotten her new clothing.
New clothing from Malfoy's closet, consisting of a Quiddich shirt with Malfoy's name and team number on it and some shorts which were too large for her.
Clothing which she hadn't bothered to change when she got home because she was too exhausted.
Clothing which she had been too preoccupied to notice this morning.
Which meant she was now standing in her living room in front of Ginny Weasley in Malfoy's Quidditch shirt.
"Well bollocks-" She made a mad dash for her bedroom, barely getting inside and locking the door behind her before Ginny was pounding on it.
"Hermione! You absolute lunatic! That had better not be what I think it is!" Ginny yelled through the door.
"One minute!" Hermione yelled back, stripping off the offending clothing and throwing them onto her bed. She grabbed the nearest clothing she could throw on and struggled into them. Shoving the t-shirt and shorts into one of her pillow cases to hide them she braced herself and opened the door.
Ginny stood in the doorway looking torn between utter glee and disapproval.
"Did mine eyes deceive me or were you just wearing a Malfoy shirt?" Ginny asked, eyes narrowed.
It was no use lying, about that at least. "Yeah, um- June picked it up for me as a joke. You know, after what happened with the whole drinks with Malfoy and his entourage." She tried to edge past Ginny.
"Nice try Hermione" Ginny crossed her arms over her chest blocking Hermione's escape route. "You seem to forget that I was once a Quidditch player at Hogwarts, but more importantly I was a hormone driven teenager who obsessed over All the hot players on the House teams and Malfoy was certainly one of the hottest albeit slimiest players. So it's safe to say I know my team shirts and THAT was Malfoy's fifth year team shirt. Shame he never got to wear it much since he was off betraying the entire school." She said idly. "Now kindly march yourself to the living room and explain how you came to be wearing Malfoy's Quidditch clothes as pyjamas"
A