*Posting this again as I know some of you didn't get an alert that Firebird had been updated. It is SO frustrating because I know lots of you enjoy this fic. Please let me know if you got alerted for this update rather than Friday's just so I know that more of you got it. Because this is not the first time this has happened with FFN, yesterday I posted the first chapter on AO3 and I will update it there roughly once every 1-2 weeks until it's up to date. I will still post here but I feel like AO3 is more reliable so I wanted you all to have that option. If you are a reader over there, I'd love it if you showed the fic a bit of initial support. Thank you.*
A/N Happy Halloween! (Or, as you will soon see, early Christmas!)
Thank you as always to everyone who's reading,following, favouriting and reviewing this fic. I'm so happy to give you all a relatively timely update again. Last time I tried to update on Halloween weekend didn't post it properly and then I lost my mojo for about 18 months. Fingers crossed that history doesn't repeat itself!
Enjoy!
Christmas.
It had been many, many years since Antonin had woken up and known that it was Christmas morning. During his previous stint in Azkaban, he'd barely been able to tell what season it was, let alone the day. But this time he knew without a doubt.
Sixteen years.
Sixteen years since he had spent a Christmas outside of this hell. Antonin didn't consider himself to be a sentimental man, but the weight of that lost time seemed to hang over his shoulders, pulling him down, down into a depression that he struggled to rise from. Memories of happier times - so long ago now - played over in his mind as he lay in his bed. He had no reason to rise, no purpose to his day. This cell was all he had and all he'd see, just like every other day.
Apart from when she was here.
His zhar-ptitsa.
What would she be doing today? His memories shifted, showing her in his place: tearing open the pile of presents, relishing the sumptuous feast that had been laid out in his dining room, dodging snowballs bewitched by friends, sipping hot chocolate by the roaring fire and watching the twinkling lights on the magnificent tree… What a pile of schmaltzy shit, he sneered. She could keep it - her and the rest of the fucking world.
Granger probably wouldn't even give him a moment's thought.
Antonin gnashed his teeth against the bitterness of the voice in his head but his mood sank further nonetheless. He absolutely didn't want her to pity him, to feel sorry for him sitting all alone in his cell at Christmas. But he still hoped that thoughts of him interrupted her day, making her pause amidst all the festivities, making her forget herself for a moment, making her cheeks flush or her breath hitch. He'd been hoping the same ever since she'd walked out of here six days ago.
It had certainly been a memorable visit.
Antonin had realised very quickly that Granger wasn't quite her usual self, that she didn't have her detached aura in place. It hadn't exactly been difficult to miss from the way she'd covertly stared at him from the moment she entered. He didn't know the reason for her lowered defences but he was glad that she wasn't a raging banshee this time (even though that occasion had been more entertaining than her usual restrained visits). There was a quiet intensity brewing inside of her, a line of tension across her shoulders that he couldn't figure out. It appeared to be linked to him but not caused by him. He could've pressed for an explanation, he probably should have, but he'd uncharacteristically managed to get lost in his own head for a few minutes. Even if he hadn't, the fact that she was a day early for her visit meant that his touch wasn't as potent to her and she'd be less distractible, less open to persuasion. He'd decided to be patient, certain that another more favourable opportunity would arise. So he had chosen to simply enjoy having her under his touch.
He hadn't regretted the decision for a moment.
When she wasn't shutting herself away behind mental protections during her visits, her face was normally expressive enough even with her eyes closed. Having her matching his gaze, seeing every spark, flutter and widening of her eyes, elevated the experience in a way he had never imagined possible. And knowing that she'd truly been in the moment with him, that she wasn't just lost in the effects of the curse, but acutely aware of what he was doing and accepting it, accepting him, was hugely satisfying.
Licks of desire curled around his lower belly at the memories: Granger biting down on her lower lip just after her tongue poked out to wetten them, her chest breathlessly rising and falling with soft pants, the plain desire that would flash in her eyes when she couldn't hold it back, her fingers clutching against the back of his hands to keep him close… Fuck. Why did he like to watch her? Because she was fucking beautiful like that: under his touch and at his mercy. When she was his.
His.
He was the one who had marked her, his magic was still in her (he'd felt it in her scar, after all) and he was the only one who could keep her alive. She was Antonin's - not Potter's.
Fury flashed through him at the thought of them together, of Potter's hands on her, of Potter touching what didn't belong to him.
Antonin had called her Potter's whore once, back in the early days, but the truth was he hadn't actually known the nature of their relationship and had just thrown the insult at her because he was sure it would offend her righteous honour. The Potter brat never came up in the conversations they'd shared since and now he wondered if he'd missed what was right under his nose all along. Granger had hit him with the metaphorical stunner just as they were starting to wind her visit down, mentioning that she was attending Slughorn's party with Potter as casual as anything. Antonin had gone rigid, staring at her as she gazed innocently back. His attentions at her neck and shoulders had faltered, and she pressed her slender fingers against the backs of his hands, silently urging him to continue.
Something strong and possessive reared up inside him, firing up his blood. So she wanted his fucking touch, did she? Wanted to use him and discard him so that she could dance and laugh and pretend everything was perfect with her twat of a date without Antonin getting in the way? Wanted to let Potter clumsily fondle under her dressrobes without Antonin's curse making her fucking uncomfortable?
Frustration bubbled angrily in his gut because, as much as he hated it, if that was what she wanted then there was fuck-all that he could do about it. He had no choice but to remain within these four walls and let life shit on him, as it always seemed to.
But if she thought that she could have it all her own way, that she could push him aside so easily, then she was wrong. Sure, she could walk out of this hellhole but a part of him would always be with her no matter how much she wished it wasn't, and he wasn't about to let her forget that. She could go to the fucking party with Potter but she wouldn't be able to get away from Antonin.
"You and Potter," Antonin stated, his voice barely more than a growl. He removed his hands from her neck and shoulders, much to her evident disappointment, leaving the flesh there almost indecently exposed with her discarded tie and open, ruffled collar. She nodded silently at his question and he reached for the smooth skin of her forearms, trailing his fingers teasingly along them. "What are you wearing?"
There was a quick intake of breath and her eyes narrowed. He shrugged, lifting her right arm up slightly as he ran his fingers along it so that her own fingers brushed his shoulder. "It's an innocent question," he claimed.
She swallowed - with nerves, tension or excitement, he couldn't tell. "My dress robes are pink," she told him and seemed unwilling to share any other details.
He nodded calmly. Then, without missing a beat, he smoothly put his mouth to the soft skin inside her wrist and sucked. He felt the initial tug as she went completely stiff underneath him but in her shock she didn't attempt to pull her arm away. Antonin finished with a slight nip of his teeth that made her jerk beneath him, and a quick soothing caress with his tongue, then he lifted his head to view his handiwork. The previously creamy skin was reddening quickly and would soon blossom into a beautiful blend of colours. "That should go well with your robes," he told her, relishing the astonishment on her face. She snatched her arm back, staring at where he'd marked her.
He hoped Potter saw it - both saw it and understood that it was a clear proclamation of what belonged to Antonin Dolohov.
But it was more important that Granger saw it. That she kept noticing the mark and remembering that he was the one who put it there. Obviously, it would fade after a few days but she could cover it with a glamour spell (though it would be tricky to do given that he'd chosen her wand arm) or she could get some bruise salve from the Hospital Wing (but there was a very good chance the Healer witch there would know exactly how the mark had come about). Antonin didn't care if she got rid of it. Even if she could no longer see the mark, she'd always remember that he'd put it there. Every time that part of her wrist peeked out beyond her robes when she was writing an essay, leaning over to grab some food in the Great Hall or reaching for her beloved Potter, she would be reminded of Antonin.
She had stared at the mark for some time, only coming back to herself when he pulled the fabric of her sleeve down, nearly covering the mark (but not quite) as he buttoned the cuff. There was an angry flash in her eyes and she opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could speak. "Now I can pretend that part of me actually gets to leave here," he said, deliberately making his voice soft. "Gets to see a bit of life and light."
Her mouth remained open but she said nothing in response, her anger forestalled as she clearly tried to figure him out. Antonin had to force himself not to smirk because that would be counter-productive to the doubt he'd stirred up in her.
Granger had said very little before she left, not even to snap at him about boundaries or accuse him of taking things too far, which Antonin could only see as a victory and a mark of how far they had progressed. Even though she had the presence of mind to push his hands away when he tried to help her straighten up her clothing, it was also clear that she was caught up in her own head, very much occupied with her own thoughts. He was glad for that, too, and hoped that thoughts of him and their charged encounter had plagued her ever since. It would be retribution for his own recent mental distractions.
Do you lie to yourself that it's all been worth it?
Antonin growled as the unwelcome voice, her voice, piped up once more in his head as it had done incessantly since she'd had the insolence to utter those words. The question had plagued him, slithering into his mind at all times of the day and night, hounding him for an answer. He'd avoided responding to her at the time because he'd gone on the offensive, counterattacking and putting her in her place. But if she'd forced an answer out of him then of course he would've fucking said that it was worth it - like he'd have said anything else!
But inside the privacy of his head, in the loneliness of his bleak cell, the question niggled away at him, taunted him, along with some of her other ludicrous remarks. You've never questioned? Never doubted? Never wished your life had been different?
Antonin shook his head, trying to dislodge them but they persisted. If you'd known that serving him would lead to a lifetime of imprisonment with ceaseless nightmares and mental torture, would you have still let him brand you?
He clutched at his head, fingers digging brutally into his scalp. I'm proof that you've been lied to from the moment you were born… I scare you because if his cause is built on a lie, if you admit the truth to yourself, then what have all your years of sacrifice been for?
Antonin thrashed on the bed, letting out a tortured, frustrated yell. No! He didn't want to think about this. Her words were poison, trying to strip away his identity, eating away at the core of him. He was strong. He wouldn't give in. The Dark Lord would free Antonin once more and he would reap the rewards of his loyalty.
Never wished your life had been different? Antonin flinched. That question had persisted more than the others recently - since she'd brought up the Slug Club.
He had forgotten all about those meetings in Slughorn's office: the small dinners, the parlour games, the occasional grand party, the intellectual discussions and appearances from respected guests - and Sluggy schmoozing through it all and encouraging them to develop social connections. Being in Slytherin House was certainly no guarantee for being chosen as a member: Slughorn certainly had his favourites but that wasn't at all determined by the crest adorning your robes. Talent or power, and those related to it - that's what would see you invited to become part of the Slug Club. For Antonin, his impressive spellwork and end-of-year exam results saw him attending meetings by Third Year, the youngest amongst his peers.
Never wished your life had been different?
The Potions Master had been delighted to hear that Antonin was interested in spell creation, and offered his full support. He'd recommended books, name-dropped other witches and wizards he knew in the craft and promised to make introductions. Slughorn had been lining up a successful career for him. Of course, the professor obviously hoped to benefit from it in some way, but that's just how it was with Sluggy. However, by that point Antonin's course had been set, his destiny literally seared into his flesh. What need did he have of Slughorn, his contacts and his little Club after that? Wizarding Britain was going to be remade once the Dark Lord came to power - why waste his time in the sycophantic company of mudbloods and bloodtraitors? He focused his efforts on serving his Lord in the presence of more like-minded individuals as befitted his station and name.
Never wished your life had been different?
Slughorn had tried to get him to come back. Invitations would regularly get delivered in the morning owl post and the Potions Master would try and strike up conversations during lessons in Sixth and Seventh Year, asking after his progress, offering to link him to useful people in the Ministry. Antonin politely refused it all. At the time, he'd held his Head of House in contempt for how desperate he was to have Antonin back amongst his collection. But now he wondered if the old fool had been trying to guide him down another path, to show him an alternative to the future that had been planned for him since his birth, to save a child under his care from the darkness that would consume him. If that was the case then Slughorn had failed - failed Antonin and so many others within Slytherin House. They'd never stood a chance: not against the power of the Dark Lord. Antonin's life would have been no different, no better if he'd stuck by Slughorn. There had been no other path, no alternative future. What use would there be to wish that his life had been different? This was all that life would ever have been for Antonin. The Dark Lord was the only future he had that didn't leave him stuck in this fucking prison.
Do you lie to yourself that it's all been worth it?
But the truth was that the answer didn't matter. It was always going to be this way.
She couldn't possibly understand that and she'd never even try. Why would she? Self-righteous chit thought she knew it all. Doubtless right now she'd be busy with all the festivities and feasting, laughing and joking, having the merriest fucking time of her life. Perhaps Potter was with her, trying to cop a feel under the mistletoe, the cunt.
But she'd be back here soon, in just three days. Antonin knew better than to think she would be in the same unprotected state next time. No doubt she'd retreat and back away, just like she always did when things got heated between them. He didn't care just as long as she was here. He could wait. And then one day, if he was a very lucky boy, he could try and unwrap her like a present.
He was able to distract himself with fantasies of doing just that, dragging the experience out until a ragged climax was torn from his spent body. When he came down from his high to see the bleakness of the same frigid cell and the sweat-soaked, cum-stained bed sheets his misery returned tenfold.
Merry fucking Christmas.
He wished he didn't know what day it was. If he had his way he'd just sleep through the whole damn thing. And, thanks to one of Granger's potion vials, that was exactly what he did.
Christmas.
The most wonderful time of the year, so it was said.
Though only seventeen, Hermione had rarely found that to be true. In the last few years she'd suffered a mis-transformation into a cat, a potentially friendship-ending argument over a broomstick, a wondrous ball ruined by an immature boy and last year they'd nearly lost Mr Weasley.
This Christmas had possibly been the most miserable of all.
And it was all her fault.
The lead up had already been dreadful thanks to the exhausting and demoralising last few days at school and - as unthinkable as it sounded for her - she'd actually been looking forward to getting away from Hogwarts for a couple of weeks. The first few days at the Burrow had initially been a welcome change of scene, surrounded as she was by only those who cared for her, and she was immensely grateful to Mr and Mrs Weasley for once again taking her in.
But today, Christmas Day, had seen one of the few remaining positives in her life - something that she treasured above everything else - tattered and torn at her feet. The broken pieces of her friendship with Harry and Ron stabbed at her heart and lungs, making it difficult to even breathe. She hoped that it wasn't irreparable, that they would get past this, but she knew deep down that it was futile. And even if by some miracle they did, how much had been sullied and tainted? What scars would remain?
As soon as Hermione had seen Rufus Scrimgeour following Percy into the Burrow, a heavy weight had dropped into her stomach and the previously delicious Christmas lunch left her feeling sick. Why was the Minister there? From her own experience she knew that he had a strategic reason behind everything he did and (she shot an anxious glance to her left) it was usually to do with Harry.
Two and a half months had passed since she had earned both her Apparition licence and the wrath of the Minister for Magic. Since then, as far as Hermione knew, Scrimgeour had given up on trying to get Harry onside and seemingly supportive of the Ministry, but apparently he'd just been biding his time and waiting until Harry was away from the protection of Hogwarts to accost him.
The Minister put on a semi-decent show, pretending that he and Percy were just in the local area on a work matter - but Percy's cold and stiff demeanour showed that he was very much being forced into the family reunion. Nobody apart from Mrs Weasley was buying it and Hermione's heart ached for the devoted mother, who had obviously missed her son dreadfully. But her sympathy was quickly replaced with anger that Scrimgeour was willing to so callously play with people's emotions in order to get what he wished.
"No, no, I assure you I don't want to butt in!" the Minister insisted after Mrs Weasley had tried to offer him a chair and some food. "Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden. Ah, that young man next to Miss Granger has finished, why doesn't he take a stroll with me?"
Hermione's eyes flew to Harry. She'd known it all along, but she felt no satisfaction from being right. A weighty silence filled the kitchen until Harry said, "Yeah, all right." Hermione's hand instantly went to his arm, silently warning him not to go with Scrimgeour on his own but he brushed her off easily. "It's fine," he said quietly to both her and Remus, who had made to follow Harry. "Fine."
Dread filled her as she watched the two of them leave and she tried to tell herself that she was overreacting. Afterall, it wasn't as though Harry was in physical danger from Scrimgeour. No, her worry stemmed from knowing that the Minister would try to manipulate Harry into something she knew that her best friend wouldn't want to do. But what really scared her was that Scrimgeour might use her to force things through, to effectively blackmail Harry into becoming the Ministry's poster boy in the fight against Voldemort.
Hermione stared at the unfinished dinner on her plate, aware of Molly gushing over Percy and some other quiet conversations but not taking any of it in until Ron loudly said, "Hermione, how did he know who you are?"
She started and looked up, noticing a number of curious expressions. None of them would know that she'd already met the Minister on two previous occasions. She'd never told Ron and Harry about the change to her security and she wasn't sure that even the adults present knew that she'd been making her way to and from Azkaban without Tonks for weeks. Her cheeks started to burn under everyone's interest and she reached for her glass of pumpkin juice to give herself something to do as she scrambled to find an excuse. "Well, I guess I don't exactly look like a Weasley, do I?"
She took a sip, avoiding their eyes and hoping that would be a good enough explanation, and turned to watch Mrs Weasley pile up a plate of food for the uncomfortable-looking Percy.
"But he knew your name," Ron persisted, "And he didn't even know who Harry was."
"Of course he knew who Harry was, idiot," Ginny scoffed from where she had her arms folded, staring coldly at Percy.
"Ginny!" Mrs Weasley snapped and then refixed her soft, wet eyes on her recently-returned son.
"I'm just saying it was weird," Ron grumbled, glaring at his sister, and then took a big bite out of a roast potato. "Like he'd already met you or something."
Hermione silently cursed Ron's out-of-character astuteness. He was normally oblivious to the most obvious social cues and was infamous for his lack of tact. She opted to remain silent in response to his comment because she didn't want to lie to him nor did she want to reveal what had happened when she gained her licence. Fortunately for her (although her relief made her feel guilty), Percy's stiff refusal to confirm that he would ever be returning to the Burrow to visit his family again soured the already tense atmosphere. Less than a minute later, he had stormed out of the house with his face obscured by some well-aimed mashed parsnips.
Mrs Weasley was inconsolable, flipping between sobs and castigating whichever of her children she suspected of flinging the food that had forced Percy's exit. Hermione felt dreadful for her and, with Remus, quietly set about tidying away the dinner things to give the family some space. They were only able to levitate a few plates and dishes towards the sink before Harry returned without the Minister.
Hermione froze when she saw him and the piercing, wounded look he was fixing her with. Icy dread returned, seeping throughout her body.
"Mate, what's wrong?" Ron asked. "What did the Minister want?"
But Harry ignored him, or perhaps he didn't even hear, just continued to stare at Hermione. "Why didn't you tell me?" Harry said quietly.
There was a gaping silence, Mrs Weasley even stopped crying as everyone looked between Harry and Hermione in confusion. Ron's head swivelled between his best friends and Hermione looked down, overwhelmed by all the attention and the hurt evident in Harry's voice.
"Tell you what?" Ron asked. "What the hell's going on?"
Hermione kept her eyes on the cosy red socks Mrs Weasley had knitted her for Christmas and the silence stretched again. She felt a hand on her shoulder that she knew must be Remus. Using the strength of his support, she managed to find enough voice to look at Harry and said, "What did he tell you?"
"That he thought he might be able to rework the auror duties so that Tonks could resume accompanying you on your visits to Azkaban," Harry said, anger brimming within his tone.
"Resume?" Ginny repeated, looking confused. "Why resume? That's what Tonks already does."
Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Not since October," she revealed quietly.
Ron frowned at her. "So who's been going with you?"
She could tell by the faintly horrified looks on the faces of most of the adults that they'd figured it out. Hermione sighed. "No one," she said tightly, braced for whatever reaction might follow. "I've been going alone."
The tumult of loud voices made her flinch. Mrs Weasley, Ginny and Ron were all yelling at Mr Weasley to fix it, Fleur was exclaiming over and over to Bill that it was unbelievable, and the twins had their heads bent towards each other. Harry just continued to stare at her.
"Scrimgeour tried to get to Harry through you?" Remus asked her quietly and she nodded, making him grip her shoulder a little tighter. "Let's go outside," he suggested, steering her away. "Get some fresh air."
They were only outside in the relative peace of the front yard for a few seconds before they were joined by Harry and Ron, but she'd been expecting as much. Remus patted her on the shoulder and then moved round to the garden to give them some space.
"Hermione - this is mad!" Ron exclaimed, his face turning red. "Why the hell did Tonks stop taking you to Azkaban?"
"I was told that they had no aurors spare," she replied evenly. "Tonks needed to remain in Hogsmeade to protect the village and the school. Once I earned my apparition licence it was deemed safe enough for me to travel to Azkaban myself given that there's always aurors stationed there now."
Ron shook his head. "That's mental. Absolutely bloody mental!"
"Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape walk me to the gates," she continued, ignoring his outburst. "It's perfectly safe."
"It's fucking Azkaban!"
"Ron!"
"And he's a murdering bastard. How the hell is that safe?"
"I'm fine," she insisted. "Nothing worrying has ever happened getting there or back."
"Doesn't mean it won't," Ron countered and then he turned to Harry. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
Hermione looked at him anxiously. Harry's ongoing silence and unwavering stare had her on edge far more than Ron's noisy protests.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked her - the same question that had started all of this.
Ron let out a huff. "Because she knew we'd react like this, of course. And why shouldn't we? Bloody Ministry have been trying to get you killed as far as I can see. Why didn't Dumbledore stop this?"
"Hermione," Harry pressed, paying no heed to Ron. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Tears came to her eyes but she tried to blink them away. It had been her choice not to tell Harry. It was her responsibility. "Because Scrimgeour wanted me to get you to meet him, and I refused him because I knew that he was trying to get you to support the Ministry. That's why Tonks's protection was taken away."
Harry's gaze dropped to the ground, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Ron stared at her, his mouth agape. "What the f-"
"You had no right to make that decision for me, Hermione!" Harry burst out angrily, eyes blazing as they returned to her face.
Hermione flinched. She had seen Harry angry before - last year it had happened routinely - but he had rarely directed such anger at her. "You already have enough to deal with. I was trying to protect you."
"I'm not a child!" he shot back. "I've never asked for your protection."
"Well, that's what friends do," she retorted, her voice choking up. "You've protected me and Ron countless times!"
"This isn't the same," he insisted heatedly. "Saving you from Death Eaters or basilisks is one thing. I don't want people doing what they think is best for me behind my back - especially not when it puts their own life in danger!"
"There's no real dang- "
"Did you know that for certain when you refused Scrimgeour?" Harry challenged. "Don't lie to me."
Hermione sighed. "N-no. But I knew that something would be worked out, that Professor Dumbledore would keep me safe. This was the best option - the only option."
"What - everyone lying to me?" Harry snapped and she flinched. She wasn't doing a good job at calming him down, if anything his anger seemed to be getting darker. "You endangering yourself because of me is never an option, Hermione."
"Would you rather have lied to the country instead?" she asked.
"That's not the point," he snapped.
"Yes it is," she argued. "That's what Scrimgeour has asked you to do to get Tonks back, isn't it? To be a Ministry cheerleader despite everything they did to you last year."
Harry flushed angrily and clenched his fists. "Yes, but -"
"That bastard!" Ron growled.
"You and I both know that the truth matters," Hermione told Harry passionately, too caught up to bother reprimanding Ron for his language. "We had to fight so hard to get the truth out before - I'm not going to let anyone help to hide it now. The people deserve to know the hard honest truth right now, not false hope and twisted facts. Having Tonks with me wasn't worth that, it wasn't worth the burden it would put on you. I was not and will not be used as a tool against you, Harry. So, so I hope you told Scrimgeour that he could get stuffed!" Her voice wobbled as she finished and she had to take a large sniff as her eyes began to water. Ron shifted uncomfortably and Harry stared moodily at the ground again. "Please tell me that you did," she requested quietly. She couldn't bear the idea of Harry doing the Ministry's bidding for her when it so obviously went against what he believed.
"Yeah, pretty much," Harry murmured, kicking at the frozen ground. "But you still don't get it."
Her heart clenched at the dejection in his voice. "Get what?"
"Yes, I'm angry at Scrimgeour for caring more about how well people think he and the Ministry are doing in their jobs rather than actually doing them, and I'm furious about him trying to use us both to make it happen - especially when it puts you in jeopardy just for being my friend…" Hermione held her breath as she waited for him to continue. He looked up at her and said, "But that's not why I'm upset with you, Hermione," and all the air escaped from her lungs like she'd been punched.
"The only reason that I've been able to get through the last few years is because of you two," Harry continued, looking at her and Ron. "No matter how I'm feeling, no matter what I've done, no matter the new threat lurking on the horizon - I know that I can turn to you. Even when I doubted myself, even when I didn't want to be around anyone, I never felt alone. You haven't let me shoulder this fight on my own."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Ron murmured and then threw a guilty look Hermione's way.
Her heart was breaking, being absolutely shredded with every heartfelt word Harry said.
"I'm upset that you didn't trust us enough to tell us what Scrimgeour did to you, that you didn't feel able to share something so important with your best friends, that you pretended that everything was fine even when it wasn't…"
Oh, Harry, you don't even know the half of it, she thought but could never say.
"That you lied to us because you thought it would be easier that way, that you thought your only option was to shut us out," Harry said. "We've never been the sort of friends to keep things from each other. It's always been the three of us together, no matter what, and I never want to lose that."
Tears streamed down Hermione's face no matter how much she tried to force them away. Through her watery vision she could see that while Harry stood resolute, Ron looked very uncomfortable, avoiding her eye while his hands and feet fidgeted restlessly.
"I never wanted to hurt you," she choked out and Ron put a tentative hand on her shoulder.
"I know," Harry said softly.
"You tell us everything," Hermione half-sobbed, wiping at her eyes. "I'm such a terrible friend, hiding things from you when you don't, you don't keep anything from me."
It all happened so quickly that it took her brain a few seconds to figure it out. The boys had glanced at each other with strange expressions and Ron made a noise like he was having an allergic reaction to something in his throat. Guilty, her mind told her.
"Wait - you don't keep anything from me, do you?" she asked faintly, feeling oddly lightheaded.
They exchanged that look again and Ron's ears were getting redder and redder.
Harry shook his head. "It's not what you think," he said quickly but Hermione wasn't thinking anything. Her mind was completely blank. "I- I promised. I didn't want to but…"
"Promised who?" she asked over the strange hissing in her ears.
"Dumbledore."
She turned her gaze to Ron. "But you know." It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. Whatever Harry had withheld from her, Ron knew it.
"It's what his lessons with Dumbledore are about!" Ron blurted, his panicked tone matching his expression.
"Wait," Hermione said, blinking at Harry in faint disbelief. "You broke a promise about learning and knowledge for Ron, but not for me? You hypocrite. Why would you say all of this to me when you -"
"No, no it wasn't like that!" Ron interrupted desperately. "Harry was allowed to tell me!"
Hermione actually took a step backwards. "What?" Her mind reeled at the implication. They had assumed that the lessons with the headmaster were supposed to help Harry fight Voldemort. Hermione had been itching to find out about the advanced defensive spells he was bound to be taught and had been disappointed when he'd returned from his first session to say that he wasn't allowed to share anything. Frustrated as she'd been, she'd still accepted that without question. But now it turned out that while Hermione was forbidden from knowing, Ron faced no such restriction. There was only one possible explanation. "Dumbledore doesn't trust me," she murmured but both boys vehemently shook their heads.
"No - it's Dolohov he doesn't trust," Harry said.
"Still amounts to the same thing," she pointed out dully. "The only way Dolohov could find out about what happens in your lessons is if I tell him. I'm too much of a liability."
"Of course you're not!" Ron insisted.
"We would never doubt you," Harry added. "I'll tell you what I've learned. It's fine -"
Hermione threw out a hand. "No, don't. I don't want to know."
"But -"
"Please, Harry. Just don't." Her voice trembled again and a couple of fresh teardrops trickled down her cheeks. She wanted to stop being capable of feeling emotions. She was so tired of getting hurt. Just when she thought she was recovering after one of her lowest ever periods, this conversation had left her even more bruised and heartsore than before. However sensible it might have been on Dumbledore's part to prohibit her from the intimate details of Harry's fight, it still cut her deeply to know how the Headmaster saw her so differently now. She felt like the curse defined her in his eyes, like Hermione Granger ceased to exist.
The air around the three of them was thick and heavy with regret, pain and sorrow.
"What's happened to us?" Ron murmured and Hermione couldn't hold back the sobs. "Bugger," he said, awkwardly patting her on the back. "This is such a bloody mess. Anybody got any more secrets to share while we're at it?"
He'd meant it as a joke, Hermione knew, but she could only cry harder. Oh, she had so much that she was keeping from them that she wanted to scream until her throat bled. But she couldn't tell them. She had hurt them by withholding the Scrimgeour business and she was so, so sorry for that but she couldn't be honest with them about Dolohov. She couldn't tell them that he was one of her Amortentia scents, couldn't tell them that she longed for his touch all over her body, couldn't tell them that the thought of him made her throb with desire, couldn't tell them that she was sure Dolohov wanted her too, couldn't tell them that she'd purposefully made him jealous during their last visit and he'd responded by giving her a love bite of all things, and she couldn't tell them that the most she felt at peace these days was in Azkaban in the hands of a Death Eater. It was impossible. And yet the duplicity was killing her inside, killing their friendship. And they had no idea. Nobody did. But until the curse was gone there was nothing any of them could do either.
The darkness inside was choking her, its poison seeping through every cell in her body. She backed away from Ron, pushing his and Harry's hands away as they reached for her because their concern only heightened the sensation. She didn't deserve their comfort after all of her deception. The magnitude of it all was a colossal overwhelming wave. It was drowning her. She couldn't breathe. The world was tilting.
The boys reached for her again but she couldn't stand them being so close. Every step she took back, they somehow seemed to get even closer. They needed to keep away from her. It was for their own good even more so than hers. Dumbledore knew it. Surely it was only a matter of time before Harry and Ron did too. Couldn't they feel the rotten wickedness seeping from her? Couldn't they see it before their very eyes?
Get away, her panicked mind screamed the instruction to them and to herself. But she knew they wouldn't go unless she made them. In her frenzied state, a solution presented itself and she latched onto it without thought. "I confunded McClaggen at keeper trials so that you'd win," she choked out.
"Hermione!" Harry gasped at once, looking absolutely appalled.
Ron had gone very still and she saw the life drain out of his face.
Trembling, she backed away a couple of steps. This time they didn't follow her.
So she turned and ran, leaving their friendship a tattered mess on the ground behind her.
A/N Would love to know your thoughts on this one. Obviously, Hermione wasn't present at the Burrow for that Christmas so it was fun to play with the events there given what's already happened in this fic. The friendship fallout was probably inevitable for Hermione's conscious given how much she's hiding from the boys, but it's still sad to see. Also, I know that the events of Slughorn's party (and Hermione's reaction to that lovebite) aren't mentioned at all in this chapter but they weren't relevant here - they will be brought up next time, no fear.
I hope you're all keeping well and I'll hopefully have an update for you soon.
Love,
Red
*I hope you all saw the note at the very top of this page! Fingers crossed that more of you have seen this now!*