Chapter 15

gathered with a coven

"It seems they had been and would always be friends. Time could change much, but not that."

- Winnie the Pooh

Hermione paced back and forth in the bedroom of the safe house. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet, and the air smelled of mint and the salve she had just applied to her forearm. She clutched her wand tightly in her hand.

Draco.

The thought of him clung to her, heavy and unshakable. He was just upstairs, resting off the last of the potion's effects. Each dose took a toll he tried to hide but couldn't fully mask. She saw the strain in his eyes, the faint tremor in his hands. He wouldn't admit it; he'd dismiss her concerns with his usual arrogance, insisting he didn't need her hovering. Leaving him now felt like tearing out a part of herself.

And yet, like an ache, the desire to find Harry and Ron coursed through her.

Every day spent here, waiting and hidden, set her nerves on edge. She couldn't ignore the growing dread at the back of her mind. Harry and Ron were in danger, and she didn't know where. They weren't just friends; they were family.

What might happen to them if she stayed here? How long could they wait for her?

She forced a deep breath, steadying herself against the panic tightening her chest. She needed to think clearly. Harry and Ron had been captured and escaped. Dobby had taken them somewhere safe.

Where would they go?

Her mind raced, piecing together their possible movements, but the answer remained frustratingly out of reach.

She didn't have time to waste, yet she felt tethered here, stuck between Draco's vulnerability and her friends' uncertain fate.

The logical part of her mind urged her to go, to move forward, but her heart resisted, torn between two impossibilities. If she left Draco now, weakened and alone, she would abandon him, leaving him defenceless just when he needed her most. She couldn't ignore the tug of love and loyalty that kept her rooted here.

Each passing moment was another chance for Harry and Ron to slip away forever.

Hermione swallowed hard, wrestling with the weight of her decision, knowing that whichever path she chose, someone she cared about would suffer for it.

She wished she could remember more from those harrowing moments at the Manor. Her mind replayed the scene repeatedly like a broken record, trying to pick up any details she might have missed.

"Where would they go?" She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. "Dobby… he would take them somewhere safe. Somewhere safe…"

Her mind immediately raced through the possible safe houses they'd discussed, places they'd considered as backups in case of emergency.

Grimmauld Place? No, too compromised after Yaxley's breach.

The Burrow? Too dangerous and far too obvious.

The Order's new base? Unlikely. It would slow Harry and Ron down when they needed to stay focused on hunting horcruxes.

Her thoughts circled to Shell Cottage—Bill and Fleur's sanctuary. They'd mentioned it briefly, a haven far from prying eyes. Bill, a trusted Order member, made it a logical choice.

However, a problem arose. Its location was likely protected under the Fidelius Charm, and she had no clue who the Secret Keeper might be.

Frustration simmered beneath her calm exterior, but panicking wouldn't solve anything.

She needed a plan.

Someone from the Order. She needed to locate someone to lead her to Bill and Fleur's whereabouts or various safe locations.

But where? She couldn't just walk into a wizarding pub. The Ministry and Death Eaters had spies everywhere. Apparating to the Burrow wasn't an option either. It was undoubtedly under constant surveillance.

She ran her fingers through her tangled hair to clear her head. She needed a way to contact someone safely without drawing attention.

Then it hit her—the enchanted Galleons.

She and the rest of Dumbledore's Army had used them back in their fifth year to communicate with each other without anyone catching on. Even now, they likely remained attuned to each other's signals.

She dug into the beaded bag, her fingers frantically searching until she found the small, cool Galleon still warm to the touch from her body heat. She held it up, inspecting the faint etchings of the Protean Charm they had used.

"I hope this still works," she muttered, concentrating hard on the coin. If anyone from the DA were near their galleon, they'd feel the warmth.

She sent a simple message: Where are you? — HG

She waited, her breath shallow, counting the seconds. She felt like she was waiting for an eternity, the weight of each heartbeat thudding in her chest. Finally, it heated in her palm.

Hermione flipped the Galleon over, her breath catching as she watched the message slowly materialize: Falmouth. Quickly.

Relief flooded through her veins. She knew it was risky, but she had no other choice. She needed to move now. Every second she waited was another second closer to losing Harry and Ron's trail, possibly forever. This might be her only opportunity.

She slipped the Galleon back into her bag, pulling the strap tight across her shoulder, her resolve hardening.

As she turned toward the door, her eyes drifted toward the hallway leading to their room. Draco was up there, asleep, and the thought of leaving him without saying goodbye twisted painfully in her chest. She felt a stronger pull than expected, urging her to go to him one last time before leaving.

Her footsteps were soft as she made her way down the hall, each weighed down by the conflict inside her. She stepped quietly into the room, her gaze immediately finding him sprawled across the bed, his face relaxed in sleep. The darkness beneath his eyes revealed his weakened condition following the potion. A pang surged through her—leaving him now, while he was vulnerable, felt like abandoning him at his lowest.

Her fingers tightened around her wand resting in her pocket, the wood warm against her hand, a reminder of her purpose.

With each step toward him, her decision pressed heavier. She'd promised to stay as long as possible, but guilt clawed at her now as she prepared to leave.

How would he cope if she walked away? What if something happened while he was alone—would he be safe?

The truth gnawed at her: she wanted to find Harry and Ron, but leaving Draco like this tore at her.

Hermione moved closer, watching his chest rise and fall, her fingers hovering just above his as if she could draw strength from him. A part of her longed to wake him, explain, ask him to understand. Another part knew that he'd only argue and insist she stay, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to resist if he did. She knew him well enough to know he'd never forgive himself for appearing weak at this moment, so she steeled herself and stayed silent.

Carefully, she pulled a piece of parchment from her bag and scribbled a brief note, her hand trembling as she wrote the words:

Draco,

I had to go. Please understand, I couldn't wait any longer. They're my family, too, and I have to try. I'll come back—I promise. Take care of yourself until then.

Your Wife

She folded the note and set it on the nightstand beside him, her fingers pausing as if to hold on to a piece of him to take with her. Finally, she took one last look at him, committing the sight to memory, the soft vulnerability of him asleep.

Turning to leave, she felt her heart tugging back toward him, but she forced herself forward, her fingers tightening around her wand in her pocket. The decision was made; there was no turning back now.

Slipping into the hallway, she couldn't shake the hope that he would understand—that he'd forgive her for this, even if it left him alone in the quiet she knew he hated.

She had to be quick, quiet, and careful. She knew Death Eaters patrolled the countryside, searching for resistance or fugitives. She closed her eyes, focusing on her destination, and then she turned sharply on the spot.

The familiar compressing sensation of apparation enveloped her.

Hermione landed with a jolt in a narrow alleyway, stumbling slightly on the uneven cobblestones. She steadied herself quickly, her heart still hammering in her chest. It was dusk, and the street was mostly deserted, but she could hear distant sounds—faint voices, the shuffle of footsteps, the clink of glass from a nearby pub. She was in a small wizarding village. This place felt older and quieter. Almost forgotten.

She ducked into the shadows, pressing herself against the cool stone wall of a nearby building. Casting a quick disillusionment charm on herself, she scanned her surroundings, wand clutched tightly in her hand, alert. If it was a trap, she was ready to fight.

Taking a deep breath, she let her eyes adjust to the dim light. No one was immediately visible, but she knew better than to lower her guard. Whoever sent the message could be nearby—or a Death Eater lying in wait.

She couldn't trust anyone.

Her heart thudded in her ears, and she forced herself to focus, her mind running through potential defensive spells, escape routes, and anything that might keep her alive. She moved carefully down the alley, her footsteps light and silent on the stone. She was hyper-aware of every shadow, every flicker of movement. Her senses were on high alert.

Suddenly, she caught a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye—a shadow shifting near the mouth of the alleyway. She spun around, wand raised, her breath hitching.

"Hermione!"

The voice was familiar and urgent, but she didn't lower her wand. She squinted into the darkness, her grip tightening. "Show yourself."

A pause. Then, a figure emerged from the shadows, hands raised. The person moved into a patch of dim light, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

"Dean?" She recognized his face immediately. "Dean Thomas?"

Dean nodded, his expression tense but relieved. "Yeah, it's me. Sorry if I gave you a scare. I didn't know if it was really you, either."

Hermione lowered her wand slightly, her heart still pounding but easing a fraction. She took a cautious step closer, her eyes darting around to ensure there were no others.

"Dean, what are you doing here? How did you know…?"

He held up a familiar-looking galleon, smirking faintly. "Never got rid of mine. Figured it might come in handy someday."

Hermione felt a surge of relief. "You got my message."

"Yeah, but we need to be quick. It's not safe here. They've got snatchers and Death Eaters patrolling everywhere. Follow me."

He turned and began to lead her down the alley, moving quickly but cautiously. Hermione followed close behind, her senses still on high alert. She couldn't afford to let her guard down, not even for a second.

After twisting and turning through narrow streets and hidden pathways, they arrived at a small, weathered-looking cottage. Dean knocked twice on the wooden door in a distinct rhythm, and a moment later, it creaked open.

"Hermione!" a familiar voice cried, and she was immediately pulled into a tight hug. It was Luna Lovegood, her blonde hair catching in the room's dim light. Luna's grip was surprisingly firm, and Hermione felt herself relax a little in her arms.

"Luna," Hermione breathed, hugging her back. "You're all right."

"Of course," Luna said, her tone serene and reassuring. "Now you are, too. Come in. We've been waiting."

They stepped inside, and Hermione took in the scene. The small cottage felt cozy; candles flickered, a kettle steamed. Seamus Finnigan and Lee Jordan looked up as she entered.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, her gaze shifting between them. "Any news on Harry and Ron?"

Dean nodded. "They're safe. Bill and Fleur took them in. We've been trying to contact you, but their home is protected."

"I thought they might be with Bill." Relief washed over her, and she exhaled shakily. "But I don't know how to find the cottage."

"Fidelius Charm," Luna said. "Bill's the Secret Keeper, I believe. He's the one that gave them the address when we separated."

"Separated?" Hermione turned to Luna. "You were with them?"

Luna nodded, her dreamy gaze drifting somewhere beyond Hermione.

"We were together for some time," she said, smiling serenely. "Draco gave us the keys to escape the cellar, and then Dobby, the house-elf, whisked us away to safety."

Hermione felt her stomach twist at the mention of Draco's role.

Draco, freeing prisoners?

It didn't match the Draco she'd known for years—the sneering, entitled boy who enjoyed making her life miserable.

Had Draco changed enough to risk his life and his family to help them? He never told her about Luna.

They changed one another. For better or for worse.

Dean's voice broke through her thoughts. "We managed to reach Bill after we left."

Hermione forced herself to focus, pushing her emotions aside. "Can you take me to him?"

Dean and Luna exchanged a glance before Dean gave a cautious nod. "We can. We need to be careful. Surveillance is tight around here. We're moving in small groups, keeping it quiet to stay unnoticed."

Relief and urgency tangled in Hermione's thoughts. Harry and Ron were safe. She needed to get to them.

Following Dean and Luna's lead, Hermione exited their small safe haven.

But a chill settled in her bones as she glanced back at the small, weathered cottage.

She could almost hear Draco's voice, begging her to stay put, to stay safe.

Her crescent moon necklace glowed warmly at the base of her throat.

She clutched her wand tighter. She'd find Harry and Ron. She'd help them finish this. Then she would return to Draco's side.

First, she had to survive. They all did.

She excelled at survival.

Darkness and silence filled the room; light seeped only through window cracks. They were deep in the countryside, well-hidden, awaiting Bill's arrival. Hermione paced restlessly, the echo of her footsteps filling the silence as she finally turned to Luna, who sat serenely in a corner, her gaze soft and distant.

"Luna," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady, "can you tell me more about… what happened in the cellar? At the Manor?"

Luna's eyes drifted to meet Hermione's, her expression gentle and thoughtful. The cellar was exceptionally dark. But Draco…" Her lips curved into a faint, almost whimsical smile. "Draco was very pleasant."

Hermione blinked, caught off guard.

"Pleasant?" she repeated, struggling to reconcile the word with the Draco she knew. He was rarely pleasant with anyone other than his parents, her, and sometimes Theo.

"Yes," Luna nodded. "He brought us food and water. Sometimes, he'd come down to talk. He even apologized, you know. Said he was sorry."

Hermione felt a pang of disbelief and something more complicated twisting in her chest. "He… apologized?"

"Oh, yes," Luna continued, her voice light as if discussing the weather. "He looked rather pained, actually. I could tell he didn't want us there. He eventually gave us the key to get out when the house-elf showed up."

Hermione stood still, her mind churning. She'd always known Draco was capable of many things—cruelty, arrogance, pride—but kindness? Apology? To outsiders?

She felt a strange, almost painful warmth at the thought of him risking himself to help others, to go against everything he'd been raised to believe.

Before she could sort through the knot of emotions, the door creaked open, and Dean stepped in, nodding to her. "Bill's here."

Hermione quickly gathered her thoughts and followed him into the adjacent room. Standing in a dark cloak with his wand drawn was Bill Weasley. His eyes softened when he saw her, and he clapped her shoulder.

"Hermione," he said, a cautious look lingering. "It's good to see you."

"Bill." Relief threaded through her voice. "Thank you for meeting us."

He nodded, pulling a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. "This is the address for Shell Cottage. You'll be safe there. Harry and Ron are there right now. Fleur and I will do whatever we can to help."

Hermione took the parchment, gripping it tightly, her heart pounding as she met his gaze. She finally had a destination, a plan. But even as she thanked Bill, a part of her couldn't shake the image of Draco's face—pained, apologetic, and still, somehow, inexplicably, helping.

Hermione stumbled into Shell Cottage, her legs barely carrying her, but the sight of Harry and Ron standing there, battered but alive, filled her with a wave of relief so intense that her knees nearly buckled.

She barely had time to catch her breath before Ron rushed forward, sweeping her into a tight embrace. She felt his arms trembling around her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the sting of tears.

"Hermione!" Ron's voice was choked, his grip almost crushing. "We thought—bloody hell, we thought we'd lost you."

Harry followed closely, his face filled with concern and a hint of determination in his green eyes.

"Hermione, are you okay?" he asked urgently, his voice tinged with worry and relief. "We saw Malfoy take you, and then you were just… gone."

Hermione pulled back from Ron, giving him a reassuring smile despite the tension in her chest.

"I'm okay. I'm okay, I promise," she said, her voice wavering with mixed emotions. "I was so worried. I'm glad you're safe."

Ron exchanged a glance with Harry before his brow furrowed.

"Yeah, well, we were worried about you too," he said, his tone taking on an edge. "Malfoy grabbed you and disapparated. We thought he was taking you back to You-Know-Who, or worse."

Harry nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. "We've been trying to figure out what happened. Why would Malfoy take you and not call for the Death Eaters? How did you get away?"

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling her heart quicken. She anticipated this moment, needing to explain. She'd played it over in her mind a hundred times, but nothing could truly prepare her. She'd hidden the truth from them for so long—her relationship with Draco and their clandestine marriage. She glanced at their faces, each marked by confusion, concern, and suspicion.

There was no avoiding it. She needed to be honest.

"Draco… he saved me," she said, her voice quiet but steady. She felt Ron stiffen beside her, and Harry's eyes widened. She pressed on, needing to get it out before they could interrupt. "He Apparated me to a safe house. He didn't take me to You-Know-Who or the Death Eaters. He—he was trying to protect me."

"Draco? Protect you?" Ron echoed incredulously, his voice rising. "Hermione, are you mad? Why would Malfoy protect you? He's a Death Eater!"

"Ron, please listen—" Hermione began, but Harry cut in.

"Why would Malfoy save you, Hermione?" he asked, his voice more measured but filled with confusion. "What aren't you telling us?"

Hermione bit her lip, feeling the secret she had carried for so long pressing down on her. She could see the concern in their eyes, the betrayal lurking beneath the surface, breaking her heart.

She drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. She couldn't keep this from them any longer.

"Because we're married," she said finally.

The words hung in the air, heavy and shocking.

Stunned silence followed, and then Ron exploded.

"What?!" he shouted, his face flushing a deep red. "You—Hermione, you can't be serious! Married to Malfoy? Are you out of your mind?!"

Harry looked stunned, his mouth slightly open as he processed her words.

"Hermione… married?" he repeated slowly, as if trying to wrap his head around it. "How… when… why?"

Hermione held up her hands, trying to calm them both down.

"After the battle at the Astronomy Tower-"

"When your fucking husband let Death Eaters into Hogwarts?" Ron shot out.

Hermione shot him a death glare. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I was there!" Ron shouted, throwing his hand wide. "We all know what happened! Dumbledore died."

"Snape killed Dumbledore," Hermione snapped. "Harry saw the whole thing. That event might have occurred irrespective of Draco's actions."

Harry stared back and forth between them, nose flaring and brow knitted together as he tried to put pieces into place.

"After the battle," she continued, shooting a look at Ron, "I went to the Slytherin dorm rooms."

Ron let out a sound halfway between a choke and a laugh, but Hermione continued, "And I took some things from Draco's trunk. One of those was a ring."

She held up her hand to show the ancient family ring resting on her finger.

Harry looked puzzled, but all the colour drained from Ron's face as he stared at her with comprehension only a pureblood could understand. "Hermione, you didn't."

"Didn't what?" Harry asked, frowning as he glanced at Ron.

"That's an ancient heirloom. Most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight have them." Ron was seething, his fists so tight his knuckles were bone-white. "Many ancient families not in the Sacred Twenty-Eight have them, too."

"Like the one from the Prewett's your mother leant to Fleur on her wedding day?" asked Hermione sharply.

"How-?"

"I've had a lot to catch up on quickly, to say the least."

"What does it do?" Harry asked, anger seeping into his voice. "The ring?"

"I didn't know at the time, I swear," Hermione said. "It's imbued with centuries of ancient magic. Blood magic, Harry. It pricked my finger when I tried it on and hasn't been able to come off since. Then, I appeared on the Black Family tapestry beside Draco - that's how the Malfoys found out. Kreacher saw the change and immediately went to Narcissa."

"Let me get this straight. You put on an old ring. It took your blood and magically married you to Malfoy?" Harry clarified. When Hermione nodded in response, he cursed loudly. "Hermione, that can't be fucking legal!"

"I can assure you, it's perfectly legally binding." Hermione frowned, and Ron nodded glumly beside her. "Believe me, I checked."

"But" Harry ran his hands through his already messy hair. "File for a divorce then."

"Harry, how many divorced witches and wizards have you met?"

"Practically impossible, mate." Ron frowned again. "Not completely unheard of, though."

"We could always kill him?" Harry offered in a semi-joking tone.

Hermione stilled. This conversation was getting away from her.

"I know it sounds unbelievable. I know," she said. "I don't want to divorce Draco, Harry, and I don't want either of you to attempt murder either. The truth is… he and I started meeting secretly a while ago. We'd been seeing each other before I stupidly tried the ring on.

"How long ago was a while?" Harry asked, aghast. "Now and then, I spotted you two on the map together. I just assumed it was because of prefect duty."

Hermione flushed. They were rarely paired up for prefect rounds at Hogwarts, but she didn't say that. Didn't have to.

"Near the middle of the fifth year."

Ron looked like he might burst, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Fifth year… with Malfoy?" he spat, incredulous. "Hermione, how could you? He bullied you for years. He was on the Inquisitorial Squad. He helped break up the DA! After everything he's done, you were still okay with all that? With everything he did in the sixth year?"

Hermione's eyes filled with tears, but she didn't back down. "I know what it looks like, Ron. I know how much you both hate him. He's not his family. He's not a Death Eater by choice—he's trapped, just like so many others. He's risked everything to save me. If he'd been caught taking me away from Malfoy Manor, they would have killed him."

"Sixth year." Harry's eyes widened as a sudden understanding overcame him as he turned toward Hermione. "That's why you were so distraught over him in the bathroom when I cursed him."

Hermione shot Harry a glare. "Even if it weren't Draco, I would have been upset, Harry. You damn near killed him using a hex you had no business even knowing."

"But all that time, Hermione? And you didn't think to tell us?" Harry's expression softened, but his voice still had a hard edge. "We're your friends, Hermione. Why keep it a secret?"

"I knew how you'd react," Hermione glanced at a red-faced Ron. "If the wrong person found out, it could have put all of us in danger. It would have put Draco in danger. I thought I could keep it separate, that it wouldn't interfere with the war. When we started, we weren't even sure if it would happen."

Ron shook his head, his face contorted with anger and hurt.

"You kept this from us, Hermione. You kept it from me," he said, his voice cracking. "How can you trust him? How can we trust you?"

Hermione's heart shattered at the look on Ron's face, but she forced herself to stand firm.

"You trust me because you know me, Ron," she said. "You know I'd never do anything to hurt you or Harry. I've always fought for what's right. This is no different. I believe in Draco. I believe he can change, that he already has changed. And I believe in us—in what we're fighting for."

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes searching Hermione's face.

"What now?" he asked. "What happens next?"

Hermione's eyes met his, her resolve hardening.

"We keep fighting," she said. "For each other, for everyone. Draco is at a safe house to protect himself and his family. He's on our side, Harry. I promise."

"Malfoys are only on Malfoys' side," Ron nearly spat.

"Well, you're in luck, because you have a Malfoy with you," she stated, noting Ron's confused look. "Me, Ronald."

Ron still looked skeptical, his anger simmering. "And you expect us to believe that the Malfoys welcomed you into their family with open arms?"

"Believe what you want," Hermione barked, hurt at the accusation and the implication. "I don't have to explain my relationship with them to you. Whether you believe they would protect me or not, this ring will. I think you know that."

Ron's lips pursed as he stared down at her hand, at the offending object.

"It has protective properties," Hermione explained as she turned to Harry. "It's saved my life more than once. The ancient magic is bound to me, bound to protect me."

Harry still looked unsure as he looked between a rage-filled Ron and an irate Hermione.

Fed up, Hermione stomped her foot. "Do you know why you didn't die from Nagini's bite at Godric's Hallow while Ron was enjoying Christmas with his family?"

Ron stilled, guilt forcing him to look away.

"Think about it, Harry," Hermione reasoned. "That snake's bite nearly killed Mr. Weasley. Do you really think I healed you with the half-full bottle of Dittany we had left?"

Harry's eyes narrowed as the reality sank in. "It was Malfoy, wasn't it?"

"Yes!" Hermione yelled. "I was at my wit's end and begged someone to help me. He arrived, satchel overflowing with healing potions. He also had anti-venom that the Malfoys brewed in secret."

Harry nodded slowly, though uncertainty still clouded his eyes.

"All right, Hermione," he said finally. "We trust you. But I hope you're right about him because we can't afford more surprises. Not now."

Hermione nodded, relief and fear mingling in her chest.

She had to believe that they'd all make it through this together.

Hermione found herself back in Malfoy Manor, the dark, looming corridors stretching out before her like the ribcage of a monstrous beast. The air was thick, oppressive, and charged with a magic that thrummed in her veins and made her skin crawl. She could feel the damp chill seeping through her robes as she took a shaky step forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. The darkness seemed alive, shadows slithering along the walls, whispering her name in hushed, mocking tones.

As she moved deeper into the manor, she heard Bellatrix's voice—a shrill, manic echo that ricocheted off the walls. The mad witch's words were sharp, cutting through the silence like shards of glass.

"What did you take from my vault?" Bellatrix screamed, her voice cracking frantically, making Hermione's blood cold. She tried to call out, to explain that she hadn't taken anything, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her mute.

In an instant, she found herself back on the drawing room floor. Bellatrix's face loomed before her, twisted with fury and terror, her wild hair spilling over her shoulders as she advanced.

"You filthy little Mudblood!" Bellatrix's voice was a venomous hiss, her face inches from Hermione's as she grabbed her by the collar, dragging her forward. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Do you have any idea what he'll do if he finds out?"

Hermione tried to pull away, but Bellatrix's grip was unyielding, her long, claw-like fingers digging into her skin. She could feel the sharp, searing pain radiate from where Bellatrix's nails pierced her flesh like a hot brand, marking her with fury and fear. In the flickering shadows, Hermione glimpsed the twisted, haunted look in Bellatrix's eyes—a look of utter dread.

The scene shifted, swirling into darkness, and Hermione found herself standing in a massive, shadowed vault, walls lined with golden goblets, jewellery, and relics that seemed to pulse with an eerie, ancient power. A chill settled over her as she realized where she was: Bellatrix's vault in Gringotts.

In the centre of the vault stood a small, unassuming cup, its surface etched with delicate designs that seemed to twist and writhe under her gaze. As she stared, transfixed, a voice echoed through the chamber—Voldemort's voice, cold and sinister, whispering like the hiss of a serpent.

"Who dares touch what is mine?" the voice snarled, dark rage leaking into the words.

A scream filled her ears, shattering the silence. It was her voice, raw and filled with terror, echoing through the hollow, empty vault.

With a jolt, she was back in Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix looming over her, those wild eyes glinting with fear and a twisted sense of satisfaction.

"Oh, he will punish you for this," Bellatrix whispered, her voice almost reverent. "You've taken what he cherishes most. You'll suffer for this, little girl. He'll hunt you down, rip you apart, and he'll make your husband watch."

Hermione tried to scream, but her voice was lost in the suffocating darkness. She was back in that vault, surrounded by shadows, the weight of Voldemort's fury pressing down on her chest like a lead weight, suffocating her, drowning her—

She woke up with a gasp, her body drenched in cold sweat, her heart thundering in her chest as she struggled to catch her breath. The shadows of the room she shared with Harry and Ron seemed to close around her, lingering like the remnants of the nightmare, and she could still hear Bellatrix's chilling words echoing in her mind.

She remembered now. The words that Bellatrix screamed while carving into her arm.

The shrill voice echoed within her: "What did you take from my vault?"

There was something in Bellatrix's vault. Something Voldemort would kill to protect.

Hermione's pulse quickened as the pieces clicked together, the memory as sharp as if she'd only just left that dreadful room. Bellatrix hadn't just been angry that night; she'd been terrified. The fear wasn't just of something missing—she'd been horrified at the idea that anyone could have touched her vault.

There had to be something there. An item that could enrage Voldemort and drive Bellatrix to madness if discovered or taken.

Like a fucking horcrux.

Slowly, Hermione sat up, pressing her hand to her forehead as the realization settled over her.

The cottage was quiet. Only faint wave sounds reached from the shore. She took a steadying breath, trying to keep herself calm, but the urgency continued to build in her chest, each heartbeat hammering the same thought into her mind: Bellatrix's vault. A horcrux.

She looked to her left, where Harry and Ron were still sleeping. The rational part of her mind urged her to wait, to let them rest a bit longer, but the tension in her chest was suffocating. They couldn't afford to wait any longer.

Quietly, she crawled out of bed and knelt beside Harry.

"Harry." She shook his shoulders, not trying to whisper. "Harry, wake up. I need to talk to you."

Harry blinked, disoriented for a moment, before his eyes focused on her, his brow furrowing as he sat up. "Hermione? What's wrong?"

Ron jostled as he woke, mumbling something unintelligible as he rubbed his eyes.

"We have to break into Gringotts."

Ron shot up, staring at her like she'd sprouted a second head.

"Are you unstable?" he blurted out. "Break into Gringotts? You must be barmy!"

Hermione closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. She understood how all this sounded, but they didn't have time to argue. She needed them to know how urgent this was.

"Ron, please—just listen to me." She turned towards him. "How Bellatrix reacted when she saw the Sword of Gryffindor was strange. She completely lost control when we were at Malfoy Manor and realized we had the sword. She started screaming, demanding to know how we got it. She thought it was supposed to be in her vault at Gringotts. I've never seen anyone so petrified before. She didn't let the Snatchers call for You-Know-Who. She said they were all in terrible danger."

"So what if she saw the sword?" Ron's expression was still skeptical, his brow furrowing as he considered her words. "Griphook ran off with it after the Manor. Why would we rob Gringotts for nothing?"

"She was scared something else had been stolen, Ronald," Hermione said, her voice urgent. "Think about it. Something so crucial that she tortured me to confirm it was still in place. She took care of the snatchers. She was terrified of You-Know-Who finding out."

A heavy silence fell over the room as Harry and Ron stared at her, the weight of her words settling in.

"You think there's a horcrux in her vault." Harry's eyes widened, his mind racing. The pieces started to click into place.

Hermione nodded, leaning forward. "Yes! It makes sense, doesn't it? We know he'd want to keep his horcruxes somewhere secure, somewhere he trusts completely. The Lestrange's are some of his most loyal followers. He gave the diary to Lucius. He knew Bellatrix would never betray him. Gringotts provides the safest hiding place. Especially in an ancient vault."

Ron's face contorted, his brows knitting together and his mouth pulling into a tight line, caught between shock and reluctant acceptance. "Hermione… do you know what you're saying? "Gringotts is the most heavily guarded place in the wizarding world—goblins, enchantments, curses… dragons! It's impossible to break into. Even if we got in, we wouldn't make it out alive."

"I know it sounds impossible," Hermione said, her voice determined. "But we've done impossible things before."

"She's right, Ron." Harry took a deep breath, his expression resolute. "If there's a chance that a horcrux is stored in Bellatrix's vault, we have to try. It's too important not to."

Ron still looked unconvinced, his eyes darting between Hermione and Harry.

"But how, mate? How in Merlin's name are we supposed to get into Gringotts? We don't exactly have the best track record with breaking into places without causing a scene."

Hermione bit her lip, already calculating possible plans in her mind. "We'll need disguises, of course. I have Polyjuice Potion—enough for at least a few hours. We have Harry's cloak. We might have a chance if we can get inside and move quickly. I know it's dangerous, and I know it's not foolproof, but it's a risk we have to take."

She could see the wheels turning in Ron's mind, his face set in a stubborn frown.

"What if we get caught?" Clinging to his doubts, he persisted, "What happens if we get stuck in there?"

"We won't," Hermione said firmly, more to reassure herself than anything. "We'll make a plan, a good one. We'll be in and out before anyone realizes what's happened. We've been on the run for months, and we've survived. We can do this."

Ron sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair.

"I still think you're mental," he muttered. "But… all right. If you're both sure about this, I'm with you. I always am."

Despite the tension in her chest, a small smile tugged at Hermione's lips.

"Thank you, Ron."

"We need to be prepared for anything." Harry's jaw set with determination. "We need to move quickly. Before they figure out that we know."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "I'll start working on a plan. Gringotts' security requires thorough investigation and research. We'll need disguises, a cover story… everything. Ron, can you get in contact with Charlie? He worked with Gringotts at one point, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose he did." Ron rubbed the back of his hair as he did when he was nervous. "Right, yeah. I can get in touch with him."

"He should be able to give us an idea of what we're dealing with in terms of possible dragons," Harry said.

Hermione made a mental list of everything they'd need to account for, the items exponentially expanding with each new bullet added.

"I'll use my contacts." Hermione stood. "When it comes to vaults as deep as the Lestrange's, the Malfoys are the experts."

"So you're going back?" It was a statement from Harry, not a question.

"Give me two days," Hermione said. "We need to plan, but we also need to act soon before they realize we know something and try to move whatever is in the vault."

"Two days of planning to break into Gringotts?" Ron went pale, his freckles standing stark against his skin. "We're all barmy."

Hermione's resolve hardened. This impossible task was added to a long list.

She'd do whatever it took for Harry, Ron, and everything they fought for.

They all would.

And somewhere deep inside, she hoped Draco would understand.