Redemancy

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/53143063.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson,
Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Blaise Zabini,
Voldemort (Harry Potter), Daphne Greengrass
Additional Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Draco
Malfoy, Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Sex,
Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Slytherins Being
Slytherins, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Character
Study, Character Death, Panic Attacks, Slow Build, Hermione Granger
& Theodore Nott Friendship, Hermione Granger-centric,
Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-01-29 Updated: 2024-02-11 Words: 18,697 Chapters:
7/?
 Redemancy
by natassia

Summary

Following Hermione Granger beginning 8th year at Hogwarts. She blames herself for Harry’s
death.

Most believe Voldemort to be gone, yet there was never a body. To prepare for the worst,
Hermione enlists the help of unlikely allies, forming bonds and growing in the face of past
and future tragedy,

secrets unravel while an unfinished war looms

The only person who seems to know the truth is the one person she could never trust, Draco
Malfoy.

Notes

This is my first time writing a fanfic so please be patient with me while I figure this all out. I
have a plot planned out and the story will pick up. Will be updating frequently

I do not own any of the Harry Potter series or characters

See the end of the work for more notes

 Train collides

September 1st, 1998: The Hogwarts Express

Grief persists, a feeling without an expiry date.

Hermione’s eyes are fixed to the window, picking the dead skin off her already raw fingers in
a feeble attempt to ignore the captivating emptiness of the train compartment.

She’s aware of her role in this self constructed isolation. She knows to blame others for her
own shortcomings would fall under category of selfish, but the offensive sounds of excited
students function as a harsh reminder that others had moved on, that she hadn’t.

To combat the brash sound of ignorance from her peers, Hermione wordlessly silences the
compartment with a lazy twist of her wand.

Growing bored of blankly staring out the train window, Hermione decides the most effective
way to pass time on this monotonous train ride would be to silence her mind and simply fall
asleep.

In an effort to make herself comfortable Hermione reaches to the floor and grabs her brown
leather book bag before propping it up against the train window, creating a makeshift pillow
before curling her legs up to her chest and closing her eyes.

...

An insistent yet gentle tap on Hermione’s left shoulder rouses her from her sleep and causes
her to immediately bolt up in fear. Now awake and unbearably alert, Hermione turns her head
to find the brown concerned eyes of her first friend staring at her, hands holding a small
packaged chocolate frog.

“Sorry Hermione I didn’t mean to frighten you, but everyone has been wondering where you
were. We haven’t seen you since you know the funeral”

Neville eventually says with a tinge of anxiety present in his soft voice.

Hermione's eyes widen with shell shocked grief at the mention of the funeral.

Realizing any attempt to conceal her progressively watering eyes would inevitably fall short,
she turns her gaze to the burgundy carpeted floor and makes a quick excuse to leave. As she
moves to get up, Neville’s hand wraps around her forearm.

At the feeling of contact on her scarred arm, she panics and harshly jolts away, holding her
arm tightly to her chest. Neville’s eyes sink with guilt as he opens his mouth to speak. Of
course Hermione knows Neville would never intentionally hurt her, and for that she feel a
wave of guilt at frightening her friend. But the fact of the matter is that a wound that will
never heal, will always feel fresh.

Seeing Nevilles face turn beet red with shame, Hermione sighs and collects her bearings,
forcing her jaw to unclench.

“Neville, I am fine honestly, I just really need to use the loo, it was nice to see you though,
say hi to everyone for me please”.

Before he gets the chance to respond she’s already half way out the door in a sprint for
solitude.

Hermione stumbles into the loo, wincing as her hip collides with the sharp corner of the sink.
She bites down on her bottom lip to quell the throbbing pain emitting from her hip and takes
a cautious glance at her own reflection in the mirror.

Hermione never cared much for her appearance, she had long since accepted herself as being
at most average and she honestly did not mind. Yet seeing the dark purple circles framing her
sunken bloodshot eyes saddens her. She never expected to come out of a war unscathed, but
to be confronted with such a disheartening reality truly is a hard punch to the gut. Every inch
of her frame is decorated by the haunting memories of near past. Each covered scar is an
artifact of survival and for that Hermione knows she should be grateful for her life. But all
she can think is why does surviving have to be so ugly.

Breaking out of this bout of self pity, Hermione’s shaking hand reaches to turn the tap on. She
leans over the sink, hands cupping the cold water before splashing it over her face. Her now
wet curls hang over her eyes as her hands grow white from gripping the porcelain edges of
the sink. Dazed, she watches the swirl of water slowly circle the drain and forces herself to
regulate her racing heart with deep breaths.

Hermione had dealt with anxiety for as long as she could remember. She knew it was
abnormal to rip out strands of her own hair over a small grade. She knew that stress festered
under her bones, yearning for an escape. But in recent, school related anxiety had escalated to
an uncontrollable tightening of her chest and desperate laboured breathes.

Shutting her eyes, Hermione scrambles to calm her mind, resorting to counting numbers until
her breathe evens out.

After a few minutes, Hermione wipes her face with the back of her hand, ties her damp hair
up away from her eyes and straightens her uniform. She takes one last breath before turning
the doorknob and pushing the door open. She slowly walks back to her compartment,
avoiding the eyes of other students.

Before her mind has time to register what is going on she feels the abrupt impact of
something hard. The shoulder of the stranger is hard and throws Hermoine off her feet.
She places her hands on the foreign chest to stabilize herself as she feels the strangers hands
brush her waist to keep her from falling. Closing her eyes and taking a shocked breath she
looks up only to be confronted with a familiar deep, grimacing voice.

“You should really watch where you are going, Granger”.

Hermione's eyes narrow as she takes in the lithe frame of none other than Draco Malfoy.
Goosebumps take over her skin as she witnesses the pale blonde man standing in front of her.

Malfoy’s silver eyes don’t meet hers as they are locked on his chest where her hands are
planted. Her hands must be cold because she feels his body clench from under her in disgust.
Hermione’s cheeks flush with embarrassment as she quickly rips her hands away. Hands now
placed firmly on her own hips, Hermione experiences a wave of self righteous anger. She
couldn't stand to be facing him right now.

“As if you didn’t walk into me on purpose, Malfoy.”

She touches up her hair like the single touch of his made her hideous.

He scoffs, brushing off his Black slytherin crested robe like she dirtied it, “Granger, why on
earth would I ever choose to run into you. Tell me, why would I dirty myself with the likes of
you?” She feels him tilt his head down with a scoff.

“I am not the one here who is unable to look at anything but the floor. Surely the brightest
witch of our age possesses the ability to think critically, or did that leave you too.” he mocks.

Hermione’s brows furrow, what sadness she once felt slips away and transforms into anger.

“Oh, don’t act like you have anything to look at either you git, Daddy can’t find you friends
this year now that he's locked away”.

Malfoy’s aloof demeanor vanishes. Eyes hardening, he leans over to whisper close to her ear,
“Granger, you look as though the war chewed you up and spit you out. I can see right through
you”.

She stares back, eyes refusing to break, “I could say the same about you, Malfoy. Underneath
that cold facade, you are just a scared little boy, lost chasing the ghost of his master”.

His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh Granger, you and I both know that he is no ghost”.

Hermione’s body freezes when the memory of Voldemort leaves his lips. Without saying
another word she knocks her shoulder into the plain of his chest and leaves.

As she goes to pull open the sliding door of the compartment, she catches a glimpse of the
back of a man's head. With her hand clenched around the handle of the door she quickly
composes herself and silently curses Neville for not leaving when she did. Slowly Hermione
slides the door open.

“Listen Neville, I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly…” but as the figure turns to face Hermione
she is shocked to see that the man sitting in her compartment is not Neville but rather
Theodore Nott.

“Hello, Granger, it is you sitting here with that dreadful book bag, I guess Draco’s suspicions
were correct.”

Refusing to entertain the mere mention of Malfoy’s name, Hermione ignores his comment.
“Theodore, what brings you to my compartment” Hermione says, placing emphasis on her
ownership of the compartment.

He straightens his posture with an amused smile,

“I just needed a place to sit,” he kicks his feet onto the soft cushioned bench, beside her
bookbag. “This cabin simply has the best view,” he smiles, “please sit Granger, why can’t
two old friends catch up?,” he pats the seat next to him.

Hermione rolls her eyes “Theodore I didn’t know you thought so highly of me, seeing as we
have communicated a sum total of zero times”.

To the surprise of Hermione, Theo removes his dragon leather shoes from her seat and
promptly stands, stretching his hand out to her.

“Theo, pleasure to meet you”.

Hermione remains standing, watching this man, puzzled, and suspicious of his intentions.

“Theodore, we have known each other since we were 11, what is this?”

In response, Theo shoots Hermione a smile, unphased by her questioning.

“Well if you insist on beating this childish animosity to the ground, then I figured we have no
other choice than to simply start over. Hence why we are reintroducing ourselves.”

After a moment of contemplation Hermione ultimately relents, and she shakes his
outstretched hand.

Stepping fully into the compartment, Hermione moves cautiously and sits back in her original
spot, intent on staring back out the window.
In her peripheral vision Hermione sees Theo sit back down again, smoothing the creases
from his robe.

Theodore, likely feeling her eyes on him, chuckles and opens his mouth intent on making
conversation. But before he gets a chance Hermione dismisses the idea.

“I don't want to talk to you”.

Theo’s now familiar upbeat demeanor softens and he nods in understanding.

“I get it, Granger, and we don’t need to talk, at least not right now. I just want you to know
that even us, the ones who made all the wrong decisions, listened to all the wrong people and
naively chose the wrong side, even we feel the weight of the same war. So I get it, and we
don’t have to talk about it but just know that if you ever do want to talk, you can with me
because I get it”.
Eyes still fixed out the window and unknowing how to appropriately respond to this
surprising display of empathy, Hermione lets a single tear roll down her cheek, too tired to
wipe it away.

“I know I didn’t know him very well and maybe it's not my place to say, but I’m really sorry
Granger, Harry was good”.

At the mention of her best friend Hermione drags her gaze away from the rolling fields of
Scotland and carefully turns her head to meet his open eyes. It seems that even in death Harry
is able to teardown Hermione’s defenses.

“Theo. Don’t talk to me about Harry”.

Suddenly, the cabin door opens and Hermione’s watering eyes lock sharply on the concerned
face of Neville. His eyes move around the cabin, taking in the sight of a somber Hermione
and Theodore infront of him.
His eyes land finally on Hermione, tilting his head as if to ask if she’s fine.

“Are you okay, Hermione?”

She exhales slowly, in an obvious attempt to mask the weight of Theos words.

“Yes Neville, I am fine, we are fine.”

Still unrelenting Neville hums before sitting right next to her.

As the train slowly comes to a heavy stop, Hermione is relieved to finally remove herself
from the uncomfortable and silent compartment. Of the three seated, Theo seems to be the
only one unaware of the tension, although Hermione assumes he is feigning ignorance and
instead finds the whole situation amusing.

As Hermione moves to get up, Neville shoots her a final warning glance, to which she rolls
her eyes at.
As the three students exit the cabin and enter a cramped hallway, Hermione feels another
bout of anxiety. She can feel her palms growing slick with sweat, as her eyes dart around
looking for familiar faces.
Stuck in a line of impatient students, Hermione hears a familiar voice call her name, one
whose anguished cries haunt her dreams. At the sound, Hermione’s vision starts to shake as
she searches desperately for an escape in a sea full of students.

“Fuck Hermione why are you ignoring me”.

Before Hermione has the time to collect her thoughts she sees the familiar wisps of red hair
pushing their way towards her, but before Ginny is able to catch up to Hermione, the line
begins to move.
 A new Hogwarts
Chapter Summary

Hermione is back at Hogwarts and some more plot

Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

September 1st, 1998

In hindsight the concept of a sorting ceremony airs on the side of repugnant.

Watching a worn hat characterize 11 year olds by their most “defining” characteristics, while
ignoring the simple truth that characteristics change and what defines a person is not whether
they are curious, or brave or ambitious but rather by their lived experience

Hermione pushes around the roast on her plate with her fork, picking at the pieces while her
mind drifts elsewhere.

Beside her sits Neville, who is not so subtly eyeing her with concern. Every so often he opens
his mouth as if to say something but closes it just as Hermione scraps the bottom of her plate
for the nth time.

He turns his head to the rest of the Gryfindor 8th years seated along the long table, who are
suspiciously quiet.

Even though it goes unmentioned, they can all feel the absence of their peers. The ones lost
to the war and the ones who couldn’t bring themselves to return.

Hermione understands this, she can albeit reluctantly see why Ron would not want to return
to finish his education and would rather spend time with the family he has left.

But Hermione doesn't have the luxury of family. Her parents live safely in Australia, leaving
her the sole bearer of their memories as a family.

As she reaches for her pumpkin juice, the hair on Hermione's neck stands up straight, as if
feeling eyes on her.

Eyes staring, and unwavering.

When she eventually turns to see the cupript, her view is met by the Slytherin table and a
smirking Theo. She rolls her eyes at him assuming his newfound fascination with her is the
reason she feels watched. However, beside him sits Malfoy, who appears disinterested and
stuck in a conversation with Pansy Parkinson. None of this image feels out of place, except
for the pink tinge present on Malfoy’s typically pale cheeks.

While Hermione is consumed by analyzing the shade of Malfoy’s face, obviously out of pure
suspicion. She hears Theo cough, a clearly intentional cough. She turns her gaze to his as he
tilts his head in Malfoys direction and raises a single aristocratic eyebrow.

Hermione glares daggers at him before deciding that this interaction is her cue to leave the
dining hall and all subsequent social interaction.

As she begins to stand, Neville seems to find the courage to speak up.

“Hermione, are you leaving already?”

All the 8th years at their table turn their gaze to face her, confirming her suspicions that
Neville has been elected to speak on behalf of everyone as their designated Hermione
spokesman.

“Yeah I want to unpack everything before I head to the library. To go over all the syllabi”.
Neville’s whole body relaxes presumably from hearing Hermione’s intentions to focus on her
academics, reassured by the familiar actions of his friend.

She shoots him a soft smile before motioning to leave, feeling the same stare on the back of
her head.

Once she bypasses the Fat Lady who fortunately does not attempt to sing, Hermione closes
her eyes and breathes a sigh of relief, grateful to finally be alone.

However, when she opens her eyes the sight of the common room breaks her away from that
short refuge of relief.
The large mahogany mantle set over the fireplace in the center of the room can barely be seen
under the expansive array of red flowers and gold leafs.

Within the flora are small moving pictures of familiar young faces, all of which are engraved
with their respective names in dainty gold calligraphy.

Among the many photographs are the untouched faces of Lavender Brown, Fred Weasley,
Colin Creavy and many others.

She sees the faces of people that she may not have known personally, but had experienced
their consistent presence over the years in this very common room.

What really takes her attention however, lies In the center of the mantle. Decorated with more
flowers than most, in a frame larger than the others rests the face of a smiling Harry Potter.
In the moving picture, Harry’s eyes crinkle in that familiar way as he tilts his head back to
laugh at something Ron had said. Hermione can only think about how young he looks, how
different he looks from the last time they had spoken. When his face was stained by dirt and
his eyes were stained by war.
Hermione feels her eyes begin to water, stuck in a trance staring at the face which she had not
seen since his private funeral. When she feels the slow trickle of wetness paint her face
Hermione twists her body away from the memorial and forces herself to take the heavy steps
towards the stairs which lead to her room. The sound of her mary jane shoes echoing off the
cold cobblestone, is all that can be heard in this previously boisterous room.

When Hermione reaches her dormitory, she unzips her large suitcase and waves her wand to
allow magic to unpack her belongings. While her room and wardrobe are being filled,
Hermione sits on the edge of her bed absentmindedly picking at her torn finger tips.
Although her moment of silence is interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps clanging up
the stairs.

Her eyes stare blankly at the door to the room in anticipation, as it is pushed open with force.
Now standing in the doorway stands the body attached to the familiar array of red hair.
Ginny Weasley's face meets hers, her eyes narrowed as she leans against the doorway with
her arms crossed over her chest. Ginny huffs out a breath of annoyance

“You can take that disappointed expression off your face, we have practically lived together
already”.

The two had spent countless nights laughing together in the heat of summer at the burrow
illuminated only by a lumos from their wands. They had shared secrets, admitted to
insecurities and endured life experiences together. Ginny has always been a safe place free of
judgment. Yet Hermione feels the tangible growing distance widening between them putting
a deep strain on their relationship.

Hermione mutters “I have to go to the library, I’ll leave you to unpack”.

While repacking her backpack with a collection of scrolls and ink she can feel Ginny’s
pointed gaze, even then Hermione refuses to look up.

“I loved him too, you know. I am grieving too. We both are, and yet you can’t even look me
in the eye”.

Hermione, whose eyes were fixed on her bed, meets Ginny’s.

“I know, and I'm sorry Ginny.”

Ginny scoffs, throwing her head to the side and tensing her jaw, her eyes still narrowed but
breathing heavier.

“Do you though? Do you really? Because you have been ignoring all of us, and we have tried
to be there for you and yet you don’t give a shit about the rest of us”.

She is raising her voice, begging Hermione to listen, as the tension grows between the two
girls.

Ginny has always been confrontational, maybe it's by nature or more likely due to her being
the only girl in a sea of boys. She has never been afraid to escalate arguments, but in her eyes
Hermione sees a sliver of emotional vulnerability, an occurrence rare for the typically
headstrong girl.

“Ginny, that's not fair. Of course I care, but I really just have to go”.

Hermione begins to walk towards the door to where Ginny is standing. But before Hermione
has the chance to exit through the doorway, Ginny grabs her shoulder with insistence and
turns Hermione, stopping her in her tracks and forcing her to meet her eyes.

“Just because you have given up on yourself does not mean the rest of us have. I hope you
can see that. But Hermione, you aren’t being a good friend.”

Ginny’s eyes soften for a brief second before she lets go of Hermione’s shoulder allowing her
to leave the room, hands now raised in surrender.

Hermione exits the common room through the passage, grateful to not have seen anyone else
and still reeling from her brief confrontation with Ginny. She understands Ginny’s
earnestness and honesty, but she knows that even if they went through similar circumstances,
Ginny will never truly understand what transpired that year. She also knows with conviction
that if Ginny were to know the whole truth, she would never forgive Hermione.

As she walks the familiar trek to the library, Hermione takes in the renewed walls of the
castle. To a non observant eye, the castle looks untouched, but to Hermione the gray stoned
walls are a lighter shade which indicates that the stoned walls are new.

She passes by a group of third years walking to their common room. Overhearing whispers
regarding Hermione’s lone presence in the castle.

She wonders what the qualifications are to be infamous, it's not as if she did anything of
serious importance, or achieved anything of great significance. She did not take Voldemort
down, or contribute to a better society, although she may have tried. Harry’s infamy came
from his “sacrifice” for the wizarding world, but is that really worthy if the sacrifice was
committed in vain. In all honesty one would have to be truly dim to believe that Voldemort's
absence is fixed. Based on precedent he will return, just as he did 5 years and 20 years before.

As Hermione enters through the large cobblestone doorway to the library, she is
overwhelmed by the scent of new books. It makes sense for the books lost to the rubble of the
battle to be replaced by new copies but Hermione can’t help but miss the familiar scent of
history which used to waft in the air.

Hermione finds her usual table and begins to unpack her belongings before taking a seat in an
unreasonably uncomfortable chair. After spending half an hour going over her schedule and
workload for the year, Hermione pushes her chair back to stand. Since no one other than her
chose to spend their first night among the books, Hermione does not make excuses for why
she drifts to the restricted section in the back of the large room.

Standing in between tall shelves filled with books, Hermione's hand brushes the many
bindings of titles, weaving through the section titled “the dark arts”.
Although she would never admit it to anyone, Hermione controversially rejects the notion
that the supposed “light” side must only perform light magic. How can a side truly be good if
the people fighting for what is “right” refuse to use more effective magic to save countless
lives in favor of protecting their own magical purity. Maybe Hermione is just being paranoid,
but she feels the lack of preparation for the impending war caused much of the subsequent
fall out.

Hermione lands on an intriguing binding engraved in dark red with the title “Dark
enchantments and Curses”. The binding feels older than the rest which leads her to assume it
had protective enchantments around it, enabling the book to endure the war.

As she walks back to her table, book tucked under her arm, she sees that someone is sitting at
her table, the only table occupied. The head of this intruder tilts up at hearing Hermione’s
heavy footsteps and she sees the smirking face of Theo.

“I thought I would find you here of all places. You did leave irregularly early from the dining
hall. I can’t wrap my head around why.”

Sarcasm drips from his voice, and Hermione scoffs as she closes in on her table, dismissing
his obvious insinuation.

“You know Theo, I am starting to think you are in love with me or something, with how
insistent you are to follow my every move”.

Theo just laughs at her remark before leaning over the table closer to her.

“Well we would be a truly striking match, if only I were into your kind”.

Hermione pauses, taken aback. She was sure based on their past interactions that Theo did
not adhere to the ideology of blood supremacy. Sensing Hermione's apprehension Theo
continues.

“Oh relax, this has nothing to do with your heritage. You just have the wrong parts”.
He says with a genial smirk.

Hermione's eyes widened in understanding as she moves her chair out from under the table to
sit down.

“I see, well then I guess you may stay. Seeing as you look awfully comfortable occupying my
space”.

Theo shoots her a friendly smile before focusing his eyes on the book under her arm.
Suddenly his aloof demeanor shifts into an expression of hesitant curiosity.

“Why are you carrying a book on dark curses Hermione?”

Her eyes meet his, as she stuffs the book into her bag in a hurry. Of course he of all people
would notice.

“I am just preparing for the worst”.

 Theo simply nods in understanding, but his expression remains hesitant. He opens his mouth
to speak but closes it immediately and pauses to carefully choose his next words.

“I do want you to know that when it happens, I won’t make the same choices as the last
time.”
This intrigues Hermione as she witnesses a rare moment of vulnerability. She figured that of
the students caught up on the other side of the war, Theo was the least committed to the
cause. As a matter of fact, Hermione can’t recall ever hearing his name involved over the
radio while on the run.

“I know Theo. I won’t either.”

His tense expression relaxes at her acknowledgement. Then he pauses, considering the back
end of her remark. Hermione sees his eyes glance to her book bag where her book now
resides. He pauses looking up to the ceiling in contemplation.

“But you know, if you are intent on practicing or preparing” he says slowly with quotation
gestures, not breaking eye contact.

“It might be a good thing to have a partner to prepare with. You might even learn faster
seeing as I am more familiar with the topic than you are.”

Hermione considers this. She admits that his experience might function as a useful asset in
her pursuit, but she remained slightly unsure to indulge her paranoia with anyone else.
However, to lose this new budding ally would be a mistake. Before answering, Hermione
takes a few moments to look over Theos demeanor. In front of she sees a man, who appears
to be repenting, his palms facing to the ceiling in a display of trust. A man who has been
nothing but sincere.

“Okay, Theo but I only need a partner, not an entourage.”

He smiles back at her bashfully and says.

“It will be our little secret.”

Before adding

“I know the perfect place.”

Chapter End Notes

from bookies
 the room of unchanged things
Chapter Summary

In the aftermath of Hermione's late night library sesh she runs into a certain someone.

Lumos
Returning from the library, Hermione quietly weaves her way through the complicated
hallways of the castle. Just as she is about to turn the corner leading to the stairs, she sees a
small ball of pale yellow light in the distance.

Accepting any excuse not to return to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione decides to
follow this source of moving light. She mutters a quiet Nox deciding to let the unfamiliar
light guide her. Tempering her breathing, her eyes stay alert while her sweaty palms grip the
base of her wand.

As she approaches the light, she starts to make out the outline of a tall figure slowly walking
before they turn a corner and disappear from her view.

She begins to turn the corner until suddenly, the light goes out and she's surrounded only by
darkness. Hermione considers turning back, as she feels her heart begin to race until she hears
the sound of slow heavy footsteps getting louder and louder until they abruptly stop.

“Granger, has no one ever told you it is impolite to sneak up on someone.”

The slow drawl of Malfoys voice echos off the walls, utterly consuming the dark hallway.
She hears him take a couple steps forwards before she whispers lumos.

As her eyes adjust to the light illuminating off her wand she is faced with the tall looming
frame of Malfoy who stands less than a foot away. For whatever reason, he seems
unsurprised by her presence. Instead he raises a brow as if to reiterate his initial question.

Hermione clears the throat to rouse confidence.

“Pardon me for being curious as to why a student would be roaming the halls past curfew”.

Malfoy’s eyes focus on her face, lit only by the glow emanating from the tip of her wand, and
slowly puts his arms behind his back, in a show of relaxation. The corner of his mouth
twitches in a slight smirk, so small that it may be a trick of the light.

“Funny you say that Granger, considering you are the one stalking me through the castle halls
after curfew”.

Hermione rolls her eyes and opens her mouth in preparation to defend herself. But before she
can, Malfoy leans in until she can feel his hot breath on her ear and whispers.
“Oh but let me guess, you were in the library avoiding Weasley, because you know she would
never forgive you if she knew the truth about Potter's death”.

Shaken, she meets his knowing gaze with narrowed eyes, and without thinking, points her
wand at his chest and whispers immobulus.

Malfoys entire body freezes and slides down the hallway wall until he is effectively frozen on
the floor. His white hair falls over his wide open eyes as he is stuck rested against the cold
walls of the castle

She leans over his still body and croches down to meet his eyes.

“Don’t you ever fucking talk to me about Harry again. Or I will have to finish what he started
using a certain spell”. She breathes out near his ear before pulling back to looking directly at
his chest.

Hermione slowly stands up and turns around without a second look and begins to walk back
to the direction of her common room. As she is about to turn the corner she mutters a pointed
rennervate and walks away.

When Hermione wakes up the next morning, Ginny has already left.

Half asleep, she checks the time only to discover that she has already missed breakfast. With
a frustrated groan Hermione slides out of bed and begins to get ready for her Advanced
Potions class.

Lacking the time or patience to tame her curls, Hermione quickly ties her hair up and away
from her face to the best of her ability. Before putting on her uniform, she without looking
glamors the dreadful scar gifted to her by Bellatrix, tainting her left forearm.

Making her way to the Potions classroom Hermione is fully intent on pretending the events
that transpired last night never happened. That is until she turns the door knob to enter the
classroom and sees the back of a familiar pale blond head, sitting unfrozen and moving.

In the seat in front of Malfoy sits the smiling jovial face of Theo, who motions her to sit
beside him. When she shakes her head, Theo rolls his eyes and raises a paper napkin with a
cinnamon bun. Before she can dismiss him again, Theo starts to stand seemling intent on
coming towards her.

Unwilling to cause a scene and give her peers another reason to talk, Hermione relents and
begrudgingly drags her feet towards Theo. As she pulls the chair back to sit beside him he
hands her the cinnamon bun, gesturing with his hands to eat it.

“Saw that you missed breakfast.”

Hermione turns to him, placing the bun in front of her before reaching into her book bag to
grab her potions notebook and quill. Once she considers herself settled she narrows her eyes
and purses her lips feigning annoyance.
“For some reason I suspect that you brought me this as a way to incentivize me to sit beside
you.” Theo to his credit just smiles

“That's neither here nor there.”

Throughout the remainder of the class, Hermione can feel Malfoy staring daggers at the back
of her head. It seems that unfortunately she is not the only one to notice this behavior,
because half way through the class Theo makes a show of turning his head from her to Draco,
to the annoyance of both parties.

As the class comes to a close, Theo slides a folded piece of paper across the table to
Hermione. When she looks at him confused, he mouths at her to open it later. Accepting the
confusing behaviour of Theo, Hermione closes her notebook and packs her bags, giving him
a small smile before pushing her chair back and standing up.

Before she can leave, she catches the cold eye of Malfoy, and in a twist of fate her earlier
plan to pretend last night never happened vanishes into thin air.

He doesn’t speak to her but with one look over she can see his already pale knuckles are
white from clasping his hands together in a tight fist. Just as she is about to turn away his
eyes slowly and calculatedly move from hers down her chest and body before stopping at her
cardigan sleeve covering her left forearm, holding his gaze there intentionally before trailing
back up to her face.

Hermione shutters and makes a quick pace to remove herself from the classroom, not before
catching in her peripheral vision, the right corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

As Hermione enters her shared room with Ginny at the end of the day, she once again finds
herself alone. Not thinking much of it, she sets her bag down on top of her small wooden
desk and rummages through it to retrieve the note Theo had slipped to her earlier that day.

With the small folded paper in hand, Hermione kicks her shoes off and sits on the edge of her
unmade bed. In the note is a short message written in aristocratic calligraphy that reads

7pm, 7th floor, bring that book of yours

Your friend, Theo

After checking her watch for the 5th time in the past hour, Hermione scowls, seeing that she
still has another half hour until she can leave to meet with Theo.

To temper her impatience Hermione decides to return to the library, but just as she raises
herself from the bed Ginny walks in the room.
Cheeks flushed from flying and hair pulled back into a tight ponytail Ginny looks almost
surprised to see Hermione. As Hermione stands frozen unsure what to say, Ginny rolls her
eyes and unceremoniously tosses her flying gear onto her bed.

She then fully enters the small room, with her arms folded over her chest.
“I thought you were ignoring me.”
Hermione's eyes widen,

“Come on Hermione, I may not be as brilliant as you are but I am not stupid, you are
ignoring me. Where even were you last night”.

Hermione edges closer with her hands raised in surrender.

“I swear to Merlin Ginny I was at the library.”

Sensing the sincerity in her voice Ginny decides to back off and sends a curt nod in response
before turning around to change out of her flying clothes. Breathing a sigh of relief Hermione
again motions to leave the room, until she hears Ginny’s voice muffled as she pulls her sweat
soaked shirt over her head.

“I am not going to be on your ass all the time wondering where you are. But just
communicate with me please. It really shouldn’t be this hard.”

Before Hermione has the chance to respond she hears the door to their shared lavatory close
as Ginny leaves to shower.

Checking her watch again, Hermione sighs with relief seeing that it is now an appropriate
time to head to meet with Theo. After triple checking that she has the book still in her
possession Hermione leaves for the 7th Floor.

As she reaches the top of the stairs to the 7th floor landing, Hermione spots Theo leaning up
against the wall staring blankly ahead. Walking forward, the sound of her shoes alerts Theo to
her presence, effectively breaking him out of his daze.

His vacant expression transforms into a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I assume you have been in there before?” Hermione asks.

Theo kicks off the wall walking to meet her half way, hands in his pockets.

“I haven’t personally had the pleasure, but from what I have heard, you have.”

Knowing the events that transpired in the past year in the room, Hermione does not pry. But
rather gestures with her arm as if to say shall we.

Once the door appears, the two silently enter through the walls into the room of hidden
things.

The room, like the rest of the castle, looks untouched to the naked eye. Without being privy
to the context of the war, one would believe the room to be in pristine condition. But under
the smoke, mirrors and the regenerative quality of the castle, rests a history of deceit, betrayal
and death.

Hermione steps forward first, slowly edging her way into the middle of the windowless room.
As she tilts her head up to inspect the heightened ceilings, she can't help but feel small
surrounded by the mountains of piled clutter.
She can vividly remember the circumstances which had initially led her to the room of
requirement, just as she can recall the burning feeling of fiend fire creeping steadily fast
towards her. Yet in those moments of burning fire and fear, Hermione did not have the chance
to revel at the endless depths of magical possibility that lies within the room.

To Hermione the piles upon piles of discarded magical objects warrant proper exploration
and care.
As Hermione stands bent over one of the many shelves, gently brushing the dust off what
looks to be a golden floral music box, she hears a pair of hesitant footsteps coming towards
her. As she turns around and quickly sweeps off the fallen dust on her skirt, she sees a
surprisingly serious Theo.

Hands still in his pockets, Theo hesitantly steps over to where Hermione is in the center of
the room. While he takes his time, Hermione acios two simple chairs and a small table from
one of many mountains of clutter to set up a space for them to study the book.

As Theo looks around at her simple set up, Hermione stands anxiously, unsure what to do
with her hands and resorting to her anxious habit of picking at them. Eventually Hermione
clears her throat.

“So how do you think we should start?”

Theos previously serious resolve softens, recognizing Hermione Granger's honest attempt at
teamwork. Before speaking he takes a seat in the chair closest to the door, propping his
dragon leather shoes up against the small table, and positioning his hands behind his neck
leaning back against the unstable chair.

“Well how much do you know about the dark arts other than the unforgivables?”

Immediately Hermione begins to make a mental list, categorizing all that she's ever read or
witnessed regarding the dark arts. As she does so, she motions to sits in the chair opposite to
him and leans over with her elbows planted on her knees.

“I am familiar with the curses used in the final battle plus I have a physiological
understanding of blood magic and I've always been highly fascinated by the fundamentals of
dark potion making, although I have never tried it myself as that would be incredibly
irresponsible given the school setting.”

As Hermione lists off all that she has gathered on the topic from many the late nights she
spent back in 6th year with her head hovered over books from the restricted section, Theo
just listens with rapt attention as a slow crooked smile graces his face.

“You really live up to your title don’t you, brightest witch of her age”.
Hermione's eyes meet his as a deep frown paints her previously animated face.

“I hate that they call me that, you know”.

Theo tilts his eyes to get a better look at Hermione's now closed demeanor. After a second of
contemplation he straightens in the chair, uncrosses his ankles to take his shoes off the table
and holds his hands in his lap, leaning forward towards her.

“You do know that it was not your fault. No one could have predicted what would happen.”

As Theo speaks, Hermione's eyes unconsciously turn to the floor welling up once again, with
guilt. Before looking up again she wipes the fallen tear with the sleeve of her cardigan before
straightening up again.

“Theo, I told you not to talk about him.”

 Slytherin Imposition
Chapter Summary

Hermione and Theo discuss magical theory and Hermione gets invited to a party in the
dungeons.

Chapter Notes

I chose to split this chapter into two as it was getting long. The next chapter will Have a
lot of Draco and Hermione and will take place in the Slytherin common room and one
other private location...

To conceptualize magic in binary categories of light and dark, is to limit a complex

phenomenon to simple dualities.

Magical alterations is how chapter one of the book describes it.

A way to magically alter a common spell with the use of intent and a familiarity with dark
magic in order to transform a harmless spell into a sinister one.

An easily reversible immobulus becomes a curse, with the capacity to stop a person's blood
from circulating to their brain as the conscious victim feels their internal organs stop
functioning until they eventually die, frozen, and unable to do anything. Or rather a diffindo
that creates a cut that won’t close, no matter the amount of dittany used to heal the wound.
The last example on the page describes a bombarda which targets an individual rather than an
environment. In this case, the bombarda locates the heart of the victim causing an immediate
explosion of the person, subsequently quickly killing the victim.

In every instance, ordinary spells become fatal, and irreversible.

As Hermione pours over the book, considering the possibilities of such magic, she hears
Theo distantly clear his throat, presumably to grab her pointed attention.

“Not all dark magic is this sinister you know, these alteration spells could be used to elevate
healing and protective magic.”

Hearing this Hermione realizes that in reading about such dangerous possibilities she forgot
to consider the potential healing qualities to this form of magic. Feeling guilty she shifts her
attention away from her point on the page to meet Theos gaze.

“Could you give me an example”.

Theo shifts in his seat before speaking, opening his hands to gesture.

“Well of course this is all hypothetical but take for instance Brackium Emendo, rather than
slowly healing broken bones, the spell could be used to painlessly and quickly piece together
shattered bones. Or in another case, a protego could be held up indefinitely without draining
the casters energy and could even potentially function as a force field that propels the spell
back on the other wizard.”

Hermione considers this, visualizing the possible benefits the magic could have in war. If
only she had discovered this book back in sixth year. She then wonders why she had not, in
all her research on the topic, how had she not found the book that had drawn her in the first
place.

“That would be incredible but Theo, there must be a caveat to such powerful magic”.

Theo pauses for a moment before grabbing the book from the small table and placing it on
his lap, flipping through the pages without answering Hermione's initial question. He then
pauses on a page, before taking a deep inhale and turning the book to face Hermione.

“This sort of magic requires absolute clarity of the mind, the user must be able to occlude in
order to centralize their thoughts to alter the intended magic.”

Hermione's eyes widened. She had read about Occlumency in her sixth year, how only a
small population has the natural capabilities to completely compartmentalize and shut off
their emotions, and of that population, there had been no recorded accounts of a muggle born
possessing the ability. When she read about it, she figured that her mind, prone to
overthinking, wouldn't lend well to a skill which requires what she believed to be the absence
of thoughts all together.

Slugging her shoulders in defeat, Hermione looks to Theo with disappointment coating her
eyes.

“I can’t do it Theo, no muggleborn has ever been able to, plus how would we ever learn, it's
not as though we know anybody who is able to occlude.”

Theo slowly shifts his head to the side, seemingly bracing himself and tensing his jaw.

“Draco, can.”

Hermione rolls her eyes in a show of obvious annoyance as if Theo just said the most
ridiculous thought ever uttered by man.

“Malfoy would never attempt to teach me to occlude Theo, and more importantly why would
I ever allow him too.”

He nods, parting his mouth to speak before shutting it once again.

“Plus, Malfoy, the star pupil of one Voldemort would never think to sully his magic teaching
a lost muggleborn cause to advance herself and by association the order.”

Theo once again nods.

“Well I know the very basics of occlusion, although I had never been able to successfully
occlude. Nevertheless I could try and teach you all that I know.”

Hermione smiles with gratitude and a slight lack of hope.

“Theo I would appreciate that. However in the meantime we can always use this opportunity
and room to practice dueling.”

Theo, nods to her, accepting Hermione's hopeless compliance and motions to get up from his
seat.

“Its pretty late, think we should call it a night ”.

She looks to him before glancing down to her old brown leather watch given to her by her
dad, seeing that it is already past midnight.

“Sure, wanna meet at the same time next week?”

He nods, giving her the book back as he levitates the small table and the chair he was sitting
in away from the center of the room.

Hermione bends over still seated to put the book back into her bag before standing to levitate
her own chair away.

While Hermione collects her belongings, Theo stands silently, waiting for her to follow him
out the same door they entered through back into the dark night of the castle.

And just like that, a routine began between hesitant allies turned into unlikely friends.

Every Tuesday, Hermione and Theo would meet at 7pm sharp, at the 7th floor landing, before
entering through the disappearing door to practice dueling and occlumency.

Each time, they would allocate an hour to Hermione’s clarity of mind, where they would sit
on an old worn rug as Hermione would attempt to clear her mind without much success.
Once she gave up for the night, they would walk to opposite sides of the crowded room and
begin to duel, sharpening their reflexes.

One Tuesday, as Hermione wiped the beads of sweat collecting on her forehead mindlessly
packing her bag to leave, Theo turned to her hands deep in his pockets, swaying slightly.

“So.. there's this small party friday in the Slytherin common room, and of course I would
understand if you were to say no, but if you did want to expand on your circle or whatever
you are welcome to come.”
She turns her head up to him in disbelief.

“Are you really inviting me into the snake pit, Nott?”

He smiles hesitantly tapping his foot on the floor.

“I’d like to think we aren’t all a convincing group of supremacists. Plus Daphne Greengrass
is hosting and she is actually extending the invitation to you.”

Hermione pauses.

“And why would Daphne Greengrass do that? She and I have quite literally never spoken.”

“Well her and I are quite close and she has noticed that you and I spend a fair bit of time
together in the library. I swear she's one of the good ones, if I suspected any malicious intent
on her part, I wouldn’t have asked”.

Hermione considers this. Although the Greengrass family had never aligned themselves fully
with Voldemort, it was public knowledge that they in part funded his agenda.

“Didn’t her family fund Voldemort and thus fund the side that wishes for all muggleborns to
die?”

Theo takes a deep inhale.

“As a well known family, there was not much they could do to stay completely detached from
the war. That said, Daphne does not adhere to those ideologies, in fact she is fervently
opposed. But as I said, you are not obliged to say yes, it really is just something to consider. “

As she slings her backpack on to her shoulder and leviates their set up off the floor Hermione
nods slightly.

“Well I’ll consider it, but no promises.”

Theo smiles at her, this was more than he had expected.

“Lovely.”

Each day passes like the last, where Hermione wakes up to find Ginny’s bed empty and
rushes to eat a quick breakfast before fully immersing herself in her studies.

On friday she wakes up in a cold sweat. Nightmares have become a recurring staple of
Hermione Granger's life. Each night is the same as the last, she is stuck habitually reliving the
memory of Harry’s body dropping to the rubbles of the hogwarts grounds as she can distantly
hear the screams of anguish from Ginny to the left and a haunting horrified gasp coming from
her own mouth. In her grief she can only partially see the body of Voldemort disappear into a
shadow of black through her tear stricken eyes.
Hermione has learned the hard way that waking up, to the confirmation of a nightmarish
reality never gets easier, in fact each morning it gets harder feeling the distance between her
old self and herself now grow.

As she turns to the side to grab the cup of water on her night stand, Hermione checks her
watch to discover she had woken up far too early for her liking.

Groaning she slides out of bed and as she does she hears the light tap of a familiar mangly
owl at her window. Quietly as to not wake Ginny up, Hermione tiptoes over to the window
and as gently as possible slides the window up to let the soaking wet bird in.

Attached to its claws is a note and small book shaped parcel which Hermione unties before
half closing the window and sliding back into bed.

Whispering lumos, Hermione sees a plain white envelope with “Mione” written in bold
messy handwriting on the front. She opens the envelope to a burst of colorful confetti which
falls lamely onto her sheets. Inside is a card which reads.

Happy 19th birthday Mione!

Sorry I couldn’t see you today, but I know you will probably spend your birthday at the
library.
Make sure to do something fun!

We all miss you,

Ron

Hermione almost forgot it was her birthday, or maybe she just subconsciously convinced
herself to ignore the day. Regardless, the card from Ron is a sharp reality check in the face.
For the past 8 years Hermione had never spent this day alone. Even though she herself never
cared much for the trivial nature of birthdays, Harry and Ron had always made sure to make
her feel special. Something she wished she hadn’t taken for granted.

Moving her attention on to the package, Hermione does her best to soundlessly unwrap the
crinkled and wet wrapping. Inside she finds yet another copy of “Hogwarts a History”, which
she quickly adds to her growing collection.

Hermione doesn’t mean to feel ungrateful for the gift, she understands the impression she
gives off to her dearest friends. Yet, a small part of her wishes that her friends could see her
as more than just an academic. She is certain her disappointment is just a projection of her
own insecurity but she can’t help but feel the gift represents her perceived lack of depth.

After placing the book on her desk Hermione motions to grab a quill, ink and piece of
parchment, intent on immediately writing Ron back. As she does so, she hears Ginny's body
shift behind her.

She turns to see Ginny, half asleep, sitting upright in bed. Under the mess of red hair splayed
across her face is a tired sincere smile.

“Happy birthday Hermione”.

Hermione shoots her a soft smile in response.

“Thanks Gin, sorry for waking you up”.

Ginny groans in response, haphazardly sliding out of bed and stretching her arms above her
head while yawning.

“It's fine, I have flying practice anyway.”

Hermione breathes a sigh of relief before quickly writing a response back to Ron. She ties her
letter to the owl's leg before rewarding it with a treat and fully closing the window.

She hears Ginny shuffle around the room to grab her flying clothes from their spot on the
floor.

“So do you have any big plans for the day?”

“None that are confirmed, I really don’t want to make my birthday a thing.”

Ginny nods to her in grave understanding. Before tying her hair up into a tight high ponytail.

“I get that. Just try not to be alone today, maybe you can hang out with Theo or something”.

Hermione pauses in shock before facing Ginny who has a single knowing eyebrow raised.

“Hermione we live together, I know you two hang out and for the record I don’t care. He has
always been rather unproblematic. People can change, we both know that.”

Hermione tries to ignore the underlying implication of Ginny’s words but relaxes her
shoulders in relief.

“Maybe I will, he has invited me to a function in the Slytherin common room tonight but I
wasn’t going to go.”

Ginny pauses, eyes widening as she steps closer to Hermione.

“Really, well it's up to you, I mean that's really strange but I can’t lie incredibly interesting. If
you do go, promise me you will report back to me on all the insane aristocratic bull shit the
Slytherins say”.

Hermione laughs, her eyes still holding a little concern.

“Do you think I should go?”

Ginny tilts her head in contemplation.

“I mean it's completely up to you, but from what I can tell Theo doesn’t seem half bad and
you can always leave at any point”.

“I guess you are right”.

Ginny just nods and continues to get ready for her practice, grabbing her gear from various
spots around the room and smiling at Hermione as she exits through the door.

Now alone Hermione experiences the return of a sinking loneliness presumably exacerbated
by her birthday. To combat the familiar looming feeling she decides to spend the rest of her
early morning honing her occlumency skills, in an effort to clear her mind.

From Theos explanation, Hermione had gathered that this practice bears similarities to the
muggle practice of meditation. Although she had never practiced meditation herself, over the
years she had heard many of her mothers friends rave about the benefits of meditation and
yoga. Hermione thought herself too busy to waste hours sitting in the same spot, all in the
pursuit of an empty head. She found the whole idea trivial and useless.

Nevertheless circumstances had brought Hermione to where she is now, sat on her bed, with
her legs crossed and her eyes closed trying her best to find clarity in her mind.

Theo had also mentioned that aside from a clear mind, the individual must compartmentalize
their thoughts by visualizing themselves, storing each memory away. He explained that for
some this practice exists in the form of a shelf, or a box but Hermione, ever the pragmatic,
figured a bookshelf would be her best and most logical solution.

Unfortunately not due to a lack of effort, the memories kept seeming to slip off the pages of
her books, falling away to the abscesses of her mind. For some reason the memories and
thoughts kept in Hermione's mind would simply not stay still, they would not cooperate.

Growing frustrated with herself, Hermione chooses to get ready for the day, deciding to leave
for an early breakfast.

The great hall is scarce of students, and the ones that are there appear tired and are scattered
across the large room.

She chooses to sit at the edge of the gryffindor table and begins to fix herself a simple
breakfast of toast with a large helping of strawberry jam and a black coffee. Just as Hermione
is about to take her first bite she hears the shuffle of footsteps behind her approaching the
long empty table.

Turning around, Hermione sees the bright and perfected face of one Daphne Greengrass.
Compared to Hermione, Daphne is the epitome of the perfect pureblood woman. Her golden
blonde hair is perfectly straight and silky flowing gracefully as she strides towards Hermione.
Her makeup is minimal and yet perfectly emphasizes her dainty features and emerald green
eyes.

Hermione can’t help but stare at the young woman as she seems to glide across the hall
towards her.

“Hello Hermione, I haven’t seen you here this early before”.

Daphne enunciates, her words carrying a high level of self assured confidence.
“Daphne, I don’t believe we have met.”

The slytherin girl just smiles, before wordlessly sitting beside Hermione on the bench.

“Sure we haven’t had the chance to talk until now but I wouldn’t say we have never met.”

Daphne says as she candidly dismisses the idea of a formal introduction . Hermione can only
stare at the girl, baffled by her appearance at the gryffindor table. Daphne just smiles at
Hermione's obvious confusion and folds her hands daintily on top of her lap.

“So what's the verdict Hermione, are you coming tonight?”

Hermione just stares at the girl and slowly places her half eaten slice of toast back onto the
plate.

“I’m really not sure Daphne, I would feel rather out of place.”

“Hermione, I really just want to get to know Theo’s new best friend, and honestly I think you
would have a good time.”

Daphne's insistence and apparent natural gift for persuasion eventually leads Hermione to
begrudgingly relent and offer placid, ‘sure’.

The girl smiles in response, raising her hands from her lap into the air in an obvious display
of excitement.

“Oh and Hermione, do come a couple hours early, you have such promising potential”
she says as she leans closer to Hermione's face, inspecting the wide eyed girl, eyes running
over Hermione's appearance like one would to a blank canvas.

“Really formidable bone structure, and in all honesty I have been dying to make you up for
the longest time. I am sure we can find something suitable for you to wear.”

Hermione just sits in shock, and without thinking straightens her slouched posture.

“Daphne, that's really not necessary.”

Daphne just smiles and begins to stand while tucking her blonde hair behind her ears in a
show of innocence.

“Hermione, it would be terribly rude to turn down the generosity of the host. I insist.”

Before Hermione has the chance to refuse, Daphne is already walking away, her simple black
heels clacking with every step.

Somehow in a matter of minutes Hermione has not only agreed to attend a party in the
dungeons, but also a personal makeover by none other than Daphne Greengrass. She rolls her
eyes and reaches for her now lukewarm cup of coffee, suddenly understanding the subtle
ways that Daphne adheres to the Slytherin characteristics.

Hermione sighs and returns to finishing her breakfast. Mentally preparing herself for the rest
of the day.
 how the mighty fall
Chapter Summary

TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!

- suicidal ideations
- brief mention of suicide and attempt
- panic attack
- alcohol

September 19th, 1998

To most the library is a necessary evil, an unfortunate side effect of a mandatory education.
Certainly not a place of refuge. To Hermione Granger, the Hogwarts library embodies the
very essence of possibility.

In a world without magic, literary genres have two categories: fact and fiction. For most
muggle children, growing up involves learning to differentiate between myth and reality.

To grow up and learn that the line between fiction and truth lacks merit, changes a person. So
it really shouldn’t be surprising for Hermione to seek truth in the endless shelves of magical
texts, each promising possibility.

Although, her pursuit of knowledge is only half of the reason why Hermione chose to spend
her birthday scouring the library. Even if the line between myth and reality is blurred, to
immerse oneself in the pages of a story is still an escape from personal reality.

Head bent over her book, Hermione stands and stretches to relieve the tension building in her
stagnant bones. She spots Theo enter through the tall entrance to the library, behind him
follows a scowling Malfoy. When Theo’s eyes meet Hermione’s, his eyes light up,
quickening his pace towards her.

Hermione's eyes widen, in realization that if Theo comes to her table, there is a healthy
possibility that Malfoy also would.

Malfoy who is practically dragging his feet on the floor, looking anywhere but at her.

Sure enough Theo, comes trailblazing directly to her table and without any words shared,
plants himself in the chair directly beside her while Malfoy lingers awkwardly a deliberate
distance away.
Catching his watchful eye falling to her open book, she quickly shoves it back into her bag,
zipping it up and kicking it under the table in front of her.

“So Daphne tells me that not only are you going to be in attendance tonight but that she has
somehow convinced you into a makeover.”

Hermione rolls her eyes.

“I really don’t know how she did it. Believe me under regular circumstances, I would have
never agreed” she says

“She has that effect on people.”

Hermione turns to Malfoy, taking advantage of his lack of power in the present dynamic and
taunts him into meeting her gaze.

“You look lost, Malfoy.”

Meeting her jeering expression, Malfoy clenches his jaw and bites the inside of his lip
appearing to visually hold himself back.

Rolling her eyes at his obvious attempt to ignore her, Hermione huffs annoyed at his
unwillingness to engage.

“Malfoy what's the matter? Are you afraid that my dirty blood is contagious? Because I
promise you the disease of being a muggleborn is not airborne”

Suddenly Malfoy is standing in front of her opposite to where she and Theo are sitting. He’s
leaning over glaring daggers at her with his long fingers splayed flat against the table.

Hermione feels Theo tense up beside her in nervous anticipation.

“Granger, I can promise you that your blood is not the reason I am repulsed by you.”

“Oh really, you had me fooled?” she mocks, feeling a sense of pride for her success in
breaking his cool demeanor.

He just leans closer, eyes not leaving hers.

“Granger, don’t you find it a little pathetic how you have no other choice than to spend your
birthday, among old texts written by people who hate your kind?”

A part of Hermione is aware that she should be angry by his obvious attempt to provoke her,
but rather than back down she leans forward over the table not breaking eye contact invading
his space. As she tucks her mess of hair away from her face and behind her ears, she catches
Malfoy's eyes break from hers to follow the movement of her hand. She studies him,
curiously noticing his narrowed eyes begin to widen and dilate.

When his gaze meets hers again, her mouth is parted slightly, in shock and something else,
something unidentifiable.
Suddenly their standoff is disrupted by Theo.

“Hermione, why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday.”

She turns to Theo still standing now feeling a bit awkward and guilty realizing that she forgot
he was there.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal of it.” she says gently

“Still, if you’d have told me I would have gotten you a present.” he says frowning

“I am sorry Theo, next year I’ll be sure to tell you.” she says in an attempt to ease the tension
from building.

“Next year, you are going to get a present that will put every other to shame.” he remarks

She laughs half heartedly, noticing Malfoy had sat down at some point during the
conversation. When she meets his eyes again he quickly averts his gaze. She frowns,
disappointed slightly and begins to fidget with the hem of her sleeve. Pulling a thread loose
from her cardigan, Hermione glances down to her wrist realizing the time on her watch.

“Theo, as much as I'd love to continue this conversation. Daphne has instructed me to meet
her now and I’m slightly afraid what would happen if I am late.

“You’d better go then” Theo remarks laughing, while she scowls at him.

As Hermione walks she overhears Draco.

“Why did you invite her Theo, you know how it's going to be.”

“She will be fine Draco”.

Although Hermione had spent the better part of 7 years living at Hogwarts, she had never
been to the Slytherin common room. It's colder down here, she thinks, unconsciously
wrapping her arms around herself protectively. The dim lit hallways leading to the snake
crested door, do little ease the frigid temperature seeping through the walls.

Just as she reaches the wall leading to the passageway, Hermione feels a sudden onset of
anxiety sinking in. Why was she here? She begins to pace back and forth in the small
hallway, unable to bring herself to knock, that is until the large door swings open and Daphne
Greengrass’s smiling face emerges from inside the room.

“Hermione you came!”

The girl is a picture of poise, wearing a delicate lace lined tank top and white cotton pants.
Even in casual wear, Daphne is an embodiment of elegance. Beginning to feel insecure,
Hermione opts to smooth out the wrinkles on her shirt from hours of slouching over the table
at the library.

“Sorry I am late Daphne, I couldn’t seem to find the dungeons.”

Daphne just stares at her knowingly,

“Sure” she comments unconvinced.

“Well come in, we have so much to do.”

Hermione hesitantly steps through the door propped open by Daphne's frame.

Although Hermione hadn’t spent much time imagining the inside of the Slytherin common
room, she can’t help but feel surprised at its appearance.

The space is undeniably large and rectangular, different from the oval shaped common room
she had grown accustomed to over the years. Walls a dark opaque gray, with tall ceilings
giving the room a grandiose effect. She notices that the floor sinks in with the lower level
lined with black leather couches and a silver marble coffee desk situated in the center. To her
left is a black stone island, adorned with intricately designed chairs tucked underneath. But
what catches Hermione's attention the most is the large window to her far right which opens
out to the black lake. The reflection coming from inside the lake renders the room a slight
green hue that covers the entire common space.

“I bet this is pretty different from what you are used to”.

Noticing Hermione's inspection of the room.

“It’s very different from the Gryffindor common room if that is what you mean.”

Daphne just smiles and waves for Hermione to follow her.

The two girls enter into a slim hallway, presumably in the direction of the girls dormitory. As
Daphne stops in front of a door which Hermione figures is her room, she pauses with her
hand on the handle.

“Just a warning, I do share a room with Pansy and before you say anything, she does know
that you are coming.”

Hermione's eyes widen, unprepared to confront the girl who tried to sell Harry out in her own
territory.

Noticing Hermione's apprehension Daphne continues.

“She’s really not that bad once you get to know her, it just takes time to warm up.”
Hermione just nods soberly, internally kicking herself for getting into this situation. But
before Hermione has the chance to escape, Daphne is opening the door, effectively destroying
any chance Hermione had to vacate the area.

Still standing in the doorway, Daphne turns to Hermione while holding the edge of the door,
signaling for her to come in.

“Hermione stop it with that face, she's not even here right now.”

Feeling caught, Hermione decides she has no other choice but to muster up what confidence
she has left and enter the room.

You would think Daphne's room was in an entirely different section of the castle with how it
is decorated. Rather than the expected green and silver, her room is adorned with accents of
pastel pink and lace trimming. Her plush bed sheets have light floral designs which pair
deliberately with the lightness of her walls. Where a desk would be, lies a large white vanity
table with a massive mirror against the wall in the center. Beside the vanity is a tall slender
easel with a canvas propped up, showcasing an unfinished impressionist landscape of what
looks to be the black lake in the summertime.

“I didn’t know you painted”

Daphne turns to her, a rare shyness painting her face.

“We all need hobbies, don't we?”

Hermione smiles at the girl stepping closer to inspect her brush strokes.

“I always wished I was the kind of person who could paint but it seems I don’t possess the
natural propensity for art, or the patience.” She says, turning her head to smile at the girl
whose arms are now folded tight across her chest.

“You are really talented Daphne. When did you start painting?”

Daphne smiles demurely, and steps towards Hermione.

“Well it was the one activity suggested to me by my governess that didn’t bore me to death.”

“It's really pretty”

Visibly pleased by Hermione's praise, Daphne tilts her head to the side to examine her own
work. Although Daphne had never been one to get looked over, the acknowledgements of her
talents apart from her looks were scare and far between.

“Yes, well, art has always been a necessary escape from all the expectations.” she says before
adding

“I get to feel in control when I am creating”.

Hermione nods to her, appreciative of her sincere display of vulnerability.

“Anyways, please sit down, we have so much to do and so little time.”

Daphne pulls the chair out from under the vanity and taps the seat, signally for Hermione to
sit. As she does, Daphne begins to slide her fingers through Hermione's mess of curls, eyes
focused in evaluation.

“Your natural curls really are fabulous, all I will add is some sleakeasy to smooth the frizz
down”

She grabs for the small bottle, unscrewing the lid before sectioning off Hermione's hair with
her wand and combing the silky oil through her hair with her fingers.

Almost immediately, Hermione's natural fizz dissipates into tight ringlets that cascade down
her back. Impressed, she looks to Daphne through the vanity mirror.

“I have never known how to deal with my hair, its always been an afterthought.”

Daphne smiles while finger brushing Hermione’s hair into place. She then reaches for the
bottle handing it to Hermione.

“You can have this one, Hermione, I don’t use it very much anyways.”

“Oh thank you, you really don’t have to.”

“Hermione, I am giving it to you. Its a gift. Take it.”

She nods, accepting the bottle before turning back to the mirror.

“I don’t wear much makeup so-

“Hermione I am not going to drastically change your appearance, you don’t have to worry”

“Then why did you ask me to come so early?”

“I just wanted the chance to get to know you better.” She reaches over Hermione's shoulder
to grab a tube of blush “I have always admired you.”

“Oh”

“Don’t look so shocked. You are someone to admire and I mean beyond your obvious
intelligence. You have demonstrated such incredible feats of magic plus you seem to always
be on the right side of history. For others it takes making horrible mistakes and grappling
with the subsequent consequences to come to their senses”

“Daphne, thank you but I have always done what anyone else would given my
circumstances.”

Daphne huffs growing irritated as she blends peach blush into the apples of Hermione’s
cheeks.
“Stop downplaying your accomplishments. We all were in a similar situation and believe me,
we didn’t make the right choices.”

Unsure what to say, Hermione chooses to be quiet, allowing Daphne to apply a sheer lipstick
to her cracked lips.

For the next half an hour, Daphne applies thin layers of makeup to Hermiones face and eyes
until she eventually places her hands square onto Hermione’s shoulders and smiles.

“All done. You look beautiful”.

The dark purple bags under Hermione’s eyes are now completely covered, her lashes are
longer and darker and her cheeks are a subtle shade of peach. To her credit, Daphne did a
good job.

Hermione still looks like Hermione, but… Alive.

“Thank you Daphne.”

Is all that Hermione can breathe out.

“Yes well, let's get you dressed. I have the perfect idea.”

Daphne rushes excitedly over to her wardrobe, flipping through her many dresses until she
lands on a simple silky red dress with an open back. Pulling the dress of the hanger, Daphne
steps towards Hermione holding it up to her chest.

“I think this one will suit you.”

“You don’t think it’s too much of a statement.”

“Not at all.”

Daphne says as she brushes her off and turns around allowing Hermione to get changed.

Hermione slides into the red dress, the material like water on her slight curves. Once she's
clothed, Daphne rushes over to tie the strings on her back together in a neat bow.

In the reflection of the mirror Hermione sees the door to the room open and an impassive
Pansy Parkinson walks in.

“Daphne I-

“Oh she's here” glaring convincingly at Hermione.

“I see you’ve run out of gryffindors and now you’ve dragged yourself down to the
dungeons.”

“Pansy we talked about this, why do you have to be a bitch.”

Her eyes soften as she looks to a frustrated Daphne

“Daph honey, it's part of my charm. Beside, its not as if Hermione doesn’t already think of
me as a bitch.” says Pansy, eyeing Hermione

“I really don’t know you well enough to make a proper assessment.”

That's a lie and Hermione knows it. Pansy is a coward, albeit a beautiful one but a coward
nonetheless. While Hermione was struggling to maintain both hers and Harry’s sanity, Pansy
was offering him up to a psychotic maniac.

“Oh please Granger, there's no need to lie.”

Hermione just stays silent confirming Pansy’s argument.

“Well for my sake, there should be no outright animosity.”

Daphne directs to Pansy, eyes wide and face pleading.

Pansy rolls her eyes before softening and eventually relenting. It seems Hermione is not the
only one to fall victim to Daphne's insistence.

“Right, good, that's all settled.”

Daphne smiles and clasps her hands together.

“Hermione let me quickly get ready and then we can go find Theo. Please make yourself
comfortable ”

She just nods and sits awkwardly on Daphne’s bed watching the girl touch up her makeup
with a slender ease of experience. She applies powders to her face, like one would to a
canvas, gliding smooth brush strokes across her eyelids.

After Daphne puts her brushes away in what Hermione believes to be a transparent quill
holder, she stands and steps towards her closet, flipping through an array of colourful
dresses.

Noticing that Daphne had picked a light blue dress with ruffles transcending down her waist,
Hermione closes her eyes to give the girl privacy.

“All done, ready to go?” Daphne remarks, finger combing her hair in the mirror. She heads
towards the door motioning for Hermione to follow.

….

As the two girls enter the common room again, Hermione is pulling at her dress, feeling
insecure, in such formal wear.
“Hermione, stop that. You look great.”

Her cheeks turn red in embarrassment, until she spots Theo sitting in one of the leather
couches, fingers holding a flute of champagne.

He turns around, placing his champagne onto the coffee table and presses his hands together
smiling.

“Well well well, Hermione. You look fabulous”.

She glares at him and rolls her eyes in response.

Theo stands, picking up his flute of champagne and walking over to the island. He reaches
into one of the dark tinted cabinets and pulls out two more identical champagne flutes.
Summoning the open bottle Theo begins to pour, and Hermione watches the white gold liquid
fizz before dissipating.

“Is that for us Theo, or are you getting a head start.” Daphne says smirking as Theo walks
over to them holding the two glasses. Hermione had never been one to indulge in drinking, at
least not at hogwarts. She can recall back in 6th year returning to the common room from the
library late at night, only to find Ron passed out on the couch in a drunken stupor.

That being said, Hermione would never consider herself a prude, she didn’t care that others
drank. She just simply didn’t have the time to.

Hesitantly she takes the stem of the glass from Theo and nods to him in thanks.

“Tell me Hermione, are we about to bear witness to your very first sip of alcohol”.

In response to Theo, Hermione downs the glass quickly.

As the evening stretches on, the common room grows busier as music begins to fill out the
previously empty space. It seems that a certainly tipsy Theo has appointed himself
responsible for making sure no glasses stay empty. Hermione had the luxury of learning this
the hard way, as she slowly sips her second fire whisky concoction, courtesy of Theo.

With every sip, she can feel her body begin warm, as the ever present stressors in her mind
start to quiet. Fortunately, a drunk Daphne Greengrass has made it her mission to stick by
Hermione's side.

Hermione listens as Daphne rants on with animated hand gestures, complaining about her
parents' expectation for her to marry a “suitable” pureblood man. She laughs at Daphne’s
passionate impersonation of her parents, appreciating Daphne’s good humored company.
Hermione’s attention is distracted by the two figures of Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini
stepping slowly towards her and Daphne. Upon seeing Blaise, Daphne’s eyes light up and she
embraces him in a friendly albeit clumsy hug.

When Hermione looks to where Draco has positioned himself between her and Blaise, she
swears she sees his eyes trail down her red dress, raking back up her frame, pausing at her
painted lips. When his eyes meet hers he looks away quickly and Hermione covers her body
in shy embarrassment.

“Granger” his baritone voice verberates through the air.

“Malfoy”

“Red is a bit of an obvious choice is it not?” Malfoy says with glassy eyes, leaning down
towards her, in effort to make his low voice heard over the rumble of chatter.

Maybe it's the alcohol in her veins or maybe it's the unfamiliar situation, but for whatever
reason Hermione Granger smiles with confidence.

“I think it suits her perfectly, Draco, don’t you think?”

Says Daphne as she sways slightly on her feet, eyes linked knowingly with Dracos.

“Yes Daphne, but poor Draco here would have preferred a little periwinkle. Would he not?”

Says a grinning Blaise, causing Daphne to erupt in uncharacteristically free laughter. Dracos
whole body tenses up as he glares at his two friends, now standing unnaturally straight.

“Blaise, I don't think we have had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Granger, the pleasure is all mine. Although, you seem to have stolen the attention of my two
friends and for that I am deeply resentful.”

“I apologize, Blaise. Speaking of which, have you seen Theo anywhere?”

He turns around surveying the crowded scene, eyes darting around.

“It seems our Theo has stationed himself at the bar over there.”

Hand outstretched in the direction of the marble island.

“Well it was really nice to chat with you, but i’d better go check in on Theo.”

Daphne pouts and reaches her hand out in an attempt to pull Hermione back, but before she
has the chance, Hermione has already begun to slither her way through the crowd, out of
sight.

To say that Theo was drunk would be the understatement of the year. Hermione catches him
as he attempts to pour a shot of firewhisky, missing the glass completely.
“Hermione, where have you been!” slurs Theo.

“Talking to Blaise, Daphne and Malfoy, surprisingly”.

Theo wobbles slightly on his feet, leaning over the counter towards Hermione.

“Draco, talks about you so much. Hermione this, Hermione that. I just had to get to know
you”.

Hermione tenses up.

“Well I hope you don’t think of me the same way as he does.”

Theo looks affronted, at her comment.

“Hermione we talked about this, I certainly do not.”

He says, eyes wide and shaking his head with childlike intensity.

“Granger, I see you're still here. Wearing clothes you could never afford, with people who
would never truly give you the time of day. Oh how the mighty has fallen.”

Pansy’s sharp voice cuts through the air. Wearing a high neck black satin dress and black
drop earrings that fall to the straight line of her bob. Although the rest of the slytherins are
well on their way to being drunk, Pansy remains a picture of poise and untouchability.

“Pansy I didn’t see you there. If my presence were so offensive, why must you invade my
space.”

A single dark eyebrow raises in response as she steps closer, lightly placing her full glass
onto the table.

“Granger, it really is pathetic to see someone so supposedly intelligent be so easily fooled.

Can’t you see, this thinly veiled attempt at friendship from Daphne as it truly is? An act of
pity.”

Hermione clenches her jaw, lifting her head to meet Pansy at eye level.

“I’d like to think people can change, although you obviously remain the exception to that
rule.”

Pansy scoffs itching closer to her. By now Theo is far too gone to provide any defense.

“What would Potter say about you now? How would he react to you replacing him with a
death eater?” she whispers

Hermione’s blood runs cold.

“Granger tell me, how does it feel to disappoint the dead?”

Face turning white, Hermione feels her heart begin to race as her eyes well with tears.
Pansy just smiles, picking up her glass again to take a slow easy sip.

Feeling her chest tighten as her breath quickens, the room begins to spin. She can hear the
pulsating sound of her heart ringing in her ear. Before she becomes aware, her feet are
carrying her away from the table, away from Pansy, from Theo, from the noise. From the
memory of him.

She's heaving tight breaths through clouded vision, step after step. Climbing the stairs of the
castle, desperate to get as far up from the hell hole of the dungeons. Desperate for air.

Eventually she collapses into a heap on the floor of the astronomy tower. Her eyes sting as
mascara coats her face, running down her neck as it bends back in a feeble attempt to breathe.
Feeling her whole body suffocate, Hermione hurries to unclasp the heels from her feet,
throwing them in the direction of the balcony, in a desperate attempt to find some release.

Her hands come up to her face, to wipe the wetness away, rubbing her eyes to chase away the
sting.

She sits like that for a while. On the top step of where it all started, with her hands covering
her face and her knees up to her chin shaking in the brisk september night.

Eventually she stands retrieving Daphne's heels, holding them in one hand loosely at her side.
She steps slowly, making her way to the edge looking out at the moon reflecting over the still
black lake. Dropping the shoes to the ground, Hermione grips the railing and leans her head
over to look down.

Oh how the mighty fall she thinks.

It's almost poetic, for her to be back here where it all started knowing that it will never end.
Not the pain, or the grief, or the guilt. None of it will truly ever end. A part of her will always
live in servitude to the ghosts she could not save.

Lost to the swirling memories cascading down the cracks in her mind, Hermione can barely
feel as the soles of her feet lift off the ground. Slowly her arms press down on the railing, as
she aimlessly leans towards the horizon.

“Granger what the fuck are you doing.”

The harsh abrupt sound of Malfoys voice cuts through the air, breaking her out of her daze.

“Malfoy, please just go away.” her breath hitches as she shakes her head, unwilling to face
him.

“I can’t.” His voice is uncharacteristically strained.

She ignores him, head swimming in grief and guilt.

“Hermione please, step away from the railing. It's not your fault.”
The use of her given name shakes her and she slowly lowers her feet to the ground lip
trembling.

“But it is my fault. It is. We both know that. Malfoy I can’t keep living knowing it is.”

She keeps repeating herself full body shaking until she feels a cold strong hand clasping at
her shoulding forcing her to turn around.

Malfoys face is white in what appears to be fear mixed with certainty, his eyes driving into
hers, unwavering.

“Granger, I promise you that it was not. You couldn’t have known.”

Her face breaks into sobs as she shakes her head in terror.

“I could have said something. I should have known. If I did then Voldemort would be gone
and he would still be here.”

Suddenly she feels his fingers wrap around her chin holding her head in place. His hand is
cold and steady, as he tilts her head up to meet his wide eyes of swirling silver.

“It's not your fault. I promise.”

She sniffs realizing the mess he must see in her. Strands of her hair stick to her tear stained
cheeks. Her face and eyes a mess, black with mascara. No longer light. No longer living.

“But he’s going to come back.”

She says softly with fear, her voice trapped by the looming inevitability. He bites his lip in
thought and she can feel his hand twitch against her chin.

“You will be ready.”

Hermione’s eyes widen processing the weight those few words carry. Her eyes dart to his
carrying a heavy resolve.

“I won’t be”.

He tenses for a moment, seeming hesitant.

“I’ll teach you.”

Her brows furrow in confusion.

“I’ll teach you occlumency.” he says with a sigh.

“What” she breathes out trying to understand.

“Do you really believe the Hogwarts library would carry such a dangerous book? A book so
unaffected by the war”
Her mouth gapes open and she sucks in a harsh inhale.

“You knew.”

He just nods soberly.

“What happened wasn’t your fault, but I fear you may be the only one capable of finishing
this.”

December 25th, 1997: Godric's Hollow

 Divine Intervention
Chapter Summary

December 25th, 1997: Harry is injured by Nagini and Hermione ventures out alone,
desperate to save him.

Chapter Notes

Will update when I can!! It’s midterms rn and as an English major that’s a lot of essays

December 25th, 1997

“Harry, Harry. Wakeup”.

Whispering frantically, Hermione cups his head gently off the dusty floor of the church. Her
hands are stained red from blood. Her cheeks reflect the same color from gripping her face in
horror. She is covered in him. Her body, a portrait painted in brilliant red. His skin ashen
from blood loss. She knew not to trust a stranger, realized they should have been polyjuiced.
She knew this all, and yet here they were, on the floor of a vacant church in Godric's hollows.
She thinks to herself hindsight really is a bitch.

When she saw Nagini lurch at Harry, and watched as she sank her sharp teeth into his chest.
Her worst fears came to fruition at once. No form of apparition would be innocuous. Any
option would be riddled with risk. There was no perfect pragmatic solution wrapped in a
faultless bow.

But above all, Hermione knew to stay cornered, would be to sign not only their death
sentence, but also that of the order's.

Perhaps it was irony that prompted her to apparate to the church adjacent to the cemetery. Or
perhaps it was too soon to tell.

Hermione had allowed Harry a couple moments of privacy with his parents' tombstone. In
those minutes her eyes had wandered to the dilapidated church, covered by a dusty sheet of
fresh snow.
She may have just been bleeding meaning into an inconsequential building, but to Hermione,
the emptiness of the Church symbolized the destruction that Voldemort had inflicted upon
both worlds, muggle and wizarding alike.

Perhaps the real Irony of the situation was for Hermione to find refuge in the symbol of this
world's destruction. Perhaps fate was really just divine intervention

Gently placing Harry’s head back on to the floor, Hermione stands to check her wards. In the
short time they had been there, it became clear that Harry would need antivenom. She had
done her best to siphon as much of the snake's venomous neurotoxin from his wound, but this
was only a temporary solution. She had summoned a small vile from her pouch to save the
toxin for later. She knew her chances of coming across a bezoar or rather phoenix tears were
slim to none. To send the order a patronus would risk alerting Voldemort to their presence.
Regardless, she had to try.

Placing the invisibility cloak over Harry’s still body and exposed body, Hermione disillusions
herself to the best of her ability before leaving the church.

Opening the door, a gust of wind and snow berates her face, sending chills down her body.
She wards the church for a last time before facing the cold.

Godric’s hollow is the definition of deserted. A cold dead landscape absent of life. She
remembers Sirius mentioning there had been a small wizarding town west of Godric's
Hollow. She's not sure if the town is still occupied or if there was even an apothecary, but
with no other options, Hermione begins on her trek.

Suddenly Hermione hears the harsh pop of a single apparition, hiding in the shadows, she
turns to see who's there. Standing clad in all black is a single death eater. Fuck. Drawing her
wand from her pocket, preparing herself to kill. Just as she is about to utter avada kedavra,
the death eater removes his mask, revealing himself as Draco Malfoy.

Expelliarmus

His wand shoots through the air, landing directly in her palm.

The wand feels warm and strong in her hand. She can feel its magic like a tether seeping
underneath her skin, burrowing itself deep inside her magical core. Turning around in a rage
Draco Malfoy locks eyes with Hermione.

“Granger? What the fuck”.

Breathing heavily, warmed only by the beads of sweat accumulating on her forehead,
Hermione steps out from the shadows, wand pointed at his chest. Her face, hands and clothes
are stained red, and her eyes are narrowed.

“Malfoy, you should be grateful I didn’t immediately kill you.”

Malfoy’s face is hollow. She thought he looked like a walking corpse in sixth year, but
compared to now, 16 year old Draco Malfoy looked alive. His hair has dulled and his eyebags
remain the only colour on his face.

“Granger, give me my fucking wand back.”

His pointed hand is quivering, a symptom of prolonged cruciatus use. She doesn’t feel
sympathy for him. No, she sees the war on him as clear as the blood that paints her skin.

“Malfoy, I can’t do that.”

His cold eyes narrow as he strides towards her through the snow.

“Granger, you are fucking dead.”

“What are you even doing here?” she shivers out, body shaking from the cold

“Patrol Granger.” He says as if she had just asked him a rhetorical question

“Oh-” In the lapse between their words, the consuming emptiness of the deserted town
lingers in the cold stale air .

“Do you have antivenom?” she finally says, wand still pointed to his chest

“What” he continues towards her, not breaking his stride.

“Do you want your wand back?”

“What the fuck does anti venom have to do with my wand.”

“If you want your wand back, I need anti-venom.”

“I-”

“I could kill you right here and now. You do know that right?”

He pauses.

“I don’t have any on me.”

“But you could get me some.” she says tensely, far past making deals with the devil.

“Why would I do that, Granger.” he spits out.

“I don’t see that you have another choice.”

His jaw tenses while snow begins to coat the white of his hair.

“I need my wand to apparate Granger.”

“I have a wand Malfoy and I don’t trust you to come back.”

He sighs in frustration. She can see his breath in the cold, a tangible show of his annoyance.

“Granger, I would have to apparate to the manor, and seeing as it's the current residence of
you know who, I don’t believe you going there would be the ideal solution to Harry’s
survival.”

Taken aback by Malfoys mention of Harry’s name, her grip around her wand tightens.

“Harry is not here Malfoy.”

If Malfoy were to know Harry’s location, that would certainly lead to Voldemort coming to
possess the same knowledge.

Malfoy steps forward to Hermione, his hands resting in the pockets of his black coat. From
an alternative perspective, one might assume Malfoy to hold the power in the present
dynamic.

“Who else would you so quickly ruin your life for?”

She pauses, her eyes full of contempt.

“I need an unbreakable vow that you will return with the antivenom, and will never speak a
word of this to anyone.”

“Granger there is no third party to facilitate the vow. Come on, you know that wouldn’t work.
You just have to trust me.”

She scoffs in an attempt to mask the building anxiety filling in her body.

“Malfoy, how can I trust you?”

“I don’t see that you have another choice.” He says smirking, removing his hands from his
pockets.

She pauses, to consider her now, quickly limiting options. Then she notices the thick black
ring on his right hand, encarved in the circular center with the letter ‘M’.

Accio signet ring.

The ring initially resists the magical pull of the summoning spell, but eventually relents and
slides off his finger, landing in the palm of her hand. Her other hand is outstretched, fingers
wrapped around the base of not her wand but rather Malfoys. She hadn’t even registered that
she had used his wand to cast. It felt natural and easy.

Malfoy looks at her completely affronted, his face morphing into an expression that could
only be described as murderous.
“Granger, you better give me that fucking back.”

Levitating the ring in the palm of her hand, Hermione smiles at his sneer. Her hands, coated
with the blood of his enemy. Her hands, holding up centuries of supremacy with her magical
abomination. Her glinting eyes meet his narrowed ones, and she smiles slowly, feeling it rip
open her cheeks. Feeling the dried blood crack into the creases of her smile lines.

“The Anti-venom for the ring.”

Shaking with indignation, Malfoys hands ball into a stiff tight fist. His jaw tenses.

“Fine.”

Hermione wards her body and the ring, just in case. In the event that he’d manage to summon
it back on its lawful spot on his finger, she must be prepared.

She then throws the wand across the snow covered ground to land near his feet. Watching
with pride as he bends to grab the hawthorn wood.

“Be quick.”

He doesn’t say another word to her. All she can hear is Malfoy repeatedly muttering
“Apparate” each utterance more frustrated than the last. Eventually after several attempts he
disappears. Once he's finally gone she laughs under her breath, at the thought that Malfoy
must not be proficient in apparation.

As time seems to crawl without haste, Hermione begins to pace back and forth, comforted by
the darkness of the shadowed ally. She fiddles with the ring in her hand, tracing the engraved
“M” with the tip of her red finger. Suddenly she hears the recognizable pop of apparition
behind her.

Slowly she emerges from the safety of the dark into the crisp night, dimly lit by flickering
streetlights.

She spots Malfoys recognizable frame. Tall, alive and alert. He looks frustrated once again,
his expression tight and focussed as he stares at his wand in confusion. His head snaps to
hers. In his hand rests a single clear glass bottle with a black tight cork. His other hand is
outstretched and expecting.

“Give me the ring Granger.”

“No Malfoy, the bottle first.”

Her hand perches upon her hip. To no reply, Malfoy stalks towards her, his eyes locked
unwavering on his target. Suddenly, he is a mere breath away from her. Before she has the
chance to breathe, to react, or send a counter move.

His hand is covering hers. All her brain manages to process is the surprising warmth of his
hand, how underneath his, her skin is dry and warm, sheltered from the snow. Before she can
even process the peculiar intent of his actions, her eyes meet his. They are gray and downcast
and cold. All of the sudden the cool metal ring in her hand is replaced by heavier glass. All of
the sudden her hand is cold yet again. All of a sudden Malfoy is gone, and in his place is a
single bottle of anti-venom.

For a few moments Hermione just stares at the glass containing life saving liquid, just to
confirm it's real. That is until she remembers Harry. Poor Harry, helpless and surely cold. A
rush of guilt hits her like furious wind and she pivots on her feet to run in the direction of the
church.

Warding the door behind her and heaving exhaustive breaths Hermione rushes towards the
invisible figure of her best friend. Summoning the vile of Nagini’s venom from her bag, she
quickly pops open the two corks, and pours the thin liquid into the glass bottle, until the clear
fluid turns a murky green.

Pausing in her haste to gently uncover the still body of Harry Potter, Hermione kneels over
his unconscious frame. His skin has paled and dried significantly in the time she had been
gone. She thinks the color of his face resembles Malfoys. She shudders at the thought. They
both looked sick. Poisoned and sick. Unlike Malfoy however, Harry is cold to touch. His skin
is a terrain of icy white. Lightly, she exposes the wound on his chest, peeling off the layer of
now sticky gauze and gasps at the sight of black veins extending out from the grotesque
purple wound.

Realizing the vast extent of the snake's damage, she has no choice but to administer the liquid
intravenously. Reaching into her bag, Hermione summons a simple drinking glass and
transfigures it into a muggle medical syringe. Carefully she dips the needle into the bottle
containing the liquid and slowly draws the green tinted fluid into the barrel until full.

With the syringe now tightly in her right hand, Hermione’s other hand gently pinches Harry’s
angry and inflamed skin. Willing her hand to still, she takes a deep breath before inserting the
needle into the black veins closest to the wound. Her hand tilts to nearly graze his chest,
careful to keep the needle at a 25 degree angle. Pressing down on the ribbed thumb rest,
Hermione slowly administers the anti-venom into his skin. mindful to let the liquid spread on
its own, she slowly retracts the needle from his skin.

She hovers over his motionless frame, dropping the now empty syringe to the ground.Her
eyes linger on his chest, biting anxiously at the ruined skin on her lips. Gradually the black
veins begin to lighten to gray and fade. The deep purple bruise slowly turns green, then
yellow and finally light brown. Realizing the antivenom had worked, Hermione collapses
against the church bench in relief, her hand splayed protectly over Harry’s exposed chest.

As the minutes tick on, Hermione's moment of reprieve is replaced by a festering return of
anxiety. She continues to stare at his motionless body, willing him to move just slightly. At
one point she even considered praying to God. She considered kneeling at the altar of Christ
and begging. After what seemed like hours of staring at Harry’s body, she finally hears a
quiet and pained groan. She jumps up her eyes searching for another sign of movement.

“Hermione? Why are you crying?” Harry croaks.

She hadn’t even noticed her cheeks were wet. Tears dripping like a broken tap onto Harry’s
bare chest. Not responding, Hermione just laughs through her tears with relief.

“Hermione, what happened.” he groans in pain, reaching out to wipe the tears collecting on
Hermione’s face.

“What matters is that you are okay.” she says softly, careful not to rouse fear in him, or
divulge too much information. Slowly his eyes crack open and squint, adjusting to the dim
light. His green eyes meet hers, before looking around in confusion.

“Where are we?”

“A church.”

His eyes meet hers again, as a puzzled expression paints his face.

“A church? Tell me Hermione, was it that bad you turned to the muggle God.”

She laughs softly, pulling Harry up into a seated position and handing him a clean shirt from
her bag.

“No Harry, I did not resort to divine intervention. I just didn’t think apparating far with you in
such a condition would be safe.”

“Nagini” he says, voice far away.

“Yes, but fortunately I had some anti-venom in my bag so you have nothing to worry about.”

Harry just nods slowly.

She doesn’t know why she felt the need to lie and protect Dra..Malfoy’s identity. A part of
her suspected that Harry just wouldn’t understand. Whatever the case, all was well, and Harry
was fine.

“Hermione, your face is all bloody.” he says with concern, reaching for his wand

“Scourgify,” Harry whispers.

Hermione suddenly feels cleaner, not quite clean, but cleaner.

“Do you feel okay to apparate Harry?”

He begins to stand, slowly. Stretching out his limbs.

“Yes. I think it's best if we leave Godric's Hollow as soon as possible.”

She stands and stuffs her belongings back into her beaded bag. Noticing the empty syringe on
the floor, Hermione points her wand to the object and quietly whispers Evanesco.

She turns around, bag in hand to meet Harry’s expecting warm gaze. His hand outstretched
and his body clocked in a large worn jacket. Taking his hand in hers, Harry and Hermione
disapparate. Away from the church, away from Godric's hollow and for Hermione, away
from the secret memory of Draco Malfoy.
 The Fallout
Chapter Summary

This is a short chapter because I didn't want to drag it on. I APOLOGIZE the next will
be LONG

September 19th 1998

Hermione only realizes how cold the night truly is once Malfoy removes his hesitant grasp
from her chin. Her eyes follow the path hand takes as it leaves her face and reaches deep
inside his pocket to retrieve a wand.

Focillo he whispers gently.

The brisk chill suddenly dissipates, transforming the air around them into a comfortable heat,
like a dying fire. She watches his hand movements, graceful and aristocratic. His hand,
attached to a wand that she cannot for the life of her seem to recognize.

“When did you get a new wand?” she asks, hoping for her voice to come across as stable. She
is unsure whether Malfoy would revert back to the cold demeanor she had grown accustomed
to. That is until today. Scared to fracture this rare moment of geniality, shared between the
two.

“Well mine wasn’t particularly working for me.” he paused. “I got it after my trial.”

The trial. For a moment she had forgotten the many headlines and debates in every news
outlet describing the trials of minors. Their faces plastered on the front covers for weeks on
end. Anxious to return to normalcy, the wizamagot had opted to make examples of notorious
death eaters while absolving the death eaters who were minors of any blame. Of course being
absolved of legal blame does not apply to the social consensus. She can remember protesters
crowding the street outside of the court, lobbying for those like Malfoy to face the same
consequences as their parents. Ron had begged her to attend with him, really begged her.
Hermione however never saw the point. She had seen the haunted faces of her peers in the
papers. Saw first hand what it looked like for a person to be poisoned by mistakes.

“I see. I assume your old wand got lost in the rubble.”

His eyes turn to face the floor. Unwilling to meet her curious gaze.

“I found it during the fallout. I still have it, it just doesn’t work the same for me.”

Her eyes widen in realization. Malfoy had taken back his wand from Harry’s body. She
wonders if he had seized the wand from Harry's cold dead hand. The thought wrecks her.
“Why keep it then. Surely not for sentiment sake.” she trembles out, shaken by the imagery
of Harry.

“It doesn’t belong to me anymore”.

She tilts her head in confusion.

“Then why have it?”

“You are going to need it eventually.”

“Oh.” is all that escapes her.

The sentiment raises questions in her mind. Questions, that would result in answers she fears.

“Whether I like it or not, the wand is loyal to you and has been for a long time.”

Her brain races trying to reconcile the version of Malfoy she knew with the version standing
in front of her. Of course, Malfoy would recognize a switch in allegiance, but how would this
recognition lead to him changing loyalties.

“Malfoy, why do you want to help me? It just doesn’t make sense.”

His eyes gloss over, not with tears but rather a faraway look, as if peering deep into the past.

“I’m sure you can imagine his disappointment at my inability to properly cast unforgivables.
Time after time again, so much as I tried, my wand simply would not comply. He thought I
was weak. Incapable. His frustration at my incompetence only grew when he discovered no
form of punishment would change the outcome. I guess he got bored. Or frustrated. Whatever
the case, after a while he turned the punishments to my mother. Figured that watching my
own mother writhe helplessly on the floor would frighten me into compliance. It went on like
that for a while. Every time I failed him, he would summon my mother to the drawing room,
perform spells I hadn’t even heard of before. She couldn’t take it. She lasted a month of the
torture before her heart gave out. So when Potter came to the forest trying to martyr himself, I
volunteered to confirm his death. So even in some twisted universe where I wanted to rejoin
the ranks, I can’t and I wouldn’t. That was it for me.”

He recites the memory with a dazed expression and an even tone.

“I’m sorry Malfoy.”

He turns to face her, really face her with hardened eyes.

“Granger don’t. I don’t need to hear an apology from you. What I have done or haven’t done
isn’t yours to pity.”

“Malfoy why would I pity you. What happened to your mum was horrible, and wrong. I am
sorry that happened to both her and you. I can recognize that and also recognize that you
wanted me dead. Really dead. Everyone like me to be dead. Okay? So don’t revert back to
being awful simply because I expressed a bout of empathy. Don’t do that.”
His jaw tightens. He can’t even meet her gaze.

“Granger, I didn’t mean it like that. I just-” He pauses as if unable to speak

“You just what.” She musters out forcing a glare.

“I don’t want you to apologize to me because you shouldn’t apologize to me.”

Her eyes narrow in frustration.

“What does that even mean?” exacerbated she flings her arms up indelicately. He just stands
there, physically tensing as if itching to flee. The embodiment of discomfort.

“I should be the one to apologize. Not you.” he whispers out. The words hang in the air like
smoke, wafting around her. Lingering. Her eyes soften just slightly.

“Then apologize.” she whispers out, just as gently. Afraid any sudden movement would cause
the sentiment to evaporate. Dissipate. Cease to exist.

All that can be heard is the sound of anxious heavy breathes. Malfoy opens his mouth to
speak but closes it just as quickly. She rolls her eyes. Hermione can’t help but feel
disappointed. Of course, he wouldn’t apologize. She shouldn’t have been naive enough to
think otherwise. Hermione turns to leave, unwilling to profess another syllable, unwilling to
linger in her own stupidity.

Just as she's about to step away, he grabs her upper arm. His hand tenses around it as if
regretful, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I am sorry Granger. I don’t know how to properly apologize for everything. There is too
much. I just - I am sorry.” As he speaks, his eyes bare into her, displaying a rare openness she
had never been privy to. He swallows uncomfortably, but doesn’t break his stare. Doesn’t
remove his hand.

“Thank you.” she whispers out.

He nods, unsure what to say, and loosens his grip around her arm.

“Did you mean it when you said that you’d teach me occlumency”. Her voice is more even
now. Quiet, but even.

“Yes.”

“On Tuesdays Theo and I practice dueling. He’s been trying to teach me occlumency. Come
meet us at the-” she pauses unsure how to broach the topic.

“Granger, I am not glass. You can say the word.”

“The room of requirement.” she eventually says.

He inhales deeply. His back rigidly straightens.

“I’ll be there.”

She fiddles with her hands awkwardly. Unsure what to do with her limbs, she wraps them
around her arms, grazing the spot where his hand used to be.

The warming charm had worn off by now. Eclipsed by the cold, far into the night.

"Who are you loyal to?" She ponders outloud.

He pauses for a moment, allowing the question to hang in the night.

"I don't know. I just don't want to make the same mistakes again".

She can credit him for honestly even if his response provided more uncertainty to begin
with.

"That's what Theo said."

He smiles half heartedly.

"I suspect Theo has become loyal to you. Although, I don't believe he is aware of the fact."

She nods.

“I’m going to go, it's pretty late.” she whispers, bending down awkwardly to grab the dainty
forgotten heels.

She steps away in the direction of the stairs.

“Happy birthday Granger.”

Turning around, from the top of the steps she sees him standing in the same spot she had just
left, unmoving. His lithe frame eclipsing the moon behind him. She smiles slowly, meeting
his eyes. They are serious and unwavering. Haunting gray eyes staring at her.

“Thank you.”

Without another word she turns around and quietly steps down the winding staircase.
End Notes

from bookies

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