Chapter Text
There were Death Eaters in the school. Here. At Hogwarts.
Hermione could hear the distant sounds of battle, the ricocheting of spells off stone, yells, screams, chaos from the upper corridors. She quickened her pace, looking in empty classrooms, hurrying the younger students she came across back to their dormitories. Her Prefect badge shined from her robes, but it felt heavy. Every group of students she found, she searched their faces for a lightning scar, for glasses, a mop of dark hair.
She couldn’t fathom it. Death Eaters in Hogwarts. They were in the castle. How? Where was Dumbledore? Where were the teachers? Hermione was almost running, her wand out. She blasted open doors to classrooms and cupboards alike, peering in them, hoping they were empty, feeling her heart drop when they were. This year was almost normal, they were days from the end. All she wanted to was one normal year in this god-forsaken school.
As Hermione rounded a corner, she ran into a solid body, nearly flying backwards, but two hands reached out, righting her.
“Hermione! Have you found him?”
She looked up.
Ron’s face was creased with worry, his fingers circled her biceps. “Harry?” he asked again.
She shook her head.
A couple of Ravenclaws ran past them, and Ron shooed them. “Get back to your dormitory! The castle is under attack.”
Hermione glanced back at him. His Prefect badge glinted, lopsided. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she straightened it on his robes.
“Ron.” He looked at her. His eyes were bright and serious. “What should we do?”
“We have to find Harry,” said Ron immediately. “But someone also has to protect the school. We’ve got to make sure everyone stays in their common rooms.”
Hermione frowned at him. “If you’re suggesting that I let you go gallivanting about the school alone when there are Death Eaters here, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Ron huffed a laugh. “I’d never suggest leaving you behind, ‘Mione, mainly because I know you’d never go for it… But we’re also not alone.”
As if on cue, Hermione felt her pocket warm. She sent Ron a searching look, reaching into her robes and withdrawing the DA galleon she had charmed last year.
“Brilliant,” she breathed.
Ron chuckled, but he blushed. He scratched the back of his neck. “Your brilliance. I just co-opted it.”
Hermione shook her head. She said, “Have you heard from everyone?”
“Ginny and Dean are in the dungeons, checking on the Puffs and Snakes. Neville and Luna are upstairs. And we’ll—”
“Find Harry,” Hermione finished for him.
Ron grinned, but it looked more like a grimace. He made to move past her, but she grabbed his arm.
“If there’s one thing we know about Harry,” she began, turning him and setting them on the right path, “It’s that wherever there’s the most amount of danger—”
“That’s where he’ll be,” agreed Ron, with a sigh.
They set off at a run, towards the commotion of battle. With Ron at her side, Hermione felt a little calmer. They would find Harry. They would find Dumbledore. Dumbledore would know what to do.
“Just one bloody year,” she muttered. “That’s all I ask for.”
“Keep that in mind when you see those Death Eaters,” said Ron. “Give ‘em hell. Think about how nice it will be to sit your NEWTs next year.”
They ran up the final staircase to the top floor of the castle. Ron took the steps two at a time, Hermione at his heels, pulling herself up the bannister to keep up.
“I saw Lupin,” said Ron. “And Bill.”
Hermione almost tripped. “The Order is here?”
He nodded. “Seems like it. Bill told me to stay away.” Ron scoffed. “Right fair. As if we’ve ever managed to stay away, even when we tried to!”
She was half-listening. “If the Order is here, someone must have called them. Dumbledore must be back, which means Harry—”
A cackle of high-pitched laughter broke through the din.
Hermione’s step faltered as they stepped onto the corridor.
“Is that—?”
Ron went pale. He nodded. “Bellatrix Lestrange.”
Before she could reply, she felt her pocket warm again. Hermione quickly reached for it and checked the face of the coin. “It’s Neville.”
Ron glanced between the coin and her eyes. “I’ll find Harry,” he said. “You help Neville. We’ll meet back at the Common Room when it’s safe?”
She nodded, and in a split second, stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. It flamed under her lips, and the pink flushed down his neck. “Be careful.”
“You too.”
They separated again, going in opposite directions: Ron to the Astronomy Tower, Hermione to the Transfiguration classrooms, where Neville had been last. When she reached the end of the corridor, she looked back. Ron did too. He shot her a lopsided smile before he disappeared. Hermione committed it to memory.
This side of the castle was eerily quiet. She opened each door with her wand, peering into each room and finding them all dark and empty.
“Neville?”
There was only one door ajar, at the far end of the corridor.
Hermione walked towards it slowly, her wand held in front of her. It creaked as she pushed it open. Directly ahead of her, through the window, she could make out the Dark Mark, writhing in the storm clouds above the Forbidden Forest. She moved towards it. The hollow eyes were black, the snake a green pulsing magic that continuously coiled out of the skull’s mouth like ouroboros, eaten and dispelled, dispelled and eaten. Her breath left her like a rattle.
“Expelliarmus!”
Her wand whipped from her hand, and Draco Malfoy caught it.
He stepped out from behind the door, which clicked shut gently.
“Malfoy?” Hermione’s brain throbbed as she spun around, eyes frantically darting around the classroom. It was otherwise empty. “Where’s Neville?”
In answer, Malfoy held up his hand for her to see the DA galleon propped between two fingers. It glinted gold as he spun it.
“What have you done with Neville?”
His marble façade broke, allowing a sneer to come through. “I didn’t do anything to Longbottom. He’d forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his body. I found it in his bag in the library. It was the easiest way to get you to come running.”
The blood drained from her face. “Me?”
Malfoy pocketed the coin, taking his wand into his left hand and holding it between them.
Hermione watched him. Absently, she noted that he was left-handed. She’d never noticed before. It struck her that after spending six years in a castle with him, she had no idea who Draco Malfoy was – or what he was capable of.
“I’m sorry, Granger.”
“Malfoy, what are you–?”
Hermione trailed off as he moved towards her. She studied his face, stumbling backwards. True, Malfoy looked sorry. His skin was pallid, the corners of his lips turned down. His eyebrows furrowed together. It was his eyes that scared her. They were clear grey, steady – unlike his shaking hands.
“What are you sorry for?” asked Hermione as her back hit the wall. Her voice faltered. “Malfoy, what have you done?”
“I let them in,” said Malfoy. The stillness of his face broke, contorted into anguish. He let out a sob. “I had to, Granger. It was part of my mission.”
“The Death Eaters?” she asked, although she knew the answer. All she could think was Harry, you were right. Why hadn’t they listened to him before it was too late? “How?”
“A Vanishing Cabinet. The one Montague got lost in last year—”
“In the Room of Requirement,” breathed Hermione. She remembered the Weasley twins telling her about it, and remembered berating them for putting another student in danger. That was why Harry couldn’t find him on the Map. Of course. She felt a lump forming in her throat. “They come in pairs… Where was the other?”
“Borgin and Burkes.”
Again, Hermione wanted to cry. They had seen him in Knockturn Alley. It was all there in front of them – they just hadn’t been able to connect the dots. They had been complacent in their desire for a normal school year, when war had been brewing under their noses.
“Who’s here?”
“The Carrows, my Aunt Bella, Yaxley… and Greyback.”
Hermione felt sick.
“You let a werewolf into the school?”
Malfoy’s cheeks flushed pink. A vein pulsed in his forehead. “He wasn’t meant to come!”
Hermione’s brain stalled with trepidation. Once again, the yells and screams from the rest of the castle cut through the room. She hoped Ron had found Harry. She hoped everyone had stayed in their common rooms.
“What was the other part of your mission, Malfoy?”
Malfoy was right in front of her. She glanced down at her wand in his hand.
“Don’t even think about it,” he murmured. Their eyes met. Almost compulsively, he continued speaking, even though it pained him, “I’ve put this off all year. I’ve tried to think of a million alternatives but he’ll kill my mother, Granger. He’ll kill me. There’s nothing else I can do.”
He’s explaining himself, Hermione thought suddenly. Then, with even more alacrity, What is he planning on doing to me?
She had to keep him talking. She had to keep him talking long enough to get her wand.
Hermione swallowed thickly. “Who will kill your mother, Malfoy?”
“You know,” he whispered.
“What do you have to do?” Her face cleared with understanding. “Are you going to kill me?”
Malfoy recoiled. He shook his head slowly. “No. Fuck, I’m not going to kill you, Granger… Although I don’t know if you’d rather be dead, where you’ll end up.”
“Stop speaking in riddles, Malfoy!” said Hermione. She brought her hands up between them as a buffer to stop him from getting closer.
“I have to send you back to him,” he said, waving his hand. She flinched. “Do you understand now? He wants you there, Granger, so I have to send you back. I tried to tell him you were nothing, that you were just an appendage to Potter, but he knows you… Or knew you once. You’ve always been there, and I’m the one that sends you back – that sent you back before.”
Hermione’s head hurt. Her heart hurt. He was still speaking in riddles, she couldn’t understand him. She spoke quickly, “We can protect you. Join the Order. Dumbledore will protect you and your mother. He can—”
But Malfoy cut her off with a sharp laugh. “Dumbledore? Dumbledore is dead. He took a dive off the Astronomy Tower, Granger. The Order is finished.”
She staggered, gripping the wall. Her vision swam. Dumbledore was dead?
“What about Harry?” she demanded, looking back at him. “Where’s Harry?”
Malfoy frowned. “I haven’t seen Potter.”
“He was with him tonight. He went with Dumbledore. Where’s Harry, Malfoy?”
The question stumped him. She saw the disconnect between his brain and his eyes, and took her chance. Hermione leaped towards him, wrapping both his hands around his right wrist, wrestling her wand from his grasp. She kicked out her leg, throwing her body into Malfoy’s knees to knock him off-balance. He was stronger than her, and taller, more solid, but she’d caught him by surprise. As soon as she’d secured her wand, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted, staggering backwards in an attempt to avoid her flailing feet.
Hermione screamed. “Let go of me, Malfoy! Let go!”
She thrashed about, throwing her head back to try to catch his chin. His breath was heavy and strained in her ear.
“Granger, I don’t have a choice. Believe me. I’ve spent the whole year looking for a way out.”
“You could have gone to Dumbledore sooner! Or Snape – he’s a member of the Order.”
Malfoy laughed bitterly. She felt him shake his head. He hissed, “Snape’s the one who killed him, Granger. He’s not on your side.”
It was like he’d slapped her. Hermione’s limbs were heavy. She lost her footing and went slack. “No. No, no. He trusted him. We all trusted him.”
Malfoy grunted at the additional weight. It was enough to pull her back into the room, and Hermione threw herself forward, out of his reach, crawling away from him. She spun and levelled her wand at her classmate, a spell forming on the tip of her tongue.
“Petrificus Totalus!”
Her body seized up. She fell back, her wand stuck between her immobilised fist.
Malfoy breathed heavily as he fell to his knees beside her.
“I wish you’d fought harder, Granger,” he said, and her blood bubbled with fury. His voice wasn’t smug, or snide, but resigned. “But I knew it would come to this. We were just delaying the inevitable. You understand that this isn’t my doing. I’m just a puppet. I have no choice. You were there, so you have to go.”
She tried to plead with her eyes. Her heart beat so hard she thought she might explode.
Malfoy was gentle as he put his wand tip to her temple. His tears fell fat and warm against her cheek. “I don’t want to do this, Granger. I don’t want to take who you are away from you. You have to fight when you get there. You have to remember.”
He whispered apologies, squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, Hermione knew she had lost.
One by one, Malfoy drew silvery strands of memories from her mind, holding his eyes on hers, and deposited them in a glass vial he procured from his robes. One by one, Hermione felt her brain crumble, her memories shatter and reform, swirling in spaces of absence. One by one, tears fell from her eyes and mingled with Malfoy’s, which continued to land on her skin.
Hermione saw snippets of the things he was taking from her and wanted to scream, cry, mourn her loss: her Hogwarts letter; McGonagall’s visit to her house; her parents exploring Diagon Alley and crying with wonder at Mr Ollivander’s; crossing the Black Lake on the little rowing boats and seeing the castle for the first time. It was all gone, disappearing from her mind like sand sifting through her fingers.
But not her magic. He didn’t touch her magic. He left all of the things she had learned, but removed the classrooms, removed the castle. Hogwarts became a place she had read about. She couldn’t remember the chill from the stone walls, or the heavy sound of the front door. She couldn’t remember the Great Hall, and the smell of pumpkin juice in metallic goblets. She could remember the raucous sounds of Quidditch, but forgot the pride of being a Gryffindor.
When Malfoy got to Harry and Ron, she felt his hesitation. Hermione tried to scream, to kick him off. She would kill him if he touched them. He seemed to feel her intent, his eyes widened, his wand pressed a little more forcefully against her head. And then he took them.
Mercilessly, he took Harry and Ron from her mind. This took him longer. He took their first meeting on the train, and their battle against the Mountain Troll, and their quest to save Buckbeak and Sirius, and their argument at the Yule Ball, and their fight at the Department of Mysteries. He took all of the small, quiet moments she had shared with them, doing homework together, playing chess, watching Quidditch, laughing, loving, fiercely protecting one another.
He took back the kiss she had left on Ron’s freckled cheek.
When he had finished, Malfoy sat back on his haunches. He was no longer crying, but sweat clung to his hairline. His chest heaved. His grey eyes were wide, watching her, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d done.
“I’m meant to destroy these,” he whispered, holding the vial up for her to see. It contained her entire life. The memories were so condensed, they looked like liquid silver. “But I don’t think I can. They’re yours. They’re you.”
Malfoy glanced over his shoulder. No one had bothered them. The sounds of battle were a distant dream. He took her free hand gently, and wrapped her stiff fingers around the vial. He reached into his robes and pulled out a frozen time-turner on a long, spindly, golden chain, which he put over her head. His hand caught in her hair. He stroked her curls with a finger.
“Soft,” murmured Malfoy, his eyebrows drawn together as though he hadn’t expected it.
With a flick of his wand, her robes and tie removed all traces of Hogwarts and Gryffindor, becoming plain black. He shrunk a bag of galleons and hid it in her inner pocket. Before he moved away from her, Malfoy removed himself from her memories.
It was done. There was no more time to waste. He stared at the girl on the floor. Malfoy knew they would never be friends, but he hadn’t expected to be her ruin. The little girl on the train, looking for the lost frog.
He pushed his hair back from his face. It was wet with sweat. His hands shook.
Stealing a breath, Malfoy pressed his wand against the time-turner in the swell of her breasts. “Good luck, Granger. Try to remember.”
A simple motion spell and the hourglass spun.
Hermione’s body was freed. She scrambled to her feet, clutching both her wand and the vial. The room spun violently, day and night, night and day, seconds slipping into minutes slipping into hours, years becoming decades. Her body was pulled and wrenched across space. She tried to scream, to hold onto anything solid, to find purchase in something concrete when everything was abstracted. Time melted. The floor under her feet tipped and swayed, formed and reformed.
Hermione was spat suddenly out into the world. The room settled into place. She screamed, and it reached her ears, piercing and shrill. She was falling, and all she could do was reach up to protect her face.
Glass shattered against her skin.