Finding Draco - A Dramione Novel

Chapter 16 - Hermione

Mudblood.

Dirty blood.

Well, Hermione thought, my magic appeared. Developed. Blossomed. It came in a different way.

Magic found me. It sought me out—a small girl with unruly hair and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Books were my closest friends, not the other kids. They thought I was different, and they were right.

I was a witch.

My mother didn't sing spells to heal scrapes, and I certainly didn't fly on toy brooms. I didn't live in a manor or have magic clocks that contemplated my well being. I survived without magic, and that's why I appreciate it more than anyone else. I've been called the brightest witch of my age, and that infuriates them. Magic wasn't a passed down heirloom for me.

It was a train ticket to a different place. A world hidden just beyond sight, and now I was apart of it.

Mudblood.

The word still stung like an angry slap. Hermione ran her fingers along the jagged scar on her upper arm. It was bubble gum pink and looked like a primary school child had copied a curse word. The nerve damage done during Bellatrix's torture left places where the feeling was gone.

Voldemort was dead, but prejudice had survived.

Hermione naively believed that this type of overt bigotry would be frowned upon, not brought up in polite company. Something that would be for your wretched inner monologue but certainly not acted upon. Hermione wasn't gullible enough to believe it was gone forever, just relegated to mild personal prejudices. Anders had been bold enough to create a Pure Blood section in the Great Hall.

What had they actually won during the war? Time?

She looked down at her watch, and all she saw was Draco's face. After Halvard and Crimson had escorted her back to her room, Hermione spent a long time observing the delicate golden hands tick merrily, introducing each new second with glee. Jealous of the watch's excitement for the impending minutes, she undid the golden clasp and placed it on her nightstand.

Picking up the worn book, Hermione opened to the page where she had last left off.

'The disapproval of cowards is praise to the brave." Most important in understanding Grindelwald, is understanding for all his extreme beliefs, Grindelwald had an unnatural ability to assuage followers of the worst. Very few knew how deep his hatred of Muggles really ran, and even less what drove his madness. His early beginning at Durmstrang Institute may offer an elementary understanding of how his worst intentions festered.

Expelled from the famously tolerant school, Grindelwald was accused of performing grotesque experiments of dark magic. He also nearly murdered multiple muggle-born students under the guise of a duel.

Hermione had known of Grindelwald's expulsion, but not of the circumstances. Dark experiments. Near-fatal duels. What was he trying to accomplish?

She wished Harry were here. He would instinctively know how this all fit together. She always had the puzzle box and could snap in the outlines and major pictures, but she needed his intuition to finish it.

Draco had said Voldemort modeled some of his ideas after Grindelwald - maybe even his Horcrux plan. Grindelwald was dead, murdered at Voldemort's own hand. He couldn't have a shard of his soul here. Could he? Grindelwald wanted the Hallows. He wanted to possess the legendary objects to master death. To ensure the survival of his new order, but not because he was afraid to die. Grindelwald was obsessed with the Hallows.

Hermione was still missing something. Feeling the galleon in her pocket warm, she grabbed it and saw the message from Draco.

'COME IN'