A/N: Just wanted to give another brief disclaimer at the start of this chapter, (spoiler: you're going to be seeing this in nearly every chapter now), that some of the quotes in this chapter are pulled straight from book seven, as there is again some overlap between canon and the fic here. Any quotes pulled from the book are not my writing, and not owned by me.
~.~.~
The horizon was cast in hues of rosy pinks and soft blues, bleeding into the rest of the slowly lightening navy sky as the sun began to creep towards the horizon.
She was wearing heavy, black robes and had already taken the polyjuice potion that transformed her into the subject of every recent nightmare of hers. She had made the mistake of looking in a mirror once already and being caught so off-guard, that she had spent the proceeding ten minutes curled up in a ball on the ground, struggling with the sudden panic attack. She had avoided every reflective surface from that point on as she made her way into the garden to meet Harry, Ron, and Griphook.
She had already transfigured Ron's features until he was wholly unrecognisable, and was clutching the invisibility cloak in her fist as they stared at each other. A feeling seemed to settle over their little group, standing in the garden, listening to the sea crash against the shore, that this was a turning point and once they left, they wouldn't be coming back here. At least, they wouldn't be coming back before the end of the war.
She didn't know how she knew, but some part of her simply did. She felt it in her bones like it was an irrefutable truth.
Whatever happened today, the tide would either be turned in their favour or they would fail and it would be over.
Harry glanced around at them all one more time before clearing his throat.
"Right then, shall we go?"
They nodded in unison, and Griphook climbed upon Harry's back before she tossed the invisibility cloak over the two of them. She found Harry's hand and squeezed Ron's on the other side of her, and before they could second-guess themselves, she turned on the spot.
They appeared on Charing Cross Road, and Hermione stared up at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, overwhelmed with emotion as she remembered the last time they had been here, laughing and grabbing their school things as they discussed the upcoming term and visited the twins' shop. It had been dark then, a sense of unease lingering as they laid their eyes upon the destruction of shops like Ollivanders. But Dumbledore had been alive, there had been so much hope, so much surety that there was no way they would lose, no way Voldemort would actually come into power.
But there was no light here now. No laughter. No hope.
They didn't let themselves hesitate, moving almost immediately to make their way to the entrance to Diagon Alley behind the small pub.
Whispers followed them, floating over from the handful of patrons tucked into dark corners.
She was greeted by Tom, fear clear in his voice as he stuttered out "Madame Lestrange."
She tried to remember she was supposed to be Bellatrix, but instinctively responded, "Good morning," before internally kicking herself. She was sure Bellatrix had never wished a good morning upon a fellow witch or wizard ever, certainly not one she likely saw as being beneath her.
Tom's eyes widened in surprise and before he could say anything else, she moved on quickly, refusing to speak again until they were at Gringotts. She couldn't afford to be the reason they were discovered, she had to be better than that.
They made their way through the brick entrance and she froze.
She had never seen Diagon Alley so bleak. Even more storefronts were now darkened and empty than there had been the summer before their sixth year. She blanched as her eyes fell to the figures huddled along the sides of the cobblestone pathway, many taking cover in the abandoned storefronts as they begged for gold or help from the few shoppers making their way through Diagon Alley. She realised these were the witches and wizards that the ministry had deemed liars - muggleborns and blood traitors who had no one to help hide them when the ministry had come calling. This is where she would be, if she had never befriended Harry. Well, this or dead. Those lining the cobblestones were dressed in dirty rags, covered in dark bruises or an unlucky few in even worse injuries. She ached to help them, to heal their wounds and take them back to a safe house to ride out the rest of this war in peace.
But she had a purpose in being here, and that purpose would help them far more than a temporary fix.
They set off towards the imposing white marble building at the far end of the path, Hermione internally promising herself she would come back and help them as soon as she could, and her heart beating faster with every step they took towards the wizarding bank. She was so focused on their destination, that she nearly stumbled when a beggar intervened in her path. One eye was covered in a bloody bandage, and the other reflected a fierce kind of desperation as he confronted her.
"My children," he shouted, pointing at her. "Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know, you know!"
"I-I really—" Hermione stuttered out, struggling to get her bearings as the wizard in front of her pushed forward, the utter devastation clear in his eyes as he took her hesitation as confirmation that the worst had happened. The man lunged at her, his hands outstretched towards her neck. She stumbled back, trying to get out of reach of those clawing hands, and before she could pull out Bellatrix's wand, a red light with an accompanying bang sent the man flying backwards. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious, and it took everything within Hermione not to drop to the ground beside him and heal whatever damage had been done. She glanced at Ron, whose wand was still held out in front of him as he stared at the man he had just prevented from attacking her. He tucked the wand back within his robes, his hand shaking only slightly as he did.
She looked around at the attention they were now receiving. Some curious shoppers were stepping out into the street, others running in fear as they realised who was in their midst.
She cursed internally, their plan already veering from the path they had spent weeks agonising over, but before she could suggest they find an alleyway to regroup, an unfamiliar voice called out behind them.
"Why, Madam Lestrange!"
Hermione froze, trying to force herself into Bellatrix's mindset as she turned slowly, looking for all the world as though the scene that had just played out hadn't affected her in the slightest. She straightened her spine, forcing the haughtiest look she could manage onto Bellatrix's features.
"And what do you want?" Hermione forced her tone to sound derisive, trying to channel the way she had heard Bellatrix speak to nearly everyone but her own sister. A wizard clad in expensive robes froze in front of her, a look of offence clear on his sharp features. He had greying hair, sticking out from his head in a way that told her it was as unruly as her own bushy curls. His sharp, bird-like features were currently twisted in derision as he stared at what he thought was his fellow Death Eater. She had no idea who he was, but he seemed to know who Bellatrix was and she feared she had made yet another mistake when Harry's whisper floated to her informing her that the man in front of them was called Travers, and was a fellow Death Eater.
"I merely sought to greet you," said Travers coolly, "but if my presence is not welcome . . . "
"No, no, not at all, Travers, how are you?" She scrambled to fix her mistake, trying to skate over the inappropriate tone and banish any reason for him to worry. She hadn't banked on running into any other Death Eaters here, and she didn't know how she'd convince someone who interacted with Bellatrix regularly that she was the terrifying witch. She caught a glimpse of herself in the window behind Travers and clenched her fist, hidden within her robes as she tried to prevent the anxiety clawing its way up her throat.
Not now, not now, not now.
Her heart stuttered and she felt as though all the air had been stolen from her lungs. She struggled to breathe normally instead of taking gasping lungfuls of air like she so desperately needed. Her vision narrowed, black spots appearing at the edges as Travers' voice took on a tinny quality when he responded.
"Well, I confess I am surprised to see you out and about, Bellatrix."
"Really? Why?" asked Hermione, hoping Travers didn't pick up on the slightly breathless tone. She remembered something she had read in a muggle book one summer about panic attacks and desperately tried to remember how they said to pull yourself out of them.
Adrenaline and panic were bleeding through her like a poison as she tried with difficulty to stay standing, stay present, when her traitorous body was trying to force her to crumble.
"Well," Travers started slowly, a predatory note in his voice, "I heard that the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the . . . ah . . . escape."
"The Dark Lord, ah, forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past. Perhaps your credit is not as good with him as mine is, Travers." She gritted her teeth and forced out as contemptuous of a voice as she could muster. Her nails were digging into her palms, and she could feel blood beading as she broke through the skin. The mention of Draco being stuck in that prison of a manor with his abusive, volatile family did nothing to help the panic that was doing its best to take control. A ringing had begun in her ears, and she could barely hear Travers over it, she could hardly hear anything but that and the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.
Grounding, she remembered. They referred to it as grounding.
Travers, a small crack in the cobblestone at his feet, the broken window behind him, Harry's face on a wanted poster, Ron.
Five things she could see.
Her response had apparently satisfied Travers enough that he wasn't willing to push it and he instead glanced at the unconscious wizard that had tried to attack her.
"How did it offend you?"
"It does not matter, it will not do so again," Hermione responded. Her tone belied none of the inner turmoil within her.
Her bloody palm, the fabric of her heavy robe, the smooth wood of Bellatrix's wand, and the beading on the bag brushing against her hand in her pocket.
Four things she could touch.
"Some of these wandless can be troublesome," Travers continued, "While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case in the Ministry last week. 'I'm a witch, sir, I'm a witch, let me prove it to you!'" He snorted before continuing. "As if I was going to give her my wand." Travers glanced to where Hermione's hand lay in the pocket of her robe, eyes narrowing slightly, "But whose wand are you using at the moment, Bellatrix? I heard that your own was –"
She interrupted him, fear spreading through her as she realised the rumour had already spread that Bellatrix's wand had been stolen.
Don't let the panic win, don't let it win.
"I have my wand here," she replied, deciding the best action would be to simply dismiss the rumours. He would find out later they were true, but by then they would be long gone. She continued, "I don't know what rumours you have been listening to, Travers, but you seem sadly misinformed."
The wind, broken shutters against a window, the opening of a door.
Three things she could hear.
Her vision was beginning to clear, the ringing in her ears beginning to fade, the claws that panic had sunk into her beginning to loosen. She couldn't tell if Travers had bought her lies, but he turned his attention to Ron instead of pushing her for further information on that matter.
"Who is your friend? I do not recognize him."
"This is Dragomir Despard. He speaks very little English, but he is in sympathy with the Dark Lord's aims. He has travelled here from Transylvania to see our new regime."
Travers directed a question to Ron, though Hermione couldn't quite focus on what it was.
She took a deep breath in.
Toasted chestnuts, the metallic scent of blood.
Two things she could smell.
"So what brings you and your—ah—sympathetic friend to Diagon Alley this early?" asked Travers. She dragged her attention back to him as she realised he was once again speaking to her.
"I need to visit Gringotts," Hermione said, keeping it short.
"Alas, I also. Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends."
She swallowed back the disgust at his dig against the Goblins, biting her tongue quite literally to prevent herself from saying something stupid as the panic began to rise again at the realisation that he was going to follow them there.
Blood.
One thing she could taste.
She shoved the remaining panic back into a cage within the back of her mind, slamming the mental door shut and taking a shaky breath as she fought her way free of the remaining clutches of her anxiety.
"Shall we?" Travers swept a hand towards Gringotts and she nodded, falling into step with him as he continued down the path towards the bank. They reached the steps leading up to the large structure and she paused, staring at the doors manned by two wizards holding long, golden rods. Once they stepped through those doors, there was no going back.
She just hoped their plan was good enough to work.
~.~.~
Draco leaned against the window in the library, staring out at the grounds he could no longer explore. The closest he got to anything outside this manor at the moment was when he opened the windows and let the breeze roll over him.
He had been stuck inside this fucking prison since Hermione had left. Part of their punishment for letting the chosen one go. He probably could have weathered it easily enough, if he hadn't been trapped here with his piece of shit father and vicious aunt. He was constantly in danger of running into them within the halls, and they had taken out their frustration on him more often than not if he ran into them at the wrong moment. Bellatrix and his father blamed him for not keeping a hold of Hermione and the wands, and as a result they saw him as the sole reason for their punishment and lost glory.
They weren't wrong. He had given up Hermione and the wands willingly, though they didn't know that. And he was willing to take his punishment.
He wasn't willing, however, to let his mother take that punishment for him. He tried hard to protect her from his father, but there were still many times he'd come across his mother only to find a new bruise blossoming like a twisted tattoo across her white skin.
He ran his fingers over the velvety soft petals of the small rose in his hand for the hundredth time as he felt his temper rising.
Bipsy had returned from her last visit to Hermione and had placed the flower gently in his hands with a message from the witch he had done all of this to protect.
He now kept the flower in his pocket wherever he went, only taking it off of his person to place it on his nightstand when he finally attempted to sleep. It had become one of the only sources of comfort he had in this fucking hellhole, a reminder of who he was doing this for and his newfound purpose. He only took it out of his pocket in times like this, when he was sure that someone else in the home wouldn't unexpectedly find him.
Currently, he was hiding from his family and the Dark Lord in his favourite corner of the library. It was on the second floor, tucked all the way into the back of the shelves, next to where his mother kept the same trashy romance novels he had teased Hermione with. Rarely did anyone but his mother come into the library these days, and if she did he would hear her long before she turned the corner to find him, plenty of time to tuck Hermione's gift back into his pocket.
It was also a good corner for him to practice casting his patronus in, completely hidden from view from the first levels and far enough back that it was unlikely anyone other than his mother would venture this way anyway.
And he had gotten quite good at it. He was even sure he caught glimpses of a shape trying to twist its way out of the silvery shield once or twice, though he hadn't been able to make out the shape of it quite yet.
He had been curious more than once if he would ever be able to cast a corporeal patronus, and a small part of him was secretly excited to find out what it might be.
A distant sound alerted him to the opening of the library doors and he quickly tucked the flower away as hurried steps made their way through the shelves towards him. His mother appeared at the end of the aisle and he straightened up immediately at the worried look on her face. Her blue eyes were wide with fear and she was nearly running towards him once she saw him.
"Something's happened," his mother said breathlessly, as she came to a stop before him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Hermione? Had her idiotic friends been caught? Had they been killed?
His mind raced with possibilities, each worse and more terrifying than the last.
"What is it?"
She shook her head, "I don't know." Her voice trembled with panic as she continued, "But whatever it is, he's livid."
The fear within Draco was pierced by hope. Had they actually been successful? Found whatever it was they had been looking for to defeat the Dark Lord?
"We've been instructed to wait downstairs."
He nodded, taking a step forward though he wanted nothing more than to jump out of the window behind him and apparate away from here.
She paused him, though, with a cool hand on his forearm.
"Draco, I don't know who you've been communicating with but whoever it is you may want to warn them." Her voice was low as she said it, and the small bit of hope died as he realised that he hadn't been careful enough. That someone had noticed. His mother must have seen the fear reflected in his eyes as she moved her hand to rest against his cheek.
"No one else knows. Just me. I..." She paused, pulling her lower lip into her mouth to chew on as she seemed to think about what to say. He rarely saw his mother exhibit nervous habits like this, always so careful with the front she showed to the world, and this small mistake sent a cool shiver of worry down his spine. "If she's important enough for you to risk as much as you have, then you should warn her."
She knew. His mother knew.
He didn't have time to process what that meant, didn't have time to ask her more, as he took off running through the library, desperate to get to his room and write a note of warning before the Dark Lord returned.
Though he was sure that Hermione wouldn't be there to receive it, a niggling feeling at the back of his mind telling him that she, Potter, and Weasley were the source of the Dark Lord's anger.
But still, he had to try.
~.~.~
Hermione spluttered, coughing out water and struggling to catch her breath as she dragged herself from the lake onto the grassy shore beside it. The three of them collapsed, breathing heavily for a moment as they tried to catch their bearings.
Sharp, stinging pain lanced through her, nearly every bit of skin that was exposed covered in various cuts and burns. She groaned as she pulled out her beaded bag, wincing as every movement sent more pain ringing through her. Harry stumbled around the three of them, muttering the protective enchantments they had used countless times to shield themselves while she pulled out essence of dittany and began applying it to her injuries through laboured breaths.
She passed it to Ron, then Harry as he collapsed beside her, before pulling out fresh clothing and pumpkin juice to replenish them.
The three of them changed quickly and Ron finally spoke, being the first one to break the silence between their trio as they tried to focus themselves on their next steps.
"Well, on the upside, we got the Horcrux. On the downside—"
"—no sword," Harry finished, pain evident in his voice as he continued applying the dittany to his wounds.
"No sword," agreed Ron. "That double-crossing little scab. . . "
His words faded as their attention was pulled to the small golden cup Harry was laying before them. It had the same dark pull that the locket had wielded over them, and Hermione eyed it warily. She looked away, trying to ignore its whispers as her gaze landed on the dragon. She felt anger tear through her, hot and vivid as she again thought of the deplorable condition it had been kept in. The treatment of it had been appalling, disgusting, and she vowed to find another way for Gringotts to protect its treasures without exploiting and abusing innocent creatures if she made it out of this war alive.
"What'll happen to it, do you think? Will it be alright?" She couldn't help but ask for reassurance from her best friends as she watched it grow smaller on the horizon. It had been raised in captivity, it was blind, it had no family. What if it found its freedom only to die?
Though, she supposed, better to die free than die abused and starved, caged below the ground.
"You sound like Hagrid," Ron snorted, rolling his eyes at her. "It's a dragon, Hermione, it can look after itself. It's us we need to worry about."
"What do you mean?" She frowned as she responded, glancing around to ensure that no one had found them.
"Well I don't know how to break this to you, but I think they might have noticed we broke into Gringotts."
She stared at him for a moment as she realised he was making a joke, before a smile split her face and laughter tumbled from her lips at the sheer absurdity of joking in the face of all they were up against. Everything they had been through, everything they were still going to endure, reared up and she couldn't stop her laughter as she realised just how utterly fucked they currently were.
No sword. Still no idea where the other Horcrux they had to find was. And now Voldemort definitely would know what they had done. They were free for now, but it couldn't last. Not for long.
The laughter faded as the heaviness of their situation chased it away, replacing it with a darkness that she was becoming all too familiar with.
"What are we going to do, though? He'll know, won't he? You-Know-Who will know we know
about his Horcruxes."
"Maybe they'll be too scared to tell him!" said Ron, a note of hope present in his tone, "Maybe they'll cover up – Harry?"
Harry had collapsed backwards, a hand against his scar and a sound of pain escaping him as he curled in on himself. He was seeing inside of Voldemort's mind, both of them knew it, and they could do nothing but wait, worried and fretting until the vision ended. She moved closer to him, a hand hovering over Harry's arm as she tried to decide whether it would be best to try and drag him back, or allow him to go further in the hopes they might find out something important.
Harry's eyes flew open, the emerald green finding Hermione's own amber brown as he came back to himself. He pushed himself up and gave a panicked look at Hermione, then Ron.
"He knows. He knows and he's going to check where the others are, and the last one is at Hogwarts. I knew it. I knew it."
He pushed to his feet, pacing as Ron let out a shocked, "What?" Hermione stood, her hands clenching into fists as she pushed Harry for more information. If they were going to go to Hogwarts, possibly the most dangerous place for them at the moment, they had to be absolutely sure.
"But what did you see? How do you know?"
"I saw him find out about the cup, I-I was in his head, he's – he's seriously angry, and scared too, he can't understand how we knew, and now he's going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape's there, because it'll be so hard not to be seen getting in. I think he'll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours—"
"Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?" Ron interrupted.
"No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn't think about exactly
where it is—"
Harry was pulling out his invisibility cloak and Ron seemed to be on the same wavelength as he snatched up the Horcrux.
"Wait, wait!" Hermione snapped, worry clear in her voice. "We can't just go, we haven't got a plan, we need to—"
"We need to get going." Harry met her eyes, as he continued, "Can you imagine what he's going to do once he realises the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn't safe enough?"
Hermione couldn't think. She just needed a moment, a moment to catch her breath, a moment to come up with a decent plan, a moment to just figure out how the fuck to keep them safe.
"But how are we going to get in?" She asked it desperately, hoping to force Harry to see how ridiculous this idea was.
"We'll go to Hogsmeade and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school's like. Get under the cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time."
Her eyes flitted to the cloak in his hand, "Harry, we don't all fit –"
"It'll be dark, no one's going to notice our feet."
He stared at her, confidence shining through the green as she chewed on the inside of her cheek, frantically thinking of any other way to go about this.
But she knew. Somewhere within her, she knew there was no other way.
It was time.
They were going to Hogwarts.
She stepped forward, into the place she had always belonged, between Harry and Ron, and they left.
They were going home.