"Dung, darling, would you get that please?" The oily little man jumped up from his seat and scrambled to the window where an owl was waiting. He quickly untied the twine and brought over a folded piece of parchment. Narcissa gave him a tight smile and snatched the paper out of his hands.
Flying with the lions, now.
Could use a snake.
-L.B.
Narcissa grinned and tossed the parchment into the blazing fireplace. She waved over Mundungus for a spare quill and wrote a quick reply.
It's about time.
-The Snake
Once Mundungus attached her note to the owl and closed the window, she excused him for the night. She was quite capable of making her own tea, and she'd rather be alone. Constant company was stifling.
She rolled out her shoulders. It had been a long day. After returning to the estate (which was unmappable, of course), Narcissa had immediately got to work. She needed to send messages to both Severus and Minerva and read this week's reports. There hadn't been an attack on muggles in too long, so she assumed one was brewing. Now that she was in contact with the Granger girl, she was sure to receive a heads-up even sooner. She did so love being informed in a timely manner. It was glorious.
If there was indeed an attack coming, she'd need to organize her people quickly and send them out in teams. After losing a few in Austria, they also needed to be retrained. Seeing her stack of correspondences, Narcissa's eyes lit up when they spotted a dark glittering ink. She'd know that handwriting anywhere. She gracefully sliced open the envelope.
Lovely Cissa,
Remember how we discussed the odd conversation I had with Draco a few months ago? He was so fascinated by the Hallows, and even weeks afterward I could not let it go. So, you know me, I did some research. Of course, we all know the story of the Three Brothers and their respective gifts. Draco, at the time, was really only interested in the wand. As he failed to return for more information, I assume Draco has found it.
In addition to it, later, my Theodore tried to innocently ask me about the Cloak of Invisibility. I swear, he just assumes because I'm old I have no common sense. Theo would never care for this topic on his own, which means it must be tied to Draco. So this leaves the Resurrection Stone. No one knows of its whereabouts, and there is even less literature on it than the other two Hallows. So I find myself wondering...where would it be? I do not know the answer to this question, but I also find myself wondering: who would desire to be a Master of Death? Obviously, it is the dark lord currently, but what about before?
It is all speculation, but then I began to wonder why the dark lord would need the Hallows in the first place. He is the most powerful wizard of the age, he has an army, and he is trying to track down and kill a child. Eventually, Potter's luck will run out, and the dark lord will find him. Why isn't that enough? Who would have convinced him that this was not enough?
The only answer I could come up with was Albus Dumbledore. He's long gone, that's true enough, but he was the only wizard that truly threatened the dark lord. We can all say it is due to age and experience, but it really doesn't matter what we believe. It matters what the dark lord believes. What if the dark lord believed Albus to be the holder of all of the Hallows at some point, and that this was how Dumbledore continued to threaten him? What if even after Dumbledore's death, he wasn't satisfied, and he grew manic with desire for the Hallows, to continue to best Albus even in the grave?
You may think these are just the crazed ravings of an old man, and perhaps they are. But I'd rather tell someone of my theories than keep them to myself.
Hope you are well,
Thaddeus
Narcissa frowned. That certainly wasn't what she was expecting. She wasn't necessarily concerned, the dark lord had always been obsessive over myths and legends. But it did give her a clue as to what the Cuckoo might actually be doing back in Potter's clutches. After seeing her dynamic with Draco, there was no way the Granger girl would have left him willingly. Tapping her chin, she brought out another piece of parchment and began writing.
Rumor says A.D. kept a rock garden.
What a lovely idea.
-The Snake
She quickly rolled the note and located a spare owl. Once it departed, she looked back at the stack of letters and sighed. Only fifteen more to go.
***
After those first few days, Hermione was sure the worst part of this mission would be speaking with Ron. Or Harry. Or both at the same time. But oh no, they had nothing on the boredom. Six months away was enough for her to forget this part, this endless waiting. There was literally nothing to do most days but send her measly amount of messages and read whatever books Theo sent her. It only took four days for her to grow claustrophobic, and she had to repeatedly play that game Draco had taught her. Even imagining what objects could fit inside the bedroom only helped so much, though. Eventually, she'd always end up outside.
The cabin was surrounded by a grove of trees, which suited Hermione's angst perfectly. By the fifth day, she realized Ron wouldn't come near if she had her daggers out, so she spent hours each day throwing them at various trunks. Harry wasn't as hesitant, but she didn't mind him so much. If she was really in a mood, he picked up on it quicker and sat quietly, practicing the trick she taught him. He was actually improving quite a lot; he could sometimes roll the knife over all of his knuckles and back again before it fell.
Hermione threw two daggers at once, watching them spin in the air before lodging deep into the bark. She tugged on her sleeves distractedly; it was an old habit, making sure every inch of her arms was covered. Finally, she sighed and dropped to the ground beside Harry, flopping onto her back lazily. Staring at the branches above, she carefully folded her arms beneath her head.
"Alright. Spit it out, Harry. I can tell you're dying to ask me something."
Harry dropped the knife in surprise and barely missed his fingers. Hermione tutted in annoyance. One of the first things Draco taught her was to always be aware of the weapon–nothing could distract you from it, because no matter how skilled you were, carelessness could leave you injured. She bit back the lecture and waited for Harry to gather his thoughts.
He cleared his throat. "Sorry, you know I kinda lose it when people are unhappy with me. It's just...it's almost been a week. Do you think you could tell me why you're angry with me?"
Hermione closed her eyes. "No."
He shifted beside her. "Okay, yeah I saw that one coming. I have a backup question anyway."
"Do you?"
"Yeah. I guess I'll preface this by saying I have no idea if I'm allowed to ask this, so you can obviously just say no or whatever. Normal rules."
"Cheers."
Harry cleared his throat again. "Great. Well, I was wondering what's your thing with long sleeves? I mean, I get that it's kinda cool out here, but you mess with them a lot. You just did, actually. Uh, sorry maybe this is a stupid question. You're obviously allowed to like long sleeve shirts. No problem with that at all."
Hermione rubbed at her temples. This was a question she definitely couldn't answer honestly, but there wasn't a lot of harm in explaining part of it. It would also answer some of his other questions, which might make him stop asking. She weighed the pros and cons for a few moments and finally gave a long-suffering groan; she stuck out her left arm.
"Oh! Erm...what exactly do you want me to do, 'Mione?"
She shook her arm without opening her eyes. "You want to know why I stay covered. Look."
Harry went silent, fighting some mental battle between his curiosity and probably dread. She understood; in this age, the left arm was a dangerous place. Lucky for her, her dark mark was on her other arm due to Bella's interference. She shoved down her roiling nausea as Harry carefully held her wrist and prepared to pull up the sleeve. He of all people wouldn't be disgusted...he had a scar too. Hermione opened one eye to observe.
His eyebrows were low, lips pinched together so hard they were white. He pushed the sleeve up slowly, clearly bracing himself. When he didn't see the tell-tale black ink, relief flickered in his expression, then confusion. Only the curve of the 'D' stuck out. He pursed his lips and pushed it up further. The sensation wasn't exactly painful; the scars hadn't hurt in months now. It was just uncomfortable. Her forearm had never felt very interesting before the drawing room, but now, it was as if every nerve were awake constantly. Every little touch, brush, or breeze made her aware of the scar. It was so hypersensitive that this was one reason she wore the sleeves. Not only for cover but so nothing touched her. It was probably all in her head.
Harry paled as he discovered the two 'O's and an 'L'. He wasn't moving slowly anymore; the last bit of the scar was revealed all at once as he yanked the sleeve all the way up to her elbow. He inhaled sharply; his hands were shaking, even as they held her forearm. Hermione began counting the seconds.
Two seconds, and Harry's eyes traveled back and forth, back and forth, down the letters. She thought it might be shock. Maybe it really was that ugly. She hadn't considered that. Harry's own scar was quite lovely, with long tendrils creeping down his nose and cheekbone. Hers was nothing like that; it was brutal, nothing artistic about it.
Ten seconds, and Harry's hands tightened on her wrist. Something flashed in his eyes. She thought it might be anger. Maybe he was furious she'd never told him until now. To be fair, she hadn't told him many things at all during the past week. Not about Draco, or the Resurrection Stone, or the manor. She probably deserved that. She wasn't sure she cared.
Seventeen seconds, and Harry's thumb lightly ran over the first letter. A strangled sound came from his throat. She thought it might be heartbreak. When she didn't pull away, he continued tracing the other letters. After all of this time, Hermione had forgotten how gentle Harry was. She allowed her eyes to close, and she felt herself relax for maybe the first time since arriving at the cabin. It was a subconscious sort of settling, a part of her brain that knew touch and remembered places of safety. Before the manor, Harry had been one of those safe places for her. She wanted to go back to that. She wanted it so badly.
Forty-six seconds and Harry carefully tugged her sleeve back into its rightful place. He searched for her gaze and found it, latching on. It was the most earnest she'd ever seen him. He folded his hands into his lap. "I'm sorry for not knowing, Hermione. And I'm sorry it wasn't you that got away. That doesn't fix any of this...but I'm sorry."
A terrible knot formed in Hermione's throat so that she couldn't respond. She didn't know what to say anyway. How does she explain that his apology means both everything and nothing? How does she admit she's also sorry it wasn't her that got away? How does she explain that she hates herself for feeling that way, and hates him for it too? In the end, she only looked away, placing her arm back under her head. Suddenly, she desperately missed her golden mask. She'd give anything to hide right about now.
Harry got to his feet. "Hey...I'll get Ron to lay off on you. I don't even have to tell him anything if you don't want to. I'll just get him to leave you alone."
"Tell him whatever you want. I had quite the audience once upon a time." Her tone had gone flat. Emotionless. Dead.
"I'll talk to him." Harry assured her. Without another word, he picked his way back toward the cabin.
When he was gone, Hermione reached into one of her trouser pockets and pulled out a crinkled piece of parchment. She scanned the lines again. They still made sense; she and Narcissa communicated easily. So, she understood exactly what the older witch meant–that Dumbledore may have once been in possession of the Resurrection Stone. It had been days since she'd received the note, and she still didn't know what to do about it. Unfortunately, she'd probably have to at least bring Remus in on this. After all, he already knew she and Draco were searching for the Hallows.
The sound of footsteps had her sitting up. Speak of the devil, Lupin himself was walking toward her. She snatched the dagger Harry had used, as well as the others in the trees and stashed them in their proper places. Then she raised a brow expectantly.
Remus held up two notes. "These showed up at the cabin at the exact same time, by two different owls that were both entirely winded. I'd never read your mail, but something's clearly going on. Hurry up and read them so I don't die of suspense."
Hermione snorted and tore open them both, her eyes darting through the coded messages. It wasn't good news, far from it, but it still sent a thrill down her spine. One note from Narcissa, and one from Draco himself; both described the specifics of an upcoming attack in Yorkshire. Apparently, there was an old Order safe house that Voldemort wanted destroyed. They needed to get there before Draco's team to make sure no one was hiding out in the cottage.
Finally, something to do. Hermione grinned. "We have a mission."
"You look happy. Do you get to throw your knives?"
Hermione cocked her head to the side. "Probably not."
"Oh, bother."
She shoved the notes into his hands so he could read them. "At least we get to do something other than listen to Lucius whine about the tea being bloody cold. I liked him much better when he wasn't awake."
"That makes two of us," Remus quipped, eyes scanning the lines of information rapidly. When he finished, he handed them back and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it with his wand and took a drag. "When do we leave?"
***
And so a game of sorts began, a game where Draco and Hermione fought for balance in the midst of war. Voldemort ordered more and more aggressive missions all throughout Europe, and the targets varied from muggles to muggleborns and sometimes Ministry officials. Draco leaked the details, and Hermione worked to minimize casualties. Very rarely did they ever engage in combat, at least on Hermione's side; the goal was to get in and get out before the Death Eaters arrived. That also took off loads of strain for Draco and Hermione, so they wouldn't have to worry about either of them being hurt while undercover.
Of course, some sacrifices had to be made. Hermione in turn leaked information on the Order's missions, or even sometimes her own missions with Harry, Ron and Remus. It had to be accurate, but she was able to keep it moderately vague, convincing the dark lord that Harry was some sort of mastermind and didn't always share all of the details. It was bollocks of course, but he didn't have to know that.
Before she knew it, three weeks had passed, and although Voldemort was seemingly pleased with her at the moment, she hadn't forgotten her upcoming deadline. It was late October. She needed to find the Stone.
Over the past few weeks, things had gotten easier with Harry. He spent every afternoon with her in the woods. Sometimes asking her questions, and other times sitting in silence. After that day when he'd seen her scars, he'd admitted that he didn't know how to fix this–this rift between them. She'd said she didn't know how, either. So, Harry had done what Harry does best.
Harry had stood up, brushed his trousers off, and extended a hand. Hermione had eyed him warily and then scoffed at his gentle smile. After a full minute of excruciating indecision, she'd finally taken his hand and shook.
"What are you doing?"
The idiot had only grinned wider. "We don't know how to continue because things have gotten too complicated. So I figured we should just start over. Hi," he shook her hand goofily, "my name is Harry Potter. It's nice to meet you."
Hermione had blinked at him for far too long. It was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard and yet...so freeing. It was a glorious thing to start over, to have a clean slate. That was where she was getting caught up in her relationship with Harry. There were too many beginnings and messy middles, complications and devastating loss. There were old memories of warmth and new of isolation, and it was all just too confusing; and when the knot of emotions grew too difficult to handle, they manifested in anger. She wasn't even sure if she was angry at Harry, anymore; anger just happened to be the easiest emotion to grab onto.
So starting over...that was exactly what she needed. There was no pressure in an introduction. She could say what she pleased, and keep whatever she wished to herself. It was a safe thing, a place where trust was built, not remembered or expected. It was perfect.
That was how she found herself smiling, clenching his hand and murmuring, "Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you, Harry."
They started small. First, sharing stupid things in the woods. Favorite card games. Favorite flowers. Favorite seasons. Then it grew to dislikes. What was the worst muggle film of all time? The least pleasant Hogwarts professor. Social situations they absolutely detested. Most of it, they admittedly already knew, but there was something fun about relearning these things in a low-stakes environment. By the fifth day, it wasn't difficult to move to more serious conversations.
"Do you miss your parents, Harry?"
"Every day. Do you?"
"Every day."
Harry told her how disastrous he and Ron had been when they'd lost her. They both laughed as he described how long it took the boys to pick up a book to answer a research question. It had honestly never even crossed their mind; Hermione was the one who read. In turn, Hermione offered bits and pieces of her own experiences. Not enough for a clear picture, but enough that it wasn't so scary to share, and Harry was a wonderful listener. She didn't give specifics about her role in Voldemort's ranks, or the torture or the cell. Mostly, she talked about Draco. She was hesitant to do so at first, terrified Harry would grow angry and walk away, but Harry took this 'new' friendship seriously. He acted like he didn't even know the guy, hadn't been hating him for years, and just listened calmly as Hermione explained how much he meant to her.
It was awkward at first, of course, but as the days passed on, it seemed like Harry really believed her. She told stories of Theo and herself pouring itching powder all over Draco, and Harry actually wheezed with laughter. He shared similar accounts of bothering Remus that had Hermione in stitches. It was so good to laugh again, so good to laugh with Harry. It wasn't perfect; in some ways, it was actually very messed up–but it was okay. And okay...okay was good.
At night, she rambled on and on to Draco about how things were going, and he was sarcastic and witty and wonderful. He updated her on their progress at the manor, and they rehashed the events of every mission to make sure they didn't miss anything. At some point, Draco actually suggested Hermione consult Harry about the Resurrection Stone.
You never know, Hermione. He might have the answer, and we're kind of running out of time. It's worth a shot, and as he's not being a bastard lately, this is a good time.
Alright. I'll ask him in the morning.
Good. It's been three weeks...I'm ready for you to come home. I'm going crazy here without you.
Aww, don't tell Theodore. He'd be devastated.
You're right. He must always believe he is my first and only love.
Hermione had gone to sleep that night in a lovely mood, so when she woke up the next morning, she decided it wouldn't hurt to speak to Harry about the Stone. And then she realized that Remus was undoubtedly going to be helpful as well, so he should be present too. And then she decided Ron could come, or else he'd really pitch a fit. So when breakfast was finished, she eyed the three boys and gestured for them to follow her outside, away from Arthur and Lucius.
She began with a pensive expression, taking in all of them. She needed to choose her words carefully, but also be forthright enough that they believed her. Finally, Hermione sighed and plopped onto the ground.
"Alright, you three obviously know I've been working as a double agent of sorts, training with Malfoy, and going on missions for the dark lord." Ron opened his mouth and she interrupted him immediately. "No, Ron, I will not be giving any further details on that." Ron shut his mouth. "But I will tell you the latest thing we've been working on, because number one, it is absolutely fascinating, number two, I've actually stolen from you before, and number three, I need your help."
"What's fascinating–"
"You've stolen from us–"
"How can we help–"
The responses, from Remus, Ron, and Harry respectively, did nothing to deter her, and Hermione blazed on in her explanation. "Months ago, the dark lord became obsessed with finding the Deathly Hallows, or the mythical objects from the Tale of the Three Brothers."
She briefly explained the lore behind the mission and went on to alert them of her orders from the dark lord to track down each Hallow. "So far, we have turned in the Elder Wand and the Cloak of Invisibility," she winced, "sorry Harry."
He grimaced. "It's war. Carry on."
She nodded. "So anyway, I'm actually partially here to be looking for the Resurrection Stone. The dark lord seems to believe Harry might have ties to it or something, although my sources believe it was Dumbledore who had ties to it. One of my most trusted sources believes Dumbledore was once in possession of all three Hallows at once. I know for a fact he had the Elder Wand because Draco and I picked it out of his grave."
Ron blinked. "What the hell, Hermione."
She shrugged. "It's not like he was using it."
Remus barked out a laugh, and Harry shook his head in amazement. "I can't believe he paired the two of you up. You and Malfoy are absolutely horrid."
Hermione beamed. "Thanks."
Harry scratched his head. "You know, there might be something to the Dumbledore theory, though. The Cloak ran in my family, but it was Dumbledore who gave it to me. So he obviously had it, at least for a decade or so."
Remus nodded slowly. "So if he had his hands on two Hallows, and he of all people would of course be aware of their significance, it's highly likely he found the third."
Ron grunted in begrudging agreement. "Yeah, that checks out. The man was mental. Knew everything."
Hermione clasped her hands together and looked at each one imploringly. "Exactly. So where is the Stone?"
They discussed it for hours, throwing out all sorts of possibilities that ranged from simple to incredibly illegal and dangerous. Hermione said she wouldn't mind grave robbery again, but was shut down immediately. Remus mused there might be a hiding spot in the Headmaster's office, but Ron argued Dumbledore wouldn't leave something so valuable in there. It was Harry who finally cracked it. Hermione wasn't sure what set him off, but randomly, Harry bolted to his feet and ran inside. When he returned, he was clenching a golden snitch.
"We think it was something of Dumbledore's? Well, Dumbledore tasked me to find the horcruxes, leaving me clues and such. I wondered if he'd left me a clue for the Hallows as well. Maybe they're more tied than we thought." Harry shook the snitch. "He left me this in his will, remember? I just don't know how to open it."
It took one hour and twenty-two minutes to crack it. One hour and twenty-two minutes for Harry to press the little snitch to his lips, and then they all gathered around, watching the metal open in awe. When the little black stone tumbled into Harry's open palm, Hermione laughed.