Hermione rubbed at her eyes and grimaced. She was so tired, she knew she must look like a raccoon. That was rather fitting, as it was Halloween - when muggles dressed up as anything but themselves. And, despite her upbringing and inherited Black magic, she was a muggleborn.
She had dropped Astronomy and History of Magic, but she still had an extremely heavy course load. Combine that with losing almost an entire week of studying as she wrote her article on the Marauder's Academy and she was terribly behind.
She would have skipped the Halloween Feast, but she and Harry had always done something fun together on Halloween. It helped keep the memories at bay, according to Padfoot.
Even now she knew she should stop and go to bed. She looked around the empty common room and sighed at the piles of candy wrappers, spilled food, and disarrayed furniture. The elves had to be itching to get in here and tidy up, but they prided themselves on never being seen unless called. She was only making their job more difficult by staying up past midnight.
She looked down at the book in front of her: Ancient Runes of Storytelling. When would she need to read or write stories in runes? She planned to help keep Harry out of Voldemort's clutches and then set about changing the wizarding world. Not be a writer.
She groaned and set down her quill before shutting the book.
She was so tired.
Not that she really wanted to sleep, she had a feeling that tonight would be a nightmare night.
But she could at least vacate the common room and let the elves work.
A cold draft suddenly hit the back of her neck and she grabbed her wand and spun on her seat.
She blinked in tired confusion at the two people standing in the portrait hole.
"Padfoot? Professor?"
"Hermione, I should have known you'd be awake," Padfoot said softly.
"I shall go get, Harry. Though I don't believe-"
Padfoot cut the Headmaster off, "It doesn't matter what you believe, Albus. I am Harry's guardian until he is seventeen. And Hermione is of age."
Albus Dumbledore's brow wrinkled in a small frown for an instant before smoothing out. With a small nod he headed off to the boys' dormitory. Curious, and a little afraid, Hermione lowered her mental wall for the first time in almost two weeks.
Surprisingly, she found Harry awake. She caught an image of a strange corridor before it disappeared as he realized she was there.
He could do no more than ascertain that she was alright before he heard the Headmaster opening his door.
She blinked and drew her mind back to herself.
"Harry was awake," she said.
"I'm not surprised. There's a reason I always kept you busy and exhausted when you were younger," he said as he pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table next to her.
"Are you going to tell me why you're here? I assume it has something to do with Voldemort."
He glanced over at the boys' staircase, "When Harry gets here. You know, this room hasn't changed at all."
She watched his eyes skim over the cozy red and gold common room. His eyes locked onto a small table near the fire with four comfortable seats for a moment and a flash of pain crossed his face.
"Did you really think it would change? We still have the same Headmaster and Head of House."
"No, I suppose not," he said softly as Dumbledore and Harry emerged from the staircase.
When the four of them were seated together Dumbledore spoke, "I would like to state that I do not agree with this course, but I have been over ruled."
Hermione glanced between the two men, taking in their hard stares and the blatant disapproval in the headmaster's cold blue eyes.
"Voldemort did something that made him very happy," Harry said with no emotion. "What was it?"
Hermione stared at Harry in surprise and reached out through their link. Images of him waking up as an image of a long corridor morphed into pure, sick pleasure.
She broke out to see Padfoot looking at Harry in confusion, but it was the look on the Headmaster's face that drew her attention.
He looked as if he'd just discovered something terrible. As soon as he realized she was looking at him he schooled his features, adopting his previous expression.
"Azkaban was attacked and all of the prisoners either died or escaped with Voldemort."
A rushing filled Hermione's ears as Padfoot's words raced through her head.
Azkaban. Escape. Prisoners.
Bellatrix - she was free.
Her parents' killer. The woman who had permanently engraved Hermione's flesh with sadistic gusto.
Images filled her head. Images from every nightmare she'd ever had.
Blood, so much blood. The room around her was drenched with it. A cackling laugh swept over her, accompanied by the sounds of her mother's terrified screams.
She felt her mouth open as a knife descended downwards. The edge glinted as it caught the light.
"NO!!!" She screamed. But, this time, she wasn't alone. A warmth surrounded her and she realized she was no longer alone.
Another figure appeared.
Harry.
As she watched he stuck his wand out and shouted, "Stupefy!"
Bellatrix flew across the room from the force of the spell. Her knife bouncing harmlessly on the carpet. Hermione stared at her limp form in shock before looking up at Harry.
He reached a hand out to help her up. "I won't let her touch you again. I promise," he said softly as she tentatively reached for his hand.
As skin met skin she felt a rush of warmth. The wall she had so carefully put up lowered completely as she stood up.
Once she was on her feet he pulled her into a hug. She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes, feeling safe as his familiar smell enveloped her.
After a while she opened her eyes to see she was once again back in the Gryffindor common room. The red walls were no longer reminiscent of blood. When she pulled away from Harry she saw Padfoot standing beside them, concern etched into every line on his face.
Interestingly, the Headmaster hadn't moved at all.
"Hermione?" Padfoot asked.
"I-I'm alright now. I should have seen this coming. Of course he'd want his followers out."
"We all should have seen this coming, Miss Black."
She looked at Professor Dumbledore, "How do we know it happened? It had to have been done tonight."
Padfoot quirked an eyebrow at Dumbledore. "We....have sources. Several of them. More importantly at the moment we know that the Ministry intends to not report this in the Daily Prophet. The public needs to know."
"You want Hermione to write another article," Harry stated accusingly.
"No," Padoot said quickly. "Xeno and Andy wrote an article. We just want Hermione to look it over and agree to put her name on it. With her previous article..." he trailed off.
Hermione took a deep breath and collected her thoughts. After the waking nightmare and the strengthening of her link with Harry she felt filled with energy. She likely still looked like a raccoon, but she no longer felt tired. She'd likely crash in an hour, but until then, she'd do what she could.
She sat back down at the table, "Well, let me see it. I need to go quickly if we want it in the morning papers. Owls can only fly so fast."
"I have arranged several international portkeys to speed up the process," the Headmaster stated.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at that. Despite him protesting telling her or asking for her assistance, he'd known she would help. Was there anything Albus Dumbledore didn't know?
XXX
Draco watched as owl after owl landed in front of Pansy. Until a few days ago he hadn't realized that there quite so many English newspapers in the world. Sure, he supposed every English speaking country must have one, but quite a few of the non-English speaking countries did as well. Even if some of those were actually a mixture of English and the local language.
A large barn owl dropped a paper and Draco quickly snagged it out of mid-air before it could drop into the pitch of pumpkin juice. He glanced at the paper. The Daily Gold, of course, only an American owl would be so rude as to just drop the paper and run.
Another owl - this was a nice-sized tufted owl - landed in front of him rather than Pansy and dropped its paper on his yet un-buttered toast.
How long are you going to keep getting all these papers?" he asked as he shooed the tufted owl away and picked up the paper. He shook breadcrumbs off of it and watched as Pansy carefully folded the Tagalog Times and slipped it into her small drawstring bag.
"Most of the papers required a month long subscription to deliver internationally," she said primly.
He rolled his eyes and unrolled the paper in his hands. It was The Fae Chronicles, an Irish paper he hadn't even realized existed until four days ago when the bloody owl dropped it into his tea. The Irish owls seemed to have something against him personally.
Pansy gasped next to him and he looked over at her in confusion. "What?"
She pointed at the paper in his hands. He looked back at it and felt his blood run cold.
Impossible Prison? Apparently Not.
Last night, an anonymous source informed me of a prison break from Azkaban. While the culprit has not been positively identified, the list of survivors makes the identity clear to me. Every prisoner was either freed or killed. Of those slain, none bore the Dark Mark on their left arm. This comes straight from the British Auror report written and filed by Kingsley Shacklebolt at 12:24am.
Of those that escaped, only five were not incarcerated for deeds done while following He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's orders. Of those five are two who were imprisoned for murder and torture, one who was quite loud in his hatred of muggleborns until being imprisoned for poisoning his third wife, and two rather famous writers with a penchant for lying and obliviation. So, who knows what these two writers really think on the muggleborn situation.
Here are the facts my readers:
Harry Potter was kidnapped and claimed to see the Dark Lord rise again.I saw You-Know-Who with my own eyes before being grievously injured. As did Ginerva Weasley.The aurors reported evidence of multiple people, despite the British Minister of Magic saying there was no one but Barty Crouch Jr at the scene.The British Ministry of Magic and the main British newspaper, The Daily Prophet, have gone out of their way to discount our testimonies. The testimonies they refused to take.Every confirmed follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort has just violently escaped from prison, leaving dozens dead in the process.
With these facts before you, I can only hope that you come to the same conclusion that I have.
Lord Voldemort has returned and he's not a merciful man. If he even is still a man. His eyes are now red, his voice is impossibly high-pitched, and his nose has become more snake-like than human.
Fellow Wizards and Witches of the world, be on your guard, for he won't stop at just attacking Azkaban. He will not be content with conquering England. He won't stop until we make him. So, spread the word, look at the facts, and open your eyes to your own conclusions.
"Your girlfriend really knows how to write."
Draco jerked in surprise at Theo's words and hit his teacup with the paper. He stood up quickly as lukewarm tea spilled across the table and onto his lap.
"Bloody hell, Theo! She's not my girlfriend! She's my cousin! By adoption!"
Theo snickered and Draco threw the paper in the other boy's face before grabbing his bag. Was he TRYING to get Draco killed?
"Pansy, I'll see you in Charms," he said curtly before storming out.
Anger and frustration coursed through him as he made his way upstairs to the nearest bathroom. He took great pleasure in stomping his feet and growling at any student he passed that was idiotic enough to look at him.
When he reached the restroom he stormed into a stall and slammed the door. His hand was shaking in anger as he drew his wand.
Bloody hell!
There was no way he could safely aim a cleaning charm.
He threw his bag on the stall floor and angrily tore off his robe. Then came his trousers. His left foot got caught in the leg and he fell down, barely catching himself with his hands and almost breaking his wand in the process.
He muttered some choice words and quickly divested himself of his trousers before standing back up. He took a deep breath and removed his pants, the tea had turned them into a sodden mess.
Rather than risk a cleaning spell near himself he grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and used his wand to pour water on it, letting the excess run into the toilet bowl. After that he cast cleaning spells on his clothing as he air-dried. By the time he finished he had calmed down enough that his hands no longer shook.
He couldn't even say why he was so angry. It wasn't like Theo was the first person to call Hermione Black his girlfriend or fiancée. It had occurred quite often after that article Skeeter published.
One good thing about the resurrection of the Dark Lord was that everyone assumed his mother had changed her mind about getting them married.
But he knew better. Whichever side won, if the two of them were alive his mother would do her best to make them break their vow and marry each other. He certainly did not get his stubbornness from his father.
His father...
Draco stopped halfway through putting his trousers back on as his hands clenched into fists. He had to stop himself from smashing his fist into the wall of the stall.
He knew what his father was. He'd always suspected that he had lied about being under the Imperius. Being given a tutor in dueling and defense right after the rumored resurrection had cinched it.
That meant his father had helped with the breakout from Azkaban. He had helped people like Rita Skeeter and Bellatrix Lestrange escape. Draco wasn't a fool, he knew what writers Hermione had been alluding to in her article. He suspected that if he hadn't angrily thrown the paper at Theo he would have found a list of names.
Skeeter had hurt his best friend and driven a wedge in their friendship that had only been recently repaired. Draco never forgave anyone easily. He'd only forgiven Pansy for sharing his secrets because she hadn't meant to. Plus, losing weeks of your life, even if only temporarily, was punishment enough in his mind.
Lestrange was family, but she had not held that sacred. So he wouldn't hold it sacred either. Hermione may not have been family when she was carved up like a side of meat, but Sirius Black had been.
Besides, Draco really didn't want to be family with someone that carved up little girls for fun.
Certain in that thought, he finished getting dressed and left the stall. He took a look at himself in the mirror and grimaced.
He looked a downright mess. His hair was out of place and his robes were wrinkled from the spells to eliminate the tea.
He pulled a quill out of his bag and transfigured it into a comb. Once his hair was tidy he did his best to fix his clothing before storming back out of the loo. A quick casting of Tempus told him he would be late for Charms unless he managed to apparate inside of Hogwarts.
Not bloody likely.
He grumbled as he made his way to a nearby staircase and headed up. Between the third and fourth floors he realized he was not going to make it to Charms at all.
He'd gotten his foot stuck in the bloody staircase.
"Bloody Hell!!!" He screamed in frustration.
"Malfoy?"
He whirled to face the foot of the stairs as best he could, with his wand out. All he needed now was for someone that hated him to find him...
There, standing at the bottom of the stairs was probably the last person on the entire planet he wanted to see.
Still, his eyes drank in the sight of her. She looked positively exhausted, as if someone had wrung her dry. Her dark hair hung limp on her head. None of the bounce or life it had been showing as it grew out. Her eyes were ringed with shadows that only highlighted the pain and anger there.
And her robes...
Unlike her brother, Hermione Black had always dressed as a pureblood witch should. Her ties were straight, her shirts were crisp, and her robes spotless.
Today she looked like she had slept in her clothes - after wearing them all day yesterday.
"Don't you have class?" He found himself snapping at her.
Her eyes narrowed, but she just shrugged lightly. "Don't you?"
"Theo, the bloody git, spilled tea on me at breakfast. I was TRYING to get to Charms after repairing the damage when I stepped here!" He jabbed his finger downwards at the offending step.
She cocked her head and frowned, "You were going to Charms? You do realize you are almost on the fifth floor?"
He froze and stared at her in shock as his brain did some quick calculations.
Less than a minute later he was once again swearing. This time cursing the founders of Hogwarts and their penchant for trick staircases, as well as hidden entrances.
He'd forgotten the third floor on this staircase was accessed by a hidden doorway.
"Well, come on then, let's get you out of here." She was smiling as she spoke. As if it was an everyday occurrence for her to rescue boys from staircases and their own stupidity.
Actually, considering her friends, it likely was.
She aimed her wand at the ceiling and as he watched a rope came down and hung over his head. There was a large knot at the end and he stared at it in confusion.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Grab the rope and pull yourself out. I'm sure you can't wait to get away."
He had started to follow her directions but froze upon hearing the last sentence.
"What do you mean I can't wait to get away?"
Her smile slipped into a small frown, "Just what I said. You've done your best to stay as far from me as possible in the past few months."
Something lurched inside of him as her smile disappeared. It so distracted him that it took a moment for her words to register. And then another minute before he had deciphered the emotions present in her voice.
By that time she had snapped, "Put the rope back up when you're free," and turned on her heel - disappearing out of the stairwell.
He stared after her for half a heartbeat and then reached up and grabbed the rope. It took all of his strength to pull himself out of the step. It really didn't want to let go.
Once he was free he took off running, heading back down the stairs, Charms class was utterly forgotten.
He reached the corridor and looked frantically around. He cursed under his breath as he saw her disappear around a corner at the far end of the corridor. He was a bloody idiot. He'd thought staying away was best, after all, he was the nephew of the woman that carved her up, as well as the son of a Death Eater. He hadn't stopped to think that actively avoiding someone after learning one of their darkest secrets – and he was a hundred percent positive those scars were her biggest secret – would make her feel worse.
He had to explain. She was logical. She'd understand why he'd done it, though he didn't know why she cared. Merlin, he didn't know why he cared.
He skidded around the corner and saw her stop at the foot of another stairwell and look back at him.
He picked up his pace and ran towards her. As he watched her eyes widened before she spun around and raced up the stairs.
"Circe! Show some bloody Gryffindor courage, Hermione!" he hissed as he tried to lengthen his stride. He dare not yell after her. All he needed was a curious professor to poke their head out and see him – a Death Eater's son – chasing after Hermione Black.
It just wouldn't look good.
When he reached the stairwell he just caught a glimpse of her robes as she ran past the entrance to the fifth floor and continued upwards. He took the steps two at a time, his breath ragged as he tried to keep pace with Hermione's speed.
She'd obviously finished recovering from the curse if she could once again run him ragged through the halls. Even if she looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.
When she reached the seventh floor she could go no longer continue her trek upwards. He followed her into the corridor, slowly closing the gap between them as exhaustion finally began to slow her speed.
When he saw her looking around fearfully for a place to hide, he almost stopped. He didn't want her to be afraid of him.
But, no, she wasn't thinking clearly. He'd made a magical promise to never hurt her. She'd know if he intended to break it. And she may be a muggleborn, but she was raised in the magical world. She knew this.
Ergo, she wasn't thinking rationally.
That thought did make him slow down at just the worse possible moment. As she ran down a section of the hall that he was rather familiar with a door appeared in the wall. She wrenched it open and threw herself inside.
He cursed and sped up, leaping towards the doorway, hand outstretched.
Time seemed to slow down as he watched her yank the door shut just as his hand got between the door and the doorframe.
Sadly, the small voice in the back of his head that pointed out rather coldly just how much he deserved this for chasing someone down against their will was not loud enough to mask the sound of bones crunching.