Chapter Sixteen- The Lightning Struck Tower
Before the sun had even touched the frost-bitten grounds, Hermione was up and striding through the castle. The fever still clung to her, regrettably, in the stinging of her tired eyes and the running of her nose, but she felt better. She would be damned if she let a silly little cold keep her off school.
But before she could even think about her lessons, she had somewhere else to be. Walking as quickly as she could, Hermione wrenched her robes tighter around her body. Shirt stiff from the freezing air, toes aching from the cold of the castle, she kept walking. There was something she needed to do before the bell rang and the pressures of school could distract her. Her footsteps clattered with each step but she didn't concern herself with it, not slowing down or stopping until she came to stand before the gargoyles.
"Matchmakers," she announced.
The gargoyles sprung apart and Hermione waited for the staircase to appear before she stepped on it. When she got to the top, she knocked on the door to the Headmistress' office.
There was silence. She knocked again.
"Professor?"
The door cracked and then edged open. Hermione frowned, peering in. She couldn't see anyone so she pushed the door a little further, grappling wildly once she realised she'd pushed it a little bit too hard and it swung open all the way, clattering against the wall and echoing, leaving her standing dumbly in the doorway.
Well, it's open now, she thought. Hermione stepped inside the office, looking for her Headmistress.
"Professor McGonagall?" she tried again.
"I'm afraid she's not here, Miss Granger."
Hermione jumped, hand clutching her heart, spinning round. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement.
"Professor Dumbledore," she said, still a little breathless. "You startled me."
"So I noticed."
Hermione offered him a smile. Once her heart had climbed back down to its usual pace, she realised what he had said and frowned. "Do you know where Professor McGonagall might be?"
He folded his fingers together. "I'm afraid not," he replied. "Is there anything I can help with?"
"Oh," Hermione waved her hand in dismissal. "It's nothing important. I just wanted to thank her for what she did for Dr- Malfoy. He really appreciated it. I think he had a lovely day."
Dumbledore smiled genially. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Granger.
She returned his smile. "Well, since Professor McGonagall isn't here, I suppose I should leave. Can you tell her I visited-?"
"Miss Granger," interrupted Dumbledore. "I trust you are aware that Mr Malfoy was sent to murder me in his Sixth Year here at Hogwarts."
Hermione's mouth dropped open. She stumbled, then stopped completely. "Yes but he didn't," she said hotly.
Dumbledore almost smiled. "It was not an accusation, Miss Granger. I wonder if you also know that it nearly broke the boy to even point his wand at me."
She didn't know what the former Headmaster was insinuating, and her eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
"That's because Draco Malfoy is no killer, sir."
He leaned forward slightly in his frame, glasses slipping further down his nose, eyes gleaming. "Exactly, Miss Granger. It was Severus Snape who cast the final curse, and only on my orders."
Hermione tried to process what he was saying. Why did he have to maintain the riddles? There was no war now! No complexities or enemies to worry about. Why couldn't he just be plain with her? She shook her head in frustration and said, "Professor, I don't understand what you're getting at."
"Draco Malfoy was redeemable then. And he is redeemable now. The reluctance within him is evident; a guilty man does not cry as he is about to kill you, Miss Granger, not when he believes he is killing himself in the process. It refutes any claims that he is a man after his father."
Hermione could barely think. She could barely breathe. "Do you think-?" she began. Her brain whizzed impossibly fast, reason flinging round and round in circles. Frowning, trying to steady her thoughts, she questioned, "Would this hold up in court? Professor, could you testify? To show Draco wasn't all bad, to show he wasn't committed in the slightest but in fact, just as much a victim as anyone else!"
It was only when she stopped talking that she realised the blue in Dumbledore's eyes had dulled.
"Miss Granger, I'm afraid I'm not exactly what one would call a reliable witness," he said heavily. "Though my magic is interlaced with this portrait, I'm not the Albus Dumbledore that once was. How flimsy a case it would have to be to rely solely upon the word of a drawing."
Hermione felt her hope pop. It had ballooned in her chest, filling her with light and excitable air, but her former Headmaster's words punctured it in that moment. There was no way she could save him. No through road. No catch.
"The testimony of a portrait won't hold up in court. However," continued Dumbledore and Hermione perked up. She watched him keenly, clinging on to every word, monitoring his eyes for any sign of a telling glimmer. "The testimony of a memory might."
"That's all very well, Professor, but how-?"
"Just to the left of the bookshelf, Miss Granger, there is a cupboard. Please open it."
Wordlessly, Hermione's mouth snapped shut and she did as she was told. The cupboard door stuck a little and she had to force it open, after which it swung and banged against the wall. Inside, she noticed a shallow stone basin, resting on the shelf. There was a mirror above it, and Hermione saw the dull circles under her eyes and realised she'd bitten her lip so much it had started to bleed again. She looked away, eyes tracing instead the rim of the bowl, where runes were etched deeply into the stone; there were a few she recognised, protection runes they'd done in Fifth Year for their OWLS and secrecy runes she'd only read about because of their complexity. Hermione frowned.
"Do you know what it is, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's voice sounded distant.
"A penseive," she breathed. Then, repeated it louder.
"Exactly right. Take a closer look," he prompted. "Oh, and remember to take a breath."
Biting her lip, Hermione could not hold back her curiosity. She edged closer, bracing her hands on either side of the basin. It felt cool under her palms. She leaned in, then remembered what Dumbledore had said and took a deep breath-
And then she was falling.
It really was a curious sensation; it reminded Hermione of using a Portkey, that odd hooking behind her naval as though she was being yanked from the ground and thrown elsewhere, only softer and there was significantly less panic about what would happen when she finally landed. The panic returned, more intense, when she realised where she was.
The Astronomy Tower looked differed to how she remembered it, eerily reminiscent of a place she had only ever dreamt about for what had happened there; it had been the setting for many of her nightmares, the turning point, the moment when everything went dark and downhill and wrong. Still, she recognised the black railings constricting the Scottish highland, and silver planets hung full and incapacitated in the centre of the platform. Stairs descended into shadow. The Dark Mark hung from the sky, a blazing green skull with a serpent tongue, writhing through the heavy clouds.
"Go and wake Severus," said a voice faintly but clearly. Hermione swung round, her mouth dropped open. "Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else and do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here."
"But-"
"You swore to obey me, Harry- go!"
Hermione watched as her best friend hesitated then started towards the staircase; there was terror etched into the freshness of his young face, sweat and dirt clinging to his skin. Around him, there was a golden outline, iridescent, disconcertingly separate from the reality of the memory. She realised it must be his Invisibility Cloak, and wondered vaguely how the magic of the pensieve ensured her omnipotence.
Just as his hand closed upon the iron ring of the door, there was a clatter of footsteps. Dumbledore motioned for Harry to retreat and the door burst open.
"Expelliarmus!"
Hermione could barely comprehend the scene as it happened: Harry fell against the wall, limbs locked into place, Cloak stuck to his body; Dumbledore's wand arched overhead, soaring through the air; Draco Malfoy caught it.
"Good evening, Draco."
Hermione's breath left her. Her knees collapsed and she fell to the floor, clutching at her chest. "Oh God," she murmured.
This was not the same boy she now knew. His skin was drained of all colour, pallid and sickly white. There were grey circles under his bloodshot eyes and his lips were red with blood from where he'd bitten away at the nerves. His hand shook. His hair was a greasy mess. He was panting.
"Who else is here?" he demanded, eyes frantically checking the room, lingering on the two brooms by Hermione. She gasped when his eyes landed on her, slid past her. She forgot she was a ghost, a temporary visitor in this scene.
"A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?"
The greenish glare of the Dark Mark cast his face in shadow but Hermione saw the flicker of panic.
"No," said Draco. "I've got back-up. There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight."
"Well, well!" Dumbledore sounded as though his student was merely describing an ambitious homework project he'd completed. "Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?"
"Yeah. Right under your nose and you never realised!"
"Ingenious," said Dumbledore lightly. Perturbed at his geniality, Hermione glanced at him and noticed the blackness of his shrivelled hand, the way the Headmaster was leaning against the railing to keep himself upright, the perspiration around his hairline. He was dying, she realised. He was already dead.
"Yet... forgive me... where are they now? You seem unsupported."
"They met some of your guard. They're having a fight down below. They won't be long... I came on ahead. I- I've got a job to do."
Hermione closed her eyes.
"Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy," said Dumbledore softly.
Her eyes shot open.
There was silence, so terse it cut through the memory. All Hermione could hear was the harshness of her own breathing.
Draco could do nothing but stare, face stricken, eyes scandalised.
Dumbledore smiled and said, almost sadly, "Draco. Draco, you are not a killer."
Immediately, Draco demanded, "How do you know?"
His voice shook. Hermione didn't know from what.
"You don't know what I'm capable of!" He said forcefully. "You don't know what I've done!"
Mildly, Dumbledore said, "Oh, yes I do. You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts... so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it..."
"It has been in it!" Draco snarled viciously.
The words echoed. Hermione frowned. His lips froze in a sneer. Dumbledore still looked mild and gentle, eyes glowing green in the haze of the Dark Mark. Glancing at Harry, she noticed that his eyes were as frozen as his body.
Gingerly, she stood. She moved closer to her best friend, knowing that he wouldn't hear her but nevertheless whispering, "Harry. Harry!"
He didn't move. It was like the memory had stopped but it didn't seem like the pensieve was throwing her out. Hermione wondered if it was lagging; surely, there was more to see.
She stood and waited, body tense, blood racing, resisting every urge within her to turn and look at him. His voice had been the same, tonight however it dripped with fear, pure, undulated fear. He looked different though, more haunted, eyes paler, skin paler still. Hermione dared to look over her shoulder, then gave way to turning to face him completely.
It was not her Draco. There was no indignant passion, no exasperated amusement in his person. His cheekbones were sallow, his wrists protruding, his robes hung from his frame. Hermione couldn't stop herself from wandering closer. Standing in front of him, she raised her hand, hesitating. Her fingers trembled, then brushed his knuckles, tight and cold around his wand. They ghosted up his arm, rustling his sleeve, lingering on his neck though there was no pulse and it unnerved her so she quickly moved on. Hermione cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb across his skin. He felt like waxwork. It did not do justice to the decadent and unbridled humanity pulsing within him.
Hermione traced every detail of his face, eyes following the point of his nose, the hollow of his cheek, the soft curves of his lips-
"Got there at last, have you?" he snarled abruptly.
Hermione leapt back, ripping her hand away. Her chest heaved and she missed what Dumbledore said in reply as she caught her breath.
"- tell me," Dumbledore was saying when she next blinked. "How have you been communicating with Rosmerta? I thought we had all methods of communication in and out of the school monitored."
"Enchanted coins." It was like Draco was under Veritaserum. He answered before he thought as though obliged to keep talking, though his hand shook badly. Despite herself, Hermione reached out and held it to try and steady him. It didn't work. He trembled regardless. "I had one and she had the other and I could send her messages-"
"Isn't that the secret method of communication the group that called themselves Dumbledore's Army used last year?" asked Dumbledore conversationally. He slipped down the wall another inch.
Draco's lips twisted into a malicious smile. "Yeah, I got the idea from them. I got the idea of poisoning the mead from Mudblood Granger, as well, I heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognising potions..."
Hermione recoiled. It felt as though he'd slapped her. She stumbled backwards, reeling. Bile crept up her throat.
"Please do not use that offensive word in front of me." Dumbledore's voice finally sounded hard and stony.
Malfoy let out a harsh laugh. Dazed, Hermione tuned out of the conversation.
Mudblood.
How long had it been since she'd heard that word? She gripped her forearm. Heard her blood drip, felt it warm and thick, running down her skin, falling on the cold stone floor of Malfoy Manor-
"There is little time, one way or another," said Dumbledore. "So let us discuss your options, Draco."
"My options!" cried Malfoy. "I'm standing here with a wand- I'm about to kill you-"
"My dear boy, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means."
"I haven't got any options!" Hermione looked at him. Through her tears, he remarkably resembled the boy that had stood and witnessed her torture, looking desperately as though he would like to take her pain from her and get them both out of there. He was crying silently, a vein straining in his forehead. "I've got to do it. He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!"
Hermione crumbled. Dear lord, what was this world? What was this world they lived in? How many dead-ends could they hit, how many options would they run out of, before they realised there was so much more than black and white?
"I appreciate the difficulty of your position," said Dumbledore. He was nearly crouched down, fingers white as he gripped the rail for support. His voice, however, was strong. Clear as day in the dim green light of evil. "Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realised that I suspected you."
Malfoy winced.
"I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Leglimency against you," continued Dumbledore. "But now at last we can speak plainly to each other... no harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims have survived... I can help you, Draco."
"No, you can't," said Malfoy, wand hand and voice shaking tremulously. "Nobody can. He told me to do it or he'll kill me. I've got no choice."
The sky started to swell, fading white at the fringes, ballooning out before bursting. Silently, the shards of the memory fell, crumpling inwards. Hermione desperately looked back at Draco. He was still talking, though his words fell deaf on her ears.
"... Come over to the right side, Draco." Dumbledore's voice was magnified. "You are not a killer."
The final word echoed around the chasm of the Pensieve, around Hermione's mind. She tried to reach for the railing, for something to hold onto because there was more to see and she knew there was but the memory was failing. Sound buckled. The air warped. The walls of the scene collapsed in on itself, suffocating her-
Hermione was wrenched back into reality, the memory slipping from her, dousing her in sobriety. The stone basin sat sturdily at her fingertips. The surface of the liquid rippled.
She took a moment to breathe. It was a lot to process. Her heart and mind raced.
Good Evening, Draco. I've got a job to do. I wonder if your heart has really been in it. Mudblood. Options. I haven't got any options! Mudblood. He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family! I haven't got any options! Mudblood. You are not a killer, Draco. Mudblood. You are not a killer-
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione blinked. "Yes?"
"Are you quite alright?"
The Portrait's voice was exactly the same as his memory counterpart.
"Yes," she said, smoothing down her skirt. "Yes."
He waited patiently.
"Sir," she began, once her organs had all settled back into place and her brain managed to string a sentence together. Hermione swallowed back whatever jumble of feelings had arisen inside of her gut. "It's- it's perfect but it's-"
"Incomplete," he smiled sadly.
Hermione tried to smile too but it got caught on her cheeks.
"This memory was taken from me post-mortem. It had slipped out of my eye like a tear. Professor McGonagall kept it safe here but the impact of death has hindered it," he explained.
Hermione could feel her eyes growing wet. She didn't know why she was crying. Wiping at them she pushed her hands hard into her eye sockets to stop and forced herself to be rational. "It could still work," she said, glancing back at the pensieve. "It still partly shows that he was unwilling, that he wasn't committed."
Dumbledore pressed his lips into a line and nodded. "Of course. But how strong is a defence of a patchy dead man's memory against countless victims who witnessed him do nothing in the face of evil?"
"It's not just any patchy dead-man's memory," muttered Hermione. "It's yours. You're Albus Dumbledore. That's got to count for something."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Alas, it does. It counts for me being a fascist turned blood traitor who watched his own sister die in his quest for power. Rita Skeeter greatly tarnished my reputation."
His face had collapsed in on itself slightly, paint collecting in the creases of his face. He said, "I'm so sorry, Miss Granger, that I can't do anything more."
Hermione was sure something fell inside of her chest, something she knew was important, something she needed to live, but it was knocked off its place rather gently at that admission, falling through the chasm of her body, where her hope had once been. In its place, there was a desolate emptiness, a void crying out, questioning what could she do?
Mudblood.
She shook her head, flinging his voice out of her mind. Malfoy- Draco didn't deserve a lifetime in Azkaban. He deserved to pass examinations, to work his way up in the world, to marry, to be a father, to grow old, to love and be loved. That was the bottom of it.
"Wait," she mumbled. Hermione inhaled sharply. It came to her quite abruptly, knocking the air from her lungs, causing her to stagger backwards. "You weren't the only one there that night, Professor. Harry was there. That means, Harry will have the memory too. And he's the Boy Who Lived! The Wizengamot will have to listen to him!" Her words left her in one single breath and she gasped, clutching at her gut. She was overtaken with the thought of it. "Oh god, it could work. Harry can testify. We might be able to save Draco."
She missed the way Dumbledore's eyes shone and his beard twitched as he hid a smile.
Mudblood.
Hermione clenched her eyes shut. Her head shot to look at him. "Professor, I'm so sorry but I need to go. Class will be starting soon but I need to write to Harry. Thank you. Sir. Really, I can't thank you enough."
"Miss Granger. I did nothing. It was your own genius that came up with such a plan."
Hermione shook her head, opening her mouth to refuse him but he cut her off.
"All I ever did, Miss Granger," he said heavily, his eyes appealing and bright, "was try to do right. Not at first, not when I was young and foolish and blind. But after, after I'd lost everything and had to claw my way back up. I tried to do right. I didn't always succeed." He spoke gravely, and the weight of the world on his shoulders made him hoarse from all the exertion. Hermione couldn't help but stare at the regret in his eyes, etched deep in the crevices of his wizened face. He seemed to be trying not to cry. "But I always tried."
"Professor," she said softly. "That's all anyone can do."
Dumbledore looked impossibly older, more haggard and weighed down. The tears fell freely from his eyes. "I tried. I tried."
"And it was enough," said Hermione firmly.
He clung to her resoluteness then, before remembering who he was and his face lit up like someone had lit a candle behind each eye. "Miss Granger, you're quite right, classes will be starting soon. You had better go get some breakfast."
Hermione recognised the dismissal and she smiled at him, thanking him softly once again before she left the room. As she dismounted the stairs, she heard the Portrait mumbling to himself, "Dear Lord, I hope it is enough."
oOoOoOo
Dearest Harry,
I cannot express how terribly I miss you. I keep forgetting myself and waking, hoping to see you and Ronald doing last minute homework in the Common Room, pouring over your essays, measuring them helplessly in a futile bid to find the final few inches Professor Snape requested. When the Common Room is empty (for I wake up at an ungodly hour, I'm sure Ginny has complained enough about that in her letters), it takes a moment for reality to set in. I would prefer you to be here, but I know you couldn't think of anything worse!
Thank you for the Cloak and the Map. I'll tell you in more detail why I needed them so badly at the last minute when I see you next. You'll no doubt call me crazy and I'd like to be able to defend myself to your face, so you can look me in the eye and see that I haven't lost my marbles (at least, not all of them). If you don't mind, I'd like to keep them for a little while longer. If you need them at all, simply owl me and I will send them back to you.
I actually have a favour to ask you. Please know that I would not be asking if I didn't feel very passionately about the matter and thought there was any other way. There is not. I have checked. Draco Malfoy, I trust you remember him, has come back to complete his final year at Hogwarts. He is not here by choice; the Ministry have placed him here pending his trial. You'd be surprised how different he is. He's not the same snarky bully we remembered from before the war. Well, he's snarky sometimes, if he's slept well. I have become... friends with him these past few months. He helps me sleep, Harry. I owe him thanks for that, at the very least.
Therefore, I was hoping to ask you for your help. I need your memory, Harry, of the night Dumbledore died. His Portrait is in the Heads' Office and he showed me Dumbledore's but it's incomplete, taken from after he died. I don't think it will be enough but I think yours will. Harry, I think you can save Draco Malfoy. I know you've had your differences but I also know you- you can't let anybody fall. You never had a choice in any of it, Harry, and neither did he. But now you do. You have the choice to save him or let him fall. He's just trying to do right, Harry, and it needs to be enough. It has to be.
I feel like this would be better explained over a cup of tea.
Write me ASAP.
I love you and I know it's a lot to take in but I hope you try to see reason,
Hermione
P.S: Tell Ronald to calm down. I can already see his pointless anger at the whole thing. Malfoy isn't nearly as gobby as he used to be. Perhaps they'd even get along.
oOoOoOo
Dearest Hermione,
Couldn't you have just stopped with the House Elves???
We have a few days off over Christmas. Ron wants to see if Madam Rosmerta still looks as good as he remembers and I wouldn't mind a Butterbeer. Fancy a trip to Hogsmeade like the good old days? Then we can see what is to be done about this Ferret infestation.
Yours forever,
Harry
P.S: Ron says over his dead body.
AN: Credit to JK Rowling, of course. To make it as authentic as possible, I used the exact dialogue from Half Blood Prince. I don't know if any of you have noticed, probably not because I'm just a numpty who reads into everything, but take notice of how they address each other. The alternating uses of Draco, Malfoy, Hermione and Granger are very important in revealing their developing relationship and inner feelings. Also, I figured that it would be very distressing for Hermione to witness that memory, especially when Malfoy mentions her; I think it would shake her deeply to be reminded of who he was, perhaps even shaking her resolve to help him for a second. I've rushed this chapter to get it out to you lovely lot so I hope you like it! It's more plot than fluff, I'm afraid, but HARRY AND RON AND COMING SOON!!!!!! My boys.