This Best Tragedy

“Hermione Granger is best known, perhaps, for her involvement with the famous Harry Potter and Quidditch star Victor Krum. Second only to that would be her involvement in the war against Voldemort over the six years she spent at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As well as one year spent on the run with her ex-lover and new ‘friend’ Ronald Weasley, son of Arthur Weasley, an employee for The Ministry of magic. For those of you who have never heard of Mr. Ronald Weasley, he is said to be the quiet, thoughtful, inquisitive brains behind all of Harry Potter's success.



What is not so known about Hermione Granger, though, is a dark, disturbing secret. Extreme measures have been put in place to protect Ms. Granger's awful secret, but at last, the truth has surfaced, thanks to ruthless investigation on my part.



It would seem that our muggle-born war hero is not such a saint after all…”



Hermione closed her eyes tightly and tried desperately not to vomit as Harry angrily read Rita Skeeter’s horrible accusing words aloud. She had visited the woman’s office moments earlier, only to be rudely informed Rita saw no need to grant her request to see her. Infuriated beyond words, she’d instantly apparated to the flat of the only person she’d ever been able to turn to no matter the circumstance: Harry. Now, as his voice hardened with each accusing word, she wished she hadn’t. Tuning him out, she waited for him to finish, the tell tale sound of the paper hitting the floor in disgust snapping her focus back to the furious man before her.



“Hermione, I just-” Harry fumbled, opening and closing his fists at his sides tensely in an effort not to hit something, she guessed.



“You hate me now,” Hermione said sadly, but with an air of acceptance; how could she blame him?



Harry looked dumbfounded.



”What?” he asked, his face twisting in comical confusion that would have made Hermione laugh had she not been so far gone herself.



Fixing her eyes on the ceiling because she was unable to witness the emptiness that would surely be in his eyes, she repeated herself.



“You hate me now. Everything that has ever happened to you, everything you have ever lost, it’s all because of me.” Her voice broke, but she did not cry.



There were several moments of silence that seemed to crush her more and more the longer they stretched. Finally, needing him to say something, anything, so that she could gain some closure and work on accepting that she had lost her best friend, she met his eyes.



He was grinning at her in baffled amusement. There wasn’t a single edge of anger left in his body. Hermione scowled, wondering if he now meant to mock her.



”But,” he said gently, still smiling that beautiful, genuine smile, “You couldn’t be more wrong, Hermione. I’ve never loved you more. I was just going to apologize to you, you silly witch.”



Hermione appeared just as dumbfounded as Harry had moments ago. “But Harry! Whatever for?”



”Well, repeating what you just said yourself would be awfully redundant, which I know you detest.” (?)



Hermione grinned sheepishly, finally allowing her tears to surface. She sighed lightly.



”Why do we always blame ourselves Harry?” she murmured.

He shrugged slightly. “It’s what good people do, I guess,” he replied, ruffling her hair affectionately and taking her into his arms to give her a big, Harry sized hug. She loved his hugs. No one, absolutely no one, could hug better than Harry Potter, and of all the things there were to know about him, she prided herself in the fact that that was one thing she knew better than anyone else.



”So, now what?” she asked when he reluctantly let her go.



”Now … I guess we go about trying to fix this mess,” he replied.



Hermione looked worried, and Harry seemed to catch on.



“But of course, the Ministry has asked you to stay out of it. Told you they’d take care of it their own way?"



Relief filled Hermione as she realized she wouldn’t have to articulate her dilemma, as Harry had dealt with the very same one himself. She wondered sometimes if there was any dilemma Harry Potter hadn’t dealt with at some point in his life.



“Precisely,” she replied. “Apparently, it isn’t my responsibility.”



Harry seemed thoughtful for a moment. "Hermione,” he said finally. “Did they threaten you?”



Hermione thought for a moment and then nodded. “In a way, I suppose. I’ve only spoken to Blaise about it. But the way he put it, the Unspeakables would not hesitate in banning me from the wizarding world, and clearing my name from its history if I were to try and get in their way. Which of course could be extremely risky considering my involvement in the war. Apparently that’s the only reason for their leniency thus far ... more of a warning than a threat, I suppose.”



“Sounds like a threat to me,” Harry said agitatedly.



"He was worried for me,” Hermione reasoned.



Harry snorted. “If he was worried for you, he’d have taken measures to ensuring your safety, Hermione. Not the safety of their precious secrets.”



This, Hermione could not argue with. But she also knew Blaise put his position before all else, even his feelings, and this was what made him such an amazing Minister. She could not blame him for that now, when so many times in the past she had respected him for just that reason.



”I suppose I do see your point. But Harry, that isn’t what I’m worried about. You and I, we know more about Horcruxes than most. And we know how difficult it was to find the little we did obtain regarding them. As frustrating as that was … I can’t help to think now, that it was for the best. Do you know what this means, Harry? Anyone who so pleased could easily learn to make a Horcrux. As we speak, all of the information that was once invisible to the naked eye is now out there, glaring and ready to be utilized. And Rita Skeeter, the bloody bint, has done nothing but pique curiosity regarding them. Anyone who’s ever seen my name will surely want to know more, now. And there is absolutely nothing stopping them.”



Harry scowled. ”Why can’t they just do what they did before? Cast the same spell you say Blaise mentioned before?”



Hermione bit her lip, indicating that she was thinking deeply. “I suppose the Unspeakables won’t risk what happened again. Besides, that method proved far too faulty. I don't think they're content with sweeping it under the rugs, this time.



"Blaise mentioned that when they cast that spell, Theophilus Black was still aware of their existence. There must be something … a spell, perhaps, that can be cast to prevent you from being Obliviated…”



Harry nodded, thinking over her words carefully.



"Why do you think they're so worried about you getting in their way? If they're willing to allow the information to remain public, they must know someone has access to it. Perhaps several people.... It seems odd that they'd banish you just for searching your family history."



Hermione nibbled her lip nervously. She'd wondered this herself. "Perhaps they don't trust me," she said quietly. "It was, after all, my family that-"



Harry nodded quickly, saving her from having to finish the thought. "Well, they don't know you, do they?" he said seriously.


Hermione smiled. “No, they don’t. What worries me is that the very day after he made the Horcrux, Theophilus died. Blaise mentioned thieves, but doesn’t that seem a bit odd to you? That someone would rob a dead man’s house so quickly after his death, that even the ministry didn’t have time to stop it? My only conclusion is—“



“That someone else knew of their existence,” Harry finished for her.



”Exactly. Someone other than Theophilus."



"But who?” Harry said thoughtfully. And then, “Do you think it might have been Parthena?”



Hermione contemplated this, and then shook her head. She stood from seat, unable to sit still any longer. The anticipation of knowing/i> was already killed her. And it had only been a few hours since she's discovered any of this at all.



“No,” she said resolutely. "If I were in love, and I knew there was a way to bring the man I loved back from the dead, I would use the Horcrux. I mean, not me, but, if I were her. You know, practiced in dark magic.... He set it so that only her blood could activate the Horcrux; he must have trusted he would tell her, and she would use it if need be, but was killed before he had the chance."



Harry nodded, his eyes trailing back and forth with her frantic pacing. If there was one thing Harry had learned in his life, it was to let a freak-out happen when it was due. If Hermione wanted to pace and vent from here to Siberia, he'd calmly walk beside her and offer rationality when he could.



”Yes, I suppose you have a point. Obviously, if she had had the Horcrux she would have brought him back, and they’d have made another. I doubt either had any quips about splitting the soul, from what you’ve told me. Besides, by that time, she and the rest of her … your family, were in Azkaban."



”Yes…” Hermione agreed. “So if it wasn’t Parthena, it must have been someone else Theophilus knew.”



The two lapsed into a long, thoughtful silence, Hermione finally sitting and taking a short sip of her Tea. Harry, unwilling to break it, let his own mind wander. Several moments passed with only the sound of his crackling fireplace in the background. Finally, when the moment seemed right, he spoke.



“I'll tell you this, love; something doesn’t seem right about any of this to me. There are just too many 'coincidences' for my liking. But I do know one thing: you have to get to that information before anyone else does. If your family created the first Horocrux, there is a likely chance only you can access much of what Black stole. Ancestry charms are unbreakable.... I'm having trouble figuring out why any of it didn't appear to you when the spell was broken, actually ... though, I have my theories." He trailed off for a moment, as though something had just occurred to him.

Hermione was about to ask him what it was when he spoke again. "It’s only a matter of time before the Unspeakables discover that information is rightfully yours, and that more than likely you still have access to it that they may not. And once they do, I suspect they'll hunt you down to use you; ;if they haven't figured it out already, that is. That could be why they want you to stay away.... They want to be present when you gain access; perhaps they plan to use you when they’re ready.”



Harry sighed, long and deep, pinching the bridge of his nose. She would let Harry talk them through it, this time; Merlin knew for once, her logic had taken a backseat.



“If you want to do this on your own terms, as I’m sure you do, there is only one thing for it.”



She waited in anticipation for Harry’s conclusion.



“You have to talk to Draco Malfoy.” He said







***







Hermione stared in shock at Harry. Where the bloody hell did Harry see Malfoy fitting into all of this?



“P-pardon?” she sputtered.



Harry regarded her gravely. “Well, isn’t it obvious?” he said shortly, though she knew better than to take it personally. “Theophilus was a Black. Malfoy is a Black. He is, with the exception of his parents, the last of that bloodline. So whatever was passed down through that family would belong to him. When Theo stole your family’s research and information on Horcruxes, he must have performed some sort of blood-bonding spell, to keep it connected to his being. It's the only logical explanation as to why none of it was passed into your possesion when the secret of its existence was revealed.... If, when the history of Horcruxes was revealed to Voldemort and the protection was broken, which was five bloody years ago, Malfoy happened to be strolling through his parents rather extensive Library in all that time, don’t you think he might have suddenly noticed the appearance of who knows how many tomes on Horcruxes? That they may have piqued his interest, knowing they were what the Dark Lord used to try to obtain immortality?"



”B-but how would they have gotten to The Malfoy Library?” Hermione asked, utterly perplexed.



“I’m not sure … but I’m nearly certain they must have. Perhaps Black altered the Ancestory Charm, adding his own blood. When they banned your bloodline, his must have become the solitary keeper of the spell. And with old families like that, and such large inheritances, there are a plethora of spells to insure the proper thing goes to the proper person. It’s possible, upon the death of Sirius, that they were transferred into Draco Malfoy’s possession. He is after all, the very last Black. Which would place them in his library. In his home.”



Hermione was shaking with … something. It felt as if she were on the verge of something monumental. “Of course! Rita and Malfoy have a history,” she hissed. “That must be it Harry!" She exclaimed, leaping to her feet. Malfoy must have come across the books in his library, and upon reading them, contacted her! All the information for making Horcruxes is in....”



Suddenly, Hermione paled, her smile of excitement dropping from her face faster than a rampant bludger.



“The Malfoy Library.” Harry finished for her.



“Oh ... right," she said miserably. "And just how am I ever supposed to get in there?”



Harry shrugged. “Easily,” he said. "Go there."



Hermione quirked a brow, disbelief and not a touch of 'are you barmy?' written across her face.



"Obviously, Draco Malfoy wants something, Hermione. And he wants something from you. The git does nothing without an ulterior motive, does he?”



Somehow, she knew Harry’s assessment was close to, if not downright, correct.



Draco Malfoy was the most likely candidate to having the information she needed. But, why? Why would he do this, reveal her family’s secret? Surely, that hadn’t needed to be done. If Malfoy, for some insane reason, had wanted to tell the world about Horcruxes, wouldn’t he instead try to glorify the fact that he had the information so desperately sought for so long? Why be so secretive about it? Why practically scream out to her, but in a way that only she would care to piece together? She knew only one thing about Malfoy, and that was that he did nothing without a damn good reason that benefited him. And she knew that he was clearly trying to get her attention. She decided then and there that she was going to give it to him. Immediately.



With a slight nod and a meaningful look from Harry, Hermione apparated for what felt like the trillionth time that day.



*



Hermione approached the heavy, wrought-iron gates with caution. She wasn’t sure exactly what to do, or how to go about announcing herself, but that dilemma was remedied when, upon reaching out to brush a bramble of ivy from the cryptic letter M weaved into its center, the wrought-iron became dark, black smoke, and disappeared with her touch. She walked through apprehensively and breathed a huge sigh of relief when she didn’t become a puff of smoke herself.



”So you’ve been expecting me, have you?” she spoke quietly, eyes narrowing suspiciously. She followed a long lane of yew hedges until she could see Malfoy manor rising pretentiously in the distance. It was a breathtaking sight, she had to admit, and the reality of where she was headed overcame her suddenly. She stopped to compose herself briefly, taking several deep, cleansing breaths and then quickly ventured on. Within moments, she was approaching the front door. As her foot came down softly, hesitantly in front of it, it suddenly swung open. And without warning, she came face to face with Draco Malfoy, standing before a long hallway lined with miserable looking portraits. His expression was much the same.



“I was wondering when you’d finally get here,” he said gruffly, pulling her by her arm hastily and shutting the door behind her.



He kept a firm grip on her arm as he made his way through the hallway, and Hermione noticed each one had a peculiar blindfold over their eyes. She recognized the spell from when she, Harry, and Ron, had spent all those months communicating with Phineas Nigellus while on the run. He was hiding her from them.



“Malfoy—”



“Be quiet!” he hissed. “I just knew you’d pull something like this! Thank Merlin I prepared…” he muttered under his breath. Then, despite Hermione's attempts to pull herself free, he gripped her even tighter and led her into a room.



”Look familiar?” he said bitingly, when he noticed her looking around.



”You insensitive prat.” She scowled.



He’d led her to the very room in which she had endured excruciating torture from the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange.



“Just a friendly little reminder of what could happen to you if you get yourself seen here,” he said darkly.



But Hermione was barely listening. Suddenly, she was overcome with a feeling of panic. Why had she come here? Images of Bellatrix Lestrange hovering over her, taking pleasure in her pain, flashed through her mind like lightening. She wasn’t aware that she was breathing frantically. She only knew she had to get out of here, now. Then Malfoy lifted his wand and muttered something under his breath.



"What was that?" Hermione asked in alarm. Or, what was meant to be alarm. Instead, she heard herself ask the question rather indifferently, as if she were merely inquiring about the weather.



“A calming charm. Sit.”



”Don’t tell me what to do,” she hissed, and then, scowling when she realised shed said this rather like Luna Lovegood might have spoke of Ron, she sat.



”That was no bloody calming charm, Malfoy” she heard herself say impassively.



Malfoy smirked, and said dryly, “Close enough. I thought it might actually make you pleasant, for once. Can’t blame a bloke for trying. Finite Incantatem.” Instantly, Hermione’s blank, dreamy face became deeply scowled.

Malfoy, despite himself, snorted in an attempt not to laugh. “So. What took you so long? I thought you would jump at the chance to blame me for something like this.”



“Blame you? Malfoy, it is blatantly clear you were entirely responsible. There is no blaming involved.”



”So you admit it then? You blame me?”



“I just said—”



”Because I didn’t do it.”



“Wha—Oh, puhlease!” What was it about this man? This infuriating man that made her instantly revert to her seventeen year old self, exactly?



Malfoy seemed to be wondering the same thing, his eyebrows raised unbelievingly.



“Puhlease, nothing,” he mocked her, crossing his arms and legs as he nonchalantly leaned against a wall behind him. “I had no idea what Rita wanted to use my Library for,” he said, shrugging.



“So then you admit it! You have the information in your library, and you allowed Rita Skeeter to see it!”



“No,” Malfoy said simply.



Hermione growled in frustration. ”Look, Ferret. I’m not going to play these games with you. Did you, or did you not want me to come here?”



Malfoy suddenly seemed very angry. “Firstly, don’t call me that, Mudblood. Secondly, don’t speak that way to me in my own fucking home,” he growled, crossing the room to hover over where she sat.



”Don’t call me Mudblood, Ferret,” she spat in his face, not even the least bit afraid.



His pink cheeks were tinged red. ”Don’t call me Ferret, Mudblood,” he snarled.



Suddenly, the ridiculousness of the predicament dawned on her. They were arguing over name calling, like school children. She pushed him away from her in disgust.



“Ugh. Get away from me,” she mumbled hatefully, crossing her arms as defiantly as she could manage. He still hovered too close for comfort, and she refused to look at him until he backed up, glaring to the side stubbornly.



He stayed hovered over her for a long, eternally lasting moment before standing and shoving his hands into his pockets.



”Look, Granger. I know you came here for a reason. You want something from me. Something only I have. So being nice would be a good start,” he said, anger still tinting his words.



She glared at him as hatefully as she could manage; with him being who he was, that was very hatefully indeed. ”And then?” she asked.



“And then, explain to me what it is exactly I’d get out of helping you.”



Hermione guffawed. That response was just so … so typically Malfoy. Once again, she looked to the side and muttered under her breath.



”What was that?” Malfoy said warningly.

Hermione rose to her feet, and in one step she was face to face with him again. “I said, you’re such a coward. It would kill you to do something for anyone else, wouldn’t it? Something that isn’t benefiting you isn’t worth the effort; no matter how much good it would do the world, you monumentally selfish, malevolent, worthless, MINISCULE prick.”



Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s nice to know your insults have improved a bit. Though, considering where they were the last time you falsely deemed yourself worthy of insulting me, that isn’t saying much. I’ll have you know, however, it would kill me only to do anything for you.”



”Again, no matter how much good it would do the world,” Hermione snarled back.

Malfoy seemed to pause, thrown off by her comeback. And then he snorted. “Very clever,” he said sarcastically, though he looked slightly amused.

Hermione, despite herself, rolled her eyes and huffed before plopping ungracefully down in her seat.

Malfoy regarded her critically for a moment; then, slowly, he smirked. “Who knew Mudblood Granger had such an intriguing story to tell?”



Hermione inwardly growled. He would find it 'intriguing,' Sadicstic bastard that he was.



“Look, Malfoy. I’m only asking for your help because I have no one else to turn to. I know very well, bastard that you are, that you would love nothing more than to have slammed he door in my face." There was more than a touch of bitterness in her voice.



Again, Malfoy seemed to scrutinize her for a moment. The silence was short but painful in its awkwardness. Hermione willed herself not to squirm. ”What is it you want to know, Granger?” he asked quizzically.



Hermione only shrugged.



”...Believe me when I tell you there are certain things about your family you’ll wish you’d never known if you go forth with this,” he said darkly.



“So be it,” Hermione said resolutely. And she meant it.



Malfoy regarded her for one more long moment, calculating her determination. Finally, he nodded tersely. “So be it, then. I’ll let you use my library for your bloody research, because I know you’ll die otherwise, and I don’t need another death of some bloody saint on my hands.”

Hermione flinched at his, in her opinion, rather careless mention of Dumbledore. ”But?” she asked skeptically. As she expected, his response was immediate.



”But, you can use it only in my presence. And you’re not to leave until you’re through. I don’t care how long it takes you. Months, years. You will not leave this manor.”



”What?” Hermione screeched. “Malfoy, I have a bloody life to attend to!”



”Irrelevant,” he said simply.



”My life is hardly ‘irrelevant’,” she snarled.



“In whose opinion?”



"...Why?” she asked, ignoring his baiting.



“Because, I don’t trust you,” he said simply. “Furthermore, you will submit yourself to Legilimency every night so I know what it is you have been reading. I’ll not have you running back to Potter and your dream team and spilling secrets that have been guarded by this family for centuries.”



Hermione had to think. She was far from skilled at Occlumency. In fact, she couldn’t do it at all. If she allowed this, Malfoy would have access to her whole mind. Somehow, she knew he knew that.



“I have one condition of my own,” she said, seeing no other choice.

Malfoy waited.



“You leave my memories from before this moment completely untouched. I’ll not have you sliming through my past like … like the slimy git you are.”



Oddly, Malfoy seemed to approve of this condition. ”Good. I see you’re not completely useless at negotiation. You might surprise me yet, Mudblood.”



Ferret.







*





Malfoy had given her three hours to retrieve her things, drop Crooks off with Harry, inform her job she would not be returning, and return to the manor. Already, she was noticing a plethora of things she had missed while packing in such haste. She scowled as she discovered she had absolutely no knickers to speak of, save for the ones she currently wore. Just wonderful. Harry knew she would be here, and didn’t like it very much, but Draco had made it clear no outside contact was allowed. She wasn’t sure she could handle Harry and her underwear drawer becoming so familiar with one another anyway.



She was just kicking herself for forgetting her hair straightening serum, the only product she had ever found to tame her bushy hair, when Malfoy barged into her room. Without even knocking!



”What if I had been naked?” she demanded as a greeting.



“That would have been unfortunate, to say the least,” he said indifferently. “When you’re through unpacking your rags, come to the library. I’ll be waiting.”



And then he left her there, standing in her room with a deep scowl and a very creative assortment of things she'd like to say. This was turning out to be a very long day indeed.