Some realisations are comforting; others are unsettling. For Hermione, the realisation that she had come to trust Blaise was both. On the one hand, there was the warm feeling that came with trust, with knowing that you didn’t need to question every piece of information you were given. On the other hand was the unsettling worry of trusting someone who you knew to be selfish, emotionally detached and ruthless enough to cause the death of allies and tamper with people’s memories without thinking twice.
Yet, curled up in her chair with a cup of tea, watching the snow slowly melt away in the morning sun, she reasoned that, that in itself could be a comfort. She never needed to wonder what Blaise’s motives where “ he’d told her that, plain and simple, it was all about him staying alive when the war was over. It wasn’t a reason you offered as a lie. Someone lying would have talked about right and wrong, about making a difference, about making up for past mistakes. Telling someone you wanted to save your own life and that you cared little for the outcome of the war was not the thing you told as a lie. It was simply too blunt and too unsympathetic for that.
It was that way with everything he’d let her find out about him, she realised as she watched the window disappear and turn into the same cold stone wall she’d seen so many times before. From the things he’d told her to the things she’d found out through his actions, they all had this in common. They were all too unpolished and unfavourable for them to be lies. He didn’t trust anyone, and expected no trust in return. He had no friends, and claimed to crave none. He didn’t believe in love and he was prepared to do just about anything to have his way. No, those weren’t lies. If anything they should have served as powerful reasons not to trust him, but in a war things weren’t normal. Things got turned upside-down, and things that were once considered bad were turned into the only things you could trust. Hermione sighed. She much preferred things the way they used to be, when good was good and bad was evil. Things had been so much easier then.
Fingering the book Blaise had left her for a moment; Hermione decided against it and left it lying on the table. Normally she would have thrown herself over the book, but today there were too many thoughts running through her mind. She could read the book later, she concluded, getting up and heading off into the bathroom. Warm baths had always had an excellent effect on her mind, and if anything she needed to think.
Yet the bath did nothing to help her come to any kind of conclusion. She still couldn’t decide if she was happy or scared about the prospect of trusting Blaise. Although, she mused, it did seem a bit late to think like that at the moment. No matter if she wanted to or not, she couldn’t deny the fact that she did trust him, just as she couldn’t deny that he had taken better care of her than any of those she would rather have trusted. She had a, maybe not so nice, but at least comfortable room to stay in. She had plenty of clothes so she was never cold, even in spite of the fact that the room was situated in the dungeons. Food was plentiful “ possibly even too plentiful judging from the way the fabric of her robes had started strained against her hips lately and the way her stomach wasn’t as flat as it used to be. She had her window once a day, books to read, a diary to write in. And maybe it was just that simple. Maybe that was reason enough. This was the one place she’d been in since the final battle was over that she hadn’t needed to run from. This was the one place she had been able to rest, gain her strength, relax enough to enjoy things like books and food again. Maybe the fact that she was still alive and well after almost a year and a half told her more about her ability to trust Blaise than anything else did.
Determined not to let things she couldn’t influence or change, take up her mind she picked up the book once more. Yet instead of opening it she stayed curled up on her bed watching the cover. She didn’t know why, but she just didn’t feel her normal urge to read. Yet what else was there to do? With a sigh, she tried to open the book.
She halted even before she started. A scribbled piece of writing on the first blank page of the book caught her attention before she even got to the text. It was a woman’s handwriting, a signature denoting ownership. Curious Hermione looked at the name; all resolve to start reading blown away. It wasn’t a name she recognised. Nor was it a name that in any way seemed to be connected to Blaise. Kamilah Swanson. Unusual first name, the more common last name. Hermione bit her bottom lip.
It was the first time Hermione had seen any type of writing in the books that had been brought to her. Maybe that was the reason she found it so interesting, because she could really not think of any other reason. It was just a name, after all. The handwriting was actually more interesting than then name. It was clearly feminine, fairly large and very tidy and straight. Still, she couldn’t see why it should be interesting at all.
Still she was interested. She wondered who it belonged to. How the woman was connected to Blaise, if she was connected to him at all. Yet she thought she must be. Blaise didn’t seem to be the type to go out and buy a used book when he could spend money on a new one. Of course it could be someone completely mundane, like an aunt or a cousin, yet the idea that the woman might be someone interesting tantalised her mind and wouldn’t let her go.
When Blaise arrived three days later, the thought of the woman who had once owned the books still occupied her mind. But she had managed to read the book, and when they started talking she could engage in their conversation, if still with less presence of mind than usual. Listening to him go on about how horribly cliché the characterisation of the villain was, something she actually agreed with for once, she still couldn’t help but to think about who the woman was. Biting her lip, she took a deep breath and a plunge.
“Who is Kamilah Swanson?” she interrupted him.
For once Blaise seemed thrown and didn’t seem to know what to say. “How did you…?”
“Her name is written in the book,” Hermione clarified, holding up the book.
Blaise nodded and frowned slightly. “If you must know, she was my mother,” he said plainly.
“Swanson was her maiden name then?” Hermione asked, unable to refrain herself.
Blaise snorted out a short laugh. “You’re assuming Kami was British,” he said disdainfully. “She was not “ her maiden name was Besoné. Not that it mattered, she changed surnames rather often,” he finished tersely, snatching the book up and flipping through the pages.
“You called your mother Kami?” Hermione asked, too surprised to stop herself even if she could tell by Blaise’s voice and body language that this was a conversation he did not want to have.
Blaise sighed and lowered the book. “And what do you suppose I should call her?” he almost snapped. “Her full name seems a bit formal, don’t you think?”
“I would assume you’d call your mother, Mum,” Hermione replied instinctively. “She’s the one who raised you, after all. The one who took care of you when you were sick, who held you when you cried“”
“If that is your definition of a mother I suspect I’d start calling Minny Mum any day now,” Blaise cut her off. “And if you did not understand me earlier, that is the end of this conversation! So shall we get back to the book?” he asked pursing his lips together.
Hermione nodded, knowing she’d overstepped the boundaries. Still she couldn’t help but wonder, even if it wasn’t any of her business. In the corner in her eye, she watched as he opened the book, a bit rougher than he usually treated books. A pang of guilt ran trough her. She should have known better. She should have known him better.
“Blaise?” she said tentatively.
“What?” he snapped annoyed, looking up from the book.
Hermione bit back the surge on annoyance at his tone and forced herself to take a deep breath before she continued. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have meddled in your personal business,” she said calmly, pretending she hadn’t heard his harsh tone.
“No, you shouldn’t have!” Blaise retorted, still annoyed. Muttering something he then lowered his book completely and rolled his eyes. “And I accept your apology.” Hermione smiled slightly as they returned to discuss the book. It was possibly the politest he had ever been to her so far, at least when annoyed, and she had no problems settling for that “ even if she did find it odd that he called his mother by name. Then again, it really wasn’t any of her business.
Still, after Blaise had left, Hermione couldn’t help but to think about it. It did add powerful information to his character, and when she opened her book and looked at her notes, some things seemed to make more sense now when she had new information.
It had been obvious to her he wasn’t too fond of his mother, and judging from what he had said, they could hardly have had a close relationship when Blaise was growing up. Suddenly Blaise’s reasons for respecting house-elves were so obvious, as was the reason he didn’t believe in love. ’She changed surnames rather often’, he’d said. So was it even strange that he didn’t believe in ever lasting love? She wondered about his father, if he had been different. Then again, it would probably not be wise to ask, since Blaise did seem to want to keep these things private. Not that she could blame him for that. She certainly didn’t talk about her family, so why should he? Hermione sighed. She didn’t like the idea of letting go of a mystery. Yet in this case she thought she should. Frowning she put her book and quill down and started getting ready for bed. It was no use dwelling on it now when she had decided to leave it be after all, she thought as she slipped into her nightgown and stepped into the bathroom to wash up for the night.
Yet during the next three days Hermione still found it hard to let go. It wasn’t in her nature to stop questioning and wondering, and no matter how hard she tried, the questions kept spinning in her head. Nevertheless, she had promised herself not to let her curiosity get the best of her, and as she sat in her bed, waiting for him to arrive she promised herself not to ask questions she knew he wouldn’t answer.
Only he didn’t arrive. Not at the time he usually did, anyway. Dinner had come and left hours ago, or at least so it seemed, and Hermione was still sitting in bed waiting for Blaise to turn up. As she felt her eyelids grow heavier and her yawns grow bigger, Hermione wondered if she should really stop waiting and just go to bed. But then again, she wasn’t fond of the idea of being waken had she already fallen asleep, nor did she like the thought of Blaise seeing her in her nightgown again. She much preferred his company when she was fully clothed. Stifling another yawn, she opted for waiting a few more minutes at least, before she turned in for the night.
She woke up the following morning with a stiff neck and soreness in the cheek where it had pressed against the book she’d had been lying next to her on the bed when she fell asleep. She couldn’t really remember when she had fallen asleep, but then she didn’t really care either. She felt annoyed, and more than a bit angry at Blaise for not showing up. Massaging her neck, she stumbled into the bathroom. Her mouth felt dry and her teeth fuzzy from not brushing the night before and despite sleeping, she still felt sleep-fogged. She knew she probably had horrible morning breath, and the breakfast she knew was waiting for her had little appeal for her now. She decided to let breakfast wait and take a bath instead, and took the opportunity to brush her teeth while the water filled the bathtub.
She was still annoyed and angry when she went back out to eat her breakfast. If Blaise had got held up he could have at least notified her in advanced. It wouldn’t have been that hard for him to tell Minny to bring her a message. Then she wouldn’t be feeling the strain in her neck and she wouldn’t still have the imprint of a book on her cheek.
Sitting down by the table, Hermione suddenly felt a new surge of anger shoot through her. Next to the plate was a new book. No note, no message, nothing to say that Blaise was sorry or that in any way acknowledge that he had caused her trouble. Frowning she picked the book up and looked at it briefly before tossing it aside on the small table. A new book usually made her happy. But a new book today could only mean one thing. Not only had Blaise failed to show up yesterday “ he had no plans to show up today either.
Frowning, Hermione picked at her food, stabbing the kipper with her fork instead of eating. She was quite sure this was deliberate on Blaise’s part. He had allowed her to prepare for a discussion, probably while knowing very well that he didn’t intend to show up. After all, since when had Blaise ever been held up and unable to show up before? Not once! Every single time since he first brought her the worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey had he been on time. Not once had it been more, or less, than three days between his visits. As far as Hermione could see, there was really only one logical reason why he hadn’t shown up this time. He was angry at her for the questions she’d asked.
It really wasn’t fair. There was no reason for him to be upset, she hadn’t known who she was asking about and she certainly hadn’t known that his relationship with his mother was as strained as it seemed to be. Besides, she had apologised “ and he had accepted her apology. He had no right to treat her this way because of something she hadn’t been aware of doing!
Frustrated and irritated, Hermione gave up on eating. Nor did she feel like reading and so she settled for crawling down beneath the covers, hoping for some proper sleep. One where she didn’t have a book pressed against her cheek and her neck in a strange position.
It was dark when she woke up again, the moonlight pale and shining in through the window that must have appeared while she was sleeping. Cursing beneath her breath for missing the appearance of the window, Hermione got out of bed and moved to her chair, curling up in it while looking out. She wondered how long the window had been there, and more importantly “ how much longer it would still be there. Even with the dark of the night she knew what she was looking at, what she would see if the moon shone a bit brighter or if the clouds hadn’t blocked its pale silver light.
There would be the buds on the trees, small and green, just starting to form. The grass would be spotted with clusters of tiny snowdrops and even some early crocuses had begun to show. Over in the massive flowerbed to her right, there would be the green leaves and stems of tulips and daffodils, none of them very large yet, their buds hardly visible, yet still there with a hope of what would come “ daffodils first, tulips later.
With a sigh, Hermione leaned back in her chair, trying to imagine what the view would look like in daytime, what it would look like if the moon had been brighter and the stars could be seen. As the window faded into the wall, Hermione looked at the tray on the table. It wasn’t breakfast on it anymore, nor was it lunch or dinner, so Hermione assumed Minny had been there both delivering and picking up the food. The elf wouldn’t have been happy to see so much of her cooking spoiled for no reason. Biting into the piece of rather stale toast left there for her, Hermione suddenly felt how hungry she was. Not that it would matter. All she had to eat now was some stale toast and a cup of tea kept warm with a warming spell.
She ate in silence, not that there was any real option to do anything else. She hadn’t gone to the lengths were she was speaking to herself yet, after all. When she was finished eating, she picked up the new book and looked at it again.
She thought about refusing. About not reading it and letting Blaise know that she did not accept his behaviour when he arrived in three days, forcing him to discuss the previous book instead. But then again, there was always the risk that he would stop bringing her books altogether if she did that. And besides, what else was there for her to do? Count stones again? No, she knew she’d read the book, just as he surely did.
The book did turn out to be rather interesting. It wasn’t one she’d read before, and the story was quite compelling. By the time three days had past, she’d already read the book twice, and was eagerly awaiting debating it. Judging from its contents she predicted hers and Blaise’s views would differ quite a bit. She was restless already by breakfast, getting up and walking around in the small room in order to pass the time. By the time Minny brought her dinner she had already reorganised her trunk three times, and as soon as Minny showed up to take the tray away again, Hermione turned to her bed, flopping down on her stomach her eyes turned against the wall where she knew the door would appear. Carefully, she started looking through the book and her notes once more in preparation, making sure to read through her jottings of inconsistencies as well as points to prove her views. She also made an effort to go through the points she thought Blaise might raise extra carefully, and to give her notes on what passages in the book contradicted those views an additional glance. All in all she was quite pleased with the work she had done over the last three days.
It wasn’t until morning she realised that she’d once more fallen asleep while waiting. That once more, Blaise had failed to show. Resentful and irritated, Hermione got up from the bed, shooting the new book on her breakfast tray a reproachful look.
For the next day and a half, Hermione refused to pick up her new book; when she finally did, she told herself it was out of boredom and nothing else. She didn’t stay up to wait for Blaise when three days had passed. Instead she made sure to go to bed early, so that if “ when? “ he arrived he would learn his lesson and stop behaving like a child. The only problem with her plan was that Blaise never showed up. For the third time in a row he had failed. For the third time in a row a new book, lying on her breakfast tray in the morning, told her he wouldn’t be coming.
The pattern lasted for weeks, and with every three days that passed, Hermione got angrier. He really had no right to treat her this way! He couldn’t just leave her there with no one to talk to for weeks. Even when she first arrived had he been down to see her a couple of times a week “ but now he was ignoring her completely, probably pretending she didn’t exist. It wasn’t right. She had told him she was sorry. She had stopped asking him questions. She had done everything he had asked of her. And still he treated her like air! She hadn’t done anything wrong, and he had no right to punish her like this!
Hermione groaned the moment the thought entered her mind. Blaise was withholding his company “ and she saw it as punishment? What was happening to her? Would she had viewed his absence as punishment a year ago? She doubted that. So why was she now? It was just Blaise Zabini after all. He wasn’t a person she had ever talked to before he captured her “ because honestly, that was what he had done. He had captured her, and kept her locked in a tiny room with nothing to do but to read the books he chose for her and look out a window that randomly appeared in the wall. Would she ever have accepted this treatment before? But then life wasn’t as before was it? Too many things had changed. Too many people had died, and capture or no capture she did owe Blaise her life. Probably her health too, come to think of it.
Still, she didn’t like the idea of seeing his absence as punishment. So what if he didn’t come down? She still had her books. She had food, a bed, a bath “ far more than she had before. But at least then, before she ended up here, she had people to talk to every now and then “ even if the conversations more often than not revolved around practical things, like where to sleep or what too eat. She hadn’t had intellectually stimulating debates about classic literature. She hadn’t had the possibility to even read. Could she even think to go back to a life without books again? She didn’t think so. A life without book-discussions seemed hard enough, after all. She missed it. She couldn’t deny that. She missed the heated arguments, and the intellectual traps they laid out for each other to fall into. She missed their discussions and she missed him - even if she would never admit to the latter. He was only the means. Had there been someone else to discuss books with she wouldn’t spare him a second thought, she told herself. She knew it was a lie already when the notion formed in her mind.
It took more than a month before Blaise set foot in her room again. When he did, Hermione couldn’t help but to be surprised. She had started to believe he wouldn’t come down to see her at all again. Looking at him, there was a part of her that wanted to yell at him for not coming down sooner. Just as there was a part that wanted to ignore him the way he had her, and a part that wanted to make sure he kept coming back. Confused she said nothing “ looking at him, waiting for him to lead the way. He did, picking up the latest book he’d sent her from the table and asking her what she thought about it.
She knew something was wrong the moment he started to speak. There was a note to his voice that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t much. At times hardly noticeable, and while they spoke about the book there were moments when Hermione thought she was just imagining things. But then there it was again. A slight vibration on certain letters, some words spoken just a fraction of a note too high. No, there was something wrong, even if he didn’t tell her what it was. She pondered asking, but thinking about his reaction to her questions about his mother, she chose not to. Instead she made sure to do her best, debating her standpoints on the book she’d read. It wasn’t as easy as she’d liked it to be. Blaise had come prepared, while she had stopped preparing a couple of weeks ago “ tired of building a case she never got to defend and tired of being disappointed when he didn’t show. Frowning, she realised that no matter how right she was, he was building a better case than she was. With a deep breath as Blaise managed to perfectly illustrate yet another point she promised herself never to let it happen again.
Blaise stayed longer than he usually did, staying even after they finished with the book. Hermione couldn’t remember him doing that before. She was still convinced there was something wrong, and when he quietly glanced out the newly formed window, she became certain of it.
It wasn’t just his voice. There was something else as well. Something in the way he looked at the window. In the way he asked her casual questions about the other books she’d read without really listening to her answers. Twice he started saying something. Both times he stopped himself before he actually began to speak.
Closing her eyes, Hermione finally asked. “What’s wrong?”
He turned to look at her before he answered. Letting his eyes meet hers with no hesitation as he gave her a slight smile.
“Nothing,” he answered, his voice perfectly calm, just the right hint of surprise for a question that was highly unexpected and completely unwarranted. She knew he was lying. “I’d better go. I wouldn’t’ want to keep you from your sleep,” he added casually and got up from his chair. He was out the door before she could call him on his lie. Hermione didn’t expect him back three days later. He didn’t arrive.
It took another two weeks before Hermione saw Blaise again. He arrived, as he always did, shortly after she’d had dinner, just as she left her seat by the table and sat down on her bed. Hermione watched him as he entered and took his usual seat in the chair that now had its natural place next to the table. Blaise was as calm and composed as always, and Hermione didn’t need to look twice to know that what had been bothering him two weeks ago was bothering him now as well. She didn’t ask. She knew he wouldn’t answer anyway. Maybe later she told herself as she tried to ignore the small tell tale signs and focus on their discussion.
The discussion was as usual intense and in the middle of it Hermione found it easy to forget her worries. There really wasn’t that much to suggest that there was something wrong at all, Blaise’s composure and his way of leaning back casually in his chair not different than usual. Yet there was something there. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. Somthing that made her know even when there was no reason for her knowing. Maybe it was his eyelids that looked a bit heavier or the faint twitch just below his right eye “ or maybe it was something in his eyes? Something hardly there but still clearly visible if you knew where to look. When had she learnt how to see him? How many other people knew how? Judging from what he had previously told her, it would probably not be more than a handful. She wondered if it would even be that many. Nibbling on her lower lip as the discussion drew to an end, Hermione knew she had to ask.
“Blaise?” she asked him softly, careful not to alert his defences too much. “May I just ask you something?” Blaise looked at her warily, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read her expression. She could feel his eyes burning into her as she met his gaze “ then he let his eyes dart down to her mouth where she still bit her lip. She let it go immediately “ somehow knowing she’d made a mistake. For a moment she wondered what to do if he simply said no. Would she press on? Would she leave it? Would she even know how to leave it?
“Nothing personal “ and I may not answer,” he replied, surprising her. Hermione nodded her agreement.
“I wondered what has been going on lately?” she asked calmly. “Since you haven’t had the time to come down as often as before,” she quickly explained, when she saw him frown at her question. Her addition didn’t seem to impress Blaise.
“You want to know why I haven’t been to see you?” he asked tersely. “I’d think you’d be happy about that. You’ve still had your books, haven’t you? So what’s the problem?” he snorted.
“There’s no problem. That’s not what I meant,” Hermione assured him with a slight smile that she hoped looked casual. It wasn’t as if she was prepared to admit to him that she’d actually missed his visits, after all. “All I meant was that there must have been something to keep you, and I wondered what it was,” she continued in a business-like tone of voice.
“And why would I tell you what I do with my time?” Blaise replied, not buying her act.
“Because there is something worrying you“” The words left her before she could stop herself. Hermione could have bitten off her tongue for saying them. She knew Blaise wouldn’t answer her even before he rose from his chair.
“In case you’d forgotten there is a war going on outside these walls,” he snapped. “I have better things to do with my time than come down her to be questioned,” he finished turning towards the door.
Feeling her patience snap as clearly as if it had been a cord snapping in her hands, Hermione got up and grabbed his arm before he could leave. “I haven’t forgotten that there is a war!” she shouted. “I’m here because of that war, and if there is something going on then I have a right to know about it!”
“No you don’t!” Blaise replied, pulling his arm out of her grip. “You don’t fight the war anymore, remember” he reminded, leaning forward so his face was just a hint too close to hers. “I would tell you if there was something you needed to know,” he added.
“And I guess that is up to you to decide?” Hermione retorted, even more upset than before.
“Since you are in my care “ yes it is!”
“Rubbish!” Hermione cried. “I have the right to decide for myself what is important and what is not. You ought to tell me what is going on, especially when it is obviously important like this!” she continued.
“How many times do I have to tell you that what is going on is none of your business?” Blaise snapped.
“It is up to me to decide! It“”
”No it is not!” Blaise cut her off. “And that’s final!” he added, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room.
Shouting in frustration, Hermione picked up the book on the table and threw it after him, watching as it hit the stone wall replacing the door. Angrily she sank down on the floor with her back against the bed. The cover of the book was broken, she could see it from where she sat. Yet she wasn’t sorry she threw it “ only that she’d thrown it too late. Minny would fix it in a heartbeat after all, and Hermione really didn’t feel like reading now anyway. With a deep sigh she wondered how long it would take before Blaise would come back down again.
She was utterly surprised to see him down already the following day. She was sitting in her chair when he came in. Curled up with her feet underneath her as was her habit, looking out the window to see the birds building their nests and the sun dancing in the treetops. She was so caught up in the struggle of two warblers that she nearly didn’t notice him enter at all.
“Hermione?” His voice was soft “ even softer than usual and she could feel it wrapping around her with deceptive comfort.
“I didn’t expect you back for a while,” she answered coolly, refusing to turn around or look at him “ determined to show him what she thought about being treated like a child.
“I was considering not coming down here for a while,” he replied simply.
The silence that spread was awkward. They weren’t used to silence. Most of the time they spent together was spent arguing or debating something or another. Opening and closing her mouth several times Hermione tried to think of something to say “ something that would allow her to speak without giving in. She couldn’t think of anything. It was Blaise that finally gave in.
“Hermione look at me,” he said “ more an order than a question. Hermione thought of refusing, but then she didn’t really see the point in behaving like a child that hadn’t got her way. It could only do her good to comply, after all. She turned.
“I stand by my view that you do not need to know everything that goes on in this war,” Blaise started, making Hermione frown. She should have known. Turning to look at him wouldn’t change that. Snorting she moved to turn back around. “But,” Blaise continued quickly, stopping her in mid action. “I guess I should tell you what is going on at the moment, since it is relating to you in a way,” he added, flinging himself casually down in his chair, as if he hadn’t just almost admitted to making a mistake. He gave her a slight smile, as if waiting for something.
“So tell me then,” Hermione finally urged him when the silence became to much for her.
“Lucius Malfoy has been killed,” he said, studying his hand “ as if his cuticles had suddenly become the most interesting part of his anatomy.
“The resistance is growing stronger then?” Hermione asked, suddenly much more attentive.
“Well it is, but the resistance didn’t kill Malfoy,” Blaise said dismissing her words with a wave of his hand. “Voldemort did.”
“Voldem“ I don’t understand,” Hermione said confused.
“He failed “ again “ with his mission. He had been assigned to killing someone…what was his name…L-something “ He was a professor one year when we were at Hogwarts, seems like ages ago, Anyway, a werewolf, used to be a spy apparently“”
“Remus Lupin,” Hermione filled in, her breath catching in her throat as she remembered strong hands on her shoulders, forcing her to flee, hurried words whispered in her ear “ ‘There is nothing you can do for him now. Take Ginny and run “ don’t be here when the werewolves comes.’
“Right. I should have remembered that,” Blaise said, for a fraction of a moment looking tired before his usual calm settled in his face. “Anyway, Voldemort had wanted him dead since he spied on Grayback and his gang, and he thought he might be harbouring you “so he sent Malfoy to kill him. Malfoy failed “ Voldemort killed him instead,” he summed up, as he had been describing the events of a rather poorly written play instead of the events in a war.
“So Remus is still alive, then?” Hermione asked, a shimmer of hope shining into her heart.
Blaise nodded. “He is, although Voldemort desperately wants him dead. He is convinced that the reason no one has been able to find you is because Lupin or someone else in the resistance is sheltering you.”
“Why does he care so much about me? I haven’t been seen or heard from in more than a year and a half. Surely I can’t be considered the least bit important anymore?” Hermione asked confused.
“Hermione, the fact that you haven’t been heard from is making you even more of a legend. You’re the one that Voldemort can’t find. He is getting obsessed about it. Besides, with the Quibbler regularly writing about ‘Hermione-sightings’ and ‘Voldemort’s big failure’ and things like that, he is getting more and more paranoid,” Blaise explained.
“The Quibbler uses his name?” Hermione asked surprised.
“Yes they do,” Blaise answered. “Which makes Voldemort even more furious. It doesn’t help that more and more people are starting to follow their lead, or that Voldemort is convinced that the Quibbler is using some sort of code to communicate with the resistance. He’s so irate about it that even reading the Quibbler is punishable with death now,” he finished.
Hermione nodded slowly, the irony of someone like Voldemort being scared of a paper like the Quibbler not escaping her.
“I should get back to… Well I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Blaise said. Hermione raised her head and looked at him before she nodded again.
“Blaise,” she called out just as he was exiting the door. She watched as he turned around. Taking a deep breath she gathered her courage before she spoke again. “You said Voldemort is getting paranoid. If that is true “ hiding me is dangerous. I mean more dangerous than before. I’ll understand if you’d rather want me to hide someplace else. And I won’t back out of our deal,” she said quietly.
“No, Hermione. I want you to stay,” he said with emphasis. “I can’t guarantee your safety anywhere else, after all,” he added casually, giving her a quick smile. Not knowing quite what to say, Hermione simply returned his smile while watching him leave.
The feeling of someone shaking her roughly awoke her early the next morning. Squinting her eyes against the light of the window already there, Hermione looked in surprise at Minny standing in front of her. So far Minny had never woken her up.
“Miss Hermione must be up,” the house-elf said eagerly, prodding her once more. “Important things on table,” she said pointing to the table. “Mister Blaise gave Minny strict orders,” she added apologetically when Hermione stifled a yawn.
“It’s alright, Minny,” Hermione answered, giving the house-elf a pat on the shoulder as she stood up. She already felt wide awake. With trembling hands she reached out and grabbed the paper lying on the table. She tried to remember how long it’s been since she’d read any paper, but couldn’t remember. It had been longer still since she’d been able to read the Quibbler “ the issues harder and harder to come by as it was forbidden. It couldn’t be easier now, when holding a copy mean a death sentence if the wrong person saw it. She wondered how it came to be that Blaise had got a hold of it.
“Note too,” Hermione heard Minny say behind her, and, quite right, when glancing down on the table there was a small folded note. Picking it up, Hermione quickly read through Blaise’s scribbled handwriting, somehow more sloppy and scratchy than she had imagined it to be.
The paper is only there for two hours, then it will burst into flames “ don’t hold it when it does. Make what you will of any information you find, but keep it to yourself. I have no interest in knowing.
Sinking down on the chair next to her, Hermione unfolded the paper. She didn’t need any explanation to know what Blaise was talking about. She knew there was a code in the paper “ just as surely as she knew that Voldemort apparently hadn’t figured it out yet. Somewhere in the back of her mind she noticed that Minny had Disapparated, yet she couldn’t be bothered to care at the moment. Her movements were hurried when she turned to the centrefold. She almost gave a cry of joy when she saw the runes at the bottom of the page. Turning the paper upside-down while thanking her lucky star they hadn’t changed it, she grabbed her quill and proceeded quickly to deciphering the code. A moment later she was satisfied and turned the paper back around and started reading.
She read through all the stories about silly creatures that didn’t exist as well as the “ actually rather amusing “ pages of ‘Hermione sightings’. The stories were mostly absurd and far-fetched, but they were stories of courage and resistance and probably brought comfort those that hoped for an ending to the war but wasn’t able to read between the lines. To Hermione, however, the stories didn’t bring comfort. With every page she read she turned paler. She knew the information in the paper was accurate “ their sources of information were many, and their information always double-checked. Still the image that was painted only managed to bring fear to her.
Things were far worse than Blaise had let on. Malfoy was far from the only Death Eater killed by Voldemort in the last few months. Failure was only one reason “ Voldemort’s growing suspicion of spies and defectors the other. A culture of spying on each other had evolved. Informants could be found among friends, relatives, even children were used against their parents. Everyone “ a Death Eater or not “ was watched carefully. Any behaviour outside the norm registered and reported. Hermione could only begin to guess how many unusual activities she caused. Hermione closed her eyes, and put the paper on the floor, staring at it until it burst into flames. She threw the note on the flames and watched as it burned as well.
Staring at the wall Hermione let the information sink in. Blaise was taking a far greater risk than he had let on. A far greater risk than keeping her safe warranted. This couldn’t be solely about personal gain “ it was too risky, too dangerous. This took more. This took conviction, persuasion “ courage. And surely if someone so Slytherin as Blaise showed that he had courage, it couldn’t really be dead, could it? Maybe courage was still alive, after all.