Dinner was a very pleasant affair except for an incident which left everyone feeling extremely awkward. Lupin, McGonagall and Manken all stayed to eat and the topics of discussion varied from memories of the past to good times in the future. It was only when the subject of Hogwarts came up that the conversation took a nasty turn. Professor McGonagall was now the Headmistress of Hogwarts and had the job of recruiting new staff and students for the school.
“I’ve sent all the letters out earlier than usual and there aren’t many parents who want their children coming to Hogwarts anymore,” she said, sadly. “And probably only a few of the older students will come back. Any Slytherins whose parents are openly supporting Voldemort will have left to become Death Eaters and the other houses are planning on being trained at the Ministry to fight in the war-” she was cut across by Ginny who leapt to her feet, her face almost as red as her hair as she glared at her parents in rage.
“See!” she shouted gesturing at McGonagall. “See, nobody else is going to Hogwarts anymore so why should I? I want to train to fight! I have to help!” Her parents looked appalled.
“Ginny dear,” Mrs Weasley said soothingly. “You’re over-reacting. People are going back to Hogwarts and you need to finish your education- and as for helping in the war you need to show people that it’s okay to go back to Hogwarts.” If she had thought it would have a calming effect on her daughter, she was very, very wrong. Ginny swelled with anger.
“I am NOT going back to Hogwarts!” she roared. “I don’t care about my education; it won’t matter if we lose the war!”
“Ginny, you are being extremely immature,” Mr Weasley said quietly not looking at her. “Either stop this silly behaviour or leave the room.” Ginny opened and closed her mouth several times before turning on her heel and storming out of the kitchen. She ran up the stairs and they could hear her stamping her feet all the way up to her room. An awkward silence settled on the party, as nobody quite knew what say. Soon afterwards, the three visitors hurriedly finished their dinner and left the house after assuring them that they would come the next day to check on Malfoy again. The remaining five went into the sitting room and sat for a while, Harry and Ron discussing Quidditch and Mr and Mrs Weasley sitting quietly and reading the Daily Prophet. Finally, Hermione grew tired of their conversation and announced she was going to bed. She got to her feet but paused at the doorway.
“Oh, I forgot would it be all right if I went to the library tomorrow? You know the one at the Ministry?” She awaited their reply, hoping they wouldn’t ask any awkward questions. They didn’t. Neither of them seemed in the mood to do much talking.
“Yes, of course, Hermione,” Mr Weasley said tiredly. “You can come into work with me. I’ll call you in the morning.” Hermione nodded and went upstairs. She entered the room quietly and heard, quite clearly, the change of breathing from quick and short to slow and deep. Obviously, Ginny couldn’t sleep.
“Ginny?” Hermione whispered. There was no answer. “Ginny, are you awake?” Still nothing. “Do you want to talk?” Silence. “Do you want me to shut up?” Then came a muffled “Yes” but nothing more. Hermione sighed.
“Okay.” She changed quickly and slipped into bed. She thought back to before Voldemort had risen. The memories were so faded and weird. It was hard to imagine any time when they weren’t feeling scared or angry all the time. So much had changed.
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Silence. Again. This is getting boring. That’s always the first thought. Silence. And then darkness. That’s all that he could see. And not even see, more like …. Be aware of.
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Hermione awoke to the sound of her own name being whispered. She sat up in bed and looked around. Mr Weasley was standing at the doorway.
“We’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes,” he said quietly. “Just get dressed and come down. Molly’s got some food on for you.” Hermione nodded and Mr Weasley disappeared. She dragged herself out of bed and dressed slowly. Yawning, she walked as quietly as she could down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mrs Weasley was sitting at the table pouring over a huge book full of cooking recipes. There was a stack of buttered toast sitting on the table in front of her and when Hermione came in she waved her hand invitingly at it.
“Help yourself dear,” she said, getting up and walking over to one of the cupboards and taking out a glass. “I’ll give you something proper to eat when you come back but at the moment Arthur’s in a bit of a hurry.” She poured some milk into the glass and handed it to Hermione, who took it and grabbed a slice of toast from the top of the pile. Mrs Weasley returned to reading her book and they sat in silence, waiting for Mr Weasley. Hermione was on her fifth slice by the time he came down, already dressed in his work robes.
“Come on,” he said, fastening his travelling cloak around him. Hermione got up from the table and pulled her own coat on. Mr Weasley kissed his wife swiftly on the cheek before standing next to Hermione, holding her arm firmly, and Apparated.
Hermione swayed slightly as they appeared in the entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic. Mr Weasley steadied her then set off down the corridor towards the lift, beckoning to her to follow. The lift wasn’t too crowded when they got in and almost everyone seemed to know Mr Weasley. They smiled at them briefly before rushing away, worried looks on their faces. After being in the lift a good ten minutes when Mr Weasley suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her through the doors out into a wide corridor. Mr Weasley strode on in the front and Hermione hurried along behind him. Finally, he came to a halt outside a small door. He knocked once and, bending down very low, entered. Hermione hesitated before bending her head and following him. As she stepped through the door, her jaw dropped and she let out a small gasp of amazement and joy. The room into which she had just come was almost the same size as the Entrance Hall in Hogwarts and was piled to the ceiling with books. There were books on table, chairs, shelves, anywhere possible, stacked together in such a messy way it almost looked organised. Mr Weasley smiled at her evident pleasure.
“This is the main library of the Ministry of Magic,” he said. “It has books on everything and all the records of wizards, animagus, Death Eaters, everything, they are all here and you can look at them as long you like.” She nodded so he continued. “When you’re finished come up to me and I’ll arrange for you to go home.” He then told her the floor and office in which he worked and left. Hermione didn’t know where to start. She went over to the shelves where Mr Weasley had said the records were kept. She picked up a pile of them and found herself a comfortable chair to sit on. Nobody disturbed her during the hours that followed and she engrossed herself in several different books. The pile of either discarded or finished books mounted to a point where it was in fear of falling over but Hermione didn’t care. That wasn’t important.
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Nobody came all morning. How sad. No, seriously, it was really boring. Hours (or was it days?) passed and still no sound reached his waiting ears. Then somebody came up. Yay. Not really. There was the sound of someone swishing water around and then whoever it was started talking. And it wasn’t Granger. It seemed to be an older woman and she chattered on and on, stopping at regular intervals to say “You poor dear.” She must have been talking to another person because no one called him ‘dear’, not even his mother. If this woman was talking to someone else, though, then it meant that there were more people in this place aside from him. Another theory to add to his list. He had six of them now.
1. He was a ghost but his eyes had been poked out and someone had put him in a house full of weird people as a bad joke.
2. He was in a sort of limbo; he wasn’t dead but he wasn’t alive either and he was being haunted by memories of voices he had known before.
3. He was a disembodied brain who could hear people’s thoughts and he was being kept in the Department of Mysteries where they were going to do experiments on him (hey, it could happen).
4. He was on the brink of death and only Granger could save him, but she wasn’t going to because she hated him so he was slowly dying while she, Potter and Weasley sat and laughed (he wouldn’t put it past them).
5. This was all a dream and someday he would wake up in his nice comfortable four poster bed in the Malfoy Manor with all his limbs intact and to discover that the last three years had never happened (there was nothing wrong with hoping…)
6. Now his newest: it was a place where people who were too weak, sad, and depressed to carry on with life came which would explain Weasley, Granger and Potter (but why was he there?).
What a stupid list. None of them made any sense anyways. And yet he had spent ages (he thought) on it. How boring this place was. He would almost like to be back with Voldemort. No, actually, take that back. Anywhere was better than there even if it was really, really boring. There was nobody even to talk to, except himself. First sign of madness is talking to yourself. Well that’s done. Second is having hairs on your palms. Don’t have any hands so that doesn’t count. Third is looking for the hairs. Does looking for your hands count? Because if so he was on the highway to insanity and there was nothing to stand in his way. Nothing and nobody. Nobody at all.
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Hermione went back to the Burrow at around midday her arms and mind laden with books and records that she thought might be useful. Delicious smells were coming from the kitchen when Mr Weasley Apparated back with her. He went straight back to work but she made her way into the warm kitchen where Mrs Weasley was busy making dinner. Harry and Ron were sitting at the table eating soup. Why was she not surprised; all they seemed to do now was eat and sleep.
Hermione shook her head, half-exasperated, half-amused. She was greeted by Crookshanks just outside the back door as he half-heartedly chased a gnome across her path. She would have picked him up but her hands were full so he had to satisfy himself with trotting along behind her.
Harry and Ron looked up and grinned when she appeared and Mrs Weasley set a bowl of steaming soup down in front of her. Hermione smiled gratefully at her and allowed her arms to give way so that everything fell onto the table. Ron picked up one of the scraps of parchment and glanced at the words she had written there.
“Did you find-” he began but Hermione shook her head violently and nodded towards Mrs Weasley who had returned to the sink and was staring out the back window at her overgrown garden. Ron took the hint and returned to eating his lunch. He, Hermione and Harry had decided not to say anything about R.A.B to anyone else.
“Oh Hermione,” Mrs Weasley said suddenly. “I’ll be doing more work for the Order now and I was wondering if you would you mind feeding our-” she pursed her lips “-, er, visitor.” Hermione felt as though her stomach had dropped into space. Beside her Ron choked on his soup and stared at his mother incredulously.
“How can you even ask her something like that!” he spluttered. “I mean that’s mad - how can you expect “ she won’t do it “”
“Ron!” Hermione shouted, cutting across him. “Will you just shut up! How do you know what I will or won’t do? You don’t! So will you stop. I’m old enough to make decisions on my own, thank you very much,” she snapped. “I don’t need you to stand up for me!” Then turning to Mrs Weasley she took and a deep breath. “And I’ll feed Malfoy “ if it will help the Order.” Mrs Weasley beamed at her.
“That’s wonderful, Hermione, thank you.” Hermione nodded a feeling of dread gathering in the pit of her stomach. Mrs Weasley disappeared up the stairs and Hermione looked back at Ron who glared at her.
“Spoon-feeding Malfoy?” he snarled. “I suppose you can’t wait, can you?” Hermione stared back at him coldly.
“Unless you’re going to start talking sensibly I’m not going to waste my breath,” she hissed. Ron looked into her eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze.
“Fine,” he said “Okay, if you want to feed Malfoy that’s your choice.”
“Ron, look, I don’t want to have anything to do with Malfoy,” Hermione cried, exasperated. “I’m only doing it help the Order, I swear.” Ron merely shrugged, but before Hermione could say anything else, Mrs Weasley appeared.
“Oh, boys,” she said “Would you mind just running down to the village and getting a few things for me?” Harry and Ron nodded.
“Sure,” they said and Mrs Weasley handed them a list of things they needed. The two left almost hurriedly and Mrs Weasley went back upstairs, leaving Hermione to finish the rest of her soup alone. After gulping down her last few mouthfuls Hermione grabbed her stack of parchment once more and proceeded up to Malfoy’s room with them lost in thought. She pushed open the door and involuntarily stepped back at the sight before her. Malfoy was lying, spread out and shirtless, on his bed with Mrs Weasley standing with a soapy sponge in her hand and a bucket of water at her feet. Mrs Weasley looked up.
“Hermione, oh thank Merlin you’re here I need a bit of help.” At this point, she grabbed Hermione hand firmly and pulled her into the room. Hermione hung back feeling awkward but Mrs Weasley instructed her to put her hands on Malfoy’s shoulders while she cleaned his back. Hermione obeyed hesitantly. The thought of bringing her hands anywhere near Malfoy was so unpleasant she almost shuddered but she suddenly saw the look that would be on Ron’s face if he came across her is this position. Barely sustaining her laughter, she placed her hands gently on Malfoy’s shoulders and stared determinedly at the ground while Mrs Weasley hummed to herself. She was surprised at how light Malfoy was. Unable to stop herself her gaze drifted up to Malfoy’s bare chest and she was horrified at what she saw.
Bruises covered almost every inch of his body; great purple ones that looked as though the means by which they had come to be there were those of the most cruel and torturous order. She also noticed several long white scars which criss-crossed over his chest as though cut by a sword. Hermione gasped as she realised exactly what they were. The Sectumsempra curse; Harry had told them all about it. At the time, she alone had believed that the Prince was not the saintly genius Harry had made him out to be. She was awoken from her thoughts when Mrs Weasley spoke.
“Awful isn’t it?” she said following Hermione’s gaze. “I wouldn’t like to know by what means of torture those marks were acquired.” She paused for a moment staring into space. “You know, in some ways it scares me that anybody would do this to a child. And in other ways,” she said, her voice and face hardening “I feel I want more than ever to punish the one who did.” Hermione stared at her, momentarily in awe of the woman standing beside her. In that moment, she felt safe and protected. Then she thought of the ones they were fighting and her fear returned, refreshed and toxic, its cold clammy fingers wrapping themselves around her heart.
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More sounds. The woman talking again. Maybe she’s mad and spends her whole time talking to herself. Not that he could say much since he was doing it right then. And then. And then again. And he’d do it again in a second. See, he was psychic.
Maybe he was on a mission; to find all the weird people in the world and bring them to certain place. Nah, he could just go to Hogwarts for that. But a mission. He had been on a mission. To kill Dumbledore. Only he failed. Typical. But he thought that there was another mission, a different one. Oh well. Who cares? Nobody.