Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Chosen	By : TillieJupiter Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 8284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters of Harry Potter belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this wor

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter Warning(s): References to suicide.
Outside the train windows, the landscape flew past. Dead trees, frozen rivers and ponds, and snow-clad ground all so peaceful and unchanged by the world around it; the cold weather had frozen the world to a standstill. The cloudy sky with hues of slate, mauve, and ivory were melancholy as they seemed to remain stagnant above the speeding train. Though the winter wonderland outside the train was stagnant and gloomy, the excitement on the train was palpable.
Inside the train, the chatter of excited students on their way home for winter break filled the air. First year students with stories of their new experiences were giddy to see their parents, whom they were secretly missing through the months of witch and wizard training. Older students were excited to de-stress from challenging classes and tests that were preparing them for a world beyond Hogwarts; whether or not the world would look the same in the next few years with the possibility of war was still on the minds of many.
Staring outside at the passing world, Hermione’s hazel eyes were glossed over in a trance. Though the world looked frozen and unchanged outside the window, her life felt like a speeding train, direction unknown. Images of her salacious activity with the Slytherin Head Boy the night before danced behind her eyes; the sights, scents, touches, sounds, and tastes were all so clear in her mind as the memory seemed to come alive. She could still feel her heart pound from the rush of adrenaline that fogged her mind and allowed her to give into her impulses. Setting her hand to her heart, she felt the thump of that beat beneath her finger tips and remembered.
As the memories flooded her vision, her now dreaded voice of reason—that had seemingly been caged up in her mind the previous night—came forward. Disbelief, rebuke, and anxiety filled her system, turning the pounding of her heart for those steamy moments into a feeling of panic. Not only had she slept with a man she wasn’t dating, but she had done it with none other than Draco Malfoy—the trio’s longtime tormentor and enemy. Though through the weeks she had seen parts of Draco that revealed he was more than those things, and it was revealed last night that he might be no enemy at all, and in fact could be an ally, all of these revelations were secret. Harry and Ron knew nothing but hatred for the Slytherin boy who had cemented this belief in their minds as nothing but a cruel, vile, and pathetic enemy. As the only witness to these “truths” of Draco, Hermione wondered if it was possible that they weren’t truths at all?
Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably as the self-doubt and anxiety flowed through her. Though it wasn’t entirely present until this moment, it had been driving her the entire morning. Even before the sun came up, Hermione awoke in Draco’s arms in the Slytherin Head Boy’s bed. She found her eyes looking out into the darkness of the room, and hoped everything was just a dream. But then, as she became more aware, she felt the heaviness of his arm draped across her waist and his naked back against hers. His chest was moving in slow, even breaths as he slept behind her. Instantly feeling a blush come to her face—though, she knew it was hypocritical after the night they had—she slowly and carefully pulled herself from Draco’s arms and slipped out of the room. As quietly as she could, she cleaned herself up, got dressed, and cleaned up the Common Room of the quarters, leaving Draco’s clothing thrown on the floor of his bedroom. Maybe if it appeared unchanged, they would be unchanged, and Draco would awake with only a memory of strange, vivid dreams. But she knew there was no such luck—that train had already left the station and there was no going back now.
Though, it was lucky that ahead of them was a long break where Hermione and Draco could gather their thoughts and rationally analyze the situation to make sure that all decisions forward were made with a clear mind. Nothing made Hermione more uncomfortable than the thought that there was a part of her that could be so without rational thought that it could make such huge decisions and thrust her life forward into an unseen direction. Never in her wildest dreams could she have thought she could be post-coitus with Draco Malfoy. The visions of his mouth ravaging her body were still dancing in her mind. Even now, she bore the love bites on her neck strategically covered by a scarf. She wasn’t aware they were there until Luna asked if she had been attacked by some mystical creature in her sleep. With no reprieve from the deluge of her friends and other students around her, she had to bare the marks of shame until she had a moment to heal herself in private. Touching the hidden hickeys she harbored on her neck, she thought about how utterly unprepared for everything she was and how this was what scared her the most. For every other moment of her life she had the opportunity to think through every possible scenario and come to the most logical and rational conclusion; she was prepared for the changes those decisions would make and for the possible consequences. This time, however, Hermione was unprepared for the consequences.
It was then her mind centered on the possible consequences of last night. Immediately she thought of her friends, Harry and Ron specifically. All the possible scenarios ran through her head on how they would react if they found out. She could hear their voices screaming in her mind, calling her misogynistic names of ill-repute, accusing her of betrayal, and then renouncing her as a friend and an ally. Biting her lip, she tried to squelch these paranoid fears in her mind. Deep down, she knew those voices or thoughts didn’t belong to her friends, but instead came from within her. It was then she realized she had a lot of soul searching to do these next weeks in order to quiet those voices.
“Hermione,” Ginny called. “Hermione!” Ginny called again as she shook Hermione’s leg slightly. Hermione turned her attention to her friend as her thoughts disappeared from her eyes. “Sorry to disturb you,” Ginny said shyly, which was not like her.
“No, no, I’m sorry,” Hermione said, trying to ease her friend.
“What were you thinking about?” Ginny asked.
A blush rose to Hermione’s cheeks as the visions of last night ran through her mind again, but she quickly brushed them away. “Oh, nothing really,” Hermione said quickly.
Ginny offered a small smile, and it appeared as if the girl looked disappointed, but accepted her friend’s answer. Hermione wasn’t as forthcoming as most of her friends, and Ginny simply had to accept it, especially as she seemed to grow farther apart from everyone as the years went on. “Well, I was going to ask if you wanted anything from the candy trolley,” Ginny said.
“Didn’t it go by already?” Hermione asked.
“Yeah, but Ginny now decides she wants something,” Harry said in a humorous tone. “It’s probably already down by Slytherin at this point. I swear, I think you inherited the Ron gene with your sugar addiction,” he teased.
“That gene is not exclusive to Ron. When I was young, Fred and George used to have a stash of candy in the attic—until Mum found it one year. Half it was melted into the rug! Mum was so mad,” Ginny laughed. She stood up and went to the door of their carriage and opened it. “Last chance, anyone want anything?” she asked to Harry and Hermione. Both shook their heads and Ginny left as the door closed behind her.
“Hermione,” Harry proceeded when Ginny was out of sight. Hermione looked up at her friend attentively. “You know, I wanted to talk to you about something,” he said.
Inside Hermione she suddenly felt a paranoid panic pierce through her. Does he know? Did Ron know something and tell him? What am I going to say?! Is that why Ron isn’t here?!
“It’s about Ginny,” Harry said.
A wave of relief rushed through Hermione as she reprimanded herself for her immature panic—no one knew, of course, about last night. She reminded herself that Ron over the past year had become closer to some other Gryffindor boys, such as Neville, especially since Harry and Ginny got closer and Hermione drifted away. “Oh?” Hermione said.
“Ginny didn’t want me to say anything to you, so please don’t tell her I did, okay?” Harry pleaded. Hermione nodded her head, brows furrowed as she waited for him to continue. “It’s about the time, a few weeks ago, when you didn’t show up to the Gryffindor tower,” Harry said. Hermione didn’t seem to react to his explanation, so he continued. “It was a Saturday and she had met you in the courtyard,” he said, his voice rising in pitch as he hoped his explanation would jog her memory. “And then you said you’d come to Gryffindor tower with everyone, and you didn’t show up.” A look of recognition appeared Hermione’s face as the memories of that night flooded back to her—it was the night Draco had shattered the mirror with his bloodied fist and then fallen asleep in her lap. When Harry saw the look of recognition, he continued. “Well, she felt really bad about it. Not only did she feel as though she lied to everyone that you were coming, but she had really been looking forward to it.”
“I’m sorry, I–” Hermione began, as she quickly tried to think of an excuse before Harry cut of her off.
“I’m not looking for any excuse,” Harry interjected and put his hands up as if to defend from lies. “I’m just bringing this up for her. She really wants to spend time with you. It is our last year, and she considers you a really good friend—we all do.”
Hermione felt guilt and shame rush through her as Harry voiced the feelings of her friends about her recently standoffish and anti-social attitude. It had started much before this specific incident, she knew, and it was indicative of her overall approach towards her friends. Though she had been aware of her actions, she had been willfully ignoring the feelings of her friends, and now it had caught up to her. A few moments of silence stretched between them as Hermione thought about the past year and how things had changed between her friends. She felt guilty for allowing things to get so out of hand that even an explanation about her absence was unwanted.
“You’re right, Harry. I haven’t been a very good friend,” Hermione admitted softly. She sighed as she closed the book on her lap and set it down next to her. As the moment went on, and she felt the melancholy of her admission seep through her, the images of the night before became too overwhelming for her guilty conscience to analyze so she tucked it away in the back of her mind. “I will come early this time—to the Weasleys’—and spend more time with Ginny. Do you think that would be good?” Hermione asked.
“Yeah, I think that’d be great,” Harry said, as he appeared to pep up a bit.
“Good, it’s settled then. And Harry?” Hermione said.
“Yeah?” Harry replied.
“Thank you.” Hermione smiled.
It was then that Ginny opened the door back into their cabin with a pile of sweets in hand. She sat down next to Harry with a grin on her face that was reserved for every child who had just procured candy. Harry welcomed his girlfriend back with a close seat next to him, where he wrapped his arms around the girl’s shoulders.
“What’d you get?” Harry asked.
“A couple chocolate frogs and a licorice wand,” Ginny replied as she began to open them.
“Was it already at Slytherin, like I thought?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, you were right. And you know what I noticed?” Ginny said.
“What?” Hermione asked.
“Malfoy isn’t on the train. Is he not going home?” Ginny asked.
“I’m not sure,” Hermione lied. “But it’s not like he has much family to go back to,” Hermione said quietly.
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he scoffed at the idea that Draco Malfoy was somehow a victim that needed sympathy. “Good,” Harry said lowly as he turned to look out the window. He crossed his arms over his chest with a grimace on his face.
Hermione looked out the window too as she felt the weight of Harry’s hateful sentiment on her for the man whom she had been intimate with the night before. It became clear in that moment that her objective was for her friends to never know about her and Draco; the vile words that had been screaming in her mind in the voices of her friends could actually become a reality if they were to ever find out. No matter what destiny had in store for her, she had to make sure that no one was hurt by it, especially her friends that had lost so much, and sometimes at the hands of the Malfoy’s themselves.
As Ginny looked at her boyfriend and friend looking out the window in a trance with grimaces on their faces, she realized she brought up the wrong subject. They sat in silence in their car as the speeding train made it ever closer to their freedom from the teachings and secrets in the halls of Hogwarts.

It had been a week since winter break had started, and Hermione was enjoying the tea times she spent with her parents and Crookshanks in their cozy and familiar home in London. Even though in years past they had spent their time traveling, it was decided that they spend her last break at home. Her mother, aware that her only child had turned 18 years old recently, was basking in the last moments she had with Hermione before she set her way into the world as an adult—especially into a world she herself as a Muggle didn’t quite understand. Though Hermione was adept at doing everything herself, she allowed her mother to do some things for her, like her laundry, make her every meal, drive her places, and even brush her hair every once in a while. She could see in her mother’s eyes the same stars she had when Hermione was younger, and Hermione remembered that warm smile that made their home whole.
During that time, Hermione could often be found deep in thought with a crease furrowed in her brow as she stared off. As she analyzed everything that had happened with Draco since the beginning of the year, she tried to piece together a coherent narrative in her mind. However, with the realization that Draco had intervened in their second year and saved Hermione from being killed by the Basilisk, she was having trouble rewriting not only the present, but the past. She wondered if Draco actually was different, or if she only thought he was. Every day her thoughts would go around in circles as she tried to reorganize the thoughts and feelings within her, but she continued to come up empty; she still felt as helpless as she was that night, and she wondered if Draco felt the same.
After a week of her mother fussing over her, Hermione felt the need to leave her parents’ company for a little while to explore the London streets alone to clear her head. Dusk was setting in the skies above, and even in the false light of the street lamps and store displays, the colors were unchanged in their brilliance of umber, vermilion, azure, and mauve. Some clouds were beginning to gather on the other side of the horizon indicating that a snow storm might be on the way. The contrast of the ever present sky to the bright lights of London made Hermione miss her dusty and muted halls of Hogwarts. Hermione walked down the streets of a quiet London road as she passed by restaurants and pubs full of people who were trying to escape the cold. As she walked for a couple hours, going inside stores and looking at clothes and books, she thought to herself about the past year and tried to lock away any thoughts she had on the Slytherin Prince for a night of peace. Walking by a pub, Hermione thought she might pop in for a drink, which could be good nightcap for a restful slumber.
As she swung open the door of a pub, she walked in and stomped some of the slushy residue off her boots onto the muddied rug at the entrance. As she began to pull her scarf and hat off, she noticed a familiar person sitting at the bar. It was Lavender Brown. Hermione looked at the girl in slight shock, having not prepared herself to run into her Hogwarts classmates—because what are the chances—and especially someone who could possibly be regarded as a feminine rival.
“Hermione?” Lavender called as she turned around and caught her eye. “Is that you?”
“Hi, Lavender,” Hermione said as she pasted a smile on her face and walked towards the girl.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Lavender smiled.
“Why are you here?” Hermione asked bluntly. It was strange to see a pureblood in a Muggle establishment.
“Strange to see someone like me in a Muggle pub, eh?” Lavender chuckled. “Well, my parents went out of town this break to visit my sister in the States. So I decided to stay with Mary.”
Hermione knew that Lavender was referring to Mary Albertson, from Hufflepuff, who was a 6th year Muggle-born witch. She was quiet, but was often seen with Lavender—especially when Lavender felt like a pariah after Ron broke up with her last year. “Well, I felt like having a drink and Mary didn’t want to come, so here we are.”
“Oh,” Hermione said. They stood there for a moment awkwardly as Hermione tried to decide if she was going to politely excuse herself and leave.
“Why don’t you sit? Have a drink with me?” Lavender offered as she pulled the seat out next to her.
“I don’t–” Hermione began shyly.
“Oh come on. There’s no point in either of us not being friendly; it’s not like we’re competing for Ron anymore or anything,” Lavender chuckled.
Hermione had to admit she was right, and it also didn’t feel right that she would harbor any ill-will against the girl because of a boy. “Okay,” Hermione smiled and started to take off her coat.
“What’ll it be, miss?” the bartender asked as he came over to the girls. It was a slow night and there were not many patrons in—it was, after all, a Sunday.
“Oh, um…” Hermione said as she thought. She looked over at Lavender’s drink and noticed it was some sort of cocktail. Thinking that was maybe a bit strong for her taste, she decided on wine. “Cabernet?”
“Coming right up,” the bartender said as he swiftly turned around.
Hermione took a seat next to Lavender and shifted into a comfortable position. Soon, the wine was sitting in front of her and she was sipping it down.
“So, how is it being Head Girl?” Lavender asked.
Some time went by, and a few drinks later the two Gryffindor ex-rivals were laughing as they reminisced about days of old including the awkwardness of their fellow students in their early years, how Professor Snape would constantly infuriate Harry and Ron, who seemed to be always asking for trouble, and even some similar experiences they had with Ron. Hermione was impressed with how well they were getting along, through attributed some of it to the social lubricant of alcohol. Lavender and Hermione had been roommates for years, but for some reason Hermione usually didn’t get along with a lot of the other girls. Well, if she was honest, without Harry and Ron and the friends that came along with that friendship, like Ginny, Hermione wasn’t sure if she’d have any friends at all.
“It’s so bizarre to have run into you in London. What are the chances, really?” Hermione mused. Her cheeks were beginning to brighten from the effects of the spirits.
“Well, I’m not really here by chance,” Lavender said without thinking.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
Lavender looked Hermione up and down for a moment as if analyzing the girl. Then a look of acceptance went over her face as if she decided Hermione could be trusted. “Well,” she began, “I’ve been to this pub before.”
“Oh yeah, why?” Hermione prodded for her to continue. It seemed like this may be an interesting story, especially with how bashful Lavender had become.
“Well…I met a man here last summer,” Lavender said with a little anxious embarrassment as she took another drink of her cocktail, as if hoping the liquid would provide her with more courage. Hermione nodded her head as she looked to the girl to continue her story. She tried to convey as much sincerity in her ability to be trusted as a confidant as she could with her steady eye contact. Lavender looked up and met eyes with Hermione, and seemed to be soothed by it. “Last summer I stayed a couple weeks with Mary, and I wanted to go out to a pub. Of course Mary didn’t want to come—she’s so shy! So I got the courage to go by myself. Right away, I caught the eye of this guy—a Muggle. He was so confident, and handsome, and instantly I was attracted to him,”
“…and?” Hermione prodded again when Lavender went silent.
Lavender took another drink of her cocktail finishing it. She motioned to the bartender for another one—Hermione had to admit that Lavender could hold her drink. “Well,” she began, “he was my first,” Lavender said sighing dreamily.
A slight smile appeared on Hermione’s face as her intoxicated mind wistfully and surprisingly happily remembered her first time with Ron. It was awkward, but it was also magical. Though they did not work out as a couple, Hermione could not deny that their first tender intimate moments together were happy memories for her.
“But it wasn’t like most of my friends’ first times,” Lavender said continuing. Hermione again focused on the girl as she allowed her memories to waver. “At school, most of their first times—even after that—were so awkward, uncomfortable, and even painful for some,” Lavender explained.
Though Hermione was not privy to much gossip or even to the secret histories of her classmates, she still knew Lavender was probably right in her assessment—Hermione’s, after all, probably fell in this category of description even if she still valued the experience. “That sounds about right,” Hermione chuckled.
“Yeah, well, with John,” Lavender said, invoking the name of the mysterious Muggle of the past summer, “it was passionate, pleasurable, and perfect.” The stars in her eyes at the memory made Hermione smile as the girl before her evoked the very image of love-struck—though, it probably qualified more as lust-struck. “He…well,” Lavender began again blushing, but when she saw the smile on Hermione’s face, she continued. “In that one night, I really became a woman. I actually learned things about myself, and my body. Even now, I can still feel him,” Lavender said as her eyes glazed over and she touched her fingertips to her lips as the memory played in mind. “And now, I’m not sure if anyone can compare…”
A blush rose to Hermione’s cheeks as the images of her passions with Draco filled her mind. When she saw Lavender touch her lips and she knew what memories she might be playing in her mind. Flooded with the images of the week prior, she also remembered the feel of his lips on her. Hermione immediately took a swig of her wine again, grimacing at the dry, fermented taste that was meant to be enjoyed and not chugged. Instead of the alcohol muting the memories and images in her mind of her night with Draco, and any other memories she was caging away in her mind, it was enhancing it and bringing it unabashedly forward. And with Lavender’s admission of a secret lover, Hermione was reminded of her own lurid secrets.
“I know it’s crazy,” Lavender admitted almost guilty. “I never thought I’d ever involved with a Muggle!” Hermione suddenly felt self-conscious of her blood status for a moment, but she knew Lavender was just being honest. “But,” she said in a slightly dreamy way, “I’m waiting here hoping I’ll see him again.” Lavender turned around and took a look around the room of the scant patrons, hoping to see the man that had opened up the world of her sexuality. A melancholy smile fell over her face when her sight came up empty. “It looks like, though, I never will.”
Hermione looked at the girl before her: lost in lust or love, melancholy for a memory that still haunted her, and wishing she could have it again. With her rationale quieted, Hermione’s feelings came forward again like they had that night, and she wished it could happen again; she wished to see his eyes ablaze with passion, feel his lips on her flesh, smell his cologne, and hear him moan her name. The thought that all of it could simply be a memory she held on to in vulnerable moments, like Lavender, made her uneasy. Hermione wanted to feel those feelings that ran through her like electricity as the train of destiny left the station to an unknown destination. With alcohol running through her veins instead, she could remember every moment they had without shame for a little while, instead of beating herself up over her impulsive sexuality. Though she knew in the morning when the wine had worn off her logic and rationale would again take over, in this moment she basked in the freedom she felt.
“Once you find that feeling,” Lavender said as she took a swig of her drink and interrupted Hermione’s thoughts, “don’t let it go.”

The moonlight shone out onto the blanketed grounds of Hogwarts, making the night seem bright; instead of the darkness muting the memories and moments of Hogwarts past like usual. The winter seemed to illuminate the secrets that lie within. High up on the Astronomy Tower, Draco stood and looked out over the grounds. Out on his patrol of the castle, which seemed futile with so few students left during break, he took some time to seek solace sitting in silence; though his days were mostly spent alone and in silence, the dusty and dim rooms of his dormitory were suffocating—especially with memories he wished were nothing but dreams.
He had been standing in the frigid, breezy air of the Tower for a while. His legs had gone numb from the cold, but he somehow relished in the feeling of his body’s sensations. The pinprick feeling on the tips of his fingers and nose demonstrated him he was still alive. These moments reminded him he was still trapped in his mortal coil, no matter how much felt his soul try to claw its way out. Looking down at the ground, he imagined his soul stepping out of the coil as his body plunged down hundreds of meters onto the cobblestone below.
He had felt the yearning to escape his reality ebb at his sanity for the past week. It was high up, mere feet from his destiny, that he found himself too scared to thrust himself forward into the darkness; this cowardice was disheartening that his reality would remain unchanged, but also gave him some hope that he still was unwilling to give up. Every day for the past year he faced himself at the end of every night and looked into the mirror as proof that he had survived another day. This had been all the proof he had needed to show that he was willing to stay alive; however, Snape called for Draco to do more. Instead of simply surviving, Snape called for him to live. However, the life of a soldier was not to live, but to survive until one’s duties were completed; Draco didn’t know if he even knew how to live.
An inner war had broken out within Draco, and his psyche felt like an innocent bystander who was subjected to the torture of watching it all unfold. Two factions fought within his mind: one that called for obedience as a soldier, and one that called for him to live free. At the forefront of the first faction his father’s voice rang out as nearly 18 years of teaching swirled inside of his mind. His father called for pride, power, and purity. These tenants were the foundation of being a Malfoy man, and to deny any part was to deny his father himself.
Though Draco wished he could simply regard his tryst with the Head Girl as nothing but another notch on his bedpost, he knew he had betrayed his purity by even touching the muddied girl. To find pleasure in her was to disgrace his father and his pure name of Malfoy. But that night continued to haunt him; when he closed his eyes, when his mind wandered, and when he went to sleep, she was there. He could still feel every inch of her skin, taste the sweet and saltiness of her supple body, smell her secret scent and her bath perfumes, hear her say “Draco”, and see the passion in her hazel eyes as they seem to shimmer like fire. The mere flick of memory would set of a tirade of shame, humiliation, and hatred spewing in his mind. The pain of the war that happened behind his gray eyes drew him to the Astronomy Tower, like it had many times the year before when he discovered his life as a pawn was even more lowly than he had thought.
His mind was a prison, a war zone, and a torture chamber, and there was no escape. His admissions that night, and the feelings he felt, had signed his death warrant. The part of him that was just beginning to take flight was to be locked up, caged, like a criminal until it could be destroyed. No longer could the Malfoy in him be allowed to sabotage everything he was taught to value. All he knew was the person he was taught to be, and everything else was just childish flights of fancy. If he was going to be trapped inside this skin, he had to at least represent the person those saw on the outside: the Slytherin Prince.
He hated himself, he knew. He hated who he was, who he was supposed to be, and who he wanted to be. There was no freedom for a soldier of war—only obedience. No matter what he thought he had wanted in those passionate moments with her, he knew it was nothing but a fantasy—a fleeting fantasy that had turned his existence back into a nightmare. He supposed he should hate her, too, for the anguish she had caused, but somehow he just couldn’t do it.

On Christmas day, friends and family, including many Order members, congregated at the Weasley house. It had become a tradition over the past years, and this year was no different—even if it had been quiet on the Order front thus far. Hermione, however, was spending it with her parents and had left the day before to return in a couple days. After dinner, Harry, Remus, Tonks, and the Weasley family sat around the table awaiting any news from the Order. A silence stretched over the group for a moment, which made Harry uneasy.
“So,” Remus began uncomfortably, “we’ve gathered some intel that the Death Eaters are preparing for war again.”
“What?!” Harry cried as he stood up. Molly Weasley, who stood up behind Harry and Ginny, put a hand on his shoulder to ease him back down. Her face was full of concern.
“Calm down, Harry,” Bill Weasley said. “I mean, we can’t officially say anything,” he contended.
“Well, it appears that way,” Remus defended.
“I told you, I’m not exactly sure. There is something going on at the Ministry, but it doesn’t necessarily mean ‘you-know-who’ is involved,” Bill said.
“So Voldemort is still alive!” Harry said hotly.
“I told you we shouldn’t have said anything,” Molly said with a sigh.
“No! Tell me everything!” Harry defended.
“We will, we will. Just don’t jump to any conclusions,” Bill said.
“But wait,” Ron interjected. “If the Ministry knows something, why don’t you know officially, Dad?
“Only the Minister and some higher ups seem to be privy to any information,” Bill said. “And unfortunately, the Ministry has never been forthright when it came to admitting anything publicly.”
“So how do you know?” Tonks asked holding her pregnant belly protectively.
“I don’t know anything—we don’t know anything. It’s simply a rumor,” Bill said.
“But these rumors should be taken seriously,” Remus defended.
“Yes, they should be; however, it’s been quiet for a while now, and I don’t know want them,” Bill said referring to Harry and the Weasley children, “to be worried. Your job,” he said as he turned to Harry, and his eyes met with his other children of Ron and Ginny who were still in school, “is to focus on school.”
“Well, you can’t keep anything from me! I want to know everything!” Harry argued.
Molly’s hand rested on Harry’s shoulder to ease him. “You will, dear, you will. We promise. When you need to know something, we’ll tell you.”
“That’s not enough!” Harry argued.
Remus was beginning to look sheepish that he had riled Harry up and he slunk back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Usually these conversations would last longer, and he knew there was even more information to be provided, but at this point it seemed it needed to be expressed behind closed doors; it was as if all the frustration and eagerness that Harry had been holding in for the past year was suddenly coming out with any new information.
“Harry…” Ginny scolded as she rested her hand on his. Harry quickly brushed it off.
“Harry,” Bill said as she looked Harry squarely. “I promise you will get the information you need as soon as we can get it to you. We won’t hide anything from you. However, we will make sure that information is based in fact!”
Harry seemed to settle in his seat, but he was seething. The information that Voldemort was alive and readying for battle made Harry feel like his blood was boiling. Though he never believed Voldemort was dead, or lost any of his power, even though some delusional people thought he had, Harry felt angry that only now did it seem to be known. It was as if all the paranoia he had over everything was true and he been sticking his head in the sand this whole time trying to ignore it. It was then that Harry vowed to not ignore the issue anymore. When he got back to Hogwarts, he decided he needed to make drastic measures in order to obtain the information Dumbledore wanted from Slughorn. Additionally, he decided he could no longer ignore his suspicions about Draco Malfoy any longer.

Chapter Note(s):
Special thanks to Beta Reader Free_Buckbeak.
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