Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Damaged Bridges	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 46850 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, all rights belong to Rowling and Warner Bros, nor do I make any money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Rites of Passage

There was a moment of silence in Dumbledore’s office following Mundungus Fletcher’s furious outburst, over which could be heard only the ruffling of Fawkes’s feathers. The Phoenix’s piercing gaze mirrored his human’s, his beady black eyes fixed as they were on the cross looking thief.
“Bloody ‘ell!” Mundungus snapped after several moments passed, “I tol’ ya wot you wanted t’know, didn’ I? Now call this bloody ‘ouse-elf off and let me outta here!”
Dumbledore blinked. “Momentarily, Mundungus. You and I have some unfinished business to attend to - namely your general disregard for even the most basic levels of decency to be accorded those you counted among your friends. And when we have sorted that out, you will live up to your promise to return the remaining things you have stolen from Number Twelve, and Kreacher shall be accompanying you to assure your compliance.”
Kreacher’s face broke into an ugly grin at Dumbledore’s pronouncement and Mundungus groaned. A swell of satisfaction filled Harry’s chest.
“Now,” Dumbledore continued, turning his attention to Harry, Hermione, and Dora, “obtaining the locket presents a serious problem which requires careful consideration, given the current set of circumstances. And this is probably not the best time to discuss our options...” Dumbledore’s eyes flickered meaningfully towards Mundungus Fletcher again.
Fletcher snorted. “Why don’ you just set the ‘ouse-elf on the hag like you did on me?”
“Because said ‘hag’ is now Minister,” sighed Dumbledore, “with all the magical protections which are afforded the office...”

~o0o~
“I don’t see why that wouldn’t work,” Harry muttered as Dora escorted him and Hermione back to their quarters. “I mean, whatever magical protections Scrimgeour had didn’t protect him from getting nabbed by wizards, and House-Elf magic is different from wizard magic, right?”
“Well, whether it was Ministry folk - like Unspeakables - or Voldy’s Death Eaters - either way, the Minister’s protections aren’t impregnable to highly skilled wizards,” said Dora. “And I suppose Ministry House-Elves protect the Ministry from being invaded by other House-Elves, but I admit, I don’t really know why we couldn’t send Kreacher or your friend Dobby to snatch it off ‘er neck when she’s not at the Ministry.”
“Maybe there’s some sort of special enchantment that prevents House-Elves from attacking the Minister,” Hermione suggested, “to prevent the possibility of a House-Elf insurrection. After all, House-Elves are magically enslaved and forced to obey their Masters specifically... It only stands to reason that they’d be forced to obey the Head of the wizarding government too.”
“Oh!” Dora’s eyebrows shot up, and she looked very impressed with Hermione’s logic. “I never thought o’ that. I suppose you’re right.”
“Yeah, of course,” Harry sighed, rubbing at his itching scar. “That makes perfect sense, Hermione. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy! ... And I guess we can’t really go after Umbridge directly ourselves without proof that she’s corrupt or in league with Voldemort.”
“No, we can’t! That’s true Harry,” said Dora. “We’ll ‘ave to burgle the Minister somehow to grab the locket - can’t really ask Shacklebolt t’do it. S’pose we’ll just have to work it out with Dumbledore later. ... Anyway, what about your folks, guys? Did you write to them yet to give them a heads up about movin’ them for their safety?”
Hermione flushed guiltily.
Harry shook his head and scowled. “No! I’ll let Moody deal with the Dursleys. But I’m not sure what to tell Hermione’s parents...”
“Hunh? What d’you mean Harry?”
“Er...” Harry glanced at Hermione.
“My parents,” Hermione moaned, turning even redder. “I’ve been putting it off because I never told them about Voldemort, or much of anything beyond my school-work really. After I wrote and told them about the Troll incident in First Year, I could tell from the tone of the letters I got back that they - well, Dad anyway - I could tell he was having second thoughts about letting me come to Hogwarts.
“So I kept most of everything that’s happened to me with Harry and Ron to myself after that... other than a bit about how horrible the Malfoys were after Mr Weasley got in a fight with Lucius Malfoy just before second year. So now - after all this time - I have have no idea how to tell Mum and Dad what’s going on, and... er... erm...”
Hermione faltered, not wanting to say that she was also afraid that her father would hate Harry if she told him everything. The last thing she wanted to do was make Harry feel any guiltier for being her boyfriend and putting her in harm’s way by being Voldemort’s primary target.
“...er, anyway, I just don’t know what to say without freaking them out,” Hermione concluded glumly.
“Blimey!” Dora groaned. “Yeah, that’s a real problem then. I dunno what the hell t’do about that. Maybe... maybe it’d be better to just alter their memories a bit until we get this all sorted out.”
“I... I was thinking about that,” Hermione admitted in a small voice, casting her pooling eyes at the floor. “I was wondering if it wouldn’t be better to send them off somewhere thinking that they didn’t even have a daughter...”
Harry was aghast. “Wait, why on earth would you do that, Hermione?”
“That’s a bit extreme, innit?” said Dora, looking a bit shocked. “I just meant we could make them think they’re going on a nice long holiday and send ‘em to the Bahamas or somewhere else nice an’ sunny.”
Hermione bit her lip, and the threatening tears began to trickle down her cheeks, knowing she couldn’t hide the truth from Harry after all.
“Because... because if they don’t know that they have a daughter, they won’t be hurt - they won’t miss me if.... if anything happens to me while we’re fighting Voldemort.” Hermione saw Harry’s face turn ashen - a horrified look in his eye - and he opened his mouth as if to object.
“And don’t even think about trying to keep me out of it, Harry,” said Hermione fiercely. “I already said we’d finish this together, one way or the other. And it’s a promise I intend to keep... not just because it’s the right thing to do and because I love you, but because this is bigger than both of us. I know you couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t do everything you could to stop Voldemort from turning Britain into a Nightmare - well, I can’t either!”
“I wasn’t going to try and keep you out of it,” Harry replied quietly - though thinking to himself that he certainly would if he could. “But I don’t know if I could live with myself knowing that you’d give up your parents to help me either - knowing how much they both mean to you - how much you love them. ... I know what it’s like to not have proper parents, and I don’t want that for you.
“There must be something we could do - something we can tell them without completely lying to them or altering their memories. ... Look, you said they know about the Malfoys, right? ... You told your parents how much they hate Muggles and Muggleborns?”
Hermione nodded, wiping her wet cheeks with a hanky. “Yes, I had to explain why Mr Weasley got in a fight with Mr Malfoy... that Mr Weasley wasn’t offended about being compared to Muggles, but because Mr Malfoy was implying that they were less than human.”
“Then maybe we should just tell them that people like the Malfoy’s have taken over the Ministry,” said Harry. “We can tell them about Umbridge, and even about Voldemort being the terrorist who’s probably behind it all. We don’t have to tell them everything else though - that Voldy and Umbridge are after me specifically - if you don’t want to.
“Just tell them that I’ve decided to help Dumbledore fight them, and explain why you want to help too. That way you won’t really be lying, and you won’t have to change their memories.”
Hermione gnawed her lip, her brow creasing pensively; she thought for a few moments before slowly nodding again.
“Yes! Okay Harry, I think you’re right. I know they still won’t like me staying in Britain if they go away, but I think they’ll manage to live with it. Dad’s father fought in World War II against the Nazis, and he’s always been very proud of him for that, and Mum was an anti-nuclear activist. I... I think I can make them understand why I have to stay and fight, and why it’s safer for them to leave.”
Hermione gave Harry a sad little smile and threw her arms around him. “Thank you Harry. That was very sensible and kind of you. I just wish I could tell them in person.”
“Y’know, I think we can arrange that, Hermione,” said Dora, looking brighter, “now that you can both apparate...”

~o0o~
“So is he sure? How long d’we have to keep looking? This is getting boring,” moaned Goyle. Crabbe grunted and nodded.
Theodore Nott scribbled on the piece of parchment and sighed.
“Crap, this is going to take us forever,” he grumbled. “But we’ve got to keep searching the castle until we find something. He’s pretty sure those Weasleys knew a...”
Nott trailed off when he heard footsteps. He looked up and hurriedly folded the parchment when he saw Blaise Zabini enter the Slytherin Common Room.
“What are you lot up to, Theo?” asked Blaise, a bemused expression on his face. “Not homework surely,” he added with a meaningful smirk at the two gorillas seated next to Nott.
“Er... Reading a letter from Draco,” said Theodore.
“Another one? I would’ve thought the Dark Lord would want to keep a tight lid on things.”
“He does! But he trusts me to keep my mouth shut,” Theodore retorted pointedly, lifting his chin up and puffing his chest out a bit.
“And us too,” said Goyle, narrowing his eyes slightly at Theodore.
“Of course he does,” Blaise chuckled skeptically. “I’m sure the Dark Lord’s plans are perfectly safe in your hands...”
Theodore scowled, not certain if Blaise was being sarcastic, and a wave of suspicion raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
“Anyway, I’m off to practice for a bit,” Blaise continued. “Gotta stay on my toes if I want to stand a chance of beating Potter. So I’ll be out of your hair and you can carry on to your heart’s content, lads.”
Theodore nodded, his features relaxing, feeling reassured that Blaise was too interested in clobbering Potter to poke his nose into their business...

~o0o~
“Confringo!” Draco’s voice rang out again in the shadowed alleyway, his wand aimed at the top floors of the grey building across the road, the lower floors of which were already ablaze, crumbling holes in the walls where his initial spells had already impacted the block of flats.
A wave of exhilaration crested, flooding his senses as Draco watched the seven story concrete building burn, and another explosion rocked the street, blowing out all the windows of the flats on the top two floors. Shards of hot glass and chunks of concrete rained down on the muggles running and screaming below, and the wail of sirens could be heard echoing through the streets of Manchester.
“Nice work, Draco.” Amycus Carrow grinned. “The Dark Lord’ll be real pleased t’hear how well you’re coming along...”
A loud clanging from behind them caught Amycus’s and Draco’s ears, and they both whirled around to see a filthy man with a grizzled beard in threadbare jeans and a dirty, torn overcoat. The man looked weatherworn and old beyond his years, and was trembling like a leaf next to a metal dustbin lid which he had clearly knocked off in his terror.
“I didn’ see nuthin’ ... I swears!” the prematurely aging man moaned as he slowly backed away. “I didn’ see nuthin’...”
“Just a homeless muggle,” Amycus snorted, peering at the man with obvious disgust. “Go on then, Draco. Put ‘im out of his misery...”
“No! No... please! I won’ say anything...” whimpered the homeless man. “Please...”
Draco swallowed anxiously as nervousness dampened the euphoria rushing through his veins. No doubt there were muggles burning in the building across the street - but that had been easy, blasting the building without having to actually look at those inside. It was a lot harder when looking his victim in the eye, and Draco’s wand hand shook slightly.
“Come on, Draco,” said Amycus Carrow encouragingly. “Show me what you’re really made of. Be a man!”
Draco took a deep breath to steel himself and his hand stopped trembling. He nodded, and his face twisted into a grimace.
“Avada Kedavra!”
A bolt of green magic arced like lightning from the end of Draco’s wand. The filthy vagabond’s screams died when the green lightning hit him in the chest, and he collapsed in a heap on the pavement.
“Brilliant, Draco!” Amycus grinned, clapping Draco on the shoulder.
“I did it!” Draco crowed, sounding slightly detached and disbelieving, half-smiling, his features still flickering as he peered at the dead muggle. “I actually did it!”
“The first one’s always the hardest,” said Amycus perceptively. “The next one’ll be loads easier. I think you’ve earned yourself a treat.”
“Er... what?”
“It’s time to make your transition to manhood complete, Draco!” Amycus chortled, lewdly grabbing at his crotch. Draco’s eyes widened in understanding and his cheeks flushed.
“I’ve had girls,” said Draco in a petulant tone of voice. “I’m not a virgin.”
“Right! If you say so,” Amycus snorted, rolling his eyes. “Dependin’ on the Dark Lord’s plans, you might not get another opportunity t’wet your willy for some time. ... So what’s it gonna be Draco? You going to keep pretendin’, or d’you wanna pop your cherry? Hell, we can even find a young un for you, if you wanna pop a girl’s at the same time...”
Draco began to look more interested, a lustful gleam in his eye. “Really?”
“Yeah, really!” Amycus Carrow chuckled again. “We’ll find you a nice little muggle schoolgirl if that’s what you want.”
“Alright then,” said Draco, grinning. “Yeah, okay! I’m in...”
At that point, several gleaming red fire-engines roared onto the scene across the street from the alleyway and screeched to a halt, followed by ambulances and a swarm of police cars. The two wizards - the mentor and the pupil - watched for a moment, then vanished with two loud cracks.

~o0o~
Under cover of his invisibility cloak, Moody cursed the weather as he kept his magical eye on things. The wind picked up and the rain pelted him mercilessly, the grey skies above the London suburb darkening as dusk drew nearer. The limbs of the trees in the Grangers’ front garden began to sway.
Moody muttered under his breath and cast another water-proofing charm and another warming charm on his cloak, supposing it would be too much to expect the family reunion to be over in short order. This could be the last time Harry Potter and Hermione Granger saw her parents for the foreseeable future after all.
The atmosphere inside the Grangers’ living room was thick with tension as the rain hammered against the windowpanes. Dora kept glancing nervously out the streaked window, hoping Mad Eye wasn’t getting too cross.
Jean Granger peered at her daughter, looking distraught. Hermione bit her lip, her features anxious while her father sternly questioned Harry.
“...So,” Richard Granger was saying, admirably restraining his temper, “this Voldemort maniac - he’s the one who murdered your parents isn’t he? ...and you mysteriously survived his killing curse when none others had before? I don’t suppose Voldemort can be too happy about that, and he’s probably targeting you again now that he’s back.”
“Er... erm... yeah!” said Harry awkwardly, not wanting to directly lie to Hermione’s parents; he shared a quick look of surprise with Hermione.
“How did you know?” squeaked Hermione.
“Your book, Modern Magical History,” said Mrs Granger, smiling despite herself. “You left it on the table once and I skimmed through it. But I must assume it didn’t have the whole truth, if Voldemort is still alive.”
“That’s the bit I don’t understand,” said Mr Granger, scowling. “How is it that this terrorist is still alive, if he blew up, taking half the roof of your parents’ house with him, Harry? That doesn’t make any sense. Even with what little I know of your world, I find it difficult to swallow that wizards can bring the dead back to life.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Hermione moaned, taking over Harry’s bit of the conversation. “You’re right that wizards can’t really bring back the dead, but Dumbledore reckoned that Voldemort had done something to stop himself from dying to begin with. I can’t really tell you any more than that - Dumbledore says the information is too dangerous for anyone to know.”
“I suppose that make sense.” Richard Granger nodded, still sounding disgruntled, and turned to Harry again, a mixture of emotions on his face. Harry gulped, wondering how angry Mr Granger was that nobody had ever told him that Harry was a marked man. Harry was stunned when Mr Granger gave him a sympathetic, though strained, smile.
“Well, Harry, I can certainly understand why you’re determined to stay in Britain and fight. If it had been my parents he’d murdered, I’d want some justice too...” Mr Granger shook his head and sighed resignedly. “I admit, I’ve been worried about allowing Hermione to be part of the wizard world ever since Jean showed me that history book, but I took some comfort in believing that maniac was gone, and that people like that cretin in the bookstore were generally frowned upon by wizarding society.
“But if this new Minister is any indication, it seems to me that the views of pureblood supremacy must run deeper than I had believed...”
“It’s really not that bad,” Hermione interjected, an insistent, beseeching look on her face. “Most wizards aren’t like that, it’s just that...”
“Dear, your father and I are old enough to know how the world works,” Hermione’s mother interrupted patiently. “Even in the non-magic world - in even the most forward thinking societies, among the most forward thinking people - cultural prejudices are so ingrained that many people consciously and unconsciously harbour views and beliefs that they either don’t recognise, or would be ashamed to openly admit to when they do.”
“Yeah, that’s more or less true of the wizard world too,” Harry confessed ruefully, getting in another word edgewise. “But Hermione’s right in that most wizards wouldn’t support Umbridge if they knew how bad she really was. Though, if they knew that she was in cahoots with Voldemort, they’d probably be too afraid to do anything.”
“And though I'm not at all happy about it, that’s exactly why I’m not going to try and stop Hermione from staying and fighting with you, Harry!” said Mr Granger earnestly, astonishing Harry and Hermione both. “Britain is our home - our country - and I understand why you and Hermione want us to leave for our safety - and we will - but we’d also like to be able to return one day...”
“...and we can’t really do that if a racist madman and his puppet Minister are in charge now, can we?” said Mrs Granger, completing her husband’s sentence, her wetly glistening cheeks belying the beaming smile on her face. “Richard and I couldn’t be prouder of you both for wanting to stay and fight for what’s right, and not abandoning the rest of Britain to its fate...”
“Oh Mum!” Hermione burst into tears and flung herself on her mother, squeezing her tightly. Mr Granger rubbed his own stinging eyes and peered at Harry.
“I know I’ve already said it once Harry...”
“I’ll look after Hermione, I promise!” Harry said quickly.
“Well, if I know Hermione, she’ll be trying to look after you,” Mr Granger retorted, chuckling wanly. “Just look after each other, alright!”
“Yes sir! Of course!” Harry nodded vigorously.
“Good! Now that’s settled, what about dinner?” asked Mrs Granger, who still had her arms full with a sobbing Hermione. “Please say you’ll stay.”
“Er... well, Moody,” Dora muttered tentatively, her eyes flickering back to the window, through which she could see a flash of lightning.
“Tell the poor man to come inside at once,” said Mrs Granger, suddenly noticing the tempest raging outside. “He’s welcome to join us...”

~o0o~
Hearing the front door of the manor open and close again, Narcissa rested her book on the highly polished ebony coffee-table and strode across the parlour. Standing in the entryway, Narcissa frowned when she saw Draco; there was something different about him.
“You’re late, Draco,” she snapped. “You went out with Amycus hours ago. Where have you been?”
“Just having a bit of a fun, Mother,” Draco said smugly. “Carrow thought we should celebrate a bit after the mission. It went well - should be in all the muggle papers tomorrow - the Dark Lord should be pleased. Anyway, I’m famished, and a bit knackered to tell you the truth.”
“Dinner was served an hour ago, but I can have Manky bring you some supper in the parlour, and you can tell me all about it.”
“I’ll take it in my room, Mother. I said I’m tired.”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” said Narcissa sharply. “I want to know what sort of ‘celebrating’ you’ve been doing. I’m not certain that Amycus is the best role model...”
“I just had a few drinks with him,” Draco huffed, “some Firewhiskey - and we chatted up a few witches, alright? Can I please get something to eat and go to bed?”
Observing her son’s demeanor, Narcissa was more certain than ever that she knew what he and Amycus had been getting up to. Not that she had any sympathy for muggles, but the thought still made her stomach curdle slightly nonetheless.
“Draco - if you were caught...”
“I’m not going to get caught - the Dark Lord removed my Trace, remember?” Draco shot back loudly. “Besides, nobody knows I was expelled, and even if the Aurors caught me, they’d have to let me go. Minister Umbridge would make them.”
“For the time being, Dolores still has to present a moderate face to the public, and pretend to be against the Dark Lord,” Narcissa was quick to remind her son. “She cannot move too quickly to enact the Dark Lord’s agenda until Dumbledore has been thoroughly discredited.”
“I’m too tired for politics, Mother,” Draco whined. “Look, I’ll be fine alright! And if things keep going as well as they are, we’ll have Father back, and we’ll be in the Dark Lord’s good graces again in no time. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Yes! I want us all to be a family again,” said Narcissa, relenting, her features softening. “Alright then, Draco - to bed with you. Just call for Manky yourself when you’re ready for supper.”
“Will do,” said Draco, looking relieved. “Good night, Mother.”
Narcissa watched her son saunter up the marble stairs towards his room. When he was out of sight she frowned again. Draco was right - things were moving in a positive direction in terms of appeasing the Dark Lord, and with Dolores now in charge at the Ministry.
But then why did she still feel so uneasy about the situation?
Her stomach churned mildly again, and Narcissa angrily squashed her doubts about the path her son was traveling. Draco was doing what he was supposed to be doing, living up to the Malfoy name, taking his rightful place in the wizard world as a Pureblood wizard of means and power - the scion of a Noble House. It was what she had wanted for him, wasn’t it? What the hell was wrong with her?
When she heard Draco’s door shut upstairs, making up her mind, Narcissa spun around and stalked to the tall front doors of the manor. She strode down the pathway through the estate, past the hedgerows and the peacocks. Narcissa shut the wrought-iron gates behind her with a clang and disapparated, hoping that Severus would be able to salve her discomforting mood.

~o0o~
Wormtail filled the chipped Blue Willow teapot with hot water and sulkily brought Snape and Narcissa some tea and biscuits, wondering again how it had all gone so wrong. It wasn’t fair. By rights, Wormtail should be at the Dark Lord’s side as his Second, instead of servant to Snivellus. Neither that miserable, pompous failure Lucius, nor Snape, deserved the rewards of their Master’s benevolence, compared to Wormtail.
After all, it was Wormtail who had given up the Potters on a silver platter. And it was Wormtail who had sought out his Master in the Wilds of Albania when most others had seemed all too happy to believe the Dark Lord to be dead.
Who was it who had kidnapped and sacrificed a Ministry Lackey in a rather spectacular Blood Ritual which had created a rudimentary Homunculus for the Dark Lord to inhabit?
Wormtail! That was who!
Wormtail had been the one to milk Nagini and look after the enfeebled Dark Lord for months on end. Wormtail was the one who had created the potion and performed the second Blood Ritual necessary to restore his Master to his former self - to a superioriteration of his former self which could survive physical contact with the Potter brat, and get past the Boy-Who-Lived’s magical protections.
Wormtail was the one who deserved the Dark Lord’s beneficence.
But Wormtail kept his bitter ruminations to himself, knowing better than to anger Snivellus. Setting the tea-tray on the table, Wormtail quietly faded into the background, and kept his ears open, hoping to hear something which he could use to his advantage. He slipped behind the concealed staircase door covered with books and closed it.
Silently, the Animagus began to shrink. Once in his rat form, Wormtail squeezed into a crack in the wall with peeling yellow paint. Quietly, careful not to tap his silver paw on the floor, once on the other side of the wall, back in the sitting room with Narcissa and Snape, Wormtail scurried across the threadbare rug which adorned the dusty floor and hid under the sagging, worn sofa, listening to the conversation.
“...I am worried about Draco, Severus,” Narcissa was saying. “But I can think of no good reason now that I should. The Dark Lord seems pleased with Draco’s progress...”
“Yes,” Snape agreed quietly. “You should count yourself fortunate Narcissa. I hear that Draco has been acquitting himself admirably - that his skill and confidence are growing. I have no doubt that soon he will be ready to graduate from terrorising Muggles to facing Dumbledore’s forces and others who would continue to defy the Dark Lord.”
“That... that is what I am afraid of,” murmured Narcissa. “Draco is more eager than ever to do the Dark Lord’s bidding...”
There was a strange hesitation in Narcissa’s voice, and for a moment, Wormtail almost thought she might be wavering in her commitment to the Dark Lord, perhaps even to the idea of Blood Purity and the Dark path altogether. Then Wormtail dismissed that thought out of hand as nonsensical on its face.
“...and he is especially eager to find some other means of surreptitiously invading Hogwarts,” Narcissa continued. “I... I just hope that the Dark Lord no longer expects Draco to go up against Dumbledore himself...”
Now that was an interesting tidbit which Wormtail had never heard before. Had that been the other component of Draco’s secret mission? ...to find a way to sneak Death Eaters into the Castle? Wormtail began to think with his tiny rat-brain, and wondered if Dumbledore had ever sealed up the old tunnel leading to Hogsmeade. It was likely that he had, but there was really only one way to find out.
Wormtail quivered with excitement. If he could find a way to get the Dark Lord’s forces into the castle before Draco did, perhaps then the Dark Lord would finally give his most loyal servant - Wormtail - the respect he deserved...
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Damaged Bridges