Pansies of Silk

Chapter 2: "Pull the Thread"

*

Draco sat in a Muggle jail cell, one of which he‘d once seen a painting, guarded by a sleeping Dementor. Did they sleep? Draco wasn’t sure. He went for a closer look and tried to wake it up. It wouldn’t wake, but knew that it was not dead. In fact, he knew he could wake it if he really wanted to, but why do a thing like that? It was a Dementor. If it woke up, it could do horrible things to him. It occurred to Draco that, since his guard was asleep, he should be able to get out. He pulled his wand from his pocket and tried a few spells to open the lock; they were no good. Hermione walked past his cell then. She was naked, but there was something wrong with her skin- it was scaly and black with ash as though it had been burnt. He called out to her: “Hermione, come here! The guard is asleep- you can get me out.”

She held up her arms to show him that her hands were cut off. He couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for her, though, because somehow he knew that she had done it herself, on purpose.

Then Draco woke up. He looked at his bedroom clock out of habit. It read 11:59, but it was broken.

*

Hermione awoke the next morning in her own form. Her bed was large and soft, but she’d tossed and turned all night. Whenever she’d heard a noise in the manner, she automatically glanced at the trunk to see if it was Pansy coming to kill her. She glanced at the black grandfather clock across the room, beside the trunk in which her warden-and-prisoner lay in a magical coma. She fought to keep her eyes away from it: out of sight, out of mind. But it was not out of sight, nor had it mercifully vacated her mind for more than a full sixty seconds ever since the beginning of this nightmare. She felt no further desire to stay in this room any longer than she had to.

So she stood up, walked quietly over to the trunk, and opened the lid with a gentle creak. She picked up the pair of scissors that lay next to the woman inside it and snipped a few pieces of her once-long, now shabby and tattered blonde hair. She closed the trunk again, locked it securely, and went into her bathroom, where she transformed and got ready.

*

In the kitchen, Narcissa and Lucius prattled amiably as a house elf prepared their breakfast. Lucius, for once, appeared amused rather than annoyed by his wife’s flighty chatter. He was happy with her happiness.

“I couldn’t have picked a better wife for him, Lucius, I couldn’t in a million years!”

He chuckled darkly, but not as much so as usual. “I know- you’ve told me.”

She frowned, in mock thought, and then smiled. “Yes, I suppose I have. Once.”

“Or twice.”

Pansy came down the stairs at that point, and walked into the kitchen. A house elf pulled out a chair for her, and she gave it a pitying look. “Draco will be down in a moment,” she offered disinterestedly.

Narcissa smiled brightly. “Of course, dear. What would you like for breakfast?”

She considered this and gave Narcissa a weak smile, muttering, “I’m not very hungry, actually.”

In the end her future mother-in-law persuaded her to have some tea and toast, and a house elf was serving it to her as her fiance walked down the stairs. He smiled around at them all. To tell the truth, he was almost glad that Hermione was not Hermione at the moment... he didn’t want to try eating as the images from last night’s dream fluttered about his mind.

“I’ll have some toast and eggs,” he told the house elf, which was then waiting patiently beside his chair. “Good morning, love,” he told Pansy as he closed his eyes tightly and pecked her on the cheek. Out of sight, out of mind.

*

After breakfast, Hermione allowed the Polyjuice to wear off and then met Draco in the library. “How should I tell them?” she asked.

“I’ve been thinking of that, too, and I have an idea: send them a note saying that you need to speak with them about Hermione. Don’t sign the note, just tell them to meet you at the Leaky Cauldron tonight. Meet them there, and then allow your potion to wear off. Maybe you should bring some of the Veritaserum, so they can question you under it.”

It was a good plan. They did have some Veritaserum left over- they’d used it to question Pansy about herself and her habits. Hermione Granger did nothing half-way.

So Hermione wrote a note to Ron and Ginny:

Ronald and Virginia Weasley:

There is something crucially important that I, though anonymous at this time, need to tell you about Hermione Granger. Please meet me at the Leaky Cauldron tonight at 7:00 sharp. Tell them to take you to “Le Salon de la Vrai Fleur”- they’ll know which private room you mean- and I will meet you there. Bring Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Harry Potter, and no one else.

She sent it with the new owl that Draco had recently bought, because they were sure to not recognize it.

*

The letter was received less than favorably at the Burrow. Nothing had truly been favorably received at the Burrow lately, though. Harry had been staying there ever since the funeral, because he knew he would snap if a Dursley uttered just one wrong word about Hermione. Also, now that Voldemort had been defeated, there was no real reason at all for him to stick around with his relatives. So he and the Weasleys spent their time moping together. When the owl flew in and dropped the letter into Ron’s lap, he hardly even reacted. It was folded, and the top fold read, “Concerning Hermione Granger.”

“Harry... come on...” he muttered, grabbing his friend’s arm; Harry didn’t seem to care whether or not he finished the game of Exploding Snap he was playing with Ginny, Fred, and George, so he dropped his cards carelessly on the floor went quietly. They walked up the stairs to Ron’s room, where Ron handed Harry the letter, his hand shaking a bit. “You read it. I don’t know if I can.”

Harry unfolded it and read it out loud. “I don’t know, Ron. It sounds kind of weird. And what else is there about Hermione that we should have to hear?”

Ron looked shocked. “How can you say that? How could we not go? If they want the Grangers there, it must be important.”

“You’re acting like she’s going to come back to life, or something,” Harry muttered bitterly, shaking his head. Ron was getting on his last nerves, which everything had done lately. As soon as that last comment slipped over his lips, however, he knew that he had gone too far. Thinking back, he couldn’t remember a single time (other than the night they had first found out) that someone had stated aloud, even indirectly like he had, that Hermione was dead.

Ron went white and swallowed, speechless. “N- I mean, I... I’m not!” He paused and paced a bit. “We...she...” He sighed, collecting his thoughts. “Come on, Harry. Please. Do it for me.” He stopped pacing and looked up at his best friend, his eyes pleading. Harry stood silently for a long time before finally jerking his head in a curt nod, and then he turned to go back down the stairs.

“I’ll get Ginny. You owl the Grangers.”

*

Pansy sat in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron, somewhat concealed beneath a heavily hooded black cloak, and anxiously checking her watch. If they didn’t arrive soon, they would have to be greeted by Hermione. She knew that this would not be a good idea, since anyone who dared take on Hermione’s appearance in their presence was sure to be hexed sideways as soon as they got over their shock. She wouldn’t have blamed them even if they killed her; they had no reason to believe that she was alive. So careful... she’d been so careful. As usual. A knock on the door, and she stood up and pulled it open silently. She wondered if her eyes were brown-tinted yet.

“Whoever you are,” Harry said softly as he entered, “you’d better be careful what you say.” She almost laughed. She almost hugged him.

He walked cautiously inside, wand drawn, and was followed by Ginny, Ron, and Hermione’s parents. Ginny and Ron were looking far more subdued than Harry. Seeing their faces, she wanted to rip out her heart and hand it to them: turnabout’s fair play. She motioned for them to sit down, and they did, all staring at her. Hoping against logic. In a way, she was happy that she could grant their wish.

She cleared her throat, stalling for time. This, she realized, was a bad idea... they were looking at her strangely now, and she knew that she was starting to transform. She turned her back to them. “I... I guess you’re wondering,” she gave high-pitched, nervous laugh without a trace of cheer, “why I brought you here. Well, it’s...it’s a funny story, really, I mean... well, it’s not funny-funny... sort of, more... it’s... “

“Spit it out,” Harry snarled. She gave another tiny, involuntary hiccup-laugh. It was very much like him to resort to anger. She realized how much she’d missed them all.

“Ok. I... have a story to tell you. About Hermione. And I brought some Veritaserum so you’ll know I tell the truth.” She wondered if she was all the way to Hermione yet; she ran a hand through her hair, under the hood of the cloak, and found that most of it was still the buttery silk she had once envied and was now slowly destroying. She took the vile of truth potion off the small table and held it out behind her. She felt Harry take it out of her hand. Behind her back, he took a careful look at it, sniffed it, and determined that it was the real thing. He pushed it back into her outstretched hand, and she leaned her head back to take a sip. Its effect was immediate- she suddenly felt dreamy and relaxed, as though she had just been administered a heavy dose of liquid nitrous oxide.

When she turned clumsily to face her guests once again, she was completely Hermione. They gave a collective gasp. She flopped heavily into the chair opposite her guests and stared at the wall behind them, her thoughts swimming unrecognizably through her mind like shiny, slippery fish through a stream: she wanted to grab onto one, but they would slip through her fingers whenever she tried.

It was Ron who found his voice first. Somewhere in his mind, he realized that this had been what he had expected to happen. In the logical half of his brain, of course, he told himself that it was impossible. He couldn’t have kept from hoping, though. “Are you... are you really Hermione?”

Suddenly her fingers were able to close around the correct fish. “Yes.”

They gaped at her. Mrs. Granger burst into shocked tears. Harry felt numb. This was far too good to be true. “Wh- What was the body at the funeral?” he demanded, bordering on hysterical.

“A boulder... Draco transfigured it to look like my body.”

If it was possible to shock the party seated on the bed even more than she had already, mentioning Draco was a good way to go about it.

“MALFOY? What does Malfoy have to do with ANYTHING?” Ron roared, trying and failing miserably to process this new bit of information.

Oh dear, so very many fish to collect. As Hermione struggled to hold onto them all, she muttered, “it’s a very long story.”

“T-tell us the whole thing... start at the very beginning,” Ginny whispered hoarsely, her voice pleading.

A dreamy smile splayed itself unevenly across her face, and Hermione opened her mouth and obeyed.