The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy

Chapter 10: The Scavengers' Guild

Hermione was quiet as they packed up the next morning. She'd slept poorly, startling awake again and again with the fear that she'd find herself sleepwalking toward the door, one hand outstretched. She finally understood the feeling that Ginny had tried to articulate years ago—the feeling of being contaminated.

Luckily, no one seemed much in the mood to talk. It was still dark outside, and the moon was low, washing the tent's crimson fabric into a dark gray. They'd risen well before dawn, hoping for the village streets to be empty so they could attempt the charm in private. The Potter cottage was on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, which would help, but it was best to be safe.

Hermione had convinced Malfoy not to tell Harry and Ron about what the diadem had done to her. She felt ashamed even to imagine confessing that she'd made such a glaring error—that she'd allowed the Horcrux to penetrate so deeply into her mind. They would want to know what the diadem had made her do and think, and she didn't think she could recount it all again. Once had been painful enough.

She kept glancing up from her bag, where she was packing away the tent's stakes, to look at Malfoy. Every silvery strand of his hair was in place, making him glimmer like a Sickle in the moonlight. His eyes passed coolly from Harry to Ron as the three folded the tent together, his thin mouth occasionally quirking when one of them made a joke.

It wasn't until his eyes met hers that she realized he looked unusually tense and serious. She wondered if he was afraid that, after everything they'd spoken about last night, she would fail to perform the charm.

Of course you will, said a small, cold voice in the back of her mind. How could you perform it alone? You, with your posturing, with your pathetic over-preparation...

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and forcibly dispelled the thought. When she opened them again, Malfoy had looked away.

Hermione felt an anxious tightness in her chest. Last night, she'd unloaded every ugly feeling of the last two weeks onto Malfoy—every ugly feeling of the last ten years, really. She'd confessed her worries about her looks to Ginny before, but that was the most superficial of the lot. Not even Harry or Ron knew her worries about her parents—the nagging feeling that, beneath it all, that they would have preferred her not to be a witch.

Now, in the light of day, it was difficult to believe that she'd trusted Draco Malfoy with those feelings. Even a year ago, he would have used any hint of those weaknesses to reduce her to tears.

Hadn't he acknowledged that much, though? He'd said that at Hogwarts, he would have loved the diadem's power, the ability to rip everyone apart. She wondered if that had been his way of implying that he wouldn't use her secrets for that purpose.

She supposed she had no choice now but to pray that was the case.

It was still dark by the time they entered Godric's Hollow, all under Disillusionment. The Potters' cottage looked even more forlorn by night, the gaping hole in its upper corner filled with black sky.

They stopped. "Ready?" Ron whispered.

"I think so," Hermione whispered back, her voice sore.

"You'll be great," Harry said. "Have you got the diadem on?"

"No. I... I've decided not to use it."

"Why not?" Ron said. "That's your superpower, isn't it?"

Hermione knew he didn't mean anything by it—the diadem was an extraordinary object—yet it still hurt, for some reason, to hear him silently acknowledge that she might fail without it. Even now, knowing what the Horcrux had done every night, she couldn't help wanting to wrest it from Malfoy's robes and put it back on—to feel that sense of infallibility one more time.