DRAGON'S HEARTSTRINGS || dramione | harry potter

Chapter Twelve

Hermione spent the next few days rotting in the great library of Malfoy Manor. She read through books upon books about the dark arts that the Malfoy library was filled with, but all that she read there about Horocruxes and all she read about the Hogwarts founders' special items she already knew plenty of.

Malfoy would spend all those days away. Hermione wasn't sure what exactly his research consisted of, but she was certain he wasn't staring at books all day. And maybe that was for the better because he apparated home and there was something like triumph in his eyes.

"I think I know where it might be," he said, coming into the library, his hair unusually disheveled and his eyes peaked in interest.

Hermione sat up straight from the book she was a few hundred pages in. "Really?" she asked, sleepiness evaded by the news. "What did you find?"

He sat at the desk facing her. "I was thinking that it must be somewhere close to Voldemort, somewhere even closer to him now, because he knows his horcruxes are being destroyed, so he must want to keep them all where he could protect them, just like you said." Hermione nodded, listening to him carefully. "We had an Inner Circle meeting today, and I spoke with Aunt Bella. She wasn't even supposed to be there because she keeps losing her sanity more with each passing day and is becoming impossible to talk to, Voldemort said it himself. But I find it interesting what she has to say."

Hermione's insides turned cold. "You didn't tell her about—about—"

"Of course not, Granger. She doesn't know about the horcruxes, and I didn't tell her about it."

Hermione swallowed. "Then what did you talk about?"

"Nothing much. Mostly she spoke and I listened. I think she has no one to talk to so she thinks I'm the best audience." Hermione shook at that thought. Malfoy still called her Aunt Bella even after all she did to him, after he was tortured by her just like many others – and still, she was his aunt, and he wasn't forgetting that. He must've been raised like that, to respect his familial elders no matter what. Hermione's heart broke a little at that thought. "She talked and talked about how rich she's getting from this war, and how her stacks of gold get bigger every day from what she mugs from lowlifes, mubloods and muggles." He sneered at the last part. "I asked her where she's keeping all that gold and if her vault can fit all of that – her husband's money is all gone and the Black family riches are passed down to me – but she got very offended when I asked that, defiant even." His face darkened. "At first I couldn't understand why would she be like that about her gold – I'm not going to still it, Merlin knows I have enough on my own. And then it dawned on me – this isn't about gold."

Hermione stared into his discolored eyes. "You think the cup is in her vault."

He shrugged, but his eyes gaze deep and focused. "I'm not certain. But it could be. It's worth to check it out. I can get in and out of there quite easily because I'm the High Reeve and no one will dare to even bat an eye if I want to get into my aunt's vaults – he who is more feared gets more doors open," he finished, his eyes turning distant and cruel.

"Won't she find out?" Hermione asked.

"I don't care even if she will. She won't be able to do anything about it."

"And what if she tells Voldemort?" she kept on worrying.

He shrugged carelessly again. "It'll be my word against hers, and who do you think he'll believe – a mad woman or his right hand?" he stated, grinning darkly.

Hermione breathed in and out, fortifying herself. "Okay," she spoke. "Means we're going to Bellatrix's vault. To steal a bejeweled cup. And we're hoping to get away with it."