granger guilt

Heromione Granger is accused of the murder of Cormac Mclaggen, her former boyfriend. Everyone thinks she did it since she was seen with him last. will any one help her? will the golden trio think she's lying? how will she prove her innocence?


5. 4

After I disapperated I realized I had thought of the worst

possible place I could have gone. Diagon Alley. Or more

specific Cormac's dress robe shop. I ran into a dressing

room and quickly changed the color of my hair to a raven

black color. And my eyes to hazel color. My black uniform

transformed in to nice wizard robes! I took a good hard look

in the mirror, I look nothing like myself. Nothing like the

brightest witch of her age, famous auror, brains of the

Golden Trio, or Hermione Granger daughter of Jean and

Chris Granger.  Thinking of my parents reminded me of

home, which led to thinking of the last family dinner we

had, and made me realize how hungry I was. I hadn't

eaten all day. It was almost seven in the evening. And

I was starving. After much coaxing I finally left the

dressing room and walked down the street to the

Leaky Cauldron. When I arrived it was very busy

so I found an open seat at the bar, and ordered a

meal with a butter beer. When my food came I

could barely restrain myself from stuffing my face.

Then someone sat right next to me and the low raspy

voice called for a fire whiskey. But what caught my

attention was the voice, I knew that voice but I couldn't

put a name to it. I looked up from my meal and was

surprised to see Draco Malfoy sitting there with his fire

whiskey looking pretty rough.  I decided it would only

end badly if I started conversation so I remained silent.

I was about to ask for my bill when I heard the voice

again but it was addressing me. "Excuse me miss,

but have we met before?"  "No I can't say we have."

I say in a fake American accent. "Believe me I would

remember your face." I said with a cute very un-Heromione 

wink. I have to act the complete opposite of myself. The

wink made his expression lighten. He had a smile tugging

at his lips and a glint in his eye. "Where are you from? You

accent hint American, but your robes suggest here." He

said. He sounded suspicious.  "I'm from here but the last

few years I've spent in America. Your pretty sharp for a

drunk." I said trying to get him let off the subject. "Oh what

are you back for?" He asks me."The Anniversary." I say

flatly "Who did you lose in the war?" He asks sensitively. 

"Parents" I say truthfully. I had obliviated them, so I had

lost them because of the war."Oh I'm sorry. We're you an

only child?" He asks"Yes." I say "Well I'm sorry. I guess

you could say I also lost my parents to the war. Both of

my parents were death eaters and forced me to become

one. After the war my father was sentenced to a lifetime

in Azkaban. My mother was innocent due to her contributions

to Harry Potter, she pronounced him dead when he was still

alive so he could have the element of surprise against the

Dark Lord. And since I was forced into it I was found innocent."

"Fascinating but if you will excuse me Malfoy I have some business

to attend to." I say. I didn't want to hear his story. He disgusted me.

He sat and watched as his psycho of an aunt tortured me in their

drawing room. I still have nightmares. "How did you know who I

was? We never exchanged identities." He said even more suspicious.

"It's not that hard. You just told me a story that has been plaster on news

papers all over the world." I hadn't meant to slip up like that. "What business

is so important that you can't sit down and have a drink with me." He said

with his signature Slytherin smirk on his face. "Look I can't I have work to

do and I am not here to make friends." I say getting so frustrated I reach

into my my bag with the undetectable extension charm put some money

on the bar and leave.  Slytherins are always up in everyone else's business.

I thought to myself as I walk to the front desk of the Leaky Cauldron and ask

for a room to stay in for the night.

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