A/N: This story was inspired by an aesthetic for the Wordsmiths & Betas Holiday Aesthetic Creation. The aesthetic was created by me, AlexandraO. Originally intended as a one-shot, this will turn into a short multi-chaptered fic.
Disclaimers: All canon characters, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work. Colin Mulciber and Malcolm Avery are my takes on the canon characters, Mulciber and Avery. All mistakes are mine.
Six months ago at the conclusion of the Second Wizarding War, Hermione sat in the lowest level of the Ministry of Magic for weeks, presenting relevant information when needed to the Wizengamot. Otherwise, she was practically glued to her seat curious about the outcomes for the rest of the trials. Not to mention, she thought it would be helpful to know how the court system worked as she wanted to go into Magical Law Enforcement once she finished her N.E.W.T's. Sitting in on the various court sessions, Hermione was horrified to learn that several followers of Voldemort had been coerced into committing their crimes through extortion and other means such as threatening their families, or at the very worst —the Imperius Curse. Yet, they were still being charged harshly for their crimes despite the circumstances.
The Wizengamot seemed not to care, and neither did the public. Before the trials were even complete, she started her research on the wrongly imprisoned residents of Azkaban. She vowed that she would do whatever it took to find evidence to free those who did not deserve a life behind bars. Many who knew they were about to be imprisoned made a run for it, fleeing the country, escaping in the darkness. She was sure some ran because they were guilty, others only fleeing unwilling to spend the rest of their days in prison, branded a criminal.
Hermione always worked best in the solitude of the library but felt that a holiday was in order to really focus on the task at hand. She was currently standing at the edge of her bed, packing the last of the essentials she would need for her two week trip into the mountains. Being completely isolated in the mountains was exactly what Hermione needed and her friends agreed. What they didn't know was that she wanted it to focus on research…they were hoping she was going for some rest and relaxation. They, of course, were sad that she would be gone for the Christmas holiday but understood the need to leave. Even after a few months, the press still hoarded 'The Golden Trio' each time they were spotted in public. Being hoarded continuously by reporters was by far their least favorite part of being war heroes.
She flung her backpack over her shoulders, sagging under the weight. Although she had performed an undetectable extension charm, it was filled to the brim with law books and paperwork of every single follower of Voldemort. Picking up her small bag filled with belongings, she made her way to the living room where she would be flooing to the cabin she had reserved.
Stepping into the fireplace and grabbing a handful of floo powder she shouted, "Scenic Solitude" and was whisked away to her destination. Stepping out of the fireplace, a fire immediately sprung in her place. Wood must have been burning before she had arrived and stopped to let her through. It was curious that the cabin was already warm; the person who owned the cabin had said nothing of getting the cabin ready for her arrival. Shrugging it off as a miscommunication, she dropped her two bags in the kitchen and started on breakfast.
Opening the fridge and cabinets, they were stocked with everything she could need over the next two weeks.
She sang as she moved around the kitchen, belting out her favorite muggle Christmas songs. Her omelet smelled heavenly. Eggs combined with ham, mushrooms and green peppers were her favorite. Busy singing to herself and finishing her omelet, she hadn't heard the creak on the stairs alerting her to another presence in the small cabin. Turning around with a plate in one hand and a glass in the other, she realized a man was standing at the edge of the kitchen. She dropped the dishes, and they broke into little pieces scattering across the wooden floor.
Her reflexes taking over, she drew her wand. He put his hands in the air, surrendering. She lowered her wand but kept a tight grip not willing to take a chance. She thought he looked familiar, but couldn't place him.
"Who are you?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady. The war still had its' effect on her and finding a strange man in a supposedly empty cabin was more than a shock. She was sure to have nightmares plague her dreams when she tried to sleep.
"Colin Mulciber…" he said, trailing off. "…and you're Hermione Granger." She was surprised at how sure of himself he was. She looked at him curiously. He was obviously a wizard since he hadn't flinched when she drew her wand and he knew her by name. Most likely he recognized her from The Daily Prophet and the horrid photos they took each time she was out.
She mulled his name around in her head, trying to figure out where she had heard that name before. Going through names in her head, she realized she recognized the name from the trials.
"Colin Mulciber," she said, rolling the name around on her tongue. He looked surprised when she dropped her wand to her side and started cleaning up the mess on the floor. She ignored him while she vanished the broken pieces of the dishware and put the food in the trash. Leaning against the counter, she looked at him taking in his full figure.
He looked rugged almost. But she assumed that was probably because he was on the run. The aurors were looking for him for skipping out on his trail. He must have just woken up looking at the state of his clothing. His white tee was rumpled, and his boxers were hanging dangerously off his hips.
"Why are you here?" she questioned him, still tempted to call the aurors. She wanted to give him a chance to explain himself since she was about to help several others like him, in similar situations.
"I think you already know the answer to that, cup—cake," he said, drawing out the pet name. She shivered at his voice. It was gravely and deep. Attempting to ignore the burn that had started in her stomach, she narrowed her eyes at the pet name and ignored him.
"You're right; I do know. You are a death eater about to be convicted of his crimes committed during the Second Wizarding World," she snapped, losing patience. "I am asking specifically what you are doing in this cabin." She crossed her arms and stared at him, willing him to be serious and give her the answers she was looking for.
"I needed someplace to go. I saw that this cabin was empty yesterday, so I took it upon myself to reside in it for the time being," he admitted. He yawned and scratched his head, supposedly unaware of the seriousness of his predicament.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, moving towards the fridge.
"Wouldn't you like to know," she shot back.
"I would, but if you don't want to tell me…" he trailed off. "Nevermind." He shook his head, apparently annoyed with her unwillingness to cooperate. The nerve he had! He was annoyed with her, yet she was supposed to be here; he wasn't.
"Just leave me alone," she huffed, walking towards the living room. She turned back to him before entirely leaving the room.
"I mean it. I will not hesitate to call the aurors if you so much as disturb me at all," she threatened, waving her arms. Storming out of the room, she stomped into the sitting area and plopped down onto the sofa. She needed to think.
Colin watched as the little witch waved her arms and shook her fingers at him, threatening to turn him into the authorities. He laughed at the notion. There was no way she was going to do that. He knew that for a fact; her reputation preceded her. She had too good of a heart not to hear him out and help him gain a second chance to live the life he always wanted.
He had lied to her when she asked why he was there. He hadn't just found this cabin in the mountains by mistake. Before fleeing the country, he had disillusioned himself and sat in on several of the trials near her. He saw the notes she took and the injustice she saw. He knew she was about to embark on a journey to help him and others who were subject to The Dark Lord's threats and forced to follow him.
Once he heard that she was taking a holiday to the mountains to this cabin, he made sure to apparate and arrive before she did. He altered his story slightly so that she might feel more empathetic toward him. Maybe when she calmed down would he reveal his true intentions for his arrival in the cabin. In the meantime, breakfast would be a good start. She was undoubtedly pouting in the other room on an empty stomach.
He moved around the kitchen, cooking as a muggle would having left his wand upstairs as not to scare her. He remade what she had prepared herself and walked into the living room on a search for the little witch.
"Hermione, where are you?" he called, hoping the use of her given name rather than a pet name would warm her up to him.
He found her lounging on the sofa staring into the fire, her eyes wholly blank and void of emotion. "Hermione," he called again, as he sat down in the chair next to her. She snapped out of her stupor and looked at him in confusion.
"Here," he said, holding out the plate. She took the plate from him, and he laughed when she sniffed her food. "Your food is safe with me. Killing you off would not benefit me in the slightest. I need you."
Her head snapped up to him again with his confession. "What do you mean 'I need you'?" she said, her voice steady.
"I mean, I need you. Come on Hermione. You didn't really think that I just happened to be in this cabin at the same time as you do you?"
"I thought…" she started.
"I know what you thought," he interrupted her. "You were giving me the benefit of the doubt by believing what I said earlier was true."
He watched as she slid the plate onto the coffee table and sat silently and unmoving.
"You should eat. We can talk later," he said, motioning to the abandoned omelet.
She nodded her head and ate in silence, no longer looking his way. She was trustworthy; he appreciated that. He needed someone he could rely on, especially at a time such as this. He had taken a chance that she wouldn't immediately call her friends and the aurors—a chance that seemed to be currently working in his favor.
He finished and waited for her to finish as well. As she took her last bite, he took her plate to the kitchen wanting a quick second to pull his thoughts together before he spoke with her. He walked back into the living room with his thoughts composed to see the witch cross-legged on the floor, papers spread out all across the coffee table.
Deciding not to question it and join her, he sat across from her the fire at his back. She didn't look up nor say anything as he sat down, so he just let her work. He was almost mesmerized by how meticulous her notes were. She had paid attention to the smallest details during the trials and had taken detailed notes on all of the known Death Eaters.
"What are you looking for?" he asked her, finally curious about what exactly she was doing.
"I am looking for a way to get Death Eaters out of Azkaban who were wrongly imprisoned," she said, throwing the papers down. She leaned back on the sofa, rubbing her temples.
"It's quite the task which is why I came here. I wanted to get away from the hustle and bustle of my everyday life."
"By coming here alone on holiday?" She glared at his comment.
"I am perfectly happy in solitude," she huffed.
He put his hands up once more in surrender. "Okay, okay. I won't meddle. But that is the real reason I need you. If caught, I am about to be wrongly convicted of crimes I was forced to commit."
She looked surprised at his comment. Although willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, she had still most likely assumed that he was somewhat responsible for the crimes he had committed.
"Tell me about your time as Death Eater," she said softly.
"Well, it all started one night when I was sitting at home with my parents. My parents were blood purists; I won't deny that, but they didn't believe ridding the world completely of mudblo—" he paused and a flush crept up his cheeks realizing his mistake. He looked at her; she still had an impassive look on her face, so he continued.
"They didn't believe in ridding the world completely of muggleborns, but didn't stop the Dark Lord from taking over either," he said, scratching his head. It pained him to talk about certain aspects of the past. Especially since after all these years, he still felt himself entirely at blame for what had happened.
"So what happened?" the witch questioned him.
"The Dark Lord wasn't very pleased that my family refused to choose a side. They never told anyone where their loyalties truly lied and he, of course, wanted them to declare their loyalty to him," he paused, trying to catch his breath. His chest was aching with anxiety. He had never spoken about what had happened that night. He had shoved it deep down into his soul, burying his emotions and refusing to talk about it to anyone.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Feeling a warm hand grasp his, he looked up in surprise. The little witch across from him was looking at him in sympathy, her eyes filled with kindness. His heart swelled, knowing someone at least cared a little. They had never met before besides across from each other on the battlefield, and she already seemed to trust him.
With her encouraging hand, he let the rest of the story spill from his lips unable to stop the emotions emerging with it.
"He killed them. The Dark Lord and his followers showed up at our home and killed them," he spat out in anger, silent tears rolling down his face. He pulled his hand away from hers and wiped the moisture from his face. Taking a deep breath, he continued.
"Before he killed them, he 'promised' them their lives if they gave him me and I would serve him without question. They refused. After they died, he forced me anyways. I was under the Imperius curse for almost my entire service to him. The only time it stopped was when he vanished during the first Wizarding War. Even then I wasn't free. I was trapped in Azkaban for crimes I committed while unable to stop myself. Once he returned, I went to him knowing he would find me and kill me if I didn't. He knew I still couldn't be trusted, so I was put under the curse again. He fell at the final battle, and my mind became my own once again," he said, breathing deeply. The words had fallen from his mouth with no filter, and so quickly, he almost couldn't remember what he had said.
The witch across from him said nothing. With her eyebrows furrowed she seemed to be rooted in thought. He was worried she might not agree to help him after knowing everything. There are only a few ways to prove that someone had been under the Imperius curse. One was to sift through the mind with legilimency, showing the blurred memories. The second was to take a mental health test, testing the functions of the brain. It was well known that being under curses for extended periods of time affected the mind.
"Well, help me go through these documents. Maybe we can find something that will let you off the hook," she said, at last, turning back to the papers in front of her. Without further conversation, they both dug into the paperwork looking at testimonies, and transcriptions of memories. Their research lasted into the afternoon, both forgoing lunch not wanting to tear their eyes away from the task at hand.
He was deep in thought looking at the testimony and memory transcriptions of his best friend — Malcolm Avery. He was currently in Azkaban serving two life sentences for his role in the first and second Wizarding Wars. There was no doubt that Avery was guilty of everything he was accused of. During their Hogwarts years, Avery had studied the Dark Arts more than anyone, and it was his dream was to join the Dark Lord's forces. His only redeeming quality that he was loyal. Especially to him.
At the end of the memory transcription, he jumped to his feet and yelled in surprise, startling the witch across from him.
"What is it?" she asked, jumping to her feet as well.
"I found something!" he shouted, shoving the papers into her hand. He watched as her eyes scanned the documents so quickly, they appeared blurred. As she finished, she looked up at him and smiled.
"This should certainly help suspend your sentence in Azkaban," she said, handing the paper back to him. "Now, let's break for the rest of the evening. I, for one, am famished. Two, we need to celebrate." She sashayed out to the kitchen, leaving him to his thoughts. He couldn't believe it; he was going to be able to live his life! Finally, he would be free after all these years.
He walked into the kitchen and found Hermione much like he had earlier in the day. Moving her way around the kitchen, she was singing another muggle Christmas song at the top of her lungs. He watched as she cooked with such ease, almost as if it was a calming agency. As a young boy, he had always enjoyed sneaking down to the kitchens to watch the house-elves cook. Plus, they always pampered him, giving him enough sweets to put someone in a coma. He took a seat at the small table in the kitchen and continued to watch her. Sitting quietly, he observed her, taking in all of her features. She was petite, her hair falling in large curls around her face. Her cheeks were dimpled and had delicate features. She wore muggle clothes—jeans and a tee which didn't surprise him. Most muggleborns chose not to wear robes when they had a chance.
Overall, he couldn't think of just one word to describe her. She was charming, fascinating, delightful; the list just went on, and he had barely begun to delve beneath the surface. If he was honest with himself, he found her extremely attractive which made him feel like a dirty old man. He was in his mid-30's while she was just of age in the Wizarding World. It wasn't against the rules to have such substantial age gap in the Wizarding World, but it was certainly frowned upon in various social circles.
She turned around, and he surprised her for the second time that day. She abruptly stopped singing and smiled sheepishly at him.
"Don't stop on my account," he told her. She just shook her head and turned back toward the stove.
"Ready to eat?" she asked, turning around once more this time with two full plates. He nodded, and she brought over the dishes, setting one in front of herself and one in front of him.
She sat down across from him and began to eat in silence, much like they had during breakfast that morning. After a few moments, she broke the silence.
"So," she said, chewing fully before speaking again. "What can you tell me about your friend Avery?"
He thought for a moment before responding. "He was your typical Death Eater. During school, he fell deeper and deeper into the Dark Arts and was drawn to the dark side as most Slytherins were. He joined the Dark Lord without hesitation. It put a little rift in our friendship, but he was still loyal to me and I to him. He was my best friend."
"Hmmm," she thought out loud.
"What are you thinking?"
"I am trying to think how we can use his testimony. Most of the time, memories of Death Eaters don't count for much. They are considered untrustworthy. Though, as I am a war heroine I can use some of that influence."
"You don't seem like the type of person to do that."
"To help people?" she questioned.
"No, you misunderstand me. Some would say that use of power in that way to be immoral."
"Do you want me to help you or not?" she said, clearing the table of their dishes. He felt exasperated. All he was trying to tell her was that he didn't want her to use her power as a war heroine because it could make her seem dishonest. The ministry fell during the past two wars because those who had power had used their influence in the right places with the right people. With their world still in such a delicate state, her trying to use her influence could be taken the wrong way.
He walked over to where she was standing and placed his arms on each side of her, trapping her in between. She turned around and looked at him, fire flaring in her hazel eyes.
"Listen to me, Hermione," he said. "All I was trying to say was to be careful of how you use your influence. Corruption was common in the ministry over the past two years. That is how the ministry fell during the Second Wizarding War. Some might even accuse you of using your influence for your own personal gain."
"I'm using my influence for good. For people who don't deserve a life in prison. I am trying to help you; don't you understand that?" she said quietly.
"I do," he said, cupping her chin. "Thank you."
She nodded her head, and as he removed his arms, she scampered off to the other room. "Way to go, Colin," he said to himself, shaking his head. "You scared her off. Now she isn't going to help you."
How wrong he was. He walked into the living room, and the witch was once again pouring over the documents they had looked at earlier in the day.
"Cupcake, I thought we were going to celebrate and take the rest of the night off?" he said, looking at her with his best puppy dog eyes, hoping she would look at him.
She did, and she laughed. "I suppose we did say that, didn't we?" She stalked off toward the kitchen and returned moments later with two glasses and an already open bottle of wine.
"Wine?" she said, placing the glasses side by side on the coffee table.
"Please," he said. He almost laughed at his manners; his mother would be proud. She handed the glass of white wine to him, holding hers out gesturing him to do the same.
"Cheers!" they said simultaneously. She laughed happily as they clinked their glasses together. He was never a huge fan of wine as he enjoyed the burn of whiskey, but he would take what he could get. If this was her way of celebrating, he wasn't going to complain.
They sat side by side on the sofa, gazing into the fireplace. The silence was nice, but he wanted to know more about the witch sitting next to him. He knew of her of course. He remembered seeing her in the Daily Prophet and briefly at the final battle. Perhaps, even Dolohov had mentioned her once or twice. Why that was, he had no idea.
"So you know almost everything there is to know about me. What can you tell me about yourself in return?" he asked, taking a sip of his wine.
"Nothing," she said quietly, shrugging her shoulders. He almost laughed until he realized she was completely serious.
"What do you mean, nothing?"
"I mean there is nothing to know about me. Everyone already seems to know everything about me."
He thought he heard her say 'stupid Rita Skeeter' under her breath, and being who he was; he pressed her on it.
"What about Rita Skeeter?" She looked at him in horror, and he laughed. "Yeah, I heard you. So what about her?"
"She is a vile woman," Hermione spat, chugging the rest of her wine and pouring more from the bottle into her glass.
"She started harping on me in my fourth year, writing lies in the Daily Prophet. I guess you could say that is when our battle against each other really started. I eventually retaliated."
"Knowing what I know about you, I assuming it wasn't pretty."
"You're right. I trapped her in a jar."
"A jar? How did you manage that?"
"She was an unregistered animagus, and I figured out that was how she was sneaking onto the grounds after Dumbledore banned her during the Triwizard Tournament. After the tournament when Harry was in the Hospital Wing, I caught her on the windowsill eavesdropping and put her in a jar. I threatened to expose her unless she abstained from writing horrible things for one year. It worked." She shrugged and kept drinking her wine.
He was stunned and wanted to laugh at how casual this conversation turned into. He didn't think that the witch had it in her to be spiteful, but he was wrong. To be honest, he was impressed, and he let her know.
"I am surprised, cupcake."
She narrowed her eyes once more at the nickname but didn't correct him. "'Cause I don't seem like the type to do that? Right?" He nodded.
"Just between you and me, I mean I have never told anyone this, but sometimes I know I should have been sorted somewhere other than Gryffindor."
"What makes you think you belonged anywhere other than Gryffindor?" He was curious about what the witch thought about herself. She looked off into the distance for a few moments, taking several sips of wine before turning back to him.
"Well, I find myself to be pretty clever. I would have fit into Ravenclaw quite well for the same reasons I was made fun of in Gryffindor. I also think that I would have fit into Slytherin despite being muggleborn. I am extremely ambitious. Once I set my mind to something, I use any means to achieve my goal."
He just nodded his head, mulling over what she had just told him. She definitely would have had a rough time in Slytherin being a muggleborn, but he could see the traits in her. Thinking about what he wanted to say next, he filled his glass finishing off the bottle.
"Was your time in Gryffindor that bad? Like were you wishing to be placed elsewhere?"
"At first I was. I was made fun of for being overly excited during class, always knowing the answer, etc and not only by Gryffindor's. I had one friend for the first couple of months and we stuck to each other because he was bullied as well. Around Halloween is when Harry, Ron and I became friends."
He could tell the alcohol was taking its toll on the little witch. She had drunk a lot for her petite frame and was starting to nod off, wine glass in hand. Reaching over, he plucked the glass out of her hand. She mumbled in retaliation but was too far gone to care.
Setting his own wine glass down, he picked up the witch and carried her to the bedroom. Laying her on the bed, he transfigured her clothing into pajamas and pulled the covers up to her chin. Not willing to sleep on the sofa, he thought sharing a bed wouldn't be a problem as long as he stayed on his side. She would probably be horrified in the morning, thinking the worst, but he would deal with that when the time came.
He laid down next to her, drifting off to sleep hoping he drank enough to keep his nightmares at bay.
Let me know what you think! XOXO.