A/N: Guess who's returning from the dead! It's me, lol. I was just doing some digging through my old fanfiction files on my laptop when I found this gem, and I figured I'd post it. I always found the idea of Hermione having a Slytherin counterpart particularly interesting, so it makes sense I'd have written something like this a few years back. I'm debating wether I should continue it into a multiple-chapter story, so if you liked this, please leave a review.
Nothing more to say, so enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Duh.
—
She is doing her school book shopping at Flourish and Blotts when he interrupts her.
"Excuse me," he says, with a deep voice that sends chills down her spine, "But have we met before?"
She turns around, swiftly pushes the frizzy mess out of her face and stares at him. He is tall and gaunt, with black hair the same meticulous state as Draco's and dark red eyes almost bursting with calculating coldness so entirely unlike Draco's she takes a step backwards without thinking.
He gives her an amused glance but carries on as if nothing has happened.
"I've been watching you," he says, "since the second you walked into the store. I just can't shake off the sentiment that I know you. To be perfectly frank, it is quite uncharacteristic for me to care much about anyone and it is a character flaw I would like to eradicate immediately."
There is a heavy silence during which she considers pulling her wand but finds herself pathetically unable to redirect her gaze from the crimson in his eyes. Blood, she thinks. His eyes are the color of blood.
"I don't think so, no," she finally says.
"That's unfortunate," he comments.
She stands, transfixed, for a few moments before she realizes he isn't going to say anything else, at which point she blushes profusely as she realizes that she has effectively made a fool of herself. She turns back towards the bookshelves, takes a deep breath, resolves to forget the strange man and his strange eyes and finds copies of her Arithmancy and Ancient Runes books.
When she turns around, he is still there.
"At least tell me your name," he says.
She almost drops her pile. "Lavinia Granger," she says. "Why are you—"
"I'm Tom," he interrupts her. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger."
He walks off.
—
Lavinia returns home and packs her new books into her otherwise already packed trunk. She orders herself to forget the strange man and her stupid patheticness and spends her days at the library with her sister. She waves her parents goodbye at the train station and attends the prefect meeting with Hermione. She sees the first years get Sorted, witnesses Draco smirking as Potter arrives late with a bloody nose, explores the vast variety of Hogwarts broom cupboards with Draco before going to sleep. She goes to get breakfast in the morning.
She receives a letter.
It's addressed to Miss Lavinia Granger and is written in an elegant, spidery handwriting she does not recognize.
I still don't remember how we've met, but maybe we can get to know each other. Are you possibly Hermione Granger's sister?
I can't properly put into words how untypical this kind of behavior is for me and just how much I despise myself for it. Words fail. Kindly allow me to put it behind me.
T
She ignores the curious glances from Theo and Pansy, silently casts a Notice-Me-Not-Charm and ruffles through her book bag before she finds quill and parchment.
She also ignores the odd feeling in her stomach at the thought of him remembering her.
We already got to know each other, at the bookstore. Remember? You were the weird stalker and I was the distraught little school girl.
She pauses, feels momentarily guilty for replying in sarcasm to a perfectly polite if not minimally creepy letter but can't be bothered to start anew.
Hermione is my older sister, by eleven months.
And what if I don't want to be kind? I don't even know your name. For all I know, you're just some murdering rapist or something equally charming.
She smiles, gives the waiting owl a treat, watches it flying off with the letter and attempts to ignore Draco ranting about Potter.
—
They are in the broom closet next to the Potions classroom and Draco is roughly kissing her as he pushes his hand into her panties. She cries out.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"I'm not some whore you can just fuck," she says. "I don't give a damn if you're a Malfoy and I'm just the mudblood bottom of the food chain."
"Oh, please. As if this is an actual relationship." He sneers at her.
"Obviously. As if there was ever a day when no one in Slytherin made it abundantly clear I'm just being tolerated." Lavinia rolls her eyes.
"So sleep with me."
"I'm perfectly fine making out with you in exchange for Hermione's protection. But I'm not some little slut. I spread my legs for no one. I am worth more than that."
"Oh, please," Draco laughs. "You don't actually need my help to protect her. You're just too prude to straight up say you want me."
Lavinia suddenly realizes that this has all been a terrible mistake. She whips her wand out in a flash and casts. Draco barely has time to blink before he is hit by a purple light.
"You're right," she says. "Maybe I don't need your help. After all, why would I want the help of someone who can't even protect himself against a mudblood?"
Draco screams.
"I wonder what your father would say about this," she suggests before ending the curse and slamming the door. In the background, she can hear Draco sobbing.
—
In Potions, Hermione identifies all displayed potions for Professor Slughorn and shoots Lavinia an exasperated glance as she asks about the name of the potion standing by the side.
"That," he exclaims, obviously glad for the set-up, "is Felix Felicis, also know as liquid luck. Brew it wrong, and the consequences shall be disastrous. Brew it right, and all luck in the world will fall into your lap for a single, perfect day."
All eyes in the room are locked on the potion. Lavinia notices Draco abruptly awakening from his daydream.
Professor Slughorn shifts his attention back towards her. "And you are, my dear…?"
"Lavinia Granger, sir. I'm a Slytherin prefect."
"Oho, a muggleborn in Slytherin! What a sensation. Miss Granger's sister, I take it?"
"Yes," is her clipped reply.
"Well. Astounding." He chuckles and shifts his attention back towards the lesson. They are brewing liquid luck. Whoever does best wins a little vial's worth.
She could use some luck.
Next to her, Draco is working a mile a minute, frantically. She wonders what has him in such a hurry. He really has been strangely worked up since the beginning of the school year. Hermione ties her hair back into a chaotic bun and there are pearls of sweat on her forehead. Desperate to prove herself, as always. Harry Potter surprisingly hasn't blown up his cauldron yet.
Lavinia keeps calm, remembers to crush the beans instead of cutting and delivers a flawless potion.
Harry Potter wins.
"Although the efforts of both Miss Grangers would have usually sufficed as well. Just like his mother! There's no beating a potions prodigy."
Lavinia internally dies of laughter.
"Miss Granger?" he asks her as the others file out. "Would you be interested in joining a little club of mine? I already convinced your sister, and I would just love to have the other Granger."
The other Granger.
Always the spare.
"Of course, sir," she smiles politely. "I would be delighted."
Choke in your sleep.
—
She would have simply tried getting a pass from Miss Pince, but the library witch is notorious for distrusting Slytherins and she really does not fancy being suspected of being a Dark witch.
So she waits until Miss Pince is asleep, unlocks the library door with an advanced charm and sneaks into the Restricted Section with no one the wiser.
It isn't as if anyone will suspect her if they realize there has been a break-in. She is, after all, the worst of both worlds. A non-entity. The other Houses dislike her because she is a Slytherin, and the Slytherins dislike her because she is a muggleborn. Never mind the fact that she has triple the magical power of anyone else in Slytherin.
As a rule of thumb, the only people who even look twice at her are the professors, and even they prefer her sister.
Well, maybe Hermione looks twice at her, too. She is certain she looks twice at Hermione.
Ever since the break-in at the Department of Mysteries and the consequent incarceration of Death Eaters, people have been dying to get revenge for their parents. But Potter is too prominent a target, and Weasley so easy to hit it's just no fun. Hermione, however, is a muggleborn to boot. If not for for Lavinia's… arrangement with Draco, she's certain Hermione would be lying in the hospital wing right now.
They had been very close as children.
Never mind that now.
Now she will have to play dirty.
She grabs the most nefarious looking tome she can find, casts a silent lumos and casts her stray thoughts aside.
—
By breakfast the next morning, she has made a list of all Death Eater children who have lost their parents to the so-called Golden Trio and resolves to track them all down by lunch. Again she ignores the upset feeling in her stomach as no owl post arrives for her.
Stupid Tom. Stupid her. Stupid creepy, evil, handsome stranger.
Crabbe and Goyle aren't any trouble. Their tough, supposedly "intimidating" acts fall the second the curses leave her wand. They scream, they plead, they resign. And all in less than half a minute.
Pathetic.
She finds Theodore Nott sucking up to and attempting to bribe Alexander Urquhart for the vacant Chaser position and threatens to inform Dumbledore of the secret ongoings on the Slytherin Quidditch Team. Nott grudgingly resigns to attack Looney Lovegood instead.
Zoe Avery is a mean-looking seventh year prefect who has gone out of her way repeatedly to push Lavinia into resigning from her prefect position. Lavinia has dirt on her — turns out even the most arrogant Slytherins aren't immune to the charms of Hufflepuffs — but places her under the curse anyway.
Oh, karma.
—
Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, is a whole different kind of trouble.
It's not like he's a threat to her. Draco is powerful, but he isn't that powerful. Draco is intelligent, but it isn't like she isn't or that intelligence matters in this situation. Draco is the uncrowned king of Slytherin, and that is the problem. His influence reaches far and it more than makes up for what he misses in power. His influence, after all, is the reason she struck a deal with him in the first place. That, and the fact that it was decidedly more comfortable and she, too, possesses certain natural urges.
To go against Draco Malfoy is to have every wand of the house pointed towards her in a heartbeat. The only reason it hasn't already happened after the recent fiasco is the loss of prestige on Draco's part should his desires toward a mudblood come to light.
That is the trouble.
She can't very well go and discuss it with him, either. He's already named his price. She just isn't willing to pay it.
Whatever you do, keep it in the house. That's what they'd been told the second they'd touched Slytherin soil. That's the rule they have lived by ever since. But what has Slytherin ever done for her? What has Draco Malfoy ever done for her?
More importantly, who will know it was her?
She smirks as she takes out parchment and a quill.
Dear Headmaster,
forgive me for taking up your time, but I've witnessed some disturbing things concerning Draco Malfoy lately…
All lies, of course. But guess who will be under the closest of surveillance for the next month or so?
—
She spots Hermione in the library.
She's sitting in her favorite spot, a desolate little corner of the Transfiguration section, brows furrowed, furiously scribbling away. Unharmed and well. Lavinia smiles.
"Hey," she says.
Hermione looks up shortly. "Oh, hey," she says, surprised. "Sit down." She pats the seat next to hers, then focuses her attention back towards the parchment.
Back when they were eleven and had just received their Hogwarts letters, they had placed bets concerning their Sortings. She had bet half her savings on Hermione ending up in Ravenclaw, so certain had she been that her sister was Ravenclaw House personified. Not smart, as it had turned out, but a striking reminder just how much of a bookworm Hermione Jean Granger was, nonetheless.
Funnily enough, none of them had been too keen to bet a large amount on her Sorting.
"Potions?" she guesses.
"Runes," Hermione huffs. "I'm just about ready to give up. If this is the level of difficulty typical for the N.E. , I might just have to take up permanent residence in the library."
"Haven't you already?"
"Very funny." She sighs. "Are you alright?"
Lavinia briefly considers telling her that her dreams are haunted by a strange man with blood red eyes, that she nearly lost her virginity to Mister Pureblood-Personified himself, and that she had to torture her house mates in order for them not to do the same or worse to her.
Then she thinks better of it.
"Fine," she shrugs. "You?"
"Fine," she replies. "Though. Well, Ronald's been acting like an absolute prat lately. You wouldn't believe the way he—"
Oh, to have her sister's problems.
—
Ever since the Dark Lord's return, the Slytherin common room has turned into a political playground and Death Eater recruiting center. Not a day passes when Lavinia does not witness a conversation about the Dark Lord and the possible advantages of joining him. About the way the Marking hurts like hell and makes you throw up and some poor new soul who just joined. About the remaining Death Eaters and their raids and the burning muggle villages and the stupid muggle filth and were you just looking my way, mudblood? Animals, the lot of you. Be grateful you ended up in the one true house despite circumstances or I would curse that stupid look right off your face.
It would be easy to hate them. Instead, Lavinia pities them. Pities the way they've only ever heard one side of the story, pities the way their hate has closed them off from the rest of the world, pities them for being born into families that accept no less.
Pities, especially, Draco Malfoy, who has unofficially already given up his spot on the Quidditch team and always has a haunted look in his eyes.
Poor, foolish boy.
She could try educating them, but she suspects it would be like running straight into a wall. Besides, while she may not like the Death Eaters, she really rather would not be on their bad side. It would end very badly, very quickly.
Instead, she quietly contents herself knowing she is the only sane one of the bunch.
Sometimes, lying in bed at night, she wonders. She knows herself, her power, her limitations. The tremendous force she is up against. And still, she ponders; she could be queen if she wanted. There isn't a single snake to parallel her. What good is prejudice when she could silence them all?
But what would it bring her? It would cost time and effort and patience, and for what? So that she could have false friends that secretly despise her and conspire behind her back, scare some pureblood into marrying her and be peer-pressured into getting a nice snake tattoo on her left forearm? She's heard the stories, it isn't pretty.
Granted, it would be nice to not be the bottom of the food chain, and granted, she can use the connections.
Is that worth it?
She values the Slytherin values, has done so since her Sorting. Values the prospect of greatness, the value of ambition, the importance of cunning. What she doesn't value are the other Slytherins.
Best not get caught up with them. Best not be corrupted by their stupidity. She can be great on her own, without them, without her sister and her shadow.
Her decision back in fourth year, when her magical core had stopped growing and she had first realized just how far her powers went, not to become one of the people who had done nothing but hate her since they first had heard her last name, was the smartest thing she had ever done.
—
Several weeks pass without event. The Slytherins' obsession with the Dark Lord and his forces steadily increases, Draco Malfoy has never been paler and Hermione is off running after Ronald Weasley. (Yuck.)
The next thing Lavinia knows, it's a Hogsmeade weekend. She doesn't have anyone to go with, but she never has, and she goes anyway. Like always, she orders a butterbeer to go at The Three Broomsticks, restocks her candy storage at Honeydukes and then finally makes herself comfortable at Tomes and Scrolls.
At least, that's the plan.
Then someone taps her on the back ever so gently just as she picks up a copy of Black or White — The Classification of Magic and she turns around only to see a pair of blood red eyes staring back at her. This time she really does drop the book.
"So predictable," he smirks.
She stares at him in disbelief. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she yells.
"What's wrong with you?" he replies. "That book has done you no harm. And it's a good one, too."
"You can't just do this," she says. "Intrude upon my life and write me strange letters, then suddenly cease contact and come back into my life whenever you feel like it. It's creepy. And you're a stalker. And I'm going to go now."
"Maybe you should have picked up something on occlumency instead," he notes dryly. "It truly is fascinating how your thoughts and words say completely different things."
She blushes bright red. "Fuck you."
"Ah, yes, that is an argument. I bow before your conversational genius."
She is about to tell him to fuck off again, then bites her tongue.
"And that is why you are a snake and not a lion. You have the capacity to halt your emotions in favor of logic."
She shakes her head in anger. "What do you want?"
He smiles his most seductive smile and her mind immediately supplies her with pictures of both beautiful, innocent cherubim and satan himself. "Why, I want you," he says, and she finds herself hanging on his every word. "I've taken an interest in you, and I never take an interest in people. It's a most unusual predicament and I intend to investigate it to its fullest. I want to get to know you and be a part of your life and find out where I know you from. Are you on board?"
Somehow, the feeling strikes her that she only has an illusion of choice here.
"Tell me your name first," she demands.
"I could tell you," he says. "Or I could continue just being Tom and you judge me based on my character and not on my name."
She laughs at his terrible attempt of manipulation.
"I told you mine," she says. "Now tell me yours."
"Alright. I will tell you," he agrees. "And in turn, you will tell no-one, alive or not, or devise a plot to let them know. And you let me investigate this strange situation. Deal?"
Lavinia can feel his magic in the air around her. Powerful and dark and intoxicating. He is just as powerful as her. Who can this man possibly be? Who would go to such lengths to protect their identity?
"Swear not to harm, maim, kill or abuse me or instruct others to do it in your name," she demands.
"I do, as long as you swear the same. Now. Deal?"
She has a bad feeling about this, and yet she can't help herself. For weeks she has been thinking and dreaming about this man. She has only seen him twice, and already she is in too deep to say no. It is irresponsible and foolish and absolutely thrilling.
This is so out of character.
"Deal," she gives in, feeling very Faustian as the magic surrounding them constricts and makes the promise magical.
He smirks and his crimson eyes gleam with victory. "Lavinia, may I introduce myself. Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Hermione would kill me, she thinks.
The Dark Lord chuckles.