Author's Note: I must first toss out a notice that I forgot to post in the Author's Note of the last chapter: This is an Alternate Universe fic; some of the events in this story are non-compliant with events from the fourth book as well as book seven of the Harry Potter series. Now, with that said, I would like to thank those who did read and review the last chapter: xXTwilight PrincessXx, Vera-Sabe, jasmine-leigh, Charmanth, Dramione-Fan 17, pottersgirl91, Rin1507, ChamberlinofMusic, PapayaCrazy, and CT1994. Your time and dedication to reading is greatly appreciate. And lastly, one more thing before I leave you to read the second chapter: I will be posting every other day from now until December 25th. Wondering why? In celebration of the twelve days of Christmas, of course! Now, enjoy....
Chapter 2 – Cold Heart
He turned and looked back at the train station with a wild hatred twisting and pulsing in his stomach.
She had touched him. The Mudblood had touched him.
He felt bile rise in his throat, and he moved to a nearby waste bin on a side street. His stomach clenched and his breath came in gasps.
He could still see her expression when she realized that she had ran into him. Her eyes had been wide with shock and judgment. But who was she to judge him? She was filth, and if it were not for her and her self-righteous friends, then he would be the next best thing to royalty. She had ruined that all, though.
Hermione Granger had looked at him as though he were not fit to walk on the same street as her. Her eyes had told him everything. She had been truly repulsed by him. She had no right to be, though.
If anyone should have been sickened by the accidental contact between them, it should have been him. He was pureblooded; she was not. He had been rich and high-class once; she had never been.
His fingers gripped the sides of the metal trash container as he grit his teeth and wondered just who she thought she was. He snarled and ripped the trash can from where it sat, scattering trash everywhere as he threw it into the street.
The loud bang of metal hitting pavement made the passersby look at him in alarm and disgust.
"Say, fellow... what are you getting at?" an average-looking man in a yellow jumper scolded. "I'm talking to you," the man announced when the crazed, gray-blue eyed man said nothing in return. "Are you mental?"
Without so much as a care, the gray-blue eyed man straightened and glared down his nose at the individual addressing him. He spat in his direction before turning to walk away.
"You need to clean this rubbish up!" shouted the elderly Muggle in the yellow jumper.
By now, more people were gathering and pointing at the crazy person with bluish eyes who had tossed the metal can into the street. They were whispering excitedly, waiting to see how he would react to the authoritative gentleman that was now barking profanities and threats at him.
"If you don't pick this mess up, I'll call the authorities!"
A careless chuckle erupted from in the disturbed man's throat before he turned to walk away. As he rounded the corner back to the train station, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. The man in the yellow jumper that had so boldly challenged him was getting into a beat-up, faded red Austin Mini. He was no doubt going to alert the London police of the disturbance that had just occurred. And the gray-blue eyed stranger would be sure that the nosy man never mettled in anyone's business again. After he took care of that, it would be on to Hermione Granger.
Hermione tossed the lid to her trunk open at the foot of her bed. She began unpacking her Hogwarts materials. Books, broken quills, ink wells, robes, potion sets, candy, and ingredients that had spilled on the bottom of the trunk. She would have to thank the ever careless Ron for that one later.
"Scourgify," she muttered, waving her wand at the mess.
"Hermione."
She turned to look at her mother, who was holding a shaking cage at arm's length.
"Oh, thank you," Hermione said hurriedly. She rushed to her mother and took Crookshanks from his cage. She tried to cuddle him, but he hissed and leaped from her arms to stalk to a distant corner of the room.
"Anything you need, dear?" asked Mrs. Granger as she eyed the disgruntled cat apprehensively from the corner of her eye.
"No, not right now, Mom," Hermione sighed contentedly. "I'm just going to unpack and relax for a bit."
"All right, then," Mrs. Granger beamed, reaching out to stroke her daughter's large, wild curls in a fond gesture. "Your father and I are so happy to have you home," she added.
"I'm happy to be home," Hermione replied, guilt twisting in the pit of her stomach. How was she going to tell her mother that she would be leaving for Auror Academy in two weeks? That she would be attending another school where she would be gone mostly the whole year for the next three years?
"I'll leave you to finish unpacking, okay?" Mrs. Granger said nervously, eyeing Crookshanks who was now raking his claws across one of Hermione's old stuffed animals. "Is he going to be all right?"
"The train ride just has him shook up, that's all," Hermione tried to assure her mother, who had never fully gotten used to the surly feline.
"I have no idea what we are going to do with him now that you will be home more often, though," Mrs. Granger muttered, more to herself than to Hermione. "Your father has terrible allergies to animals."
"I'll see if Ginny or Mrs. Weasley might take care of him," Hermione offered. She hated to shove her responsibilities off on someone else, but the Auror Academy did not allow any animals except owls, and those had to be kept in the owlery barn with the academy's owls. "If not, he can be kept outside. He rather likes it out there, in fact. He hunts on his own, and he liked it just fine at Hogwarts."
"Be sure to ask them that tonight, won't you?" Mrs. Granger prompted.
"Tonight?" Hermione repeated.
"Oh!" Mrs. Granger looked momentarily annoyed with herself before sighing and explaining. "I invited the Weasleys and Harry over for a surprise dinner. We were going to celebrate your graduation from Hogwarts, but now that the cat's out of the bag..." Crookshanks hissed, as if on cue, and Mrs. Granger's attention swiveled quickly back to the irritated mass of orange fur. "Just a figure of speech, of course," she added quickly.
Hermione snickered and gave Crookshanks a warning, but loving glance as Mrs. Granger left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Hermione had a feeling that this was to keep the cat inside her room rather than to give her privacy, but she would take the solitude either way.
Dropping onto her bed, Hermione heaved a sigh. She would have to tell everyone tonight, while she had them all in the same room and in good spirits. She would be sure, however, to wait until the last possible minute. She did not want to ruin her mother's supposed-to-be surprise dinner.
Rolling over, Hermione rubbed the tips of her thumb and forefinger together to call her cat to her. He growled from deep in his chest and slunk across the room to hide under her wardrobe; he still was not happy.
"If that is a prelude to what tonight will be like after I tell everyone, then I might just join you down there," she sighed as she grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest.
Her stomach rolled and twisted as she pondered what to say tonight. How would she break it to them? Should she just drop a hint lightly in conversation, or should she make it like a formal announcement? Whatever she did, she needed to figure it out soon.
"Hermione!" Mr. Granger bellowed up the stairs. "Our guests are here! Are you not ready yet?"
"We'll go up and get her, Mr. Granger," Ginny insisted as she pulled Harry along with her.
They trudged up the steps, Ginny leading the way as she tugged on Harry's hand. She took long strides down the hallway, almost colliding with Hermione as she came out of her room.
"Oh!"
"There you are," Ginny grinned. "C'mon! Mum and Dad have a graduation gift for you, and I want to see you open it because Ron is burnt about you getting one."
"Why?" Hermione asked, frowning visibly. She did not need Ron mad at her before he even saw her tonight.
"Because he didn't get one," Ginny explained.
"But he did not properly graduate either," Hermione retaliated in a matter-of-fact manner. She was immensely proud of the fact that she went back to Hogwarts and finished up her seventh year the way all students were meant to.
"I told him that," Ginny shrugged, fiddling with Harry's hand.
"We even tried reasoning with him about the fact that Fred and George didn't get graduation gifts either because they didn't finish," Harry supplied.
"He'll get over it once it's time to eat," Ginny rebounded, a smile coming back to her face.
"So," Hermione sighed, "have you told yet?"
Ginny seemed puzzled for a moment and then realization lit her face.
"I've only told Harry," she confessed. "I'm trying to wait to tell Mum until I leave for the first of my practices."
"Are you sure that it is smart for you to do that?" Hermione inquired as they made their way down the stairs.
"I think it will be best," Ginny replied, jumping the last two steps. "If I'm not there everyday to remind her, then she'll get over it faster... At least that's what happened when Fred and George opened their joke shop."
"Speaking of George," Hermione mentioned as she looked around, "where is he?"
"He says he's working in the joke shop," Ron piped up from behind her.
"But really," Ginny began with a contagious grin.
"We think he's out on a date with Angelina," Ron finished, glowering at his younger sister for interrupting him.
"Angelina Johnson?" Harry spoke up for the first time since they had been upstairs. "Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain from our fifth year?"
"The same," Ron nodded.
"She took it pretty hard when she found out about Fred," Ginny announced, sadness creeping into her voice.
Harry put his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment and sighed.
Hermione looked to Ron who seemed to be thoughtfully inspecting his shoes, but upon closer evaluation, she noticed the faraway look in his eyes. The entire Weasley family was still touchy about the loss of one of their most upbeat, fun-loving, and devious members.
"They just sort of bumped into each other one day in the shop," Ron murmured without even moving his lips.
"Later that night, they met again at a party and then spent the whole night reminiscing," Ginny finished for him in a small, distant voice, "about Fred."
Hermione's nose began to sting and tingle and her throat was growing raw and sore.
"I think that it's good that they're together, though," Ginny conceded on a heartfelt exhale. "It will help them heal."
No one spoke another word for a few moments and then Mrs. Granger called from the kitchen.
"Dinner will be ready in five minutes," she declared, unseen around the wall that separated the living room and kitchen. "I hope you all will enjoy this new recipe I got from the neighbors."
"Ron enjoys anything that doesn't try to eat him first," Ginny snickered, lightening the mood once again.
Her brother glared at her for the second time that night before shuffling off into the kitchen to await supper. The others followed, crowding in the kitchen doorway to watch Mrs. Weasley set the table—by magic, of course—while a nervous Mrs. Granger's eyes darted between her flying dinner plates and her almost-finished cooking.
He watched as the faded red Austin Mini pulled up to the curb, maneuvering into an empty place before its headlights shut off. The driver got out, slamming the door, and shifting a grocery bag in his arm as he jingled his keys around.
"Hello, Mr. Alden," whispered the man around the corner, much too low for the Austin Mini's driver to hear.
Mr. Alden was digging in his mailbox as he jammed his key in the door and juggled his grocery bag. Glass bottles clinked inside the bag as he retracted his hand from the mailbox with nothing. He shrugged and jiggled the door handle before pushing it open.
The man around the corner narrowed his eyes, a sinister smirk curling his lips at one corner. He tossed Mr. Alden's mail into a nearby rubbish bin and walked carelessly up the stairs to Alden's front door. Without so much as a second thought, he pulled out a wand and pointed it at the door. After muttering words much too low for anyone to hear, a light shot from the end of his wand into the key slot on the door handle.
A click sounded softly from the other side of the door, and he turned the handle. Peering into the crack, he saw a flashing light illuminating the first half of the hallway. Further down, a dim, yellow light crept into the hallway along with the sounds of clinking bottles and grunts.
The gray-blue eyed man pushed the door open and walked noiselessly down the corridor. He paused in the kitchen doorway and watched Mr. Alden as he bent over into the fridge and began shuffling around inside it. Glass clinked while Alden grumbled about something. He stood a second later with a beer in his hand. After swigging down a large gulp, Alden shut the refrigerator carelessly and turned to leave the kitchen.
The bottle slipped from his hand and crashed on the aged, cracking linoleum tile. He gaped at the stranger standing in his doorway for a moment before his expression changed to one of outrage.
"You're that nutter from earlier today!" he snarled. "The one who made a ruckus on the sidewalk."
The stranger tilted his head slightly to the side and narrowed his eyes on Mr. Alden, seemingly gaging the disgruntled older man.
"What do you think you're getting at by breaking into my home? I ought to call the authorities on you right now," Alden threatened. "I alerted them earlier today on my way to work that you were mad as a hatter and loose on the streets. They would just love to hear that I have you here in my home for them to arrest."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah!" Alden challenged, straightening up and swelling out his chest in an attempt to appear brave and unafraid.
"Do you really think Muggles can contain me? That they could even get close to me?"
"Muggles?" Mr. Alden repeated, sounding perplexed. "What do you mean by 'Muggles'?"
"Your so-called authorities," the stranger replied as he began twirling a long wooden stick between his fingers like a baton. "They're nothing to me... nothing but filthy, rotten Muggles!"
"You're madder than I imagined," Alden muttered, his hand moving across the kitchen island for a container of cooking utensils. He thought that if he could just reach a knife or some other sharp object, he could threaten the man into leaving and then get to the phone to call the London police.
"You have no bloody idea," the stranger laughed darkly. He gripped the stick then, pointing it at Alden in a menacing manner, but Alden did not feel endangered.
"What do you think you're going to do with that?"
The fact that the intruder was pointing a harmless stick at him would have been amusing had Alden not been angered by the fact that this man had broken into his home and made him waste a perfectly good beer.
"I'm going to kill you," the trespasser answered calmly. "Would you like to start begging for your life now? Or do you need further convincing that you won't survive this encounter?"
"I don't fear you or your ridiculous little twi-"
"Crucio!" the stranger barked.
The stick that Alden had thought to be a harmless twig lit up at the tip. A bolt of light whizzed across the room and hit him square in the stomach. He doubled over and dropped to his knees in the broken glass and spilled beer. A scream escaped Alden's lips, but not because of the glass now embedded in his knees and shins.
Fire was burning in every muscle of Alden's body. He felt as though his skin was being ripped and stretched and burned. His head felt as though he had an awful hangover, and he was starting to sweat and feel nauseous. He was spinning now—or at least his head felt as though it was—and he felt like he was going to pass out soon when the pain finally lifted.
Alden dropped forward onto the kitchen floor, beer splattering and glass cutting into the front of his body. His chin stung from the cut there, as did the rest of his wounds, but those were minor compared to the throbbing pain throughout his body. Whatever the intruder had done was not something Alden cared to relive. In fact, he prayed that the man would either kill him or that he would pass out so that he did not have to continue to suffer.
Glass crunched under the feet of the stranger as he came further into the kitchen. The floor creaked as the man crouched and spoke gruffly to Alden.
"Do you fear me now?" He paused, poking his wand into Alden's spine and twisting it like a drill.
"You should... I'll show you no pity because I have nothing but a cold heart."