A/N: It's official.
Lines have been drawn in the sand. Readers have adorned their respective colored headbands and war makeup… #TeamTom vs. #TeamDraco is in full effect, and I'm immensely entertained by your frustrations.
Let's see if I can frustrate you a little more...
Forgetting's just forgetting,
Except when it's not.
Then they call it something else.
. . .
Hermione didn't fall asleep that night.
Her mind was too restless, her heart refusing to return to its normal pace.
After she'd slipped into the darkened dorm she'd been immediately accosted by Parvati, her friend standing guard at the door waiting for her. She said she'd been on the verge of searching for Hermione herself, convinced Filch had discovered and dragged her to some hidden dungeon beneath the Home.
They'd shared Hannah's bed for the first hour, staring at the ceiling silently in the dark, until Parvati was finally slipped under the sweet veil of unconsciousness.
Hermione wasn't so lucky. And lying beside the slumbering girl had only made her feel more anxious, more nervous. So she'd padded quietly to Luna's bed and slipped beneath the covers, the mattress her own private den of solitude, an island all her own.
She was a castaway, separated from civilization, trapped in the center of an endless ocean.
"... perhaps one day our positions will be reversed… and you'll be able to help me."
Of all the chaos that had ensued over the last twenty-four hours, the utter mess that was her night, those were the words that stayed with her until the sun broke the horizon, bathing the room in a pale orange glow.
They unsettled her greatly, though she couldn't fathom why. The comment was harmless enough. But the manner in which it was delivered, the man who delivered it…
It all amounted to something more.
But what?
She had such a headache, brought on by utter exhaustion and rampant overthinking as she tried to analyze every beat of her night.
By the time Parvati stirred Hermione was already sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window with a haunted gaze.
They borrowed clothes from their friends' wardrobe and slipped downstairs to breakfast for appearance's sake, neither girl hungry but needing to see the aftermath of Hermione's midnight run. She'd meant to leave a pot for Filch to find but also ended up leaving behind her borrowed shoes and a broken lantern.
She had no doubt he'd be out for blood, desperate to find the person responsible for giving him the runaround and making him look like a fool in a wily game of cat and mouse.
Hermione slid in beside Luna on the bench, stomach clenching at the mere sight of toast on the girl's plate.
"Good morning," the blonde said with a bright smile. "How did you sleep?"
"Like the dead," Parvati responded from her spot across the table. "And you?"
"Your bed is really hard, Mione," Hannah said, taking a bite of eggs. "I had to move to Lavender's. I hope that's okay."
"Of course it is. Someone needs to keep it warm for her," Parvati said automatically, filling her glass with water from the pitcher.
Hermione glanced away.
"Your bed is quite comfortable, Parvati," Luna said pleasantly. "I find it much more enjoyable than mine."
"Any time you want to crawl in beside me you come right on over," Parvati flashed her a saucy wink. Luna tipped her head, buttering her toast.
"That's very kind of you to offer, I shall keep it in mind."
Parvati snorted, shaking her head and taking a drink.
"So…" Hannah said lowly, leaning forward. "Don't leave us in suspense, did you find anything?"
Hermione glanced at the head table, narrowing her gaze when she saw no sight of Umbridge. She swallowed nervously, wondering if her absence had anything to do with last night.
Did the Doctor end up turning me in?
But she asked the question with little anxiety, already knowing the answer in her heart.
He wouldn't turn her in.
He needed her for something...
She felt a steady pressure build rapidly behind her eyes everytime she thought on it, the more she tried to solve the puzzle the more her head felt like it would split down the center, her brain spilling onto the floor.
She snapped her gaze back to her friends.
"We should avoid talking about it in public if at all possible, just in case." She bit her lip, shoulders dropping. "But the short answer is no, we didn't find anything."
Hannah deflated as well, sighing. Luna on the other hand merely tipped her head. "Don't be discouraged. You'll find something."
"Any chance you've had a vision, luv?" Parvati asked her in all sincerity. "Anything is better than nothing at this point."
Luna shook her head, hair shimmering in the sunlight. "I'm afraid not. I haven't had one in a long time, and I've never been able to induce them myself."
Hermione rubbed her palms against her borrowed skirt, feeling a blossoming sense of anxiety in the wake of such a discussion. When she first met Luna she'd been gobsmacked by the girl's claims, that she actually thought she had such supernatural abilities.
Then she'd gotten to know Luna and fell utterly in love with her kindness, selfless nature, and bright outlook on the world at large, no matter the situation.
And the more time went by, the closer they became, the less strange it all seemed. Hermione certainly didn't believe in any of it, but she came to understand that Luna did, so she learned to accept it as a part of the girl's personality, what made her the unique and compassionate individual she was.
But now Hermione was starting to develop a different outlook on the matter.
With these ghastly hallucinations she was plagued by on nearly a daily basis at this point, her own sanity in question, she found such paranormal discussion unnerving.
"Are you alright, Hermione?" Luna asked, blue eyes upon her.
Hermione nodded quickly, trying to effect a more casual posture. "Yes, I'm fine. Just tired."
Luna held her gaze, her expression all too knowing, but the moment was interrupted by a new presence at their back.
"Granger."
Hermione cringed.
"What do you want, Edgecomb?" Parvati snapped.
"Is your name Granger?"
"Something looks different about you today, Rhetta. Are you normally this bloated or are you just getting fatter?"
Marietta's hands clenched to fists at her sides, even as a malevolent smirk appeared on her face. "I won't stoop to your level today, Patil. Besides, I know you're just sore over the fact your dirty slut of a friend took off without you. Trouble in paradise?"
Hermione leaped at the same time as Parvati, but she flew towards her friend, while Parvati flew towards Marietta's throat.
"Parv, stop!"
Hannah leaped to her feet as well, helping restrain the flailing girl as best she could.
"You stupid bitch!"
Diners at nearby tables stopped mid-conversation, setting down utensils to watch the show.
Marietta stepped back, laughing. "Struck a nerve, did I? I was joking about her running off, you know. I assume she's dead in a gutter somewhere, whored herself out to the wrong bloke."
Hermione clenched her jaw, barely tamping her own raging desire to strike the girl down. Instead, she clasped Parvati's face in her hands, forcing their eyes to meet.
"Don't listen to her, Parv. She's trying to provoke you. She knows if you hit her you'll be kicked out. Don't give her the satisfaction."
Parvati's eyes were unfocused, wild.
"Parvati, please, calm down!"
"She's not worth it, Parv," Hannah added, glancing nervously to Hermione.
Parvati came to her senses in stages. She slowly deflated in Hannah's hold, blinking a few times as she seemed to awake from a stupor.
Her eyes met Hermione's.
"I'm okay."
Hannah kept her grip on her arms a few moments longer, finally releasing her.
"Well that was fun," Marietta deadpanned. "But I really don't have time for such base diversions. I came to fetch Granger."
Hermione spun around, still seething.
"Fetch me?"
"Umbridge wants to see you immediately."
Her heart leaped into her throat. She glanced sharply at Parvati and shared a loaded look. Then she felt something brush her fingers, making her jump. She looked down and met Luna's gaze.
"You shouldn't keep her waiting."
Hermione blinked, something in the blonde's eyes blanketing her in a wave of calm.
"I'll see you girls later."
"Hermione-"
"It's fine, Parv." She gave her a meaningful look, trying to convey the silent message. Her friend nodded, albeit reluctantly, and then Hermione was exiting the dining hall, limbs stiff and mind blank as she followed in Marietta's wake.
"I really do think she's dead, you know," the girl said over her shoulder as they walked down the mostly empty corridor.
Hermione took a deep breath, muscles tensing.
Marietta's eyes narrowed, annoyed she was unable to elicit a more satisfying response. Hermione braced herself for her next attempt.
"Probably for the best. Lord only knows the disease she was spreading every time she opened her legs."
She scowled as Hermione remained silent, eyes averted straight ahead. Eventually, she seemed to accept that Hermione wasn't going to play along, facing forward with a huff.
Finally, they stood outside the office door. Hermione never thought she'd feel so relieved to arrive at this particular location, but she didn't think she could bear to remain in Edgecomb's presence for another moment.
"Good luck," she said in a sing song voice, laughing as she left Hermione to her fate.
She paused outside the door, taking a deep breath and willing her mind to stay calm. She pictured Luna's steady blue gaze, which led to images of a calm blue lake.
After last night she had limited remaining capacity for fear. She raised her arm and knocked solidly against the wood.
"Enter!"
The sugary sweet voice turned her stomach.
"Oh, yes. Ms. Granger." Was the lackluster greeting she received upon entering the whimsical office.
Hermione stood numbly in the middle of the floor, relieved to see there was no one else inside. She presumed if she were being punished for last night then either Filch or the Doctor would be in attendance.
Or perhaps I'm being punished for breathing the wrong way.
Also a possibility.
"I received word last night that your solicitor will be paying his inspection this afternoon. This will be the first of his quarterly visits, as you know, and I expect nothing less than-"
The rest of the Matron's words faded away beneath the deafening hum that echoed through Hermione's ears.
She swayed on her feet, the blood draining from her body and pooling on the floor, creating a great river that spread along the stone and climbed up the walls, coating every surface in bright crimson.
She blinked, vision fading. Her entire body went numb.
"Ms. Granger! Are you even listening?"
Hermione opened her mouth but no sound emitted.
"Lord help me, it's barely sun up and you're already driving me mad. If only you applied such dedication to being a-"
"He's coming here. Today."
Umbridge blinked.
"Was that a question? Did you hear anything I just said?"
She wet her lips, blinking again, eyes drifting to the red stained walls, bloody handprints appearing over everything.
"Ms. Granger!"
Hermione blinked again and the room was clean, bright sunlight spilling in through the large windows, no trace of red in sight.
"Honestly, what is the matter with you?"
She took a shaky breath, swallowing thickly.
"My solicitor is coming here today."
Umbridge scowled. "We've already established that. Now listen good because I will not repeat myself again. He is arriving at noon to conduct his inspection of the premises and to ensure your welfare is being provided for. You are to escort him around the grounds and answer any and all questions in a satisfactory manner. If you try and portray me or this institution in a bad light then-"
"Why is he coming here today?"
Umbridge's nostrils flared.
"Bloody he-" she caught herself before completing the curse. "Are you daft? Do you suffer from an ailment of the mind? That would explain quite a lot."
Hermione briefly closed her eyes, a strong wave of vertigo overcoming her. She stumbled on her feet, opening her lids to regain her balance.
"If you're ill then I won't have you spreading it to the other girls-"
"I'm fine."
"You're white as a sheet."
She swallowed again, her throat full of jagged rocks.
"I'm fine." She forced herself to meet the Matron's hostile gaze. "I'm fine." She repeated, voice steadier.
Umbridge hardly looked convinced, but she clenched her jaw and relented. "This meeting is very important to your continued relationship with this institution. You will arrive at this office at precisely twelve o'clock, not a moment later. And you will conduct your meeting as a proper young lady, none of these wild antics you are so keen on. If you do anything, and I mean anything, to embarrass me or the Home then I promise you-"
"I'll be here at noon." She didn't mean to interrupt, Hermione knew the woman hated it more than anything, but she was having trouble staying upright and was desperate enough to leave that she was willing to incur the Matron's wrath.
"Very well," Umbridge finally bit out, eyes narrowed to thin slits. "You may go. I suggest having a lie down until he arrives. I won't have you emptying your stomach contents all over his shoes."
Hermione nodded, barely registering her words, and fled the office before given proper leave.
She managed to turn the corner to the next hallway before she collapsed.
She slid bonelessly down the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face in her skirts.
She had been wrong.
She still had plenty of capacity left over for fear.
And right now, she was utterly terrified.
Harry opened his eyes, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his lids still burning with utter exhaustion.
He'd managed to somehow find a few hours of rest after arriving back at Grimmauld right at the cusp of sunrise. It was surprising, considering his mind was an utter mess. He was plagued with fear and anxiety for Mione, the usual stress and confusion that Theo induced, and the newest overwhelming emotion, great trepidation where this Lavender girl was concerned.
Something wasn't right. When Harry had first been presented with the missing person case he hadn't taken it all that seriously, assuming she'd shacked up with a bloke or a few friends and neglected to tell Hermione.
But after speaking with Susan and the frightened girl at Amortentia, Harry was starting to suspect something much larger at play.
And he knew Hermione wouldn't let it rest. Which meant he couldn't either if he had any hope of shielding his best friend from whatever monsters lurked in the shadows, hidden beneath the bed and deep inside the closet. The greatest dangers were always those situated closest to a person. And Harry would never forgive himself if something happened to her.
He'd lost enough already at his young age, he couldn't bear to lose Hermione, too.
Which is why he'd chosen to withhold the information he'd garnered at the Club. The mysterious house girl who fled from his questioning obviously knew more than she was telling. He just needed to figure out how much. Which meant finding her again.
If he told Mione about the strange encounter then she'd set out to find the stranger as well, leading her only deeper and deeper into this tangled mess.
No, Harry would follow up on the lead alone. She may be frustrated by his constant need to shield her from every danger in London but he couldn't help it. As far as he was concerned she'd been through enough tragedy to last several lifetimes. He would protect her at all costs.
So he rubbed his bleary eyes and gazed up at the vaulted ceiling, trying to formulate a plan.
Planning was always Mione's strong suit. Execution was his. It's what made him an excellent Naval sailor but an inept strategizer, something his godfather was steadily trying to develop in him. He constantly told Harry he needed to think before he acted, plot things through before jumping in head first.
Sirius went easy on him because he claimed he was the same in his youth, always relying on James to be the big idea guy, the one to spend the night before a mission planning out every step while Sirius climbed the walls desperate to get moving.
But with age brought life experience and Sirius had been forced to develop a keen sense of strategy, especially in the wake of James's death. Sirius had been tasked with filling his best friend's shoes as Lieutenant. Fast forward nearly ten years later and he was Captain of an elite warship, first of her kind.
Harry knew his godfather wanted Harry to follow in his footsteps, to become the man James never had the opportunity to become.
Harry wanted to make the man proud, to honor his parents' memory.
He just felt like he was living someone else's life sometimes.
Suddenly there was an echoing slam of a door from downstairs.
Harry blinked, sitting up quickly.
He sat still for several moments, listening hard to the noises that followed, the steady thud of boots on hardwood, the creaking of the baseboards.
And then-
"Get up, you lazy arse!"
The echoing voice made Harry's heart jolt.
And then he smiled.
Hermione took refuge in the water closet.
She was terribly nauseous but hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours and her empty stomach twisted painfully as she dry heaved for several minutes.
She was breathless by the end of it, sitting on the floor without a care for how filthy it probably was. Cleaning duties for the room were assigned as a punishment and the girls saddled with the responsibility, often times Lavender and Parvati, didn't usually put much effort into making the tile shine.
She leaned her head against the wall, gazing at the floral wallpaper with hooded eyes.
What a terrible thing memory was.
How it could plague a person so, twisting and turning, manipulating itself into endless shapes and sounds, distorting reality into a new, terrible truth.
Hermione didn't recall many of the details of that day. She had replayed the events over and over in her head so many times she'd lost track of what was real and what her mind had fabricated in the wake of her terror and shame.
Only the bare bones of the transgression had survived unscathed.
She couldn't remember getting ready for the appointment, nor could she recall the ride to his office or walking up the steps that led to his door.
She remembered the dress she wore. She remembered because he loved it so, tugging and pulling the fabric. She remembered because she destroyed the garment afterward, too disgusted to look upon it. Unable to wash the blood out.
She didn't remember the conversation leading up to the attack.
The crux of the memory began the moment he locked the door.
She recalled the endless echo of sliding metal as he twisted the deadbolt, the way the sound pulled the air from her lungs. She remembered the look he flashed her over his shoulder as he stood there. The way her body screamed at her to run even as her mind went stunningly blank.
The next few moments were a blur. There was more talking. He stood behind her, hand on her neck, hand on her waist, hand on her hip, hand in her hair- hundreds of hands, thousands of fingers, searing hot breath scorching her flesh.
She couldn't recall running. But suddenly he was chasing her around the desk. She remembered carrying her beating heart in her mouth, tasting the blood on her tongue, feeling the stuttering beats against the back of her throat, her veins and arteries pulled taught, pure adrenaline giving rise to blind fight or flight instinct.
But he'd captured her.
A wire net cast over her flapping wings, ripping her from the sky.
And then…
… and then...
"Oi!"
A rapid pounding on the water closet door.
"Come on, you've been in there for half an hour!"
Hermione blinked, lurching away from the wall and climbing shakily to her feet.
"Sorry." Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat, trying again. "I'll be right out!"
A muffled groan.
"Hurry up or I'm going to have to use the garden!"
Hermione swallowed, running a hand through her curls, trying to tame the loosened strands. She gazed upon her pale complexion in the mirror, pinching her cheeks to add a hint of color, the illusion of life, and took a steadying breath.
She opened the door, stepping out tentatively.
"About bloody time- Oh. Hello, Hermione. Didn't know it was you in there."
"Hello, Fay. Sorry to keep you waiting."
"It's alright, didn't mean to get so snippy with you but I'm fit to burst."
Hermione nodded. "No offense taken, please, don't let me keep you any longer."
The brunette gave a quick smile and dashed into the small room, slamming the door behind her in her haste.
Hermione bit her lip, lingering in the corridor for several moments trying to work out where to go next.
She still had a few hours before…
Before she had to arrive at Umbridge's office.
She recalled the woman's words, her instruction to lie down.
Hermione knew she wasn't ill, and she knew she'd never be able to catch up on sleep in her current state, but hiding away in her dorm sounded wonderful at the moment. She didn't think she'd be able to fake her way through morning chores and congenial interactions.
She clenched her fists at her sides and took off at a quick stride to her room.
Harry threw on his clothes haphazardly and galloped down the stairs, feet bare and shirtfront hanging open.
He saw the bags in the center of the floor, a coachman exiting the entryway and closing the door behind him.
Harry leaped the bottom two steps, landing in a pounce on the finely woven rug, spinning in a circle looking for-
"You've been drinking all my good whiskey, I see."
Sirius.
Harry laughed, entering the parlor.
"You have Malfoy to thank for that, you know I'm more partial to your secret brandy stash."
The man rolled his eyes, setting the mostly empty crystal decanter down. "Not much point in calling it secret then, is there?"
Harry crossed the room. "What are you doing back? I wasn't expecting you till next week."
Sirius sighed, wrapping an arm around his godson and embracing him. "I lost my mind and blew up the ship. Decided to lie low for a bit. Don't tell anyone you've seen me."
Harry shook his head, pulling back from the hug. "No can do I'm afraid. I stand to inherit a lot in the event of your death or life imprisonment. I've been dying to buy a home on the coast of Santorini."
"You good for nothing louse."
"You knew that when you adopted me."
"True enough. Now, what's this about Malfoy polishing off half the decanter?"
Harry rolled his eyes, backing up and sprawling on the sofa.
"It's a long bloody story, and far too early to dredge it up."
Sirius knocked Harry's feet off the cushion and took a seat at the opposite end.
"You've been home for three days, how much could I have missed?"
Harry pinned him with a sardonic look.
"It involves Mione."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Say no more. Poor kid's got it bad."
"Yes, please say no more," Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I can hardly stomach the thought of her with anyone, little less the Ferret King himself."
"Alright, I'll drill you for the information later. What else has happened since you've been back?"
Harry shrugged, fighting back a yawn.
Oh you know, Hermione's friend went missing and she asked me to help find her so I pummeled the shite out of McLaggen in an opium den and was led to a shady bookie who sold me an even shadier key for a small fortune which led me to a sex den owned by the Lestranges where I discovered Mione dressed like a high-end prostitute and barely managed to sneak her out in time and now I'm trying to figure out how to continue the investigation because there's obviously something sinister at play.
"Nothing really."
Sirius raised a dark brow. "Is that so?"
"Pretty tame, all things considered."
Sirius held his gaze for a moment longer before relenting. "How boring."
"Story of my life."
"Yes, what a simple life you've led, Harry Potter."
Now Harry rolled his eyes. "So what are you doing back, really?"
Sirius sighed, tipping his head back into the couch. "We brought the ship to port early for the celebration."
Harry blinked. "Celebration? For what?"
Sirius closed his eyes. "My promotion to Admiral."
"What?!" Harry leaped forward. "Are you serious?"
He groaned, catching his slip too late. The other man smirked.
"You're spared. I'm too exhausted to grab such low hanging fruit."
"Hardy har har. But honestly, you've been made Admiral?"
"Honestly, I have."
"Why aren't you more excited?"
"Because I just got off a fifteen-hour shift and am starting to hallucinate."
"Don't brag."
Sirius chuckled, opening his eyes. "I'm honored by the promotion."
"I'm sorry, do I look like a reporter for the London Tribune?"
"Alright, I'm bloody ecstatic. And scared shiteless. And fucking anxious as hell."
"That's more like it."
"That's not the only bit of news."
Harry leaned back. "Burying the lead, I see. Are we getting new window furnishings as well?"
"Not unless you set fire to them again."
"For the last time, that was Ron. He was drunk and tipped the candles over."
"You're getting Lieutenant."
Harry's smile fell, heart stuttering a staccato beat.
"What?"
"You heard me."
He opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish. "What- I-" he swallowed. "When?"
"It'll be announced at the party this weekend. I wasn't supposed to say anything, but I wanted to give you ample time to process the information, prevent you from saying something stupid in front of the boss."
"I'm touched you have such faith in me."
"The last time you were caught off guard you referred to the Dowager of Kent as a cleaver in front of a room full of Peers."
"She accosted me between the legs at the dinner table. Besides, I was only repeating your words!"
"I never said that. And if I did, I was drunk."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, mind reeling. Sirius leaned forward and patted him on the leg.
"It'll be alright, my boy. There are worse things in life than getting rewarded for your hard work. You'll survive this yet."
"I'm not- I just-" he fell short, shaking his head in frustration.
"It's okay, kid. If anyone gets it, I do. Which is why I told you ahead of time so you can get those chaotic thoughts in order before you're expected to walk the stage." He sighed, pushing off the couch. "Now, I'm going to go collapse face first into the mattress for no less than twelve hours. Disturb me at risk to your own life."
Harry nodded, barely hearing the words as his godfather made his way for the exit.
"Oh, and before I forget," Sirius spun around in the doorway. "The family's coming by for dinner tonight. How they managed to find out I was heading back early is beyond me, but Andy sent a letter last night informing me there was no way out of it."
Harry groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face.
"Fantastic. Anything else you want to tell me?"
"Yes." Sirius started heading for stairs, speaking over his shoulder. "Refill my liquor cabinet before this evening. We're going to need it."
Hermione sighed into her pillow, regretting her decision already.
She'd chosen to hide out in her dorm to avoid interacting with anyone.
She didn't think through the consequences of total solitude.
Like being trapped with nothing but her dark thoughts for company.
She groaned, pressing the heal of her palms into her eyes, counting the bursts of light against the back of her lids.
The door opened.
Hermione gasped, jolting into an upright position.
"Oh! Sorry to scare you, Mione, didn't know you'd be up here," Hannah said, slipping inside the room and closing the door behind her. "I hope I didn't wake you."
Hermione took a deep breath, heart rate settling. "No, I wasn't sleeping."
Hannah smiled. "Good. I mean, good that I didn't wake you. I just came to grab my journal. I left it in here this morning."
Hermione blinked. "Oh. Of course." She glanced to her side table, then to Parvati's. "I don't see it."
"I left it in Lavender's drawer."
Hermione swallowed, watching Hannah cross the small space and slide open the top drawer on the dusty night table.
"Got it." She pulled out a small black leather journal, the edge of the pages marred and warped. Hermione tilted her head.
"I didn't know you kept a diary."
Hannah glanced to the item in question. "Oh, I don't. It's a sketchbook."
"Really?" Hermione sat up straighter, leaning back against her headboard. "May I see?"
Hannah bit her lip. "I'm not very good-"
"Stop that this instant. I'm sure you're brilliant. Besides, I can't draw a straight line. I won't give you any criticism."
Hannah laughed lightly. "I just… it's not very, I don't really think you'd-"
"Hannah."
The girl glanced up, warm brown eyes meeting Hermione's hazel gaze.
The blonde sighed, shoulders relaxing. "Alright, but I'm telling you, they're absolutely awful."
Hermione smiled, patting the empty space beside her on the bed. She was excited to see her friend's talent, her passion, to learn more about the girl she'd been sharing a Home with all these months.
She was also desperate for a distraction, anything to pull her from the swirling vortex of her thoughts.
Hannah flopped down beside her, curling her legs beneath her and slowly opening the book, letting it rest between their laps.
Hermione blinked. Then she smiled, lifting the book for a closer look.
"You draw architecture." She gazed at a detailed rendition of a Georgian style building. "Hannah, this is fantastic."
"No, it's really not."
Hermione raised a brow, glancing up. "Please tell me you're being obscenely humble. This is incredible. The detail is amazing." She flipped a page, gazing at an interior drawing. "Look at this scrollwork on the columns and ceiling. It's breathtaking."
Hannah picked at the quilt, eyes averted down. "I don't know about that. It's just a standard Neoclassical design."
Hermione shook her head, turning page after page, more impressed the further along she went.
"Are these real places or designs you've created in your head?"
"A bit of both. The front of the journal is mostly real places. The more recent stuff is my own designs."
Hermione shook her head, studying the drawing of an outdoor courtyard complete with landscaping, fountains and an ivy-covered gazebo.
"You're gifted."
Hannah laughed.
"I'm serious! Don't sell yourself short, Hannah. I was honestly expecting sketches of flowers and rabbits and heart doodles. But this… this is professional level work. It has as much detail as the blueprints on display at the V&A."
"Ok, now I know you're laying it on thick-"
"How did you learn to draw like this? Are you self-taught?"
Hannah met her gaze. "My father was an architect and draftsman."
Hermione's mouth fell open.
"Blimey, don't look so shocked, do I really come across like such a charver?"
Hermione laughed, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "No! Of course not! I'm just surprised I didn't already know this. It's my own fault for not asking sooner."
Hannah shrugged, leaning into the headboard as well. "It's not that big a deal. Most of us aren't keen on sharing our backgrounds and history as it is. It's not a topic of conversation to be had over dinner."
Hermione tilted her head, studying her in a new light. "So did you have a governess growing up?"
Hannah smirked. "No. Our family had means but were far from conventional. My father traveled a lot for his work, all over the world really. He met my mother in Paris while on assignment. She was a street artist."
Hermione smiled, resting the open sketchbook in her lap. "Two gifted parents. It's in your blood."
"I suppose so."
"Why do you say they weren't conventional?"
Hannah gazed ahead, as though staring at the memories as she described them. "My father took my mother and me everywhere he went. He said he didn't see the point in marrying for love and having a child if he had to leave them behind every time he worked."
"He sounds like a great man."
"He was."
Hermione bit her lip, brimming with more questions but waiting patiently for her friend to continue at her own pace.
"Some of his projects lasted a few years, some a few weeks. We moved around constantly. It was a bit overwhelming as I got older, unable to form ties with any one place because we were already packing to leave for the next. I can't complain, though. I got to see a great deal of the world from a young age. That's more than most can say, especially those living here."
Hermione nodded. "It must have been difficult though, especially as an only child." She blinked. "Were you an only child?"
"Yes, I was."
"Then I know from experience how lonely that can be, and I lived in the same house my entire childhood."
Hannah sighed, grabbing for the sketchbook, running her fingers along the edges of the page. "You're right. It was lonely. The only people I was close to were my parents. After they died I had no one."
Hermione took a deep breath, diving into the unknown waters. "How did they…?"
"Marsh fever. They contracted it in Essex of all places. Right here in England."
Hermione shook her head. "Hannah, I'm so sorry."
She shrugged. "So am I. I'm sorry for me, for you, for Luna and Parv. For everyone here. We all have a story. Otherwise, we'd be anywhere else."
She closed her sketchbook with a snap, glancing down. "Anyway, I better get back to the kitchens. I'm on plate scrubbing duty. Filch is making the rounds. Seems scalier than usual."
Hermione's heart leaped into her throat.
"Have you heard anything about last night?"
Hannah rose off the bed. "What do you mean? About you and Parv?"
"About someone being downstairs after curfew."
"Oh. No. Why? Did you almost have a run in?"
Hermione released a slow breath. "Something like that."
"Well, you must have given him the slip up because I haven't heard anything, and you know he'd run to the Frog Queen right away if he had anything solid, in which case you'd be the first to know."
Hermione nodded, absently pulling a loose thread on the pillowcase. Hannah tipped her head.
"What are you doing up here anyway?"
Hermione blinked. "Oh, I was sleeping."
She raised a blonde brow. "I thought you said you weren't sleeping."
"I was trying to fall asleep."
Hannah nodded, holding her gaze.
"I'm sorry you didn't find her last night, Mione. But don't give up hope. Hope is all any of us have anymore."
Hermione felt the familiar ache in her chest.
Hannah's eyes turned bright and hard as marbles.
"And when that goes, we have nothing to protect us from the monsters."
Hermione spent the remainder of the morning sitting in the dorm staring out of the window watching the street below.
She spun wild fantasies in her head.
Various means to escape her fate.
She considered faking an injury. Then she graduated to actual injury.
She imagined throwing herself down the garden steps. There weren't enough of them to do serious damage but she'd certainly twist an ankle or even break a limb if she angled it just right…
She imagined scalding her hand on the stove, or perhaps the steam from the kettle…
Then she really let loose and imagined running into the street and letting the horses and carriage wheels do their worst.
It was oddly gratifying.
And yet at precisely five till noon Hermione stood outside the Matron's office, an empty husk of her former self. Her soul had left her body, her sensibilities abandoning her mind.
Her limbs were animated by the force of mechanical springs in her joints, the beating of her heart fueled by a coal engine, triggering a series of switches and gears that set her into motion.
Hermione was no more.
Whatever happened would happen to a hollow shell.
So it didn't matter.
The sun would rise tomorrow, the moon would chase it away, and nothing that occurred within these walls would prevent either of those events from occurring.
She lifted her arm and knocked.
"Come in!"
Umbridge sounded especially cheery and bright. Hermione closed her eyes, opening the door.
She'd known what faced her on the other side.
Expected it.
Braced herself for it.
But seeing his face, his person, standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed upon her from across the room…
The world tipped on its axis.
She scrambled to find purchase on the stone, the floor became the wall, the wall became the ceiling, the ceiling became the floor, and round and round the room spun.
"Ms. Granger!" Umbridge's voice was laced with malice, though she kept a thin-lipped smile stretched taught across her face. "Do come in, my child."
Hermione stepped over the threshold on wobbly legs, feeling as though she was walking on stilts.
"Come in all the way," the Matron bit out, eyes narrowing, then laughing lightly and glancing to the third occupant in the room. "Silly girl, she wasn't feeling well this morning, poor thing. I do hope she's recovered."
The man smiled, silver grin reflecting the sunlight.
"Is that so?" His eyes never left Hermione. "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps my visit will brighten her spirits."
"Yes, I'm sure it will. The two of you go way back, you were saying?"
Hermione's eyes burned, desperate for her to blink, but she refused, terrified to lose sight of him for even an instant.
"That is correct, Madam. I was a very good friend of Mr. and Mrs. Granger." His eyes flashed. "God rest their souls."
Her heart sprung a leak, the blood draining rapidly from her head, pooling at her feet.
"Such a tragedy," Umbridge said with a stricken look. "Poor things, to burn alive like that, no way to go."
He finally glanced away, eyes latching onto the Matron. "An absolute loss to the world. Both were skilled healers." He tipped his head. "Luckily they were able to pass on those skills to their daughter."
Umbridge's face pinched in annoyance for the space between heartbeats, then she was smiling again. "Yes, Ms. Granger is a brilliant girl, an absolute delight. We're so thrilled to have her here."
She cleared her throat, making Hermione cringe. "And of course we're doing our best to develop her into a strong, capable young woman. I took it upon myself to arrange for her to work part-time at the local Apothecary. It's so important to me that these girls discover and follow their passions."
His eyes flickered back to Hermione. "Ms. Granger is full of passion." His knowing grin made her stomach drop. "I am happy to hear you have found part-time work in the field of medicine, Hermione."
Hearing him address her properly made her knees quake and throat close.
"Perhaps you can recommend an ointment for this," his expression darkened as he gestured to the left side of his face. She finally blinked, unable to force her lids open any longer, but the burning sensation only increased, tears forming.
"Oh, my…" Umbridge said with exaggerated sympathy, bringing a delicate hand to her mouth. "I'd noticed of course but wasn't certain how recent the injury was. May I ask how it occurred?"
His pupils expanded, drawing Hermione in with a powerful gravitational force.
"I was thrown from my horse while riding. A wild and stunning filly, not properly broken." Hermione swayed on her feet. "I cut my face on the rocks."
"How dreadful! I do hope the mark isn't permanent."
He brought his hand up, fingertips tracing the long narrow strip of raised flesh that bisected his eyebrow and grazed his high cheekbone.
"I don't mind scars, Madam. The memories they invoke are often quite thrilling."
Umbridge pursed her lips, glancing between them, as though finally noticing the silent turbulence in the room.
"I see…" she narrowed her eyes at Hermione. "You've been very quiet, Ms. Granger. How unusual."
Hermione released a breath, slowly turning her head to face the woman.
"My apologies, Madam. I think I'm still a touch out of sorts from this morning."
"I can tell. What a shame you aren't always so afflicted, it makes you quite amicable." She glanced quickly at him. "I merely jest, of course!" She laughed nervously as he raised a dark brow. "I like to have fun with the girls, it fosters a sense of kinship between us."
His tipped his head. "Certainly, Madam. I can see why they appointed you as head of this fine institution, you obviously have a great deal of affection for your charges."
Hermione swallowed the black bile that threatened to spew forth as Umbridge preened beneath his saccharine praise.
"I would love nothing more than to linger in your engaging company all day, but I'm afraid I have a schedule to keep and the grounds to inspect." He flashed his white teeth. "Business never ends. You understand."
Umbridge's spine straightened. "Of course, of course! I've enjoyed our conversation but I've kept you long enough, please, proceed as you'd like. You have the complete run of the Home. If you need anything, anything at all, simply inform Ms. Granger and it will be yours."
He turned his head to Hermione, eyes gleaming feral. "Wonderful."
"Ms. Granger." Hermione tore her gaze away, looking upon her Matron with empty detachment. She knew there would be no reprieve found in the other woman, no help offered. "Do well to remember our discussion from this morning." She pinned Hermione with a meaningful look. "And enjoy your afternoon."
Hermione merely blinked, stepping back and heading to the exit on numb legs. As she pulled open the door she heard the unmistakable sound of lips pressing flesh. She didn't need to glance over her shoulder to know he was kissing the back of the Matron's hand.
The perfect gentleman. High bred. Gentile.
"It was a true pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last, Madam."
Umbridge tittered.
"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Dolohov."
Draco emerged from his family carriage and proceeded up the opulent steps to the Greengrass Estate with a set jaw and hardened gaze.
He was on a mission.
And would not be deterred.
He knocked, his unannounced arrival taking the butler off guard, causing the man to blink silently for several moments before stepping aside and beckoning the young Malfoy heir inside.
"My apologies, Sir, but I'm afraid Lord and Lady Greengrass have stepped out for the afternoon. They are not expected back until later this evening."
"I'm well aware. They're at the same event as my parents. I'm here to see Astoria."
The man blinked, the color draining from his face.
For Draco to request the presence of Astoria without her parents present was terribly uncouth. For them to be alone in the same room without a proper chaperone was absolutely scandalous.
Still, it would be even more unacceptable for the butler to deny the request of a Peer, no matter how reckless that request may be.
"Of course, Sir," the man said, bowing at the waist, face pinched. "I shall fetch Miss Daphne as well."
"There's no need for the elder Greengrass's attendance. Please fetch me Astoria and only Astoria."
The man swallowed, obviously unsettled, but ultimately nodded, departing swiftly from the marble entryway.
Draco walked into the receiving room, a large oil painting of the sisters hanging above the hearth, their pale gazes fixed upon him.
Draco took a deep breath.
He was on a mission.
And would not be deterred.
After a few minutes footsteps could be heard on the main stairs, light and clipped. Draco closed his eyes as she approached, running through the lines in his head, the prepared speech he'd thrown together during the carriage ride over here.
The footsteps neared, entered the room, coming to a stop behind him.
He turned around-
And scowled.
"Fucking bastard. I told him not to fetch you."
Daphne perched her hands on her hips. "It's not Leopold's fault. I saw your carriage from the balcony." Her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here, Draco?"
"I came to speak to your sister." He matched her glare. "And only your sister."
"Whatever you have to say to Tori you can say to me."
"I fell for that last time and it got us all nowhere. We're still unofficially engaged, it's only a matter of time before our families announce it publically, and then we're officially fucked."
She sighed, arms dropping and eyes glancing away. "I tried speaking to father-"
"A lot of good that did."
"Well, at least I'm trying! What have you been doing to help the situation?"
He seethed. "This is a conversation I intend to have with Astoria. She's a big girl, Daphne. Christ, she's about to be my bloody wife. I think she can handle speaking to me without a chaperone present."
Daphne's beautiful face turned lethal. "You have no idea what it means to be responsible for another person, Draco. You're an only child and a male of privilege. The world bows down to you. It's not the same for us women born into families such as ours. I've protected Tori since we were children. She's all I have and I'm not going to leave her to face this alone."
His brows drew together. "Face what? Me?" He scoffed. "Christ, Daph, we've known each other since before we could walk. Do you really think I pose any threat to her?"
"I'm not talking about you," she crossed her arms. "At least, not just you. I'm talking about the world at large. Tori and I are constantly at the mercy of another person's whims. Be it our father's or our future husband's-"
"Don't even get me started!" He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disdain. "You preach to me about how god awful you have it when you've been allowed to marry for love-"
"I was told who I was to marry when I was nine years old, Draco! I happened to be lucky enough to fall in love along the way, but if I hadn't it wouldn't have made any difference! I'd be forced to marry whoever my father said just as Tori is now-"
"That's what this is all really about, isn't it? You feel guilty you're actually fond of your fiancé while your sister has to be forced into an arrangement she doesn't want."
Daphne's eyes narrowed to slits. Silence permeated the room, hostile and heavy.
"You're only going to make this worse, Draco," she finally said, voice resigned.
His jaw tensed. "I'm trying to make this right."
"You'll never be given leave to marry her."
Draco blinked, heart seizing, knowing immediately that they were no longer discussing Astoria.
"That's not-"
"You'll only start a feud between our families and leave Tori's reputation damaged. She'll be tarnished on the marriage market and pinned with a man twice her age."
He swallowed thickly. "What are you saying? You actually want me to marry your sister?"
"Of course not. I'm just telling you not to make a public spectacle. It will only prevent you both from getting what you really want."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "And what does Tori want?"
Daphne sighed, glancing away and stepping back from the entrance.
"She's in the upstairs drawing room."
He opened his mouth to repeat his question but stopped when he realized she had relented, giving him her unspoken blessing to speak to Astoria alone. He reluctantly closed his mouth, deciding not to press his fate.
He started to exit, pausing before he entered the foyer.
"I'm not going to hurt her, Daphne."
She nodded, meeting his gaze with hardened eyes.
"I know. But you aren't going to protect her, either." She stepped away. "I'm the only one who protects her."
And then she turned her back on him.
Draco lingered a moment longer, a great burden weighing upon his shoulders.
Fucking Christ.
He shook his head, marching for the stairs, refusing to dwell on this new emotion swelling within him.
Guilt.
He made it to the second level, pausing outside the drawing-room door, closing his eyes, trying to wipe his mind clear and return to his earlier resolve.
He was on a mission.
And would not be deterred.
He opened his eyes and the door, stepping inside without invitation-
And stopped short.
Astoria sat on a low settee, doubled over, hands covering her face, quietly weeping.
Fuck.
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to stand the sight of crying women.
He was thoroughly deterred.
She glanced up sharply, red-rimmed eyes going wide.
"Oh! Draco? What are you doing here?"
"I came to speak with you."
She blinked, looking dumbfounded, then quickly recovered, wiping at her cheeks and sitting straighter, running her palms along her voluminous skirts.
"Of course, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Draco sighed, stepping into the room and starting to close the door, then thinking better and leaving it open. Best not to send the blasted butler into complete heart failure.
"You don't have to talk like that when it's just us, Tori. I've told you that."
She blinked again, obviously hesitant. He crossed the room and sat down across from her.
"You don't have to impress me or please me. I'm not your father, I'm not some random suitor come to pay you a visit. I'm your friend."
She deflated in her seat. "You're also my fiancé."
He ran a hand through his hair and over his face. "Not yet. But if we don't think of something, it's going to happen bloody soon."
She glanced away, picking at the folds of her skirt. "I don't know what you expect of me, Draco. I told father I'd like to have another Season and he refused, told me it was the end of the discussion and not to bring it up again."
His jaw ticked. "Another Season won't save you, Tori. It'll only delay the inevitable. If it isn't me you marry it'll be some other random bloke. Your father won't give two shites whether you like him."
She swallowed lightly, gaze still averted down. "But Daphne has a love match-"
"Daphne had over ten years to make the most of her situation and fell in love with Greg along the way. You think if they hated each other your father would call off the contract?"
Astoria sighed. "No."
"Exactly. You don't have a decade to get to know whatever man you're saddled with after me. You'll be forced to marry right away and then you're in it for life. We need to think of a solution that is more permanent."
Her pale brows drew together, eyes finally flickering up. "What are you saying? What could possibly prevent me from having to marry against my will?"
Draco wet his lips, sitting across from her and resting his forearms on his knees.
Thinking about the welfare of others was a foreign concept to him. He didn't think of himself as a selfish person, but perhaps he was. What Daphne said downstairs was technically all true. He was an only child born to privilege, he never had to protect or think about someone else. Nothing stood in the way of him getting what he wanted.
He could easily leave Tori to the wolves, let her fend for herself after he turned his back on her.
But he didn't want that. She was more a victim in this mess that he was. At least Draco could broach the topic of marriage with his father, not that it led anywhere, but he wasn't shut down entirely.
Lord Greengrass considered his daughters nothing more than ornaments to hang on the mantle to brighten the room. They weren't people, they were bargaining chips, void of emotion and desire.
No. Draco couldn't leave her alone in this.
But his mind drew up few viable alternatives.
"Alright, hear me out…"
She raised a pale brow, face turning guarded. "I already know this is going to be awful."
His eyes narrowed. "I said hear me out. So I was thinking about ways for you to avoid the marriage market entirely, and on the way to your Estate I passed by several churches, and I-" he stopped short as Astoria burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. It was wild and deep, she even snorted as she tried to get herself under control.
"Oh dear god, I was right! This is unequivocally awful!" she gasped between breaths.
"You don't even know what I was going to say!"
She laughed harder, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. "You were going to suggest I join a convent and become a nun."
Draco blinked, sitting back. "Well… I mean…"
She nearly toppled out of her seat.
"I didn't realize the prospect was so amusing."
She took a deep breath, finally coming to a calm, face flush. "That's because you're a man."
He scowled. "Well excuse me for trying to think up solutions!"
She mirrored his expression surprisingly well. "You consider locking me away in a church for the remainder of my life a solution?"
"You wouldn't be locked away, they have gardens, and food drives and they travel-"
"Yes, it's always been my dream to travel to the world's most poor and destitute villages to spread the holy gospel while sporting a black potato sack!"
"Well, I don't see you coming up with any alternatives!"
"Christ, Draco! I never said I didn't want to get married! I just said I didn't want to get married to you!"
"I'm not keen on marrying you either! You're practically a little sister to me, annoying as f-"
"Is everything alright in here?"
Draco growled, glancing sharply over his shoulder. "You just can't help yourself can you?"
"Your yelling is carrying through the entire house!"
"I wasn't the only one yelling!"
"Daphne," Astoria said, voice calm and even. "It's alright, thank you for checking on me but I don't need any help."
"I know that. I heard his nunnery suggestion and came to see if you'd stabbed him yet."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Hilarious. I'm glad that I can provide such past time amusement to you both."
"You obviously have no concept of how highly offensive such a suggestion is-"
"Why are you still here, Daphne? Didn't Tori dismiss you already?"
"You pompous arse!"
"Both of you, stop!" Astoria rose to her feet. "Fighting like this solves nothing." She directed her gaze to him. "I appreciate that you are trying to find a long-term solution for me, Draco, but I am not going to enroll in a convent."
"You've made that quite clear."
She sighed. "If someone sees your carriage out front and tells my father then we're both done for. You should go."
He bristled. "I didn't even get to say what I came to say!"
"Consider it said and go," Daphne snapped, stepping into the room with crossed arms. "As usual, you provide nothing but flash and drama. Tori and I will find a solution that works for her. You just worry about yourself."
Draco stood as well, towering above them in his rage. "Worry about myself? Are you daft? Whatever comes of this marriage contract affects me just as much as it does her!"
"Worry about yourself, Malfoy. It's what you're good at."
Astoria stepped forward, looking stricken. "Daphne, he was only trying to-"
"Don't defend him." She stepped back, gesturing to the doorway. "It's time for you to leave."
"You're both mad." He bit out as he stormed out of the room.
"And a good day to you as well!" Daphne shouted after his retreating form.
As he reached the stairs he heard her address her sister. "A nunnery… why didn't you stab him?"
Consumed by anger, it wasn't until the carriage pulled free from the circular drive that he realized he never asked Astoria why she had been crying in the first place.
Hermione walked down the corridor with her arms motionless at her sides. Dolohov's resounding footsteps at her back put her on edge, but she refused to walk beside him, as though they were friends or lovers on a midday stroll.
As unnerving as it was to not have him in her sights, it was also a relief. She tried to pretend it was someone else at her back, but then he spoke, ruining any illusion she may have formed.
"I have missed you, Hermione. Terribly so. Have you missed me?"
She kept her gaze straight ahead, walking briskly for the door to the gardens. She'd show him the outside first. She needed air. And witnesses.
"Do slow down, you're practically sprinting."
She swallowed heavily, keeping her quick stride.
"Hermione. Slow down."
Fingers wrapped around her wrist and she pulled back violently, spinning on her heal and colliding hard with the wall.
"Don't touch me!" she hissed, spitting venom.
His eyes narrowed as he leaned in.
"Do not think for one moment I will entertain such hysterics, Hermione."
"Stop calling me that."
He tilted his head, face moving closer still. "Is that not your name?"
Her chest heaved with the force of her rapid breathing, as though she'd just ran circles around the property line.
"You may address me as Ms. Granger or nothing at all."
He smirked. "Such spirit. I am relieved to see it has not diminished during your stay in this abysmal place. I was worried you'd changed. Turned meek."
His dark eyes flickered between hers. "But you're too strong to let such a thing as circumstance change who you are, isn't that right? Such a determined girl. So very clever." He raised a hand, the backs of his fingers grazing her cheek. "So very beautiful."
Hermione turned her head away so sharply a muscle in her neck strained. She squeezed her eyes closed, a tear tracking down her cheek, meeting his fingertips.
"I love to watch you cry. Nearly as much as hearing you screa-"
Suddenly a group of girls rounded the corner, the resounding chorus of giggles and sharp laughs bouncing off the walls. Dolohov stepped back, hands at his sides as he glanced upon them, smiling politely.
"Good afternoon, ladies."
They nodded and whispered behind their hands with smiles, skipping off with parting glances over their shoulders.
Antonin Dolohov was old enough to be their father but remained a remarkably striking man with a tone physic and full head of dark hair, salt and pepper strands flecked through the temples. He sported a West London accent and fine bespoke suits... always charming, always disarming, and always searching for a tender bit of flesh to sink his fangs into.
His eyes found hers once more.
"Come now, Hermione." He smiled deepened. "We mustn't delay. I must inspect the entire grounds to ensure you are in a safe environment." Fire ignited in his eyes. "I must see where you sleep."
Hermione blinked, dazed by fear, her mind overwhelmed with it, driving out rational thought.
"I…"
"How do we get to the dorms?" He glanced around, starting to pivot, the main staircase leading to the bedrooms just behind him.
Hermione stepped away from the wall, a sudden bolt of inspiration striking within her. She had no idea where it came from, what triggered it, but she didn't stop to ponder, merely spoke the words as they formed within her throat.
"The dorms are this way."
He turned to face her once more, brow raised, as though surprised she gave in to his request so easily. Hermione swallowed, afraid he'd see through the ruse.
"Perhaps I can show you the garden first?"
It took every ounce of strength left within her to hold his gaze, to maintain her delicate mask of demure reluctance, hoping beyond hope he'd accept the easy victory without question.
His eyes narrowed briefly before the corner of his mouth lifted. "No need. I saw it from the street on my way inside. We fell behind schedule thanks to your rather desperate Matron." He wet his lips. "Show me your room."
She inhaled deeply through her nose, forcing her neck to obey her commands and nod her head. She proceeded down the hall, around the corner, past the entrance to the dining hall…
Deeper, deeper, deeper.
Just a bit further…
"Are you certain this it the way? From the outside, it looked like the dorms were on the opposite side of the building."
Shite.
Hermione bit her lip, briefly closing her eyes and desperately searching for a viable excuse.
Her eyes snapped open. She glanced over her shoulder.
"This is a shortcut." She held his gaze. "A private shortcut."
She knew she'd successfully hooked him as his pupils blew wider. "Is it now?"
She wet her lips, too far gone with adrenaline to feel proper disgust.
"Yes. I want to avoid the younger students. Is that alright?"
"By all means," he held out his hand. "Proceed."
She clenched her jaw, facing forward once more and continuing her journey.
Hoping like hell her bet paid off.
Because if she was wrong, then she really was leading the beast to a secluded alcove.
And there'd be no escaping his clutches.
She swallowed heavily, pushing past her heart in her throat.
And then she saw it.
The oasis in the desert…
The double doors that signified solace.
Asylum.
Safety.
Or her doom.
"What is this?" He slowed his tracks.
Shite shite shite! I need to get him inside!
Hermione blinked, trying to maintain an air of calm.
"It leads to the stairwell."
He tilted his head. "Are you certain about that?"
"Which of us has been living here for the last three months?"
She delivered the cutting remark with more force than intended, but it seemed to please him immensely.
"My apologies, sweetling. I will trust your direction."
Her skin crawled at the intimate endearment. Her father used to call her sweetling.
Dolohov knew that.
She glanced to the double doors with such longing she was amazed they didn't pull open by the magnetism of her gaze alone.
And suddenly they were within reach-
And she was grasping the handle like a life raft, pulling it with such force it banged off the opposite wall.
She leaped inside, wild, madly searching, searching-
"Ms. Granger?"
Hermione nearly collapsed with the power of her relief, her entire body deflating with the intensity of it.
"Doctor!" Her voice was too high, too eager, eyes half crazed in desperation.
And then she saw him, standing by the bookcase, frozen in his signature repose of papers in his hands, a look of concentration upon his beautiful face...
He was the most magnificent thing she'd ever seen.
Her savior.
Radiant light spilled from his limbs, illuminating him in a halo of otherworldly splendor.
She wanted to fall to her knees in worship, in gratitude, in sheer exhaustion.
His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her from bottom to top. Then they were flickering past her shoulder to the man standing just beyond. Lightning flashed in their depths. For once she found it immensely reassuring.
"I'm sorry, mate," Dolohov said with forced cheer. "Seems Ms. Granger and I got turned around a bit. We'll be out of your way." He pinned Hermione with his dark gaze, still hovering at the threshold.
Hermione stepped further into the room, closer to the Doctor.
He set the papers aside, closing the distance between them.
Only to pass by entirely...
Coming to a stop between her and Dolohov, spine elongating to his full imposing height.
She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to cower behind him, remaining frozen and breathless in the middle of the room.
"Hello, there. My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle. I don't believe we've met."
His voice was pleasant enough, but Hermione had interacted with the man enough to know it now sounded more clipped than usual, harder at the edges.
"Yes, hello…" Dolohov glanced between her and the Doctor, his frustration at being misled showing through. But then he slipped his mask back on, resuming his impeccably mannered facade.
It was surreal to watch them interact, knowing what she now knew about both men- or at least what she suspected of the Doctor.
They were both dangerous predators.
Stealthily hunting after prey.
She knew what Dolohov sought.
And though she didn't have the first clue what Doctor Riddle was after, she knew it wasn't her. And that simple truth was enough information for Hermione to formulate a clear preference and pick her side.
She made her choice known, staying safely situated behind the Doctor's back.
"I am Antonin Dolohov, Ms. Granger's solicitor."
There was a shift in the air, the sunlight dimmed behind a cloud, the shadows became tangible, sentient, spread like dark pools over the walls and floor.
The Doctor's hands clenched at his side before loosening, such a quick movement she wasn't certain whether she'd seen it at all.
"I believe Ms. Granger has spoken about you before."
Hermione blinked.
Then she recalled her brief mention of Dolohov days ago, in this very clinic, after she's stocked the medical cabinet.
What cruel irony the man himself now stood within this sacred space, polluting the air with his toxic breath.
The predators shook hands.
The ground rumbled.
Their grips tightened, lingered, eyes locked. And then she sensed it…
The moment they drew the same conclusion that she had, the moment they recognized the beast dwelling within the other man's eyes…
Their hands fell apart.
The cloud moved away from the sun, light spilling back into the room, blinding in its relentless invasion. Hermione squinted, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the bright rays.
"And what brings you to the Home today, Mr. Dolohov?"
She blinked rapidly, unable to see the Doctor's face.
"I am conducting my quarterly visit of the grounds. As the executor of Ms. Granger's estate it is imperative I ensure her continued welfare."
Her eyes adjusted to the light, their shadowy figures came back into view.
"Then it is a good thing you are here. What a beautiful day to pay a visit. Perhaps Hermione can show you the outdoor grounds?"
Dolohov went rigid at the Doctor's casual use of her first name. Hermione swallowed as his dark gaze flickered to her and back again.
"That would be lovely. But first I must finish our inside tour. And we really must be going, I'm afraid we're already behind schedule."
She swayed on her feet, desperate and hopeless, no other escape plans coming to mind in the wake of her unbridled terror.
Dr. Riddle stepped back, closer to Hermione, turning to face her while tucking his hands in his trouser pockets.
"I'm afraid I can't permit that."
She blinked, heart leaping into her throat.
"Excuse me?" Dolohov's fists clenched at his sides.
The Doctor smiled, utterly beautiful and lethal, gazing at the other man with indifference.
"She is clearly ill. Look at her complexion. She appears to be suffering from the stomach sickness that has been going around." He looked to her once more, eyes cast in shadow, gleaming from the darkness. "Have you been sick today, Hermione?"
His continued use of her first name made her entire body throb. She wet her lips, nodding.
"Yes. I spent half an hour in the water closet prior to Mr. Dolohov's visit."
His eyes narrowed, searching hers, and then the shadows passed, his expression once more masked in blank disinterest.
"There you have it. Another case of the stomach flu. As her physician, I cannot permit her to expend any more energy today. I'm afraid she will not be able to lead you on your tour of the grounds."
She felt like she was separated from her body, watching the scene from the ceiling, hovering against the corner of the walls. Dolohov's mask cracked, an enraged scowl overtaking his handsome features for a flash, the haunting visage emblazoning on her mind, familiar and unmistakable.
"Well, far be it for me to argue with a physician's orders," he said slowly, gaze warring with the Doctor's. "I'll simply have to reschedule for a day when is feeling more herself."
"There's no need." The Doctor tipped his head with a smile. "A busy man such as yourself shouldn't have to make two trips up here just to ensure the ceiling isn't leaking and the floors aren't filled with holes. I am happy to show you around the rest of the building."
Dolohov opened and closed his mouth, then sent Hermione a rather accusing glare, the message clear.
You planned for this.
She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing down.
"I appreciate the kind offer, but I wouldn't want to pull you from your duties as sole physician. Surely you are more needed here than as a tour guide."
"It is the residents' lunch hour, as well as mine. The clinic is closed right now. If there's an emergency one of the girls will summon me. The grounds aren't that large." His teeth gleamed. "It doesn't take long to find what you're looking for."
Dolohov released a slow breath, the sound becoming music to Hermione's ears. The melody of surrender.
"Well, I suppose I am grateful for your hospitality, then."
The Doctor nodded, then glanced at Hermione. "Go to your dorms and lie down, Hermione. Drink plenty of fluids." His eyes flashed. "And stay there for the remainder of the day."
She nodded quickly, stumbling for the door in such haste she nearly tripped.
"Goodbye, Ms. Granger." Hermione stopped dead, spine straightening as Dolohov addressed her back. "It was a pleasure seeing you again. I look forward to our next visit when you are feeling better."
She swallowed, slowly glancing over her shoulder and meeting his dark gaze, the black tar pits of hell contained within, and felt her throat seize up.
She merely nodded, staring into the endless void for another rattled heartbeat, his purple scar standing out in stunning contrast from his tan skin.
And then she tore her gaze away, bursting through the double doors like the devil himself was in pursuit.
Tom watched Hermione flee the clinic in much the same state as she entered it.
Terrified out of her mind.
Before her spectacular arrival, he'd been cross-referencing the medical files of those deemed 'runaways', looking for connections, markers. Something that stood out, made them stand out…
His nights were filled with much the same thing, his newly appointed secret office fit to burst with stolen files from the records room.
Only it wasn't such a secret anymore, was it?
He'd let the girl inside.
Foolish really.
But he'd been so shocked to find her racing along the halls, a sobbing mess, he'd sprung from his hiding spot just to see if she was gravely injured, missing a limb or some other calamity. When she'd appeared physically fine other than her frazzled mental state and lack of proper attire he'd been even more intrigued.
Luckily she'd hardly noticed the contents of his office, badgering him with no questions, more concerned with fleeing than staying to investigate.
Still, he shouldn't have taken her there. It was only a matter of time before an inquisitive mind such as hers grew curious. Worse yet, she had a bold streak a mile long that would only instigate her need to meddle.
She'd gone to Amortentia.
She'd gone as a house girl…
Yes, the girl certainly had a core of steel.
She'd left one of her crimson ribbons behind. A smear of blood upon the floor.
He'd picked it up. Wrapped it around his finger. Traced the edges with his thumb.
And now for some inexplicable reason, he carried it in his pocket.
It was simply a reminder. A reminder of all that was at stake.
Nothing more.
And then the doors had burst open in a small explosion, the girl herself emerging in a cloud of smoke as though his thoughts alone had summoned her into existence.
First, he saw her eyes. Wild, desperate, searching.
And then he'd seen the creature lurking at her back.
And he'd understood.
This would simply not do.
It had been a natural instinct to insert himself between the doe and the wolf. He'd faced down predators such as this many of times. It was almost as second nature as wielding a scalpel or taking a pulse.
Men like Dolohov had shaped Tom into the man he was today.
He'd find a way to show his unending gratitude.
Once the doors closed behind Hermione's abrupt departure the curtains lowered over the stage, the play ended, the masks came off.
"So tell me, Doctor Riddle, what brings you to this establishment of all places?"
Tom's eyes narrowed, mouth lifting into a lethal grin.
"I find I am able to accomplish a great deal of work here. The post sat abandoned for so long, the residents were in desperate need of care."
Dolohov raised a sharp brow. "Still, a young man such as yourself surely has loftier dreams than being confined to the clinic of a girls' shelter for the duration of his career."
Tom slid his hands into his pockets, smoothing the satin ribbon between the pads of his fingers.
"I assure you, my dreams are very clearly defined. This is merely a stepping stone to the ultimate goal."
Dolohov tilted his head.
"And what is that?"
Tom held his gaze steady. Several heartbeats passed, and then he stepped back, gesturing to the doors.
"I've distracted you for too long. Shall we proceed with the tour?"
Tom felt his teeth elongate behind his lips, desperate to tear into the creature before him.
Dolohov blinked. "I don't really think that's necessary. I've taken up enough of your time today, and I've seen enough of the building to know it's in good standing. I think I can conclude with today's visit."
His sharpened teeth receded, the surrender taking him off guard.
Perhaps he wasn't as subtle as he'd intended.
Another thing to work on.
He nodded. "Certainly. I will escort you out."
He couldn't have the fox sneaking into the hen house upstairs.
"That's not necess-"
"I insist. I'm in need of a mild excursion myself, I've been cooped in this room for too long. Come, I'll take you through the garden gate, you really must see the flowers."
Most of the residents were dining. Less prey lingered outside.
Dolohov's jaw ticked, but he pasted on a congenial smile and tipped his head. "Certainly, lead the way, Doctor."
Tom led the forward march out of the clinic, fingers still intertwined with the ribbon as his senses rose to high alert, ever aware of the presence at his back. Once they emerged in the corridor he altered his pace, allowing Dolohov to fall in step beside him.
The better to see his reactions.
"How did you come to be Ms. Granger's solicitor?"
The man blinked, spine going rigid. "I was her parent's solicitor before their untimely deaths."
"And now you control their estate?"
"As the law dictates, with no male heirs to take control I am entitled to controlling rights until such a time as Ms. Granger marries or produces a legal male heir."
"How antiquated that an infant boy is entrusted with rights and property denied to an adult woman."
Dolohov laughed, a dark glimmer in his eye. "I admit that Ms. Granger is a clever girl, but I have met enough women to know that entrusting the majority of them with large sums of property and cash would only lead the world to ruin."
"Is that so?"
"They are spiteful things, led by their emotions rather than their sensibilities. In my line of work I have seen many a man, business and even government laid to waste by a woman's fickle fancy." He shook his head. "Trust me when I say men are better off maintaining controlling rights, for the good of the fairer sex."
Tom gazed sideways. The smile on Dolohov's face was inviting, bidding Tom to agree. Instead, his focus lingered on the raised line of purple flesh across his eye.
"And how did you come by such a scar?"
"Hm? Oh," he gingerly touched the mark. "This old thing?"
"It looks fairly recent."
He laughed shortly. "I wasn't paying attention while riding and was thrown from my horse."
Tom studied the mark. Dolohov shifted uncomfortably.
"You must have hit a very sharp rock. Minimal trauma to the surrounding skin suggests the cut was made with a narrow point. Like a blade."
Dolohov blinked, averting his gaze forward as they walked the wide corridor. "Just my luck, I suppose."
Tom smirked, eyes still fixed upon him. "Luck has a way of always running out, doesn't it?"
"Yes, unfortunately, it does."
Dolohov increased his pace. Tom's long legs easily kept stride beside him.
"Here we are." He gestured to the doors that led outside. "This will take us on the scenic route."
"Delightful."
Tom held the door open, allowing the other man to pass by first, eyes flashing with malevolent glee as Dolohov kept his gaze averted forward, obvious tension in his limbs.
"So tell me, Doctor, where have you practiced medicine before? I know many physicians throughout the city. I'm curious if we share any acquaintances."
We most certainly do.
"I transferred here from St. Mungo's. Before then I spent years practicing medicine on the continent, mostly throughout eastern Europe and parts of the Middle East."
"How fascinating." He sounded anything but. "Did you attend school abroad?"
Tom's eyes narrowed. He knew what the seemingly harmless question implied.
Men like Dolohov, the privileged elite, measured other men's worth first by pedigree and second by education. Tom had no doubt the man considered any school outside the UK subpar. He clearly thought Tom was saddled with this position because he couldn't qualify for work elsewhere.
"I graduated from Cambridge before attending the Royal College of Surgeons. I placed the top of my class and transferred to a teaching hospital in London. After being made the head of the surgical division in two years time I was offered a coveted spot on the St. Mungo's medical team."
Dolohov blinked, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words.
"I… that's… quite impressive, Doctor." He wet his lips. "May I ask… whatever are you doing here?"
Tom's eyes gleamed beneath the bright sun. "I've spent my entire life searching relentlessly. I've yet to find what I seek. This place is merely another rock to uncover."
Dolohov's brows drew together, obviously unsatisfied with the vague response, but before he spoke he seemed to become distracted by something over Tom's shoulder. Tom blinked, turning to follow the wolf's dark gaze.
His jaw ticked.
The garden was empty of residents.
Except for one.
His Rook.
The ethereal blonde was on her knees, bent over and digging at the roots of a large hawthorn bush with a small spade.
Dolohov stood transfixed by her for several long moments before Tom shifted his stance, blocking the girl from view. The man blinked, eyes narrowing and locking with Tom's.
"I'm starting to understand why a man might be willing to forgo his mighty reputation to work in a place such as this."
Tom's spine elongated, rising to his full height. The ribbon wrapped around his finger so tightly it cut off the circulation.
A scathing response was burning on the back of his tongue, but he inhaled sharply, tucking it away. There was an opportunity here, one that would require him to tread carefully. But if he was able to strategize ahead, perhaps he could advance along the board even faster.
"Yes. It certainly has its benefits."
Dolohov smirked, eyes alight as he clapped Tom heartily on the shoulder. "Damn straight! Ha! I knew the moment I saw you that you were an intelligent bloke." His eyes shifted past him, focusing once more upon the girl.
"So tell me…" he spoke in a low voice, leaning forward. "Just between us men, do you get to examine all the girls?"
Tom's eye twitched.
"I am the sole physician here. Every resident is under my care."
Dolohov nodded eagerly. "And do you get to... " he wet his lips. "Examine all parts of them?"
Tom was silent for several beats, focused on the thrumming pulse in the man's neck, vivid imaginings of spurting red fluid filling his mind's eye, keeping him calm, grounded.
"I conduct all external examinations. I refer patients to a specialist for anything more invasive."
Dolohov leaned back. "Damn. Too bad, eh?" He winked, smirk transforming his face into something wicked.
"You know," he continued slowly. "I heard a rumor, about the last doctor to hold your post."
"Have you now?"
"I heard that he got a bit, hands-on with the girls. A bit too hands on, if you catch my meaning."
Tom inhaled slowly. "I heard similar rumors."
And then he'd heard the truth from the horse's blood filled mouth.
"Such a shame that a man of high standing and esteem is made a victim by the whims of a few errant school girls."
Tom raised a brow. "You don't believe the rumors?"
Dolohov's expression sharpened. "I have no doubt he only did what those girls wanted him to. They're all desperate for a handout, for a golden ticket, they'll do anything to better their station in life. And that goes for the high born females as well, just as ruthless and cutthroat as their downtrodden counterparts, if not more so."
"And do you hold Ms. Granger in the same regard?"
Dolohov blinked, drawing back. Then a slow smile curved his lips. Tom's fists tightened in his pockets. His reaction perturbed him. He forced his hands to loosen.
"She is special."
Tom's eye twitched again. The silence continued, Dolohov electing to say no more. Then his dark gaze averted to the blonde.
"I see there are many special cases here."
Tom couldn't keep the beast inside him chained down much longer. His resolve was wearing thin. He gestured to the gate. "It's been a true delight to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dolohov. But I hate to deter you from your day any longer."
"Oh, yes. Of course." He stepped back, examining Tom with a tilted head. "I like you, Riddle. If you don't mind me speaking so informally."
"Not at all."
The man smiled. "I'd like to get to know you better, learn more of your background. I have a feeling you and I share many common interests."
You have no idea.
Tom's answering smile wasn't feigned. "I have no doubt our paths will cross again."
Dolohov nodded. "I do hope so. Perhaps I shall forward an invitation to a gathering with other like-minded individuals, help you reintegrate yourself into the proper social scene now that you're back in London."
Tom wet his lips, the taste of victory sweet.
"I would be honored."
"Excellent. Well, I bid you good day, then."
"To you as well."
He watched the beast saunter past the flowering bushes and through the gate, finally disappearing around the side of the building.
And then he felt eyes upon him.
He glanced to the side, locking gazes with the garden's other inhabitant.
She was still perched on her knees, gloves caked in soil, long braid draped over her shoulder.
Such a placid, angelic looking thing.
Such a delicious meal for the wild creatures lurking just outside these walls.
His gaze lingered, considering…
No.
She was too sweet, too demure. The perfect bait but the worst kind of trap. She lacked the metal teeth needed to ensnare the stealthy fox or disembowel the hungry wolf.
Tom nodded to her, once, and she nodded back, removing her gloves and taking to her feet, quickly heading back inside the building.
She'd proven helpful so far. She'd prove even more helpful yet, he had no doubt.
But she could never be more than his Rook.
Tom inhaled the warm summer air, letting the floral and wood notes linger in his lungs, and slowly withdrew his hand from his pocket.
He gazed down at his fingers, the line of bright red pressed deep into his flesh, turning his fingertip blue. Squeezing the life from the tissue. He tilted his head, slowly loosening the ribbon, savoring the sharp pang of needles as the blood rushed back into the appendage.
"She is special."
Yes.
That she was.
She survived the flames of hell, only to be reborn edged in steel.
Meeting the beast she had scarred only solidified what he already suspected upon finding her hiding in his wardrobe, a burning omen of the battle to come.
He'd laid out his chessboard many years ago, steadily gathering the pawns and knights needed to bring the enemy to its knees.
And now, at long last, he'd found his final piece.
The most vital one of all.
Hermione Granger would be his Queen.
Harry was battling his bath dampened hair with a comb when a thunderous rumbling occurred downstairs.
He quickly descended, half wondering if Malfoy was once more beating a dent into the door, when the melody of voices on the other side of the barrier met his ears, making him shake his head in amusement.
He opened the door-
And promptly had the air knocked from his lungs as a small and sturdy figure darted forward, crashing headfirst into his body and driving him back.
"Uncle Harry! You're back you're back!"
"Teddy! What did I tell you about leaping on people like a dog?"
"It's alright," Harry laughed, stepping back and hoisting the boy into his arms. "As long as he doesn't pee on my leg I can't complain."
The woman entering behind the boy rolled her eyes, stepping inside. "Don't give him any ideas, Harry."
"Hello, Dora," he leaned in, allowing her to kiss him on the cheek. "You look lovely."
"I look like I've crawled out from beneath a ton of bricks. I've spent the last two days unpacking. Why do we own so much shite?"
"Language!"
Dora rolled her eyes. "Sorry, mum. Why do we own so much bloody shite?"
Harry fought back a smile as his Aunt entered the residence, eyes narrowed upon her daughter but lacking any real heat.
"It's wonderful to see you, my dear, welcome home," Andromeda said as she placed a hand on his shoulder, kissing him on the cheek as well.
"It's good to be back. How is the publishing house doing?"
"Splendid. Ted couldn't come tonight, he's waiting on a delivery and sends his love."
"Where's Rem?"
"Forced to the back of the line, as usual," the man in question said with a smile, entering the Manor and shutting the door behind him. "Hello, Harry. Christ, you look more like James everytime I see you."
Harry swallowed thickly, leaning into the man's embrace as he clapped him on the back. As they separated something hard prodded into his chest, he glanced down and saw the toy clasped in Teddy's hands, a wooden ship with white sails. Harry smiled.
"Still want to be a sailor like your godfather and Uncle Sirius?"
Teddy nodded enthusiastically, holding his toy aloft and dipping it through the air like it was sailing the raging seas. "I'm going to be a Fleet Admiral!"
Harry tipped his head back and laughed even as Remus shook his head in exasperation. "Any hopes of turning the boy into a scholar have been dashed, thanks to you."
Harry smirked. "No one can accuse him of setting small goals."
"At least he doesn't dream of becoming a pirate," Andromeda said, unfastening the buckle on her cloak. "Like his mother did."
"Who says I still don't?" Dora winked.
Harry set his godson down, stepping towards his Aunt. "Let me take your cloak."
She raised a dark brow, shrugging out of the garment. "You have no butler?"
"Sirius let him go a while back. Said he was judging him with his eyes. And watering down his liquor."
Andromeda sighed. "Of course he did. And where is my mongrel cousin?"
"Passed out upstairs. I'll go fetch him."
"Why don't we let Teddy do the honors? He's quite capable of waking the dead, Sirius should pose little challenge."
Harry smiled. "Brilliant." He glanced to the boy hanging from his leg. "I have a mission for you, Teddy, official orders set down from the Queen herself."
Teddy's eyes widened, glimmering in the light. "What does she say?"
Harry fought to keep his earnest expression. "You are to go upstairs and wake up Uncle Sirius by any means necessary. Just don't damage the furniture or injure yourself. Sirius is fair game, do whatever you like to him."
Teddy's face split in half with a wide grin. "Mission accepted! It's an honor to serve her Majesty!" And then he was taking off at a sprint, galloping up the stairs with a five-year-old's determination.
Harry turned to his Uncle. "How long are you back for?"
"Until the end of August, classes start on the first of September."
"You're still teaching Anthropology?"
"Yes-"
"They're making him head of the Department," Dora cut in, leaning her head against his shoulder. "The youngest to ever hold the title."
"That's fantastic, mate! Congratulations."
A flush stained Remus's cheeks as he glanced away. "Thank you, Harry, but it's not that big a-"
"If you say it's not a big deal I'm going to smack you upside that brilliant head of yours." His wife threatened, eyes narrowed.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, my love. It's a very big deal. Are you happy?"
"Always." She perched on her toes and pecked him on the lips, making him blush deeper.
Harry smiled. Andromeda sighed. "Please refrain from intimate displays of public affection in the entryway, it's uncouth."
Dora spun around, hands on her hips. "I've seen you and dad kissing all over the house. Scarred me for life as a child."
"Then think about what you're subjecting my poor grandson to."
"Speaking of which," Harry interjected, glancing up the empty staircase. "I thought we'd have heard the roof caving in by now-"
Right on cue, a thunderous roar issued from the second floor, following by childish squeals of delight.
"You little hellion! Come here, I'm going to toss you out the window!"
"No!" Teddy screamed with laughter. "Uncle Sirius don't!"
"I've got you now!"
Everyone glanced to the upper level as heavy footsteps sounded, followed by Teddy's hysterical giggles. Sirius emerged from the hallway, toting the boy upside down over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
"Perhaps I'll toss you over the banister instead so the neighbors don't see..."
"No!" His short limbs thrashed, Sirius keeping him easily pinned in place."I'm sorry! Uncle Harry told me to!"
"You little tattletale!" Harry called up.
"I see, my ungrateful godson is the real culprit! I suppose I'll have to toss you both over the banister."
"No! Uncle Harry, help! Help!"
Dora laughed, shaking her head. "Why don't you ever call mom for help? You don't think I can take Sirius in a fight? I'd have him laid flat in two seconds."
Sirius huffed, eyes narrowed. "That's only because you fight dirty, you lawless heathen."
"I learned from the best," she winked.
"Thank you, luv," he smirked, shifting the flailing boy on his shoulder.
"I wasn't referring to you, dolt. Mum taught me everything I know about throwing a mean right hook."
"Dora, honestly," Andromeda shook her head. "Don't forget I also taught you how to shoot."
"Trust me, she hasn't forgotten," Remus chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist. "She'll shoot the glass right out of my hand when she's ready to leave a party."
Dora rolled her eyes. "That only happened twice."
Teddy let out another high pitched squeal as Sirius began to tickle him.
"Please don't get him riled before dinner, Sirius," Andromeda called up. "He barely sits still as it is, I don't want him running amok in the restaurant."
"He's a boy, Andy! They're meant to run wild. Besides," he glanced to his longtime friend. "He's a Marauder by blood. There'll be no hope for getting him to obey the rules."
"I wasn't that bad," Remus said, arching a brow. "I kept you and James in line, didn't I?"
"Your technique needs some work, my dear," Andromeda said as she cut a path across the floor to the parlor. "I seem to recall the three of you sitting in a jail cell on Christmas Eve, one pair of pants among you."
Remus flushed bright red. Harry's ears perked up, smile forming. "I'm sorry-" he glanced up to Sirius, who looked equally red-faced. "I haven't heard this story. Please elaborate."
"Yes, please do, mother!" Dora gripped her husband's arm in excitement, bouncing on her heels.
"Don't you dare, Andy!" Sirius shouted, quickly trotting down the stairs with Teddy flopping from his shoulder, laughing all the while. "You swore yourself to secrecy!"
She smirked over her shoulder. "I recall making no such agreement, Sirius Black. And as the only sober person involved in the debacle, I believe my memory is the one to be trusted."
"Don't leave us in suspense, Aunt Andy," Harry started to follow her, laughing at his Uncle and godfather's mortified reactions. "You have to tell us the story."
She sat gracefully on the settee, arranging her skirts in a pristine flourish, living proof you could take the woman out of the aristocracy but you couldn't take the aristocracy out of the woman. Sirius put Teddy down and the boy promptly darted into his grandmother's lap, her arms wrapping around him.
"I suppose we have time for one quick story before supper-"
"Andy, I swear to god, don't tell this story."
"You have to, Mum!"
"Please, Aunt Andy," Harry bade. "I've never seen Sirius this embarrassed, and I've caught him in compromising positions without pants before."
"Oi! Remember one thing, kid, I've changed your diapers."
Harry laughed, opening his mouth to respond but before he could utter another word there was a sharp knock at the front door. Everyone fell silent, turning their heads to gaze upon it.
"Expecting someone?" Dora asked.
"Only you lot," Sirius replied, then glanced to Harry. "Unless you're expecting someone?"
Harry shook his head. "Maybe it's Ted?"
"No, he's running inventory after the shipment arrives," Andy supplied, running her fingers through Teddy's sandy blonde locks. "He'll be at the business all evening."
Harry shrugged. "Well, only one way to find out."
He departed from the group and crossed the entryway, peeking through the pane to see who it was, spotting only the street carriage parked behind the Tonks'. He raised a brow, curious, and opened the door a crack, peering out and meeting a set of familiar light brown eyes.
His heart dropped into his stomach.
He blinked, staring at them blankly.
"Well, are you going to invite me in or not?" She glanced over her shoulder. "The longer I stay out here the better chance I have of being seen."
Harry wet his lips, glancing over his own shoulder at his family, currently watching him with blatant curiosity.
Fuck.
He sighed.
There was no way around this mess. He couldn't very well speak to her outside and risk some random passerby witnessing their exchange. Which left only one alternative…
He opened the door fully.
"Come on in."
She gathered her skirts and darted past, making it halfway across the foyer before coming to a dead stop, eyes wide and fixed upon the small gathering in the adjoining room.
"Oh…" she trailed off, blinking several times and glancing nervously at Harry. "I didn't realize- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."
Harry closed the door. "You aren't interrupting." He placed his hands in his trouser pockets, trying to affect an air of calm indifference, knowing his family was watching the interaction like nosy hawks.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Susan. Welcome to Grimmauld."
She wet her lips, glancing between Harry and his family. Sirius smirked, stepping into the foyer.
"Hello there, luv. The name's Sirius Black, how do you do?" He reached out for her hand, placing a polite kiss on the back.
"Yes, I know who you are, Lord Black. It's an honor to make your acquaintance." Her voice sounded nervous. "My name is Susan Bones. I do hope I haven't disturbed your evening."
"Not at all." His eyes darted to Harry, filled with humor. "And how do you know my godson?"
"Oh, well, we…" she looked to Harry once more.
Jesus Christ. This was looking more sordid by the second.
"We met at a function for the Scotland Yard. Susan's father was just appointed Commissioner of a new investigational unit at the London precinct."
"Ah, I thought your name sounded familiar," Remus said from the other room, smiling at her. "The CID is a much-needed asset to the police department. We wish your father all the best in his new position."
She nodded. "That's very kind of you to say, Sir. I shall pass your good wishes onto my father."
"So," Sirius raised a brow. "What brings you here this evening?"
"Oh," she wrung her hands together. "Well… I…"
Dora laughed lightly from her spot beside Remus. "Bloody hell, give the kids some privacy!"
"Dora!" Andromeda scolded. "Do mind your language in front of guests!" She glanced at Susan. "I apologize for my daughter's colorful outburst, my dear. Perhaps you and Harry would like to move your discussion to the billiards room?"
Harry nodded, relief flooding his system. "That's a great idea," he tilted his head towards the opposite hall. "Please, follow me, Susan."
Sirius sighed. "No one ever lets me have any fun."
Harry shot his godfather a glare as he escorted Susan into the hall, the curious and amused gazes of his family disappearing behind the wall.
Susan released a deep sigh as they entered the expansive billiards room. "Shite," she whispered as he shut the door. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you'd have guests over. Ron said it was only you at Grimmauld."
Harry blinked. "It was. Sirius got back this morning, the family just arrived for dinner."
She looked stricken. "I was hoping my visit would remain a secret."
"Why are you here?"
She bit her lip, reaching into her bag and withdrawing a familiar slip of paper.
Harry's calling card. The one he'd given her at the opium den.
"You told me to come here if I had any information that could be relevant."
His heart leaped, body jolting.
"You've heard something about Lavender?"
She swallowed, eyes darting down. "Maybe… I'm not sure."
He tilted his head, stepping closer. "What is it, Susan?"
"I…" she sighed deeply, shoulders dropping. "I overheard one of the officers telling my father about something they found tonight."
His blood rushed through his ears, pulse thrumming madly. She finally glanced up, meeting his intense gaze.
"They've pulled a body from the river." Her brows drew together. "A girl."
The air was pulled violently from his lungs, the gaslights seeming to dim at once. The silence pressed against him from all sides, finally broken by his low spoken curse.
"Shite."
