Chapter Ten

June 26, 1971

9:00 am

After two large glasses of fire whiskey with her cousin at the bar where her father periodically came to stand behind, Hermione was calm enough to almost forget the humiliation of the dinner at the Lestrange Estate. Rodolphus promised to arrive at The Hog's Head precisely at nine the next morning to take her to Diagon Alley. Because she was unused to such strong liquor, she had had no trouble falling asleep despite the emotional upheaval.

Rodolphus was knocking at the front door of the pub three minutes before the nine o'clock hour in an effort to make up for his tardiness the night before. Aberforth welcomed him back into the family section of the pub where Hermione was finishing up her breakfast in the kitchen. The three of them passed several pleasant minutes discussing the agenda for the day.

"Before we do anything, Hermione, we must stop by Gringotts," Rodolphus explained.

Hermione was both nervous and excited about the prospect of returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak. She had not been back inside the famed wizard bank since the day she, Harry and Ron stole the blind dragon down in the bowels of the bank's extensive caverns. Though it had not been expressed in so many words, she was almost certain that the goblins of Gringotts would not be pleased to see her face again within their establishment when she returned to the future. Between the numerous funerals following the final battle and then the rebuilding of the school afterwards, she had not had the opportunity to escape to London for even a few hours to test out her theory.

After giving Aberforth yet another hug that he seemed slightly uncomfortable with, Hermione followed her cousin out the front door. She did not really need his assistance in Apparating to the familiar London shopping district, but she got the feeling that it made Rodolphus feel better to have some semblance of control over the situation. Imagining his horror at being unable to find his younger cousin when they reached their destination and having to face the wrath of both her father and his, she giggled quietly and grasped his offered arm.

She was curious to see if Diagon Alley was any different from what she remembered from her own time. Of course her last couple of visits in the middle of the war did not really count. She was certain there would not be wandless Muggle-Borns begging in the street or beloved stores boarded up with no owners in sight. A lump formed in her throat at the realization that those events were still to come. It was too easy in time travel to forget. Once their feet landed in front of the marble pillars, Hermione felt her lungs constrict and her palms grow sweaty.

"Are you all right?" Rodolphus whispered, concerned by the change in her breathing pattern.

Hermione tried to nod in the affirmative except her brain was having trouble communicating with the rest of her body. All she could think of was the day she promenaded down the main alley disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange, intent on burglarizing the ancient vault belonging to the family she was now strangely considered a part of. Her arm began to burn where the horrible woman carved a hateful slur only a few months earlier. So many thoughts and feelings that she had not expected came rushing back at her with an intoxicating fury. Rodolphus was beside himself with worry. One of the only coherent thoughts she could muster in the moments as her vision became fuzzy and loud buzzing sounded in her ears, was the sensation of a gentle, but firm hand on her arm pulling her inside the building.

"Make way! Make way!"

Concerned voices in varying tones sounded around her muddled head. She was led to a chair and carefully pushed onto the plush seat. Someone was rubbing her back with a tender hand, whispering soothing words into her ear. Reminding her to breathe. Telling her she was safe. Begging her to drink water. Smoothing down her hair. Hissing at someone offering a calming spell.

She had only had one other panic attack in her life that she could remember clearly. It had happened only days following the terrifying night she witnessed Professor Lupin transform into a werewolf and she and Harry had been able to save Sirius Black's life on the back of the condemned hippogriff, Buckbeak. In the heat of the moment while flying over the Hogwarts grounds with her arms thrown around Harry's waist, she had been able to forget that she was so afraid of flying. Days later when she woke up in the middle of the night after a vivid dream with the same sensations of flying, she had forgotten she was in the safety of her four poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. It had taken a large dose of calming potion from Madam Pomfrey to bring her back to herself. Naturally the matron assumed that she was only suffering side effects of the dementor attack and the close call with a full-grown werewolf.

"Hermione, darling, are you all right?"

Her eyes focused enough to recognize Rodolphus crouched on the floor in front of her. Concern and fear were splashed across every inch of his face. His entire face and neck were bright red and a single drop of perspiration dripped down from the top of his head. Without giving it much thought, she threw her arms around the wizard's neck. The force almost knocked him backwards, but it only took him moments to right himself and return the embrace.

"Could we have a few minutes, sirs?" Rodolphus asked.

"Yes, of course, Mr. Lestrange," replied a voice that could only belong to a goblin.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Hermione burst into tears. Rodolphus tightened his arms around the sobbing witch, continuing his encouraging words. She was not sure how long they remained in that position before she was thoroughly humiliated.

"I am so sorry," she mumbled, carefully pushing back from her cousin.

Rodolphus smiled at her in an attempt at reassurance. It almost made her feel less embarrassed. The wizard slowly rose from his crouched position, wincing as the feeling came back into his muscles. He reached into his front pocket to remove a handkerchief. When it was offered to the witch, Hermione could not help but snort and laugh softly.

"What?" he asked, a perplexed smile on his face.

"I was just thinking that it was about time I started carrying around my own handkerchief," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm liable to steal everyone else's otherwise."

"Are you all right? Is there something you need?"

She attempted a half-smile that came out more like a grimace. Mostly she just wanted to melt into a puddle and hide underneath the ornate desk they were seated in front of. How many people witnessed her event? Rodolphus sat in the chair next to hers.

"Once when I was about seven, Grandfather took me into the Ministry of Magic. We were doing something in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Probably something about his desire to reinstate legal Muggle hunting."

"What?!"

Rodolphus sighed.

"Yes, it's as awful as it sounds. Imagine a fox hunt, but instead of foxes, the dogs hunt helpless Muggles. Barbaric, yes, but unfortunately a sport that our ancestors excelled at."

"Fuck."

"Yes, I'm afraid there are a lot of hideous ancestors on our tree. Some of them not that far up the branches either," he continued. "But somehow I got separated from Grandfather and I got lost. Managed to get myself locked in one of the empty offices. No matter how many times I pounded on the door, no one came for me. A wizard from the Magical Maintenance department found me the next morning."

"Grandfather just left you there?"

Rodolphus shrugged his shoulders. Hermione could not believe the horrible story he was telling her. What kind of man was this person, anyway? How can a person just leave their seven year old grandson alone overnight in a strange building? Surely there had been some sort of search for little Rodolphus.

"He believed it would be a good lesson to remind me to always stay close to him when we were out in public."

"I'm very thankful I never met the man. Oh! That's the worst story I've ever heard of a grandfather and his grandchild. If he were still alive, you better trust I would have a few choice words to share with the horrible man."

Her cousin chuckled softly at her continued rant against the former patriarch of their family. Despite not knowing the full details of her life or why exactly she ran, Hermione could certainly sympathize with Roesia's desire to leave her family. If that was how he treated his family, she was well shut of him. No wonder Aberforth's daughter wanted nothing to do with the rest of her family. While she felt badly for Aberforth in that arrangement, she could not blame her for not wanting to know her relatives.

"Why did you tell me that story?"

"Just an experiment, I guess," he replied, shrugging his shoulders once again. "I got the feeling that if you were able to channel your emotions to something else upsetting, you might be able to move on from whatever just upset you. Wasn't certain it would work, but it's easy to tell you have a large heart, Hermione. You can't bear it when someone else is in pain."

His explanation made her laugh and her laughter made him laugh. Before they were even aware, both cousins were crying hard enough that tears were running down their cheeks. Rodolphus wiped his eyes on his sleeve since his only handkerchief was now put to use on Hermione's face.

"I am so embarrassed. How many people saw that?"

"Just a few. Couple of goblins. Saturday mornings are fairly slow. If anyone asks, we'll just say you have the flu."

His wink set her laughing again.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She shook her head. How on Earth could she explain that she had a panic attack because it was the first time she had been back to a place she would one day rob in the future? And add in the fact that she actually broke into his vault to steal Lord Voldemort's horcrux entrusted to his atrocious wife for safekeeping, there really was no explaining. Part of her hoped that he would just assume she was having some symptoms related to a feminine problem he wanted no information about.

"All right, let me just get one of the goblins so we can conduct our business. I don't like lingering here any longer than necessary."

Minutes later a rather officious looking goblin with the tiniest pair of glasses Hermione had ever seen sat in front of them examining her wand. She never cared for anyone to handle her wand due to the extreme intimacy of the act. Only those she trusted had ever been given permission. Though it was a new wand because hers was confiscated by Snatchers and she could not bear to use Bellatrix's any longer than necessary, it still unnerved her to have the goblin examining it so closely.

"Everything seems to be in order," the goblin declared, handing it back to her.

Hermione grasped the wand tightly in her hand in an effort to calm her nerves. The familiar wave of magic washed over her arm. Rodolphus could sense her uneasiness. He gave her a small smile before turning his attention back to the goblin.

"She will be needing her own private vault like we discussed earlier this week, and she will also need to be given permanent access to the main Lestrange vault."

At his announcement Hermione burst out into loud, almost manic laughter. Their trip to the vault in the future would've have been a whole lot easier if she had been aware that she had already been given access to the vault they were forced to break into. Ignoring the stares from both Rodolphus and the goblin, Hermione wondered if she could have simply walked up to the goblin teller line and demanded to be taken down to the vault as an official member of the family. They might have been spared the burns from the falling treasure and the ride on the back of a dragon if she had known.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, her cheeks flushing red. "I was thinking of something unrelated. Made me laugh."

Neither of them seemed fully satisfied with her answer, but returned quickly to the task at hand. The goblin whose name Hermione must have missed in the midst of her panic attack, stood up from his desk and excused himself from the room for a few minutes. He mentioned something about paperwork that she did not quite catch or understand.

"This is all really unnecessary," she insisted.

"Nonsense. Despite your last name, you are every bit as much of a Lestrange as I am. The family vault is, by rights, part of your inheritance from Auntie Sia."

"I don't need your father's money."

"It's not Father's money. It's the family's money. Two hundred and fifty galleons will be transferred to your personal vault at the first of every month."

Hermione almost choked on the glass of water she was sipping. In 1998, one galleon was approximately equal to five pounds. Her monthly allowance was one thousand two hundred and fifty pounds! While she was not sure exactly how much to figure in for inflation to find the value of the pounds in present day, it was a great deal of money for an eighteen year old without any bills or living expenses.

"I know it's not much, but it will increase to five hundred galleons after you finish your NEWTs. Some stipulation in the family trust to encourage us all to finish school."

She could not believe that Rodolphus was concerned that her allowance was not enough. Of course remembering how full the main family vault was when she broke into it, she was well aware that her monthly allowance even after she finished her NEWTs was hardly a drop in the bucket of the family wealth.

"If you are ever running a bit low, just let me know. I'll make sure you're taken care of," Rodolphus declared with a conspiratorial wink.

The goblin returned only moments later with copies of the vault keys for Hermione. She took them both with some reluctance. Somehow accepting the financial support of her new family was making this all very real. A small part of her felt guilty for lying about her identity especially when large amounts of money was involved. When the goblin explained that her first deposit had already been made, she actually blushed.

"Father wants me to take you down into the vault so you can pick out the proper jewelry for you to wear to the party."

"Surely that's not necessary."

"No, he insisted you be dressed like a proper daughter of the Lestranges. He was adamant and it is best not to argue with him about this."

She did not want to, but she relented with a deep sigh.

"I can't promise that I will stop arguing with him entirely, but I will certainly strive to pick my battles more carefully."

Rodolphus smiled.

"You'll have to forgive me, Hermione, but I don't know how this works. Would it be best to pick out the jewelry before the dress or the other way around?"

Hermione giggled at his obvious discomfiture. As much as she knew that he enjoyed spending time with her just as much as she enjoyed spending time with him, Rodolphus was at a complete loss how to shop for a woman's dress robes. She thought for at least the dozenth time in their acquaintance that he was simply adorable.

"I think it best to pick out the dress first. Besides, I would not want anything that belongs in a vault to be removed too soon before the party. We can always come back."

Rodolphus seemed relieved that he was not going to be expected to help her pick out the appropriate jewelry for their formal party. He rose from the chair and extended his hand to help her up. Hermione thanked the suspicious goblin for all of his help. The creature narrowed his eyes at the gesture. Obviously he was unused to wizards or witches being kind.

Once outside, Rodolphus led her towards the end of the alley where Twilfitt and Tattings was located. In the present time, Hermione would not have dreamed of shopping in the stuffy, elite bastion of Pureblood fashion. Being unable to afford even the most modestly priced garments in the shop, she always felt ill at ease around the snobbish seamstresses who seemed to have the ability to smell her lack of funds.

"Father insisted that I take you here specifically. The family has an account here and he wants you to order an entirely new wardrobe."

Hermione snorted. Of course he would not be pleased with the clothing he had already seen her in. They did not compare to the threads he wore.

"Something more befitting a Lestrange," Rodolphus continued, sneering as he said the last words.

She rolled her eyes at the phrase, but remembered her father's words of advice from the night before. If Regnault thought that he could simply buy his niece's affection and forgiveness, she was going to make him pay dearly. She was determined that she would get everything she wanted and then some. It was petty, extremely petty. Somehow she found she did not care.

"Mr. Lestrange, what a pleasant surprise!"

One of the elderly witches at the front counter practically tripped over her hideous skirt to approach the new arrivals. Rodolphus was uncomfortable with the attention. Hermione found it amusing.

"What can we help you with today?"

"This is my cousin Hermione. She needs a formal dress for a party in three weeks' time."

"Oh wonderful!" the overly excitable witch exclaimed.

"Yes, and uhh, all that comes with that."

Both Hermione and the saleswitch chuckled softly at his uneasiness. His cheeks were bright red.

"Yes, and I will be needing an entirely new wardrobe," Hermione declared. Both of the witches working in the shop gasped at the announcement. "'Something befitting a Lestrange daughter'."

Her wink put Rodolphus at ease enough to laugh. He made his excuses to slip out of the store for a short time. She promised to meet him at his store when she was done. Never had she seen such relief as was plastered on his face when he stepped out into the sunshine.

"Well, ladies, I defer to your expertise," she stated to the amusement of the excited witches. No doubt they could smell the profits they were going to ring from her uncle.

Two solid hours passed of the most asinine, mind-numbing discussions Hermione thought it possible to have. Her previous education on petticoats, formal dress robes, and silk stockings had apparently been shockingly lacking. The ladies in the shop were only too happy to help her pick out a new wardrobe fit for a princess. Dozens of robes in a variety of shades and styles were ordered with promises that they would arrive before the next week was over.

She had no idea where she was going to store all of the new pairs of shoes and yards and yards of lace undergarments. Just thinking about asking Aberforth for a new dresser simply to hoard all of her new knickers made her cringe and want to hide. At least she knew that she was proficient with undetectable extension charms. The small cupboard in her bedroom at home was going to get an update when she returned.

All she had been prepared for that day was what she thought would be a simple dress for the damned party. Madam Tatting insisted on designing a gown for her personally. It was meant to be considered an honor, but Hermione was no fool. She knew tacking on the word 'bespoke' to just about anything doubled or even tripled the price. Once her final measurements were taken and a list compiled of exactly what she would not wear, Hermione directed all of her purchases to be sent on to her father's home in Hogsmeade. She could not keep from laughing at the horrified expressions on both of their faces when she told them she actually lived at the Hog's Head.

Happy, boisterous shoppers crowded the Alley when she stepped back outside. They reminded her of some of the first trips she ever made to Diagon Alley. Thoughts of the abysmal state the area had become during the war were a distant memory. She found herself enjoying the short walk to the Magical Menagerie. It was easy to believe that one day the world would right itself and they would be back to the way it had been before Tom Riddle ever had the thirst for immortality.

Nothing about the Magical Menagerie had changed since the first time she stepped in the shop to purchase Crookshanks. Cages and owl perches were stacked all over the cramped space. Not a single surface was empty. If it was not displaying owl treats or magical tracking collars, it was the resting space of an elderly kneazle. The smell was overpowering when one first stepped into the store, but quickly was ignored the longer the customer remained.

A tall man was standing at the counter holding a tiny kitten when she entered. The ubiquitous bell that seemed to exist on all shop doors rang to announce her entrance. It seemed unnaturally loud in an establishment with hooting owls, hissing cats, and squawking birds. The stranger turned his head in her direction, caught her eye and smiled. She felt strangely awkward in his presence. After returning his large smile with a rather bashful one of her own, she dropped her eyes to the first cage she saw.

"Hey, Rod, come out from the back," the attractive stranger shouted at the door towards the storeroom.

Hermione tried and failed to keep her attention focused on the glass case full of multi-colored streelers. Why anyone would want a pet snail that left a trail of toxic venom behind it everywhere it moved, she had no clue. Based on the large number in the cage, it seemed that very few were interested in the color-changing snail. The man at the counter was unashamedly staring in her direction. From the corner of her eye she could appreciate his dark brown, almost black hair that fell in loose waves down to his shoulders. His deep blue eyes were striking. Though she usually did not care for large amounts of facial hair on anyone, the close clipped goatee covering his chin seemed to suit him. Holding and cuddling the mewling kitten softened the dangerous persona she was certain he was striving to achieve.

Rodolphus emerged from the back of his shop wearing a heavy blue apron over his shirt. His eyes moved from the wizard straight to his cousin. Once he saw her he smiled.

"Did you find everything you needed, Hermione?"

"Hermione?" the other man responded with an almost feral grin that caused an unnerving flutter in her abdomen. "This charming creature is the cousin you were telling me about?"

"Yes, Igor. Hermione Dumbledore, this is Igor Karkaroff."

The future Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute crossed the short distance between them in just a few strides of his long legs. She remembered his great height from the last time she was in his presence. Shifting the kitten into his left hand, Igor reached for her right hand with his. Instead of shaking it, he pressed a kiss on the back. It was an almost ridiculous gesture harking back to archaic times, but against her better judgment, Hermione found the attention pleasing.

She allowed herself the opportunity to stare at the man she would one day see in the future. He could not have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six. When she met him during the course of the Triwizard tournament, he was much altered. If she had not been introduced to him before the stress of years as a Death Eater altered him, she would not have recognized him.

"It is nice to meet you, Mr. Karkaroff."

"It is my pleasure," he crooned, not releasing his grasp of her hand. "You must call me Igor."

Hermione looked up to see her cousin rolling his eyes at the display. She did not expect his friend to be so charming. When she heard they were friends, she expected him to be some cold, stoic version of his older self constantly annoyed and barking out orders to his students. It had been hard to imagine the wizard as a young man.

"I do so hate to go now that you've only just arrived, but I'm afraid I must purchase some supplies for my Potions Master," Igor stated with a prominent pout on his full lips.

"Go away, Igor," Rodolphus teased. "You'll see her again at the party."

"Ahh, yes, that's true. I am so looking forward to it too, Miss Dumbledore. Please be sure to save me a dance."

His wink and another kiss on the back of her hand sent her into another fit of embarrassing blushes. It had been a long time since she had had a proper crush on anyone. There had not been time for such frivolity when a dangerous war raged. Igor handed the kitten over to Rodolphus, shook his hand and with another wink sent in her flustered direction, stepped out onto the Alley.

June 19, 1998

7:15 am

Neither of the men knew how to respond to Kingsley's grandmother's question. They tried to make eye contact with each other without it being too obvious what they were doing. Far from being fooled, Marjorie rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Kingsley Dean Shacklebolt, just how big of an eejit do you take me for?"

"Granny, I…" He had no idea what to say next.

"I have known you from the second you were born. If it wasn't for me catching you, that big head of yours would have hit the floor. Now, don't you think that I might know a bit more about you than you give me credit for?"

The silence that fell was tense. Aberforth cleared his throat and began to slowly inch away from the argument between the relatives. One harsh glare from his friend of over one hundred years stilled his steps. She might be even tinier than she had been for most of her life, but she was still intimidating. He had been on the wrong end of her wand more times than he cared to remember.

"You and Tommy both thought you were so clever at keeping secrets," she continued. "But I figured out his too. I knew the first time that girl walked into my shop when she was thirteen there was something special about her."

"Granny…"

"Don't interrupt me! I loved Hermione. She was one of my own and I know the two of you would have a family today if she had not disappeared the way she did. Just like everyone else, I assumed she died. Thought one of those Russian Death Eaters she always spent time with finally got to her.

"When I first saw her, I just assumed that Hermione's reason for disappearing had less to do with death and more to do with an unplanned pregnancy. That child didn't have a hint of you in her face or her complexion, that's for certain. Assumed she made a mistake and that child was the product. The older she got, though, the more I realized she was Hermione."

"Now, Margie, that doesn't make any sense," argued Aberforth.

Marjorie spun around to glare at her friend. The man immediately swallowed and prepared himself for the hex he just knew was on its way.

"It all started to add up. The strange responses she had to questions, the way she behaved towards certain people the longer she was here. Thought once she might be a Seer, doomed to know the fates of those around her whether she wanted to or not. Wasn't until I remembered seeing the strange necklace she always tried to keep hidden under her clothes that it clicked."

She turned her full attention to her youngest grandson. Despite his age and his lofty position within the government, he felt six years old again under her intense gaze.

"Only one person I know of who could muster up the resources to send someone back in time. Someone with almost unlimited power within the Ministry. Someone who has the ability to order the Unspeakables to do as he wishes."

"Granny…"

"And only one other person besides my doaty grandson who would even want that girl back in time."

Aberforth shifted uneasily under her gaze again. Both of the men were prepared to deal with lying to the searchers and loved ones at the castle. Neither of them was prepared for the interrogation from the minuscule witch.

"So, tell me, what's the plan to keep your actions from blowing up in your face?"