a/n: content warning for references to miscarriage/pregnancy loss, in the conversation between Hermione, Lucius and Regulus.
Adeline paraphrases Princess Anna from Frozen, bonus points if you spot it.
Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Waltz
Hermione
April 1979
"Ah, Lyra, you're here. Regulus is just attending to something, he will be with us shortly."
Walburga Black bustled, that was the only term for it. She bustled Hermione into the drawing room, and deposited her onto a chair. She bustled Kreacher back out of the room with a long list of instructions, then turned back to those awaiting her attentions.
"Now. Lyra. I do not believe you have met Miss Fawley. She is to be my daughter, when she weds Regulus." Walburga beamed, but the smile did not stretch up her over-powdered face to her eyes. "That will be a happy day, the marriage of my only son."
Sirius, thought Hermione, but she held her composure.
"I do so love your robes, Miss Fawley" she said, instead. "The colour suits you perfectly."
Miss Fawley pulled her into a hug. Sirius had not warned her of that part of pureblood culture. If it was one. Walburga was likely not the hugging sort. She was all sharp angles and terrifying stares, even when she was aiming for kindly.
"Adeline," she said. "If we are to be cousins."
"And this," said Walburga, with the tone of leaving the best until last, "is my husband. Regulus' father, Orion Black."
The man showed a resemblance to Regulus, yes, but the person who stood in front of her was an older version of Sirius Black. Hermione wondered if he thought of Sirius when he looked in the mirror. She wondered if Sirius thought of his dad, when he looked in the mirror.
"Miss Fawley, Miss Black," said Orion. "I am pleased that you are both here this evening. I welcome you to our family, Miss Black."
Hermione also wondered if they always spoke to one another this formally. Regulus filed into the drawing room, followed by Pollux Black. Arcturus, it was revealed, was not to be attending the Spring Ball. He was working on a paper, Regulus informed her, as he did the rounds of the drawing room, speaking to each member of the family in turn. They all spoke to each other as if they were pleasant acquaintances. She could not imagine Sirius here.
"We are just awaiting Lyra's escort," said Walburga, to a house-elf that wasn't Kreacher. "Alert me when he arrives."
"I am to have an escort?" asked Hermione, doing her best to mirror the style that the others used. She sounded like something out of Pride and Prejudice; no, she sounded like someone straight out of acting school doing Pride and Prejudice without having read it.
"It would not be proper to attend without one," said Adeline. "We all do, or we are escorted by our parents, and if we are with our parents what we can do is limited. I would have to ask my father for permission for each dance, if I were with him."
"My mother did not handle this part of my education well," said Hermione. It was the truth, because Emma Granger had not known anything at all about wizarding pureblood society. And Sirius had utterly failed to retain anything, which was not exactly helpful at this point. It was slightly charming, but yes, unhelpful.
"Ah, and Mrs Black has not yet found the time, I suppose," said Adeline. "She is a very busy woman, what with the preparations for our marriage and her many responsibilities. Would you like me to explain?"
Hermione nodded.
"So you attend with your parents," said Adeline, "or a guardian, who would take the role of a parent, or with an escort. I suppose you are under the guardianship of Walburga and Orion. Or perhaps Grandfather Pollux, as your direct line ancestor."
"I live independently," said Hermione. Walburga Black had written to her three times, offering her a room at Grimmauld Place. Sirius had torn all three of them up; Hermione had written polite replies so as not to burn her bridges before she'd had a chance to even start to cross them.
"That is unusual," said Adeline.
"My circumstances are."
"Indeed. But nonetheless, you will have a guardian, as it is only right and proper an unmarried girl should. Your guardian speaks for you, advocates for you in marriage and such. That is why they help you decide who you ought to dance with. If you dance with the wrong man, or take his interests too far, you may find that interest reflected in ways you would not like. But you have an escort, so you have more freedoms. As Regulus and I are to be married, it is unseemly for me to dance with too many wizards. I am happy with that. Once I become married, I will have more freedom. But your escort will be more of a formality than mine, and he will be instructed to allow you to have a more free reign over the dancing."
Hermione thought this sounded an awful lot like a Jane Austen book
"Do you know who my escort shall be?" she asked. Adeline might enjoy Jane Austen, if she enjoyed this kind of rubbish. But she was marrying a Death Eater, so she doubted the woman would like Muggle literature.
Hermione's escort was almost certain to be a Death Eater.
"I believe Regulus has chosen a friend of his," said Adeline. "I am so excited to become friends with you, Lyra. You know nothing of any of this, and you're going to liven things up so much!"
Hermione's escort turned out to be Severus Snape.
That complicated things rather less. After her last trip to Grimmauld Place, Hermione had become concerned that they were going to be trying to marry her off as soon as possible. At the look on Walburga Black's face as Snape walked into the room, as haughty as ever, Hermione thought there was little chance the woman would be campaigning for her being married off to him. It would have been more dangerous had it been somebody Walburga had approved of, and Hermione assumed that if that had happened she would have been over talking to the man's parents before the end of the night.
Regulus looked rather pleased with himself, though, as he took Adeline's arm to accompany her into Malfoy Manor. Snape himself did not seem to care, and had little to say to Hermione. That suited her.
Lyra Black had no history at Malfoy Manor, the same as she had no history with that dagger of Bellatrix's before the ritual to determine her family bonds. So Hermione walked in behind Regulus and Adeline, on Professor Snape's arm, of all people, and offered a few polite compliments to Narcissa Malfoy.
"Oh, Auntie Walburga wrote to me about you!" said Narcissa, kissing Hermione's cheeks twice. "We must speak tonight!"
Why did they all talk like that? The breathy excitement, as if you were the most important thing to happen in their little lives? And at what point had Narcissa lost that?
The last time Hermione had seen Narcissa Malfoy was when she had accompanied Harry to thank her for her bravery that night in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione had been left with no idea of whether Narcissa appreciated the thanks, or whether she just wanted them out.
Perhaps it was when your child was threatened by a Dark Lord.
"I will get you a drink," said Severus, and he left her when they entered the ballroom.
"I didn't know that these sorts of balls happened," said Hermione, mostly to herself, as she had thought she was standing alone.
"Well, why have a ballroom if you aren't going to have any balls," said Adeline. "Is that Snape boy getting you a drink? He's one of Regulus' dearest friends, but I have never warmed to him, in truth. Nice to know he has the manners, at the very least. Now, ball etiquette. You must dance the first dance with your escort, you know, and tradition dictates another two. The last dance is for who you wish to see again, and you ought to take that one with Severus, as he has brought you. Even if you don't. I don't blame you if you don't. Rumour is," and Adeline leant in towards Hermione, "that his father was a Muggle. And that he bears the mark of the Dark Lord on his arm."
"Is that true?"
"Regulus says so. Many of the eligible men have that mark."
"Auntie Walburga warned me not to talk of the Dark Lord."
"No," said Adeline. "We are all warned that. It is not seemly for women to talk of politics. And, besides, if you are to be heard talking negatively of him, sometimes the consequences are unpleasant." Her voice was low, cautious, but steady.
Hermione shuddered at that. Adeline was watching her closely, or so Hermione thought, until her gaze switched abruptly to some of the others coming into the ballroom.
"But that is not for tonight. I must introduce you to my sisters!"
Hermione found herself being dragged across the ballroom, and introduced to more witches than she had thought it possible existed. Almost none of them she had interacted with in her past, their future. Death Eater families were represented; Amalia Nott, the formidable Madame Lestrange, a handful of Carrows, Rowles, and Parkinsons, amongst others. There were the ones who had not declared a side, including Adeline's family and the bundle of Greengrass daughters. And surnames Hermione had only seen in records or old newspapers.
"And this is Sorella Macmillan. She's an aunt of mine by marriage, and grandmother of Georgina, who you met before. Auntie, this is Lyra Black, daughter of Alphard Black, and recently welcomed into the family. And a granddaughter of yours, too, via Arelle."
"I hope they are treating you right," said Sorella. The wizened old witch did not raise herself from her chair to greet Hermione, rather looking at her over the tops of her glasses. "Funny family."
"Auntie!" said Adeline. "I am to marry Regulus Black you remember!"
"I might be old," said Sorella, "but I remember. My grandson speaks of him." Her eyes narrowed slightly at Hermione. "You don't look much like a Macmillan. Arelle was blonde. Tubby. You're dark haired, and such skinny ankles. We're a sturdy family."
"I suppose I take after my father," said Hermione. "Or that is what I've been told." That and the glamour on her nose, again.
Sorella tutted. "Odd looking family."
"Auntie!"
"You know what you're marrying into, Adeline, don't pretend to me that you don't. You want to hope for boys, the Black girls tend to insanity and odd faces. That one who ran off with a Muggleborn was the only one with sense." She gave Hermione another appraising look. "No, you don't look like a Black or a Macmillan, but I suppose they've checked that, so you are. Watch your family, missy."
"Excuse me," said Hermione. "I must visit the bathroom." They'd think she had a weak bladder, the amount of toilet trips she'd taken tonight.
She found a quiet corner, and pulled out the notebook she'd been using to keep a track of who was who. Sorella was on page forty-five, somewhere down the ranks of the who-was-who of the wizarding elites. And Hermione had no idea what to make of her.
She'd decided not to trust anybody here, not up until the point that she would need to intervene with Regulus. It was too dangerous. Not just the risk of being caught, which was considerable in a world where everybody seemed to track their bloodline back as far as it was pure, and know the names of everyone else's relatives as well as their own. But the danger of causing Regulus to do something different, and not being able to find him where he was supposed to be on the September night when he would attempt to steal a Horcrux.
Hermione heard footsteps approaching her hiding spot, and shoved the notebook back into her magically-extended gold bag as quickly as she could.
"The Dark Lord is less than impressed, I must say," came the voice of Lucius Malfoy. "Some of us performed well last night, and he has rewarded us. The majority did not, and he is displeased."
"I am sorry I could not have been there," came another, a voice Hermione did not recognise.
"Your work elsewhere was of importance," said Lucius. "That work is not usually given to one still in school, so you should be pleased."
"I am," said the other. "But I enjoy action."
"There will be plenty soon enough," said a third voice, which Hermione realised with a jolt was Regulus. "But I quite agree, Lucius. Last night was a debacle. The way Rowle was behaving with that beast, and he was only the start of it. I fear we have too many with personal vendettas, and few with the correct principles."
Hermione shrunk back further into the corner, between a cabinet and an ornate door with a gilded doorknob. They were talking about Remus, she was sure of it. Ginny had given them a short description of the attack, although she hadn't personally seen all of it, and it fitted.
"Indeed," said Lucius. "I trust that you are free of those petty vendettas, Selwyn?"
"Of course," said the wizard called Selwyn. "Is it true that the Dark Lord himself entered the fray last night?"
"Regrettably, yes," said Lucius. Their footsteps had stopped, and they seemed to come to a halt beside Hermione's cabinet. "He was most angry with how it was progressing, and even more so when he was cornered by three of that Order of the Phoenix. I can assure you that the three individuals cards are marked, for daring to assault the person of our Lord."
"Anyone I would know?" asked Selwyn.
"Lily Evans, James Potter, and Dorcas Meadowes. Two Mudbloods, and a blood traitor."
Hermione knocked into the door. The conversation stopped.
Thinking as quickly as she could, Hermione opened the door, and a couple of seconds later, closed it again. She then sauntered out from behind the cabinet, as confidently as she could fake, and plastered on a smile when she came into view of Regulus.
"Oh, cousin, I am so pleased to find you!" she said, light and airy and hopefully undetectably fake. "I am looking for the ladies, and I just cannot find it!"
"Ah, is this your newest cousin?" asked Lucius, smiling down at her. "Miss Lyra, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Lucius Malfoy. They are just down the corridor, you must have gone past them."
"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," said Hermione, unable to shake the vision of the last time she had seen Lucius Malfoy, the day he had been tried for war crimes by the Wizengamot. That Lucius was unshaven, in cheap prisoner's robes, eyes sunken with defeat. This one was a man in his prime, and she could see why Narcissa Malfoy had been enamoured with him.
"I hear congratulations are in order," said Regulus, when Hermione did not immediately go. "You are to have a baby?"
"Indeed," said Lucius. "It is still early days, but the Healers are hopeful. I am hopeful it will be a boy. He will arrive in October, all being well."
Draco Malfoy's birthday was in June.
She congratulated Lucius, on the upcoming birth of a child that she was almost certain Narcissa would go on to miscarry, and then took her leave.
It was thinking of all of that which meant she went in the wrong direction. Or, really, too far in the right direction. The loo was behind her, and she was in a more private area of the house. The doors looked much the same as they had in the area surrounding the entranceway and ballroom, but there was something more forbidding about them. Something of privacy.
And Hermione had an idea.
If she was a Malfoy, where would she keep her Horcrux?
The Lestranges kept the one they had been entrusted with at Gringotts, but that was a valuable. A golden cup would look slightly out of place, even in a manor like this one. And a book, that would look out of place in a bank vault. It would draw attention to it as unusual, valuable, something to be coveted. But a book, in a library? It would blend right in.
And Lucius Malfoy had not survived, and prospered, the way he had by being stupid.
The first door she opened was a bathroom, if not the one she was supposedly looking for. The second was a formal sitting area, all green velvet and black lace. The third, much more promising.
The Malfoy's library was the rival of any private library she'd seen, outstripping the one at Grimmauld Place by at least half the size again. The shelves sat floor to ceiling, neatly arranged into a warren of corridors between the books. There must have been several thousand tomes in there, ranging from recent purchases and frivolous titles to old, rare or illegal volumes.
And where did you start?
She had already been caught lurking once, and twice would be suspicious. There was only so much goodwill a bad sense of direction could buy you when caught out of bounds. If only she had Harry's invisibility cloak! No, she had to concentrate.
Malfoy would see a book given to him by Voldemort as a valued possession. It would be with the other expensive books.
Methodically, she searched through the shelves containing the oldest, most valuable of the collection in the centre of the room. They were all in pristine condition, as if owning them was the aim rather than reading them. Perhaps it was. Malfoy, Draco, had been clever at school, but he had not had an interest in reading. She had never seen him in the library, not really.
There were three books Hermione recognised as dealing with the subject of Horcruxes, and it was not with those. That would be a giveaway, Hermione thought, and it was not as if she was certain Lucius Malfoy knew what it was. It took a longer time than she was comfortable with to find the slim, innocuous diary, tucked in amongst a collection on history. She slipped it into her gold bag, just as the door opened behind her.
Quickly, she spun on her heel to face the opposite shelves, and pulled down a book from the shelf, flicking it open to a few pages in. Charms, she noticed, with relief. Nothing that would raise suspicion, not in itself.
"Ah, Severus," she said, in a forcefully airy voice, similar in tone to the way Adeline spoke, when she heard the footsteps approach her. Her escort's dark eyes were firmly on her as she looked up from her book, and he held a noble in each hand.
"I have a drink for you," he said.
"Thank you." She took it, some sort of alcoholic punch, and sipped it politely. Punch had never been her preferred drink.
"What are you doing in here?"
"I enjoy books," she said. "Regulus tells me you have an interest in magical theory, as I do."
"Yes," he said.
"What parts? I am somewhat of an amateur scholar, but I have never seen a library such as this. I admit to getting a little distracted on my return from the ladies."
"Potions. Old objects. Curses, and their counter-curses. Not subjects for a girl of your blood."
"Oh, but Grandfather Pollux reads of those all the time."
"He is such as he is, and you are such as you are."
"And whatever may that mean, Mr Snape?" The silly smile was hurting her face, and Snape was just as recalcitrant as she had ever known him to be.
"You are a pureblood lady. You are not expected to know these things. You are expected to marry and provide children."
"I am a illegitimate pureblood woman, brought up in foreign places where it is acceptable for a girl to study what she wishes. I do not intend to remain in Britain long if it does not allow me to. And I certainly do not intend to marry a man that would not allow it."
Snape laughed, a short, harsh laugh. "I would advise you to avoid Mr Rabastan Lestrange, then. His brother is married to your cousin, but that likely would not stop him pursuing you. I think he has offended almost all his other potential spouses."
"I thank you for the advice."
"I'll offer you more, if you'll allow it." He looked around the room, a sour expression on his face. "Your aunt will be trying to marry you off. Trust you own judgement. Move quickly, or you may find that the decent men are gone."
"And are you a decent man?" She wanted to know, not for a marriage prospect, but because she wanted to know what this young Snape thought of himself.
"I am what I am."
And there was that. Hermione replaced the book on the shelf.
"If you ask Narcissa nicely, she might let you borrow that," said Snape, indicating the shelves. Hermione wasn't sure she'd have been able to pick out the one she had been reading from a line-up. Her heart was still hammering in her chest.
"I would not want to trouble her," she said, lightly. "It is such work hosting a party, or so my auntie tells me. I wouldn't want to cause her issue."
Snape looked as though he had a response for that, before Regulus and Adeline came through the doors to the library.
"Oh, there you are, cousin. We noticed that you and Severus were missing, and Regulus thought we should come to save your honour. See, my dear? They are talking of books!"
"Severus is an engaging conversation partner."
"And merely a conversation partner," Regulus said to Hermione, but he had flashed a look of warning in the direction of his friend. "I have not yet seen you dance. And Mother is building quite the dancing list for you, cousin."
"Would you dance with me?" Snape asked, his eyes never leaving his feet.
"That would be lovely."
He took her by the hand and without further words, or any eye contact at all, led her down the corridor, back into the ballroom and onto the dance floor. They took a position to the edge of the other dancing couples, and he led her in a competent, if basic, dance. Beside them, Regulus and Adeline swirled around gracefully, and Bellatrix and her husband next to them. The room was full of couples, all of them appearing to have a far better time than Hermione and Snape.
"Are you a fan of dancing?" she asked, with her best impression of a gossipy, small talking, pureblood girl.
He grimaced. "I am not."
"Then why did you ask me to?
"Because I am your escort. I am supposed to, Miss Black. And it was clear what your cousin expected of me when I agreed to this."
"And what was that?"
"To dance with you. To not make an advance."
They danced in silence after that, Hermione's hand resting on Snape's shoulder. She'd laugh if the version of him she'd known could see this now. He'd never shown any kind of liking for her. Too Gryffindor, too Muggleborn, too much Harry Potter's friend. And now he had his hand on her waist. If he knew who she really was, if he had the information he'd had in the future, he'd probably wish to Scourgify himself.
She had never worked out what she thought of Snape. She supposed he was the same as Regulus, and Peter Pettigrew, and the others who had done both bad things and good. And yet they had seemed less grey, because both of those had made a clear final choice, and Snape's actions had been so murky to the end.
Hermione wondered what Sirius would have to say if she added him to the 'to be saved' list.
If they were going to do this, this saving people thing, they might as well do it completely.
At the end of the dance, Snape gladly handed her over to Regulus. He was an excellent dancer, but Hermione had a knot in the base of her stomach the entire time her supposed cousin swept her around the floor. He was in the depths of his bad choices, he was dangerous, just as much as Snape or anyone else here in this room.
Perhaps none of them truly deserved saving. But how could you tell? If she affected Regulus' choices too much, then he might not try to leave the Death Eaters. And she would be responsible.
And her uneasiness grew as Rodolphus Lestrange and then Lucius Malfoy took their turns at dancing with her, complimenting her on her choice of robes and her dancing ability. Her pulse was quicker than it had been when she had been almost discovered looking for the Horcrux, and her palms were so sweaty that it was a wonder no dancing partner had yet commented. She was palmed off onto Pollux Black, and sighed with relief. He, at least, she did not think wore the Dark Mark on his arm.
"Is the ball to your liking, granddaughter?"
"I have danced with so many people my feet are sore despite my Cushioning Charm," Hermione replied.
Pollux was a mediocre dancer, but he was a good conversationalist, and between him and Adeline and Sirius' information she knew everyone at the party in great detail by the end of their dance. Of course, Pollux's commentary had been with an undertone of who she should consider as a marriage prospect.
"Regulus is fond of the Snape boy," he said, "but he is not to be considered for you. A gifted wizard, yes, intelligent, but the rumour is his father is a Muggle." That was also what Adeline had said, except she had found the Mark on his arm to be also worthy of note, and Pollux didn't.
And she remembered why Pollux was almost as bad as the rest of them, and for the first time in that evening felt a stab of pity for Severus Snape. He would not thank her.
She took a break from dancing, burying her mounting panic in conversation with Adeline and Narcissa. Polite smalltalk, ended with an invitation to tea, which is what Hermione had hoped for from Narcissa before the Horcrux had become safely stowed in her bag. She held her hand over her bag in the same way Narcissa did to her stomach, subtly protective. And Hermione felt the pity for Narcissa Malfoy, too. The baby that would never be.
The room still unnerved her, and the company. The people that were so fucking superficial, the niceness, the lightness, the evil burned into the arms of most of them men and a handful of the women. The room where she had been almost killed, if not for Ron and Harry and Dobby. She had avoided Dobby. He had been circulating with drinks all evening, and she had taken drinks from the tray of every elf except for him.
She'd held it in when she saw him, and when she first walked into that room where she had been tortured, and seen the woman who had done the torturing, and made small talk with those who had stood by to watch. She had done it because she had a mission, a Horcrux to collect from these people, and she had done that, and now the world had gone a little bit fuzzy around the edges and her breath had got rather fast.
"Are you alright, Miss Black?" asked her dancing partner, she'd forgotten his name. "Some air, perhaps?" And he escorted her out of the ballroom and into the gardens, leading her towards a bench under an arch covered in ivy and roses.
"I'm sorry, I do not know what came over me," she said, which was a bald-faced lie.
"It's quite alright." He stood in front of her as she sat on the bench, his arms crossed and his blond hair standing upright on his head. His name came back to her, now; Francis. He was a cousin of hers, supposedly. If the Macmillan's ever wanted to prove who she was, she would be fucked.
"Dances make me want to faint sometimes too," he said.
"It is my first of this sort," she said. "I grew up abroad."
"Yeah, it was a bit of a shock to find out about you," he said. "You'll have to come to the house, sometime. Father's bedbound, and he'd like to meet his niece."
"That would be lovely," said Hermione. She would have to find a way out of that, or at least until September. She could disappear then, if she had to. Lyra Black would no longer need to exist. How had she let herself be talked into this?
And then she remembered that it had been her own idea, because it wouldn't have been safe for Sirius to have come.
"I'll owl you sometime, Miss Black."
"Lyra, we're cousins, after all." The fuzzy edge on her vision had disappeared, and she felt less as though it would all go horrifically wrong, so she smiled at Francis.
"Lyra. Interesting. Aunt Arelle used the Black naming system. She was an independent sort. Never thought she'd follow anyone's tradition."
Sirius had said it was the only tradition the Black family had that was worth following.
"Lyra," said Regulus. "Francis. Cousin, you must stop from wandering off alone with men!"
"Ah, come on, Regulus. She's as safe with me as she is with you. She's a cousin of mine, too." He winked at Regulus, of all things. "And the other reason."
"Yes," said Regulus, rather tersely. "The Macmillan family do not go in for cousin marriage."
"Cousin," said Bellatrix, coming outside. "Ah, and the newest cousin. Your mother is looking for you, little Regulus."
"I would rather you did not call me that, Bella," said Regulus.
The fuzziness had returned to Hermione's vision, and she tightened her grip on her bag.
"What's wrong with her?" Bellatrix asked.
"She came over all faint during our dance," explained Francis. "Must be that I'm a terrible partner."
"You were more than fine, cousin," said Hermione, collecting herself and calming her breathing. "It was rather warm in the ballroom, and it was my first experience of something so lovely." Everyone called themselves cousin, here, because they were all so inbred. She forced herself to focus on that, and not on Bellatrix and the woman she would become. Perhaps was already.
Because they would need to check for the cup, and somehow, they would need a Lestrange.
The path to the Malfoy Horcrux, even before her rashness tonight, that had seemed clear. Befriend Narcissa, saying that she needed a friend, get the Horcrux. The cup, if it had even been created, and how would they know, would be more difficult. Bellatrix. A Lestrange by marriage, and possibly crucial, but Hermione did not think she was the sort of woman who sat through ladies teas.
"Well, see that you do not cause a scene, cousin." And Bellatrix swept back inside.
They left not long after that point. Walburga had insisted that she slept at Grimmauld Place that night, arguing that it was unseemly for a young, unmarried woman to return home late at night alone. And Hermione didn't think it was worth arguing over one night, so she had accepted. They took the Floo home, had a few moments of polite conversation in the drawing room, and then dispersed to bed.
Hermione sat on the edge of the bed in the room she had been assigned, the one that Molly and Arthur had used during their time at Grimmauld Place. She locked the door with two separate locking spells behind her, then took the diary from the little gold bag.
It was surprisingly heavy in her hand, and had that same feeling of foreboding that the locket Horcrux had always given her. It was the diary that had first put the fear of Voldemort into her. She'd not seen him, that day in the Chamber of Secrets, not like Harry had, and the Voldemort of the year before, well, she had been too young to understand the implications of that, hadn't she? But the diary, she'd understood that. She'd spoken to Ginny afterwards, and Ginny had told her between sobs what had happened.
And for all Hermione's wished that she was free of Voldemort now, the man who had been lurking in the background of her teenage years like a menace, Ginny would never be free of the memory of him in her head. Possessing her. And Ginny would have to look at this diary again.
Hermione wanted to destroy it there and then, but she had nothing she could use, so she'd have to take it back to the others as it was. Tomorrow night they were off to save Remus' parents, so it would have to be after that.
Sirius would throw a fit. She'd told him not to do anything rash, and here she was with a Horcrux in her hand. But still, they had it, didn't they?
She shoved the Horcrux back into the bag. He'd not been far from her thoughts all evening, along with the feeling that she was betraying him by being so friendly with the family he hated. It was for the good of everyone, but you could justify all sorts of things with that, and it felt an awful lot like betrayal. He'd said he didn't mind, but he did.
The moon rose through the window, a sliver of a crescent moon. And underneath it, in the light of the streetlight, a shaggy black dog stood guard.
Hermione couldn't help but smile.