And so he spoke, and so he spoke
That Lord of Castamere
And now the rains weep o'er his halls
With no one there to hear
~ The Rains of Castamere x Ramin Djawadi
Chapter 53: To Cast an Unforgiveable
"Now that we've handled the time situation," Lord Voldemort said. "We need to return to our first matter—finding that deserter Wormtail."
They sat in his study. The Dark Lord, Lucius Malfoy, and Terrell Nott. He had been keeping the two at close council—helping him with his strategical decisions and making sure that everything he wanted was still everything he wanted.
"I overheard Weasley talking in the Ministry the other day," said Lucius. "All of the Weasley children have returned home for the holidays."
Terrell sniffed. "Which means Wormtail will be at the Burrow. This could be our chance."
"Maybe." The blonde-wizard responded. "But what reason do we have to show up at Arthur Weasley's home this time of year?"
"Do we honestly need one?"
"No." The Dark Lord said, pondering both approaches. "Lucius is right. It's too early to begin our reckless desires."
"You mean, not as reckless as sending a recent Azkaban escapee and a fourteen-year-old boy to murder over a hundred people." Terrell said, his eyebrow raised.
"It's not reckless if you have the right scapegoat." Said Voldemort. "Which we do. The minute Atlas and Crouch make their first kill, the Ministry will point fingers at Black."
"So," Terrell Nott said. "How are we planning to get Wormtail to expose himself to us? If we don't go after him now, it'll be harder later—the children will be returning to Hogwarts."
Neither wizard had an answer.
"The moment we march onto Arthur Weasley's land," Lucius said sternly. "We'll be declaring war against the Ministry as well as the Order. Is that really something we want to spark…over Wormtail?"
"He is the key to all this." Nott argued. "The longer we wait, the easier we make it for him to escape. We need to apply pressure."
"Wormtail cannot hide from me." Said Lord Voldemort. "Maybe physically, but not mentally. He will crack soon enough."
Terrell Nott frowned. "So, we're just going to keep playing mind games with him?"
"He has us and Black to worry about." The Dark Lord continued. "We need to find a better play, but I can count on Wormtail spoiling the fun for us."
The dark wizard smiled. "Time is of the essence."
She knew she couldn't confront Tom himself, not without physical proof that Atlas had taken the Dark Mark and was now doing his father's bidding. If she was to confront him now, it would expose Snape as a double agent—and the Order would lose the only spy they had in Lord Voldemort's ranks.
But there was somebody she could talk to.
"He said you knew." Demetric explained. "You hadn't visited him in a while, so I assumed that was why."
Minerva McGonagall pursed her lips. "Tell me, Demetric, how Lord Voldemort told you I was fine with him taking my son…and you believed him?"
"I know. I know how this sounds. But it all happened so fast—I didn't even hear them show up. All I heard was Atlas screaming and then they were dueling. Atlas lost and…"
"And what?" Minerva asked, the vein in her temple bulging.
Demetric took a deep breath, revisiting that afternoon. "Atlas thought they were here for me. And…and I had to tell him the truth. That his mother and father left him here fourteen years ago."
The witch's eyes went wide. "Did you…"
"No." The man said. "But I assume he knows now that Lord Voldemort is his real father. And knowing Voldemort, he won't mention you. You'll have to tell him yourself…if you can get to him."
The woman put her head in her hands, her mind swirling with the thoughts of what her son was doing right now. She had heard stories about Bellatrix LeStrange and her position as the Hound. The people she murdered, mutilated, and tortured. She felt sick at the thought that her son had willing taken the position. That one day he may become worse than Bellatrix LeStrange.
She couldn't help but blame herself. She should've revealed the truth to him sooner—she should have gotten to him before Tom did. Maybe he would've been with her, attending Hogwarts. Or maybe he still would've been here with Demetric—refusing to take the Dark Mark or having any relations with the Death Eaters.
"You can't blame yourself, Minerva." She heard Demetric say. "If Atlas is truly your son, he will make the right choice soon enough. He's just confused right now."
"I can't wait until then." McGonagall responded. And that was the truth. She refused to wait until her son decided to do the right thing. What if he never did? What if Lord Voldemort refused to let him go? Brainwashed him? Or even worse…
She had already allowed Lord Voldemort to sneak and take her son under his wing without her knowledge—she wasn't going to let him turn Atlas into a monster. She was going to get her son back.
With those thoughts in mind, she immediately thought about the ambush the Order was planning with Quirrell. The Hound and the Hunter would be coming after him, which meant that she would be seeing Atlas for the first time since the summer. While the rest of the Order would battle for the list of Time Anomalies, McGonagall would be battling for her son.
And she knew exactly who to call on for help.
"Do you have a piece of paper?" She asked suddenly, her motherly instincts taking over her judgment.
"Yeah." Demetric responded. "Why?"
"I have a…friend, who can help me get Atlas back." She explained. Demetric handed her a piece of paper and a pen, and took no time to ponder her words. She knew exactly what to write.
"I'm going to tell him to meet you here. And when he shows up, I want you to give him this."
She folded the paper up and handed it to Demetric. The man put it in his jean pocket, no questions asked.
"And if your friend doesn't come?"
Minerva removed her wand, quickly casting a spell. Demetric watched as something silvery come out the tip of the wand, taking the form of a tabby cat. He watched as she whispered something into it, and then released the silvery cat.
"He'll come." She said, tucking her wand away. "I have faith in him."
The two said their goodbyes, and Demetric watched as Minerva McGonagall walked down the steps of his house and unto the front lawn. There was a loud crack and the witch was gone. As she disappeared, Demetric pulled the folded parchment out of his jean pocket. There was no name on the front. Only two initials.
S.B.
His grandfather had been consumed with meetings in his study all day, leaving Tobias on edge. He knew he couldn't just barge in on one of the meetings and demand the man's attention, but the Slytherin heir wanted to, badly. He needed to talk to his grandfather—he needed to confront Lord Voldemort on why he had kept the truth about his father a secret.
"Master Riddle is ready for you, Master Tobias." The house elf said.
"Thank you—"
"Dahlia." The house elf said excitedly. "Dahlia was given a name."
Tobias frowned, knowing that his grandfather hadn't given her that name. "And who gave you that name…Dahlia?"
"The other Master Riddle. He came and gave Dahlia her name."
"The other Master Riddle?" The boy's frown went even deeper. That was another mystery for another time.
Tobias hopped off his bed and made his way towards his grandfather's study. He didn't bother knocking on the door, twisting the doorknob and walking inside.
"Tobias." Tom Riddle said. "Did you see your presents under the Christmas tree?"
"Why didn't you tell me?" The Slytherin came out with it. He wasn't interested in the small talk his grandfather had in mind. Even if it did have to do with the large amount of presents under the tree.
Tom Riddle frowned. "Tell you what?"
"The truth about my father." Said Tobias, trying to keep his temper. "You told me he died during the war, but he was murdered. By Sirius Black."
"Who told you that?"
"It's doesn't matter who told me grandfather. It's the fact that I didn't hear it from you or…" He hesitated thinking about Draco and how the boy didn't tell him the truth either.
"Does my mother even know?"
Tom Riddle sighed. "No, Tobias…your mother doesn't know. She was taken to Azkaban before your father was murdered. Do you plan on telling her? Do you plan on writing a letter to your mother in Azkaban about how her husband died twelve years ago?"
"She deserves to know." Tobias said, his chest heaving. "Just like I had the right to."
"And if I had told you the truth, my boy, what would you have done?"
Tobias straightened himself. "I would've went after Black, returned him the favor he gave my father. Just like you would have done."
Tobias frowned when he saw his grandfather shaking his head. "And that's exactly the reason I didn't tell you. You're not ready—you have the same attitude as your father, and that's what got him killed."
As Tobias thought that Lord Voldemort was referring to Rodolphus LeStrange, the Dark Lord was actually referring to his biological father. James Potter. He could see the rage in the boy's eyes—the determination. It was the same determination Lord Voldemort saw when he marched on Godric's Hallow. He remembered the man standing his ground—no wand, nothing to defend himself with. Just his temper and his determination.
And Lord Voldemort killed him.
"You would be going against a man you know nothing about." He continued. "A man who single-handedly murdered thirteen people and left a man's finger for evidence. Black would kill you the minute he saw you. Not because he bested you in battle—because you went after him in anger, not in truth."
Tobias balled his fist. "But all I feel is anger, grandfather. Black took away the only parent I had left. And now he's after me. I'm trying to be the Heir you want me to be."
"No." His grandfather argued. "You're being the degenerate scum we fight against. The Heir I want you to be is a leader…not a hothead."
His grandfather then stood up, using his cane to stand in front of his study window.
"Come here, Tobias."
Tobias did as he was told, though the anger was still running through him like a stream. He wanted to ignore everything his grandfather was telling him, but he couldn't deny the impact his grandfather's words had on him.
He remembered the last time he allowed his anger to make his decisions. He ended up in a demolished third-floor corridor with his first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell. He didn't notice the chamber falling apart before his eyes—he didn't notice the giant piece of rubble that fell on Professor Quirrell's leg.
What if the same thing happened this time with Sirius Black? And what if Black used Tobias's anger to his advantage?
He stood by his grandfather, staring out the window. The LeStrange dueling field was covered in snow, as well as the trees surrounding it.
"You have a demon, an angry one, living inside you, Tobias." His grandfather said. "One that feeds on your anger. If you're not careful, it will take control of you. And no one wants a leader who can't control his impulses."
Tobias nodded. "So, what should I do?"
"Channel that anger into something else." His grandfather then looked at him. "If you truly wish to avenge your father, I will teach you the spell to do it. But, this spell will only mean something to you if you control your emotions. Channel that anger into your magic and make something out of it. With this spell, you have to want it—you have to want it more than what's going on inside you."
Tobias swallowed, wondering what spell his grandfather was referring to. Could Tobias suppress his anger and cast it? Or will his demon take hold of him?
"May I ask what's the name of the spell, grandfather?" He asked. The Slytherin heir imagined himself in battle with Sirius Black, preparing to cast whatever spell his grandfather would teach him. Would he be strong enough?
"Avada Kedavra." His grandfather said smoothly, like water. "The Killing Curse."
Tobias immediately snapped his head at his grandfather. The Killing Curse?
"Grandfather…I don't think—"
"If this is what you want, Tobias, you will learn it." Lord Voldemort said sharply. "But you will only use it once."
Tobias felt his palms sweating—he could barely stand at the thought of him casting an unforgivable.
"Is this what you want, my Heir?"
The Slytherin boy turned back to the window and realized that his anger had dissipated. But though his anger had settled, the thought of Sirius Black murdering his father was still there. He wanted Black to pay for what he had done. He could no longer rely on the dementors or Dumbledore to do what was right. This was the only way.
"Yes." Tobias answered.
"So, who's Sirius Black?"
Atlas and Crouch had finally made it to the small town where their first target, Travis Perry, lived. The walk was long, seeing as Crouch couldn't hunt accurately if they were apparating from place to place, and Atlas took this time to ask more questions about the Wizarding World.
He remembered Lucius referring to Sirius Black at the briefing, and that the man was also an escapee from the Azkaban prison.
"An idiot." Crouch Jr. answered.
Atlas frowned. "Why was he in Azkaban?"
"Because the Ministry are idiots as well. Twelve years ago, Sirius Black was charged with the murder of thirteen people—twelve muggles and one wizard. Except he didn't do it. The wizard everyone claims he killed is still alive—and he was the one who murdered all those people."
"But why did Black get caught?"
Crouch kicked some leaves. "The wizard, who we know as Wormtail, deserted right before the Ministry got there. You see, Wormtail betrayed Black, and Black got so angry he went after him—like an idiot. Wormtail killed all those people and left his finger at the scene so everyone would think Black did it. Black was supposed to be locked up for the rest of his life, but now he's out."
Atlas shivered. "Were Black and Wormtail Death Eaters?"
"Wormtail was. A bad example of one I might also add. And Black—hell would have to freeze before Sirius Black became a Death Eater. He was only loyal to the Order."
"The Order?"
"The Order of the Phoenix." Crouch explained. "A secret society formed by Albus Dumbledore. They functioned outside of the Ministry of Magic during the First Wizarding War—yet the idiots have no idea we have our own spy in their ranks."
"Who?" Atlas asked, becoming intrigued once more.
"You met him—Severus Snape. Best damn wizard I've ever seen. You have to be, if you can fool Albus Dumbledore into thinking that you believe in his fairytale cause."
Atlas opened his mouth to say something else, but Crouch held his hand up, stopping him from speaking. They had come upon a small two-story house. Atlas could see through one of the house windows—seeing a small family eating dinner at a dining table.
"That's him." Crouch Jr. said. "Travis Perry."
Atlas didn't take his eyes of the man. He was the size of a football player and he looked as if he had been in a few battles. And most likely won those battles.
"What do you know about him?"
"He's proud." The man responded. "He never backs down from a challenge. Well, once he became a family-man, he backed down from a few—but he has a soft spot for family. All the fights he's been in, he should be dead. But since he's on this list—it seems like it did kill him."
Atlas listened to Crouch's briefing, trying to think of a strategy to lure Travis out of his house. He didn't want to harm his family, though he knew they couldn't kill anyone else but him.
"It's a nice house." He heard Crouch say. "Too bad we have to burn it down."
"Burn it down?!" The boy asked. "But his family—"
"Will make it out safely—family man, remember?"
Atlas weighed his options. There had to be a better way to lure their target out of his house. It made the boy feel queasy inside as he thought about murdering the man in front of his family. Crouch made the deed seem so natural—Atlas assumed that murdering people in front of their families was a normal thing.
"I have a better idea." He said, making his way towards the house. "Wait here."
Crouch didn't argue against him, and Atlas was happy for that. As he walked towards the house, He began to rip certain parts of his clothes, he used the knife in his pocket to cut himself on his arm, spreading the blood to his shirt and his face. As he got closer, he broke into a run, heading straight for the front door.
Crouch watched him from the woods, laughing as he realized what Atlas was doing.
"The boy's a strategist." He said to himself.
Atlas kept running until he reached the door. The minute he got there, he began banging on the door, hoping to get the attention of his target.
The door swung open, and Atlas was now face to face with Travis Perry.
"Please, help me!" Atlas cried. "My…my father and I were in the woods, and he just attacked us!"
"Slow down lad." The man said. "Who attacked you?"
"Sirius. Sirius Black."
Travis's face went stone cold. Atlas saw the man reach for his wand, no doubt he was thinking about his family. If Black was in the woods, his house would be next. Meaning his family would be in danger.
"Do you remember where you last saw your father?" Travis asked. Atlas nodded.
"Julia!" He called back inside the house. "Take the girls upstairs and lock the doors. Don't come out until I come back."
He then stepped outside the door, casting a spell on the house. "You have a wand, yes?"
Atlas nodded, pulling it out for his target to see.
"Let's go."
And the two began their walk towards the woods. Crouch Jr. watched them, astonished—but not surprised—that Atlas had convinced the man to leave his house…alone. Little did he know that this fourteen-year-old boy was leading him to his death.
Atlas could feel his heart beating faster and faster. The closer they got to the woods, the closer Atlas came to killing his first target. He could feel his palms sweating, but luckily for him it wouldn't blow his cover.
Once entering the woods, Atlas took his chance to signal Crouch.
"Dad!" He called out. "Dad!"
There was a silence, and then a rustling of leaves. Travis stood in front of Atlas, holding a protective arm out in front of him. The gesture reminded the boy of Demetric, but he quickly pushed those memories out of his head.
The was another rustling of leaves, and someone stepped out of the trees. Crouch Jr. stepped out, and Atlas assumed that Travis's facial expression quickly changed.
"Crouch?!" He roared. He looked back at Atlas, who now had his wand pointed at him, and then back at Crouch Jr., who hadn't moved from his spot in the leaves.
"What the hell is this?" He demanded, clutching his wand tighter.
"Petrificus Totalus." Said the Hound, watching as the man's body froze, falling over with a soft thud. Crouch Jr. walked up beside the body, and Atlas met him at the other side. His palms still sweating, he pulled the knife out of his pocket, preparing for the kill. He noticed that Travis's eyes were still moving—they were wide and frantic, looking from Atlas to Crouch.
"Woah!" Crouch Jr exclaimed. "Why do you have a bloody knife?!"
"I thought—"
"No, no, no. Knives leave evidence. You're a wizard for Salazar's sake. Put that away."
Atlas tucked his wand away, and the feeling in his stomach grew worse. He was going to have to say it—he was going to have to mean it.
"Just breathe." He heard Crouch say. "Allow the magic to flow through you and focus on the spell, not the person."
The boy took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He wouldn't be able to not focus on the paralyzed man on the ground if he kept staring at him.
"Say it." Said Crouch Jr.
"Avada Kedavra." Said the boy. There was a flash of green, and the deed was done. When Atlas opened his eyes, he noticed that Travis's eyes had stopped their roaming. The man was now dead.
Tobias sat on the railing of his bedroom balcony, thinking about the confrontation with his grandfather. Lord Voldemort was going to teach him the killing curse—and Tobias was going to have to use that curse on Sirius Black.
It was what he wanted—for Black to pay for what he had done to his father. But it made him feel sick inside every time he pictured himself doing the act. How did it feel to kill someone? How did it feel to cast an unforgiveable? To take someone's life?
He didn't hear her walk in or take a seat beside him on the railing. He had been so caught up in his thoughts, that he barely noticed his betrothed sitting beside him, her face full of concern.
"Are you okay?" Pansy asked.
Tobias turned to look at her. "No." He said honestly. It was a running conflict in his mind. The joy of being able to get revenge on Black, but the strange feeling of what he had to do to receive that revenge. He was only thirteen-years-old…he wasn't ready to kill a man.
Pansy bit her lip, unsure if she should ask about it, but she needed to know. "What are you going to do about Black? Now that you know."
Tobias felt his insides clench—it was one thing to think about the deed, but talking about it? Actually hearing the words come from his mouth? There was no amount of anger that could force him to say that. Not to her.
"I haven't decided." He lied. "I confronted my grandfather about it, but…"
"But what?" His betrothed asked, anxiously. She needed to know that Tobias wasn't going to do anything that he would later regret. She needed to know that he was planning on handling Black his way, and not the Slytherin way. She needed to know that he was going to remain her Tobias.
Tobias looked away from her, and back at the night sky. If he was going to lie, he couldn't look her right in her face and do it. Pansy had always been there for him, even when he didn't want her to. He thought about this Summer, and how they'd spent almost every day together. She was one of his closest friends—maybe even more than that.
"He told me to let him handle it." He forced out the lie. "He doesn't want me confronting Black."
He heard Pansy sigh in relief, and it made him feel even guiltier than before. Was that the reason she asked? To make sure that Tobias wasn't planning to do the exact thing he was now being trained to do?
"Why the relieving sigh?" He joked, hoping that his previous thoughts were wrong.
"I was just…worried." The girl admitted, her cheeks turning red. "You're not like the other Slytherins, Tobias. It's one of the main reasons I—" Her cheeks went even redder. "My point is…I was scared you would handle this the 'Slytherin way', and do something you'll regret."
Tobias frowned. "The Slytherin way?"
Pansy rolled her eyes. "You're an heir, LeStrange. The top heir at that. A lot is expected of you—will be expected of you…and me…when we get older. But…" Pansy looked away from him. "You've always proven that there is another way to every problem—that we don't have to slither our way in and out of everything. I didn't want the news about your father to change that about you."
The Slytherin Heir didn't know what to say, but Pansy's words honestly made him feel worse than the idea of him casting the killing curse. He wanted to come out and tell her the truth—that he was no longer that Tobias LeStrange. Once he killed Sirius Black, he would be a different person. And Pansy would have to marry that different person.
He grabbed her hand, hoping to console her—and himself. "I'll never change."
Her blue eyes met his green ones, and Tobias hoped that his guilt couldn't be seen through him.
"I promise."
Blaise sat in his room, wishing he could cast a silencing charm on the manor. His parents were arguing again, and he wished he couldn't hear every word of it.
His father was trying, and failing once again, to convince his mother to drop the case on Hagrid. Though the tan Slytherin was sure it didn't have anything to do with himself, he agreed that his mother had to be stopped.
It was his fault that Hagrid's hippogriff was under investigation, and what was even worse—Blaise's reasoning for doing it didn't exist. Well, it did, but not in this timeline. The reason Blaise had been angry at Tobias LeStrange and his friends over the summer no longer existed, making his attack on Hagrid pointless and cruel—even at Blaise's standards.
But like a true Zabini, his mother wouldn't stand down. He could hear her screaming from downstairs.
"Let it go, Darian?!" She screeched. "Our son almost died by that barbaric creature and you want me to let it go?"
"He broke his arm, Talia!" He heard his father scream back. "You're building a case over nothing!"
Blaise wanted to cut his ears off—or lose his hearing for the next couple hours. He wondered if this same situation happened in the timeline he was from. Would he have still gone after Hagrid? Or did he picked another target?
He hadn't realized it before, but this new life was coming with its own pros and cons that Blaise Zabini hadn't encountered in his old life. In his old life, he had control over his actions—what he had done, and who he had done it with. But here, he had no recollection of what he had done in the past, no way to change or alter what was already set in stone. He had to make use of what he had—which wasn't a lot at the moment.
He hadn't endured another episode since the Chamber of Secrets mess, but a part of him wished for another one. It was the only way for him to see what he had done in this timeline. But if he was to be honest with himself, there was only one part of this new life he wanted to explore.
His life with Ginny Weasley, his crush.
In his timeline, he was only able to watch Ginny from afar. He had only gained the courage to speak to her after the Chamber of Secrets incident, where they had agreed to send each other letters over the summer. But in this alternate, he and Ginny had been friends—or more than friends—for a long time. And Blaise didn't…and wouldn't…know how their friendship begun, or anything else they did up until this point.
It frustrated him to no end. To hear his crush talk about the times she spent with him, and Blaise not being able to remember any of it. If only he knew how his episodes spawned, he could manipulate them and remember his times with this Ginny Weasley.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Owl screeches and the flapping of wings. He didn't recognize the owl, but when he landed on Blaise's bedpost—the tan Slytherin was able to see the tag stating "Shazam" on the owl's collar. Blaise's eyes narrowed. This was Theodore Nott's owl. Why in the bloody hell was Theodore Nott sending him a letter?
Blaise took the note wrapped around the owl's leg, shooing the bird away—but not before the bird bit him. He opened it hesitantly, but his attention was grabbed when he noticed the handwriting. It didn't belong to Theodore Nott, but to Hermione Granger.
Dear Blaise,
I've been doing more research into your "time-problem" and I noticed something that may help with your…episodes. According to The Art of Time Travel, time-related memory changes are sparked by the time traveler being in the presence of something from their past.
Blaise frowned, not truly understanding what that meant. There were a lot of things that belonged to his past. He had been home for several days, surrounded by his family and all the belongings of his room—and he hadn't had an episode. He looked back at the parchment.
For example, when you had your episode about the Chamber of Secrets, you wrote that you were in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and that your fingers ran across the Snake that Tom Riddle carved into the bathroom sink.
It's the same with people, your confrontation with all of us in the hospital wing sparked your first episode.
Blaise's frown went even deeper.
You can stop your episodes, but that requires isolating yourself from everyone and everything that reminds you of something from your timeline. I'm still researching a way to prevent you from doing that, but it's the best we have, especially since you're home for the holidays.
Hermione Granger
The tan Slytherin wanted to take the witch's letter as bad news. But he couldn't. Though he was still frowning, Hermione Granger had given him the answer he had been looking for. To recreate his memories with Ginny, he just needed to around her more. To manipulate her into showing and telling him things that would spark an episode.
It sounded simple, but it sounded dangerous. The side-effects of his episodes weren't pleasant, and he wasn't sure if he was willing to keep enduring those side effects.
But he was sure about one thing—which trumped everything else. He wanted to be with Ginny, and he needed to remember all his memories with her.
Hermione had just sent Theodore's owl off to Blaise Zabini, wondering how the Slytherin would take the news. To keep her busy this Christmas holiday, she did what Hermione Granger did best. She buried herself in books—hundreds of them.
She started with Hagrid's case, finding everything she could to help with Buckbeak's case. She barely knew anything about magical law, but she looked up every case and every law that could possibly counter act the case Talia Zabini was making. At times she doubted herself—could the information she was finding battle against the Zabini woman, who had been working all her life in the Ministry? She had reached out to the other boys for help, but she hadn't received a response back.
When she wasn't working on Hagrid's case, she was helping Blaise Zabini with his 'time-problem.' She felt weird—helping the same person who was responsible for Buckbeak's case, but she could tell Zabini felt guilty about it. Despite his reasoning for it, he seemed nerve-wrecked that he had gotten the hippogriff in trouble for no reason. And because of that, she continued her research on time-traveling.
As soon as she sent Shazam off, there was a knock at her door.
"Come in." Hermione said calmly.
The door opened, and her father stepped inside. He looked the same as he had over the summer, when Theodore had come to visit—followed by the arrival of Tobias, Draco, and Pansy. She sighed.
"Theodore's here again, isn't he?" She asked, preparing herself for whatever excuse the Slytherin boy had come up with this time to visit her.
"No, not Theo." Her father said. "Draco Malfoy is here to see you."
The witch's expression completely changed then. Draco was here? But why? They hadn't truly spoken since the incident at Hogsmeade. She even wrote him when the Christmas holidays begun, but he never answered her. She assumed the blonde Slytherin needed his space, as did everyone else, but showing up at her house announced?
This was spontaneous. Even for Draco.
Hermione didn't say anything, only walking past her father and down the steps to find Draco standing in her living room. He was wearing his black traveling cloak and his hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail. She blushed lightly when her eyes met his, those small specs of blue lighting in his eyes.
However, she quickly shook that blush away. "Outside, now."
Draco followed her and as they walked, Hermione tried to think of what to say to him. Would she start with why they hadn't talked since Hogsmeade? Would she ask him how he was doing? Would she ask him about his confrontation with Tobias? Or why he didn't respond to her letter about Hagrid?
"I take it you're upset with me." Said Draco, and the witch realized they were outside and she hadn't said anything.
Hermione whipped around to face him, crossing her arms around her chest. "Is that all you have to say?"
"Granger, I…"
"We didn't talk about what happened at Hogsmeade. Or what happened with you and Tobias. You didn't answer my letter about Hagrid. And now you just show up here and—"
"I know. I know." The blonde Slytherin interrupted. "I just…I just didn't know how to talk about it. How to explain why I withheld the biggest secret of my best friend's life from him."
Hermione dropped her arms. She could see that it was all tearing Draco apart. He was never the one to talk about his feelings.
She was even surprised to see tears forming in his eyes, one of them breaking free and falling slowly down his cheek. Hermione then took his hand, using her other to wipe the tear away.
"Just try to explain." She said softly. "You can't keep it bottled inside forever."
The boy sniffled, nodding in agreement. "You were right, about me wanting to protect myself. I…I wanted to protect myself from the fact that Black would've killed Tobias if he went after him. I was scared of losing my best friend."
"Did you tell him that?"
Draco nodded. "He didn't say anything after that. He's convinced I've made a fool out of him…that he could've been hunting Black this whole time instead of being at Hogwarts."
"And what do you think?" asked Hermione.
"I think he's right. But he didn't have to do it alone. I…we…could have helped him draw Black out. Captured him some other way that didn't require Tobias ditching Hogwarts. I wasn't thinking…I should've listened to you."
Hermione couldn't even relish in the fact that Draco Malfoy had proved her right. On one side, she was glad that Draco understood the consequences of his actions, but on the other side, she wished he had understood those consequences sooner. She knew how much Tobias and Theodore meant to Draco. They were like his little brothers.
"It isn't too late." She said, looking at the boy with a small smile. "You messed up, and that's okay. But you can still help Tobias—and capture Black the right way. Turn him in to the Ministry…and no one gets hurt."
Draco sniffled again. "Tobias isn't going to talk to me. The last time I tried, he looked like he wanted to hex me into last year."
"Can you blame him?"
"No, but—"
"Just try talking to him again, Draco. You're his best friend—he can't be mad at you forever. But you can't keep avoiding him and barely putting up a fight. If you want to help him, show him."
Once again, Hermione was right. He had been avoiding Tobias since the day at Hogsmeade, scared of the reaction the Slytherin heir might give him. He had been scared of his true feelings, failing as a friend, and a brother, to Tobias and Theodore. But though Hermione was right, talking to her made him feel like he could do better. She was the only one who understood him.
"I know you feel like you've failed him—you've always been protective over Tobias and Theodore. But we all make mistakes- we just have to face them."
It was what he liked most about her. She was able to see the light where he only saw darkness.
He grabbed her other hand, seeing her blush slightly at his notion. His heart skipped a beat when her brown eyes met his grey ones, and he felt so warm inside, he was sure he would melt the snow beneath him.
"Thank you." He said, and he felt his heart about to explode from the thought of what he was about to do.
"…for what?" asked Hermione, her face turning a hot red color.
But Draco didn't answer. At least not with words. His heart was hammering in his chest as he lowered his head, his lips meeting those of Hermione Granger.
Taken by surprise, Hermione wasn't sure what to do. But she fell into the kiss…
…and it seemed as if the whole world had stopped.
A few days before Christmas, Ron visited Quidditch Quality Supplies to find Ginny something for Christmas. His parents still had a few galleons left from the Egypt trip and split it amongst each Weasley child for their Christmas shopping. Ron decided to do his last, seeing that he would be able to roam Diagon Alley alone.
He thought about the last time he was in Diagon Alley. He was with his friends and they were all gathering their supplies for the school year. He thought about what it would be like if he was in the Quidditch shop with Draco and Tobias. They were the only two who really cared about Quidditch.
He also thought about how this Christmas would be way different from his previous Christmases. His first one he had spent with Theodore, where they had used Tobias's invisibility cloak to sneak into the restricted section of the library. It was the second time that had been chased by Filch's cat, where they discovered the Mirror of Erised.
His second Christmas he had spent with Hermione and Neville, trying to find out who the real Heir of Slytherin was. He chuckled to himself as he remembered Hermione polyjuicing herself as a cat, and he and Neville running into the other Crabbe and Goyle, who turned out to be Tobias and Theodore.
"This Christmas blows." He said under his breath, looking through a box of riding gloves.
He finally gave up his search for the perfect present for Ginny, settling for a red pair of riding gloves. He turned his attention to the Firebolt in the shop window, wishing he had enough galleons to buy it.
"Are you going to buy it?" He heard someone—a girl—ask. "Or just keep staring at it?"
Ron turned to see the Slytherin girl named Tracey Davis standing beside him. He didn't know much about her, only that she hung with Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass. And that she was Blaise Zabini's, his worst enemy, betrothed.
"Very funny." Ron said back, assuming that it was a cruel Slytherin joke.
The girl frowned. "It wasn't a joke. I was honestly asking."
"And where would I—a Weasley—get the money to buy that?"
"Well someone isn't in the Christmas spirit." The girl responded.
Ron scoffed, not having the energy to argue. He turned to walk away, his Christmas shopping being ruined by a Slytherin. He started to make his way towards the cashier when…
"No, wait!" He heard Tracey call behind him. She grabbed his arm, making the Gryffindor boy stop in his tracks.
"What do you want, Davis?" He asked irritably.
The girl frowned. "I didn't mean to offend you. It was a bad way to start the conversation."
"It's fine." Ron said, hearing the sincerity in her voice.
Tracey smiled, and Ron felt his ears go red. He didn't know what was happening, but his palms had gone sweaty. He couldn't help but smile himself.
"I heard Bulgarians just got a full shipment of these." Said the Slytherin, turning back to face the Firebolt. "Krum's going to freak."
Ron instantly snapped back to reality. "You're a fan of Krum?"
"Who isn't?" The girl snorted. "Seventeen years old and the best seeker in the world? Bulgaria hasn't lost a game since he started."
Where have you been all my life? Ron thought, thanking Merlin he hadn't said it out loud. He didn't know many girls who were Quidditch fans. Hermione wasn't necessarily interested, she only went to show house spirit and to cheer on Tobias and Draco—but mostly Draco. Ginny loved Quidditch, hence him buying her riding gloves, but his whole family enjoyed Quidditch.
This was different.
"What?" asked Tracey, seeing the awe on his face. "Never met a girl who likes Quidditch?"
Ron shook his head. "I mean—my sister likes Quidditch, but that's all."
She smiled again, and Ron felt his ears burn hotter. "Well, I guess today's your lucky day, Weasley."
She spun around and headed towards the store clerk. Ron wasn't sure what she was doing, but followed her nonetheless. It finally clicked in his head when they closer.
"Wait?!" He said quickly. "Are you going to buy it?"
"Buy it? I already have two."
Ron's mouth gaped open. "Two?!"
"Miss Davis!" The store clerk said with excitement. "Did you see our new shipment of broom polish?"
"I did." Tracey answered. "I'm going to need the kit to polish my Firebolts. But I'm not here for that, I have a request."
The clerk smiled. "Anything for you."
Tracey turned towards Ron. "My friend Ron, he wants to test drive the Firebolt before he buys it. And don't worry, he's an experienced flyer—he plays for Gryffindor."
"Would you like one to test as well, Miss Davis?"
The girl shrugged. "Sure, why not?"
Ron couldn't believe what was happening. The clerk disappeared to the back of the store, returning with two brand new Firebolts. The Gryffindor's mouth was still gaping when the clerk handed Tracey both of the brooms.
"The shop closes at seven, so I'll need them back before then." Said the clerk. "I'll have your broom polishing kits waiting for you when you get back."
Tracey nodded. "Thanks, Bucky."
She handed Ron one of the Firebolts, dragging the boy out of the Quidditch shops. As soon as they stepped out of the shop, Ron lost his mind.
"How the bloody hell did you do that?" He exclaimed. "He just…gave you the brooms!"
Tracey laughed. "He had no choice. My father owns Quidditch Quality Supplies."
Ron's mouth gaped open even wider. He suddenly snapped back to reality when he saw the Slytherin girl mounting the Firebolt.
"Wait." He said quickly. "We're going to fly them here?"
The girl rolled her eyes. "Do you see a Quidditch pitch anywhere?"
"But what if?" Ron said, now growing nervous about riding a Firebolt for the first time. "What if something happens?"
"Like having the time of your life on the fastest broomstick in the world?" Tracey teased. "Merlin forbid that happens."
Ron's face turned red. "Oi! You know what I mean."
"Nothing's going to happen, Weasley." She then cocked an eyebrow at him. "I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be brave and daring?"
"We are!" Ron yelled back.
"Then, mount your broom." Tracey said, positioning herself on hers.
Ron opened his mouth to retort, but decided against it. He couldn't deny the fact that he wanted to ride on the Firebolt. He also couldn't deny the fact that he wanted to spend a little more time with Tracey. She was the first person from school he had talked to in a while, and he didn't want to ruin this moment.
He mounted his broom, his palms drenched with sweat.
"On three?" He asked, nervously.
"Sure." The girl said. "One…THREE!"
Tracey kicked off her broom, Ron astonished at how fast her lift off was. Completely forgetting he was mounted on a Firebolt as well, the Gryffindor kicked off as well. As soon as the Firebolt lifted off, Ron quickly regretted his decision. The Firebolt flew so fast, Ron thought his clothes would rip off his body. He tried to focus on Tracey, who was zooming in front of him. He was the only thing he could focus on—everything else was a blur.
"WOOOOOO-HOOOOOO!" He heard Tracey scream.
He laughed. "WOOOOOO!" He screamed, adapting to the Firebolt. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold breeze brush against his face.
Christmas blows? Yeah, right.
Author's Note:
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~TheeStoryTeller
