A.N. So folks, I am getting really close to the start of the really dramatic part of the story (I know, WTH are you in for if the dramatic part hasn't even begun). The chapters are going to probably come quicker now as I have a very strong idea of what I am writing now. As always, thanks to Rotehexe for betaing and overall making sure I am not too evil in my writing. Any feedback is super, super appreciated, and I can't wait to see what y'all think of this!
As always, a super special thanks to Alessandra.12, xXMizz Alec VolturiXx, JessicaImpossible, jadely13, a guest, and VelvetRoseMorning for reviewing chapter 13!
Hermione was quite ashamed to say that she had entirely forgotten about Peter Pettigrew.
Not that he existed, no Merlin, she couldn't forget his existence if she tried. No, she had forgotten that he existed in this time. Constant excuses revolving around his mother's failing health seemed to keep him away from most gatherings, so even months into her mission, she had yet to meet the slimy little rat.
Which was why she was startled when she arrived at Lily and James's cozy cottage for a dinner invitation and Peter Pettigrew sat in their kitchen. Not quite as pale and shaken as he had been in her time, he was still a chubby and portly man, rising to a height just above her own. Only 21 and already balding slightly, she couldn't help but sneer when she caught sight of him.
"Oh Hermione! So happy you could make it. I don't believe you've met Peter before. Hasn't been able to get out much." Lily's kind eyes flashed along with her smile as she gestured for Hermione to come in. James, wearing an apron and looking far too much like his son, took her cloak and hung it up on a nearby hook. Shaking herself slightly to bring her back to her senses, Hermione did her best to paste a happy smile on her face.
"No, can't say I've had the…pleasure." The last word gritted out, like it was poisonous in her mouth. Recovering quickly, she crossed the Potter's sitting room and offered her hand to the small cowardly man. He smiled up at her and regarded her hand with confusion. "Oh right…sorry. I'm a muggleborn. My dad always used to tell me that the proper thing to do was shake someone's hand when you met them." Peppering in the fact that she was muggleborn seemed to have set Peter on edge. Had he already begun spying for the death eaters? Was he even at this moment betraying his friends?
"Quite alright. I'm Peter. Lily has been telling me all about you. You sound like quite the fearsome foe." He sipped at the tea in his hand quietly, and Hermione swallowed every urge she had to murder him on the spot. Anger swirled in her, and she could feel magic crackling in her hair as she tried to contain her hatred.
"If she is referring to that incident with Black, he shouldn't have snuck up on me. Besides, that man has deserved a bat-bogey hex since I first met him. It is not a safe place to be though…on the other side of my wand that is." Hermione stated her case matter-of-factly, hoping that her warning was clear. Her brown eyes bore into Pettigrew as if she was trying to burn a hole directly between his eyes through his brain, and if she wasn't careful, her accidental magic might actually do just that.
Hermione amended her checklist during that dinner, as she sat, ate, and conversed with the man who had betrayed his friends…who had helped Voldemort kill Lily and James. Horcruxes were the most important. Without destroying the horcruxes, Voldemort would remain alive in some form. First the horcruxes, then Voldemort, then she would find Pettigrew in whatever shit-hole he would hide in and kill him herself. Voldemort's death was for the greater good…to save lives and to protect the people she loved. Pettigrew…his death was for her.
The gown that Regulus had picked out for her to wear to Narcissa's birthday ball was atrocious to say the least. It was part of her disguise though, to wear the stuffy fashions that were so popular among pureblood elites. Hermione's cover was simple, her father was a ministry worker and her mother stayed at home; she'd tried to argue for the dignity of this fictional matron, but Regulus and Remus were both quick to point out that it would attract more attention if she claimed her mother was a career woman. Her name was to be Jolene Selwyn, as she knew from her research that they had French cousins and no one around her age to contradict her claim.
Stepping through the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor where the floos had been felt like a stab in Hermione's stomach. Everywhere she turned, she was reminded about their brief time as prisoners during the war. It didn't look the same, likely owing to Narcissa's influence not being as strong yet. Abraxas Malfoy was still alive, and it was startling to Hermione how little he looked like his son. Where Lucius Malfoy was tall and thin with an aristocratic feel to his presence, much like his son Draco, Abraxas was short and broad, more muscle than man.
"Now darling, at least pretend to smile." Regulus whispered in her ear. It sent chills down her spine, the closeness of his breath, and her eyes were drawn away from where the Malfoy family stood greeting guests. Stiffening her back in the way he had been relentlessly training her to do for the past week, she pulled her lips into a polite smile and leaned into his ear.
"I'm going to hex your bollocks off when I finally get out of this bloody dress." Her voice denoted her displeasure at her garment, but her face was bright and gave away none of her disdain. He placed his hand on the small of her back and gently led her towards the crowds of purebloods. As this party was for Narcissa Malfoy, she naturally had to be their first stop, according to decorum.
"Narcissa." Regulus greeted, pulling Hermione along beside him. The blonde woman turned elegantly and bowed her head to him. She was wearing a dark purple gown that more closely resembled the fashion of the 1870s than the 1970s. Puffed sleeves that Hermione had always thought to be ridiculous looked suave and stylish on the harsh woman. Narcissa Malfoy was more beautiful in her youth than she had been in her middle years, although she felt it wasn't the most fair comparison owing to the fact that Narcissa had played host to a madman for a number of years by the time Hermione had met her.
"Regulus." She greeted, curtsying slightly before kissing him on his right cheek and then the left. "And who is this you've brought with you? Surely not a potential suitor? Walburga has been most tight-lipped at the lady's teas about your prospects." Narcissa's voice was more sing-songy than Hermione remembered it being, almost as if everything she said was an inside joke between you and her. It was easy to genuinely smile at the woman.
"Not a…" Looking over at Regulus, she did her best to look puzzled. "Urm…'ow do you say…girlfriend. 'e 'as been so kind as to 'ost me on my visit. England is most beautiful." Hermione knew she wasn't the best actor, but there was something about the high stakes of the situation that made her into a professional. Her hair had been transfigured to appear blonde and straight, although not quite as bright as the Malfoy's. Her eyes had been changed to appear blue, and she looked as close to Fleur Delacour as she could manage without Polyjuice.
"My name is Jolene Selwyn, it is a pleasure to meet you. And may I say 'appy Birthday to you as well." Hermione curtseyed quickly before returning to her stiff posture from before. She had nearly fallen over while bowing due to the oppressive restraint of her corset, but had managed to steady herself at the last second. Regulus, who had been watching her out of the corner of his eye, nodded nearly imperceptibly at her.
"Jolene and I met on my holiday in France. She is here as a cultural exchange of a sort. You'll surely know of her great uncle." Narcissa smiled politely, but Hermione could sense the grimace she was truly hiding. The Selwyns had been the perfect cover because they had never been a very sociable breed, and were quite estranged from their French counterparts. Horatio Selwyn, her so-called great uncle, was notoriously reclusive, and on the few occasions he found himself in pureblood society, was downright hostile.
"Ah yes. Horatio. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him personally, but I'm told he's quite…" Narcissa paused, and Hermione nearly laughed watching the witch find something pleasant to say about the old bastard. Pureblood politics had never quite made sense to her, but it was entertaining to watch the blonde witch attempt to be the perfect lady.
"He's a barmy old codger and I won't fault you for saying so." Hermione joked, leaning into the blonde woman as if she was sharing a secret. Narcissa's grey eyes grew wide, and she worried for a moment that she may have given herself away. Sending a quick panicked glance out of the side of her eye towards Regulus, he was stoic and tightlipped beside her.
Just as Hermione was calculating the nearest escape route, Narcissa burst out in a fit of giggles. "Oh I do like you. You can't be dating Reggie of course, you are far too lovely. Come, let me introduce you to my husband. He must be somewhere around here." It only took a few moments of searching to find Lucius Malfoy. He was hard to miss after all, his long platinum blonde hair nearly glowing in contrast to his black dress robes. There was so much similarity to Draco in his younger face that Hermione found herself missing home; a rather strange phenomena considering she was not even really friends with the boy.
Crossing the ballroom on the arm of the birthday girl drew more attention than Hermione had intended but getting into Narcissa's (and thus her husband's) good graces was more important than blending into the shadows. "Lucius…" Narcissa called, approaching her husband with her head bowed in reverence…another pureblood tradition that Hermione had no desire to partake in. "Sorry to interrupt your boys club, but this is a new friend of mine I thought you should meet. This is Jolene Selwyn. Jolene, this is my husband, Lucius Malfoy, scion of the house of Malfoy."
Lucius Malfoy's blue-ish grey eyes stared through Hermione like she was glass, and she was surprised how much suspicion and hostility hid underneath the thin veneer of his smile. He bowed to her, offering his hand, and Hermione nearly reached out to shake it. Realizing at the last moment that was not correct, she turned her hand motion into a swift curtsey and placed her hand in his. She hated him, certainly, but it was easier to deal with him now – having seen the broken shell of a man that she had left behind in Azkaban. This Lucius would never see the inside of a prison cell…not if he helped her.
"A pleasure to meet you my lord." Hermione stated in her most airy tone. She had practiced with Regulus for hours the correct tone to sound like a proper pureblooded lady. There was so many rules, and the overly sweetened politeness shown to a scion of a Sacred 28 house was one of the more ridiculous ones.
"Not quite Lord yet." Abraxas Malfoy interrupted, having approached their gathered group from the side. Before he could finish speaking, Hermione's chest began to tighten in a new and painful sensation. This was not like any of her panic attacks…no she knew the signs of those. This was…something new entirely. The scar that ran down the center of her chest and across her abdomen burned like it was fresh, and it took all of her strength not to scream from the pain. It had been nearly a decade since that scar last hurt. Panicked eyes flashed up, surveying the new faces that joined her. It took only a moment to recognize the cold, hungry blue eyes of Antonin Dolohov.
"Do forgive me for intruding Lucius, but I am going to be leaving soon to discuss some business and I had not met our newest guest." Abraxas snapped Hermione's attention back to him, and her heart raced as the panic turned into a survival instinct.
"It is a pleasure to meet you Lord Malfoy. I am Jolene Selwyn." Hermione blurted out, nervousness and uncertainty thicker in her voice than she had meant. Her eyes, subconsciously, flickered over to where Dolohov was standing behind Lucius to the left, eyeing her with a dark expression she didn't even want to evaluate.
"The pleasure is all mine, Madam Selwyn. I see you've come tonight with young Regulus. Has someone finally made an honest man of the boy? Merlin knows his poor mother has been through enough with that blood-traitor she once called a son. A beautiful, young, pureblooded woman is just what the house of Black needs." Hermione bit the inside of her cheek from scoffing at his assessment. Sirius Black is 100 times the man you will ever be, she thought to herself bitterly. She smiled kindly at him, although the fakeness of every emotion she displayed was starting to grate against her. Pulling her hand up to her ear, she tugged on her earring lightly twice – the signal she had established with Regulus that she needed him.
"You 're too kind Monsieur. You 'ave a beautiful 'ome. I am very grateful to Monsieur Black for escorting me this evening. The Malfoy family balls are renowned, even in France." Her composure slipped, only for a fraction of a second when Antonin Dolohov stepped towards her.
"And you ain't gonna introduce her to us Cissa?" He teased, not even looking at the blonde witch at all when he addressed her. Hermione's blood ran cold as she wondered for the first time if he could feel the magic coming out of her wound like she could. With every millimeter he got closer, the dull, throbbing pain increased. Regulus, who had now joined Hermione's side under the guise of having brought drinks, attempted to pull her away.
"Antonin, Lucius, Abraxas. I do hope you aren't bothering Ms. Selwyn too much. I have promised to return her unscathed at the end of this evening." Chuckles escaped many of those around her, but Hermione was focusing all her energy on not shaking as Dolohov took another step closer.
"Not bothering. My name is Antonin Dolohov. Would you care to dance Ms. Selwyn?" The predatory gaze in his eyes sent chills down her spine, and she evaluated her options in her head. If she refused him, it would be seen as a great dishonor to him and draw even more attention to her. But could she take the chance that he too felt the dark magic emanating from her chest. Resigned in her inevitably torment, she knew what choice she had to make.
"If my host is willing to part with me, then I would 'appily dance." Gazing at Regulus, she was hoping that he could see the terror hidden beneath her smile, but either he didn't read it, or he had determined it was too much of a risk to say no because he nodded his head with a gesture to go ahead.
Slipping her hand around Antonin Dolohov's forearm was perhaps the hardest thing Hermione had done all evening. Where at least she could understand Lucius Malfoy's reasons behind becoming a death eater, Dolohov did it simply for the opportunity to be cruel.
They settled on the dance floor, his hand at the appropriate spot on her waist and her hand on his shoulder. When the music began to pick up, her feet moved like it was her natural order. Regulus had been a rather remarkable dance teacher, but she was still not quite as coordinated as she would've liked. Stumbling slightly during the first twirl, he kept an even tighter hold onto her.
"I am uncertain what you are hiding, my dear, but be warned that I will find out." His voice was deep and gruff as he spoke, whispering in her ear as if his threat was a sweet nothing. Hermione's spine stiffened as he pulled away, and she responded as best she could.
"Monsieur, I assure you I have nothing to hide. And I must wonder what I may have done to make you think so." Playing innocent was her only option, out in the middle of the dance floor where nothing stood between her and this man she knew capable of murder. She'd seen him murder before, and the burning scar on her chest was proof that he would not hesitate if he found out who…what she really was.
"You feel familiar to me witch. As if my magic runs through your veins. Seeing as how I am not married to you, I find that highly suspicious. That kind of connection only forms through marriage, or through some very dark magic indeed. False naivety may fool the rest of these pretentious and self-obsessed idiots, but I am not so easily tricked. I will be keeping a very close eye on you." He spun her then, the song ending. It was the most she'd ever heard the Russian man speak, and there was something in his voice that turned her blood to ice.
"May I steal her back, Antonin?" Regulus asked, popping up beside them as the dancefloor cleared. Dolohov, who's smile reminded her of the wolf in the old fairy tales her grandmother used to tell her, nodded his head respectfully, grabbing her hand to kiss it.
"Remember what I've said lastachka." His mouth lingered on her hand long after his lips had left it, and Hermione felt the burning sensation in her chest cool as he walked away from her. Every moment his eyes spent on her felt like a violation, like he was killing her all over again, and she could feel the tightness in her chest that she knew this time was an attack on the way.
"I need to leave. Right now." Hermione managed to choke out, feeling her chest continue to tighten like a sponge that was being wrung out. Air became thin and her lungs refused to fill. Regulus must have understood the panic on her face and didn't argue with her.
"I'll floo you back to Grimmauld Place and then come back to give our apologies. Stay in the study until I get back." She could only barely nod at him, his voice fading as she focused herself on her breathing. In the months she had been in the past, she'd been learning to cope with her attacks; their frequency had increased massively under the stress of the past.
Following along behind him, she could feel the pull of the floo on her navel and suddenly she was sitting in one of the oversized leather armchairs in the study of Grimmauld Place. All of her enchantments had cancelled once she entered the room, so her wild curls hung limply around her face. Regulus was gone the moment she was settled, and she let the new air filled with the scent of parchment and leather remind her of home. Burying her face in the crook of the chair and breathing in its aroma, her lungs slowly began to expand again. Avoiding an attack entirely was difficult, owing to the fact that even if she left the place it had been triggered in, it was her own emotions that caused the panic.
Being far away from Antonin Dolohov proved to exponentially help, and after only fifteen minutes or so, the hot sting of tears had faded from Hermione's eyes and she could breath with mostly normal ease. She sat patiently, waiting for Regulus to return when she heard voices outside the door.
One, shrill and unpleasant, she recognized immediately as Walburga, but the other…
"If we don't act quickly then we'll never get another opportunity. Our source says that he's waltzing around Diagon Alley like he has no concerns in the world. Cocky little bastard that son of yours." Abraxas Malfoy's voice had only become known to Hermione an hour or so before, but it was distinct, somehow gruff and lofty at the same time.
"He's no son of mine. He can rot and die in a gutter for all I care. Regulus should've been my first born. Such a wonderful boy. Dutiful and obedient. Tell Rowle to go retrieve the blood traitor. He will be an excellent bargaining chip for the Dark Lord." Walburga's voice was distant now, but Hermione's brain was processing what they were saying at a rapid speed. They were talking about Sirius…kidnapping Sirius. She grabbed a handful of floo powder and quickly travelled back to her home.
Not having time to undo its 8,000 buttons, she magically vanished her ridiculous pureblood costume and summoned her old combat boots, jeans, and a cotton Henley. Placing her worn and tattered black cloak she kept around for missions around her shoulders, she prepared to leave. Ready for action now, she apparated quickly to the center of Diagon Alley, searching furiously for the familiar head of curly hair that was in imminent danger, she walked frantically through the streets.
Her brown eyes were moving faster than her brain could process, and her gaze locked on him shortly before she heard the scream.