Y'all still reading? I'm back to writing. Thanks for your patience, to those who hung on to my little story.
"I'll do that for you," Gregory Goyle offered. He took hold of Hermione's luggage and lifted it into the storage overhead, grunting at the effort. She almost pitied him; her luggage was much heavier than it looked because of all the books she had fit into it. She had left her school clothing behind in her dorm to make more room for all of the reading she wanted to do over the holiday.
"Chivalry doesn't keep you from using magic," Blaise sardonically added.
Greg glared at the Italian. "It's the thought that counts," Hermione soothed, patting her earnest friend on the shoulder. "Thank you for the help, Greg."
The boy blushed as the other Slytherins settled into the train compartment. Vince and Greg took up the majority of one side, with Draco squished between them like the pale filling to a sandwich. Hermione, Theo, and Blaise claimed the opposite bench, secretly pleased to have even the slightest bit of elbow room compared to their other friends.
The first semester had ended without fanfare. Hermione was confident she had done well on her exams, even if potions persisted in giving her nervous ticks. She had checked on the study habits of her friends, and while not totally satisfied by how much time they devoted to exam preparation, she was also surprised at how much skiving they had not done. Owls with threatening parental post were able to kick even the chronically lazy Blaise into high gear. With the exception of her two sweet, gentle-giant companions, she knew her Slytherin friends were all smart and capable, so she looked forward to discussing final grades.
"I am so ready for my own, private room," Blaise daydreamed. "No more waiting for my turn in the bathroom. No more snoring disturbing my beauty sleep. No more weird smells and noises. Merlin! I think I'll drop out of Hogwarts and just live at home off the goodwill of my Mum and her husbands."
"Weird smells?" Hermione questioned, wrinkling her nose.
"Don't ask," Theo advised quietly, glancing over the top of his book. He sat between her and Blaise, who had claimed the window seat a week before the train had even entered the station.
"Noted," she sniffed. "The only thing I hate about my sleeping situation, other than the Cold War Era atmosphere, is all of the clothes on the floor. Disregarding those things, it's fine, if tense."
"Cold War?" Vince said quizzically.
"Muggle thing," she explained. "It was a time in history where the United States of America and the Soviet Union ceased diplomatic relations and essentially threatened each other with nuclear war, without ever engaging in battle."
"Nuclear war?" Greg added.
"I'll bring back some books on Muggle history for all of you," Hermione decided. "Even wizards should know about nuclear warheads. I don't think magic will protect anyone from an atom bomb or nuclear fallout."
Blaise groaned piteously. "You have doomed us all, you filthy inbreds," he bemoaned dramatically. "Now, we must be damned to education!"
"How cruel of me," the witch said dryly.
"Good luck getting any of them to read a Muggle book, helpful or not," said Theo. He was the only one of them who read for pleasure, except the witch in their midst.
Draco screwed his pointed face into an expression that managed to convey both disgust and total disinterest simultaneously. "I wouldn't even touch a Muggle history textbook. The only history that matters to me is-"
"I see ignorance is the theme of the day," interrupted Hermione faux cheerfully. "Color me surprised. So none of you are interested in modern Muggle weaponry? Weaponry which can level cities?"
"Maybe one day," shrugged Theo unhelpfully. "Until then, I'll take your word for it."
Hermione rolled her eyes but knew better than to try and convince the boys. If even Theo expressed no interest, the likelihood the rest would be was dismal. They were solidly mired in their odd, exclusive society. They would rather pretend muggles didn't exist. Theo and Draco had told her that they had never even seen a muggle before entering King's Cross Station. The apparition point for wizarding families was inside a utility closet protected by notice-me-not charms. Families that chose to travel that way to drop off their children at the train station avoided traversing muggle London but still had to brave a short jaunt through crowds of muggles to find the hidden entrance to the 9 and 3/4s platform. She was sure it had been a very trying time indeed for the Malfoys; she often entertained herself imagining their sneering, pointed faces as they tried to elbow their way through the muggle masses without touching anyone.
"You'll be at the banquet, right, Hermione?" Vince questioned. "My parents want to meet you, I think."
"There isn't a pureblooded parent alive who won't try to meet her at the banquet," Draco interjected.
"Oh, I look forward to nothing more than being trapped in endless pleasantries with people trying to crawl up my arsehole," Hermione muttered crossly.
Theo choked and Blaise crowed at the impolite announcement. The boys had slowly grown used to her language, but Theo still hoped against hope that she would act like a pureblooded princess all the time, rather than just when she needed to. It entertained Blaise and the older boys endlessly that she didn't follow most social conventions, but it created a deep divide between herself and the more conservative purebloods. A few of the older girls were primed to stage an intervention if she continued her more muggle habits.
"Please don't talk like that at the Malfoys' banquet," Theo advised.
She glared at him. "I'm not an idiot, Nott. You know I can act."
"You should have seen her in Diagon Alley and the Ministry," shared Draco conspiratorially, whisper pitched loud and eyebrows wriggling. Hermione quite thought his eyebrows were pale enough as to be nonexistent. "It's like she became a harpy trained in politics. She scared everyone senseless!"
"Including you," Hermione pointed out to the laughter of everyone else.
The train pulled into the rolling hills of Scotland, ferrying the students back to their home. As she and Theo read quietly, the other boys played a rousing game of Exploding Snap. Not even the fascinating history of Morgan le Fay's son, the Dark wizard Mordred, nor the insults and exclamations of the boys' game could distract her from the letter in her pocket.
The letter to her mother had lived in her robe for so long the edges had worn. It had been sealed and ready to send for two months, yet she couldn't bring herself to do it. Her procrastination had left her the last option of confronting Emily Granger in person. Hermione knew that once she saw her mother's face, words would come pouring out with no end.
She didn't want to hurt her mother, but no matter how much she looked at the issue, again and again, she just couldn't figure out why her Mum had never told her the bloody truth! It seemed so minor a thing that made so major an impact. Hermione didn't even look like Daniel Granger at all. It wouldn't have been a life-shattering reveal to learn Daniel was not her biological father. Daniel had never done anything to make Hermione doubt his love for her; she would always consider him an intrinsic part of her growth into who she was and who she would become. Her mother had to know that. So why would Emily Granger conceal that her daughter's biological father was Sirius Black?
A mystery Hermione had foolishly ignored in favor of other pursuits reared its head: the charm that had hidden her true appearance. She couldn't believe it had slipped her mind, but she had focused on other things she could actually affect.
Who had cast such a complex charm that Hermione may have never known the truth of her blood? That witch or wizard had had access to her right after birth. Had the same person also forced her mother's silence?
Hermione's mouth twisted. Had someone threatened her Mum? The beast in her chest, which had been quiet for days, stirred at the thought.
Her mind automatically wanted to accuse Dumbledore, but she felt like he wouldn't have hidden her away when he would have gained much more by raising her beneath his supposedly benevolent wing. She had no idea who to suspect otherwise. It had to have been someone keen on either protecting the Black heir or ensuring she never realized her rightful bloodline, two opposing intentions.
Had it been her father? She had been born before his imprisonment. Perhaps he had been trying to protect her from the war he had thrown himself into? He couldn't have known such a charm would lead to a brutal attack from bigoted students. He may have assumed she would have ended up in his house, a fellow Gryffindor.
Other than her father, who else was there to suspect? Whoever it was had either intentionally doomed her to the life of a second-class citizen, or attempted to protect her from the infamy of her family. If someone had truly wanted to harm her, however, wouldn't it be easier to just kill her? Hermione didn't understand why someone would go through the trouble of charming her appearance. Either the person had meant to one day undo the charm, or they hadn't had the stomach to kill her as an infant.
There were too many loose ends to make sense of. Hermione couldn't figure out who or why, and she had no leads. The only thing she could do was ask her mother, which meant she firstly had to inform her Mum that she knew the truth, which twisted her stomach in knots.
The witch resolved to focus on one problem at a time. Talking to her Mum was the most important and fastest approaching issue. She would see if that conversation shed light on the concealment charm problem and move forward from there.
She remained stressed and furious at the thought that someone had charmed her as a child, possibly threatened her Mum, and then allowed her to enter magical society as a target for bias and violence. However, she found comfort in knowing she had built relationships that would help her weather whatever came to pass. She doubted even the habitually under-performing Blaise Zabini wouldn't hesitate if she truly needed his help. The boys had spent weeks proving themselves, and she had found herself unwinding from a tight ball of paranoia as the boys committed themselves to watching out for her.
Hermione was surprised by how… freeing, she supposed, it felt to even extend the small amount of trust she had that they would have her back. She grinned, looking very much like Badb for a moment. Considering their usefulness at keeping other students away, she found she had helpful barriers to the dull conversations awaiting her at the banquet. Perhaps it was cruel to plot to subject her friends to the boredom of adult conversation; she didn't care.
"I hate that smile," Blaise interrupted her thoughts. "It makes me bloody nervous. What poor soul are you imagining torturing now, Hermione?"
"Language," Theo chided. He also believed that no one should speak a certain way in front of a lady, much less an heiress. He was happily ignored.
"No one," she lied. Her grin widened.
"You're an eerie witch, you know that?"
"Only on days ending in 'y,'" she commented, returning her attention to her book.
Draco groaned. "That was awful," he complained. "I expect better comebacks from you."
The sliding door opened, halting the game unexpectedly. The snap exploded in Greg's face, blasting him with soot. He blinked in surprise as the other boys laughed. Even Hermione had to hide a giggle behind her hand, though her attention snapped to the door once the interrupters made themselves known.
"Awwww, look at the ickle-snakey-firsties," crooned a Weasley twin.
"Look, Gred! That one's hiding her fangs!" the other exclaimed, pointing at Hermione.
Dread iced the witch's spine. She supposed their interest in her had been inevitable. The Weasley twins made a show out of pranking the higher-born Slytherins. They usually did it where everyone could see, exposing themselves to the wrath of the professors before making their escape. That they had chosen to approach when no one was around to witness made Hermione nervous that they had planned something more vicious than usual.
"Oh no, Forge! Sad faces!"
"Scared faces," the other twin corrected with a vulpine grin.
When the boys had begun their game, Draco and Blaise had settled onto the floor to play in the freed-up space between Greg and Vince. Draco was sitting in front of Hermione's legs and had been comfortably leaning against her, but his back had shot ramrod straight when he realized the twins had them cornered. Out of sight from the Gryffindors, the witch wedged her pointed boot into Draco's side painfully.
He yelped loudly and hopped away, distracting everyone. She used the opportunity to slip the Morrigan's wand from her left sleeve pocket unseen, knowing the powerful wand gave her a better chance than her original wand in her other sleeve. If the twins had seen her grab her wand, they would have unarmed her immediately. Draco's distraction left them unaware of her defensive move. The only thing she could depend on was the element of surprise, and that was no guarantee of escaping the twins unscathed. Her mind raced, but no solution seemed adequate.
They wouldn't hurt anyone seriously but waiting until the train had been a calculated move. Fewer professors, less ability to tattle and find help. Students on the train didn't sit in train cars seperated by house; there were unhelpful Hufflepuffs on either side of their compartment. No one would come to help them, and Hermione did not relish the thought of screaming shrilly to attract attention.
"Ickle-snakey-firstie had an ouch?" one red-head questioned the other. Hermione couldn't tell them apart.
"An ouch he had," the other twin confirmed, nodding sagely.
"Should we get… help?"
"No no no… that's not right."
"Should we give help?"
"Not right again."
"Should we give… more ouchies?"
The Gryffindor smiled brilliantly, snapping his fingers. "Forge, you're a genius!"
Her friends were all frozen as the twins raised their wands, mischievous grins carving their fey faces into ugly masks. They were renowned for fine-tuning their more vicious spells on Slytherins. The scene was too familiar, the feeling of helplessness rancid and the fear cloying. The beast roared in fury, scoring her rib cage with hooked talons as it fought for freedom.
She only had one chance to get it right and choose a spell that would end the fight before it began. She just prayed the twins didn't get a good look at her wand and recognize it from the legends. It was doubtful, but the twins had to be clever to be so talented at pranking. They may recognize it from an image or tale, and then her entire façade would fall to pieces. Everything seemed to slow to pinprick bits of vision: the twins' grinning faces; the feel of the dangerous length of wood in her sweating palm; the expectation of impending pain.
She needn't have worried; spells shot from behind the twins, striking them both down as the stunner took immediate effect.
Thorfinn Rowle stepped over the prone bodies, wand at the ready. He looked at the cluster of nervous first years and quirked his lips sharply. The wand went back into his pocket. "Make up something clever now, would you?" he said when they all heard the approaching steps of professors alerted to the commotion.
The witch thought quickly. She knelt down and picked up one of the redhead's wands and shot a stinging hex at Greg, who looked utterly betrayed as he clapped a hand over the offending target. A stunner shot ineffectually into the carpet followed. "Sorry," she whispered, tucking the wand into the Gryffindor's slack hand, "you'll see in a moment."
Professors Synestra and Flitwick shouldered aside Thorfinn and Roland, who Hermione had not seen approach, to check on the unconscious twins. "What in Merlin's name happened here?" Professor Flitwick demanded, looking from the young Slytherins to Roland Avery and Thorfinn Rowle. Filius Flitwick believed Avery to be a good sort, for a snake, but Rowle was one irritation away from a berserker. He rather thought Thorfinn Rowle would make a good ruffian by way of a pre-Roman savage. The student was built like an Ostrogoth.
Hermione forced tears to well in her eyes by biting down on her tongue as hard as she could. She swallowed the copper taste to begin speaking thickly. "We- we were playing Exploding Snap and reading," she explained, waving shakily at her and Theo's fallen books and Greg's soot-stained face, "when Fr- Fred and G- George Weasley burst in! They used a stinging h- hex on Greg and Th-Theo, then stunned themselves to make it look like we attacked them! Thorfinn came in just as they fell over when he heard us panicking."
Professor Flitwick scoffed, "Mr. Rowle, you run to the aid of scared first years now?"
"Unhelpful," Professor Synestra snapped, convinced by the Black girl's tears. She believed the twins had instigated, but the rest of the tale beggared belief. "They staged their own attack?" she asked. Professor Flitwick knelt and began casting diagnostic spells on the teenagers, his attention going to their health.
"They are only unconscious," he confirmed in relief. "No other harm appears to have been done."
Professor Synestra looked to the boys, who had been silent. "Is what she says true?"
On the other side of the twins' crumpled bodies, Roland Avery interrupted. As the seventh year prefect for Slytherin, his word carried weight with the teachers. "These two have been planning to attack Miss Black for weeks," he claimed, handsome face twisting into a sneer at he looked at the twins. "Every student on this train knows it, even their own housemates."
"You can look at our wands," Draco piped up. "They should prove we didn't cast a bad spell." Hermione nearly groaned. She wished they would just let her handle things rather than attempt to aid her.
Professor Flitwick gathered wands from the compartment of the first years and checked them each thoroughly while Roland defended his housemates further. "Professor Synestra, these students are all first years," the seventh year argued. "They can't even cast a stunning hex, much less take on two wizards like the Weasleys. We all know that, as annoying as these vagabonds can be-"
"Stay on topic please, Mr. Avery," Professor Synestra ordered.
"We all know they are good at the pranks they pull," he amended with a self-deprecating smile. "I don't think staging their own stunning is too far out of reach for them. It's a twist on their normal routine, yeah, but doesn't everyone know that these two love nothing more than to do the unexpected?"
The stern professor was softening under the liberal application of Roland Avery's charm. "You're not wrong," she agreed, "but this is still out of character."
"Nothing dangerous here," Professor Flitwick decided. "Where are Fred and George Weasley's wands? If they stunned themselves, that would be the last spell they cast."
Theo picked the two wands from the ground and handed them over to the diminutive wizard, who quickly confirmed the wands had indeed cast stunning spells. Hermione was glad she had thought to also hide a stinging hex beneath one wand. The professors didn't check back further than the stunner, but it was a nice insurance policy.
"Well, that solves that," Roland nodded. "It's unusual for them, I admit—but look at all the chaos its caused. This is exactly what they would have wanted. Unfortunately, they underestimated our esteemed professors' ability to suss out the truth."
Professor Flitwick sighed. "Everyone, return to your seats," he ordered, causing students from other compartments gathered to watch the drama to grumble.
She nodded, still looking unsatisfied but unable to find other avenues to pursue. "I'll still confiscate all these wands and entrust them to you, Mr. Avery, just in case anyone is tempted to restart this encounter with the twins wake up," she decided. "I'll be taking Mr. Weasleys' wands with me, however, so no accidents occur and result in detention after the holiday."
The group of first years groaned theatrically as the prefect took the wands and the professors levitated the two students and took them back to their original compartment. Professor Synestra ordered Roland with a hard look to keep an eye on his housemates as she walked away.
Roland tucked all of the wands into his robes and entered the compartment, shutting the door behind him and Thorfinn. Cramped was a weak term to apply. He waited until the footsteps had faded to nothing before turning his attention to Hermione and the others.
"I'm not keen on any more excitement. We will handle those pillocks in January. Any disagreements?" Roland inquired.
"No," the first years murmured, even as Hermione burned to find the twins sooner. The beast in her breast was unsettled. It hungered.
"That includes you, Ms. Black," he continued, catching the mulish expression she hid.
"Plan later," Thorfinn interrupted the brewing fight. "We all know you'll get revenge. I have more important questions."
"What do you want?" Hermione asked stubbornly, barely resisting the urge to glare. Glaring only encouraged Thorfinn Rowle's bad behavior.
He leaned forward. His grin was wolfish, bared teeth and zero mirth. He gestured to her hand, still clasped threateningly around her wand. "What the bloody fuck are you doing with Morgan la Fey's wand, Astarte Black?"