January, 1976.
Lily peered at the boy in front of her, her eyes dancing around his face and then, to his outfit. It was a normal, black sweatshirt and yet, he'd made it look good.
Even now, she couldn't believe she had given him a chance. Throughout the week, Sev had proceeded to point out just how many times James Potter had messed with him. Not to mention how much of a cocksure he was, arrogant and boastful to a level that rivalled that of Sirius Black.
The only humble ones in that friend group of his were Remus and Peter . . . and Hermione, she supposed.
She knew that the girl had a hand at whatever change she'd brought in Potter, because Lily had managed to notice a number of changes in him this year. Not only did he stop tormenting her best friend with stupid pranks, he also resembled a sensible boy, one to no longer be bothered by House rivalry.
How could she have rejected his proposition, when she felt so miffed at the sight of him snogging Goldstein? She couldn't deny the jealousy that had run prickly under her skin, a harsh reminder of the quietness that followed the last time he'd confessed his feelings.
She had feared that perhaps, there was a chance he'd moved on. That his head would no longer shoot up at her entrance, his attention fixed at some other girl.
She had to give him a chance, so that she couldn't drown in regret, later on.
"I had fun today," she commented lightly, pleased with the way his eyes immediately sought hers. "Did you?"
He scoffed, an easygoing smile playing at his lips. "Of course, I did."
She arched a brow. "Even the book shopping?"
They'd run into Hermione, whose book had slipped from her hands when Potter approached her from behind to scare her. The girl had then started to throw lighthearted insults at her best friend, not looking her way once.
When she finally joined Potter's side, Hermione had glanced at her and attempted a smile, though it looked more of a grimace. Lily noted that she hadn't seen the brunette smile much, ever since they came back from the break.
Potter had picked the book up and when Hermione asked him to give it back, he thought it would be a good idea to back away from the frustrated girl. They ended up bickering for some more time, before the shop owner threw them out, muttering something along the lines of 'magnets to disaster' and such.
James coughed into his fist. "That wasn't great, but . . . we could try another time?"
He let the question hang in the air for a while, and Lily stifled a laugh when she tilted her head and asked, "What? Being kicked out of Tomes and Scrolls again?"
He shook his head, full of unruly, black curls, and grinned. "Maybe not that, but y'know what I mean. Another date."
Pressing her sweaty hands against her jeans, she held her breath before it left in a whoosh. "I would like that."
Tom Riddle. She recognized the man the moment she saw him, even through the now pale, sickly tone of his skin. His eyes seemed to have turned into a permanent crimson colour, while his beautiful features had turned into something close to snake-like.
Her head whirled as her ears caught the distinct sound of footsteps. Her cousin walked over to Riddle, a twisted smile crooked on her lips as she bowed. "My Lord."
"Bellatrix. I have an important task for you. I can trust you, can't I?"
Her dark eyes danced in glee and she nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, my Lord."
His long, thin fingers levitated a golden cup in between them. The item had two handles on each side, and if she focused hard enough, she could tell that there was something engraved on it—
"This cup's responsibility lies with you. I assume that you have a perfect place in mind to keep it hidden."
The sight lurched something inside her, and the last thing she saw was the prideful look on Bellatrix's face.
Her hands moved mechanically and reached under her pillow, finding her journal and quill without a second glance. She tried to sketch the cup as best as she could, making sure to write down everything else that was spoken of in the dream.
If this was a vision, it meant that the event would soon occur, one where Riddle will assign her cousin a task, who would accept all too happily to please her master.
She scowled and peered at the bunch of notes she'd made and before she could shut the book, she caught something on the very first page. It was the very beginning of her records, a similar cup drawn on the page.
She could easily recall that dream, even though it had happened in her first year. There had been a man . . . he did talk about a cup, mentioning how it must be hidden. She couldn't remember whose face it had been, as she'd been more focused on his words, instead.
It must be hidden.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she figured that if that man had been Riddle, then it had to be something very important to him. And to get more information from the inside, there was just one person she could reach out to.
After all, Granger refused to tell her if she recognized the cup. Professor Dumbledore's orders, she said.
Hermione slid the curtains open, noting how the sun was starting to rise much sooner as the days passed by - to think that spring had yet to even come.
Both hands dove into her bag, and she blindly reached for a piece of parchment. When her fingers finally wrapped around the fresh paper, she brought them back up and closed the zipper, walking back to her bed.
Using the hard journal as a surface, she put the parchment on top and began to write, hesitating only once or twice when her thoughts began to muddle, often swirling in concern or curiosity.
Finally setting her quill down, she folded the paper neatly and slipped her feet in her warm slippers. She shuffled across the room, leaving for the Owlery before she could think of going at a more appropriate time.
.
The cold and drafty Owlery was by far, her least favourite room in the entire castle, and that said a lot — considering the overwhelming humidity she often felt in the dungeons, whenever she had Potions class.
Hermione remembered that one time, when Peter - or Wormtail - had been so frightened by the dead rats he'd found in the corners, that he refused to ever come back up in the West Tower. She had been the only helpful one, coming up to send his letters away for him.
Careful to avoid the owl droppings — it was a rather useless attempt — she moved over to James's new owl, the one he'd gotten this year, ranting about how his family owl - Levia, was it? - was rather temperamental.
He was one, spoiled child.
The snowy, white owl though, she was a beautiful one. Her wings looked all too gentle, and she was filled with warmth for almost everyone, especially Hermione as she never failed to give her a treat.
Eris sat one of the perches, nestled with snow that matched the colour of her feathers.
"Hey," Hermione whispered, her hand gently caressing the top of her head as Eris tilted it in acknowledgment.
She allowed the owl to pick up the letter from her palm. "I need you to send this to Malfoy Manor, please."
Even though her legs were hidden under plumage, she was sure that Eris was now standing up, ready to do what she was assigned to do. Like the intelligent owl she was, she dipped her head at Hermione once, before moving to fly away.
Does it have to be them? Of all people, you could contact, Granger complained, not keeping her displeasure for the Malfoys hidden at all.
"They are not the same people from your universe," Hermione insisted in her head, making sure to add, "Besides, it's not like you've met Abraxas in your time, and you still haven't told me what happens to him."
He probably died, if Granger hadn't met him in her lifetime. But then again, they lived in alternate universes. Hermione wanted to manage to save at least one person; how was that selfish of her?
When she heard a noise from behind, she whirled around to find Remus standing across the room, blue pajamas still in show as blonde strands stuck out on his head.
"Did you follow me here?" she asked, the owl droppings now forgotten as she approached him with wide eyes.
Even in the bleak light of the room, she could see bright red spots on his cheeks. He shrugged, giving her a thoughtful stare. "I just wanted to make sure you were fine."
Balling her hands into tight fists, she fought with her loud heart to come up with a careful answer - one that wouldn't give away anything.
"I just needed to send an owl," she muttered, tugging on his arm to get them moving back to their dorm.
He made a strangled noise and glanced down at her—just how did everyone managed to be so tall?—slinging an arm around her shoulders.
"And it couldn't wait?"
Not bothering to look away from the hallway in front of them, she narrowed her eyes. "No, it could not."
They moved in silence, waiting patiently for the staircase to move them towards their Common Room, even as the Fat Lady loudly complained of being constantly awakened at awful times.
Hermione made to walk up the boys' dorm, but before her feet could even touch the first step on the small staircase, soft fingers latched onto her arm and she craned her head, looking back at Remus curiously.
"Remus?"
He hesitated, if only just briefly. His eyes dragged over the lines of her face, surely stopping for an awfully long time at the dark bags under her eyes. "You know I can hear everything with my ears, right?"
She nodded slowly at that, waiting for him to continue with his point.
"Moony — or, I guess it is just me . . . I can tell when someone's lying by the beat of their heart."
Eyes wide, she felt numb with shock. It took everything in her not to suck in a breath, cursing his super sensory perception with every swear word she could think. She moved backwards, hitting the first step with the back of her foot.
How could she forget about that?
I didn't think about that, either, Granger muttered thoughtfully.
"Oh," she managed, most definitely sounding as lame to him as she did to herself. Hermione shrugged his hold off of her, crossing her arms together. "What are you trying to say?"
"I," he paused, his jaw clenched tight, "I'm not forcing you to say anything, nor do I want to take advantage of this - this thing that comes with Lycanthropy, but I hope you know that you can talk to me, you know? I've waited since first year, and I'm willing to wait longer, if you need to, if not forever. I just want to make sure you're alright."
She opened her mouth, lips already forming around to say, 'I'm fine,' but he cut her off before she could even force a sound out.
"And don't say the usual thing you say, because I'd rather have you not say anything at all, than force yourself to be fine for others."
Her lips shifted into a half-smile and she peered at him, a grateful look on her face. "Thank you, and . . . one day, Remus. One day, I'll tell you everything."
He gave her a firm nod, already ridding himself of the serious expression with a whole set of teeth showing, emphasizing her wolfish friend's wolfish smile.
He seems to take very good of his teeth. My parents would be proud—they're dentists, or teeth healers if you will, Granger rambled in her head.
"Now, between you and me, you look like you need it more, but still. I'd like some sleep for more than an hour or two," he announced, already brushing past her and climbing up the stairs.
"Oh, Remus. You and me both."
The response to her owl came sooner than expected, even if it was in an unusual way.
James mentioned his struggle in Charms again, reminding her of the promise she'd given to help the boy in that class. So many things had been happening and sometimes, it just felt like too much—even for someone like her—to handle. Sure, essays were easy to write on the first day itself, but what of training, lessons on a Dark wizard, and such?
She shook herself out of her thoughts, looking back at her best friend, who sat on a chair by the fireplace. His legs were sprawled out and his glasses were slightly crooked, like always.
Hermione arched a brow, a now rare, sly smile making its way on her lips. "Lily is too good for you?"
He gave her a slow, dramatic roll of eyes and scoffed. "Lily is perfect, but I asked you for help, didn't I?"
She picked on the lint of her sweatpants absentmindedly, peering back at him with a silly smile. "I guess. Well — we should head to the library, shouldn't we?"
With a shudder, he got on his feet and groaned, "Can't wait to deal with Madame Pince."
"She's just fine. It's you guys always messing around the place, whenever you visit—"
Heels clicked loudly as the doors swung open, and she turned around to find Professor Mcgonagall walking towards them.
After a scrutinizing look at James, the older woman glanced over her, lips pressed into a firm line. "Miss Black, I am allowing you to take the fire-call, due to what happened over the break, but do not make it a habit."
Her brows shot up to her hairline. "Professor, forgive me but . . . what are you talking about?"
Professor Mcgonagall's face remained impassive, if not stern. "Mr. Malfoy has deemed it necessary to talk to you."
"Which one?" James asked from behind, looking unbothered at butting in the conversation.
"Abraxas," the gray haired witch pursed her lips and she continued, "but his son seems to be nearby. Now, if you will."
The Head of Gryffindor stepped aside, as if to wordlessly inform Hermione of how she must hurry, before she could get berated for making anyone wait.
.
Hermione wandered down the first-floor corridor, stopping to the right of a staircase. She quietly slipped inside, making sure to shut the door. Her eyes took in the sight of the office, not surprised to find it neat and minimalistic.
The beige walls accompanied large windows that overlooked the Training Grounds—Minerva Mcgonagall was after all, an avid Quidditch lover, herself—and she knew there had to be her bedroom, here somewhere.
The door to it is concealed, Granger informed her.
A large fireplace by the sofa chair caught her attention, and her feet moved closer to it, kneeling down the red carpet to find two familiar faces, right through the fire.
Due to the bright, orange colour, she couldn't really determine how Abraxas must be doing, but she was content to see him, anyways. Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand . . .
"Can you get on with it, or are you going to stare at us with that stupid look of yours?" Malfoy drawled, looking as though he wanted to be anywhere else, but with Hermione.
She merely cocked a brow at that. "Abraxas, how are you doing?"
The older man sent her a small smile. "How do you think I am? As if a Malfoy could be anything but well."
She snorted as she sat down, crossing her legs. "Whatever you say."
"However, how are you? Your father - he—"
She cut him off, putting up a tired hand. "You know, you don't have to say anything nice about him, if you don't mean it." She shrugged her shoulders, gaze dropping to the carpet. "I'm alright, but I doubt that's what Malfoy wants to talk about."
"Absolutely," the younger blonde deadpanned. She stifled a smile—she was starting to like riling him up—and looked up at the fire.
"Right. I take it you've read my description of the dream? I need to know if your Dark Lord has assigned anything important yet."
Malfoy flinched at the reminder of his master, and while she was somewhat reassured at his will of helping her, she was still wary of him.
"No, but he has often been disappearing for long periods of time. The last time we got to see him, it was after the . . . encounter with your family."
"Not my family," she remarked casually, still emphasizing each word, even as they both eyed her with a calculating gaze. "Can you let me know when he comes back?"
"Why? Are you inviting him for tea?"
Rolling her eyes, she huffed, "Of course not. I'm more of a coffee person, but perhaps you'd be desperate enough to hang out with Vold—"
"That's enough. While I find the banter between the two of you entertaining, I am much more concerned with whatever you're doing, Hermione," Abraxas said, cutting in with an imposing voice.
She quietly scoffed. If he had that much power, he should be focused on finding the cure of whatever disease he had.
"I'm fine, really. I just have to kill a monster that definitely knows how to fight better than me." Her tone was lighthearted, nothing like the message it contained.
She could see that Abraxas had now narrowed his eyes at her. "Dumbledore hasn't taught you anything, yet?" he asked, anger leaking sharp and clear.
Of course, Hermione didn't hesitate jumping in defense of her mentor. "He said he's looking for someone to train me. Someone he can trust," she answered, thinking back to the meeting.
Still doubtful, Abraxas offered, "Let me know if it he takes too long. I'll have Lucius train you."
Pursing her lips, her eyes flickered over to the quiet man, and Hermione looked back at his father as she feigned shock. "Do you not remember me telling you of how much better I am than your son?"
"Ah, yes. I remember that cheek of yours, as well," he told her, his voice tired but melancholic, as though he missed those times.
She wasn't sure she did—the punishment was all she could really think of—but, she was grateful for the fateful meeting that had inspired the man to write to her.
"I'm sure Narcissa makes a lovely cup of tea," she said with a grin, though she could tell Malfoy wasn't taking it all too kindly.
"Don't say anything about my fiancé," he warned, a deep scowl fixed on his face.
A knock rapped behind the door, and she craned her neck to check if it was still closed. She looked back at the Malfoys and tilted her head. "Looks like I have to go, but let me know if I'm invited to the wedding, will you?"
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Malfoy muttered just as both of their faces disappeared behind the fire.
Her chest felt lighter, at ensuring that Abraxas was still - well, alive. Rising from her seat, she reached for the door in long, hurried strides.
"I'm sorry for making you wait, Professor," she said, moving past her to slip out of the room. She was just a few feet away, when her name was called.
"Miss Black - Hermione. If there is anything I can help you with, do let me know."
She whirled around with a small quirk of her lips. "Thank you, Professor."
Hermione realized that after all, she wasn't that alone in this fight.
A/N: I still find it hard to believe that this story has around 239 follows, but thank you so much for the support. Tears of Phoenix now has thirty chapters and there are many others to come! I'm not sure when the next one will be written, but I hope not to delay too much. It's just that my exams are starting next week. Anyways, feel free to let me know what you think about the chapter, or the story in general.