A.N. Hello folks! Here is the first of my regular weekly updates. This is going to be the start of the plot moving along kinda rapidly, so buckle yourselves in for some drama and action coming up. As always, a huge shoutout goes to my beta rotehexe for keeping me sane and reminding me not to make my readers too miserable.
And again, as always, a special shoutout to DeeD59, krankykittie, rabradley09, xXMizz Alec VolturiXx, Calimocho, Red2Ruby, and a guest for reviewing chapter 17!
To say Hermione felt anxious after her…was it a fight? No matter…after her interaction with Regulus, was a severe understatement. Even as she prepared herself for the occasion, wearing the black gown the pureblood had picked for her, she felt a tight pit form in her stomach. Regulus hadn't spoken to her since that moment, and she worried as the event grew closer that he had abandoned her to the wolves.
The gown she was currently wearing was surprisingly modern for her pureblooded audience, but then again, she supposed she was supposed to be French. The tight-fitting gown left her feeling exposed, as if she was a lot in an auction – despite its floor-length and long sleeves. Her hair was already transfigured, falling in golden waves over her shoulder, and her eyes were now a light blue rather than their normal amber brown. With her eyes and hair not her own, it was almost like she was invading someone else's body. Her features seemed smaller, without her bush of hair, and Hermione flinched away from the idea that Jolene was rather pretty.
Once all her glamours were in place, she surveyed the final product. Jolene Selwyn was the picture of a perfect well-bred pureblood and it sickened Hermione. It wasn't her…she had to remind herself. The only thing she could think to do was to cover the mirrors; there were only a handful of mirrors in the house, even fewer in the room she had taken occupancy in. Fidgeting and adjusting was making no difference to her nerves and so she resigned to say she was ready. Of course, she would never be ready…not to feel the eyes of every person she'd ever hated on her. Not to feel Antonin Dolohov's heavy gaze following her from across a room.
When the floo in the sitting room activated, she nearly fell on the floor from her panic. Realization set in only a moment or two later that the only people who could floo in are Regulus, Remus, or Dumbledore.
Erratic heartbeats counted her steps as she made her way from the bedroom towards the sitting area. She wanted…needed it to be Regulus. Slightly unsteady in the too tall heels Regulus had insisted on, she tottered slowly towards the floo. Mentally checking that she was prepared in the small chance that someone had broken through her wards, she patted the place on her leg where she knew her wand sat in a black leather holster. It was one of a kind. Harry had given it to her for her 16th birthday; constant vigilance he had joked.
When she rounded the faded wallpapered corners of the hall into the sunlit space. Relief flooded her as Regulus's tall form appeared before her. Something was different though, and it took her a moment to figure out exactly what it was.
"You've cut your hair." Hermione noted, the sound escaping unprompted from her throat. It was the first thing she'd said to him in four days. He ran his fingers through his, now much shorter, curls and she realized that he didn't look quite so much like his brother anymore.
The man, who no longer looked like a boy, straightened a little as he took her in.
"You look…acceptable." It was the highest compliment he could give her, that she would fit in…that the pureblooded bigots she was hoping to trick would be fooled once again.
He fiddled with the collar of his tuxedo-esque dress robes, clearly uncertain what to say. Hermione had never been one for uncomfortable silence, so she did the only thing she could think of…babbling.
"I appreciate this Reg. I mean not that you really have much of a choice because you made that vow to me and…what I mean to say is that I'm glad you didn't let that…urm…well the kiss get in the way of our plans. I do need you in this Regulus…" Hermione was cut off then, from her rambling, by Regulus placing his hand over her mouth.
"I overstepped. You're right. Until the Dark Lo…until Voldemort is in the ground, there is no time for anything else." He seemed so grown then, and it made Hermione's heart break to see such a heavy burden placed on such a young man. In another time, a time free of blood purity and war, he would have been in the prime of his life. Her mission was for Harry, it always had been, but she was so grateful in that moment to be able to save his life as well.
"Speaking of time, we best be going. My French cover allows us some fashionable lateness, but we're edging towards the obscene." Hermione took a handful of floo powder and cast it into the fire. The flames burned a bright green and she stepped into them, her heart still reeling as part of her worried it would set her alight. Cool green tongues of fire licked at her form as she made sure to clearly enunciate.
"Malfoy Manor."
Just as the Manor had been decorated to an intense degree for Narcissa's birthday, so it was for Lucius's. If it was even possible, the space felt even more self-indulgent and grandiose than it had before. Part of Hermione's brain was torn between appreciating the beautiful scene and remembering the image of her blood spilling out against the hardwood floor of the parlor. If she stared at the rug long enough, would she still be able to see the stains?
The color palette of this gathering was much more fitting of Lucius than the bright pastels his wife preferred. Blood red roses decorated the room as enchanted candles burned with no wax dripping down onto the guests. The linens were a mix of grey and emerald, causing Hermione to nearly roll her eyes from the Slytherin-ness of it all. If she gave Lucius any credit at all, it was that he was a creature of habit.
"Ah there he is. Fashionably late but with a beautiful woman on his arm." It was Narcissa's voice that rung clear from the crowd, as Hermione and Regulus made their way into the ballroom from the entrance hall.
"Narcissa!" Hermione greeted, pasting on her fake French accent as if it was a slightly ill-fitting glove. With her hair and eyes transfigured, she did almost look like Fleur. Her mind wandered for a moment as she thought about the woman, and made a promise to herself to make sure they were introduced in the future. So much would change, but she wouldn't deny Bill his love.
"The ladies have been asking after you Miss Selwyn. Reggie here said you had to return to France. I must thank you though for giving ladies' tea something to talk about besides Priscilla's engagement." Narcissa leaned in, her elegantly crafted curls falling forward as she did so. "Between you and me, I think she's already pregnant. I suppose we'll see if the Parkinson's have an heir within nine months of the wedding." Although there was a jovial quality to the blonde's tone, Hermione could detect the bitterness underneath it. She had heard rumors that Narcissa and Lucius had been trying for children for some time.
Hermione's brain processed this information the way she had trained it to. Parkinson…Pansy's mother. Pansy was born in April, she was relatively certain, so Narcissa's estimate was correct. Unconsciously, the brown-eyed witch turned her gaze towards her hostess's stomach and wondered if she knew that she was pregnant yet.
"'ou must send me all the gossip. Regulus is 'orrible about sending me the latest news. The worst friend I call 'im." Her hand snapped playfully against Reg's chest, and the man seemed unenthused to have been included in her conversation.
"Oh yes our young Regulus was never much interested in the salacious secrets of the pureblooded elite. Walburga insists…" Narcissa continued to chat animatedly, but Hermione couldn't hear her anymore.
Regulus had been beckoned away my Macnair, called to where Lucius and his death eater friends all gathered. That wasn't what drew Hermione's attention away from Narcissa though. No that was the unshakeable feeling that she was being watched. It was like a dementor had entered the room, the way all joy had left her body. Chills ran down her spine and she turned her head to the left, scanning the crowd for the crooked toothy smile she knew would be staring at her.
Antonin Dolohov was standing alone, leaning against a wall close to the grand fireplace that served as a focal point of the room. Gilded gold foil glittered in the reflection of the chandelier and candlelight, illuminating his face like the wolf from fairy tales.
"You will come won't you?" Narcissa asked again, and Hermione was forced away from the intensity of his black eyes.
"Absolutely." Hermione promised, having faintly heard something about tea. It was a lie of course, but Narcissa had no way of knowing that. After her talk with Lucius, Jolene Selwyn wouldn't need to exist any longer.
Breathing came harder to her, and she knew she couldn't afford to make a scene right then, so she excused herself and walked onto one of the balconies. The air was more free without the containment of the walls of the ballroom and she thanked Merlin that the Malfoys felt the need for such extravagance that they had four balconies leading out of the ballroom.
This whole building seemed to be dripping with excess and showmanship and yet Hermione could feel in her bones still the evil that would one day radiate from its walls. If she did her job right though, they would never have to make that choice…never have to let Voldemort use their home like the gate to Hell.
"So strange to catch a young pureblooded woman unescorted. Where is young Regulus this evening?" The voice was familiar enough by now, as she had overheard it planning a kidnapping not too long ago.
"I do believe 'e 'as been drawn away by your son. Who are we to deny the birthday boy?" She forced out a playful giggle, swallowing the original anxiety that lead her onto this balcony alone. "I find myself a little 'omesick so I was getting some air." A breeze of cold wind blew in then, tousling her transfigured curls and sending a shiver down her spine.
Shrugging off his outer robes, he wrapped the heavy fur-lined collar around her shoulders. It took all the strength she had to not flinch when his hands brushed her shoulders. Even with the fabric of her dress between them she felt violated. This was the man who had planned to have Sirius captured…this was the man who set off a chain of events that led to Draco Malfoy taking on the burden of a dark mark at only 16 years old.
"I'm sure a French woman like you isn't used to all this British weather." Abraxas leaned against the stone rail, looking at her. He switched to French now, and Hermione prayed that he wouldn't see through her. "Do you miss it when you visit? The French air? My grandmother was French you know. When I was young we used to go visit her in Bordeaux."
The blonde smiled as he spoke, as if he was remembering back to his childhood fondly. It turned her stomach, to see the contentment spread across his pointy features. Here he stood in dress robes that probably cost more galleons than most people would ever have with a dark mark tattooed on his forearm like the blood spilt by his hand was nothing.
Anxiety met anger and they merged in the pit of her stomach into an entirely new emotion. Hatred. Hermione hated this man; she hated everything he stood for. She hated his fancy house and his son and the Dark Lord he served, but most of all, she hated the way he smiled at her.
Clearing her throat, Hermione stood from where she had been leaned against the rail and shrugged off the robes he had placed on her shoulders. "I miss a lot of things, but I will be getting back to them soon. Soon, my family will be back together." She walked past him, ignoring his grunt of confusion at her suddenly distant and bitter behavior. It only took her a moment to find Regulus and Lucius, owing to the birthday boy's obnoxiously platinum blonde hair.
"Hello boys." Hermione greeted, a sickly-sweet smile gracing her lips as she stared at her prey. Regulus offered her his elbow, and she bowed her head slightly as she took it. Lucius, who she had not seen yet this evening, reached out for her to extend her hand. The pleasantries were simple; you offer him your hand and he kisses it. Imagining the look on his pompous face when he discovered that he kissed a mudbloods hand not once but twice was the only thing keeping Hermione from reeling back and punching him in his smug face.
"Jolene, I was just talking about you. I was mentioning to Lucius about your investment idea. Although the stubborn git refuses to be stolen away." Regulus winked at Lucius, raising the glass of firewhiskey in his hand to his lips and Hermione rolled her eyes playfully.
"Of course 'e won't discuss business at his birthday party. Shame on you for asking 'im." She turned dramatically away from Regulus and towards Malfoy. "I'm so sorry for him." Making sure his eyes were still on her, she turned back to the Black on her arm and faux whispered in French. "I can just find an investor when I get back to France. Sad though. The Malfoys would've made a fortune."
Lucius Malfoy was a simple man to manipulate when money was involved, and she nearly smirked smugly at him when his ears perked up around his stupid pointy face that was not so dissimilar from his father's after all.
"Well perhaps I could make time. I'm sure Narcissa could entertain the guests for a few moments." Narcissa, as if summoned by the mention of her name, appeared just then, offering Hermione a glass of giggle water. Toasting to the blonde as she took it, she smiled brightly. This was working; everything was going according to plan.
"Talking about me darling?" The elegant witch spoke, her voice filled with fondness and amusement. Hermione observed Narcissa around the men like she was at a zoo. Everything Regulus had taught her about being a proper-pureblooded woman oozed out of this woman like it was her natural state. It was like watching a masterclass, only Narcissa had no idea she was teaching it.
"I have to talk some business with Miss Selwyn and Black for a moment if you would entertain the rabble. If father comes asking after me, let him know I'll return shortly." He kissed her cheek then, sweet and chaste but unusual for the uptight and backwards wizarding society. Maybe he did have a heart once upon a time. Hopefully he still had enough of one to put his family…put his son first for once in his life.
They excused themselves from the rest of the group and Hermione found herself following Regulus and Lucius as they left the ballroom and headed towards the long hallway that lead to Lucius and Narcissa's wing of the house. The study was much like the rest of the house, full of dark walnut-toned woods and elegant silver accents that screamed of both privilege and opulence. There's a gravitas to the very air of the room, and Hermione silently wonders to herself how many important decisions have been made from the very seat that Lucius rested his hand on. How many lives ruined?
With a small incline of her head, Regulus cast a silencing charm on the door and a locking charm. Lucius, who merely raised one perfectly trimmed blonde eyebrow, calming evaluating what sort of threat Regulus Black and his petite French girlfriend could pose. He made the same mistake that every over-confident, self-indulgent bastard made when meeting her. Never underestimate a woman with nothing to lose.
"I suppose this is either a very lucrative and secretive business deal, or I have been lied to." It was amazing, watching the death eater switch from being a host of a party to being a cruel and calculating villain. Perhaps it was easier this way. This was the Lucius Malfoy that Hermione had watched being put behind bars.
"Now I wouldn't say I lied. We have a deal for you but it has nothing to do with business." Regulus sat himself down then, in one of the luxurious emerald velvet armchairs opposite the desk and sat with a bored indifference as Hermione prepared herself. Slowly, she pulled aside the slit in her dress.
Scoffing, the blonde wizard shot Regulus a glare. "If I wanted a whore, I could have my pick of…" He was cut off, his mouth moving but no sound coming out as Hermione had retrieved her wand from her thigh holster. Cancelling out her previous transfigurations, golden blonde curls slowly faded into her normal chestnut brown, and dusty blue eyes darkened to a chocolate brown. Her gait was menacing as she walked towards the now still and silent wizard she had to convince.
"I am no whore. I am your only hope." It was the truth. If Lucius didn't help her…wouldn't help her, then his fate would be the same as it had in her time. She would see him locked away in Azkaban forever.
Lucius went to respond, but was prevented from doing so by the charm Hermione had cast on him. Making sure to make eye contact with him as she did so, she non-verbally cast the counter-charm.
"You're the one who threatened Rowle." It was a statement of fact, not a question and Hermione just nodded her head. For a moment, she wished she knew legilimency to see what was happening inside his brain. Grey-ish blue eyes stared back at her with a curiosity that seemed to be weighing against the knowledge that he was likely supposed to kill her on sight.
"What exactly is it you have to offer?"
