His hair was gelled, his robes were ironed and his black leather boots shimmering.
All Hydrus needed now was a smile to perfect his look.
Try as he might, it never came. His cheeks trembled, and his lips twisted into grimaces so bizarre that Hannah Abbott stared at him throughout the appetizer course.
There was little he could do to console himself. Narcissa sat beside him, ever the image of professionalism. Her hair was pinned back with a silver-and-green clip, and every time she smiled, perfect dimples sprouted on her cheeks. She was happier, happier than she had any right to be at a stiff Ministry event.
To his other side was Draco. He made his polite conversation with Pansy, and paid little attention to Hydrus, which he supposed was more than he deserved.
The room was filled with loud conversation, and as he took it in, his insides squeezed when he saw Belvina.
Jewels ringed her neck, wrists and fingers, glinting beautifully in the light. She sat with Andromeda, mere seats away.
The courses came and went: roasted duck, stuffed with potatoes and rosemary, beef wellington cooked to a pink medium rare, slices of bitter chocolate cake that melted on his tongue, and creme brulee, soft and creamy. There were more - plates upon plates of food that came and went, as he stared at the wall.
Throughout, Hydrus shifted awkwardly in his seat, moving to one side of the chair, then the other. The knife, the beautiful, ornately carved, silver-and-gold knife that Professor Quirrell gave him, was strapped to his side, underneath the thick folds of his robes. Sometimes, it stabbed him in the leg, other times, it tangled between his thighs. But the worst part was the weight of all of it.
The sheer moral weight, knowing that he might have to slit her throat and watch as blood sprayed all over her...
The tables were cleared, the chairs whisked away by invisible house-elves, and one by one, rich purebloods and high-up Ministerial workers began to mingle.
Hydrus stayed in the fringes of the crowd, holding a glass filled with dark purple wine. The taste was rich and thick, of sour grapes that made him wince. He had never drunk wine before, and by the third sip, his head was spinning.
It was a strange impulse that took hold of him. He could not remember ever wanting to try wine, and yet, with every sip, he only wanted more.
Lucius had forbidden him and Draco from drinking, but he was across the room, talking to Cornelius Fudge. There was no one here to stop him.
Belvina stood twenty paces away from him, in shimmering emerald robes. She was surrounded by witches and wizards. Carefully, his hand slithered into his breast pocket. The glass was cool in his fingers, and it felt heavier than it should have, as if the poison was true gold.
He drained the glass by the tenth sip, and when he set it down, Hannah Abbott was making her way to him.
After the heartfelt letter he had written to her, there were no more words passed between, for they shared no classes, and Hogwarts was so vast it was easy to get lost.
There was not much to be said between them, and Hydrus was in no fit state to make conversation. With his head pounding, he excused himself.
"Maybe drink less wine?" Hannah Abbott suggested teasingly, her blonde hair pulled into a twist.
"Yes," Hydrus said distantly.
When he got up, his legs almost collapsed under him. She was there to catch him.
Taking her help with embarrassed thanks, he steadied himself, leaning against a table, before walking off awkwardly from the room.
Absently, he took another glass of wine from a passing table of refreshments. It was a different colour this time, pink-and-yellow like a sunrise. It tasted of raspberries and lemon, like sour oranges with a queer aftertaste. Much better than the wine from before.
There were many doors in the ballroom. Two on each side, except for the very front, where a big double-door stood, decorated with carvings of greek gods and goddesses, posing lazily on the carved arch.
The rest were more practical, simple wooden things that opened with a click when he turned the knob.
Hydrus hadn't realized how stuffy the room was, until he stepped outside. His head cleared a little, and with every step he took, the wine seemed to have less of an effect on him.
The gala was held in Cornelius Fudge's manor; a great white thing that spread languorously across acres of land. The hallways were bedecked with sweet-smelling flowers, and everywhere he went, orange torches glowed with the pink sunset.
There were another four hours before the end.
Balconies dotted the hallway like honeycombs in a beehive, and Hydrus made for one of them.
Without thinking, his fingers slipped inside his breast pocket. The glass seemed warmer than it had been two hours.
When he held it in his hands, the gold seemed to glower at him, telling him to get on with it.
It was simple. Too simple, too easy.
A life should not be so easily ended.
The poison was diluted with the nectar from a bulbous poppingale, so that the reaction would be delayed by twenty-four hours.
The only way to tell if it was working, was by watching the colour of the person's eyes. They turned yellow like piss in the corners, unnoticeable if you didn't look closely. Wizards had no official name for this condition, but muggles called it jaundice.
That was all Professor Quirrell was willing to divulge about the poison.
"These festivities must not be to your taste."
It seemed Hydrus was not the only one who had enough of the stuffy atmosphere. He hadn't felt nauseous before, but now, with Professor Dumbledore walking towards him with periwinkle robes trailing in his wake… his stomach was tumbling around and doing all sorts of gymnastics.
"I suppose not, sir."
The Headmaster smiled genially. "Should you be drinking?"
"No," Hydrus said. His hand closed quietly around the vial.
Professor Dumbledore followed his motions nevertheless. "What's that you got there?"
Professor Quirrell hadn't prepared him for that question.
The lie caught in his throat, and his words came out hollow and thin. It didn't help that his head was swimming and his thoughts were lagging behind his actions. "It's... a concentrated hangover potion, sir."
"Might I see it?"
Hydrus couldn't possibly say no without looking suspicious, and try as he might, his mind couldn't come up with an excuse. His arm shook when he gave it to the Headmaster.
The vial was small, too small to be a concentrated hangover potion, whatever the hell that was.
"An interesting thing," he said. His fingers closed around the top, and suddenly, his wand was out.
A cry was on Hydrus' lips, and yet before he could say a word, a strange feeling of calmness came over him. Before he knew what was happening to him, the small flask was back in his hands, and Professor Dumbledore was saying something to him.
"Pardon, sir?"
The Headmaster smiled. "Alcohol has quite the effect on the youth of today. Do be careful, Hydrus, and try not to drink too much. I would hate for you parents to find out."
"Of course, sir," he said. His hand was shaking when he tried to take his glass of wine, and despite himself, his fingers knocked the cup off the edge of the railing, and down three floors, clattering to the ground below.
It shattered upon impact, a jarring sound that made him wince.
"Perhaps it was for the better," Professor Dumbledore said consolingly.
He swished his wand, and the mess vanished. Or at least, Hydrus thought it did. It was hard to see.
"Well," the Headmaster said, "I'll see you around, Hydrus. Do your very best to stay away from the whisky, will you?"
"Of course, sir."
When he left, Hydrus repocketed the vial. It felt lighter in his pocket, though his throat felt rather lonely without the burn of whatever it was he had been drinking.
There was music coming from a quartet of flutes and violins, playing sweet music for the boring conversations happening.
The table was being refilled with a new batch of cocktails when Hydrus came.
Seeing them made him remember just why he was here.
For the umpteenth time, his hand fingered the glass vial.
There was a ministry official not too far away - Ludo Bagman by the looks of his blonde hair and worn Quidditch look. He looked at Hydrus oddly, though his face was slack, and his movements a little shaky when he nodded.
Bagman left soon after that, joining the growing crowd at the front. The Weird Sisters - a rock band that everyone seemed to enjoy - had been invited, and everyone was capering to them, like ants to a bit of fallen pastry.
Everyone but some of the older purebloods, who looked at their younger compatriots with disdain.
This was the perfect opportunity, with almost any potential eye-witness busy waving their arms in the arm and grooving to off-tune music. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably tight.
His nail broke the wax seal before he knew what he was doing, falling onto the table. He flicked the lid open, and poured a single drop.
The whisky was the colour of dark amber, and it seemed to turn a shade lighter when the drop dissolved.
Hydrus repocketed the vial.
Belvina stood off to the side, tall and imposing despite her age. Andromeda looked almost a pauper in comparison, despite wearing the best robes gold could buy.
Professor Quirrell was right, Hydrus thought to himself. Despite all that Belvina has tried to teach her, the purebloods will never take her seriously as my regent.
They were joined by another person, a fine lady wearing a stuffed vulture hat and velvet robes. Her face was pale and gaunt, wrinkled from age. Stout and severe, she looked over Hydrus critically when he walked over.
"Grandmother," he said, trying his absolute best to smile through his nerves. Belvina wasn't truly his grandmother, and more of a great-great-great grand aunt twice removed or something of that sort. "Lady Andromeda, and - you look more youthful every day, Lady Longbottom."
Augusta Longbottom looked at him appraisingly. "A fine young heir you have, Belvina. Strongly built, though a bit pale for my tastes. And those circles under your eyes, dear child. Are you even sleeping at night?"
No. "Your words are very… kind, my lady," Hydrus told her. He was very suddenly aware of the fact that he held only two drinks in his hand. "I brought you something from the refreshments table - thought you might like it… I - I'll go get you a glass too, Lady Longbottom, I will -"
"Oh, aren't you a sweet boy. No, don't bother. My age doesn't allow for these luxuries anymore, I'm afraid."
His hand was shaking, shaking much more than it should be, when carefully, he gave the glass to Belvina. She gave him a nod in return, and Andromeda smiled and thanked him elegantly.
The wine was a deep yellow, the cups fine silverware carved with flowers. For a moment, it seemed to glow, and Hydrus felt the greasy duck he had eaten not long ago bubble in the fringes of his throat.
He wanted to yell, to scream, to tell Belvina to put her cup down, to run, to pour the poisoned wine down the drain -
And yet, she took a sip.
His heart was beating too fast, his head rushing a thousand miles an hour.
It wasn't too late.
There were antidotes to the poison, and while rare, they did exist. It wasn't too late. Hydrus could still do something. He would be arrested, there was no doubt. Thrown from the Black family like Andromeda had once been. But Belvina would live…
Sweat made his palms sticky and alcohol made his thoughts muddied.
"A fine wine," Belvina declared.
Hydrus should have walked away.
It would be easier, pretending nothing had happened, trying to forget he ever did anything. And yet…
His eyes were glued to her in a sort of morbid trace, watching as she smacked her lips with a vigour unlike her tender age.
"My heir is apt and able, Augusta," Belvina was saying. The rest of the words were lost to Hydrus, as he fought back bile.
Belvina's eyes shone with a proud sort of glint, and Hydrus never felt so hollow in his life.
He wanted to look away, to join the cluster of witches and wizards, hooting and hollering, but his feet would not move, and his eyes would not look away.
So they stared at Belvina, watching her with a wretched feeling of disgust bubbling in his throat.
Her eyes were dark as all the Blacks were, with thick lashes and a proud, unflinching stare to them. He wondered if they would sag in death; if they would be pecked from her sockets in death; if they would bleed when she died…
No. Her eyes would be yellow. Golden yellow as the poison, yellow as gold, yellow as a Lordship.
They would begin to turn soon, as the poison worked its way through her. The edges of her eyes, the tips of her nails, the hue of her skin…
Going and going, until she became a golden statue.
And still, his eyes stared.
Belvina was talking and talking, Augusta talking and talking in response. He could feel Andromeda's stare, feel her confusion, her bewilderment, wondering what was going through his mind…
Time passed, however quickly, Hydrus could not say.
The Weird Sisters strummed song after song, but he could not ever remember hearing the words.
He waited and waited, with bile and disgust scaling up his throat, waiting and waiting for the yellow to creep into her eyes…
Yet it never happened.
Cornelius Fudge came and went, so did Amelia Bones and Garjaran Goyle and so many purebloods…
Her eyes stayed white and milk pale, with thin red capillaries threading through them like crimson knives.
Hydrus felt something, something different than the barrage of loathing he had wallowed in.
It was hard to think, and yet he felt he could remember walking to that balcony, and talking to the Headmaster. He could remember dropping his cocktail, knocking it off the railing… but there was something that came before...
The Weird Sisters were strumming a new song, a particularly loud one about a witch and her broom.
From the corner of his eye, Hydrus spotted Draco and Pansy together, dancing a strange combination between a waltz and something else, that made them look half an idiot. But there was a wide smile on their faces, and if Lucius cared that his son was disgracing the Malfoy name, he said nothing.
Hydrus felt a painful smile creep onto his lips.
With a sudden burst of energy, Hydrus found Marcus Flint in the ballroom, speaking to his friends.
"I need to speak with you," he said, looking at the other fifth-years that surrounded him.
Marcus Flint straightened and set down his cup of what seemed to be firewhisky. His speech was a little too slurred for Hydrus' liking when he said, "Of course."
He led him out one of the side doors and to one of the many balconies in Fudge's manor. He looked carefully down both sides of the hallway before saying, "I need you to perform a spell for me."
"Course, m'lord."
Marcus Flint looked at him raptly, despite his drunken words.
"I need you to perform the Summoning Charm."
"Er, all right."
"I need you to summon a vial for me."
Marcus Flint fumbled with his wand.
"Now," Hydrus said, with a vehemence that shocked even him.
"Accio Hydrus' vial."
Nothing happened.
"Try again," he barked.
Time was running out. There was only so much time before the sunset and it would be considered improper for a lady to drink.
Marcus Flint complied.
It came swirling through the air, bright golden as a Snitch.
Hydrus caught it in his hands. "Thank you," he said happily. "That's all I need."
"Er, of course."
Perhaps it was all for the better that Marcus Flint was half-drunk. Come morning, he and his friends would never remember any of it happening.
He had been to Fudge's manor half a hundred times for pointless dinners and stupid Ministry parties. There was a bathroom on the fourth floor, bigger and larger than the one on the third. More importantly, no one would be there.
It was a grand place, as much of Fudge's residence. The handles of the sink were gilded gold, and the floor was tiled with a mosaic of glittering blues and greens.
Hydrus unbuttoned the silver clasp and wrenched off his dress robes. His fingers felt clumsy and awkward as they undid the stitches, tugging here and there, until his Cloak was free.
It was soft and silver in his hands, and for a moment, memories came rushing back to him.
He had gotten this on Christmas day, so many months ago. He could almost taste the gingerbread cookies he'd shared with Hermione as they sat in the Great Hall.
Before he knew what was happening, his head was leaning over the sink, and the sour smell of old cheese filled the air.
His throat burned, and his eyes were wet with tears.
He wiped them away.
His hands were trembling when they sluiced water over his face. In the mirror, his eyes were hollow, and the purple bags under his eyes had never been more clear. Hydrus could have sworn Professor Quirrell had put a Concealment Charm to hide his sleeplessness, but it was painfully hard to remember anything that had happened more than two minutes ago.
The water was yellow and brown when Hydrus spit it out. He kept swishing the water, taking more and more mouthfuls, trying desperately to erase the taste of warm bile from his mouth.
It clung to his teeth, to his tongue, to his throat, and the taste was there, ever-present, never leaving, like bitter happiness.
Twenty minutes later, or perhaps even longer, Hydrus stumbled from the bathroom, his breath reeking of dairy gone bad.
His hair was ruffled and very unlike the smooth coiff it had once been, his face paler than fresh cream. The tops of his robe were wet, and despite having rubbed his fingers raw, there was still a sort of faint smell and a brownish tinge.
No one would have seen it, even if he went out naked.
The silvery Cloak draped across his head, dragging onto the marble floor. He moved soundlessly, invisible to the world.
He walked silently down the stairs, through the endless hallways, and past a thousand open balconies. The sky was darkening to a shade of deep purple.
His stomach was awfully tight, despite being emptied moments earlier.
As he walked through the main entrance and into the ballroom, Hydrus wondered if it was possible to puke a second time on an empty stomach.
And yet, despite all of that, his head felt clearer than it had been the entire evening. Perhaps, as he retched the content of his bowels into the sink, the wine had gone with it.
The poison inside the vial was golden as a sunset glow, the yellow of ripe, full-to-bursting lemons.
When he entered the ballroom, underneath his Cloak, the first thing he saw was the Headmaster.
His blue robes swirled like tongues of pale fire as he moved, walking here and there, talking to Ministry workers and stuffy purebloods alike. His eyes worked just as aptly as his mouth, wandering near and far, gazing over the tops of heads and studying faces whenever he could.
All pointless, of course. Hydrus was invisible.
His thumb brushed over the top of the wax seal. This was good. This meant that the vial he held in his hands was the true one.
All it would take was a drop, and then Belvina would be gone.
His hands began to shake once more, and his throat felt sour with the taste of bile.
Your hand must not shake, nor shall it tremble.
Carefully, Hydrus wound his way through the bodies in the room.
He ducked under elbows, skirted around greater crowds until finally, Belvina stood before him.
Her eyes looked beyond and above him, her focus fixed on some french pureblood, standing less than two feet apart.
Hydrus stood so close to both of them that if either of them dared move forward, they knock into him, and his charade would be over. He tried to stifle his breath, even if it made him feel light-headed.
His heart was pounding, his fingers were trembling...
His nail dug into the wax and broke it open with difficulty. It felt as if he had sausages for fingers, and pudding for wits.
Slowly, he lifted his hands. They would have to be visible, even if for just a moment, the less, the better.
It was done so quickly, Hydrus spilled some of it onto his fingers.
He wiped it away distractedly.
There was more than a drop in Belvina's drink, perhaps two or three, but it dissolved quick as mist, until the golden drops could not be seen any longer.
For a moment, he could have sworn Belvina saw him. Her eyes shifted down, and she blinked. Then his hand was gone.
Hydrus clamped the lid back on.
The Cloak muffled the click, but it could still be heard.
Glancing over worriedly at Belvina, half expecting her to call out his name, Hydrus stuffed the small vial into a pocket on his robes.
He glanced around the room. The music was loud and not a person looked at him.
Only the Headmaster, roving across the floor like one of those muggle lawnmowers, seemed out of place.
Hydrus watched him off to the side of the room.
His eyes roved across faces and jewels, and stopped not far from Hydrus.
For a moment, he thought he had been spotted.
But then the Headmaster was walking to Belvina, with his bright blue eyes glued to her.
Hydrus took careful steps forward, until he could see her front.
He thought he knew why the Headmaster was rushing to Belvina.
Her veiny hands had a yellowish tint to them, and when Hydrus looked at her eyes, the corners were yellow like the pale golden rays of a rising sun.
Did he know the symptoms of this particular poison?
Most likely not, but the Headmaster was well-versed in the vocabulary of muggle medical terms. Jaundice was easy to see if you looked for it.
"I must talk to you," Professor Dumbledore said to Belvina.
She regarded him with a look between contempt and polite indifference. "Well, go on, Headmaster."
Professor Dumbledore looked at her urgently. "We must speak in private, if you may, my lady."
"What sort of thing could possibly be so urgent that you need speak to me at such a time?"
Belvina had never truly forgiven the Headmaster for attempting to adopt the heir to House Black as a ward of Hogwarts. Coupled with his overly sensitive muggle views, there had never truly been much love there.
Tonight, it would be his saving grace.
"Please, my lady," Professor Dumbledore said. It sounded close to pleading. Hydrus hoped to Merlin that Belvina would rebuke him with a swift wave of her hand. "It is of the utmost importance."
"My friend Élise DuBlanc is a very fascinating madam, Headmaster Dumbledore, and you'll have to excuse me if I take her delightful company over yours."
"Belvina," the Headmaster tried, "this is about Hydrus."
He wanted to curse aloud.
There was a strange sort of panic going through him, and as his thoughts jumbled and bumped against each other, streaming through his mind, Hydrus did the only thing he could think of.
In all of his trepidation, the golden knife came free of its scabbard, and his hand moved so quickly, he could not remember a thing he did.
And yet, before he knew what had happened, Belvina was clutching her side. Something red was gushing between her fingers, spraying across the floor like fine mist. She fell to her knees, and as she groaned and gasped, Professor Dumbledore was at her side, barking orders in a loud, commanding voice.
Hydrus stumbled away as a crowd of people were suddenly gathering. His hands were shaking and warm with sweat - no that wasn't it. There was something on his hands, wet and runny and warm as a summer day.
He ran out the door.
The Cloak flapped wildly around his ankles, sending billows of fabric into the air.
Hydrus ripped it off. Perhaps there was someone in the hallway, but Hydrus did not care. His heart was thumping in his chest, his throat thick with something sour…
There was blood on his hands. So much blood. It slithered over his hands like thin red worms, dripping all over his Cloak and his pants - and he needed to clean himself up.
His hands left a red print on the doorknob when he ran to the bathroom, and the cold water turned pink as it flowed down the drain.
Hydrus repressed the urge to vomit, swallowing the sour bile that cluttered the base of his throat.
He was running again, before he knew what was happening.
His Cloak was stuffed into the pockets of his robes, and his golden-silver knife was back in its scabbard, bumping against his thigh as he ran.
The music had been loud and obnoxious. Now, there was a new sort of ambience in the room.
It was a strange sort of hysteria that entrapped them all. They were all so busy talking, whispering, chattering, crying, that no one even saw Hydrus.
He slipped to the fringes of the crowd, where he found Hannah Abbott, crying as if there were no tomorrow.
Hydrus did not understand. She hadn't even known Belvina. Where were all the tears coming from?
Yet his hands moved to comfort her, and his mouth was saying pointless words of sympathy. This is good, Hydrus thought, as she got his hundred-galleon robes wet. This way, if Narcissa or Lucius come asking for me, I can tell them where I was all this time… yes this is good… very, very good.
"I am so sorry," Hannah Abbott was sobbing, "you - you must have been so close to her… and to think… oh, this was terrible. I…"
It was strange. Through the thick press of bodies, Hydrus could not even see Belvina. He felt numb.
Hannah Abbott clutched his shoulder for the rest of the evening, as Narcissa hurried to his side, as Draco squeezed his hand and as Daphne loitered back, scared away by Lucius' fierce glare.
"Come," Lucius said quietly. "Let's go home."
The Headmaster was walking towards their little group, his fingers pressed together. "Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, Lord Greengrass, Lady Greengrass, Hydrus, Daphne, Hannah. I must offer my sympathies, but understand that now more than ever, I must ask that you return to Hogwarts -"
Narcissa rounded on him like a rearing snake. "I don't think so."
"You must understand that with the given situation -"
"A close family friend has recently been severely injured. You'll need to excuse me if my sons don't come along."
The last place Hydrus wanted to be was in Hogwarts, where the Headmaster could study him as he crawled around the school, helpless as a bug.
But Hermione was there, and he wanted to see her desperately.
"It's all right, mother," he said formally. "In a time like this, I think spending time with my friends at Hogwarts would be… beneficial."
Narcissa frowned. She was thinking of Hermione and her blood-status, Hydrus was certain. "In a time like this, are you quite sure?"
"Yes, mother."
Hannah Abbott was there, and so was Daphne and her parents and Professor Dumbledore. Narcissa could hardly call Hermione out on her blood-status with such an audience.
A funeral had to be planned, along with other bureaucratic things. To arrange for his ascension to Lordship, to arrange for countless meetings with Gringotts to… she didn't have time for this.
"One day," Narcissa told him. "And then you'll come home, all right?"
"Of course, mother."
She hugged him, Lucius pat his shoulder and Andromeda embraced him as if he were his son.
"I'll see you guys… soon," Hydrus said.
And with a sad silence, the group left Fudge's manor through a portkey.
They reappeared back in the Headmaster's office, with not a word said between them.
"Today has been a difficult day," Professor Dumbledore began, "and should any of you require emotional support, my door is always open. Your Heads of Houses have been notified of the current events, and I ask that you try your best to tell as little people as possible of what has happened, until further notice."
That would never happen.
"Rest easy, everyone," he said. "Belvina Black is a strong witch, and I am certain she shall make a strong recovery."
The Headmaster said some more words, other meaningless sympathies, but Hydrus could not hear him.
He left the Headmaster's office when everyone else did, and made his way to the seventh floor, where the Gryffindors looked at him oddly, as Hydrus stood in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.
He turned to Neville Longbottom. "Can you… can you tell Hermione I'm here?"
"I -" His round, pudgy face flushed pink. "All right."
How long Hydrus stood in front of the portrait, he did not know, but Neville Longbottom looked just about to shit his pants when he came clambering through the portrait hole.
"S-s-he…" he stuttered, "she's not th-the-ere."
"She's not there," Hydrus repeated. A cold, trickling feeling was flowing down his back. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"Y-y-es," he squealed.
Hydrus sprinted down the hallway, leaving Neville Longbottom standing there, his mouth hanging open.
She could be in the library, he tried to tell himself. It's not too late yet -
There was a window Hydrus passed. The sky was the dark, fading colour of a bloody sunset.
It's still possible. She could have lost track of time.
Hermione wasn't in the library.
Somewhere far away, a clock tolled nine times.
Hydrus let loose a string of filthy curses, and ducked into an abandoned classroom. His Cloak seemed to glow silver in the moonlight, the specks of blood like dark splotches of lichen.
There was no time to wonder if he would still be invisible with stains on the Cloak.
Hydrus flipped it over his head and worked his way through all seven floors of Hogwarts.
Hermione wasn't there.
Not on the fifth floor, where they had found the mirror, not on the fourth floor, where they took their Charms class, not on the sixth floor, or the third, or the second, or the first…
Hydrus had a horrible, sinking feeling when he stopped opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.
Of course, Professor Quirrell would want to see him. Hermione was a bargaining tool.
The thought brought a feeling of queasiness to his stomach.
There was a door.
A simple wooden door, with a silver knob.
When he pushed it open, she was there.
A/N:
Well it seems the people have spoken!
I've decided to continue the story and rewrite the earlier chapters! ("Is that a good idea with finals so close by?" you may ask. The answer is no. Hope I don't fail :3)
Special thanks to juiiejo and KingZeRopL for taking the time to write a review of my story!
'Slow start' probably doesn't do the beginning justice XD
And yeah, Hermione's face is still burned. I will admit, I haven't been mentioning it in a lot of the more recent chapters (another reason why I'm still gonna do a mass rewrite), and as for future plans with her... hmm... who knows?
I intend for this book to stay firmly 'T' rated, and if it ever changes to Mature, that'll only be from the violence. For now. As it currently stands, Hydrus Malfoy will die alone with no woman by his side :'(
As for the third part of your question... well I can't answer that directly...
I will say though, that I've been drawing a lot of inspiration for the future events of this fanfic from ASOIAF so... yeah... stuff will happen :)
Also - oh man I can't believe I almost forgot to mention - WE'VE REACHED 69 FOLLOWERS. Wtf is wrong with me.
Thanks for reading,
And I hope to see you guys next week :]
Cheers