Chapter 24 – Riddle Arms & Manufacturing – October 1st, 1945

Helen wandered through the main factory for Riddle Arms and Manufacturing in Leeds. Now that the war was over, she'd been needed to go through severance papers, reimbursements and bonuses for the women who had worked in the factory during the length of the war, as well as examine all remaining personnel.

Despite her donated contributions to the war, Riddle Arms had gained considerable monetary growth, and she had no problem paying her employees their due. She had also been working on creating a scholarship/bursary program in collaboration with Lady Margaret Hall in the University of Oxford for a total of five women applicants a year to attend on a full ride, sponsored entirely through Riddle Arms, for any woman who wished to apply for it going forward.

She had already discussed the technicality of it all with Tom, as per legal instructions, it needed to be ironclad, therefore needed the "heir" to sign off on it, which also ensured that it would continue even in the event of her untimely death and if Tom sold the company. Any financial gain of Riddle Arms would be directed to the program for a minimum of at least twenty-five years.

It had always been something she'd wanted to do since she'd come back to Britain, but the war had stayed her hand, it had been based on her own dream to attend Lady Margaret Hall when she was an adolescent. Her father, of course, would never have allowed it, his plan for her had been to marry her off as soon as they returned to Britain, as his worldview had been extremely sexist in regards to the capabilities of women.

When she lived in Martinique, she'd had a small pipe dream of Hermione making it to higher education, or if they moved to Britain, maybe her girl would go to Oxford one day. Of course, that had all been dashed when she'd been discovered to be a witch, though Helen was still proud of the path her daughter had taken.

All the same, she viewed it as proof, that although she could hardly be considered the perfect mother, her tendency to control the environment had become a detriment to her relationship with Hermione, she had at least raised an intelligent, compassionate and driven young woman.

Thinking of her daughter, she was heartbroken at their estrangement, though she knew, internally, that she had absolutely been in the wrong, and was to blame for the cavern that had grown between them, not Hermione. She had been so worried at the idea of her daughter dying, that she had betrayed her trust by supporting Tom's use of the wards. A small vindicated part of her whispered that she'd made the right decision, in light of Kai's disappearance, but the ethical side of her felt that she should have done something or tried harder to reason with her to stay, instead of allowing Tom to take control.

She exited the factory and approached the awaiting car, Henry, the driver stood outside holding the door open for her, so she nodded her head and entered to take her seat, directing him to take her home to Little Hangleton, and settled back for the long drive.

As it stood, she hadn't seen her daughter since Grindelwald's attack, and any letters she'd sent with Coco had returned unopened, until Hermione's birthday a couple of weeks ago, in which she'd received a letter from her, explaining how her actions had hurt her, and that she needed time still.

She also wrote that she'd been able to visit Martinique for the day, and had gone to visit her father and suffice to say, it had been that part of her letter that had broken her through the ignorance of her actions because up until then, she'd been upset that Hermione hadn't seen it her way.

Then she thought of how Antoine would have handled the situation and realized her error. Antoine would have gone with her, regardless that he had no magic, if he could not talk her out of it. He'd always had a ridiculous amount of bravery, while she'd always preferred to control the situation from the source. That was to say nothing of his undying need to do the right thing, always, but she supposed that that was where Hermione had inherited that trait from.

After receiving her daughter's letter, she backed off, stopped sending letters to her in hopes that she would answer, and just did as she'd asked, which was give her space. Though if Helen was honest, she'd found a small part of her own behaviour insulting, as while she'd been sending letters, ignoring the fact that she had been in the wrong, she'd simultaneously been on the receiving end of letters from Theodore, in fact since she'd ended their arrangement in May.

Once a week a letter would arrive, and sometimes she read it, and sometimes she didn't, but never did she reply. Some letters he raged at her, insulting everything about her, and others he would apologize for his behaviour, begging her to come back, and then there were some letters that weren't even legible, which led her to believe he'd written them while drunk.

She didn't understand the nature of obsession, and how a man could latch so fully onto the idea of a person, regardless of if those attentions were reciprocated. It made her believe, that somewhere in their lives, they'd come under the tragic impression that they were entitled to a woman's affections simply by having those affections themselves.

She thought of Tom, who no longer even lived at Riddle manor, at least, not while Hermione chose to stay away, and his perceived entitlement of her daughter, and of Seaborn, whose own apparent regard for herself ran a lot deeper than she'd initially been led to believe.

Antoine had exhibited the perfect amount of regard and respect, which is what had drawn her to him in the first place. He'd made his interest known, but left the decision up to her, mainly, at first due to their age difference, but also because he'd understood, clearly, the unfortunate perception and stereotype of a black man seeking the affections of a white woman.

She, of course, in all her privilege, hadn't noticed it at first, thinking him simply respectful (which though he was) but after fooling around with him a couple of years and constantly being approached by others, usually complete strangers, doubtful of her well-being, did she begin to clue in the risk he'd taken with her, and it had made her appreciate him all the more.

She watched idly as they passed through York, and curiously she felt she might need to go to the post office, but didn't understand why, as all of her mail was delivered to the manor, so ignoring the urge, she began to consider that she should write to Laura, since she hadn't heard from her since last year. She hoped that they were alright, and considered that maybe she'd make the trip to Italy to visit them now that the war was over, and perhaps if Hermione forgave her, she could join for the visit.

Tom, to her knowledge, hadn't acted out on any of his desires for her daughter, that she could tell, in months, and she had a small hope in her heart that perhaps he'd gotten over the infatuation?

It felt as if she was forgetting something important, but no matter how hard she tried to recall whatever it was, she just couldn't seem to grasp it.

When the care pulled down the drive of Riddle manor, the thought was gone from her mind, and as she exited the car, the butler, David, came to meet her.

"Ma'am, there is a Mr. Leonard Seaborn waiting for you in your office," he told her, and she looked at him curiously.

"Leonard? Goodness, whatever for? Did he say, David?" she asked, and the butler looked worried, which didn't bode well, as he was a consummate gentleman and never so much as hinted to his opinion or thoughts on any matter. She pursed her lips and headed into the manor, Leonard was no older than fifteen, if he was here, would his father be close as well? Had something happened? She worried her hands while walking to her office, and met Annie, her maid, coming out of her room.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, and Annie just hummed noncommittally, before answering.

"I think you should see for yourself, Ma'am."

So Helen shot her a worried look before walking into the office and Leonard was sitting facing the desk, she'd only met him a handful of times, and he always seemed to be a kind, polite boy, if not quiet and shy, but that could have just been his general manners.

"Leonard? How can I help you?" she asked, and he startled when he heard her voice, he turned to face her and she gasped, his normally light brown complexion was mottled with bruises, and his left eye was swollen shut, he shuffled in place, in his hands was a chunk of iced meat wrapped in a towel.

"Leonard, what happened to you?! Sit down, please," she ordered him, alarmed, going up to touch his eye, but he flinched as she got closer, so she backed up and put some space in between them to make him feel more comfortable, her heart hurting at the sight of him.

"I apologize, ma'am, I didn't know where else to go, the police took one look at me and said I deserved it, but I remembered that you have a daughter like me, I can go, I don't mean to be a bother," he rambled, his voice cracking, both for the onslaught of emotion and from the changes of puberty.

"It's alright, slow down, who did this to you?" she asked, gesturing at Annie at the door to bring tea and biscuits, who rushed off to do just that. As soon as she'd asked, though, he'd gone silent, which told Helen everything she needed to know about who was responsible.

"You don't have to tell me, instead, tell me, do you feel safe at home?" she asked gently, and Leonard hesitated for a moment, before shaking his head curtly, gripping his fists, and Helen frowned, it was clear that Theodore had done this to his own son, and her opinion of him immediately plummeted further. She lifted her hands in prayer motion against her nose, hooking her thumbs under her chin, and sighed, attempting to calm herself.

"And you already tried the police?" she asked, and he nodded, so she thought for a moment. Could this be a trap? Would she take this child in and help him? Only to walk right into some ploy of his father's? She mentally scoffed at the idea, her was not the type to come up with such a convoluted plan, but also, she'd never underestimated a potential threat before.

"Why come to me? Besides that my daughter is mixed race like you, that is," she asked, she needed to make sure that what she would do would be because he genuinely needed help. Leonard looked away, before answering.

"My father talks about you, a lot. Normally when he's had too much to drink and is upset, so I reckoned that maybe you wouldn't turn me back if I came," he responded slowly, looking at his hands, and her heart wrenched. This poor child, what type of life had he lived that even being the heir of such a wealthy man, made his so despondent and frightened?

She knew she'd already made up her mind when she saw his face, her maternal instincts kicking into high gear, regardless of whether this turned into a detriment for her. Annie came back with the tea and biscuits, as well as another slab of frozen meat, taking the older, slightly defrosted one from the boy. Helen turned her, a list of things that needed to be done running through her mind.

"Please ready one of the guest suites on the second floor, and please tell Head Butler Edward to call for a discreet medical professional to come to the manor," she listed, and Leonard snapped his head up to look at her, his good eye widening.

"You will be staying here, for the time being, I will not tell your father, though it may get me in trouble, I believe you are safer if he doesn't know where you are," she paused, making him a cup of tea, after also asking how he preferred it, "now, is there anyone you'd like to contact?" she asked, and he shook his head in negative, wincing at the bruise on the back of his neck.

She grimaced, he would definitely need to be looked over by a doctor, glad now that she'd called for one. She handed him his tea, and they drank in silence, and all she could think was:

What have I gotten myself into?

Alcazar Deslizan – October 10th, 1945

Tom leaned back in his seat at the front of the table in the large dining hall, and brought the tumbler of firewhiskey to his lips, his knights, inner circle and some newer members occupied every other seat at the table. To his right, he had Abraxas and to his left Orion, beside them were Thoros and Antonin, and furthermore Evan and Frederick. Bella and Rudolphous were beside Evan, while Terrence, Graham and Marcus were beside Frederick. Towards the end of the table were the newly graduated knights, Abraxas and Thoros' younger brothers, Draco and Theodore, with their classmates Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle.

There were certainly more than in his ranks than those present, but tonight was a night they were celebrating the initiation of the younger snakes, as well as celebrating the passing of the decriminalization bill. He grit his jaw lightly upon hearing Draco Malfoy's sneering voice, he talked a big game, but despite making it through his initiation, the boy was as sturdy as wet paper, it would take work to him to become nearly as competent as his brother. He could not understand why he could not be quiet and tactful, like Theodore, a weedy looking boy who held intelligence in his eyes.

They had succeeded in their goal to decriminalize certain "dark" magicks, such as ritualistic magic, blood magic, and sex magic, and though they'd failed to convince enough to add necromancy to that list, Tom didn't personally see it as much of a loss, as anyone who was truly looking to practice necromancy anyhow, would hardly give a fig about legality.

The traditional party had been chomping to decriminalize the majority of these magicks for almost ten years, back when they'd been banned back in 1936, and it had been one of the first things he'd promised to put his ten votes as Lord Slytherin towards, and he was, if anything, a man of his word. He was broken out of his reverie once more by the younger Malfoy's voice from down the table.

"I've been saying since the war is over, all these mudbloods that came to Britain should go back to where they came from, we don't need any more dirty blood than we've already got," he huffed, sounding like a broken record of pureblood supremacy rhetoric, "we helped house them in their time of need, I don't see a reason why they're sticking around, taking our careers, diluting our lines when it's safe for them to go back home now," he continued, and Tom really didn't care to speak up, as he could see many of his knights nodding their heads in agreement, except for his inner circle, who just observed casually in between their own personal conversations.

The eradication of muggleborns was another talking point by the more fanatic of the Traditional Party, but it was one he made no promises on, solely on the fact that no one in their right mind would vote for it, not with the Wizengamot evenly divided between Progressive, Swing and Traditional, the majority of the later party hardly caring for the actual existence of muggleborns, especially now that he was Lord Slytherin.

This was because, the Progressive Party, in its origins, was based on moving forward to match the muggles in innovation and technology, which was all well and good, nobody would bemoan the creation of modern indoor plumbing, the problem was that the Progressives also meant to leave traditional values and observances to become more palatable for those of muggle heritage.

Quite like they had done in '36 with the decriminalization of magicks that many families still used day today, and usually for innocuous and innocent reasons, another prime example of the erasure of their culture was the Hogwarts bill that was being passed around recently, to include the celebration of Halloween, Christmas and Easter instead of Samhain, Yule, and Beltane. He already knew even without his vote that it would be a ridiculous bill to pass, as Christianity was not even the main religion of muggle raised students, and it was tone-deaf (at least to Tom) to suggest that it was, especially after the number of muggleborns that fled to the UK of the Jewish faith.

Politics in the wizarding world was a delicate game of give and take, you had to give a little to take a little, otherwise, you would have wars and revolts on your hands (though once upon a time, before Helen and Hermione, that had been exactly Tom's plan). The only ones that wanted an eradication of muggleborns were the fanatical families, which notoriously included the Blacks, with the exception of Orion and his immediate family, who didn't seem to care, the Lestranges, the Carrows, and formerly, the Gaunts.

Though Tom was a Gaunt in all but name, having taken on the Slytherin name instead, he could hardly be considered a fanatic now, especially after finding out the secret of Slytherin, but mostly because he himself, was a half-blood, so that rhetoric was detrimental to himself, not to mention the direction of his tastes in recent years, which specifically included a plucky muggleborn with brown skin, eyes, and woolly coils for hair.

He thought of her for a moment, so as to not get caught up in his thoughts in the company of his knights, his plan for her birthday had turned to his favour far more than he'd initially imagined, and he'd made sure to immediately take the memory from his mind to relive it often.

It was moments like these that he blessed magic and all its uses, otherwise, he would have never been blessed with watching all of her expressions, or the delicious sight of his cum dripping out of her when he'd removed himself. He took the memory of his seed running down the inside of her warm brown thigh to cozy his nights, regardless of her obvious regret of their activities, if her little tantrum of ignoring him was anything to go by.

Was it how he'd pictured his first time with her? No, and he'd certainly been annoyed that he'd been limited to the amount of time left of the portkey, but it was satisfactory in other ways. The idea that he'd fucked her in her childhood room full of happy memories, no doubt tarnishing her memory of her home, made that beast in his chest purr in delight, though if it had been up to him, she wouldn't have left his bed for hours, never mind having the ability to walk afterwards.

Orion turned to him, effectively ending his, rather pleasant, train of thought, and he nodded to him in acknowledgement. The other boy was, as usual, cool as a cucumber, silver eyes dauntless, with delicate features that gave him a generally non-threatening countenance, but Tom knew better. Orion Black was a wizard with a mind that was an amalgam of hundreds of different plots all running simultaneously, to the point that even Tom couldn't tell if he had personal aspirations or interests, and if he did, he kept them close to his chest.

Tom didn't care, either way, so long as Orion continued to support him, he could keep his personal life as personal as he pleased.

"Your muggleborn if building a bill to eventually bring to the Wizengamot," he spoke lowly, so as to not be overheard, and Tom quirked an eyebrow, ignoring the deliberate use of the possessive article. He'd already assumed that his regard would have been deduced by the other wizard, as he just seemed to know things that even the most erudite would balk at, case in point as proof.

He didn't know how he obtained his information, and with Orion, he rather doubted he'd ever will, as there has always been something off about the boy, he felt that it was better to let him keep his secrets so long as they didn't affect him negatively.

He inclined his head minutely, and decided to take the bait, it was not, after all, often that the other wizard brought up specific topics to him unprompted.

"What type of bill?" he asked, tone low, leaning his chin into his hand, and arranging his fingers just so, which disguised his response to anybody looking at him.

"Elves," he responded shortly, and Tom hummed in acknowledgement, it was certainly something he'd expected of her, just perhaps not so soon, as she still had another year of her internship with Madam Euphemia Potter, as well as her W.O.M.B.A.T exams, until she became a fully registered barrister. He, himself, still had another year of apprenticeship with the Department of Mysteries, and then he'd need to take his exams as well to officially become an Unspeakable.

"I see, thank you for bringing it to my attention, but you don't bring this information freely, do you?" he asked, knowing well how Slytherins worked.

"No, if she brings it to the Wizengamot, I want you to vote in favour," he replied lightly as if he hadn't just dropped one of the biggest head-scratchers of their friendship.

"That is a large order for some information, do you want to use one of your favours?" he asked, and Orion was silent for a moment, as if considering it, before nodding.

Tom considered his words, he'd told him what he wanted in exchange for information and one of two favours drawn from him a year ago, the transaction was done at this point, and he would need to offer something else for an explanation, which Tom did not think was worth it. He still had one favour bound by magical oath to the other wizard, and Orion was too slippery a wizard to underestimate. Instead, he considered what he would have to do.

If Hermione brought a bill to the Wizengamot, he would be on the spotlight more than usual, and if he voted in favour, he would be seen as biased, regardless of nepotism being the oil of the UK magical world. It would take very careful planning and a delicate hand, because not voting in favour would be detrimental to him now because he'd be breaking a magical oath, not to mention it would destroy all progress he had with her.

"Very well," he finished in acknowledgement, and Orion inclined his head in return before striking up a conversation with Thoros.

Quite honestly, he didn't care to have her completely unwilling, it wasn't as satisfying, in his opinion. He much preferred to manipulate he into wanting to be at his side, and in his bed (eventually, all good things take time) regardless of how it affected her well being. She was strong-willed and rather stubborn at some points, while cooperative and assenting at others, and it took a considerable amount of effort to lead her around by her logically based emotions, and if he, with the political power he held, sniped at her elf bill, she would undeniably double back on her own regard for him.

He took a sip from his drink, letting the burn slide down his throat, it was all coming together, he just had to move ever so carefully, because at the end of this long road were the ultimate prizes for all of his work, that being unlimited power, and immortality, and he would stop at nothing to obtain those. Hermione would be by side for all of it, whether she knew it now or not, he brought his hand up to play with the chain around his neck absentmindedly, Slytherin's locket warm against his chest under his robes.

Like power and immortality, she too was meant for him, of that he was certain. She belonged to him, and he'd take care of her, like he did all of his possessions, and she would see that in time, he'd make sure of it.

October 11th, 1945 – Bolt Hole

Hermione levitated dishes into the cupboard, before shrinking the box and placing it within a bigger one on the floor. The longer she'd stayed away from Riddle manor, the more her anxiety had grown at going back, especially after knowing what the wards could do, and not to mention her blunder on her birthday. She had stayed at the Burrow another two weeks before deciding it was time to get a flat of her own, and when she'd announced it to her friends, Jaismine had shown interest in becoming a roommate, and so, they found a three-bedroom in the building next door to the one that held Ron and Harry's flat, in Horizont Alley.

That was a few days ago, and they were still unpacking, they had mini quizzes and competitions on design, because they couldn't agree on wall colour, which is how they ended up with a black kitchen and a yellow sitting room. It looked a bit ridiculous, but it brought her a semblance of joy in her currently turbulent life.

They had decided on a three-bedroom, so that the third room could be converted into a joint office for both witches. Jaismine had plants everywhere, while Hermione had books everywhere, it was a chaotic mess, but she was optimistic in calling it home soon.

She was, despite all the new opportunities revealing themselves to her, still sad and heartbroken over everything that had happened recently, Kai has still not been found, and Detective Gamp was beginning to suggest that perhaps it was time to close the case, which was his polite attempt at telling them to admit to Kai's likely death. Both Madam Fawley and herself had balked at that, horrified that he'd even suggested it, as it had only been two months, but they knew, in the end, that they didn't really have much choice in the matter.

She found it insulting that none of Kai's half-siblings or father seemed to care that he was missing, his oldest brother even sneered down in her face, implying that "awful things happen to those who roll in the mud", and it had taken every ounce of self-control not to hex him in his face. The hypocrisy of purebloods, Hector Fawley married a muggleborn for goodness sake! How could his son feel that way? It filled her with fury and indignation on Kai's behalf.

She was also saddened that the place and person she'd been safest with had turned out not to be so safe after all, despite Tom's presence and persistence, she hadn't actually been very afraid of Riddle manor, well, with the exception of that one time he'd kissed her, but he'd back off soon after.

More than anything, she missed her mother, she missed talking to her when something was wrong, she missed when she did her hair, and she missed generally being in her presence. She thought of all she'd done to keep her safe, particularly from Tom, the key to the post box in York sitting heavy in her purse, only for her to go and have wanton sex with him in her childhood bedroom.

That reminder of her less than stellar actions filled her with shame, had she become such a person that used sex as an escape? When a year ago she'd wanted to save herself for marriage? Every time she looked back, she almost could not recognize the person she'd been, if she looked at the present, she did not recognize the woman she'd become, and the future was entirely still in the air.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, the regret after having sex with Tom had hit her like a bludger immediately after they'd finished. She currently avoided speaking to him, because she didn't want to be faced with his smug amusement, a reminder that she'd fucked him because her self-loathing was simply that strong.

She was jostled out of her thoughts while putting new mugs away in another cupboard by a tapping on the window, she looked over to see her family owl, Coco, which was strange as her mother had backed off, respecting her wishes to take her own time to reach back out.

Curiously, she let Coco in, gently caressing her feathers as she took the letter for her beak, and opened it gently. Her eyebrows raised almost to her hairline at what she'd read, she decided then that she'd need a second opinion, so she went over to the floo, and knelt down, throwing a handful in, calling for Géraldine's flat, relieved when her friend's face appeared in the fire.

"Êtes-vous libre?" she asked, and at her friend's nod, they both stepped back so that she could go through, and quickly, she scribbled a note for Jaismine before stepping through the flames, carrying her mother's letter.

When she arrived, Géraldine was in the kitchen, wiping down some dishes while Jean-Pierre sat at the table colouring. She turned to her, her blonde hair piled messily upon her head in a bun, she tossed the rag onto the counter, before gesturing her to take a seat, both of them joining the little boy at the table.

"Qu-y a-t-il?" she asked, and Hermione just handed her mother's letter over, and she took it, face curious as she read it.

"C'est déjà arrivé?" she asked, and Géraldine shook her head.

"Non, pas à moi, mais on m'en a parlé," she responded, and Hermione nodded, holding out her hand to take the letter, folding it again to smooth the edge. Her friend continued to explain what she'd learned while working at her placement, and it both saddened and infuriated them both. Hermione eventually left about a half-hour later, a solid plan between her and her friend, head swimming with emotions and thoughts, she ruffled Jean-Pierre's hair on her way to the floo.

Grabbing a handful of powder, for the first time in months, she called for Riddle manor and walked through.

When she entered her mother's office, there her mother sat at her desk, and in the seat across, the boy she'd written about, looking at her like she had three heads. She nodded a greeting to her mother before turning her attention to Leonard Seaborn, she walked to the chair next to him and sat down.

"You're Leonard, right?" she asked, starting up the conversation, and he blinked at her before stuttering.

"I'm sorry, but did you just come out of the fireplace?!" he asked slightly panicking, and Hermione nodded, shrugging like it was no big deal, in an effort to calm him. It seemed to work because his shoulders sagged, and he stopped fidgeting his hands.

"So magic is real, and I actually have it?" he asked, mumbling in disbelief, and she nodded again, recalling the letter.

Her mother had written that she'd allowed Leonard to stay about a week ago because he hadn't been safe in his home anymore, but the next day, all of his injuries had disappeared, and at first, her mother had written it off, until a particularly emotional outburst from the teenager had shattered every glass in her office.

She'd asked in her letter if it was possible for nouveau-sang to "fall through the cracks" and since Hermione hadn't had enough knowledge on the matter, she'd gone to Géraldine, whose position in the Improper Use of Magic Office allowed her to understand how muggleborns were found in Britain. Usually, they were only found if they caused a scene in front of non-magical people, which there was a detection for, as protection of the Statute of Secrecy, but theoretically, if a muggleborn was never around another person during their bouts of accidental magic, then they were liable to be missed.

It confused her because, in France, they had a register for magical births, it was how she was found by the French ministry all the way in Martinique, so she wondered why Britain didn't have something in place like that, but after Géraldine's sad look, Hermione understood immediately why, that being prejudice. Of course, the UK wouldn't care to find their muggleborns, leaving them to potentially hurt people from lack of control over their magic, she noted the cut on her mother's cheek, which was bandaged.

It was insidious, this poor boy, who was fifteen, should have been at Hogwarts for the last four years, and he hadn't been, instead, he'd had to face his powers alone and with no answers, mentally, she tacked on another potential bill to work on.

She explained all of this to Leonard, and he seemed relieved, though a bit sad that he'd missed out on such a huge opportunity, thanking her after telling her that he'd spent a lot of his life alone. Hermione was certain he should be okay now, Géraldine had agreed to process him through the system, and notify her superior and the Hogwarts headmaster, so that a magical-therapist could be found for the boy, who'd also work in conjunction with a tutor to catch him up. Since he was an October child, he would have been in fourth year, so maybe he'd be lucky enough to catch up in time to enroll for his fifth year, in time to take his O. .

Afterwards, Leonard excused himself and Hermione turned to her mother, the silence and tension was palpable. Her mouth was dry and her eyes were burning, but it was her mother who broke first.

"I'm sorry, I acted out of line, I'm so sorry, can you ever forgive me?" her mother asked, voice repentant, eyes earnest with unshed tears, and her heart twisted, but she bit her lips together and nodded her head.

She could forgive her mother, but she wouldn't move back in, as she was too off-put by the wards, and her mother agreed. They sat together a bit longer, the silence tense, both women feeling that something had undeniably been broken, with no idea how to fix it to what it once was. Hermione soon stood and said her goodbyes for the night and headed back to her flat, feeling that familiar and pervasive hollowness in her chest.

When she got home, she dragged her feet to her room, and sat atop her bed with her knees to her chest, and cried.

Authors Note: This one was rough, both in content and that it's more of a connector chapter for things to come.

My face claim for Orion Black is Kentaro Sakaguchi, and for Leonard Seaborn it's Roshon Fegan.

rough translation:

"Are you free?"

"What is it?"

"Has this happened before?"

"No, not to me, but I have heard of it,"

NOTE: I condemn JK Rowling's transphobic stance. Transphobia has NO PLACE in this story or anything I will EVER write. I am apart of the LGBTQ+ community and I stand with my trans brothers and sisters.

Trans women ARE women
and
Trans men ARE men

If some of you weren't sure, I've written Jaismine and Luna in this story as trans, and honestly, if you aren't cool with that, you can peace outta my story and never come back.

If you're cool with all that, then I hope you enjoyed the chapter.