Chapter 3 – Bolt Hole – March 10th, 1947

Hermione sat at her old flat's kitchen table, knee drawn up to her chest as her tea cooled, and Jas sitting across from her with an almost anxious air around her. She supposed she was anxious too, she wanted to tell her friend everything, but last-minute doubts poured themselves into every single one of her mental filters.

She looked down at her tea, trying to remember when it had become that she'd come to prefer the beverage over her own beloved coffee, and squinted. She couldn't even remember the last time she had coffee, especially considering Tom always called for tea, and not wanting to bother the elves, she just drank it also, when had she changed? She shrugged it off as inconsequential, snorting at the thought that her mother would be proud to see her drink hot tea leaves like a proper Brit.

Jas was studying her, she could tell, her friend might not be very open with her concerns, at least not often, especially after that soul-crushing chat last year, but she still cared a great deal, and she knew she was mentally cataloguing her current health and mood. She looked around the room, pleased to see that it was still the bright yellow that she'd picked when they'd first moved in, trying to ignore the unsettling silence between them.

It was a bright reminder that something had broken between them last year, that no matter how much they saw each other, it couldn't be fixed because, at the end of the day, she would still go back to Tom. She mentally swatted away the brief flash of melancholy and remembered why she was here, Jas had asked to speak to her about something, and yet, half an hour later, both were too cowardly to start.

She took a deep breath to start.

"Jas-"

"-I went to see Dumbledore."

She was cut off, and before she could grind her teeth in annoyance, she registered what her friend had said.

"What do you mean 'you went to see Dumbledore,'?" she asked, quoting her statement. What could Dumbledore want? Though she'd briefly written down the Transfiguration professor's name as a potential person to speak to, she'd crossed it off, unsure of his trustworthiness. Jas sighed and ran a hand down her face, before looking towards her, wetting her lips as if gathering the best way to speak coherently.

"I went to see Dumbledore because he sent me a...summons, for lack of a better word," she spoke carefully, and Hermione scrunched her nose, confused, but waved her hand for Jas to continue.

"He told me there is a 'rot' in our world, and I don't, not, believe it, but also, I've never heard of it, and he insinuated that you might be threatened," she finished, her dark eyes that had shot down to focus on her teacup, switched back up to look at her, and Hermione felt like she couldn't look away. Dumbledore was warning Jas about 'the glass ceiling' all without naming it, which means he knew about it, and opposed to it (she mentally unscratched his name from her list).

She was silent for a bit, trying to gather the appropriate words to reply with, this is what she wanted, help, but she still weighed the pros and cons of telling Jas everything, trying to think that, if she didn't, would Jas involve herself anyway? Making up her mind, she answered.

"It's called, 'Le Plafond de Verre'," she replied slowly, hesitantly keeping eye contact, "I only discovered it recently, and I'm trying to get to the centre of it, but it's so shrouded and dangerous that I don't have much to go on," she finished, watching as Jas's eyes closed hopelessly, and leaned back into her seat.

"Somehow, I knew you would know about it, and it hurts that you do, that you have to, and that it even exists," she finally replied, and Hermione nodded, she'd be hurt too if something this horrible affected her friend and not herself, likening it to the soulless eradication of Jewish people that haunted Géraldine, even well after the war had been won.

"Why would Dumbledore not speak to me directly, though?" she voiced, pondering, and Jas's expression turned furious.

"He wanted me to manipulate you into unknowing bait," she bit out, anger practically rolling off of her, "by telling me, he assumed that as a Slytherin, that I would either keep those cards close to my chest, or that I didn't care enough about your well-being to go along with it." and Hermione pressed her lips together into a frown, while it was touching that Jas cared so much, her ridiculous heart puttering at her words, she had to force her focus on what she said, and realized that, as crazy as it sounded, it wasn't a horrible idea.

Unfortunately, that consideration must have flashed onto her face, however minutely, because Jas froze while looking at her.

"No, absolutely not! Get that thought out of your head right now," she snapped, and Hermione looked down at her tea, tapping her nail against the cup's handle.

"I'm not ruling it out, and by no means would it be my first and only idea to tackle this, but you have to admit, it does have merit," she reasoned, did she want to put herself in harms way purposely? Of course not, but if she could guarantee a way for Jas and the Aurors to find her if she put herself into the midst of it, there was no telling what she would discover: current victims, the perpetrators themselves, red-handed, the idea had merit.

"I don't care, and I don't have to admit to anything, we'll find another way." Jas shook her head, her tone booking no argument. Hermione decided to lay the idea to rest, for now, despite how tempting it was. This was especially considering that it had been a month since she'd found that little sliver of information from Skeeter, and had found nothing further than that.

"I was thinking of writing a bill, though cases at work have been a bit heavy, I have the outlines for it, but because of this...thing, I'm not even sure if I should go through with it anymore," she lamented, and she watched as Jas's posture softened as she relaxed.

"What is it?" she asked, and Hermione bit her lip.

"I want to create a bill that puts the discovery of muggleborns into the hands of the schools so that no one can be feasibly unaccounted for, but with this, and with Hogwarts being government-controlled, I'm worried that I'll lead more people into danger now," she explained, and she saw her friend's expression soften.

"Your issue is moral, and you have a bloated sense of responsibility, Hermione, you don't have to take the weight of everything onto your shoulders," she started, softly, "I think it's a good idea because magic needs to be taught to be controlled, and even one other child of Leo's case is one too many overlooked, but also, imagine that those who aren't found, that their only contact with the magical community if through evil like this. Don't they deserve the chance to at least fight?" she calmly intoned, and Hermione considered her words. It made sense, but something still niggled at her.

"What if I fail? What if this horrible thing is never resolved?" she asked, and Jas was quiet for a moment, pensive about her answer.

"I think...you have to want to do the right thing, regardless of whether you succeed or not, because it's the right thing to do, and you have to allow yourself to believe that there are good people in the world to continue your fight if you lose, because to think otherwise is to send yourself down a dark path you may not be able to come back from," she finally responded.

Hermione let the advice stew, she knew Jas was right because she did tend to look at things hopelessly, only to become overwhelmed, which a lot of the time caused her the freeze and retreat into herself. Not to mention, her fear of failure that made her see things as hopeless as well, it hobbled her, costing her her faith in other people, that if she didn't succeed in this one thing then no one else would.

She knew it wasn't the case logically, but emotionally, this fear of failure wreaked havoc on her perceived self-importance and capability. She knew Minister Leach started this and had failed years ago, but it was proof that others did care, Jas sitting across from her discussing this also proved it as well, she just had a hard time internalizing it.

"Okay, I'll work on it, in the meantime, since you can access the Ministry archives, can you look something up for me?" she asked, and at Jas's nod, she continued, "I first found all of this out by speaking to the portrait of Minister Nobby Leach, he told me that he worked within a group of muggleborns to combat discrimination within the ministry, can you look up who those muggleborns were? Maybe we can create a timeline if we find out who they were and how they died," she finished, before excusing herself for the washroom, taking her extended purse with her in the excuse of having her monthlies.

When she was alone, she took out a small empty potion's vial, she couldn't lie, she'd been thinking further of what Jas had said, not so much Dumbledore's plan, but more that she was in danger, in any way, a contingency plan would be needed. With a quick diffindo, she sliced her finger open and allowed the empty vial to fill with her blood, before stoppering it, healing the wound and cleaning the excess mess. She then took one of her curls and wincing, she cut off a bit before entwining it around the vial, where she cast a sticking charm to hold it in place, and stasis on the blood, before leaving the washroom (flushing for effect) and sneaking into the office and leaving it in the desk drawer that was hers.

She didn't doubt Jas would find some use of it should she go missing, whether she got caught willingly or not, but she didn't want to place this in her hands personally because she knew Jas would be suspicious of all of her actions going forward if she did. Her friend had all the knowledge of the Department of Mysteries at her fingertips, and Hermione trusted her to find this, as well as find her.

She returned to the sitting room and retook her seat, her tea had gone cold, but with a tap of her wand, she reheated it. They then moved the topic of discussion to more pleasant subjects, like Harry and Ginny's wedding in October, as well as Ron looking to adopt Jean Pierre to give him the Weasley name. They passed the rest of their day like that, and Hermione had felt more at peace than she's had in a long while.

Chateau Lestrange – April 3rd, 1947

Leta gently guided her hand against the spines of the books in the grand library of her prison, looking for something she hadn't read yet, thinking it might be time to move up a shelf. She'd grown up here, so there were many books that she'd read during her youth, and since her house-arrest started, she'd been flying through them at a rapid pace now. She went through everything, regardless of genre, fiction, non-fiction, grimoires, truly anything that would give her an edge for whatever her future held.

Not that she could ever feasible run out of books to read, as Chateau Lestrange boasted the biggest collection behind Beauxbatons Magical Academy in all of France, she was more secretly hoping to come across anything that would help her unlock her magic, not enthusiastic about the idea of spending years in her uncle's company with no way to protect herself. She also thought more on her 'plan', though it wasn't necessarily as fool-proof as she preferred, she'd gone too long without acting, and she refused to have no play at all. Truly, she didn't trust her uncle any further than she could throw him, her months of relative peace were just the calm before the storm, she was the perfect chess piece right now, to be utilized in favour of the Lestrange family.

By witch's standards, she was still in her prime, at fifty-one, and she didn't look much different than when she was thirty, except the few bits of silver in her hair. She also knew of witches that have had children well into their seventies, so she believed her worries were founded upon legitimate concerns.

Caught in her thoughts as she was, she hadn't noticed the other presence until she felt a hand at her waist, cursing herself for her momentary absentmindedness, she whipped herself out of whoever's grip it was and turned to give them a lashing. Her uncle smiled at her, and she knew she couldn't say anything too vicious, lest he retaliated by taking away more freedoms than she already didn't have, so she took a breath and calmed herself.

"You startled me, uncle," she spoke carefully, as to not reveal the full extent of her anger and indignity. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked down on her, he was a very tall wizard, imperious in his stature, his hair a shock of silver, and eyes a vicious gold, a Lestrange family trait. Gold eyes that Leta had never inherited, something that she'd always had appreciated, she loved her dark eyes, her hair, and her complexion, solely because it separated her, even minimally, from the evil of the name she carried.

He nodded at her to follow him and proceeded to lead her out of the library, as they made their way to his office, and she couldn't help the dread that curled in her stomach. Did he suspect her plan? He was not an unintelligent wizard and Zaza was not obliged to keep her secrets, especially not against her employer.

When they arrived, he stood to the side to allow her entry first, expression inscrutable, and as she walked past, she kept her chin up in a show of confidence she was not sure she entirely had, making her way to the seat facing his desk. She didn't flinch as he ran a hand against the back of her shoulders, before making his way around the desk to his seat. She waited impatiently while he carefully moved papers around before pinning her with a stare.

"Is there a reason you've needed to speak to me, uncle?" she asked coolly, and his lip twitched, sending a spark of frustration that would have heated her face had she not restrained it.

"I did, Leta," he began, steeping his fingers together, "the war is over, and it is time you did your duty to the Lestrange name," he drawled simply, and she mentally cursed, she'd known it was coming, but it didn't mean she had to roll over and do as he asked, he had nothing but Azkaban over her, and it was already not in his best interest to leave her there.

"I refuse," she clipped, projecting an unbothered facade, and she watched gleefully as he frowned.

"You speak as if you believe you have a choice," he commented softly, and she scoffed, crossing her arms across her chest leisurely.

"Don't I? What will you do? Throw me in Azkaban?" she retorted while quirking an eyebrow, "no, if I marry, it will be to someone of my choosing, when I please, and not because you've told me to," she spoke calmly, but inside, a storm was raging. He tilted his head at her, eyes roving and taking her in, causing an anxious uncertainty to settle in her stomach.

"What will I do? Asks the witch who spent twenty years under an imperius?" his tone was almost a whisper, and she was positive, if looks could kill, he would be slumped over in his seat.

"Are you threatening me with an imperius, uncle? Because I can assure you, I am still only a part of this world because I want to be, but give me a reason and you will be marrying off a corpse," she spat viciously, and they glared at each other in a stalemate.

"That will be all for today, Leta, it's late, you should rest," he broke the silence first, and rigidly, she stood up and walked out without so much as another word, slamming his office door behind her.

She made her way back to her room, her previous goal of finding a book all but forgotten in her mind. It wasn't that she was lying, per se, it certainly wouldn't have been the first time she's considered suicide as a viable option in her life, her ongoing battle with her depression and guilt made suicidal ideation an almost familiar face at this point.

She'd even almost succeeded twenty years ago, until the carpet at been so rudely pulled from under her feet. If her uncle was hell-bent on forcing her to marry and pop out pureblooded sacred-twenty-eight approved babies, then she truly had no qualms of ending it once and for all, and the reason she believed he didn't argue her, was because he knew that.

She may be stuck in here for the foreseeable future, but it didn't mean she was inherently powerless, and that was another thing, she had no intention of remaining so, there had to be a way to undo the binds on her magic, and if she was going to do anything, it would be that.

She returned to her room and headed straight for her desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment, and dipping her quill into her inkpot, she began to write, her idea from months ago finally coming to fruition, that is, if her recipient was agreeable. When she finished writing, she set down the quill and blew gently at the words, watching at the letters went from a shiny jet black to a dull mat, and when it was finally dry, she gave it a read through before folding it and signing her initials onto the flap. She then stood and called for Zaza, the elf, who like last time, appeared with a soft crack.

Zaza looked up at her, and her eyes swung to the letter in her hands, unsealed because Leta did not have access to wax.

"Will you seal this for me and deliver it to someone in Britain?" she asked, kneeling to the elf's height, and Zaza nodded but looked apologetic, wringing her hands, and Leta felt a clip of anxiety curl again.

"What is it?" she asked.

"There are three people in Britain that Zaza is forbidden to deliver by vow, and that is Albus Dumbledore, Theseus Scamander, and Newton Scamander, Zaza is sorry ma'am," she replied, and Leta relaxed, almost letting out a laugh. Did her uncle think her so daft? Theseus and Newt she understood, what she would give to speak to either of them again, but Dumbledore? That wizard could burn for all she cared, he had left her to rot, blue eyes twinkling in sympathy when her imperius defence was shot down.

As the new owner of Grindelwald's wand, that she'd seen in his hand, he'd hand the power to confirm her defence, and yet, he hadn't, and for that, he was dead to her.

She smiled at the elf reassuringly, handing her the letter.

"That's alright because this letter is not going to any of those recipients," she paused, gathering her wits about her, this was it, she sent this off and there was no going back, this could either incredibly benefit her, or backfire horrifically, and she prayed for the benefit.

"I want you to deliver this to Lord Thomas Slytherin in Britain, thank you."


Authors Note: This one is a bit of a short bridge-like chapter, one of the things in stories that kill me are characters that don't talk to each other or communicate and when a bad thing happens that could have easily been avoided if they'd talked to someone, it drives me insane (not in a bad way, but in a hair-pulling exasperated way ((as you can probably tell, I had a great time reading A Song of Ice and Fire lol)))

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed the chapter, seeya in two-ish days (gonna try to write as often and update as quickly as possible, cause my next semester starts in a week and I know its gonna affect my already lacking time management skills) Hope you're all staying safe and healthy!