Chapter 5 – Library of Alexandria – April 20th, 1947

Hermione grabbed the last scroll from the translation counter, adding it to the bundle she was already holding precariously and as gently as she could, in the crook of her arm. As she'd told Jas, she had started working on her bill that would put the registry of muggleborns on a census, into the hands of a school, where the first sign of magic would be investigated by a member of faculty, to determine the existence of a magical child.

She had taken queues from the French ministry, reaching out to their census department to inquire upon their methods, and though the tracing of nouveau-sang was an actual office within the department, it had just taken the tiniest bit of adjustment to apply it to Hogwarts (as it was the ICW recorded school for the landmass that was the UK).

Now she was mainly building her speech and presentation to convince the Wizengamot to vote in favour of the bill, which became a whole new challenge in its own right, as she had to convince them that muggleborns deserved to be found and taught (a bar so low, she thought it to be in the seventh circle of hell).

This had led her back to Egypt, to the Library of Alexandria, as it had been so instrumental in the completion of her house-elf bill, she figured that there had to be something on the existence of new magicals, and she'd been right. There were aisles filled to the brim with theories and research on the topic, from all over the world. That was what was so unique about the Library, it was run by its own community and culture that consisted of up to hundreds of thousands of members, all many different species, and most notably, a subsection of this community was called collectors.

Collectors were the scholars of the library, magicals that travelled the world, living within both secluded and open communities, learning the languages, traditions and legends, so that they may bring them back to the library for academic preservation.

The history of the library was fraught with misconceptions in the non-magical world, as it was famously known for being burnt down by Ceasar in an attempt to fight in the civil war between Cleopatra and her brother Ptolemy XIII. It was his use of fire, which had spread to the docks and to the great library, that had given him the advantage in battle. What non-magicals didn't know was that the magical population had protected the works by using an earlier variation of the flame freezing charm (also famously used during the witch trials of Europe), and while the flames kept the non-magicals at bay, all works had been moved to a secondary location, which is where the library remained to this day.

Deep underground of what is known today at Lake Maryut, still on the coast of the Mediterranean, within Alexandria, the library had flourished, unaffected by the rising and seceding water levels of the lake over the last millennia. Each document, scroll, and book had layers upon layers of protection spells on them, millennia of information that she would need hundreds of lives just to read half of its collection, and it was only due to the strict sorting system that she was able to find anything at all.

On the subject of muggleborns, that she'd found so far, was that the perception of them varied by country and culture. Generally, she found that it depended entirely on the relationship between magicals and non-magicals, which in Europe, with the prevalence of Catholicism, combined with the witch trials, was not nearly as positive as some non-European countries. She found that the worst of the collective was Italy, England, Germany, and Denmark, which spread its abhorrence to neighbouring countries, which was why (she assumed) Durmstrang did not admit muggleborns within its school, and why Grindelwald's campaign was even ever able to leave the ground. The most progressive of Europe, she found, was France, Spain, Portugal, Croatia, Bulgaria and Greece, while the rest fell somewhere in the middle of progressive and not.

It wasn't all bad, however, in countries with naturally spiritual faith, magic was seen as a gift, and new magicals were seen as blessings. The Haudenosaunee, of what was modern-day Central Canada (renamed Iroquois by French colonizers) revered new magic, especially in girls, who were seen as leaders, being the matrilineal kinship it was (a pattern she noticed in many different tribes, like Cherokee, Haida, Navajo and many more, and honestly, Hermione thought them well ahead of their time, really).

Then there was the Yoruba, native to West Africa, in modern-day Benin, Togo, and Nigeria, that had a very positive outlook of their own as well. Yoruba being the basis for a number of religions that Hermione was even familiar with within the Caribbean, it held the belief that all human beings possessed a destiny, to simplify it.

In East Asian, and Southeast Asian countries, she noticed that the statute of secrecy was basically nothing more than a suggestion, which was much the case for South and Central America, especially in close-knit communities, the general consensus was "don't ask, don't tell". This made sense to her because when her magic had become a known reality, it had been her mother who had been more aghast at the idea than her father, who'd been enthusiastically excited.

There were hundreds of theories upon new-magical existences as well, many that crossed over into the theoretical explanation for magic in its entirety, and though Hermione personally felt that it didn't matter how she and people like her acquired their magic, that was not going to win her, her bill.

She carried the scrolls over to the table she was working at, all of them translated copied to ones she'd pulled off the shelf, she had picked them out yesterday and requested they be translated with the library staff, who were happy to oblige for a small fee. She almost felt odd being here alone, as the last time she'd been here, Tom had taken her for her birthday. This time, she'd been here for two days, leaving Friday afternoon after work, Tom apparently had politicking to do with the upcoming Chief Warlock election, so had abstained from coming with her.

Her mind wandered as she took her seat, swinging her braids back around her and out of her face. Her feelings for Tom were...complicated, to say the least, certainly she'd always found him attractive because that was just an indisputable fact, and she had sort of given in to the quasi sexually-beneficial relationship they kept, but she'd never really acknowledged him as hers. Off the top of her head, she could list reasons why, first being that for the longest time, she'd felt like she had barely been keeping her head above water, that worrying about her relationship status just hadn't been a priority. That is until she saw Bellatrix all over him, and something akin to rage had lit inside her faster than kindling, it had only been when she'd arrived back to her room, intent on warding it against him and sleeping it off, that she considered her reaction to legitimately be jealousy and hurt, by the perceived infidelity (infidelity? Were they even a couple?).

Suffice to say, that realization had spooked her into wanting to leave so she could think and figure it out while being absolutely furious at the same time. That he'd dared to be possessive and jealous, only to turn around and sleep with other witches had incensed her, to the point where it became apparent that she had to leave, or she would be going to Azkaban for homicide.

Back in her room, she'd let curses fly, anything to give the buildup of anger an outlet, demolishing a good deal of her room, and when he'd walked in, before she could even stop herself, she'd whipped that whisky glass as hard as she could, at his head.

The acknowledgement that somewhere in the last year, she'd come to view Tom as hers, while simultaneously being miffed that he'd ruined her chances with Jas, had smacked the truth of her behaviour in her face like a cold, dead fish, leaving her gobsmacked as to when the hell it actually happened. When he looked her in the eye and asked her what she wanted from him, a million things ran through her mind's eye. She considered the glass ceiling, how her life was potentially in danger, how much work she wanted to do to make the world a better place, telling him to never touch her again, all of it came back to one thing, how she felt.

She was still reeling from the discovery, but she felt safe with him, protected, even, and it was something she wanted to keep for herself, regardless of the price. And Tom? Tom was cruel, possessive, an absolute narcissist, and an overall arse, but he was also patient, and supportive (to her, at least) and she wanted to keep that, keep him, for herself.

Did she love him? She wouldn't go that far, but then, her definition of love was skewed, as all she'd ever really known was the platonic variety for her mother and friends, she understood attraction, but romantic love? She couldn't say that, no, but what she did know, was that she was the architect of her own future, and whether that was good or bad, remained to be seen. Putting that train of thought towards the back burners of her brain, she focused on her research on Celtic lore, as well as the main influences for Western Civilization, that being both Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece.

It was a couple of hours later when the chime on her watch went off, indicating that her portkey would be leaving in two hours, it was six in the evening, and she'd spent almost the entirety of the last two days in this library, save for the times she'd wandered out to browse for street food. She looked back at her documents and decided that food was actually a good idea, so she gathered everything up, and brought back her translated scrolls to the front desk, leaving them there to be organized in with the originals, before heading towards the lifts.

As the lift ascended up the many levels to the surface, she considered what she'd learned. In both Ancient worlds, people had believed that new magic had been a gift from Hecate/Hekate, the goddess of magic, and witchcraft, while in Celtic traditions, she hadn't been nearly so pleased with what she'd found. The original magic users had apparently been the Druids, who believed the god Gwyddion had bestowed magic upon them, but turned around and considered new magic to be changelings, and tricks of the fey folk.

She frowned, that certainly wasn't a lot to go on, and not for the first time, she felt like she may get a more definitive answer from the library in Alcazar Deslizan, which would be all well and good if she could read a damned thing there. She'd considered briefly talking to Tom about allowing the community of the Library to come and translate a few, but had shaken the idea off, Tom was far too much like a dragon hoarding gold, so he'd never allow it to happen. Stuck at a literal dead end, she decided to focus on food and the fact that she would be back in England in an hour.

The lift finally stopped, and before she stepped out of the small house that hid it, she dug into her bag and pulled out a scarf to sling over her head loosely. The market she was going to had a high non-magical population, and though she didn't think it was required for her to do so (she'd seen a few women without anything covering their hair) she did it mainly not to arouse any suspicion or gain any attention. With that, she made her way to the fish market, noting that the crowd had died down a bit since she'd been there this morning. Some tables were packing up, and there were a handful of foreigners still browsing the wares, she weaved her way around them, following her nose for barbecue.

Finally, hearing the sizzle of one of the stalls she favoured down the way, she found a man flipping seasoned crabs off the barbecue and into a basket while frying up some battered calamari. She bought up a basket of the calamari and added in two crabs, before heading towards the stall with fresh bread, and buying a bun. She liked tearing the meat out of the crab and putting it in the bread, and with her food acquired, she searched for a table at one of the outdoor cafes, finding one, she sat down to eat after ordering a tea and a box of baklava to go.

She ate quickly, seeing as her portkey was due to leave in thirty minutes, watching people as they passed, and she quirked an eyebrow at the few who were obviously magical, seeing their wands strapped to the inside of their arms in a holster. This gave her the impression that the Statute of Secrecy really was nothing more than a suggestion that pandered to Western intolerance for non-magicals.

She rolled her eyes and finished her food, before subtly vanishing the leftovers, cleaning her hands and mouth, and tucking the baklava neatly into her bag, once that was done, she went to find a secluded place for her portkey to activate. After a few minutes, she found a narrow alley and stepped in, disillusioning herself for good measure, and waited the last eight minutes before she'd be ripped through time and space, hoping the ride wouldn't be too rough (she didn't want to lose the delicious food she'd just ate).

She felt the pull at her navel, and a few minutes later she was standing within the Ministry's portkey office, she brushed her robes off and walked out, only once she was in the hallway did she dig out an anti-nausea drought. She tossed it back, grimacing at the taste, she cast both a freshening charm around her clothes and a breath freshening charm to her mouth, before making her way to the lifts.

It was while she was waiting for it, someone came down the hall and waited beside her, she looked at them from her periphery and found them slightly familiar, but couldn't place them. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with pale skin that set off his maroon robes and gold eyes, she knew this because he was staring at her.

"Miss Granger-Riddle, I must say, it's certainly a pleasure to meet you personally," he spoke softly, so much so, that she thought she was imagining him talking to her. She turned to him to find him facing her, her manners winning the battle of whether to stay quiet or not.

"A pleasure, mister...?" she replied, holding her hand out to shake, trailing off because she honestly could not put a face to a name. His lip twitched as if amused by something, and she felt her ears heat up, momentarily grateful that her complexion didn't show blush that easily. He grabbed her hand and brought it up to place a kiss on the back of it, startling her, before she remembered pureblood manners were a beast of its own entity.

"Rodolphus Lestrange, Miss Granger-Riddle," he responded, and she nodded while she took her hand back warily, it was then the lift door opened, and to her disappointment, aside from the operator with a novel in his hands, it was empty. She spoke for the Atrium and almost sighed in exasperation when her companion spoke the same.

"Did you come from the portkey office, miss?" he asked, and she turned her head to look up at him and nodded.

"Yes, I'm arriving from Alexandria, Egypt, and yourself?" she asked politely, and he clasped his hands behind his back, which didn't make her feel any safer, for some reason, she was on edge around this wizard, and she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Yes, from Paris. Alexandria, hm? Not planning to hit our illustrious Wizengamot with another bill so soon, are you?" he joked, but something about his tone seemed like it was quite threatening, she titled her head at him.

"Would you disapprove if that were the case?" she asked, mentally counting the 'dings!' the lift made, counting the floors until the Atrium where she could make some kind of hasty escape.

"Perhaps..." he trailed off, and she squinted her eyes at him in confusion, when the lift door finally opened, reaching the Atrium, to reveal Tom standing there, and she'd never been so glad to see his ridiculous face. She exited and made her way to his side, but his eyes never left Rodolphus, who was stepping out of the lift leisurely.

"Lord Slytherin, I've met your lovely cousin, I'm surprised, however, Bella's stories do not do her justice," he spoke smoothly, and she looked up at Tom, noticing an almost imperceptible twitch to his eye, clearly, he wasn't happy with that comment. She looked back at Lestrange to find him watching her, and unnerved, she turned her attention around the atrium, taking note of the few people rushing around.

"Is that so?" Tom replied airily, as if unperturbed.

"Truly, a gem, all things considering..." Hermione whipped her head back to look at him...did he just?

"Anyhow, Lord Slytherin, Miss Granger-Riddle, it's getting rather late, I'll leave you here to both enjoy the rest of your evening," he finished, nodding his head, and as he passed, he gave her another once over before making his way towards the floos. Once he was out of earshot, she unclenched her hand from Tom's robes‒when had she done that?‒and looked up at him.

"I don't like him," she stated plainly, and Tom snorted.

"Smart of you, really."

Ministry of Magic – April 20th, 1947

Tom had spent the day visiting offices of certain key members of the Traditional party to garner where support was being lobbied in the upcoming election for Chief Warlock. So far, there was Albus Dumbledore, Lord Ramsey Lestrange, Amelia Bones, and Lord Tamarius Gamp, and of the candidates, as it stood, Gamp would be his own pick. Truthfully, he would rather not see Lestrange acquire any more power, Dumbledore could rot for all he cared, he didn't know nearly enough about Bones to have an opinion, and Gamp was a true neutral which made him the preferential candidate.

The Chief Warlock election was initially a democratic election, selected by the people until there were two to choose from, and from the two, the Wizengamot got the final vote. He felt that Ramsey was a fool to even partly make an enemy out of him if he truly wanted this seat because after talking to the majority of Traditional seat holders, it would only be with Tom's vote that he would win.

From there, it had been around five in the evening when he'd passed his way by the ministry archives, where he briefly ran into Jaismine Shacklebolt, who glared at him liked he'd kicked her newborn crup, to which he'd returned it with a smug smile, knowing exactly what her problem with him was.

Every single Slytherin knew that Shacklebolt fancied witches, it had been a running gag for years, how she never even bothered to make male friends, that is, until she'd become friends with Hermione, and suddenly after years of ignoring wizards, she was friends with Hermione's ragtag group of Gryffindors, Potter and Weasley.

He figured it out almost immediately, and back in school, he'd been initially annoyed at the idea of Hermione returning her feelings, but then she'd started courting Kai Fawley ('may he rest in peace,' he thought savagely), and he'd decided that it didn't actually matter who she fancied, because, in the end, it would be him, at least, if he had anything to say about it (and he did). So, Shacklebolt could glare at him until the end of her days, and he'd still have won, it made him grin, wondering if she knew that he'd had Hermione's hands tied to bed frame two days ago, on her knees with her arse in the air, and let out a breath of a laugh before making his way to the lifts.

He still had roughly two hours until Hermione's portkey would be arriving, so he entered the lift and directed it towards the Department of Mysteries, transfiguring his robes to grey with a hood, pulling it up and casting the shrouding charm. Once there, he made his way to the archives there, walking towards the soul magic section, still a rather small section that he'd read his way through multiple times, always hoping to find more, he considered submitting his Horcrux experience, but thought better of it, as Unspeakables were not immune to the law. He plucked out a random book and began reading, his mind only slightly paying attention to the printed words.

His relationship with Hermione had once again decided to take up space in his mind, he still hadn't given up on the possibility of making her a Horcrux, it just wasn't a priority right now, as he was content with where they were at.

He was reminded of her righteous anger weeks ago, when she'd walked in on Bella and him, and oh, how she'd been magnificent, strangling that vow out of him, he'd been certainly impressed.

Her wording had been concise as well, in that she wasn't preventing him from sleeping with others forever, no, she was preventing him from sleeping with others while he considered her, his, damning him by his own whims, clever minx that she was. He'd entered the room half-expecting that he would have to force her to stay, not to be claimed himself (though admittedly, he wasn't angry in the slightest, it had been glorious).

He finished the book, and looked at his watch only to notice that it was half-six in the evening, the book ended up being on the concept of soul-mates. Years ago he would have scoffed at the idea, but nowadays, it seemed rather an apt description of what he and Hermione had, though unfortunately, there wasn't much on the concept. It was a curious subject, that left him with questions, would they still be soulmates when she had an actual piece of his soul, what if he got her to make him into a Horcrux so that he held a piece of hers? He shook his head, he was getting ahead of himself.

Firstly, if he was going to make her into a Horcrux, he would need the perfect sacrifice, and originally, he'd thought of Shacklebolt. Who better to symbolize Hermione's connection to him, than someone who wanted her for themselves? But then he talked himself out of it, it was far too close, especially after Fawley, his father and grandparents, and even Helen, sooner or later, someone was bound to notice that people dropped like flies around him and Hermione. This was troublesome because he knew he wasn't at a powerful enough level to come out unscathed if someone investigated, and not to mention, Hermione would be cross with him, and that would be unfortunate.

At seven, he headed back up to the Atrium, noting that Hermione's portkey ought to have arrived by now, so he figured he may as well wait for her. It was Sunday, so the ministry was generally empty save for over-timers, part-timers, and an intern or two. He stood outside the lifts, people watching until finally, one opened, and she was in it, looking extremely uncomfortable in the presence of Rodolphus Lestrange.

He felt the ire at the back of his neck, and when he'd spoken, it had turned to rage, which he'd muffled before it could make itself known, barely acknowledging that Hermione's hand was gripping at his robes.

Bella had spoken to Rodolphus about Hermione, and he cursed himself, he knew he should have looked further into that look of disappointment, but he'd brushed it off as nostalgia for old times when it appeared to have been much more than that. What made him furious was that Rodolphus knew Hermione was off-limits, and here he was sniffing around her, regardless. The only thing he could make of this was that his position of power was not a secure as he'd assumed.

Rodolphus would not dare to act so blatantly against him unless he'd gotten the signal from Ramsey, it was either they were targeting her for her house-elf bill, or to get to him, and neither was acceptable. When the other wizard left and he was left with Hermione, he guided her to the floos, letting her head to her room to shower when they arrived home, while he heads to his office.

He sat for a moment and considered his options, only a majority vote from the entire Wizengamot upon the call from a Chief Warlock could oust him from his political power, though he would still keep the name, vault and castle, he'd lose his seat within the Wizengamot, and that was not a reality he wanted to consider. This meant he needed to take the Chief Warlock election seriously enough to make sure none of his perceived enemies ended up with that power over him, but first, he needed information on Lestrange's moves.

He pulled out Leta Lestrange's letter and analyzed it for a minute, it could be a trap, or, it could be exactly what he needed. At that moment, he pondered the possible scenarios before deciding to bite the bullet. He pulled out a sheet of parchment, quickly wrote his response, before closing it with green wax, and his personal seal.

He then got up and apparated to the mainland, away from any wards, calling out the elf's name. Within seconds 'Zaza' appeared, wearing fitted robes, and bangles on her wrists. He handed her his letter and a small bag of galleons as a tip to ensure that his letter reaches absolutely nobody but Leta Lestrange. Once the elf disappeared, he disappeared back to the castle and made his way to Hermione's room.

After all, she'd been gone for far too long, and he had every intention of making up for the lost time.