August 30th, 1991
Hermione munched on crackers as she sat at the kitchen table. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon, and she was growing restless. She'd already ironed her robes, starched and folded her clothes, arranged her books in an orderly fashion, and packed everything into an average-looking trunk by the front door. A letter appeared on the table, and she frowned. She tore it open and smiled when she realized it was from Draco.
Be seeing you.
Hermione crumpled the letter in her palm and concentrated. Soon, the letter caught fire and was nothing but ash within seconds. She carried the remnants to the sink and washed them down the drain. Her heart ached at the fact she would have to pretend she hated Draco. It also sucked being away from him so often. Sure, she could visit the manor over breaks, but it wouldn't be the same. Hermione glanced out of the window at the sun peeking through the clouds. The back of her head began to hurt, and she pinched the bridge of her nose out of habit. Her Uncle warned her that her altered physical and mental state would be affected the most with her core expanding. The headaches were better than the nose bleeds, that's for sure.
"Want a pill, love?"
"No, thank you," Hermione sighed. "It'll pass."
Jean sat down at the kitchen island and said, "You handled McGonagall's sudden arrival brilliantly."
Hermione laid her head on the table. The coolness of the marble helped lessen the headache. "I have no grudge against the woman," she said.
"I had no idea she would ask so many questions about your childhood."
Dan entered the kitchen with an armful of food. He placed the containers on the table and passed Hermione a bowl of noodles and tofu. Before she could ask, he dumped a ton of duck sauce packets in front of her. She smiled gratefully and looked back at Jean. "She only asked the obvious. Wouldn't be surprised if she infiltrated your mind as soon as you made eye contact with her."
"The poor thing probably saw more of Dan than she ever intended," Jean said, unwrapping her chopsticks. "I have always been good at hiding my thoughts with and without my magic.
Dan sat down and poured soy sauce over his rice until it was almost black. Hermione and Jean shared an eye roll. He mixed it together with his chicken, then gestured aimlessly with his fork. "I never made eye contact with her. I blame that on my inability to make social connections," Dan said.
"It was also nice to hear you call me Mum, even if you were a brat," Jean joked.
"Wouldn't make much sense going around and calling you by your first name. And I think I handled it so well because I knew he wouldn't show up. I'm just some muggleborn to him. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Plus, even if he did show up, you wouldn't be able to do anything," Jean said.
Hermione inclined her head in agreement and began to eat.
"Can I ask you something?" Jean said.
"Always."
"What can you tell us about…her?"
After a brief pause, Hermione put down her fork and said, "I only have bits and pieces in my head. Most of the stories I have are from Cissa or Lucius. I know she exists, and I know she meant something to me, but beyond that? Nothing."
"Are you still having your nightmares?" Dan asked carefully.
"Yes," she murmured. "Sometimes it's like I'm with her. I can feel the cold and hear her screaming. I can't do anything but listen. I catch glimpses of her face, her hair…."
Hermione trailed off with a sad smile. Jean reached over and squeezed her hand.
"It's time like this where I remember you are actually fourteen and not twelve," Jean said.
Hermione chuckled and pulled a ring from under her shirt. She held it up to the light. A snake coiled around the emerald in the middle, and she slipped it on her ring finger.
"Is that an engagement ring?" Jean asked, shocked.
"Probably. For some reason, the ring finger is the only finger the snake doesn't bite when I put it on. It wasn't hard to figure out why that was. I asked Narcissa, and she told me it wasn't her place to explain. Lucius said the same thing. Based on the secrecy, I imagine there's a prophecy involved."
"Why do you say that?" Dan asked.
"Because my family believes speaking on someone else's prophecy is considered against the will of Fate," she said wryly.
"And also secrets aren't much of a thing with us," Jean said, shrugging.
"That too."
"Who gave it to you?" Jean asked.
"Narcissa last year. It was in that package she told you not to open."
"Of course, it was. Regardless, it's beautiful," Jean said.
"As the story goes, it belongs to Raven. There's a little spell on that keeps me safe from potions and poisons. The snake will bite if it senses something is off with my food or drink, and I imagine it's also some sort of reminder. What little I do remember is that she was always around. Even if she was bloodied and bruised, she was there while I showed her my new toys. I was never alone when she was around. But…" Hermione trailed off and frowned.
"But?" Dan pressed gently.
Hermione made a fist, and the snake hissed in warning. She quickly released her fist, and the snake relaxed. "She was married. I do remember that. I hated him. Every time she had to leave for him, I threw a tantrum, and sometimes it worked. She would stay with me until I fell asleep, and when I woke up, she would be there. The one night it didn't work was the night she ran off with him and never came back," she said.
"Hold on, I didn't know she was married," Dan said, narrowing his eyes on his wife.
"Lucius, Cissa, and I thought it best you didn't know because we knew how you would respond."
"Just how much older is she?"
"Oh." Hermione pursed her lips. "Twenty-five years."
"Twenty- she's thirty-nine?" Dan exclaimed.
"In our world, that is not as old as you think it is," Hermione laughed.
"Like hell!"
Jean put a hand on her husband's arm and said, "Stop."
Dan huffed and stabbed his chicken harder than necessary. "I'm just saying she better not be sixty when you see her again," he grumbled. Then he winced and added, "That was uncalled for. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I knew what you meant."
"Do you want a drink?" Jean asked.
"Yes. Whisky neat."
Jean stood and pointed at Hermione. "Want some wine?""
"Sure. Red, please."
"Feel free to keep going," she said, bustling around in the kitchen.
"Well, I'm not sure what else there is to say."
Jean poured a half glass of wine and brought it to the table before returning with two empty glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Dan poured a healthy amount into his glass while Jean was more modest with her portion.
"Well, how about we talk Hogwarts? What have you chosen?" Jean asked.
"I don't want to make friends, that's for sure. So I was thinking of going with the know-it-all routine. The same routine I did in grade school. It will help me keep distance between the right people."
"How bad are we talking?"
"I was thinking I fawn over authority but not to the point I annoy myself."
"Fair enough."
"We should work on a few stories," Dan said. "Maybe add in some bullying and whatnot."
"Sounds good."
September 1st, 1991
Hermione, Dan, and Jean were genuinely shocked when they stepped onto Platform 9 ¾. The hustle and bustle of all the students made Hermione a little anxious for the simple fact it was so many of them. Taking a deep breath, Hermione twisted around to face her "parents."
"Are you two going to be okay?" she asked.
"We'll be alright, kid," Dan whispered. "Got protection around the house. Both muggle and otherwise."
Hermione nodded and tucked hair behind her ear. She had grown to know Dan and Jean as her actual parents, so it was a little weird to be leaving them. "I don't know what to say now," she muttered.
"Oh, my baby," Jean cooed.
Hermione shot Jean a look at the term of endearment, but Jean ignored her. She bent down and brought Hermione into her chest. "I am going to miss you so much," she said.
"Putting it on a little thick there," Hermione deadpanned.
"Come on, sweetheart. We should let her go. Don't want our little bookworm to miss her train."
Jean released Hermione and ran a hand over her hair, patting it down. "Don't be afraid to call us. Write us. Oh, you know what I mean," she said.
"Yes, Mum," Hermione gritted out.
"Alright, slugger," Dan said. "We'll stay here until you pull out."
"Off, dear," Jean corrected. "Trains pull off, not out."
"I know someone I wish had pulled out about eleven years ago," Hermione said flatly.
Dan snickered and said, "Nice."
Hermione rolled her eyes and picked up her trunk. She dragged it to the entrance just as a mop of blonde hair bumped into her, and she stumbled forward. Hermione glared at the back of the person's head, only to realize it was Draco.
"Watch it," he spat.
"You bumped into me!" she argued.
"Because you were in my way."
Hermione took a deep breath to not slug her cousin in the face. He knew just how to get under her buttons. Hermione dragged her trunk onto the train and managed to find an empty compartment. She put her trunk down and slammed the door shut. She reached into her robes automatically at the additional weight.
"Of course," she snorted.
Hermione opened the letter from Draco.
And so it begins.
Hermione rose from the bed with a gasp. She pressed her palm into her head and groaned, "Oh, fuck me. Why do I feel like I got hit with a bludger? Repeatedly."
"There is water on the nightstand."
Hermione blindly grabbed the glass and drained it quickly. She sighed and flopped back on the bed. "Damn. How long have I been out?" she asked.
"Seven days. You passed out in the grass, and I had to summon Lucius to help me get you both back to the manor. I've been keeping watch ever since. Your father woke up yesterday."
Hermione shifted on the bed and spotted something on her arm. She lifted it to the light, and her breath caught in her throat. An image of a skull and a raven with blood-red eyes perched on the skull's head took form on her arm.
"Uh, Luna? What is this?" she asked.
"I assume your mark. Your eyes changed too."
Luna produced a small mirror and held it in front of Hermione's face.
"Holy shit," she whispered.
"They seem to be crimson," Luna said, banishing the mirror. "A combination of your father's magic and yours."
"Wow."
"How about we go down for lunch? We can re-introduce you to the family, so they will stop worrying me about when you will wake."
Millions of miles away, a witch huddled in the corner of her cell glanced down at her arm as it began to burn. She held it up in the small sliver of moonlight she could find and smiled. The skull took form with the raven, and she watched the bird flex its wings before it settled into her skin. The building behind her rumbled, and a plate of fresh food landed at her feet. There was still steam rising from the broth and toast. Bellatrix blinked in confusion. She carefully moved forward and touched the bread with her index finger. It was still warm and soft.
"Thank you," she rasped softly.
She didn't know who or what she was thanking, but it felt appropriate. Another rumble from the building was her response, and Bellatrix ate slowly, warming as the broth made its way through her body.
