Soft, warm, and plush.
As she woke, Hermione knew without opening her eyes that she was not in her serviceable bed at Hogwarts. An entirely foreign rush of dread flooded her body as she bolted upward and immediately sought her wand.
There it was, on the nightstand next to her. She moved to grab it.
Eyes darting around the luxurious room, she realized she was still at Malfoy Manor, likely in one of the guest rooms. With magic, she quickly confirmed it was Sunday morning. She was still dressed in the same clothes she'd worn the day before, transfigured trousers and all. According to the late morning light streaming in through the window, she had slept all night.
She vaguely remembered Voldemort pushing Dreamless Sleep past her lips, instructing her to swallow when she began to speak nonsense as she worked through her tumultuous emotions. She was relieved that he didn't allow her to ramble on and disclose her deepest secrets, but it was likely because he didn't want to witness another attempt at arson from her.
All she remembered was that she was on fire. It wasn't her fault that the fire decided to spread to her surroundings. Such was the nature of fire.
It wasn't always safe within her head. Antonin Dolohov.
She thought she had that wound cauterized long ago, but the embers of the past refused to die no matter how many times she tried to stomp them out.
It was always in her shadow. Objectively, she knew what she went through during the war, in general, wasn't as awful as what some others experienced. She had survived Dolohov's mysterious curse, and he never had the chance to carry out his threat. That's all it was, a threat. But after that time, every subsequent moment she locked eyes with the Death Eater, whether it was at the final battle or his trial, there was an insurmountable wall there that made her feel small and powerless all over again.
Upon reflection, she knew that her progression was beyond that wall. With every Death Eater she captured as an Auror, she managed to undermine that wall a little more.
The physical pain took a long time for her to recover from. Her faint scar still throbbed now and then. During the war, she didn't have time for introspection. Harry needed her at her best. He needed her for her resourcefulness and ability to plan. He needed Ron to be steadfast and brave. When they were young, Ron never displayed any fear in front of the Death Eaters, not even Bellatrix. He was the quintessential Gryffindor, and she knew Harry needed both his friends' support in his nearly impossible task.
It wasn't until after the war, when things got quieter, lonelier, as her friends paired off and focused on rebuilding their lives, that she had the opportunity to allow her mind to wander and fully examine those self-doubts.
She had time to delve into that retrospective fascination she had with Voldemort — the fragment of his soul from Slytherin's Locket. His voice had diffused through her head like lavish smoke, poisoning her. When they were on the run during their seventh year, she wore that Horcrux more than she should have. Her justification at the time was that it was dangerous for Harry to wear it so often, as his mental stability was critical to their success.
When Ron wore the locket, he was especially susceptible to its insidiousness. As demonstrated when he abandoned her and Harry during the hunt, he had allowed his insecurities and envy to color his judgment.
Something that she would never admit to anyone, was that the sinister voice in Slytherin's locket kindled a twisted rage in her. But that wasn't really him, was it? It was a sliver of magical consciousness formed by black magic that preyed on a person's perceived flaws.
The voice never chastised her for inaction — for the way she completely froze in her terror in the Department of Mysteries - and she was grateful for that. It brought to light her flaws and those things she didn't like about herself — traits that don't belong to a Gryffindor, such as her absolute vindictiveness. Her need for it.
She recalled leading Dolores Umbridge to the centaurs. She didn't know exactly what was going to happen to the repulsive woman. However, she should have remembered that centaurs are legendary violators of human women. It was truly unforgivable, and she still felt sick to her stomach when she thought of it. She also imprisoned Rita Skeeter in a jar in her Animagus form for a whole year. Who in their right mind would do such a thing? A psychopath.
That was back when she was in school. She didn't even want to think about all the morally dubious things she'd done as an Auror, to protect people, of course.
She may be unwaveringly loyal, but sometimes she felt that she might be approaching things the wrong way. The locket managed to help her collect her scattered bits of self-esteem. It told her she needed to hurt them back. Retaliation. It was only right they get what they deserved.
A different kind of venom was whispered into her mind. It never made her feel inadequate or inferior like it did to Ron. Surprisingly, it reinforced what she already knew but needed to hear — that her blood status was her strength, not a weakness. It even enabled her enemies to underestimate her.
She knew it wasn't Voldemort whispering in her ear in the dead of night. It was just a consequence of dark magic fueled by his broken soul, luring her towards aspects of herself she didn't dare explore. But she couldn't be sure. Was the piece of him in the locket anything like the Tom Riddle from the diary? Was it just black magic preying on their insecurities, or was it a piece of Tom Riddle who spoke to her, with his own beliefs? And if so, was the Horcrux manipulating her by encouraging her?
Perhaps this was why Voldemort, the one here in 1967, felt so familiar.
In those cold, despairing nights in the tent, on the run for her life, she wondered what she was doing with her life. The experience was dismal, and something was compelling about the Locket's whispers in her mind. She understood at the time that the Wizarding world needed them — needed Harry, but she was resentful at not being able to attend Hogwarts and learn.
She was resentful she had to force her parents to forget she ever existed.
Even six years after the war, they didn't remember her. The best mind healers she could find were unable to reverse the powerful Obliviation spell she had cast on them. It gutted her because it was all her fault. She chose this. She did that to people she loved, who trusted her.
But at least they were alive, and appeared to be content.
Once a month, she would visit them in Australia when they went out to dinner at their favorite restaurant. She would sit a couple of booths away and take solace in the fact that they were still alive. It was pathetic and made her feel like a stalker, but she couldn't help that she missed them so much, especially as her distance from the Weasleys grew with time.
She wondered what it was she had done to deserve to be left behind in the end. She still loved her dearest friends and cared about the many allies she made during the war, but there remained a disconnect from the sheltered early life she experienced at Hogwarts. How was she supposed to know that those in power and truly in control, still clung to the prejudices of old?
Of course, Half-bloods were prevalent. But Muggle-borns who dared to achieve greatness? Rare. Perhaps it was the harsh realities of the post-war Wizarding world that got to her. Sure, she was a war heroine, but she was still a Mudblood, and the Wizarding world never let her forget it. Some would still whisper that her celebrity status stemmed solely from her friendship with the Chosen One.
As she clawed her way up in Wizarding society, she had to prove herself every step of the way. If she had to use certain ruthless tactics to get there, it was simply because she had to fight so hard. She never had the privilege of a famous, old, magical name.
Now was not the time for her to suffocate in her thoughts. Every time she took Dreamless Sleep, her mind would attempt to overburden itself the next day. In the past, when she had debilitating nightmares, she had taken Dreamless Sleep nightly, but it made her overly paranoid during the day, so she stopped.
The passage of time helped. She seldom thought about these things anymore. Now, she knew she wasn't in any immediate danger, and the bed was just so comfortable, she didn't want to leave.
Now she was ensnared in the viper's den — a Death Eater's stronghold. She briefly wondered how close Abraxas Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov were, as well as the Malfoys' relationship with the Blacks, especially Bellatrix Black. Narcissa was still so young. She had no intention of running into them here.
It was a strange form of escape, being here at Malfoy Manor. It somehow helps with what she had experienced here all those years ago, under Bellatrix's wand and knife. She had a different role now, with more control, and the respect of the host. It was different.
Being at Hogwarts meant being in proximity to Bellatrix, and it simply repulsed her. There was no denying it. It didn't matter that the adolescent had begrudgingly begun to show her some respect for her teaching methods and expertise in the defense against the dark arts.
Knowing she had to return to Hogwarts, she quickly cast a scouring charm on herself from head to toe, and magically scrubbed her teeth clean. She transfigured her clothes and charmed her hair into a thick, frizzy plait. Would McGonagall report on her absence? What she did on the weekends was her business. But it was hard to separate herself from the mindset that she was no longer a naughty student who answered to the Gryffindor Head of House.
Pop!
Her heart was in her throat the instant a house-elf popped into existence.
Not just any house-elf, but Dobby. The first time she introduced herself to Dobby, he was taken aback by how friendly she was, shocked that any guest of Malfoy's would pay any attention to a house-elf.
"Good morning, Miss! You missed breakfast. Master has me bringing you this."
He dropped off what appeared to be a tray of breakfast and tea, bowed deeply, and promptly vanished.
"Thank you, Dobby," she called out into the empty room. He was so peculiar. Nothing like the Dobby she remembered, who was fed up with Lucius' mistreatment. It hurt that Dobby took his duties so seriously that he didn't seem to want to interact with her much. But she had learned from her S.P.E.W. days and ceased strong-arming others. She had finally, at some point, understood that her way isn't necessarily the only way, the best way, or even the right way, but it didn't mean she had to be content with Wizarding culture. Slavery was slavery. It seemed as though Abraxas ordered his house-elves to make themselves as invisible as possible.
She quickly ate the overly rich breakfast Dobby provided, certain she missed breakfast at Hogwarts by now.
Fully prepared to depart, she opened the door only to come to a halt.
Abraxas Malfoy stood by the door, his hand raised as if about to knock.
"Good morning Hermione. Did you sleep well?"
"Mr. Malfoy, I apologize for imposing on you like this. There was…an incident during the lesson. Thank you for allowing me to spend the night here."
"Not a problem at all. You are welcome here any time." Refined and charming, as always.
"Is he…is the Dark Lord here today?" she inquired as casually as she could.
Abraxas' pleasant smile appeared just a bit more forced, the twinkle in his eye dimmed. "No, he left straight away yesterday after you went to sleep. He went to go meet someone and is likely indisposed today as well." His gaze was intense as he arched an elegant brow as if implying something.
Relieved, she visibly relaxed and leaned against the doorway. She flashed him a genuine smile. "Perfect." She didn't want to see Voldemort again any time soon. She was embarrassed to have a vulnerable attack like that in front of her enemy and didn't want to appear frail. But now she felt raw and exposed. Above all, she hoped she didn't say anything incriminating in front of him.
Malfoy seemed pleased with her response.
"Hermione, I invite you to stay today. Gavin is visiting later if you'd like to duel. You can use the library until then if you'd like," he offered.
An excuse to leave was at the tip of her tongue when she remembered something. "I'd hate to take up any more of your time and stay past my initial welcome, but I would like to research one thing before I go."
Hermione had a stack of books on elemental magic in front of her, and she was getting increasingly frustrated.
Yesterday, right before she lost consciousness, she remembered saying something to Voldemort. A promise — to burn it all down.
Fiendfyre. Horcruxes.
She was relieved she didn't let slip anything about his Horcruxes or how she planned to destroy them in her emotional exhaustion yesterday. But seeing the walls ablaze yesterday triggered a memory of the roaring, unforgiving Fiendfyre decimating everything in the Room of Hidden Things, including Ravenclaw's Diadem.
She knew definitively where at least once Horcrux is right now, the Diadem in the Room of Hidden Things. She resolved to gather them all and destroy them together on one single occasion, fearing that Riddle, unlike the Voldemort of her time, might sense its destruction as he still has some soul left in him. She rather he not come bearing down on her, killing her with an Avada Kedavra before she can blink. If she destroyed them all at once and then disappeared, he wouldn't be able to stop it.
She had considered the method of destruction as well. Since she was at Hogwarts, she had access to Slytherin's Basilisk. She knew one word in Parseltongue, and that was open. Ron repeated it to her many times after he managed to open the chamber because she was so fascinated by Parseltongue. She even had Harry verify its pronunciation. If she wanted to, she could enter the Chamber of Secrets. But she would have to deal with the beast within, and she wasn't prepared to take on such an endeavor.
Gaining access to the Basilisk venom wasn't as easy as using Fiendfyre as a method of Horcrux destruction. The sword of Gryffindor only worked because it was coated in Basilisk venom, which allowed the goblin-made weapon to take on the venom's qualities.
Fiendfyre was her only option at this time. She would just have to learn how to cast and control it. It was easier said than done. She had some idea, but it was slightly hazy, and she needed it to be precise.
Even as an Auror, Fiendfyre was not a spell one typically sought to learn. It was primal, chaotic destruction. It was hard to find the incantation and wand movements in readily available books. The complexity wasn't in how to cast it, but how to control and extinguish it. It was worth a try looking for it in Malfoy's library, however.
After searching for some time, she realized that none of the books she's gathered will teach her how to cast Fiendfyre. Many of them mentioned it, and they gave a brief passage on why it shouldn't be used, and then moved on. She had refreshed her memory on about fifteen different kinds of fire spells, but none of them was the one she needed. If Vincent Crabbe could cast it as a Hogwarts student, it couldn't be too hard. He must have learned it from his Death Eater father. But he had no idea how to control it after it was cast.
Perhaps Abraxas or Gavin will know how to cast it? No, she couldn't consult them. It would be too suspicious, and it would somehow get back to Voldemort, and then he'll wonder what she's planning.
She tensed as someone approached. He sat down across from her and picked up a book from the discard pile and began reading it. She wasn't exactly surprised by Malfoy's appearance. But she sometimes wished he had a walking stick like Lucius did to announce his arrival.
"What are you researching now, Hermione?"
General curiosity about elemental magic was the safest answer. She was quite interested in how Harry described Dumbledore and Voldemort's epic duel at the Ministry. She was curious about Dumbledore's impressive hydro-kinetic spell that managed to temporarily trap Voldemort in a sphere of water.
"I'm trying to learn all I can about elemental magic. Seems like it could come in handy in a duel or battle. I've learned about variations of common fire-making charms and conflagration spells, lightning strikes, and some of the more powerful water spells. I especially love this chain lightning spell, for a group of enemies." She pointed at a spell on the page she was reading. "The fire spells, however, are just so weak."
"What's wrong with the fire spells? Have you read about fireballs and the firestorm spell?
"Fireballs can be easily blocked or dodged when cast towards individuals. Unless you spend an awful lot of time building up a massive fireball and then sending it to your enemies, in which case you'll be vulnerable the entire time you are casting it. Firestorms create a powerful ring of fire that can turn into a wall of flames around the caster's wand, but it feels too defensive. What if you need to stop a large group bent on killing you? What then? You want the most offensive, destructive force possible."
"Hermione, who have you offended lately? Why would a large group want to harm you? Who would even dare?" he teased. He gently fingered the book she had open on the table, and promptly shut it. "You're looking for Fiendfyre then, but none of these books will tell you how to cast it."
Her heart quickened. She held her breath and didn't dare hope. He was the one to suggest it. She never mentioned it herself.
She couldn't allow her enthusiasm to leak into her voice. "Yes…you're right. Fiendfyre is indeed very powerful. But all the books that even mention it say it's notoriously hard to control after it's been cast, and is a very dark spell. I don't think I should…"
"How about I share my knowledge with you for once? I'll teach you Fiendfyre," he offered.
"Now?" She blanked her face, suppressing the excitement pulsing through her blood.
"Why not? I have time today."
"Where?"
"I'll take you somewhere where it'll be safe to practice."
"What if the cursed fire spreads?"
"It won't, I know how to control it. Trust me. Gavin too, and he'll be here soon. With both of us there, you have nothing to worry about."
She was speechless. Had Voldemort instructed Malfoy to assist her with whatever she wanted, within reason? What did Malfoy want this time?
"Do I have to barter with you again? I don't have any more secrets to share with you," she lied as she forced herself to gaze at him with unwavering eyes.
"Oh, I can think of a few things you can do." The teasing lilt was back in his voice.
Malfoy's lip twitched infinitesimally as he took in her sudden wide-eyed expression. He shot her a wicked grin, as if he had indeed thought of something unsavory to ask of her. Then he chuckled and shook his head.
Hermione released a sigh of relief. Before she could even stitch together a reply, he cleared his throat.
"Miss Granger, I will happily teach you this spell, at no cost." He stood up and with a wave of his wand, the books on the table flew back to their respective shelves.
He offered her his arm. She took it as she tried to determine whether it was all a trick or not. He led her to the entrance hall.
The fireplace connected to the Floo network roared to life with emerald green fire.
Gavin Rosier had arrived.
The wizard appeared and immediately vanished any debris on his person and turned to look at them. He had a cautiously blank face as they exchanged greetings, and Malfoy asked him if he would be interested in joining them for a lesson.
"Will you excuse us for just a moment, Miss Kraus?" Rosier asked as he attempted to pull Malfoy to the side. He thought better of it and, with a harsh whisper, the both of them walked to a nearby room and closed the door.
Hermione darted to the door as quietly as possible. She had made a living out of tracking and avoiding detection, and cast a spell she learned as an Auror that allowed her to override most simple privacy charms.
"…are you even thinking? Why is she here today? Don't tell me you had her here overnight."
"Yesterday's lesson with the Dark Lord went awry, and he forced her to drink Dreamless Sleep. She stayed in a guest room."
"So why isn't she back at Hogwarts, doing her job, spying for the Dark Lord today?"
The next part was indistinguishable.
Gavin responded, "A lesson? In Fiendfyre? Why? I thought you had a date later today, with Selwyn's cousin from France."
"I canceled it. I've already married for lineage and blood once, and I have an heir, why can't I…" She strained to hear Malfoy, but it was too low.
"…related to the Dagworth-Grangers?"
"Yes, and it doesn't matter to me that she has a new identity."
"Does the Dark Lord know?"
"He found out last night with Legilimency. He was curious whether she had any outstanding potions abilities."
"No, about your little… fascination with his new protégé."
"His? Aren't we all his?" The disdain in Malfoy's voice was apparent. "When we committed to this, we committed ourselves for life, and this mark stays on us even after we're dead."
"I know you aren't the most observant of wizards, but even you must have noticed that he has never spent this much time personally training a recruit before."
"Her position at Hogwarts is critical to his plans. You know how much he hates Dumbledore."
"This is separate from that."
"What are you trying to imply, then? You know the Dark Lord sees the world differently from us. He's so far above all of us — above all of this. The only thing he's ever desired is power."
She could hear one of the wizards pacing.
"After all this time, Abraxas, do you still…?"
"Gavin, don't you dare finish that sentence."
"Fine. I won't bring it up again. But does he know about this? I don't think — "
"There's not a single thing one can keep secret from the Dark Lord," Malfoy said. "He hasn't said anything about it to me. Either way, it doesn't matter. It's not even reciprocated. You can relax and mind your own business."
Silence followed.
Hermione dashed away from the door and made her way out of the hallway back to the entrance hall. She pretended to be fascinated by a beautiful vase.
The door was wrenched open and the two wizards appeared.
"Let's go now, Hermione." Abraxas approached her with a lingering scowl before he quickly schooled his face back to his elegant mask of indifference.
They made their way outside. Malfoy offered his hand to her, and she took it. He shot her an expectant wry smile, and she nodded. She trusted that he didn't mean to harm her, at least not after today's revelations.
She endured the familiar sensation of being forced into a tube. They had Apparated to a small, empty island.
"Where are we?" She immediately cast a warming charm on herself.
"That's a secret. It's protected by the Fidelius Charm. Nothing to burn down here, so it's an ideal place to practice casting Fiendfyre."
Surrounded by water, she observed the frothy waves for a moment. She closed her eyes and slowly breathed in the cool sea breeze. The gasping and groaning song of the waves beguiled her.
She needed this, to clear her mind and to remember why she was here in the first place, associating with Death Eaters. This was a rare opportunity.
Hermione opened her eyes to the sound of Apparition to find Gavin Rosier standing next to Malfoy, who was watching her carefully. His blue eyes were bright in the clouded daylight. She admired the way the wind ruffled the two wizards' impeccably styled hair and clothing. They formed such a charming picture, against the grey-blue sky and entrancing waves.
A charming, villainous picture. For all their toxic ideologies, it was unfortunate she could never truly be friends with them.
"Let's begin."
A/N: I know, he's not in this one. But I like this introspective chapter. :) What do you think of Hermione? and Abraxas?
Thanks for reading. Your comments fuel my writing/editing!