This chapter is sure to have many readers going, "I KNEW IT!" XD


Chapter Eight

"Oh," Mother said in a cooing tone as she brushed Sabina's hair back from her teary little face. "Did you get into fight with your sister again?"

Sniffling, the girl nodded, but refused to lift her head. It wasn't fair! Her sister was practically a grown woman, she had no need of a mother! Not as a child of six did! "She said I will not go to Hogwarts because I am no good at magic and they will not want me!"

"Oh," the elder witch repeated, her voice lilting as she carefully reached down, lifting her daughter into her lap. Sabina could feel the way Mother's arms trembled a little at the effort. Sabina'd been trying to eat less at meals, so she could stay light for Mother's sake, but that blasted elf always noticed and informed her parents. My sweet little serpent, become any smaller and you will disappear, Father'd say. And Mother would tack on with a wan smile, If you insist on making me feel better, do so by keeping your health, making Sabina feel wretchedly guilty, but the girl had no idea what else she could do that might be helpful.

"You must not listen to such rubbish. Your magic is still new. And I know something she does not."

Sabina reached out, toying with Mother's long, pitch black hair—wild as her own, though the thick locks had lost some of their luster in recent months—as she pouted. That . . . that wretch had said even someone as important as their mother would not be able to argue Hogwarts into accepting such an unworthy student, but she left that out. It would only sound as though she was trying to get the older girl into trouble.

If she was going to be accused of that, she'd let it be when she was doing it on purpose!

"It is that you are destined to be a great witch. We do not truly come into our magic until we are a bit older than you are, so it is no surprise you are not yet good at spells."

Sabina knew that made sense. She knew people expected much of her, however, even at her age. For as long as she could remember, she'd understood more than she was 'supposed to' for a child so young, and everyone had spoken to her as though she were already an adult. "Will I be a greater witch than you?"

Mother let out a soft, scoffing laugh. "I have a feeling you will be many things, my dearest, not the least among those a formidable witch."

Her daughter's pout deepened. "That is not really an answer."

"Well, it was a silly question."

"All right, I shall ask a sensible one." The girl glanced back toward the doors, assuring herself her sister was, in fact, not on her heels ready to barrel in and furnish their mother with her explanation of their argument. "Why does she hate me?"

"No, no, my dear little bird, you." Mother gathered Sabina tighter in her arms, hugging her nearly suffocatingly before she held her back enough to meet her gaze, again. "I do not believe she hates you at all. I think it is more that she . . . she envies you."

Suddenly, the girl felt foolish. Foolish and selfish and . . . . Sniffling anew at the sadness that struck her, she chewed at her lower lip for a few moments before working up a response. "Is it because I have a father?"

Mother's chestnut-colored gaze dimmed a bit and she frowned thoughtfully; the expression made the dark circles beneath her eyes more pronounced for a fluttering heartbeat. "In a sense, yes, but not precisely. It is a little more than that. Her father and I . . . . even before he passed, we were not close. We were an arrangement, and unfortunately, love never blossomed from our matching. But as for your father? You well know, I love that man very much." She smiled gently as she spoke those words, as though she could not help herself, her fingers trailing delicately through her daughter's hair. "I think when your sister sees the three of us together—you, your father, and me—it makes her feel cheated out of something in her own childhood."

"I am already matched. Does that mean I will not have love in my marriage, either?"

Tilting her head, her mother's eyes widened as she processed the question. Sabina knew that look—it was the 'such things this child says' look. "No. When I was matched, it was rather a blind arrangement. He and I did not know one another before we were wed. I think what your father and the Jarl have done, betrothing you while you are still young so that you will have the chance to know one another well before you are expected to marry, is quite smart."

Sabina arched a brow. "It is not often you say such about the actions of others. And my betrothed is a barbarian!"

Mother snickered. "I think he will grow to be quite a charming man. And he will protect you fiercely."

"Hmph. I shall protect myself fiercely. And I will not come to love him as you love father."

The little girl's stubborn words only brought another laugh out of her mother. "I am certain you will be quite capable of protecting yourself, still it is nice to have someone willing to do whatever they must to keep you safe. It is hardly as though I need your father to protect me, now is it? Yet, I am happy that he can, if need be. As for love? Well, to be truthful, not many people do find what your father and I have, but that does not make it impossible. However, you make it even less possible by insisting it cannot be so."

Disliking the turn of the conversation, Sabina said, "I believe we have gone off topic."

With a smirk, Mother shook her head—the child did not enjoy the realization that she was losing an argument. "And I believe we have simply branched into a tangent. However, I will return to my original point. Your sister is not so hateful toward you as her behavior would make it seem. She is only human, after all, and anyone observing contentment they feel they were denied might lash out, because they are in pain."

Nodding, Sabina slid down from her mother's lap, the expression on her still teary-eyed little face determined. "I understand. I shall go apologize, then!"

The woman watched her daughter's tiny form drift toward her bed chamber doors. "Sabina?"

Reaching for the crystal doorknobs, she turned back, meeting Mother's gaze. "Yes?"

"For . . . for what, precisely, are you going to apologize?"

Sabina blinked, her face and voice both matter-of-fact as she explained—in that way which suggested she was surprised Mother, of all people, had even needed to ask, "I am going to tell her how sorry I am that she has no father and has to watch me being happy. That must hurt terribly. It is a wonder she is not more awful to me!"

Mother's jaw fell open as she watched the little girl open the doors and step through. "Oh, no. My little bird, wait," she called, standing to hurry after her younger daughter before her apology had her older sister hurling things at her—or worse, trying to hurl Sabina, herself, out the nearest window.


Hermione awoke with a quiet start. Her breath trapped in her lungs, her eyes snapped open and she stared up at the canopy of the bed in the Hollyhocks Room.

Forcing herself to draw in an inhalation, she blinked a few times, processing the night-darkened shapes around her.

Her hands were trembling as she lifted them to her face, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. She could still feel the way her mother's arms shook as the woman had lifted her. There was still the texture of the strands of Mothers' hair sliding beneath her fingers. So, too, had there been the realization that her mother's lap had become narrower, and it had little to do with being a growing child.

She sat up, crossing her legs beneath the quilt and folding her arms around herself. She hadn't wanted this . . . she hadn't wanted to recall her mother, yet.

Her lower lip shivered as she sniffled. Backward. She'd wanted to remember backward, loss first, love second, so the memory of losing her wouldn't be quite so painful.

Yet now, as an adult looking back on those childhood realizations, those little notices that hadn't truly registered on her at the time, she couldn't stop herself from filling in that terrifying, gaping blank her younger self had so skillfully avoided acknowledging in that way children had—children like her had two default settings, brutally honest, and deliberately ignoring what was directly in front of them.

She'd seen the signs of her mother's illness. Hermione swallowed hard, her throat tight. She had known Mother wasn't recovering—had guessed that she would never recover. There was never any hope she would get better, no matter what potions Father brewed or how many meals her 6-year-old daughter tried to spare herself from eating to keep her body small in light of the witch's constantly waning strength

The uncomfortable warmth of tears beading in her eyes blurred her vision. She'd known her mother was dying all along. She had known, and yet, she had believed—in that childlike way she'd thought at the time—that if she ignored it, then it couldn't be true.

And she couldn't remember anymore! Not yet, not without more time for her mind to settle and let the memories slip out like . . . like droplets of water from a clogged spigot, for fuck's sake!

As she felt the tears roll down her cheeks, the full force of it hit her. Her life had been stolen from her! She'd said as much, but the weight of those words had not actually had any impact, then. But now? Now she could not remember her own mother beyond a few minutes of her life!

Because of Godric Gryffindor, her mother had been taken from her and her father's heart had turned to stone. Because of Albus Dumbledore, her recollections of Mother had been kept from her!

Before she knew it, she was sobbing. She clamped her lips shut, half-muffling a scream of frustration and rage at the sheer cold-heartedness of it all. Taking so much from a child without even caring . . . they might as well have killed her, too!

Hermione didn't realize how loud she was crying until the door to her room opened. Looking toward the entryway as she drew in a few quick, shivering breaths, she saw Thorfinn and the Malfoys there. All four of them look sleep-rumbled and bleary-eyed.

Well, they hadn't all needed to come check on her! So she was their 'princess', so what? Princesses had fits all the time! Couldn't they bloody well go back to their rooms and ignore hers?

"What's this, now?" Draco asked in an exhausted tumble of sound.

Still, try as she might to calm herself, Hermione was having trouble catching her breath. After a few shaky attempts, she managed to say, "My mother."

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a sympathetic glance as Thorfinn's shoulders drooped.

"Bollocks," he said in a rumbling breath as he shook his head.

Crossing the threshold, he made a bee-line for the bed. Settling beside her, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. As earlier that day on the sofa in the home of her Muggle guardians, she let her cheek rest against his chest.

Again, she was reminded of how warm and comfortable he was. Unfortunately, it was that comfort—that inherent sense of safety that she knew she absolutely should not feel in the arms of one had been branded with Tom Riddle's hideous Dark Mark—that renewed her sorrow by sheer contrast and she was crying again. The center of her chest was aching, like jagged shards of ice rattling about in her heart as that single slip of time she'd spent with her mother played over and over again. She was recalling everything—even the minute details she'd overlooked at the time.

The scent of the perfumed water that Mother sprinkled in her hair, the feel of the fine silk and velvet of mother's dress when the fabric brushed the backs of her bare hands. These, too, had been signs of her mother's illness taking its toll. That distant observation sparked the understanding in her adult mind that the sicker her mother become, the more extravagant her robes, the finer the scents and powders she used, so that a constant lovely aroma surrounded her.

It made Hermione's stomach clench to realize now that the perfumed cloud she associated with her mother was to cover whatever negative affect the illness was having on Mother's body chemistry. Whatever the original scent her mother's skin might've been, Hermione couldn't recall.

"How long are they going to be staying here?" Draco's voice, hushed though it was, broke through the sound of Hermione's sobbing.

Narcissa gave her son a withering look as Lucius clamped a hand on the young man's shoulder. "As long as they need."

Lucius nodded, reaching in to grab the doorknob with his free hand. "Perhaps we should leave them be."

By the time Thorfinn looked up, Malfoys had vanished from sight, and the door was closed. He sighed, his shoulders slumping all over again. Hermione's shuddering cries had settled down into slight shivering.

He knew who was responsible for this mess. If she'd been permitted for her charm to break on its own, as his had, she'd not be going through this sort of agony now. Not in this weird, disjointed way that could not possibly be good for her.

"Dumbledore's lucky he's already dead," he said in a lethal whisper.

Her eyes drifted closed and stayed closed as she heard the echo of her mother's voice in her head. I am certain you will be quite capable of protecting yourself, still it is nice to have someone willing to do whatever they must to keep you safe. Thorfinn Rowle's palpable anger with the deceased elder wizard was comforting under the circumstances. She knew her emotions did not require validation, but that was how his show of wrath made her feel, none the less—validated in her anger.

When she offered no response, he listened. Her breathing had calmed and that slight shivering and settled further still, only the occasion faint tremor wracking her.

Frowning, he tipped his head to peer into her face. Bloody hell. His entire frame sagged beneath her. Of course she'd fallen asleep on him.

Testing just how deeply she'd dozed off so fast, he said, "Sabina?"

She didn't even flinch. The witch in his arms was out cold.

Not wanting to disturb her—he wasn't sure anyone ever needed rest more—he turned minutely. Glancing about the bed, he dragged the pillows toward him and stuffed them between himself and the headboard.

Stretching out his legs, he leaned back just a bit into the cushioning he'd propped behind him. He wasn't going anywhere until she woke up, he might as well at least get some sleep, too.


"Please," Mother was saying, her voice thin and reedy. "You have to find her. I do not know how long—"

"Do not fear, My Lady." The figure in his fineries bowed deeply. "If there is anyone who can, it is me."

Sabina shook her head, watching the interaction from the corridor. Father was in his alchemy laboratory again, as he spent most days now, Thorfinn was off doing . . . whatever it was useless barbarian boys did with their free time, and she had not seen her sister in days. When mother had shooed her from the room to welcome a visitor, the girl could not help that her curiosity would not let her go far. It was highly inappropriate for a woman of her standing to have an audience with a man who was not her husband in her bed chamber! Sabina could only surmise the bizarre circumstance was tied to her sister's strange absence.

Then again, Mother had not left her bed since sometime week before last. Perhaps she could not tend this matter any place but where she was.

"Hurry, sir," Mother urged him.

He nodded and spun on his heel. Sabina ducked into a shadow as the man—notably too glutted on his own sense of importance to seem appealing to a woman of any true taste, she thought—walked to the doors and stepped from the room. Sabina turned her head, her attention following the wizard in the silvery robes. She supposed there must be some noble-blooded witch out there would who would think him . . . suitable.

More than just his appearance, Sabina didn't like him. There was something unsettling about him; she thought his syrupy demeanor fake. He was putting on airs, that was certain, but what flaws in his personality he was covering, she did not want to guess at.

"Come here, my little bird."

Sabina gave a start and looked toward the doors.

Wincing, she crept closer, poking her head into the room. "How did you know?"

Mother smirked, her wild locks pulled back from her face in a thick braid. The blackness of her hair pulled so tight against her scalp emphasized the colorless pallor of her skin. She patted the bed beside her with a thin hand. "Because you are my daughter as much as you are your father's."

Sabina did as her mother bid her, crossing the floor and climbing up to sit in a delicate maneuver. She'd learned to move gently around Mother.

"Who was that man?"

"He is . . . he is someone I believe is the best suited to do something very important for me."

"This is to do with Helena."

Mother's drawn features creased in a frown. "Yes. I do not know how long . . . ." She let her voice trail off, observing her daughter's face. Sabina sensed that Mother was correcting whatever she meant to say, but she let it be. Whenever her mother did that, it was a means to protect her, she knew. "I do not know how long it might take another to find her. He knows her well, so I must believe that if anyone can locate her in time . . . in a timely fashion, it will be the Baron."

Sabina gave a frown of her own, then. "She is mean to me." She shifted about where she sat, snuggling gingerly against mother's side. "She pulls my hair, and she broke my favorite doll. She never, ever wants to play with me!"

Mother's arms felt impossibly thin as they circled Sabina's shoulders, hugging the girl with as much strength as she could manage.

"Is it odd that I miss her?"

A quiet laugh shook her mother's shoulders. "Oh, no. It is something in the magic of family—of brothers and sisters. One moment, you want to throw them off the nearest battlement, the next you are laughing and sharing a joke. No one knows quite why."

Sabina leaned over in Mother's embrace a bit, tipping her head back to look up at her. "That man will really find her?"

She met her daughter's gaze. "Yes, I believe he will. Though Lord knows, she might never forgive me for entrusting this task to him."

"Sabina?"

The girl looked to the door at the sound of Father speaking her name.

He strolled into the room, his hands clasped before him. "You are supposed to be letting your mother rest, my darling. Go visit with your pet for a bit, hmm?"

"Father, you know perfectly well he will not be awake, yet."

Salazar pursed his lips, his green eyes narrowing just a little.

Sabina didn't need to be told twice. She could recognize when they were in need of privacy.

"All right, I shall simply go and . . . watch him sleep." She turned and straightened up just enough to kiss Mother's cheek before she slid off the bed.

Father patted her head as she passed him. Once out in the corridor, however, she could not help but disobey, yet again. She slipped behind the door and pivoted to face into the room.

He smiled at Mother, in spite of the watery sheen in his eyes. He settled beside her, clasping one of her hands between both of his. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I think. I believe I may even be up to a larger meal than soup for dinner tonight."

Father laughed sadly and shook his head. "You are a terrible liar, my love."

"How is the medicine coming?"

"I actually convinced Godric to help me. It is the least he can do after what his actions have wrought." He nodded, shrugging. "I believe we may have a breakthrough any day now and you will be good as new."

A fragile grin played on Mother's lips. "You are a good liar, but you are still a liar."

He let out a sound Sabina had never heard before. A shuddering breath, as though he was holding back tears. The girl wasn't sure if look in his eyes was love or pain.

Lifting her hand in his, he pressed his forehead lightly down against it. "Please, just let me have this, Rowena. Let me believe I can save you."


Hermione could already feel the fresh tears in the corners of her eyes as she opened them. She forced a gulp down her throat. Shifting to look up, she saw Thorfinn stirring awake with the most grudging expression she'd ever seen.

Okay, so sleep was important to Vikings. Noted.

Blinking hard a few times, he managed to focus on her face. He heaved a waited sigh, lifting one of his arms from around her to swipe his fingertips beneath her damp eyes.

"What was it this time?" he asked, his voice no more than a low rumble of sound in the quiet of the room.

She opened her mouth to speak, but had to close it, draw in a deep breath and exhale slow before she could try again. "My mother was Rowena Ravenclaw."

His brows pinched together and he nodded. "Oh."

"Oh?" she echoed, shock evident in her voice.

Her shrugged, wincing. "I thought you already knew. The last time you woke up from remembering something, your exact words were 'my mother.'"

Hermione shook her head, unsure how to feel about this particular revelation. When Narcissa Malfoy had said she was the closest thing their corner of the world had to a princess, she had not expected this.

She let herself relax, laying back down against him and dropping her cheek to his chest.

"Oh, are we going back to sleep?"

"For now. But in the morning, after breakfast, I'll be leaving for a bit."

He nodded, his chin nudging the top of her head a bit. "Am I accompanying you."

"Not this time. I'm going somewhere you can't risk being seen."

As he'd done earlier, Thorfinn tilted his head to one side to look into her face. "What if I . . . looked like little Malfoy? Just for a few hours."

"Polyjuice potion?"

Her Viking shrugged. "The Malfoys probably have some already prepared somewhere, just waiting for that lock of hair. Any clever pure-blood family would. Given our circumstances, I'd really prefer you not travel alone, and I'm not sure I trust the real little Malfoy to be much use to you."

"Draco is actually quite the skilled wizard."

Thorfinn arched a brow so sharply at her that Hermione could not help but burst out laughing at the expression.

"Don't be jealous. I can appreciate someone's magical talent without having the comment be anything more than that."

His blue eyes narrowed and he uttered a hmph under his breath. "Anyway, where's this little field trip to?"

She tried not to grin. This time, she was completely unsuccessful in ignoring her feelings; she couldn't pretend not to notice the way her heart warmed a little when he didn't deny feeling jealous over her praising Draco.

"Hogwarts," she explained with a nod. "Before I go through the Malfoy's archives, I want to speak to my sister."