"Dying is a Delicate Moment"
A fanfic by Agara
"Kill me. Kill me if you ever loved me."
And he kills her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE : WHEN THE WORLD WAS AT WAR WE KEPT DANCING
Song: When the world was at war we kept dancing by Lana Del Rey
24.12.1944:
It must have been her third cigarette since she arrived. Hermione had not moved, she was standing straight, staring at the houses right in front of her eyes. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her legs were slightly shaking. If she had not cast a warming charm on herself she would have been freezing, yet she couldn't feel a thing.
It was a strange feeling. She was feeling almost numbed, yet adrenaline was pulsing through her veins.
She knew this place by heart. She recognised the three stories buildings, the grey bricks, the white stones near the front doors, the small balconies on the first floor, and the concrete stairs leading to the entrances.
She also recognised the small park behind her, the one that was so typically London. She had walked by it when she had arrived, leaving her footstep in the white pristine snow that had just fallen a few hours prior.
It was calm around her. There was no sound, no one walking in the street. It was only her and the ghosts of her memories. She took the last drag of her cigarette before throwing the butt on the floor and stepping on it with her heel. Directly, she lit another one. She secured her cloak thigh around her shoulders and simply kept staring straight ahead.
Where the fuck is he?
Hermione looked at her watch. It was thin, in silver and diamond encrusted around the strap. They were already late. Well, she had been on time. Tom had not.
Finally, the silence broke when Hermione heard hurried steps coming from behind. She didn't turn around, she waited patiently for him to arrive at her level.
"Finally," she said when Tom had arrived next to her. He didn't reply, he simply stole her cigarette from her mouth and put it between his lips.
Hermione finally turned her head to look at him. He was inspecting the houses in front of them, his eyes were roaming around, as if he was trying to solve a mystery.
"I was not expecting a muggle neighbourhood," Tom said.
"What were you expecting ?" she huffed.
"Not this."
Hermione knew exactly what he was thinking, she had thought the same at the time. They stayed in silence the time they finished the cigarette. Then, Tom put one of his hands inside his coat and took out a black envelope, with a small silver seal.
"They said to put the invitation in the number 12's letterbox," Tom explained.
He let out a small silence before resuming.
"There's no number 12".
"Not yet," she replied cheekily.
Hermione snatched the envelope from his hands and crossed the street to arrive in front of house number 11. Here, in front of her eyes was the corresponding letter box. Hermione turned her head to the right and saw the exact same thing in front of the number 13's house. But in the middle, standing out, was a dark mailbox, with a small engraved "12" on it. She turned around, a small smile on her lips and looked at Tom. Without taking her eyes away from him, she slipped the envelope into the slit. She was expecting the house to appear, yet nothing happened. Tom took a few steps and arrived next to her. He delicately put his hand on the carrier signal flag and pulled it up.
There, a sound, the bricks moving. Instinctively, they both took a couple of steps back and witnessed, almost mesmerised as 12 Grimmauld Place appeared in front of their eyes.
Tom approached the front steps and after taking two, he turned towards her and extended his left hand.
"Shall we ?" He smirked.
Slowly, she put her hands in his and they both entered the premises.
As soon as she stepped foot inside, the music came crashing in her ears, the loud laughs and conversations. It was lively, it was festive. It was, indeed, a Christmas party.
Tom let go of her hand and Hermione looked at him, a wondering look in her eyes. He simply smiled at her and gently untied her cloak knot, the one around her neck. Then, he hooked his fingers to the cloak and slowly took it off. She could feel his eyes on her bare back, on the satin of her green dress. With a soft caress, Hermione felt the light touch of his fingers on her skin.
She felt shivers going down her spine as she felt Tom's lips near her ear, the soft exhale of air and finally the silkiness of his voice.
"You, wearing this dress, should not be legal."
Hermione slightly bowed her head, trying to hide the pink heat on her cheeks.
"Where were you?" They heard from the end of the corridor. They both looked ahead and saw Thorus Nott, making his way through the crowd to reach them. "We've been waiting for you! Come on!"
Without a second of hesitation, Tom grabbed her hand and followed Thorus to reach the group of lads, gathered at the junction between the corridor and the large dining hall. Hermione was speechless, her eyes couldn't focus on one thing, there was so much happening around. Anyone could mistake her astonishment for amazement, yet they couldn't be farther from the truth. Hermione was simply taken aback by the contrast between this house and the one she remembered from 1995.
She remembered it gloomy, cobwebby, dark. She remembered the heavy atmosphere, the fear that always surrounded her in the house. Yet, at this moment, with the music, the chatter, the large chandelier above her head illuminating the hallway, it was so different. It was rich, it was lively.
Hermione was brought back from her thoughts when Edmund Rosier handed her a glass of champagne.
"Isn't Dolohov with you?" Tom asked the lads.
"He is making his mandatory rounds with his new wife," Abraxas replied while taking a small canapé from a tray.
"You won't be able to miss him, just look for the most miserable man in the room, and that'll be him," Edgard snickered.
This brought a laugh from their little assembly. Hermione looked around her, and recognised Milton coming their way.
"Where were you?" The small boy asked.
"Grace was taking too much time to fully prepare herself," Tom instinctively lied.
Hermione frowned at that, intrigued as to why he had felt the need to lie. This only rose more questions in her mind regarding why he was late. Was he doing something important?
"From what I can see, it was definitely worth it," Rosier complimented her. Hermione smiled at that.
"Shouldn't we head to the ballroom?" She suggested.
Hermione let the lads go first and slowly followed behind. She entered the large room and, once again, felt enthralled by the splendour of the place. The room was huge, with pristing wooden floors, large windows along the walls going almost all the way to the high ceiling. At the end of the room was a large fireplace, where the band was gathered. The middle of the room already welcomed couples dancing, while on the sides were people gathered, a drink in hand and captivated by their conversations. It was not static, it was so lively, people were moving around the room, catching people to talk to them, and others leaving the room to continue their conversations elsewhere.
This party was so different from the others she had been to. It was not uptight, it was not just small talk and shy laughs. It was festive, animated, and buoyant.
"Quite the sight, isn't it?" Tom whispered in her ears. She turned her head to look at him. If, a couple seconds before, she was sure he was talking about the room and the atmosphere, the way he was looking at her made her doubt.
They didn't even have the time to take another sip of their champagne, when they heard the discernable laugh of their potions' professor approaching. The latter wasn't alone. By his side, and to Hermione's surprise was Nicolas Flamel, in a dark suit. The two men arrived at their level and greeted them.
"How dashing you all look," Slughorn complimented their group. "It is always a pleasure to see you all outside of the castle."
The professor began a long rant about this party, the Black's house, the numerous times he had been invited here. Hermione couldn't care less, she couldn't take her eyes away from Nicolas Flamel. She hadn't had the chance to see him again since their peculiar encounter in her fifth year. Of course, they had an ongoing epistolary relationship. But seeing him here brought her a sense of comfort. He was, too, looking at her and it was warm. She almost felt choked up by the emotions.
"Bonsoir," Nicolas Flamel said. It was for her, for her only.
"Bonsoir", she shyly replied. At this instant, she couldn't care less that they were talking french and that most of the people around couldn't understand what they were saying. "Comment allez-vous?" she kept going.
"Très bien, ma chère Grace," Nicolas smiled. "C'est un plaisir de te voir."
She felt Tom slightly tensing next to her, he didn't like the fact that he couldn't understand what they were saying, even though their conversation had no real interest and simply consisted of banalities. They stopped there. They didn't need to go further into a conversation. For now.
"Good evening gentlemen," Hermione recognised Pax's voice. He had just arrived in their circle, in a well-fitted dark green suit. His eyes finally met hers, and he slightly bowed her head "Grace," he added. He looked at her up and down, before adding, a cheeky smile on his lips, "I can see we are matching, people could think we are together."
He then winked at Tom and flashed his beautiful smile to the entire assembly. Pax had this natural charm, this easiness when it came to words.
"Mister Zabini!" Slughorn greeted him.
"Mister Slughorn," the boy replied. Hermione almost chuckled. He knew what he was doing, not calling him professor. Slughorn had been the one leading to Pax's expulsion, the one who did not believe the boy when he pleaded for his innocence. And this must still feel like a betrayal for Zabini. However, this small gesture did rub the large potion master the wrong way, as he pursed his already non-existent lips. "Apologies gentlemen," he addressed to Slughorn and Flamel, "I must steal those boys from you. I have some men I need to introduce them to."
With a polite smile, the two older men left and Pax led their group to the left of the room, near one of the large windows. Hermione could see four men, talking over what seemed to be firewhiskey. She knew they were from the ministry, from the way they stood and most importantly from the small pin they all had on their tuxedos. Just before joining them, Pax stopped in his tracks and looked at her.
"The girls are over there, Grace," he casually said to her, pointing to the wives, gathered near a bar. Hermione was dumbfounded, first by the audacity of the boy and secondly by the way he had said it naturally.
Hermione wasn't the only one surprised. The lads, Tom, all were staring at Pax. But if anyone really thought about this, his reaction was not that surprising. Pax was a part of the cause, but not like they were. It wasn't taking part in the meetings, he hadn't seen everything she had done, everything she had said, everything she had planned. For him, Grace solely was Tom's date, someone who did help sometimes but at the same level as the wives.
"Pax, Grace should stay w-" Edmund started but Hermione cut him short.
"No, no," she dishonestly laughed, "enjoy your time lads." She wanted to leave, but felt Tom's hand tightening his grip on hers. She shot him one last glance and went away.
As soon as she arrived at the wives' level, Hermione felt quite good. Galbanda, Galatis welcomed her with warm smiles.
"You look absolutely stunning," Galbanda said as she kissed both of her cheeks. "I would have never dared wearing something like this, I absolutely love it on you."
"It's the French in her," Galatis laughed.
The two girls were looking good. Galbanda Greengrass was wearing a light pink gown, with a sweetheart neckline. It was flowy and fell well on her frame. Around her shoulders was draped a see-through shawl. Galatis Carrow, standing right next to her, in a blue long cold shoulder dress. The latter handed her champagne and the three girls clinked their glasses together.
Hermione looked around her, briefly watched the lads from afar, then came back to the girls.
"Hasn't Belone arrived yet?" She asked.
"Yes, she's here. I don't know where she went though," Galatis shrugged and took a sip of her drink. Then, as if she had a huge revelation, she let out a gasp and put her hand on Hermione's arm. "Elias Bulstrode is here with her! I believe their betrothal is official now."
Hermione realised that this news was quite a shock for the girls, as they had not known before who Belone was engaged to.
"You knew," Galbanda told her.
"Me? No!" Hermione lied.
"Come on, don't bullshit me."
Hermione simply smirked. The girls went back to a mundane conversation and Hermione took this opportunity to eat from the passing trays. She always kept one eye on how the lads were doing with the ministry officials on the other side of the room. Then, Tom's eyes met hers.
"Look, look!" She heard Galbanda's excited voice. Hermione's head snapped back to the girls, a puzzle looked upon her face.
"What?" She asked.
"Oh, you've just missed her."
"Who are you talking about?"
"Margaret Rookwood," Galatis explained, "wait, shall I say Margaret Dolohov now?"
Hermione spun on her heels, trying to catch a glimpse of the poor woman who had just married Antonin.
"I would be so embarrassed to show my face here," Galatis continued in a hushed voice, "after what she's done…"
"Her embarrassed? What about Dolohov? Being married to her?" Galbanda added.
"I don't even understand why he did that, she sure does have money, but so does he. He could have done so much better."
"Has one of you talked to the girl yet?" Hermione asked.
The two girls shared a secret smile, and Galatis took a step closer. "I did," she whispered, "let me tell you she is not the most interesting person in the room."
Galbanda laughed at that.
Suddenly, out of nowhere Walburga Black stumbled near them, snatched Hermione's champagne out of her hands and downed it in one go. She looked distressed, even though she was stunning. Her hair was tightly pushed back letting the eyes directly fall on her over-the-top diamond necklace. Walburga was wearing a golden wrap-dress, so fitting it almost looked like it had been molded from her body directly.
"I'm already tired of this party," Walburga exhaled. "It was way easier when I wasn't the one being put under the spotlight. This party feels like I'm being tested by my own family. Like if they are testing my abilities to be a good hostess."
"Well," Galbanda said, "you'll be the hostess of the next parties."
"Shut up," Walburga almost barked, taking another glass of champagne in her hands. "Orion is of no help, as anyone could imagine."
Hermione could see Orion, in the same circle as Tom was, both laughing out loud as something a ministry official had just said. They looked like they were having a good time. Hermione's eyes couldn't help but settle on Tom and look him up and down. She couldn't deny it, he looked more than good. Tom had always looked good in a tuxedo. From where she was standing, she couldn't see his scar but she knew it so well, she had traced it so many times with her own fingers that she could just imagine it. At this moment it must be slightly crinkled underneath the large smile Tom bore. She could imagine the sparkle in his eyes, the one he always had when he thought someone had said something clever. Hermione's eyes then fell on his right hand. He was absently passing his fingers above his middle finger, like he did when he was wearing his ring. Force of habit.
Hermione then realised that the girls were still in the middle of a conversation, one she had no interest in participating in. She cleared her throat to catch Walburga's attention and asked her, as if she didn't know, where the closest bathroom was.
"You should go to the ones upstairs, there should be less people."
With this information, Hermione spun on her heel and left the ballroom. She arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Hermione froze. She looked at the wall and saw it bare from the elve's heads she had seen for years. It was weird because Sirius had once told her it had been a tradition for decades. She briefly wondered if the Blacks had taken them down just for the party.
The staircase was far from empty, people were going up and down, others were chatting by the railing. Hermione zig-zagged through the crowd and finally reached the first floor, almost as packed as the ground floor was. Slowly, she entered the drawing room she knew was on the right. There were a few people seated on the large couches and others talking by the window overlooking the street in front of the house, but as soon as she entered she felt like being alone.
She recognised this room. She had slept here, with Harry and Ron when they were hiding from the ministry. She approached the piano and let her fingers flow silently over on the keys. She could almost see Ron and herself, flirting over his atrocious musical skills. She remembered how difficult everything seemed at the time, yet now, it felt like it was a simpler time.
Hermione then looked to the right and was welcomed by the large and infamous Black tapestry covering the entire wall. She slowly approached. It was in pristine condition yet he was lacking some of the most important elements. Her eyes directly fell on Orion's and Walburga's faces, expecting Sirius' blasted spot underneath. Instinctively, her fingers went to the tapestry and traced the empty spot, feeling the sadness overwhelm her. She dropped her hand and let out a large exhale. She stared, in silence, at the tapestry, letting the music slowly fade away.
Yes, she recognised the room yet it was, once again, so different.
Hermione didn't know how much time she spent in this room, lost in her memories. Oddly, she felt calm here.
Finally, she took one last look around and left the room. She moved through some small crowds and reached for the stairs leading to the second floor. She climbed up slowly, taking her time. As she arrived almost at the top of the stairs, she recognized the creaking step and went over it.
Unlike the ground and first floor, the second floor was empty. She took the time to look around, to lose herself in the long corridors leading to small antichambers.
At the end of one, she recognised a handle. It was in silver with a snake engraved on it. Slowly, she put her hand on it and opened the door.
This was the room Harry and Ron slept in but it was nothing like she remembered. Where she was expecting twin beds stood a large queen size bed. The wardrobe was also missing and replaced by an imposing wooden desk. The only thing that remains was Phineas Black's painting, hanging above the chimney.
"You again?" The painting spoke up, making Hermione startle. She stared at the painting.
Fuck.
The last time they had seen each other had only been three days prior, in Dippet's office, when Tom and herself used the pensieve.
OoOoOo
21.12.1944:
"Who won the British-Irish Quidditch League this month ?" Hermione asked.
"What ?"
"Who won the British-Irish Quidditch League this month ?" She asked again.
"We do not have time for this, Grace."
"Just answer the question, Tom. Who won the British-Irish Quidditch League this month ?"
"Tutshill Tornados," he replied without even thinking.
They heard the loud noise coming from the griffin. Slowly, they turned their heads to the right and saw the entrance to Dippet's office. Without even waiting for him, Hermione climbed up the stairs and reached the office. Tom arrived at her side and, with a flick of his wand, put every painting to sleep.
She still had no idea what Tom was on about, he directly went to the left side of the office and without a second of hesitation, he took out the pensieve. Hermione was about to ask him how he knew it was there but he cut her short by pouring some memories into the artefact.
"We only watched Septimus' memories because we only needed to see what happened during the trial," Tom explained at an impressive speed, "but Pax gave us more. I need to see, we need to see what happened from another perspective. I need you to look at Dumbledore."
Hermione knew not to ask more questions. She silently watched Tom as he poured the content of a phial into the pensieve. She slowly got closer and watched, mesmerised, the grey mist. They shared a small look and both plunged their heads into the pensieve.
The first memory they looked at gave them no further information but she, too, realised that something about Dumbledore was off. During the entire memory, he was looking at someone, not even listening to one of the most important trials ever happening in wizarding history.
In the second memory, they saw who Dumbledore was looking at and that was off too.
"Who is he?" Hermione asked as soon as she got back from the pensieve. Tom's eyes were stuck on the grey mist, as if he was trying to find the answer to her question.
"That is the thing," Tom said frantically, "he is no one." He put his hands in his hair, trying to make sense of everything he had just seen. "He is just a journalist for a small local newspaper," he continued, "I asked Abraxas for the list of journalists and he does not stand out. So why is Dumbledore looking at him during the entire trial? And why is he looking back?"
Tom took another vial out of his pocket and poured it into the pensieve. They jumped into the memories, and went over the trial. Again. Yet, this time it didn't stop at that. They were in Rosier Senior memories and the latter left the room. They found themselves in the corridors, where people were chatting, gossiping over what had just happened. It looked dull, useless until Tom seized her arm. She looked at him and saw him staring at the end of one corridor where two people were gathered. He dragged her to where they were and they finally witnessed what they were expecting.
Dumbledore was talking, in a hushed voice, with the said journalist.
"You thought I would not recognise you," Albus said.
"No one else did, afterall, why would I be here? Wouldn't this be the last place people expect me to be at?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Keeping up with politics," the journalist impudently replied, "just like you are."
"Quit playing innocent," Albus spat. He briefly looked around to make sure no one was there. "I could have you arrested. I should have you arrested."
"Why don't you then? We're in a place full of Aurors. Go. Do it."
Hermione couldn't fathom what was happening in front of them. She had rarely seen Albus Dumbledore in this state, he looked distraught. She briefly looked at Tom by her side and saw the frown he had between his eyebrows. He, too, looked lost.
"Do you know why you won't do it?" the journalist asked. "You know that if I get arrested, you should be arrested too." This sentence made Tom even more alert than he already was.
"It wasn't only my idea," the journalist continued, "we shared a vision, Albus. You helped create the movement which put me where I am now."
There was no doubt for Hermione who was standing in front of the transfiguration professor. She had heard a similar conversation back in her fifth year, between the two same men. She was about to talk to Tom when the journalist kept going.
"And if Ariana hadn't died, you'd be standing right next to me."
"Don't you dare talk about her," Albus' voice was threatening. "You have no right, after what you did to her."
"No, no, no" the journalist took a step closer, "after what you did to her. We both know it was you."
At this, Hermione's eyes widened. The first thing that came to her mind was Abe. She suddenly remembered the look he had on his face when he had talked to her about his sister. She remembered when he had told him that he could be the one that had killed her. She remembered the way his eyes filled with tears at the thought.
Abe had always bore the guilt of what happened to his younger sister, wrongfully. Thoughts were fusing in Hermione's head but she forced herself to focus back on the conversation.
"So go ahead Albus, call the Aurors. Tell them the wizard financing the Minister of Magic is here. Tell them Gellert Grindelwald is here," he laughed.
If Hermione had for a couple of minutes now known who Albus Dumbledore was talking to, Tom had just understood. He turned his head towards her, his eyes filled with realisation and shock.
"What are you really doing here, Gellert?" Albus pressed.
"Same as you, trying to find out who's behind all of this nonsense." Gellert let a small silence settle before continuing. "This, it isn't my doing, Albus. Someone's trying to frame me, to frame Tuft. There's something bigger happening."
Suddenly, Hermione felt as if someone was pulling her away from the scene. In a blink of an eye, she found herself back in Dippet's office, Tom right by her side.
"What was that?" Tom began. Hermione felt as if she couldn't focus on anything, so much had happened in so little time. On the one hand she had just witnessed the almighty Albus Dumbledore being blamed and taking the blame for the murder of his younger sister. She had just seen one of the most wanted criminals admitting to assisting in a trial he was deceitfully a part of. And finally, she had just understood that two of the most powerful wizards of their time were currently looking for them.
Hermione looked at Tom and saw him in the same state of distress as she was in. He was pacing around the room, his eyes not able to focus on anything. His lips were slightly moving, as if he was talking to himself. Finally, he spoke up.
"Gellert was there," he said. "Gellert Grindelwald was here," he repeated. "He polyjuiced himself, and he attended the trial. But how could Dumbledore recognise him? How could he have recognised him if he was polyjuiced?"
Tom began blurting out millions of questions to try to make sense of it all. Finally, he stopped. He looked at Hermione. His eyes were wide, they were insane. Slowly, a wicked smile drew on his lips.
"He is a murdered," he simply said. Hermione knew directly that he was talking about Dumbledore. "He has killed this girl, Ariana. We have the proof in this memory that he has killed someone."
Hermione wasn't sure where he wanted to go with this idea.
"We can bring him down Grace." Tom got closer to her and put both of his hands on her cheeks. "We can bring him down," he whispered in a manic way.
"What?"
"We can bring him down." Tom withdrew his hands and began laughing. "That's it."
"We're not going to use this memory against him," she firmly said.
Tom turned around and frowned. "We have him, Grace! No more problem, no more you playing the perfect girl, no more him antagonising me, nothing!"
"We're not using those memories," Hermione sharply replied. "This is not part of the plan!"
"What plan? We do not care about the plan! We have him, Grace!" Tom almost yelled.
"We have a plan and it's working! Bringing Dumbledore down is not part of it."
"Not yet, but it could be!"
Hermione didn't like where this conversation was going. This was not the time for them to deviate from their plans. It was not the time to go wild. She rushed to the pensieve and quickly retrieved the memories in the phial.
"Give it to me," he ordered. She didn't reply, she didn't move. "Give me the memories," he said, louder. Hermione almost recoiled at his tone. It was cold, it was something she was no more used to.
"What are you doing here?" They heard the loud voice of Phinneas Black who had just appeared in his painting and they were both startled at the sound. They turned around and saw the painting looking at them. Phineas Black must have gone to his twin painting when Tom cast the charm earlier. "I'm gonna call Headmaster Dippet and Rusard."
Without hesitating, they both ran out of the office. They both knew they didn't have a lot of time before people would arrive, looking for them.
"We are not done with this conversation," Tom said.
Hermione was about to reply, when she heard steps coming down their way. She took one last look at Tom and fled, memories in hands.
She knew they would have to talk about it but for the moment the only relief she had was knowing that she wouldn't be seeing him until Christmas.
OoOoOo
21.12.1944:
Hermione had finally arrived in front of the bar. She didn't enter right away, she stood still in front of the wooden door.
Finally, everything she had just witnessed downed on her. She began to shake, almost uncontrollably. She retrieved the small phial from her pocket and stared at it in the middle of her hand. The latter almost fell to the ground due to her shakiness. Hermione took a large exhale and entered the bar.
It was empty and Abe was already closing up.
"Hermione? Are you alright? What are you doing here?"
Hermione slowly approached and put the phial down on the bar, without a word. Abe frowned and joined her.
"What is it?" He asked her.
"This is for you," she said.
Hermione finally looked at him, tears glistening in her eyes. She could see from Abe's expression that he was almost worried about what was happening.
"You've helped me," she continued, "you've always been there. This is a small payback. This is something that I hope will free you."
Abe was reluctant to take it, he didn't move, he didn't say anything. Hermione gently took his hand, opened his palm and placed the phial in the middle of it. The moment the vial was given to Abe, Hermione felt a sharp pain in her left forearm, as if something was piercing through her skin.
Well, you wanted to know if the vow worked. Now you have an answer.
OoOoOo
24.12.1944:
Hermione spun on her heels for her back to face the painting. She stayed petrified for a couple seconds before fleeing out of the room and rushing towards the bathroom that was just on the other side of the stairs. She shut the door behind her and put her back on it. She stayed there in silence.
How could she have forgotten that Phineas Black twin painting was in this room?
She pushed herself from the door and approached the mirror that was above the sink. She looked at herself, at the low bun tightening her hair together, at the thin eyeliner just above her eyes. Then, her eyes fell on her left arm, gripping at the sink, at her charmed forearm where the scar was indiscernible. Everytime she thought about what had happened that night, about the memories she had given to Abe, her arm began tingling.
Was it a warning?
A warning that you were about to cross the line and break the vow?
At this moment she wondered what vow she had almost broken: had she almost betrayed the cause or had she used the cause for her sole advantage? Maybe both.
Someone going up the stairs and stepping on the creaking step made her startle. Hermione waited a bit before silently exiting the room and began descending the stairs. When she arrived almost at the bottom of the stairs, Hermione looked up one last time. There, on the second floor, she saw a flash of a red dress entering the room she had just been in.
Hermione went to take the last few steps guiding her to the hallway when she collided with someone.
"Oh my apologies," she said. She rose her head and saw an old man. He had kind eyes, surrounded by soft wrinkles.
"No worries darling," he chuckled.
She thought this conversation would stop here, but apparently the old man had other plans. He began talking endlessly about the party, the people he met. Hermione didn't know what to do. She couldn't just leave but she didn't want to encourage further in continuing the conversation. In the end, she just ended up smiling.
But then, without even understanding how she ended up, she found herself dancing with this old man in the middle of the ballroom. She desperately tried to catch Tom's eyes, who was currently talking with Goyle Senior right next to the french doors leading to the outside. He seemed to be quite enthralled in the conversation as he, not once, looked back at her.
"Excuse-me sir," she heard. She turned her head to the left and saw Abraxas, a bright smile on his lips. "Would you mind if I took over?" The old man kissed her hand and finally let go of her.
"Thank you," she sincerely said.
"I almost didn't intervene. You looked quite comfy together," Abraxas mocked.
They began dancing. There was no doubt Abraxas came from an old pureblood family from the way he was dancing. It was perfect, not a step out of line, not out of beat.
"Shouldn't you be dancing with Galbanda?" Hermione asked him.
"Shouldn't you be dancing with Tom?"
She scoffed.
"He looks way too busy in his conversation to even care," she replied, feigning indifference.
"Is that really what you think?" Abraxas cocked an eyebrow, "why has been asking every lad where you were for the last twenty minutes then?"
Hermione only rolled her eyes and let Abraxas guide her through to the end of the dance.
"Care for a smoke?" She asked him.
"Lead the way."
She crossed the room to reach the french doors. There was a porch in dark grey stone, illuminated by dozens of candles. Then, there were small steps leading to a large garden, where tables were arranged. Few guests were seated but most of the people were standing, chatting or even dancing outside.
Hermione brought a cigarette to her lips and used one of the candles to light it up.
"Look," Abraxas lightly nudged her in the ribs. Hermione followed his gaze and it fell on Antonin Dolohov and who Hermione presumed to be his wife, talking to a group of people inside the ballroom.
"I can't believe he's married," Malfoy said. "First of us."
"He looks miserable," Hermione added. He did, he did look awful in his suit, fake-smiling to everyone, avoiding his wife's eyes.
"He is miserable."
Hermione turned herself towards Abraxas completely. She took a long drag of her cigarette.
"Will you?" She asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Will you be miserable with Galbanda?"
Abaraxas seemed a bit taken aback by the question. He stayed quiet for a few seconds, as if he was really thinking about the question she had asked. He leaned against the guardrail and brought his right hand, the one holding his cigarette next to his lips. He let one of his fingers gently graze over his bottom lip.
"Galbanda and I are different," he said. He wasn't looking at her. "We've always known we'd get married when we turn 19, that it would be at the Malfoy manor and that we ought to have at least one boy." He took a drag of his cigarette before continuing. "And I'm fine with it. I don't love her, but she's my friend. She knows everything about me, she is funny sometimes, she's good-looking, she's clever and she comes from a good family. So no, I don't think I'll be miserable."
Finally Abraxas met her gaze. "Unless one day I fall in love."
This was the bitter truth. They looked at each other for a minute before Abraxas scoffed and pointed one more time at Dolohov. "At least I'll never look like him," he mocked. Hermione barked out a laugh and settled next to him on the guardrail. It was at this moment that Antonin looked in their direction and that Abraxas began a series of obscene gestures to unsettle the boy, in the middle of an important conversation with Dippet.
24.12.1944:
Tom found himself in the middle of a conversation about upcoming legislation on vaults. It was not that boring but it could have been more interesting for sure. However, Tom didn't leave this conversation because no other than Rowles Senior, was leading this topic.
It had been hard to bring back the Rowles into their ranks. Afterall, their youngest daughter couldn't marry Cassandre Parkinson anymore, due to the fact that he was now the heir and betrothed to a Selwyn. They felt betrayed. They needed a new incentive to work alongside them. That is why, while they discussed who they could put instead of Tuft after they made her fall, the Rowles came naturally into Tom's mind.
Tom really forced himself to participate in this conversation but he couldn't help but let his eyes wander around the room. He hadn't seen her for a while now and no lads had either.
At one point, the conversation came to an end, and after sharing a few words with Rowle himself, Tom left. He grabbed a glass of champagne and began walking around the room, looking for her. Suddenly, he heard her, this recognizable laugh. He turned his head to the right, to the french door leading to the outside.
Here she was, leaning against the guardrail, laughing and talking to someone that was out of Tom's sight. Tom stopped and looked at her for a minute.
She was wearing a long emerald green silk dress, with thin straps on her shoulders. It delicately fell on her frame as if she has always been meant to wear this dress on this day. Tom's eyes gradually descended onto her hips, perfectly molded in this dress. If she was a delight like that, Tom couldn't take the image of her back out of his mind. The silk dress was open back. When he had taken the cloak off her shoulders, Tom hadn't been able to stop himself from gently grazing his finger down her back. He had been delighted by the small goose bumps that drew on her bare skin at the simple touch.
She was still laughing and Tom wondered who she was with. He knew for a fact that the girls were inside, he had seen them a few minutes prior. She looked beautiful when she laughed, there was no doubt about this. However, it didn't sit right with Tom that he wasn't here to share that with her. He finished his champagne, put it down on a tray and walked towards her.
He could directly feel the difference in temperature when he stepped a first foot outside. Without thinking about it, he removed his jacket from his shoulder, ready to drape it on hers. He was ready to join in the conversation, wearing his best fake smile when he realised that she was simply chatting with Abraxas.
Grace looked at him with an amused look. Without taking his eyes away from her, he spoke up. "Don't you have people to talk to, Abraxas?" At the same time, he finally draped his jacket around her shoulders and casually slipped one of his arms around her waist.
The blond pushed himself away from the guardrail and silently left. Finally, they were alone. They hadn't had the chance to find themselves alone since the beginning of the night. Actually, when Tom thought about it, they hadn't spent any time at all together tonight.
"How is your night going?" He asked her as he lit the cigarette she had on her lips.
It was really the first time they were alone since the night in Dippet's office. The next morning Grave had left for the winter holidays and they didn't have the chance to talk about it.
"Nice so far," Grace replied, "I talked with the girls, mainly about dresses and we gossiped a bit. I walked around the house."
They were looking at each other and Tom briefly wondered if she was thinking about the same thing as he was. Even though they needed to talk about those memories, he believed they both knew it wasn't the time for it.
"Oh," Grace added, as if she was trying to get the conversation back on track, "I found a new suitor," she raised with a cheeky smile, at the same time as she pointed to a very old man near the bar.
Tom decided he would play along with that. Yes, he would keep his desire to broach the subject for another time and indulge in a normal conversation for once.
"Oh, did you now?" He laughed. "Did you get the chance to talk about dresses with him, too?" He mocked.
At this, she softly hit him on the arm, a small laugh escaping her lips at the same time. Tom smiled at that and slowly withdrew his arm from her hips to settle right in front of her.
"So what if I did?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Then I shall be jealous, right?"
"I guess I shouldn't tell you that we danced then."
They were so close to each other, he could feel her breath on his throat, he could see the sparkles in her eyes, he could smell her delicate perfume. His eyes quickly fell onto her lips. They looked delightful from here and Tom refrained the urge to catch them with his.
He slowly came closer to her, his lips just above hers but then turned his head to whisper in her right ear. "Dance with me."
Tom took her by the hand and led her inside the room. He quickly retrieved his jacket from her shoulders and extended a hand. The soft music started playing and they were joined by other couples in the centre of the ballroom.
Tom put his left arm around her hips and she draped her arm around his shoulder. It began slowly, they followed the music, letting their bodies move in sync. She was looking directly into his eyes and this made Tom think about the last Christmas party they attended.
She had not wanted to look into his eyes back then. He remembered the tension between the two, the fights, the formality almost. This was so different. It was so much more. It was the hammering beat of their hearts in harmony with the string quartet playing. It was their shared breath, escaping from their matching small smiles. It was the look they shared, it was the touches they felt. It was Tom instinctively pulling her closer to him. It was Grace, unconsciously tightening the grip on his shoulder, as if she never wanted to let go of him.
This party had been so loud, there had always been chatter, laughter in every room Tom had been in. But at this moment, while he danced with her, all of that disappeared. There was no sound other than the music. There was no one around other than the two of them. And it was enough.
Slowly the music came to a stop as they did. By taking her hand, Tom led her to the right side of the room, where a large table with canapés and drinks was placed. As soon as they arrived, they didn't even have the time to take one sip of their drinks. Isodor was already hurrying them into a conversation, with the lads and Pax.
"I swear it wasn't me," Pax simply declared. Tom had no context yet as to what he was talking about.
"Come on, it's been two years. You can tell us the truth," Milton said while engulfing a pile of appetisers.
"It wasn't me! Please don't start with this again, Dolohov has already talked my ears off about this fucking felix felicis."
As the word escaped Pax' lips, Tom felt Grace slightly tensing up next to him. He turned his head to look at her and saw something particular on her face. She looked calm, serene, not even that interested in the conversation. Yet, the way her body just tensed made Tom wonder as to what she was thinking about.
"Anyway, I wouldn't even need luck right now, look at me," Pax bragged in a joking manner. "I've got the best suits," he said while gently pulling at his tuxedo jacket, "the best smile," he flashed them a large toothy grin.
"Yet no girl," Edmund cut him off.
At this, Pax's smile turned almost devilish. He took a small sip of his drink and slowly swallowed. "For now. Just wait and see. I'll soon be the most eligible bachelor in all of England."
"Yeah right," laughed Malfoy, "how come?"
Pax shot Grace a small look before replying "let's not talk politics, there is a lady around".
This had been the second time Pax had said something like this tonight. Tom's head, instinctively slightly tilted to the side, his eyes riveted on the boy standing in front of him. He didn't say anything, not right away. Every lad around the circle was looking at Pax in this strange manner, waiting for Tom or even Grace to say something. Tom opened his mouth, to finally tell the other boy off, when he felt her hand on his arm, silently stopping him.
"How thoughtful of you Pax," Grace's smile could look genuine, for anyone not close to her. It could look like she was indeed touched by the thought, but in reality it was simply dripping with sarcasm. "You're right, a lady shouldn't be involved in politics."
24.12.1944:
Hermione just lowered her head towards Pax, as to bid her goodbyes and directly left the circle. She could have told the boy off, make him understand who he was talking to. It wasn't the right place and something inside Hermione's gut was also telling her it wasn't the right time.
Yet, it didn't stop her from feeling a small rage building inside her guts. She had no desire to go with the other girls and gossip some more. Actually, she once more wondered where Belone was, as she had not seen her all night and she needed to vent to a friend. She got around the people dancing and others chatting to reach the door leading to the hallway in the search of the McNair girl when she saw him. The same old man was smiling at her, ready to approach and surely have a never-ending conversation. She briefly looked around her, trying to find a way out, someone she could go to. Yet, no one was in sight.
Without even thinking about it, her feet dragged her rapidly out of the room and to the left. There was a small corridor, almost empty. She opened the door to the right and closed it behind her. She knew where she was, in the small antechamber leading to the large kitchen. It was quiet in this room, it almost felt good to have this small recess.
Hermione put her hand on the handle, and softly opened the kitchen door. Suddenly, noises came crashing in her ears. Of course, the Black must have put a silencing charm on the room to avoid any guest to hear the elves working. But what Hermione was hearing was no elf baking a cake, it was plates being thrown on the floor, glasses being crashed against walls, it was screaming.
Hermione slowly approached one of her eyes towards the small slit on the open door and directly recognised Walburga's golden dress. She looked out of her mind. Orion was there too, casually leaning against one kitchen counter, slowly sipping his firewhiskey.
"I did everything!" Walburga screeched, "and you dare come in here and show me no respect?"
Orion looked unfazed, as if he couldn't care less about his future wife being on the verge of insanity.
"No respect?" Orion's voice was calm compared to Walburga's, yet it was menacing, threatening low, "You don't deserve any, especially when you, my future wife, is eye-fucking him."
There was no doubt who Orion Blak was talking about. Even Hermione, in the small time she had spent in the ballroom, had seen the shared looks between Cassandre Parkinson and Walburga Black.
"Fuck you!" Walburga yelled, throwing a priceless porcelain plate against one of the walls.
At this scream, Hermione froze. She felt a shiver going down her spine and her breath stopped. This yell, those insanities, she had heard them, she had lived them, in this same house. Suddenly, she had flashbacks of the woman's portrait in the hallway, screaming at everyone, yelling profanities.
Walburga took a large step to stand right in front of Orion as she kept yelling at him. Her right hand rose above her head, ready to slap him right in the cheek. The latter stopped her right away. Hermione could see the grip he had on her wrist, the way it was turning her skin red and the look of pain Walburga had on her face.
"Enough now!" he growled. Walburga slightly faltered at the sound. "Listen to me carefully, Walburga, this is it. This is your life. In six months we will be married. This will be your house. I will be your husband. You will bear our children, just like we ought to sign for. And you will love it."
Hermione looked stunned at the wretched conversation taking place in front of her. They looked both so miserable yet they didn't have any other choice.
"Love it?" Walburga spat. "I will never love anything coming from you. I will never love this house. I will never love our marriage and Merlin knows I will never love any child you give me."
At this moment, Hermione remembered the conversation she had one night with Harry, in this same house. They had been in the bedroom, the one on the second floor, and Harry had told her about Sirius' childhood, about the lack of love from his parents, especially his mother. So was that it? Was this the moment Walburga Black put her hatred for her husband, for her life, above the potential love she could have had for her children?
Hermione felt bad intruding, she almost felt sick to her stomach. That is why she abruptly left the room and found herself back in the corridor. She pushed herself through the people and reached the ballroom again. She snatched the first glass of champagne she saw and took a large sip. Hermione looked above her shoulders, to see if Orion or Walburga had followed. No one.
"I'm bored."
This made Hermione startle. Edgard was standing in front of her, looking around the room, as if he was looking for something interesting to happen. The boy was in a simple burgundy suit, his hair was gently falling on his forehead.
"Bored?" Hermione repeated. "I would have never bet you'd be bored at a party with unlimited alcohol," Hermione laughed, trying to quickly forget what she had just seen.
"That's the thing Grace, there's nothing else to do but drink."
This sentence made Hermione smile. She looked at the boy for a short while before speaking up. "Are you telling me, Edgard Lestrange, that this party is lacking political schemes?"
"Well," he let out a small laugh, "you've made me accustomed to more plotting," he smirked, "more drama."
"Enjoy a night of rest Edgard, you know more is on the way." Hermione lightly shoved him in the ribs. "Come on, let's dance."
She pulled him towards the middle of the room and they began dancing. Edgard was a bit messy with his steps but it only made Hermione laugh.
She looked around at the other couples dancing. She watched as the women made their long dresses twirl, as the gentleman, all in sync, made their partner turn. It was, in a way, beautiful. Among all the couples dancing, one stood out. At least, for Hermione. There, in the middle of the ballroom, was Tom dancing with who appeared to be a Black cousin. They were chatting as they danced, her batting her eyelashes at him and shooting him one of her brightest smiles. Tom, in response, was politely laughing. It began with the feeling of a small lump in her stomach and her jaw slightly tensing. She knew it was nothing, yet it didn't stop her from feeling something close to jealousy slowly building up in her entire body.
Then, Tom's eyes met hers and it stopped, this feeling abruptly stopped.
Suddenly, Edgard's hand took hers to make her twirl on herself. She let herself go and felt a certain form of freedom as she spun around, her eyes closed. Hermione finally took back Edgard's hand, only to open her eyes and see Tom's face. She slightly frowned, not fully understanding how he found himself here. She looked to her right and saw Edgard dancing with Tom's former partner.
"Looks like it always ends up with you and I," Tom said. Hermione didn't reply to this, she simply smiled, amused.
Once more, she let the music lead their steps and they fell into a comfortable silence.
"One of your lads is getting bored," she said after a moment of silence. She heard Tom humming and she continued, "apparently this party is lacking political schemes and drama."
"They are too spoiled," he said, "they should be glad there are no political schemes or drama, it means we are doing things right."
Hermione rose her head and looked him in the eyes. She smirked.
"You're bored too, right?" Hermione laughed. Tom didn't reply, but his eyes said everything that needed to be said. Hermione knew exactly what he was feeling because she was feeling the same. As Edgard as rightfully explained, they were not accustomed to parties being this smooth, being this bland. Everything in their plans was going as predicted, they didn't need further actions to be taken tonight. They just needed to let things flow and that was what felt wrong.
"Follow me," he said while taking her hand. Hermione didn't argue, she let him lead her out of the room and up the stairs.
"Where are you taking me?" She asked.
"The library," he said while climbing up to the first floor.
"The library is downstairs."
Tom turned around with a devilish smile. "Yes, the one the Blacks want to advertise, not the one that is interesting."
As they arrived on the third floor, Tom took a right turn and led her down an empty corridor and into a large room. He closed the door behind them and they were alone.
Hermione couldn't recognise this room. Of course, she had been here in her own timeline, but it was unrecognisable. The place was filled with huge bookshelves, filled to the brim with books. There must have been at least five rows and it was magnificent.
At the back of the room, almost imperceivable due to the shelves, was a large fireplace with two large leather couches in front of it. Hermione began investigating the room, walking by every bookshelf and reading as many book titles as she could. She let her hand fly over the hard covers.
Hermione felt his gaze on her as she moved around the room.
"You were right," Tom finally broke the silence. Hermione stopped and looked at him, waiting for Tom to continue. "About the memories."
"Oh," she just said.
Hermione suddenly didn't feel at ease. She knew they ought to have this conversation at one point, but she secretly wished he would never bring this up again.
"We cannot use them now," he finished. "We need to wait for everything to unfold before."
Hermione didn't say anything. It didn't feel like she needed to. She simply kept looking at him and nodded.
"Are they safe?" He asked. "The memories," he explained.
"They are," she lied. There again, the tingling in her left arm.
Hermione turned her back again and went back to looking at the books. She reached the back of the room.
"So," she said, still not looking at him, "you've told me this was the interesting library."
She could hear Tom moving behind her back and she finally felt his presence right behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck, she could smell his perfume and it drove her almost crazy. Then, she saw his hand reaching for the book that was right in front of her eyes. The movement was simple yet it made her want.
Then, she felt his lips right behind her ear and she automatically closed her eyes. Tom was slowly peppering kisses down her neck and finally reached her shoulder. There, she sensed one of his fingers hooking with her dress' strap. Hermione let her head fall back on his shoulder.
"I have never said this library was interesting for the books," he whispered against her bare shoulder. This made Hermione exhale a breathy laugh.
Tom made her spin and pressed her against the bookshelf. Instinctively, her lips met his and they both drowned in the taste of the other. One of Tom's hands reached for her thigh and slowly climbed up to her arse and lightly squeezed. Hermione pressed herself harder against him.
Suddenly, Tom pressed both of his hands to the back of her thighs and Hermione jumped and closed her legs around his waist. His mouth was now nibbling at the soft skin of her neck. Gently he took her to one of the couches and laid her down on it. Hermione took this small recess from their kiss to push his jacket from his shoulder and let it fall on the ground.
Hermione was about to untie his bow when a loud crashing noise, just outside the room, made her stop. Both of their heads turned towards the door and they stayed still. Even their breath stopped for a second, apprehensive that someone would open the door and stumble upon them.
Abruptly, the door opened. Hermione and Tom flew out off the couch and quickly hid behind one of the bookshelves.
Antonin Dolohov had entered the room, alone. He stopped in the middle of the room, closed his eyes and tilted his head backward. Then, he took a large inspiration. Hermione felt some kind of relief when she realised it was only him. She was about to leave her hiding place when Tom stopped her. She looked at him and he put his forefinger on her lips.
Hermione became even more intrigued by the situation. She focused back on the newlywed and saw him looking through his pockets. After a minute, he finally retrieved a small phial. Hermione squinted to take a better look at it. It looked like it was filled with fog. Then, Antonin brought it to one of his nostrils and deeply inhaled. From where Hermione was standing, it almost looked like his eyes were, too, filled with fog.
The door opened one more time and Isodor stumbled in. He rushed to Antonin and began talking to him, but the former didn't even acknowledge his presence. His eyes were open but he seemed like he couldn't see.
"Are you even hearing me?" Isodor barked while shaking Antonin. Finally, Dolohov seemed responsive. "You're so high right now. Tom's gonna kill you," Isodor added.
Antonin pushed Isodor away from him and stumbled back. "Fuck him!"
At this, the blond put his hands in his hair, looking a bit distressed.
"Fuck him," Antonin repeated, "look what he made me do, parading my whore of a wife in front of this mediocre assembly."
"For fuck's sake Antonin, you've done it to yourself, you agreed to this wedding, you're even the one who suggested."
At this Antonin barked out a bitter laugh. He looked at Isodor right in the eyes and spoke up. "I suggested it? Come on Isodor, we all know how this works. Tom makes you think it is your idea, but it never is."
Isodor's face closed at this. He took a step forward. "What are you implying?" He asked in a grave tone. "Because if it is what I think it is, be very careful Dolohov. You're on a slippery slope."
"Are you going to tell him?"
"Of course I am!" Isodor spat with disdain.
"He's not even gonna listen to you, he only listens to her."
Hermione knew he was talking about her. Antonin had never been one to hide his hatred towards her. As she never did also.
"Stop bringing her up every damn time, it's getting obsessive!" Isodor shut him off.
"I-"
"No, you're going to listen to me," Hermione had never seen Isodor like this, almost threatening. "You're not going to bring her up anymore, you're not going to trash talk her, and you're not going to bother Tom with that." Isodor then snatched the phial Dolohov had in his hand. "And this," he brought the phial to Dolohov's eyes, "is fucking with your brain. You would have never said all this nonsense at your stag party if it wasn't for it." Isodor then threw the phial against the wall. The small object exploded at the impact and the smog flew away.
"Now, we are going back downstairs and you're going to act like the gentleman you should be," Isodor ordered.
Hermione stayed silent for a whole minute after the two lads had left. She didn't look at Tom, she simply walked to the front of the room.
"Grace," she heard Tom behind her.
"What the fuck was that?" She hurried him as she turned around to face him.
"It is nothing. I have it under control. "
"Nothing?" Hermione scoffed. "Where should I start? With the drugs one of your lads is taking or the fact that he is apparently talking behind my back to the lads, to you. Since when is he even taking drugs?"
Tom looked for a cigarette in his jacket and lit it up. "We took some during his bachelor's night."
"We?" Hermione cringed. "Are you all out of your fucking mind?"
"Don't even start lecturing me on taking drugs."
"Please," she mirthlessly laughed, "I couldn't care less that you and your minions are taking drugs, my only problem is why now. Look! Dolohov could fuck everything up right now considering the state he is in!".
"I will take care of this."
Tom took two large drags of the cigarette to finish it and put the butt down into a crystal ashtray. He was adjusting his jacket over his shoulders, ready to leave when Hermione stopped him in his tracks.
"What is he saying about me?" She asked.
Tom turned around and looked at her. She was looking back, her back straight and her head held high.
"Nonsense, nothing worth my attention." Tom's eyes briefly flickered to the mirror behind her, then back into her eyes. He slowly approached and gently put his hand on her left forearm. "Dolohov talking shit does not change the fact that I know that you are trustworthy."
24.12.1944:
Tom was almost rushing down the stairs. He was mad, mad at Dolohov for showing up to this party high, for daring to talk shit about him. He arrived at the bottom of it and was about to go back into the ballroom when someone tapped on his shoulder.
Tom turned around and saw Pax.
"Come with me," the boy simply said. "The gentlemen are gathered in the cigar room."
He knew he had no other choice than to follow Zabini into the room. He looked one last time around him and let him lead the way. As they approached the door, Tom saw Dolohov from afar. It looked like the lad was already making his way to the room. Zabini got in and Tom made sure that Dolohov and himself were the only ones remaining outside.
Antonin was about to step in when Tom blocked him the way with his arm.
"You are not going in," he spat. "You are high as fuck. So, you are going to sober up and stop this nonsense."
Tom didn't even let Antonin reply that he was already entering the room and closing the door in his face. The room was, as predicted, quite foggy. The men were gathered around the room in small circles, sharing stories over glasses of brandy and large cigars. Tom could see the lads, scattered around the room, taking part in what he hoped to be interesting conversations.
In the middle of the room were two large leather couches, facing each other. In between them was a thick oak coffee table, with priceless books and large cigar boxes. Tom began walking around the room and mingling with some ministry officials. At one point, he found himself by the cigar box, intently looking at them to choose which one could be to his taste. He finally picked one, brought it to his lips and lit it up.
"My boy!" Slughorn had approached him and put a warm hand on his shoulder. "We hadn't had the chance to talk tonight."
"How are you, professor?" Tom politely asked.
"Jolly good! I had the chance to meet Dolohov and his new wife." The large professor began looking around the room. "Is he not here? I wanted to have a chat with him."
"I believe he might be with his wife," Tom blatantly lied.
"Ah," Slughorn laughed, "newly-wed." He took a large sip of his brandy and kept going, "what about you, Tom?"
"What about me?"
Tom was suddenly distressed.
"Well, you and Grace," the professor simply replied. "When is the wedding? People are beginning to ask, you know."
Tom had never thought about this. Wedding had never even crossed his mind, well his own. He had spent so much time setting up strategic weddings for the lads that he had never thought he would have to do it one day too. Was that what was expected of him?
On the list of conversations Tom would gladly avoid, this one, right there, rapidly reached the top.
"Don't you worry about that professor, everything in its own time," Tom shot him his best fake smile.
Pax arrived at their side and interrupted the conversation. Tom couldn't be more glad. "Tom, my father would like to speak to you."
Tom excused himself and followed Pax to where his father was. The latter quickly left them alone.
"Tom," Balthazar extended a hand for Tom to shake.
"Mister Zabini," Tom energetically shook his hand. "I believe congratulations are in order," he smiled. "I have heard about this amazing work you did during the trial."
"It was not only my doing," Zabini Senior smirked.
Of course it was not only his doing, and Zabini knew it damn well. Tom hadn't only given Zabini the papers charging Tuft with corruption, granting him the possibility of being the hero of the trial. Tom had first put him where he was, it was his doing Zabini was Head of Law Enforcement. And Zabini knew it.
"I just needed to know something, Tom," Zabini began as he got closer to Tom and dropped his voice down to a whisper. "Are all the receipts gone?"
"Of course, sir," Tom lied.
The receipts were the code name they had come up with to talk about the real Gringotts paper. The one they copied and forged to charge Tuft. They had stolen those receipts back when Isodor was torturing Barboter down in his cellar during that summer.
Tom had lied when Zabini had asked him, because how could he say to him that Avery had forgotten those papers in his summer house and that they had not yet the possibility of destroying them?
"Well, isn't it perfect?" Zabini smiled. "I really enjoyed our partnership, Tom."
24.12.1944:
Hermione found herself in the powder room, surrounded by all the girls, well except Belone. Hermione was becoming almost worried for her friend. She hadn't seen her the entire night, even though she knew for a fact that she was there. Now that she was thinking about it, it was even weirder considering that, back in the castle, it seemed like Belone was always there. She would bump into her in unexpected places.
For any other girl, this could be a nice moment, they were talking, gossiping and laughing. But Hermione was fuming. First, she still had Dolohov's madness on her mind and the recklessness of Tom with the drugs. Second, she knew perfectly well that all the men were gathered in the cigar room, obviously having more interesting conversations than she was.
Hermione couldn't stand the blatant sexism she was suffering from. At this moment, as she saw Margaret Dolohov slowly approaching their group, Hermione vowed to herself that this would be the last party she wouldn't be in.
"Ladies," Margaret greeted them. Her eyes then snapped to Hermione. "Good evening, I don't think we had the pleasure of meeting each other."
At this, Hermione stood up and greeted Dolohov's new wife. "Good evening, I am Grace Hortense. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Margaret Dolohov," the girl smiled.
They sat back down and joined in the conversation the other girls were having. Hermione was closely looking at Margaret, at the way she was seated, the look she had on her face. During the next thirty minutes, not once had one of the girls included her in the conversation, nor had someone asked her one question.
"So what do you do for a living, Margaret?" Hermione asked. At this, all the girls stopped talking and looked at the two. Hermione almost felt bad for putting the girl on the spot but she was intrigued.
"Well," Margaret cleared her throat and directly straightened her back. On the one hand, she looked embarrassed but on the other she looked at Hermione as if she was glad someone finally showed her attention. "I am a secretary at the Department of Mystery."
"Oh, this must be so interesting!" Hermione fake smiled. "Tell me more."
Margaret was now widely smiling. "It is indeed! We are currently doing an important inventory."
"And what does this exactly consist of?"
Hermione knew exactly what an inventory was but she wanted to know more about what was happening in the department of Mystery. She had always had this weird fascination for it.
"Well, we need to make sure that all the objects and materials we have in our department correspond to the list we have."
Hermione froze at this. Suddenly, she saw herself, exactly one year prior, stealing a time turner from this department. She saw it broken on the floor of Oswald's new office.
She had stolen and broken a time turner and during this inventory, the department of Mystery will find out that one is missing.
OoOoOo
24.12.1944:
Hermione had left the boudoir as if everything was great, but her state of mind was the complete opposite. She needed to find Tom, she needed him to know what was happening as he was the only one aware of the time turner she broke. She hurried down the stairs and directly went looking for him near the cigar room. She found the door wide open and the room empty.
She turned around and walked towards the ballroom, where she expected to find him. Hermione entered and found it quite packed. She briefly scanned the room and stopped instantly when she saw him. He was dancing with Belone, dressed in a long red gown.
At this moment, something clicked in Hermione's brain. Finally, it all made sense. Hermione finally understood why it felt like Belone was everywhere she went in the castle. Hermione finally understood why she had seen, in the past months, Belone and Tom talking just the two of them.
"Finally got it?"
Hermione slightly jumped in surprise. Abraxas was next to her, also watching the two dancing. "I told you I wasn't the one following you anymore."
Hermione didn't know what to reply, she was still feeling dumbfounded.
"See," Abraxas said in this smug voice of his, "you're just like us. He's still keeping tabs on you."
He was. The fucker was and he had even dared telling her, an hour before that he had complete trust in her. She felt her blood boiling in her veins, she felt her heartbeat increasing and her breath becoming harsher. She briefly closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure. She needed to talk to him, she needed to let him know that this was out of bounds.
Hermione didn't say anything back to Abraxas, she just stole his glass of firewhiskey and drank it in one go. She was about to go onto the dance floor, ready to interrupt their dances when the music stopped. Hermione looked around and saw Arcturus Black, Orion's father, advancing to the centre of the room and raising his glass of champagne.
"Good evening everyone," he started in a loud, powerful voice. "Firstly, I would like to thank all of you for being here tonight. I am honoured to welcome you to my humble house."
People began clapping and Hermione could see the small pride Arcturus felt at this instant. Slowly, the silence returned and Black kept going. "I must confess something, this party isn't only for us to gather and celebrate Christmas, tonight is a special night."
Hermione felt intrigued, what was Black on about?
"I would like to raise a toast," he continued, branding his glass up, "to my friend Balthazar Zabini for his amazing work during the trial and for his bravery and dedication to bringing out the truth and leading our country to a new start."
Hermione felt something coming, something big, something bad.
"Our ministry needs someone like him to put us all back on track. That is why I couldn't be more proud to announce, on his behalf, his candidacy for Minister of Magic."
The crowd loudly cheered, clapped and it felt like it lasted for hours. Hermione's head became heavy with all the thoughts coursing through her mind. Slowly, her gaze found Tom's and she could see he was as panicked as she was.
This wasn't what they had planned. Zabini was only supposed to bring Tuft down, but there never was a talk about him getting her job. Zabini knew that. Hermione then looked at the man of the hour, he had joined Arcturus in the middle of the room and was widely smiling. He held his head high and had this look of pride on his face. Hermione's eyes slowly descended to his jacket, where she could see the ministry pin on it, right next to the Zabini's armoirie, adorning a large grey lighting.
Zabini had double crossed them. He had used them for his own interest and it drove Hermione mad. How could he stand here, proud and tall, where he knew damn well that the people who put him in this place were there, sending daggers at him.
In the middle of the clapping assembly, 9 people were stuck in place, unable to bring themselves to join in.
And then, Balthazar Zabini sent them the coup de grace, and rose his glass in Tom's direction. Hermione looked at Tom and it felt like watching the devil himself. Tom's scar seemed even more prominent, his eyes were the darkest shade she had ever seen. His jaw was slightly twitching. Slowly, he tilted his head to the left, his eyes never once leaving Zabini's.
"Let the party resume!" Arcturus Black cheered.
Hermione saw Tom rushing past the crowd and exited the room. She didn't even hesitate before following him. He was walking fast towards where Hermione knew was the kitchen. She followed him inside.
Tom was pacing inside the room, frantically pulling at his bow, as if he couldn't breathe well. He tore his jacket off his shoulders and threw it on the floor.
"Out!" He yelled to the elves. The small beings stopped in fear and rushed out of the room, leaving Hermione and Tom.
Hermione didn't know exactly what to do, what to say, so in the end she stayed silent. Tom was frantically walking around the room, throwing everything he had on hands to the other side of the room, yelling and shouting profanities. Hermione watched, helpless, as he let out his frustration and anger. After a few minutes, he approached the large wooden table at the centre of the room and put both of his hands flat on it. He kept his head low as he was deeply breathing. Then he slowly raised it to meet her eyes. In this position, he looked unhinged, ready to burst at any moment.
"I want him dead," he said. It had said it as if it was already done, in this cold voice. Hermione didn't say anything. "I want his head served on a silver platter." Tom pushed himself from the table and, in one swift motion, swept everything off the table. Hermione jumped at the sound of the pans clinking on the floor, the plate being broken and the glasses shattering.
"How dare he!" Tom yelled. The strength of his voice made Hermione's breath catch in her throat. "How dare he cross me?"
Hermione audibly gulped and slowly walked backwards until she felt a counter behind her. Her hands gripped it and she kept looking at the madness happening before her eyes.
"I put him there!" Tom continued yelling, "Without me, he would still be filing paperwork in a shitty office!"
Tom had now stopped pacing around the room and was looking at her.
"If for one second," his voice had gone back to a normal level but it was still threatening, "he thinks I will let him get away with it, I-"
"What do we do then?" Hermione cut him off.
"You know what Grace?" Tom's eyes were demented. "I have no fucking idea."
OoOoOo
24.12.1944:
Tom had gone on the balcony for a cigarette. Hermione knew he needed to be alone, so she hadn't followed him. However, she couldn't take her eyes away from him.
Tom wasn't the only one feeling betrayed, it was Hermione's plan too. It was even her who suggested putting Rowles instead of Tuft.
Hermione wasn't only mad at Zabini, she was mad at themselves. How could they have not even thought about this possible outcome? How could they have been so trusty of Zabini in the first place? How could they have underestimated his ambition? And why hadn't they secured the Blacks yet?
Even if Zabini had fucked them up, their plan was not as bulletproof as they thought it was.
"Grace," she heard someone approaching. Hermione quickly regained her composure and turned around, the brightest smile on her lips. Nicolas Flamel was standing in front of her, with a kind look in his eyes. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Mister Flamel," she tried to warmly greet him. "I hope you're having a pleasant night."
They exchanged some banalities. If nothing of the political drama had happened just before, Hermione would be glad to have this conversation. She usually felt calm and reassured in Nicolas Flamel's presence.
"I believe the new paintings have arrived at Hogwarts," Flamel said. Hermione didn't have the patience nor the envy to talk about this now. First, she couldn't focus on anything but Zabini's betrayal. Second, she didn't have the time to think about those paintings. At this moment, it felt like months she had thought about how she had arrived there. It felt like months since she had even thought about going back. Hermione didn't know what to feel about this, she felt conflicted.
"They did," she replied. Nicolas was looking at her in this particular way, silently asking her if she had done anything about it. "I know what you are thinking, Mister Flamel, and I couldn't be more grateful that you are caring about this. But wouldn't it be a waste of time? Going back to every painting? What if there was no solution to my issue?"
Hermione wasn't even talking about the paintings and her wanting, at one point, to go back to her era, she was still too focused on Zabini. Yes, what if there was no solution to this? What if they couldn't put Zabini down? What would they do?
Nicolas Flamel's eyes were now looking behind her but Hermione didn't think too much of it. The old wizard looked back at her and he simply said. "You know, sometimes it helps to restart everything from scratch." Nicolas Flamel then straightened his back. "Good evening Mister Riddle," he said.
Hermione was startled a bit and just realised that Tom had arrived by their side. The headboy greeted the old wizard and the latter left them alone.
Hermione turned to face him but Tom was still looking at the empty spot Flamel was just at. "Start from scratch he said?" He asked her rhetorically. She didn't reply, she just kept intently looking a him, trying to find out what was going on in his head. Tom finally looked at her, with a smirk on his face. Hermione frowned but he took her hand. "Let's dance," he finished.
He pulled her to the middle of the room, put his hands behind her back. Hermione still couldn't fathom what was happening, but Tom looked almost serene. The string quartet began playing and they let the music envelop them.
24.12.1944:
They were looking at Tom and Grace dancing in the middle of the room. They were still all in shock at what had happened. The lads had seen Tom and Grace fleeing the room after Black's announcement. They had seen Tom chain smoking on the balcony and Grace closely looking at him from her conversation with Nicolas Flamel.
They had no idea what was happening. They had no idea what would happen.
But as they watched Tom and Grace dancing, as they watched Tom slowly leaning next to her ear and whispering, as they watched Grace's eyes sparkle with mischief, as they watched all of this happening, they knew they were going to be fine.
Once again, they had it all figured out.
"Well," Abraxas said to bring the attention of the lads upon him, "looks like it's being taken care of. Let's go for a drink."
Authors' note: No we were not dead. No we didn't abandoned DDM. We are going to finish it, we are way to excited for how it ends not to finish it.
Unfortunately, we have entered adult life. We have way less time to work on ddm. And now we live in different countries so imagine the burden.
Yet, we're still here.
We read every comment, every ask, everything you guys give us and you cannot imagine the joy it brings us.
We hope we'll be able to upload chapter 30 soon but we won't make any promises because... well... we disappeared for almost a year so...
Lots of love