The first thing she was aware of upon waking was the cool feel of satin beneath her cheek. This confused her since her own bed clothes were made of cotton. Her forehead creased with a frown as she blinked her eyes open. Nothing about the room was familiar. There were bed curtains of grey and burgundy velvet surrounding the bed, pulled back at one corner to allow for some extra light. The pillow case beneath her cheek was burgundy satin and a grey comforter, goose down from the feel of it, was covering her. Pushing herself up onto one elbow, she noted that the bed was large enough for three average sized people and there were at least one half dozen thick pillows. It was far too lavish and extravagant to be a student's bed, unless Lucius Malfoy pulled enough strings to set up Draco.
She quickly pushed that thought aside. She didn't even want to think about waking up in Malfoy's bed.
Crawling out from between the sheets of the bed with as much grace as she could manage, she wrestled her troublesome night dress with one hand as she crawled towards the edge of the bed. She preferred long gowns for when she was in the Common Room, likely to run into someone else, but while sleeping they had the very annoying habit of creeping up around her waist. Once she was confident that her backside was sufficiently covered, she dared to start getting out of the bed. The person who slept in it normally must be one of those annoying, long-legged individuals, because the bed was high enough to need a step and didn't have one.
Her bare feet were so chilled by the stone floor that she almost leapt back up onto the mattress. Instead she let out a shocked gasp, apparently overhead by an unseen someone in the room. "Up so early, Miss Granger?"
She spun around to find Professor Snape studying her from a high backed chair next to his hearth. A thick book lay opened in his lap, a snifter of some golden liquid on the table by his side. She swallowed, uncertain of what the proper behaviour was for a girl in her night dress while standing in her professor's bedchamber. Her fingers started twisting the fine muslin of her gown as she tried to think of something to say. Words failed her.
"It is not yet four o'clock. Go back to bed and finish sleeping, Miss Granger." He lowered his eyes back to his book and resumed his reading. Conditioned to always obey those with authority over her, she started to turn back towards the bed, only to stop.
"What about you, Professor?"
He looked up at her again, one brow arched. "I have not slept in some time. I have not been afforded the peace to do so. You, however, are expected to continue your previous performance academically and will need your sleep in order to meet those expectations. Get back into bed."
"But... that's your bed, Professor." She instantly wished she could take the words back and looked down at the floor before her.
"I didn't think you would appreciate the Potions Master carrying you up to Gryffindor Tower, and you were not in need of Madame Pomfrey's ministrations."
"Oh." She chewed on her bottom lip as she called to mind the events of the evening. "I had another nightmare, didn't I?"
She heard the book close. "A nightmare? Miss Granger, what you are experiencing is quite a bit different from a nightmare. You are having visions, like most people of your bloodline. Nasty, annoying things, but they are a fate you cannot escape. I'm sure you wish that you could, when you consider the nature of them." The girl flinched as though struck. "Draining them away into a pensieve is not going to make them untrue. You need to confront them."
She gave a short, bitter laugh. "Confront them. They're an abomination. That… that thing raped my grandmother."
"And had he not, your father would not have been born, nor would you have been."
Her head snapped up. "And you think that makes it all right?"
"No, nothing can rectify rape. I merely wish to point out that even out of the ugliest of crimes, there can be beauty. In this case, it was a child, who eventually grew up to have his own child, a brilliant and promising girl who has grown up to become a brilliant and promising young woman. You are coming into your own, Hermione. Now we have a much larger threat hanging over us."
She swallowed, worrying the fabric of her night gown again. "Then you think that it's accurate, what the dreams are showing me."
"It makes sense. I have often wondered if there couldn't be an explanation as to why you were so powerful. You put the purebloods in this school to shame. They simply cannot keep up." He set the book aside and reached for the decanter next to him. A second glass had been sitting unseen behind it, now revealed as he removed the crystal stopper and poured. Resetting the stopper, he took hold of the second glass and offered it to the girl. "Here, this will help. However, I would strongly caution against mentioning it to Minerva in the morning. She'd likely geld me for it." Hermione crossed the floor and took hold of the glass, then sat in a chair he offered her. The golden liquid seemed to come alive in the firelight just before she took a sip. It burned as it went down her throat, causing her to wince, but she managed not to cough or sputter.
Severus studied the girl in silence for a long moment before finally speaking again. "If you are as clever as everyone believes you to be, you will not surrender the memories of the visions. You will need them."
"Need them for what purpose?"
He leaned forward, his hair shifting to frame his pale face. "Life being what it is, Miss Granger, Voldemort will eventually learn about you. This is war and spies are everywhere, for both sides. Once he does learn about you, he will want you. The more you see of him now, the more you will come to understand his madness as well as his intelligence, therefore the better off you'll be."
She studied the liquor in her glass. "But what use would I be to him? My loyalties lie with Professor Dumbledore and Harry."
"A very good question." He leaned back in this chair, looking at her over his tented fingers, elbows resting on the arms of his seat. "What good is a granddaughter with your potential? If she cannot be brought to heel or beaten into submission, what use could a strong, fertile young woman of good bloodlines be to a patriarch obsessed with building his own dynasty?" Her head snapped up, a look of disgust on her face. "I doubt he would stoop to incest, Hermione, but he would not be above selecting, in his opinion, a suitable husband for you. Or perhaps you fancy being the next Mrs. Malfoy?"
"Malfoy!?" The thought was too absurd to consider, but Snape arched one jet brow.
"Surely you don't think Draco's bile towards you is fuelled only by the fact that he believes you to be Muggleborn. Put yourself in his place. You find yourself attending school with an attractive girl your age who is brilliant as well as powerful. She is the top of your class and will no doubt make a name for herself in our world, bringing prestige to both herself and to whatever lucky wizard convinces her to marry him. She is everything you would wish to bring home to your family, except there is one annoying thing about her that makes her wholly unsuitable." He took a sip of his cognac and let her stew over his words for a moment. "I've no doubt that it annoys Lucius as well. The Malfoys believe they deserve only the best, and you certainly qualify in that respect. Now that the lack of a wizarding family has been dealt with, he would encourage a union between you and his son."
"I cannot even begin to explain how repulsive an idea that is."
He chuckled, a surprising sound coming from him. "I can imagine. Although young Mister Malfoy is physically attractive, his personality cancels that out. However, Lucius Malfoy is Voldemort's current favourite. It is not too far a stretch of the imagination to realize that your grandfather would be all too willing to reward his loyalty by joining the Malfoy and Riddle bloodlines."
She downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. This time she did cough, but only once. Automatically, Severus refilled the glass and sat in silence as she drained that one as well. She gave the liquor a chance to begin to affect her, waiting for that slight detached feeling in her body before daring to speak again. "What do I do?"
"I have already told you. You study your visions, pick them apart. You learn your enemy inside and out, know him as well or better than you know yourself. Discover how Helena managed to hide from him for all these years, what steps she took to shield your father's existence from the Dark Lord. Arm yourself, Hermione." He leaned forward, resting his elbow onto his knees, his ends of his dark hair sweeping against his chin. "I will do my best to help you. Minerva means well, she cares for you as though you were her own child. I believe she sees her younger self in you, bright and shining and full of promise. However, you need more than Gryffindor courage to win this battle. You need to learn how to scheme and plot like a Slytherin. McGonagall is too straightforward for that, too honest. Best you learn from a master."
She considered this for a time, her brown eyes meeting his jet black ones. "You're right. Beat him at his own game or end up married and pregnant by the age of twenty."
Snape gave a snort. "That, Miss Granger, would be a tragedy, especially if the father of the child were Draco Malfoy. And before you think of someone else, Potter and Weasley are both abominable choices as well. For that matter, forget everyone in your own class and everyone who has graduated from Hogwarts over the last ten years. You would be wasted on someone your own age. Oh, I'm not saying you should take a vow of celibacy; it would be a crime against our world all together should you not pass on your genes to at least one or two children, but don't forget that witches can safely bear children a good ten to twenty years longer than Muggle women. For everyone's sake, you should live your life and carve out your place in this world. Once that is accomplished, find yourself a wizard who is several years your senior and who has already made his own life, someone who doesn't need a woman to be a mirror for his own accomplishments but who can appreciate you for the unique creature that you are."
She blinked, uncertain of how to respond to that. It was a compliment, she was certain of that, and a rather complex one. She had never really thought of such things, of marriage and children. It had all seemed so far in the future, and now here was an adult who was telling her to keep it in the future, to set it up on a shelf until such time as she was ready. "Oh."
He chuckled, a warm sound that seemed out of place coming from the Potions Master. "But you are right; for now you need to concentrate on beating Voldemort at his own game. Who better to do so than his own flesh and blood? The cleverness needed to do so were born in your. You only have to learn the needed skills." He sat back and reached over to his own forgotten glass. "The immediate concern, however, is your rest. It is far too early for you to be awake. Go back to bed, Hermione. We've the entire weekend to start our work." It was a dismissal, but not a stinging one. She knew he would not speak to her again this evening, and she realized that she didn't want to. The liquor was relaxing her, making her drowsy. Muffling a yawn, she got up from the chair and padded back across the room to the large bed. She struggled only a moment to climb the heavy frame before burrowing herself within the thick covers. Now that she was certain she was safe, she allowed herself to snuggle down within the luxurious bedclothes, noting that they held a scent of patchouli and sandalwood. It was a masculine and oddly comforting fragrance.
~***~
"Father? Are you going to see them?"
Thomas Wiggentree turned and looked up at the top of the grand staircase with a smile. Alexander stood there, the sunlight that filtered through the stained glass window behind him setting his honey curls aflame. "See whom?" His smile was teasing as his son rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Them! The Cousins! The ones Grandfather was telling us about." The boy came down the steps, his gloved hand running along the smooth wood of the banister. "You are going to see them, aren't you?"
Thomas chuckled warmly. "Yes, Alex. I'm meeting them for tea. I admit that I'm quite anxious to meet them myself."
"Will she be there?" Brown eyes were alight with curiosity as his son nibbled worryingly on his bottom lip.
"No, Hermione won't be there. She's at Hogwarts."
"Oh, that's right. She's at school." Alex looked down at his gloved hands and frowned. Thomas felt his heart twist in sorrow for his handsome son, cursing again the unfairness of the Wiggentree 'gift' and how it cut off innocents from the world. "Do… do you think you might ask them for something?"
"Ask them for what?"
"Oh, I don't know. A doll, perhaps, or maybe a book she used to read often as a child. If she… if she didn't take it with her to school, you might ask them for her pillow."
Thomas chuckled again. "I think that we shouldn't be asking for pillows just yet, Alex. After all, they didn't even know they were Wiggentrees until just a few days ago. I doubt that our cousin has had a chance to realize that he should have been born a wizard. We shouldn't go asking him for such a personal item from his daughter just yet."
"You're right, I suppose. Maybe a doll, then? She's a girl, isn't she? Surely she had a doll while she was growing up, or some stuffed toy or another. I… I want to see her." Alex looked at his father expectantly, worrying his lip again.
"I'll ask them, but don't be too disheartened if they refuse at first. If they do, however, you could always dictate a letter to send to her at school. Maybe she could send you one of her old assignments or one of her quills."
The boy's face brightened. "I hadn't thought of that. I'll do that as well, and then I can get a glimpse of what it's like to go to Hogwarts as well. Thanks, Dad." He turned away and hurried up the stairs, heading for the small classroom where his tutor gave him his lessons. Thomas smiled and placed his bowler hat atop his head. Checking his appearance in the hallway mirror once more, he straightened his tie and removed a small piece of his wife's embroidery floss from his lapel. The mirror commented on how refined he was looking today.
With a pop, he apparated to Diagon Alley, wishing to pick up a little something before he went to the Grangers' residence. He didn't wish to be a rude guest and show up without a little something. Nothing large or extravagant, he was thinking along the lines of a small glass sculpture with moving stars and galaxies inside it, tasteful and elegant. Not knowing much about his newly found relatives, he wasn't sure what they would appreciate. However, since all information so far regarding Hermione pointed out that she was quite intelligent and possessed a love for learning, it was reasonably safe to assume her parents were just as intelligent.
A small shop at the corner where Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley met was where he needed to go. The wizard who owned it was a collector and merchant in all manner of artistic creations, even the creator of a few. After looking for a little over one half of an hour, he settled on a piece that was a smooth, curving shape about a foot tall. Inside it was black with stars and planets moving as though swimming through a thick potion. The simple design would blend easily with any décor.
"Thomas Wiggentree, this is a pleasant surprise. I can't remember the last time you came out amongst us commoners." The voice was like silk over steel, gentle and lethal all at the same time. Tom looked up from his purchase and found himself meeting the gaze of Lucius Malfoy. Not exactly a pleasant experience.
"You're memory is going on you, Lucius. I saw you just two weeks ago, at the conference in Lisbon."
"Ah yes, of course. You gave a lecture on your proposal that mediwizards extend a hand to Muggle scientists in medical research. Quite… amusing." The man gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes, one gloved hand resting on the head of his cane. "It's fortunate that I ran into you. There are some business matters I wish to discuss. Perhaps you could join me for a quick drink?"
"I'm sorry, but I have a prior engagement." He wrapped his purchase himself, something that Wiggentrees also insisted upon. Though Thomas wasn't one of the family forced to avoid contact with unknown objects at all times, it never hurt to be careful.
"Surely you could find enough time for one drink, Tom, between friends."
It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that they had never been 'friends', but even Lucius Malfoy was not deserving of such rudeness. With a barely audible sigh, he agreed. "Just one, but then I'll really have to be going." He knew it was foolish, but old wizarding families followed the same painful rules of etiquette that had been in place for centuries. Together they walked a few doors down the way, deeper towards Knockturn Alley to a small and exclusive private club that only those of established lineage could gain entrance too. It had been several generations since the Wiggentrees had felt the need for such displays of snobbery, but Malfoy had his own private room. They were greeted at the door by a distinguished wizard in formal robes and led to the room, a decanter of brandy brought to them by a house elf clad in a freshly pressed, crisp table linen.
Malfoy sat down and poured the drinks himself. Thomas noted that he didn't remove his own gloves as he did so, not touching any part of the heavy crystal with his own skin. The crystal itself glittered in the gentle light of the hearth as though it were new and unblemished by age. Even the chairs they rested in were of a modern style, the leather still fresh with a new scent. It appeared that everything in the room was a recent purchase, as though it had been newly redecorated only the day before. A shiver of dread trickled down his spine.
"It has been some time since the Malfoys and the Wiggentrees have had the chance to converse with one another. Even in Lisbon we had little time to talk." He offered the drink over in one steady hand. Thomas accepted it with a polite nod, hoping that he appeared more confident that he truly was. Surely Malfoy wouldn't be foolish enough to poison him. There would be too many questions asked should he simply disappear.
"It was a hectic time for everyone speaking at the conference. Medicine and healing are ever changing areas." The liquor did not show any signs of discoloration and it didn't give the appearance of being watered down. He swirled it in the glass, noting the colour in the light cast by the faceted crystal before lifting it up to his lips. He sniffed it slightly in what he hoped was a discreet manner before he took a sip. It burned and tasted exactly like fine quality brandy, nothing out of the unusual at all. Relaxing somewhat, he allowed himself to enjoy the flavour.
"Yes it is and a rather lucrative one. I've been considering investing more of the family holdings in that field. However, it is wise to seek the consul of someone who already has a firm grasp of it." Malfoy sipped from his own glass, his eyes never seeming to stray from Thomas. "I believe you and Albert are the ones heading most of your family's interest in this field. By the way, how is your father?"
"He's never been better." The brandy was giving the most pleasant tingling sensation, relaxing all over. Though he still wouldn't trust Lucius Malfoy any further than he could throw the man, physically anyway, he had to admit that there was something most enjoyable about socializing with someone outside of family or work.
"Good. One can never know with the older generations. We so often forget that they aren't as young as they were in our youth. Take Albus Dumbledore, for example. If you speak with the man you can hardly recall that he is at least one hundred years of age, and yet he is expected to keep up with all those children." Malfoy took another sip from his glass. "I understand that your father and aunt paid a call on him recently at the school."
That was dangerous ground, given the topic of discussion between Dumbledore and the family. He would need to steer Lucius away from that line of thought. "Yes, they were."
The cut glass tumble feel from Thomas' hand, spilling its contents into the thick carpeting of the floor as his eyes flew wide. The pleasant tingle was now clear, and it had nothing at all to do with alcohol, nor had it anything to do with poison. Though he had clearly intended to deny his father's presence at Hogwarts, the truth had come through his lips. Malfoy smirked and made a wave towards the door behind them, the soft click of the lock cutting through the crackle of the fire.
Veritaserum. How could he have been so foolish?
Malfoy set his own glass down and reclaimed his cane. He leaned back in his chair and spun the black wood between his hands, a superior smirk on his face. "Now, Thomas… let us discuss your family's interests with Dumbledore. I'm most anxious to hear all about them."