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GRASCORTY CASTLE
Lucille Lee
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Summary: AU. WIP. Hermione's world changes drastically after her parents' death. Set in the 18th-19th century. Just as she was beginning to fall in love with the handsome friend of Lord Black, she meets the plebeian Severus Snape. SS/HG/RL with some side-romances that I will keep as a surprise.
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Review Responses:-
BaskervilleBeauty: Thank-you for reviewing. I am sorry that the dashes didn't appear in the second chapter. Hopefully the line breaks for scene changes will work in this one. Please inform me if they don't.
Severus-Fan: Thanks for reviewing. I hope you like this chapter, too!
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3. In which Miss Granger meets a person who takes her to a different kind of life
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The letter was still in her hand, though crumpled. She was straining her memory to find out anyone who had the initials S.S. All she could remember was her dead neighbour old Sarah Stapleton – a mad old lady whom she had feared when she was a child.
And if she could remember mad old ladies from her childhood, surely she could remember someone who alleged the preposterous fact that she had a son.
She was completely baffled at first, then indignant. But after over an hour of contemplation only curiosity and bewilderment remained.
She was a true Gryffindor. She would certainly go to the Bridge – wherever that was – at midnight and find out what the matter was. The prospect was somewhat exciting.
The rest of the day was spent in restlessness. She wondered who S.S. was. Obviously he or she was of magical community. The letter had arrived through an owl and was written with green ink on a piece of parchment. Green ink… she wondered if the person was a Slytherin. While she did not like unhealthy house rivalry and classifying people according to their Hogwarts Houses, it was still plausible that a Slytherin had played this cruel joke. Though she won't put it past any Gryffindor – they were pretty crude sometimes.
She deduced at last that it was a man. The hand was spidery and somewhat illegible – but it was strong. It wasn't the fine hand of a woman – she had seen mainly women's handwritings till now and a few men's. So she could infer and believe that. Other than that, it betrayed no sign of its owner – at least none which she could read.
"Hermione, are you alright?"
Ginny was bustling about her room, something which reminded her of her mother, straightening things out and cleaning.
Hermione wondered if she ought to confide in Ginny about the letter she had received. But then she decided to the contrary. What if there wasn't a joke but some mistake? What if the person who had written desired secrecy? While she had as yet not known an owl to deliver a letter wrongly, but still she supposed that anything was possible in the Wizarding World.
"Yes, I am fine… just thinking…"
"Well, I feel I know who you were thinking about," said Ginny smiling mischievously. "Don't worry you'll be seeing him soon again."
Hermione was glad that Ginny had woken up today and went about her work as if nothing had happened. She respected her – Ginny was a very strong woman. Anyway, Hermione wasn't sure she could now broach the topic of Draco Malfoy without seeking to hex the man to hell.
Briefly, she considered negating Ginny's train of thought. But then she let it pass. She wasn't so infatuated with Mr. Lupin but it was a safer track of conversation.
"How come? He didn't seem very gregarious to me. Moreover, he is a lawyer. They always have a lot of work to do."
"Ah! That's a secret! A surprise! But you'll see."
And no matter what Hermione would say, Ginny was adamant on not letting the cat out of the bag.
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All in all, Hermione wasn't too tired at the end of the day, when Ginny had blown off the candles and left. She had had little to do but she hadn't gone lethargic. Her active mind had kept her alert even after her bed-time.
She got up and with a quick spell had relit a candle. In the dim light, she wasn't able to move about very fast. But it was an advantage. On Hermione's request, Ginny no longer stayed in the servants' quarters, but in a small room next door.
Putting her wand in the pocket of her dress (which she herself had created for the purpose – with her mother's guidance, of course – she wasn't very good at sewing), she was ready to confront S.S.
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During lunch, which she always took with her uncle, Lord Cromwell had informed her that the Bridge was an old wooden bridge over the river at the far end of their country. It was about two miles north from the Grascorty grounds. However, there was a short-cut through the woods, but it was dangerous to go through them. Many people had heard weird wolfish noises coming from there. It was rumoured that a werewolf lived there.
While Hermione thought that it might not be a total figment of imagination, since it was a half-moon night, she thought that she was safe from that predicament. It was eleven when she set out. She needed to hurry through the woods if she wanted to reach there on time.
She had never been quite very brave and all, but she had always managed to hide her fears, and hence, never been classified as a coward.
This forest scared her even without its werewolf. It was too silent – the silence before a storm. There wasn't even an owl about.
It had snowed earlier in the evening. The snow muffled the sound of her footsteps. It wasn't unusual for woods to be silent during winter nights when wind did not blow. But the darkness of the night, combined with her romantic imagination wasn't helping.
What if it was a trap to lure her out? What if someone had deliberately sent that awful note on purpose? What if she was attacked by some wild wolf? Oh Merlin! Why hadn't she considered these possibilities before?
Pulling her cloak closer about her, and looking up at the moon through a gap in the canopy, she took a deep breath.
No need to die before one has to.
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She must've reached the Bridge on time because as it came into view, she could see a cloaked figure resting against the railing.
It was a man, as she had rightly suspected and he was dressed in very old-looking clothes.
She stopped for some moments at the edge of the woods before advancing towards the man.
He had turned even before she had started walking.
She had not worn a bonnet and veil. She had not been used to wearing them at Hogwarts and it was uncomfortable for her still. As the dim moonlight fell on the man's face, she was slightly startled.
He seemed to be about forty years of age. His lank hair fell to his shoulders and she could just trace a sliver of silver near his temple. He was tall and thin, with a hawk-like nose (which didn't classify as aquiline).
However, it was his eyes that brought about her reaction. They were blacker than coal and colder than this winter night. They bore into her with a deeply foreboding expression.
His voice was low and dangerous when he spoke.
"Who are you?"
"I… Might I not ask the same of you?"
He scowled at her, making her flinch slightly. He stepped closer, his stance proclaiming that he was not to be questioned, only answered. "Where did you come from?"
"Grascorty Castle," she said, not moving. "Was it you who sent that letter?"
Somehow, she very much doubted it. He was the last person she would expect to smile, let alone play some sordid joke.
"What letter?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
She produced the crumpled piece of parchment.
He looked at it for a second. "Why do you have that? It wasn't meant for you!"
"The owl gave it to me," she said.
His frown deepened. Hermione could feel that he was a powerful wizard. If not for his clothes, she would have thought him to be the epitome of cruel dictatorship. He was just the fierce Sheriff of Nottingham from her childhood fantasies.
As his eyes met hers, she shrunk back. They were filled with rage and abhorrence.
"You are a spy!" he hissed, whipping out his wand, and holding it to her neck. "Who sent you?"
If it had been Voldemort himself, Hermione would not have been half as terrified. It wasn't the fact that he was holding a wand to her throat. No, that was something that she could deal with easily. It was his eyes. They seemed to bare her down to her soul and then burn it with their intense hate.
"I don't know what you are talking about." She managed to keep her voice steady and her face expressionless, despite of what she felt.
"We'll settle that soon, won't we?" His lips curled in a nasty sneer.
She momentarily wondered if he was going to hex her, but then he stepped closer still and looked deeply into her eyes. Before she could even move a finger…
"Legilimens!"
Her whole life seemed to pass in front of her eyes in a flash. She was playing with her father and cousins… her mother crying as she went off to Hogwarts for the first time… her first lesson there with McGonagall… her disastrous flying lesson… Ginny growing paler as Tom Riddle grew stronger… sneaking out to meet Harry injured by Malfoy… helping Ron with his Potions essay… her parents' grave… Lord Cromwell… Lord Black… Mr. Lupin…
She was sitting on the bridge against the railings; her head in her hands and sweat trickling down her face even though it was bitterly cold.
"What did you do?" she screamed angrily at him.
Even he seemed slightly dazed. His wand was still in his hand, but his left hand was pressed to his forehead.
"Who are you?" he asked in a quieter voice devoid of its previous sting. "Are you new at the Castle?"
She ignored him. "How could you go inside my mind like that? What do you think you were doing?"
"I apologize," he said quietly, kneeling down on one knee. "These are dangerous times. I am in a dangerous position. I have to be wary of things and people at all times. Moreover, you seemed a powerful witch. I was suspicious."
He extended his hand towards her. "I am truly sorry."
She nodded slightly and took his hand. It was difficult to imagine that this courteous gentleman was the same man who had spit-out words filled with venom at her.
"That note… you say the owl delivered it to you?" he asked, his brows drawn together in a frown.
"Yes. He let me untie it. I thought that it was for me."
He was about to say something, but closed his mouth. He was looking at a point above her shoulder… towards the forest. Hermione turned around.
Moments later, she felt him grip her waist and pull her down with him – just as a flash of green light whizzed past where their heads had been.
"Apparate back to the Castle. Now!" he hissed at her as he shot some Dark curses towards the cloaked figure at the edge of the forest.
"But…"
"NOW! I can save my life – I may not be able to save both of ours!"
She nodded and closed her eyes.
"Go away!" he muttered again, ducking a red ball of light.
She tried hard… but something was stopping her.
"I can't!"
"You can't apparate?"
"Something is stopping me. I can't!"
He swore angrily and pulled her to himself. "Then you'll have to come with me."
"What? I…"
Before she could finish her sentence, the world was spinning around her.
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When she opened her eyes, she was in an attic – which seemed to have been modified for accommodation.
The man had stepped back and was regarding her with a particularly dangerous look in his eyes.
"Will you explain what happened back there, woman?"
"I couldn't apparate to the Castle. I think there was an anti-apparating Shield around it."
He glared darkly at her. "Lord Cromwell is a Muggle."
She stiffened. "Do you mean to tell me that I am lying, sir?"
He sneered. "For your life – I hope you are not."
Her hands balled into fists. Her temper had never been good when it came to someone accusing her wrongly. "Why don't you try apparating there if you do not trust me?"
"I cannot. I have never seen the place."
"And yet you know someone there well enough to be the guardian of their son."
"As for that little matter," he said, taking her arm in a strong grip and looking straight into her eyes, "you never received the letter and you don't know anything about it. It is a secret – and someone's life may depend upon it. But if you decide to wag your tongue, woman, know it that I have no scruples at performing the Avada Kedavra on anyone – I have been tried."
Hermione frowned at him and wrenched her hand away from his grip. "All that keeps me from hitting you for your audacity, sir, is the fact you saved my life."
Before the man could reply, there were shouts and screams from the street.
He went over to the window of the attic to peer down.
"Drunken idiots," he muttered as he sat down in the chair – the only chair, Hermione noticed. She remained standing near the table.
"What is this place?"
"London."
"And how am I supposed to go back to Grascorty?"
"That would be your problem as you have decided to burden me with your damned presence."
Her eyes flashed angrily. "I didn't ask you to apparate me here."
He shrugged nonchalantly, pulling out some old tomes from under the low bed. Then he proceeded to light the candles with a wave of his wand and completely ignore her.
Hermione tightened her fists, which were trembling with her force, but said nothing. She went to the door. She would find her way back to London herself.
"Unless you want to be attacked by a hoard of drunken men, I would suggest you remain here," he said dryly, not moving his eyes from the book.
"I have my wand with me – and I know how to use it."
"A hoard of Muggle drunken men."
"I'll hex them anyway!"
"Azkaban isn't a very lovely place as compared to Grascorty Castle."
"I am old enough…"
"According to the new legislations passed yesterday, any witch or wizard – underage or not, for protection or not – who uses any form of magic in front of any number of Muggles will be convicted without a trial."
She hit the door with her fist but didn't go out. Another of Minister Fudge's idiocies, she thought angrily.
She remained standing stiffly against the door for some time. Then after some time, she looked about the garret. There was a low bed with a thin mattress and a blanket on one side and a stack of books, parchments and quills and ink on the other. There was just enough space between the two for a two-drawer bureau. By the looks of it, this was where the man lived. But how could anyone live here? There wasn't even a fire. Just some thick candles for light. And the blanket looked so old that she wondered if it was a souvenir from his great-grandfather's days.
She didn't see him regarding her as she looked at the bed. As if reading her mind, he said, "It's not much but it's the best you'll get tonight. You can find your way back to Grascorty tomorrow. Who are you, anyway?"
"Hermione Granger."
The man regarded her with a queer look. "Hermione?"
"My parents loved Shakespeare."
"Of course," said the man absent-mindedly. "You can have the bed. I have a lot of work for the night anyway."
When Hermione didn't move, he said, "I am not going to hurt you, stupid girl. I am certainly not the best man you will ever meet, but I don't harm women. They really aren't worth the trouble some men go for… Not that I am required to give explanations. If you have doubts about my intentions, you are much welcome to spend the night standing by the door."
His tone was very foreboding and he seemed offended by her doubts. Wondering about the startling changes in his manners – callous, gentle, rude, yet considerate – she got into the bed. She was very tired and in spite of his harshness, she trusted him. It was unexplainable why she felt comfortable… but she did.
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When she woke up, it was to the sound of rain splattering angrily on the roof.
Still slightly sleepy, she got out of the bed, reflexively smoothing out her dress but failing. She was sure that she must be looking like a hag. She looked around, but the man wasn't there.
She went over to the table where many parchments were kept. His scrawl covered them. She recognized the language as Spanish but did not understand it. She had had little formal education of Muggle-style as she was a witch.
Just as she was about to open a book, she remembered he was reading yesterday, he returned.
"Good, you're awake. Would you please come with me?"
She put down the book and followed him wordlessly.
"It's the boy I mentioned in the letter which you got," he said as he led her to a small room on the floor immediately below the attic, "he's ill. I can provide him nurses, but there isn't a decent woman in this house who I would trust him with. And I would rather not leave the house right now leaving behind both of you."
"I am capable of taking care of myself and the boy," she said, kneeling beside the child's bed.
He seemed to be about a year or two old. Although his cheeks were flushed with fever and his hair dirty, Hermione could see that he was a beautiful boy. His golden locks framed a perfectly sculptured face with aristocratic features. He seemed strangely out of place here.
"He has fever. I have the solution with which to soak the cloth and press his head. He's a wizard…"
The man brought a bowl with shimmering rainbow-coloured liquid.
"I have had some Mediwitch Training," said Hermione, "would you please get some cold water? It will embellish the effect of the solution."
With a quick nod, the man went out.
Hermione lovingly caressed the child's head.
"Mum?"
"She'll be here soon," whispered Hermione, kissing his forehead.
He opened his eyes. Hermione found herself looking into the lightest blue eyes she had ever seen. They welled up with tears.
"Mum?"
"Calm down, boy. She'll take of you."
The man mixed the water and solution dexterously. Hermione wondered if he was a Potions Master or someone of that kind. Her Potions Professor, Elizabeth Burns had had a similar manner of working.
"What is his name?"
The man frowned at her. "I am afraid that I cannot tell you that – to maintain secrecy."
"His first name?"
"Florinzel."
"What does his mother call him?"
Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Loren."
Hermione pressed the cloth on his head lightly, at the same time, murmuring, "You are going to be well, Loren."
"Mum," was all that he murmured but leaned in to her touch.
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Some hours later, she sat on the small bed, with Loren nestled against her in her lap. The solution had worked fast. The fever was already waning. Unlike among Muggles, it was not harmful if the fever faded away fast among wizards. The magic was adapted to that.
The man had finally left after a boy brought him a note. He seemed suspicious about her still, but the matter had been too pressing, she believed, to allow him to indulge his notions.
She looked at Loren.
The feeling that he was so out of place here persisted. He wasn't supposed to live in a shackle like this. She wondered who his parents were and why they had left him here. If this was her child, she would never ever part with him.
Smiling slightly as the child clutched her fingers, she ran her fingers through his golden locks. The simple trust that he showed in her made her love him. She had never been fond of children because all she had ever seen of children were squalling, screaming brats who liked to dirty everything about them.
She leant against the headboard. The rhythm of the rain, falling in lighter showers now, on the roof soon put her to sleep.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know that I don't use the Cant language simply because I can't. If I tried it, I would mess up everything. So I apologize for that. I hope it does not affect the story too much.