I loathe Alecto Carrow, and think she is a really foul character in the books and films. However we have a certain family connection - my Aunt is the actress who plays her in the films. When my son was born, and my Aunty sent me baby things, I always joked (to myself, this HP preoccupation of mine is a secret,) that I got baby gifts from a death eater!
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Hermione's first lesson in her new world was Transfiguration. It was fitting really, Hermione mused as the Slytherins headed en masse for the Transfiguration classroom. Everything in her life had been transformed.
"Are you alright Miss Black?" Hermione turned to see Rabastan Lestrange keeping pace with her. Now the first shock of seeing him had passed, she found it easier to let a mask slip effortlessly into place. She wondered where his brother and sister in law were, and presumed they must be too old for Hogwarts.
"Yes yes, fine," Hermione said, glancing at the students around them. That was another surprise about the new world - the way the Slytherins worked. Nobody from the house of serpents ever went anywhere alone. Not to the bathroom, not to the hall, not to classes. It was too dangerous, Lucinda had briefly told Hermione. Like Professor Slughorn had warned, the rest of the school was out to get the future deatheaters. Hermione didn't blame them.
"Good morning class," Professor McGonagall said crisply, as the students filed into the Transfiguration classroom. The Gryffindors headed for the desks to the right, and the Slytherins to the left. Hermione concentrated on keeping her head down, and avoided catching anyone's eye as she sat beside Alecto Carrow in the only empty space. When the class was settled, the lecture began.
"This morning we will be attempting the difficult task of transforming water into wine," Professor McGonagall said, waving her wand at the board. Instructions immediately began to appear in precise handwriting across the black surface.
"I do not expect you all to achieve our aims during this lesson. However as NEWT students, you must be aware that the standard of performance expected of you is much higher than anything you have been asked to accomplish in previous years. Should you not succeed this lesson, I expect all of you to practice in your own time, until you achieve the desired result."
"If we manage it today, can we keep the wine Professor?"
Hermione felt a shock when she heard the voice. She knew that voice.
The class turned to the boy on the Gryffindor side of the room. He was leaning back with his chair on two legs, twirling a quill between his fingers and looking supremely unconcerned. Hermione received another sharp jolt when she saw him. Sirius. Young and handsome, he looked carefree and full of life. This was a bright sixteen year old with his whole life ahead of him. There was none of the haunted mark that twelve years of Azkaban would leave on his face. Hermione kicked herself for not realising who else would be in the school at this time, and thinking only of death eaters. Because if Sirius was here, that meant -
Harry's parents. When Hermione spotted James beside Sirius, she was hard put to stop herself gasping out loud. His resemblance to his son was so strong she wanted to cry, and she spent a few seconds forcing down her emotions before she allowed herself to look again. Hermione drank in his messy hair and dear face. How she missed Harry, oh how dearly she missed him.
Which meant the beautiful red haired girl at the front of the room had to be Lily. And - yes - there was Remus Lupin. Bittersweet joy welled up in Hermione's heart. Joy for the sheer aliveness of these people, and sorrow for the future they were facing. Not if I can help it, Hermione silently reminded herself.
In her introspection Hermione had missed Professor McGonagall's undoubtedly acerbic response to Sirius, but the Gryffindor side of the class was laughing, and even the Professor wore a trace of a smile around her lips. Glancing at her peers, Hermione saw the Slytherins wearing identical scowls. She smiled briefly. It seemed that even in this world some things were still the same. Restoring order, Professor McGonagall reminded that class of the task they had been set.
Hermione's partner Alecto didn't seem very adept with her wand. When Professor McGonagall asked a Gryffindor boy Hermione didn't recognise to pass around goblets of water, Alecto flexed her fingers nervously, but made no attempt to pick up her wand, lying discarded on the table.
"Aren't you going?" Hermione couldn't help but ask. The girl next to her glanced up, and then looked away.
"You first," Alecto mumbled to the desk.
Hermione rolled up the sleeves of her robes and pulled out her wand. She smiled, surprised at how easily the sensation of being back in a lesson returned to her. Flicking her wand gently towards the glass, Hermione spoke the incantation. Instantly the contents became a deep crimson, and a pleasant, fruity aroma drifted towards them.
"Well done Miss Black." Professor McGonagall had already caught her attempt, and in spite of herself she sounded impressed. Hermione smiled as she looked up at her ex head of house. Professor McGonagall had less lines around her face, and her hair was less grey. But her sharp manner was just the same as it had always been, and Hermione felt her confidence ease over like a balm. Lessons were something she could do. After so many years of feeling helpless, there was wonder in feeling competent once more.
"How did you do that?" Alecto whispered from beside Hermione, the longing in her voice obvious. Hermione hesitated. She had a choice. She could befriend Alecto, or she could not. Everything about the stubby little witch repulsed Hermione when she considered the foul woman the girl would become. But what better way to weed her out early than to have her believe Hermione was a friend?
"Here," Hermione said to Alecto, gently showing the other witch the way she was holding her wand wrong. "Like this."
As they left the classroom, Hermione caught the Gryffindors looking speculatively at her. When she saw James Potter frowning at her, Hermione felt her stomach twist. It felt like Harry was glaring at her, and it hurt. But the feelings were vanquished when the rest of the Slytherins caught up.
"Nice work Miss Black," Rabastan said admiringly, catching up with Hermione and Alecto. "Looks like you've taken Transfiguration before."
"I was homeschooled," Hermione said, the lie already smooth on her tongue.
"Your parents must have done a good job."
Hermione shrugged, and feigned looking distressed. It was easy. The very thought of her parents was enough to make her want to cry, and though the idea of her fictional Black family didn't have the same effect, the subject was touchy. Rabastan noticed her expression and didn't push the matter.
Charms followed Transfiguration, and once more Hermione found herself shining amongst her classmates. It wasn't unexpected. Not only was she an exceptional student, she had also already completed this year, and studied far beyond the curriculum. Hermione noticed her peers openly staring, and was careful to keep her hand down. She answered no questions, but did her work to an excellent standard. Professor Flitwick was delighted, and awarded twenty points to Slytherin by the end of the session.
At lunch time Hermione found herself sitting amongst a group that included Alecto Carrow and her seventh year brother Amycus; Rabastan Lestrange; Regulus Black and a few girls she couldn't remember the name of. The great hall was more noisy than it had been during the morning, but still more subdued than it had been during Hermione's time. Even the teachers kept their conversations low and guarded.
Hermione was sitting next to Regulus Black, a fact that made her slightly uncomfortable. She, Ron and Harry had been so close to Sirius in her previous life, that it felt bizarre to be sitting next to his much hated dead brother. But it would be impossible to confuse the two at least, unlike Harry and James. Regulus was smaller and slighter than Sirius, with a somber countenance. He also kept staring at Hermione with narrowed eyes. Just when Hermione was about to say something, Regulus spoke.
"Are you sure you're a Black?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows. Regulus pinkened slightly when those around paused in their conversations to watch. Certain it would be more suspicious to try and prove it, Hermione kept it simple.
"Yes," Hermione said, after she had finished her mouthful of soup. "Of course I'm sure."
"You're not named after a star," Rabastan said, leaning over the table with a grin. "Thank goodness. There's only so many constellations one family could take."
Regulus bristled immediately, but Hermione laughed; she couldn't help herself. "Phineas Nigellus Black wasn't named after a star," she pointed out after a moment.
Regulus looked thoughtful, and took a long drink from his goblet before replying. "I suppose not," he murmured. "I'm just saying it's unusual."
Hermione finished her soup, and pushed the bowl away. Then she removed the napkin from her lap and folded it neatly, thanking her good fortune that her parents had taught her formal manners growing up. Ron and Harry had eaten like pigs for much of the time, but Hermione was certain pureblood circles weren't that different to the upper elite of the muggles. Any deviation from form would be a mark of suspicion against her. But perhaps some convincing was necessary...
"My middle name is a star actually," Hermione said after a moment's consideration. "Hermione Druella Black."
Hermione felt a wrench as she let go of her middle name, even though she knew it was going to be necessary. But it was a name her parents had chosen for her, and with every tie she broke with her world and her identity, Hermione felt as though she was letting go of the girl her parents had raised, no matter that she knew that girl had died the moment she became entangled in a war. Still, it was worth it to see the look on Regulus's face.
Regulus's eyes widened. "That's the name of my Aunt," he said, staring at Hermione.
"I don't know which branch of the family I'm from," Hermione said, placing her spoon neatly in her bowl. "But they repeat names all the time."
Regulus nodded, and seemed mollified. His suspicious glances at least ceased for the remainder of the meal, and the rest of the small group seemed also to lose interest in their conversation. Instead a lively debate sprang up about the chances of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Hermione noticed Alecto rolling her eyes at another girl, and felt like joining in. No matter what world she inhabited, it seemed that boys would always be boys.
\\/
Within a few days, Hermione felt like she was slipping into her role as Hermione Druella Black like a second skin.
During the course of the war she had on many occasions been forced to down polyjuice potions like cheap whiskey shots, and assume the identity of whoever was necessary for the cause. She had taken on the guise of Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry, Pansy Parkinson, various muggles, and on one memorable occasion, the ghost of Lily Potter. (Hermione had worried that it would be horribly disrespectful, but it had been Harry's suggestion after all, even though it had involved an uncomfortable amount of gravedigging. Harry had been pale and unhappy, but pointed out that in war there could be no squeamishness, and after all how else were they supposed to get information out of Snape?)
Rising in the morning with the other Slytherins girls, Hermione dressed like them, (although with her hair she certainly didn't look as polished as the others,) she talked like them, ate meals with them and attended her classes in the large groups they favoured. Within days Hermione felt the spectre of Hermione Jean Granger begin to fade. Who could have known how easy acting could be?
It was on the first Friday that Hermione really found herself rocked from her newfound comfort. Friday morning brought their first ever potions lesson.
\\/
"Well now this is absolutely splendid!" Professor Slughorn beamed, gazing down into Hermione's cauldron. "An absolutely wonderful attempt at the draught of living death."
Hermione tried to look modest, but felt her insides warm. Alecto, who was sitting beside her, shot her a smile. Hermione allowed herself to feel a tiny bit smug. It was just so nice to be praised, to sit in a warm classroom under her teacher's eye and brew a potion in safety and peace, with plentiful ingredients.
One night when the trio were on the run, Hermione had brewed Draught of Living Death to save a life. The three of them had been in a tiny, damp cave with stolen ingredients and a transfigured cauldron. She had worked from memory that night, shaking with cold, praying that the muggle silverware she was using to chop the ingredients would still work. Ron and Harry had hovered helplessly above her, holding a torch over her cauldron, unable to offer any help except the most basic. Hermione grew colder and colder, her back aching as she hunched over the cauldron, until finally the potion had been finished. It had been perfect. Not even Professor Snape would have been able to fault it. Hermione had burst into tears then, weakened by exhaustion and hunger.
It was so very different to be in Slughorn's potions class compared to her past life, and even compared to Snape's lessons in her younger years at Hogwarts. And speaking of the man himself...
The pale greasy teenage Snape was sitting on the other side of the dungeon to Hermione. She had seen him several times during the week, but hadn't spoken to him. He spent time with a different group of Slytherins - Avery, Mulciber and a few others that Hermione recognised as future death eaters. She found it interesting. When Sirius had told them that Snape had spent all his time with a group of future death eaters, she had imagined that meant all of them, like a Hogwarts version of the inner circle. She hadn't considered that they might have different friendship groups and different levels of closeness, just like the members of the other side.
"As usual, absolutely perfect Severus! Probably the finest first attempt I have ever seen, my my dear boy, very well done."
Professor Slughorn had reached Snape's cauldron. Snape looked smug, and if Hermione wasn't mistaken, shot a slightly triumphant look in her direction. It was odd to see her feared former potions master as a precocious student. And Hermione had to admit she was slightly irritated that his potion had outstripped hers. Even if he had been the one to teach her to brew it.
Hermione packed away her ingredients, her mood not quite as good as it had been before. As she straightened up, a balled up scrap of paper landed on her desk. Frowning, Hermione opened it.
Never mind Black. Better luck next time.
Hermione looked up to see Rabastan smirking at her from the desk in front, but there was no malice on his face. Nonetheless, Hermione was not amused Scowling, she packed her bag.
\\/
The second week followed the first in a similar manner. Hermione stuck close to Alecto, who seemed more than happy to have the company. Hermione decided she could easily see how a girl like her could have been drawn into the ranks of the Dark Lord. Alecto Carrow was shy and clumsy, and not the brightest spark. Her older brother was similar, and spent time with the other deatheaters-in-waiting. Hermione suspected that they had both been simply sucked in, lured by promises of power and riches. Although she had no doubt that the adult Alecto had been a vicious piece of work, Hermione could find no trace of that malicious spark in the younger counterpart. She could only supposed it had developed over years of exposure to Voldemort and his followers.
That didn't mean she wanted to kill Alecto any less.
That evening at dinner Hermione discovered it was a Hogsmeade weekend the following week. Upon seeing the notice she found herself in a predicament. Without a parent or guardian to sign her form, she doubted she would be allowed to go. For a few days Hermione considered speaking to Professor Dumbledore, but she wasn't willing to risk that he might say no on the grounds of the danger posed to someone with the kind of information she possessed. Eventually she decided Slughorn might be a sympathetic option.
After her last lesson on Friday, Hermione pushed past the Slytherins and made her way to the dungeons, ignoring the curious glances she received.
Slughorn's office was very different to how she remembered Snape's being. The bottles of pickled animals and body parts were gone, and instead the room was hung with lush drapes. It was amazing how the man could make a dungeon seem so cosy, Hermione mused.
If Slughorn was surprised to find her at his door, he didn't show it. Hermione quickly explained her parentless situation, and how she hoped to go to Hogsmeade with her friends.
"And you're worried you can't go Miss Black?" Slughorn boomed, peering over his desk at Hermione.
"Yes sir," Hermione said meekly. "I don't know who I would ask to sign my permission form. I don't have a guardian either."
Slughorn looked sympathetic. He tapped his fingers on the stack of papers in front of him, and Hermione noticed they were slightly sticky, with sugar crystals clinging to them. On a shelf behind the man was a telltale box of crystallised pineapple, and Hermione smiled. Clearly Slughorn had not developed his cravings later in life.
"I hear Honeydukes are doing an excellent run in crystallised pineapple imported from the tropics," Hermione said, trying not to sound too wheedling. "I was thinking of buying some, if only I was allowed to go. Perhaps I could bring some back?"
The thinly veiled bribe seemed to make up Professor Slughorn's mind, and he clapped his pudgy hands together with a genial smile. "Well Miss Black we cannot have you missing out on spending the day with your peers. I will speak to Dumbledore myself about the matter, and of course you may go."
"Thank you sir," Hermione said with relief, standing up.
"Don't forget the pineapple," Slughorn chuckled as he ushered her to the door.
\\/
Thanks for reading,
Cas
