Chapter Eleven
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As the discussion petered out, Hermione waited for the right moment to take her leave from the boys. During the next gap in the conversation she stood up, and yawned.
"I'm going inside now. I'm a woman, I need more time than you to get ready."
This was entirely true. Solitude could be a hard to gift to find in Lestrange manor, but Hermione had plans that she needed to put into action before Lord Voldemort arrived.
"We'll meet you in the hall," Rabastan said, nodding. "The elf will fetch you at the right time."
Hermione left the sunny, fragrant gardens behind and headed up from her room.
"Gilly?"
The small house elf appeared instantly, a duster still quivering in her hand.
"Missy Black is calling for Gilly?"
"Yes. I need to get ready for tonight, so could you make sure I'm not disturbed please?"
"Gilly will be making sure Miss!"
The house elf disappeared as quickly as she had arrived, no doubt eager to get on with the tasks that still remained. Meanwhile Hermione locked the door, and then took a deep breath and flexed her fingers.
She drew her wand and began to systematically disable every single monitoring charm, spell or bug that littered her bedroom. It was quick, efficient work to identify and dismantle each one, although Hermione almost missed an insidious little spell attached to her bedside lamp, which captured images only when lit.
"You might be dormant, but I'm not that stupid," Hermione said, turning her wand on the new threat.
It didn't take long, and within an hour Hermione was standing in a room that could not be monitored, at least for the duration of the evening. Then she prepared for the real work.
Stretching her cramped fingers out, Hermione withdrew her little blue book from her pocket. The page fell open where she had last been working on it, with her neat handwriting spelling out complex equations and formula. The heading though, was fairly explanatory.
Occlumency and Memory Alteration: Plan for Lestrange Manor and LV
The plan was mostly theory, based on solid facts of magic and hypotheses of how the mind worked. Hermione was about 90% certain that it would work exactly the way she had devised. The other ten percent had been giving her sleepless nights.
The facts were simple though: Hermione could not face Voldemort, master legilimens, and expect every lie she had been constructing to hold in the face of his investigation. Her occlumency skills would hold up against a basic search, but this was too important to get wrong.
Hermione was going to alter her own memories for the duration of the evening. The unpredictable part was the extent this would affect her thinking; whether or not she would remember what had happened, why she had done it, and what her task was.
No other choice.
With the enchantments fixed in her mind, Hermione turned to the doorway and knelt down. She pulled her new glass beaded necklace over her head, and looked at it regretfully. Then she muttered a quick spell, and reduced the glass into a pile of dust.
Hermione sprinkled it across the doorway carefully. The glass dust had been brushing against her chest collecting skin cells, and the invisible particles containing her DNA were spread evenly.
Hermione began to layer spells. The glass and DNA would mean the ward she was building only affected her.
Then she began to build a cascade ward system, set to trigger when she returned to her room in the evening. The dust, almost invisible against the thick white carpet, shimmered for a moment and then faded. The ward should release the memory alterations.
Satisfied, Hermione sat cross legged on the four poster bed and drew the curtains around until she was sitting in privacy. The mission she was facing was the hardest she had undertaken since entering this new world - or even in the one she had left.
Somehow being in battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters didn't seem as hard as having to look the man in the eye and convince him of her loyalty.
"If Severus Snape could do it in the last life, then I can do it in this one," Hermione muttered to herself.
She rechecked her notebook, and opened it on the bed in front of her so she wouldn't lose track of what she was doing. Every single memory she wanted to combine had been specifically listed.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione pressed her wand to her temple and began calling up every memory she had of Sirius Black, his mother's portrait, Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy, Nymphadora Tonks, Regulus Black: Every image of a Black family member that Hermione had ever seen. It was the only plan that she could conceive of that might let her pull this off.
Carefully, Hermione pulled out the first silver strand of memory. She caught it in her fingers, and pulled out another. Then she began to weave, stretch, multiply and change.
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"Missy Black! You must hurry or you would be being late!"
"I'm coming Gilly," Hermione called from the bathroom.
The new mirror did not speak, and she could look at her reflection in peace. It was a hard thing to decide though - how did one choose what to wear to meet a Dark Lord, with a wardrobe as limited as hers was.
Professor Dumbledore had provided what he said he would for her - the wardrobe of an average Slytherin sixth year girl. But the school fund certainly did not stretch to cover fine robes, jewellery, or anything beyond the average. A few pretty dresses and robes were all that had been provided, and while these were fine for dining with the Lestranges, Hermione needed more if she was meeting the Dark Lord.
It was admittedly very, very tacky for a witch to transfigure or otherwise conjure up her clothing.
But Hermione had always been good at spells, and she was almost certain that nobody would realise her gown was made out of more than three quarters pure magic. Usually an attention to detail let down clothing transfiguration, but Hermione was excellent at detail.
The black dress was tight at the waist, and let out in layers of silk and gauzy swirls of fabric until it reached past Hermione's knees. The bodice was tight, but modestly cut to reach her throat, and covered her arms all the way to the wrist like a second skin. And every bit of visible stitching was in shining thread that looked like pure gold.
Hermione pulled her sleeves a little to check that her arms were completely hidden, and then charmed her nails a shimmery gold. The high neck and long sleeves concealed the fact that she simply had no jewellery to wear. Unlike clothes, it was easy to tell when diamonds had been conjured.
Hermione piled her hair into a tumbling knot high on her head, and used her wand to secure it. Then she took a good, long look at herself.
I look like bloody Bellatrix, Hermione thought, eyeing herself. From top to toes, she looked cold, beautiful and a little wild.
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Hermione marched down the stairs towards the dining room, feeling like she was heading to war.
"Hermione!"
Rabastan and Severus were heading towards the doors from the opposite direction, and both stopped suddenly when they saw her. Severus stared for a long moment.
"You look exquisite," Rabastan said sincerely, kissing her hand when she arrived.
"I see you managed to find some black," Severus added, the teasing in his voice not quite hiding his tension.
"I see you both did."
In fact the three of them might have been heading for a funeral, from the black robes the boys wore from head to foot.
"Come on," Rabastan said, gesturing to the doors. "Let's not be late."
Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded. Then she reached up and pulled her wand from her bun, letting her hair tumble down around her face. Several strand of memory that had been hidden beneath her wild curls suddenly were able to touch her skin, and fell into place. The magic Hermione had been weaving took effect, and she managed not to stumble.
"Let's go."
The result had been exactly what Hermione had hoped for. She knew who she was, where she was, and what she needed to do. But everything else was different.
The three teenagers entered the dining room, and followed Rabastan's lead. They took their places not in chairs, but standing beside the wall silently. Barty and Regulus were already there and waiting, but Deus Lestrange was missing.
"Where is your father?" Hermione asked Rabastan softly, glancing around the huge empty room.
"They're coming. In a just -"
The doors banged open with a smack, and two men hurried into the hall to hold them open. What followed was the closest thing to a church procession that Hermione had seen for many years.
Lord Voldemort entered at the head of the procession. Hermione gripped her wand tightly out of instinct, and couldn't stop herself from staring at the man.
Because he looked like a man. A cold, cruel man. Lord Voldemort was tall and even handsome in spite of his age, and he had dark hair with just a hint of grey at the temples. There was no kindness in his eyes though, and he swept into the hall and took his place at the head of the table without even looking at the teenagers lined up awkwardly to the side.
Deus Lestrange followed, wearing robes that were not quite Death Eater robes but were certainly a nod to it. He was followed by Rodolphus and Bellatrix, and another two couples. All of the men were wearing similar robes, with long sleeves that covered their arms. The women wore dresses, with gloves up to the elbows.
Hermione wondered if they didn't want to show their Dark Marks to uninitiated.
"Come on," Rabastan hissed, as the last woman sat down at the table.
The five teenagers took their seats at the end of the table, the furthest away from Lord Voldemort. The moment the last person sat down, bowls of gently steaming onion soup appeared on the table in front of them, and bottles of wine materialised.
"Wine?" Rabastan uncorked the nearest bottle, and began pouring it into Hermione glass.
"Thank you."
Hermione glanced around the table covertly. More than anything it reminded her of a court, with Lord Voldemort sitting at the head of the table surrounded by his courtiers.
Bellatrix Lestrange sat even closer than her father in law, at the right hand of Lord Voldemort. Her husband was beside her, and then Deus Lestrange.
"Who is that," Hermione murmured softly, looking at the other couple. The man looked to be at least middle aged; the pale, fearful looking woman with him could have been his daughter.
"That's Rellion Nott and his new wife," Regulus breathed in a whisper. "Beside them that's Abraxus and Stella Malfoy."
Hermione had recognised the platinum blonde locks that set the Malfoy's apart, and already guessed the third couple.
"Lucius' parents?"
"That's right."
The adults at the top of the table were speaking to each other about inconsequential things over their soup, and the buzz of their chatter was providing enough cover for the teenagers to have a quiet conversation. Barty Crouch was throwing sideways glances at Lord Voldemort, his eyes wide and covetous.
The man himself was saying very little. Lord Voldemort watched his followers lazily, drinking the wine but ignoring the food. Hermione got the impression that he was merely humouring them.
"My Lord, is the soup not to your liking?"
Bellatrix addressed Lord Voldemort in a reverent murmur, but all conversation died. Rodolphus was frozen, as though he half expected his wife to get cursed for asking.
Voldemort looked into his bowl for a long moment, and his lips twisted.
"All is well, Bella. I find myself with little appetite tonight. Now do tell me more about your new job; I am most eager to hear about our inroads into the Ministry."
The table breathed a collective sigh of relief, and conversation resumed.
By the time the main course was served Hermione was able to relax again. Severus was sitting opposite her, and they caught each others eye every so often. She wished they had been able to speak more that week; he was the closest thing she had to a confidante in this era.
"Are you not hungry?"
"Not really," Hermione told him, placing her fork back on the plate to avoid the urge to push her food around.
There were too many butterflies in her stomach to eat properly, and Hermione noticed that none of the other teenagers seemed to have managed much either - except for Rabastan, who would never curtail his eating habits for something as normal at the Dark Lord sitting at his table.
Gilly appeared quietly, and began levitating dishes away from the table. Hermione clenched her hands into fists under the table. Nothing had happened yet, but she knew it would. They had not been invited here to simply sit at the table and fill seats.
By the time tall champagne glasses filled with a delicate chocolate mousse appeared on the table, things had begun to grow quieter. Lord Voldemort was watching the teenagers intently, and conversation was faltering.
"So, Rabastan, how have you been finding your sixth year?"
Lord Voldemort finally spoke, and Hermione watched as Rabastan paled at being asked a direct question.
"I...it has been fine, my Lord. I am on track for excellent results."
Deus nodded approvingly, but Rabastan only breathed a sigh of relief when Lord Voldemort inclined his head, and moved to the next person.
"Bartemius Crouch Junior, I believe. Your father is quite the troublemaker for me at the ministry."
"I'm not my father!" Barty burst out, looking as though he would like very much to stand up and start proving it. When Lord Voldemort raised an eyebrow though, his bravery evaporated and his voice dropped to an obsequious mutter.
"I will do whatever it takes to stand against my father. I believe he is wrong, his ways are wrong, and I will never be like him."
"Will you now."
Barty gulped, and didn't answer. Looking almost bored, Lord Voldemort took a measured sip of his coffee before turning to Severus. Hermione felt her heart clench when the eyes of the Dark Lord fell on her friend. If only she could have saved him from this life.
"Now you have even more of a problem with your father, don't you Severus Snape."
"He's a muggle," Severus said quietly. "I have no desire to refer to him as my father. As far as I am concerned I have no father."
"What of your mother?"
As Hermione watched, she realised that Lord Voldemort already knew the answer for the question. He was toying with the young hopefuls, the way a cat might play with a mouse.
"Pureblood, my Lord. She was a Prince."
He loves to feel their fear. It makes him feel powerful.
Just as the thought crossed Hermione's mind, Lord Voldemort turned his attention towards her and her eyes met his crimson gaze. Immediately her heart began to hammer, and she pulled up a weak facsimile of an occlumency shield, as though she wanted to hide her thoughts.
"Hermione Black. Such an interesting development."
"Is it?"
Hermione kept her voice steady, but felt Rabastan flinch beside her at her answer.
"You're a mystery, Miss Hermione Black. I don't like mysteries."
Lord Voldemort stared intensely at Hermione, and she was almost certain he was probing her mind. She needed to entice him to look even further, and so she made a split second decision. She let her occlumency shields waver, and then drop momentarily, calling up the memory she wanted.
Avery was frozen, unable to move as his eyes flickered wildly over her face. The utter panic, the blind terror in them as Hermione pushed him off the Owlery tower. Watching him fall, until he hit the ground.
Hermione jerked, as though she had been stung, and tried to look shaken as she re-erected her occlumency shields. She dropped her eyes to the table, but not before she had seen a gleam of genuine surprise on Lord Voldemorts face.
"Miss Black you will join me in the study after the meal."
"Of course," Hermione murmured, hearing intakes of breath up and down the table. Regulus reached out and squeezed her knee where nobody could see, and she felt Severus press his foot against hers.
They're worried about me.
Surprised, Hermione kept her head down, not daring to look up in case she gave anything away. Lord Voldemort resumed a conversation with Deus Lestrange, but for the rest of the meal every person around the table kept returning their eyes to her. Nobody spoke to her again.
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As Hermione stepped out of the bathroom where she had been gathering her composure, a hand shot out of the shadows and grabbed her wrist.
Instinctively Hermione drew her wand and had it to the throat of her assailant before she realised who she was aiming at.
"Severus! Don't do that to me!"
"Shh! Come over here."
Severus pulled Hermione out of the main hall and into a side corridor, where Rabastan and Regulus were also waiting. They looked uncharacteristically anxious.
"Hermione why did you provoke him?" Rabastan hissed. "After everything we said!"
"I hardly provoked him," Hermione said, touched and amused. "I only said two words. Where's Barty?"
"Said you deserved it if you cheek the Dark Lord," Regulus muttered.
"Anyway we don't have long. Father has taken the Dark Lord up to his study for a drink, but he'll be leaving in a few minutes so you can go in."
Rabastan paced the narrow corridor restlessly; a sharp comparison with Severus who stood still and stared at Hermione with open worry on his face.
"I'll be fine," Hermione forestalled them.
"I don't want him to torture you," Severus burst out.
"Just please apologise," Rabastan said, taking Hermione's hand in his and looking at her pleadingly. "If you apologise and pledge your loyalty he might not curse you. I've seen things here Hermione, I've seen what he can do."
Even Regulus was nodding, and Hermione was surprised by how genuinely worried the boys seemed to be. It hadn't occured to her that they might be so upset by the idea of anything happening to her.
Footsteps sounded outside the corridor, and the four held their breath as the tall figure of Deus Lestrange strode past without stopping.
"That's my cue," Hermione said softly, steeling herself. "Don't worry about me. I've got this under control."
"I bloody well hope so," Severus said, and squeezed her hand abruptly. "Good luck."
Regulus and Rabastan added their advice, and Hermione managed a tight smile as she left the corridor, and headed upstairs to the study where Lord Voldemort was waiting.
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This was a much longer chapter that included the meeting, but I had to cut it when it reached stratospheric proportions. It's virtually done though, so I'll update in a couple of days at the latest.
Thanks for reading
Cas
