CHAPTER 1: Diagon Alley
I'll meet you in the Leaky Cauldron at noon, then we can all have lunch together and get our supplies.
Love,
Hermione
Hermione looked over the letter. She hated signing with 'love,' but she didn't want them to suspect anything. Harry had been staying with Ron for the last month. She hadn't been invited. That just went to prove Voldemort's point that they really only liked to use her brain but didn't appreciate or care about her as a person, much less a friend.
With a sigh, she attached the letter to Hedwig's leg and sent the bird off to Harry and Ron. She stood and stretched, then went down the hall and opened the door to her mother's room. Contact between the two of them had been rather…forced since they'd found out about the affair. Each hated the way the other was handling the situation. Hermione's mother kept frowning at what she did to take her revenge. Hermione hated the way her mother acted as if it hadn't happened, treating him politely though as if he were a new acquaintance, not someone she knew very well or ever had. The only thing they both seemed to agree upon was that he had to get out of their house as soon as possible.
By now though, nearly two months later, he was nearly moved out, and it seemed as though a great tension in the house was eased. Hermione's mother didn't look ready to cry every second, and now the sounds of crying in her room were rare, she'd only cried once in two weeks. And though her mother was improving in her state, steadily getting over her father, Hermione was nowhere near that. Her hatred for her father flamed anew at every glance at his door, every look at her new piercings, every time she fingered her tattoo. There was no way she was ever going to feel any less than a deep pulse of hatred when she thought of him, a ferocious desire to bring him pain.
Hermione took a deep breath and knocked. "Come in," her mother said. Hermione obeyed, entering to sit on the bed. Her mother didn't look up from the book she was reading, but raised her eyebrows in question.
"Mum, can you take me to London today?" she asked. Her mother nodded absently at her and flipped the page in her book, continuing to read.
"Mum, I need you to stop reading and actually answer me. You're not paying attention to me, and I need you to." Marking her page, Mrs. Granger looked up at her daughter. Hermione had guessed right, she'd not absorbed anything that Hermione had just said, too immersed in her book. Her mother raised her eyebrows again in question. "Mum, I need you to take me to London at 11. I need to get my school supplies."
"Okay dear," her mother said with a smile. Satisfied that her mother had understood what she'd said this time, Hermione left the room. She stood in the hall outside her mother's door, considering. If she left, no one would be watching her mother. Her mother was currently trying to forget her father by continuously reading her books. Hermione could understand that, she'd done it many times herself, but she worried that her mum wouldn't go to work when she needed to, preferring to read, and to forget. Walking back to her room, Hermione made a mental list of her neighbors, ordering them by how reliable they were and the chances of being able to get them to come over.
Hermione was only a few minutes early to the meeting at the Leaky Cauldron. The Weasleys had been even earlier though, and the four redheads stood out in the pub. Hermione made her way over to them. They greeted her warmly, but Harry and Ron were excited about something, which made their hellos rather hasty.
"What's got you two all excited?" she asked dryly.
"There's a new broomstick out," Ron said excitedly.
"They say it's faster than even the Firebolt!" Harry added.
Ron calmed a bit, "But mum said we had to wait for you to get here before we could go see it."
The boys exchanged a look, and then they simultaneously grabbed Hermione's arms and dragged her into Diagon Alley…
Where they ran into Draco Malfoy and his posse. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the Golden Trio. Dragging her off to get a make over? She desperately needs one," the Slytherins laughed. "I hear they've got a new salon in that dumpster over there—though, on second thought, Weasley, you may not even be able to afford that," the blonde drawled, while Crabbe and Goyle snickered at the bright red that Ron's ears were turning.
Ron made a move as if to attack, but Harry held him back while Hermione tried to lead them away.
"Scared?" Malfoy taunted. "I don't understand why, just because you need your filthy Mudblood girlfriend to protect you is no reason to be scared." Crabbe and Goyle stepped in front of him, but it was too late. Harry and Ron had burst free from Hermione a second earlier. Crabbe and Goyle managed to stop Harry, but Ron broke through and gave Malfoy a punch in the jaw before he was pulled away. The fight continued between Harry, Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle until "ENOUGH!"
Everyone looked up at a furious Cornelius Fudge. "What is going on here? Brawls in the middle of Diagon Alley! I'll leave you with just a warning this time, but if I catch you again there's going to be a worse punishment in store for you. Now GO!" One look at Fudge's bright red face and everyone went their separate ways.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione scampered into Madam Malkin's—the nearest shop. Hermione looked at Harry and Ron and made disapproving noises. "Honestly," she said, looking at Harry's split lip. Madam Malkin came over with a first aid kit and Hermione gave her a grateful look. "You would think,"—she put a band-aid on a cut on Harry's forehead—"that you two,"—she handed the pieces of Harry's glasses to Madam Malkin, who repaired them—"would be smart enough,"—she wrapped Ron's bloody knuckles with a bandage—"to at least not start a fight"—another band-aid on Ron's jaw—"in the middle of Diagon Alley." She put one last band-aid on Ron's nose, which was bleeding profusely but didn't look broken.
"There," she said, stepping back. She surveyed her handiwork, silently wondering why Madam Malkin hadn't just used magic to fix the boys up. She stifled a snort of laughter as she noted their eyes. "Looks like you two will have matching black eyes." They glared at her, which made her want to laugh even more because they looked ridiculous.
Hermione packed up the first aid kit and went into the back room to give it back to Madam Malkin. When she came back to the shop, the boys had their backs turned to her. "Honestly," Ron said softly in a horribly high-pitched voice, "you two should be smart enough to not start a fight!" His voice returned to normal, "We didn't start it, it was Malfoy!" Hermione felt the words like a stab to the heart.
So maybe they hadn't started the insulting, but they had been the first ones to throw a punch. And she came in here, put bandages on them, and then they began to make fun of her! Voldemort was right. They didn't care. They were just using her. With a sound like a strangled cat, she turned on her heel and left the store, her face a violent red color.
She went about getting her school supplies alone, studiously avoiding Harry and Ron. The task was completed more quickly than usual (probably because of Harry and Ron—or the lack thereof). Hermione took the train home and sat alone.
Not long after she arrived home, she got a call from Harry and Ron. She hung up on them and didn't answer the phone again that night, locking herself in the privacy and safety of her own room.
That night, she wrote a letter to Lord Voldemort.
Daddy,
When exactly do you plan to tell my new family that I'm a new member? Harry and Ron were being mean to me in Diagon Alley today. They really don't care about me. You're all I have now, though I will still play at being their friend if that is your wish.
I hope that you will reveal me soon, but I have a few questions about what will happen when you do. What should I wear to the ceremony? Will it even be a ceremony? What will happen? How will my family react to me? Please write back soon.
Signed,
Hermione
Hermione read it over a few times, then changed the "signed" to "sincerely". Then she added a P.S..
P.S. How long until I am in your inner circle? Will I ever be in your inner circle? I ask only because you called me your daughter, but the bitter truth is that I'm your youngest member (I noticed when I read the list) and may never manage to be that high in the ranks. And I'm muggle-born as well, and I worry that that may affect my standing.
Hermione hesitated, then sent the letter off. She curled up on her bed with Crookshanks and slept.
When Hermione awoke the next morning, there was a letter on her desk. The front of the envelope was unmarked, but there was a seal on the back in the shape of a dark mark. She grinned at the old-fashioned seal and broke it before she fell onto the letter inside.
My dearest Hermione,
I plan to have you at Mr. Draco Malfoy's initation, where you are to be revealed. His initiation date has not been completely set, but Mr. L. Malfoy has been asking for it to be soon, so I am thinking of having it in mid- to late-September sometime. What do you think of this? Would you prefer a certain date?
Indeed, when you are revealed it will be a ceremony, and not just that of Mr. Malfoy's initiation. I have decided that there will be a ball/party after to welcome you into our ranks. I suggest wearing some dress robes, preferably in red or black, but don't worry about those now, I will take care of them later.
Because you will be introduced with me as your sponsor, your "family" may react a little coldly, but less so since I will be your mentor. You do not have to call me your father, but if you do, you are more likely to be accepted among the family.
As the guest of honor, you will be required to dance a few times at least, and you are not allowed to refuse a request. I suggest you learn some dance steps so you do not make a fool of yourself.
In reply to your post script: my silly dear, you are in the inner circle. With me as your mentor, sponsor, and acting as a father to you, how could you not be in my inner circle!
Come today and have tea with me. I can see that not all your questions have been answered. I will summon you at noon.
Signed,
Tom
Hermione puzzled over the signature. Since when did You-Know-Who go by Tom? It took her a minute to realize that if he'd signed with anything other than an ordinary name, and the letter had been intercepted…
She grinned absentmindedly and looked to the digital clock for the time. It was nearly 11. She showered and dress (she spent more time than usual dressing, unsure what was appropriate to wear), then curled up on her bed with a book to wait.
At noon sharp, Voldemort appeared in her room with a crack. Wordlessly, he offered her a portkey which she took. A minute later, they were in a huge dining room. The walls and ceiling were artfully painted and professionally gilded with gold. The dining table was mahogany, as were all the chairs—except two. At the closer end of the table were two ebony chairs.
Both of the ebony chairs were throne-like. They had black silk cushions and silver and gold gilding. The larger one, upon closer inspection, the gold and silver gilding was in a vine-like patter. Interspersed among the vines were skulls. Frowning slightly, Hermione turned to the second chair. It was smaller and more dainty than the other one. She studied the intricate gilding. There were vines on this one too, and hidden among them were serpents. Put together, the chairs would make the basic foundation for the dark mark what with the skulls on one and serpents on the other.
"Lovely," Hermione murmured, commenting on the chairs. Absentmindedly, she noticed the lunch was already set.
"I'm glad you like it. The smaller one is yours. I had it made for you by the same carpenter that made mine. As the Dark Lord's "daughter", I felt it appropriate that the Dark Lady has a chair of her own." The voice under the hood was amused. Hermione's jaw dropped. Hers. The Dark Lady? It made sense, but still…
"Alas, I fear that I have something to show you." His hands began untying the hood's drawstring. "I would only ask you not to scream. I only felt it fair that you at last see the face of your sponsor to decide if you really will accept me as a father figure. I understand if you won't, and if you don't…well, you're still the only Death Eater that's not pureblood that I personally have been mentor to, and all the privileges, chair, and title will still be yours." He let the hood drop.
Hermione choked. The face was a cross between human and snake. The nostrils were slits, and head bald and unnaturally pale. Red, snake-like eyes. She shivered and had second thoughts.
But the two of them were similar, in that they both sought after knowledge. She looked for other similarities. They both had muggle-parents. They had the same facial features in general (a nose, two eyes, a mouth, two ears…), even if his were a demented version. She bit her lip, finding no more similarities between the two of them.
But that didn't matter, he cared about her. The proof of that was in the expensive throne-like chair in front of her and the hopeful look on his face, that was only diminished by his eyes which knew exactly what she saw and were frightened by her imminent rejection.
Still, she hesitated. This would be a big blow for Harry, she thought. But Harry didn't care about her. An odd look crossed her face before she met Voldemort's red gaze for a split second (she couldn't hold that unwavering red stare for longer than a few seconds). She took a deep breath, "Well, father, can we dine? I'm quite starved, to tell the truth."
Voldemort looked pleased and slightly disbelieving, and she thought she saw a look of dismay cross his face too quickly to be sure if it was dismay or something else. He put his hood back up, which she was grateful for, and pulled her chair back for her to sit down. She did so, and he pulled back his own chair and sat also. They served themselves, and she ate voraciously.
Neither of them talked much during lunch, but in his study/office later, they sat down with tea and chatted about Death Eater customs and regulations. Their conversation soon veered to Draco Malfoy's initiation.
"Lord Voldemort, sir…er…Malfoy and I have been enemies for years…" She trailed off, not quite sure how to say what she was trying to say.
"I realize that. It's that whole Slytherin versus Gryffindor thing like usual. And Potter sure got in his way…yes, well, that will all change now, no?"
"But I don't want him anywhere near me!" she blurted out. "I can't stand him! He always calls me a Mudblood, and I know it's just a word, but I hate it! And I hate him!"
Voldemort seemed slightly shocked at her vehemence. "Well, my dear Dark Lady, I am sorry to tell you, but we must have him. You'll just have to either deal with him or avoid him—"
"But—"
"His father is influential. Without Draco Malfoy, we lose Lucius Malfoy. If there's no Lucius then there will be other defections. Without the support of the Malfoys, we would be nothing and have to rebuild everything all over again. No, Hermione, I will not let some childish prejudice get in the way of everything I have worked for. However," he said, raising his voice to quell her protests, "if you'd like to have your revealing ball before Mr. Malfoy's initiation rather than after it, I can arrange that.
"Now, let me explain another custom among the Death Eaters. The traditional initiation age is 17. But you and Mr. Malfoy are special and therefore the only exceptions to that rule, now and forever. So if I were you, I wouldn't brag to all the Slytherins that you're the youngest Death Eater in all of history. Some, well, actually, many, will be jealous.
"So, will you allow yourself to be revealed the same night of Mr. Malfoy's initiation, or do you want it before or later?"
Hermione thought about this. Certainly not before. The best way to make Malfoy angry would be to have them on the same day. After wouldn't do any good either. Maybe… "Do you think maybe the same day, but we can have my ball first, then the initiation just before everyone goes home?"
That would be the best way to make Malfoy mad. Then he couldn't be fawned over as the youngest Death Eater because people would already know about Hermione. She would have stolen his place at Voldemort's side as well, making him angrier. And at the end of the ball, people would be too tired to pay him the attention he'd want.
Voldemort seemed to follow her thinking. "Are you sure?" Hermione gave an impish grin and nodded. "Very well. What date do you want it?"
Hermione thought for a minute, envisioning her calendar. "September 26th?" she asked. "It's a Friday, so we'll have all weekend to recoup, and we'll also have time to settle into school."
"Smart thinking," he said proudly. "You need a dress. I hate shopping myself, but I know a woman who would be willing to help you get an appropriate outfit for the occasion…yes…" he stopped talking, but Hermione assumed he was thinking and didn't interrupt.
"Okay," he said. "I think it's time for you to meet Narcissa Malfoy. We can—and will—erase her memory afterwards, but I believe she can find you something suitable…"
An hour later, Hermione was out shopping with Narcissa Malfoy in a muggle shopping center. Apparently, Narcissa preferred their styles to the styles of wizard robes. In not only this, Narcissa was nothing like she'd expected. She was ruthless, cold, and smirked a lot, reminding Hermione of Malfoy. She didn't have very much patience, either. Hermione didn't like her at all, but she was forced to admit that she had an excellent taste for fashion. And she seemed to know exactly what the Dark Lord wanted for Hermione.
Hermione balked at the dresses that Narcissa handed to her. She wasn't usually picky with what she wore, but what Narcissa was handing her was unbelievable.
There was one dress, a cream colored gown that Hermione liked. Narcissa snatched it from her hands and put a blood-red velvet one in its place. The red dress was long, tight-fitting, and had a low neckline. Narcissa loved it, though complained it was too long for her own tastes, though it looked perfect on Hermione. Hermione agreed, for the most part, but personally didn't like the low neckline. Eventually they ended with this compromise, it being the only thing Hermione would allow herself wear with any measure of dignity.
Narcissa snatched up a matching pair of red, low-heeled shoes, paid, and they were done in 30 minutes. Hermione was delivered to the Dark Lord's door with Narcissa in a huff.
"She has horrible taste in clothes. I think you should've told her what you wanted. I hope she's generally more fashionable than that!" Narcissa complained, turning to go.
"Narcissa, there's one more thing," Voldemort said, pushing Hermione behind him into the house before obliterating Narcissa's memory.
"Why am I here?" Narcissa's frigid voice asked.
"I don't know. You just showed up here and rang the doorbell. I'd like the same answer myself!" Voldemort snapped.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you, milord," Narcissa said meekly before she left.
Voldemort closed the door behind her and turned to Hermione. "Well, let's see this dress that you bought. Bathroom is that way,"—he pointed—"and I'll be in my office just down this hall."
"I'd really rather—" the last word died on her lips as an icy red glare fixes itself on her. Instead, she bowed slightly, murmuring, "yes, sir."
"That's better." Voldemort turned and left. Hermione went into the bathroom and changed. The shoes (surprisingly) fir perfectly and Hermione reflected that Narcissa had probably done this before. With a deep breath, clenching her hands nervously she tottered (she rarely wore heels and took a minute to get used to them) down the corridor. She knocked softly on the door before entering.
Voldemort had his hood down, but this time she was not so repulsed by his snake-like features. His eyes glimmered approval as he waved her further into the room.
At his direction, she spun in a small circle so he could see all angles. "Narcissa did a nice job," he murmured.
"Can I go change now?" Hermione asked hopefully.
"Go ahead." Hermione bolted for the door, but just as she reached it, "Do you know how to apply makeup? And well, none of this little kid all-over-the-place stuff."
Hermione blushed, but shook her head. Voldemort sighed and waved her to continue. She was out the door before the gesture was finished.
Back in her comfortable, unrevealing clothes and sensible shoes, Hermione entered Lord Voldemort's office.
"Narcissa will be applying your makeup, and I'll be having someone do your hair." He examined the list in front of him. "Maybe…"
"I can do my own hair!" Hermione protested. "It's just too much work to do it every day."
Voldemort shrugged. "Very well then. I believe ringlets would be nice. Or have it straight. Even better if you can put in red streaks to match your dress," he added as an afterthought.
Hermione nodded. She'd done straight hair before, so ringlets seemed the better option. And she could have Lavender or Parvati streak her hair red. That would break another of her father's rules—which made it seem more enticing. She bared her teeth in a smile.
"And…well, I got something else for you too…" he pulled a box from a drawer and handed it to her.
Hermione examined the box. It was a little square in shape, and hadn't much height. Curious, she opened it up—and gasped.
Nestled in black velvet was a jewelry set—a bracelet, a choker, three earrings (two for her lobes, one for her pierced cartilage), a navel ring and a ring (the usual kind, for your finger). The whole set was a bunch of silver snakes, with gold inlay common to the pattern of the bushmaster. Each snake had a pair of ruby eyes. The choker drew her attention the most though.
The choker was, like the rest of the jewelry, a silver snake with gold inlay to make it look like a bushmaster. Ruby eyes glittered at Hermione. This snake was laying curled in a hoop large enough for her neck, and its tail came around to curl under the head, which was laying tilted down towards the ground. A golden tongue protruded from the mouth, and the forked tip was wrapped around a small ring on which hung a black diamond star, about two centimeters at each point.
Confused as to the significance of the star, she looked to Voldemort, indicating the choker's star. He shrugged, "I noticed your tattoo," he said simply, then winked, startling her.
Looking at the rest of the set, they all looked like the choker, though it was the only one with a black star, and the only one sticking out its tongue. Two of the earrings matched, and it was apparent that the tail went through the hole, and the body and head dangled. The last earring was a small hoop for her upper ear. The bracelet would coil twice about her wrist, the ring only once. The last item in the set, the navel ring, was in the same pattern as the rest, but she lingered over it the longest. How had he known she'd gotten it pierced? Had he been—
"Do you like them?" his voice seemed anxious, and that struck her as funny, though she didn't laugh.
"They're gorgeous, but I can't accept these, they must have cost a fortune."
"And my daughter isn't worth a few galleons?" Hermione thought a few million galleons would be more accurate, but she was pleased at how offended he was. He cared about her, and didn't care how much money he spent on her. "Honestly, since when is a father not allowed to splurge some money to dote upon his daughter?"
"Well, never, I guess…" Hermione said cautiously. She stared at the priceless set of jewelry. "Wait a minute…how am I supposed to get these on? There aren't any clasps."
Voldemort took her hand and moved it to the box, letting her finger brush against the bracelet. The snake came alive and coiled up her hand, coiling itself to a perfect fit around her wrist where it settled. Hermione stared, then pulled out the choker. The snake wriggled at her touch, and it made its way to her neck, where it locked itself securely there, letting its head rest in the hollow of her throat, the star dangling a little below it. All of the jewelry did similar stunts, even the ring, which tightened slightly on her right ring finger so as to not fall off.
"I love them," Hermione said, flinging her arms around Voldemort without thinking.
Harry awoke from a nightmare. He'd just dreamed that Hermione was accepting a gift—he wasn't sure what it was—from Voldemort. And then she'd hugged him.
But Hermione would never do that. Besides, even if Hermione was with Voldemort, she'd be fighting against him, not hugging him. Harry gave a half-hearted chuckle at the absurdity of this dream and fell asleep.
When he next woke, he remembered nothing of this nightmare—and never would.
They'll only move for you, and they'll never be lost because they'll come right back to you. Voldemort's words rang through her head.
Since when can't a father dote on his daughter?
The Dark Lady…my daughter…
Hermione woke from her fitful sleep. Voldemort's words had ingrained themselves into her mind, and she kept reliving being given the throne and the jewelry. She just couldn't believe it.
With a jolt, she realized that she'd be going to back to Hogwarts today. Thankful that it was still early, she showered, dressed, and checked that everything was packed. Now all she had to do was find Crookshanks, eat, and call some neighbors to see if they could (or would) check up on her mum once in a while. She managed to do everything but find Crookshanks by 10 AM. Just as they were leaving the house, she finally saw him in their yard.
She ran to get him before he made her late. But before she could touch him, he hissed at her, arched his back, batted at her with unsheathed claws. She stepped back, hurt by his refusal to let her touch him, and he turned to walk right past her to settle on the porch. He glared at her with yellow eyes as if to say that he wouldn't come to school with her this year.
Saddened, Hermione stepped into the passenger's seat of the car and stared at the large marmalade cat the whole while he was in sight.
A rivalry goes so deep between me
And this loss of sleep over you
–Fall Out Boy "Dead On Arrival"
