A/n: I'm just going to leave this here.
Warning for every chapter: Slavery. Dubious consent. Violence. Mentions of rape. Death. Assault. General gore warnings. Please read responsibly.
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters and no money has been made from this.
Enjoy...
Chapter Fifteen
Tense, her whole body is running high on tension. A few days passed since she retaliated against Draco, and nothing more mentioned. It's as though it never happened, Bellatrix going about her business. Hermione runs the household, a blissful ignorance.
She's away for the weekend, Lady Lestrange, visiting her mother. No muggleborn can step foot in the Black Manor, the wards to the house would rip her apart. As such, Lady Lestrange left Hermione to run the house.
It also conveniently tied into a meeting with Luna. She relaxed the reins on the servants, no one will be coming by Lestrange manor. Not without forewarning, as such the mice get to play. Turning blind eyes to the sunbathing, as long as they don't touch anything in the way of food or booze. They are fine. Last night, Hermione had spent the evening chilling in the garden with Angelina, watching the stars.
Today, she snuck away from the house, leaving the staff with errands. Their mistress will return tomorrow the servants will make the most of today. Regardless, the tension remains, her anger it's flowing freely. Anger towards Skeeta, an unpaid vendetta, shouldn't bother her so much, but it does. It gnaws at her mind.
Smack. She flinches, turning disbelieving eyes to the blonde witch. A grin resting on pale lips, cheeks rosy from the cold air. Brushing the snow from her shoulder, she glares from beneath her hood at the younger witch.
"Oops." Luna chuckles as she rolls another snowball.
"Don't you…" Smack the snowball strikes her side. "That's it."
Rolling snow between her hands, she narrowly avoids another attack. Her snowball goes wide, missing the witch who's running. Laughing, Hermione gives chase, collecting snow. It's a pathetic match, both witches are poor at aiming, the snowballs going wide. They fall off the beaten path, using trees to hide behind.
Laughing, Hermione gets a mouthful of snow, spluttering she charges the witch. A squeal of shock as she tackles Luna to the ground.
"Have mercy," Luna begs to squeal as Hermione shoves snow down her top.
A poor fight follows both witches trying to shove snow down the other's tops, the cold refreshing. They collapse against the white ground staring up at the overcast sky. Humming, Luna begins to make snow angels, nudging Hermione. Smiling, Hermione copies the witch joining in making snow angels.
Sitting together, they cast warming spells, as Hermione fishes in her t-shirt to remove any loose snow. Smiling as Luna rests her head against her shoulders, she stares. In the distance, Hermione studies the impressive castle. Hogwarts. She has never seen the school before, not in person anyway. It's more beautiful than she could imagine, she wonders what it is like to walk those halls as a student. What house would the hat sort her into?
"You okay?" Luna asks snuggling closer for warmth.
"I've never made snow angels before," Hermione replies looking down at their imprints in the snow. "Nor had a snow fight, it was nice. Is this what you did at Hogwarts?"
"Sometimes," Luna shrugs. "I didn't have friends, but I always had snowballs thrown at me."
Wrapping her arm around the witch, Hermione rests her head on the younger woman's head. Why anyone would want to hurt or bully Luna, she doesn't understand. Granted the witch was eccentric, but it didn't make it right.
"Used to have snowball fights with dad though, during Christmas holidays, that was always fun."
Smiling, Hermione can imagine a young Luna springing around in the garden. Playing games with her father. They used to watch the snow fall at the institute and always knew when the cold was coming. They never received any extra bedding, the cold, she can always remember the cold. Sometimes they would share beds, to fend off the cold, in the hopes to survive another night.
The only time they got to see the snow, was a punishment, she can still remember them leaving one of the kids outside during the night. His cries slowly died down. They found him frozen, a reminder to them all. She cannot remember what he did, just remembers the inspiration to get better at charms. Charms would save her life.
Shaking the memory free, she focuses on the present, enjoying the quiet, Luna curled into her side. The snow at her feet, Hogsmeade. She always wanted to visit, Luna had explained they needed to meet someone there. Someone who might be able to provide answers. It's why her hood is up, her crest hidden, she cannot risk anyone seeing her. Should her mistress get wind of her exploits, well, it's not worth thinking about.
A cold hand slips across her cheek, turning, her drawing her towards waiting lips. Soft, so incredibly soft, the warmth, tongues grazing. It ignites a fire, she turns completely capturing those lips. Those rosy cheeks, inhaling the gasp.
A wolf whistle makes them pull apart, flushing, Hermione is glad her hood hides her from the gawping students. Smiling, Luna pushes to her feet, offering her hand to Hermione. It's a small gesture, one Hermione accepts eagerly. Luna not releasing her follows the witch as she guides her toward the small village.
Ignoring the gawping kids, Hermione ensures her hood is in place. Luna still holding her hand, gently squeezing it as though their blood didn't divide them. As though Hermione wasn't a servant. For a brief second, she lets herself imagine, a very different world.
Escorting Hermione, Luna leads them to the Three broomsticks, a busy pub in the centre of the village. Moving towards the back of the room, away from prying eyes, hidden. Taking a seat, Hermione watches Luna retreat back to the bar.
Fidgeting, Hermione taps her foot, uncomfortable, she's been to many pubs with her mistress. Never sitting. Always standing, waiting, watching. Never waited on as Luna is returning with two glasses of butterbeer. Mercy, she must be thirsty, Hermione thinks as Luna places the glasses down. Her mistress despises butterbeer, too sweet for her tastes. Hermione has tried it before, a droplet leftover from parties, she did enjoy the taste.
She should have asked Luna if she minded getting Hermione a glass of water. She forgets, her Mistress always gets her a glass of water when she orders. Foolish, it's not as though she can approach the bar herself. Shifting, the chair is comfortable, but the situation makes her uneasy. She should be standing, she shouldn't be sitting at the same table as Luna.
"I didn't even ask," Luna comments looking at the drinks. "Do you like Butterbeer, have you tried it? I just assumed, sorry."
"I… They're not both for you?" Hermione asks looking down at the glass in confusion.
"Oh, no I won't even finish this. It's for you Hermione, to drink."
"That's too kind." Hermione shakes her head, swallowing. "Far too much for me, just water…"
"Hermione, it's for you."
Sliding the drink across the table, Luna smiles, taking a sip of her drink. Tentatively, Hermione lifts the glass wondering if this is a trick. Is she going to fail a test? A hand squeezes her thigh, Luna in her head, the warmth she feels when the witch is there. Reassurance, it's silent and encouraging. It's bliss. The sugar alone makes her squint, she has never had this much sugar.
A chuckle from Luna, she reaches across the table, gently wiping the foam from Hermione's lip. Blushing, Hermione bites her lip.
"You look good with a moustache."
"Shut up," Hermione mutters.
"Am I interrupting?" A firm voice asks approaching their table.
"Headmistress," Luna beams.
Swallowing, Hermione considers running, considers diving under the table and sprinting from the pub. It would cause too much attention, however. Headmistress McGonagall, if she says anything to her mistress… Merlin's beard how did she think any of this was a good idea.
A hand, calm and comforting, gently press against her thigh once more, subtly.
"Thank you for meeting with us." Luna greets the witch, and Hermione cannot help but glare at Luna. "Would you like a drink?"
"Yes please," Minerva replies, folding her gloves neatly on the table. "Rosemerta knows what I like, thank you, Luna."
Nodding, Luna happily moves back to the bar to retrieve a drink for the Headmistress. Rubbing her hands together, McGonagall turns her gaze to Hermione, who cannot help but shift under the attention.
"I'm going to assume, Luna did not tell you it was me, you would be meeting?" McGonagall asks with a friendly smile.
"No, she neglected to mention it," Hermione answers throwing a look at the witch at the bar.
"Fear not," McGonagall reassures. "I won't speak a word. I am however hoping I can answer some questions."
Nodding, Hermione is unsure what to say, she's never one to speak to the Elite. Normally they just ask questions or give demands, small talk is not anything they were taught. She should take McGonagall's cloak and gloves and ensure they are carefully folded to avoid creases. She should be fetching the drinks not sitting here, being waited on.
"How are you?" McGonagall asks. "I understand recent events have been more challenging than normal."
"I'm fine thank you," Hermione replies annoyed, why did Luna speak to McGonagall about what happened at the Assembly.
"Luna has not said a word," McGonagall states as though reading Hermione's mind making the witch check her wards. "I'm not in your head, fear not. That is Luna's trick. I am just very adaptable at reading people, it comes with the nature of my job. I am sorry for Charity; I know you respected her. She deserved much better."
"If Luna didn't tell you, then how do you know what happened?" Hermione enquires.
"In the words of your mistress, I am meddling old goat."
"That's quite tame for my Mistress," Hermione mutters.
A brief laugh from the Headmistress, a nod of the head. She smiles as Luna returns to the table with a drink and some nibbles. Slipping back into her seat, Hermione studies the drink, the slight tinge of green. Elderflower and Lime Liqueur, she memorises the drink, for future reference.
"It is very true; those words are very tame for Bellatrix."
Hermione flinches, and glances at nearby tables, fearful. If someone hears her mistress's name being uttered, it could mean hell. A warm, hand encases Hermione, McGonagall's hand despite her age, the grip remains strong.
"No one can hear us, nor can they see us. You can remove your hood, you are safe." McGonagall states before pulling away.
Nervously, Hermione removes her hood as Luna joyful eats nibbles turning the conversation to something more cheerful. No one is looking their way, no one seems to even acknowledge their existence. She hadn't seen McGonagall cast any spells, nevertheless, she also knows Lady Lestrange, despite her actions. Regards McGonagall with respect, it takes a lot to gain respect from Lady Lestrange.
"Luna has informed me," McGonagall states, turning back to Hermione, before reaching for a biscuit. "That you wished to discuss two things. One is the lifespan of a Red Kite as well as that of an old legend."
"That's correct," Hermione acknowledges, smiling as Luna passes the plate of nibbles along the table towards her. "It's all because of Lily, she left me a letter."
"May I see it?" McGonagall asks.
"Yeah." Hermione agrees after a short pause, she nods to Luna.
Pulling out the letter, Luna hands it to the Headmistress, who flattens it carefully against the table. Scanning the paper, a hum from the witch as she looks up from the letter. Reading it stupidly fast, Hermione envies the witch, she wishes she could read as fast as the Headmistress.
"This is intriguing," McGonagall replies, carefully folding the letter she hands back. "It also confirms a suspicion that myself and the previous Headmaster of Hogwarts and I shared. Unfortunately, from my research, I can conclude Lily is correct, no Red Kite in service has lived past eight years. However, it is intriguing to learn she started to witness her demise. Is this common do you know? Are there any other accounts of a Red Kite predicting their death?"
Hermione shares an uneasy glance with the witch besides her. A sharp inhale from McGonagall who noticed, an understanding dawning.
"I see, am I to assume, you Miss Granger, have also witnessed your similar visions?" McGonagall asks.
"Yes," Hermione replies. "I also spoke to Susan Bones, who passed recently. She had similar experiences. Repeatedly, Susan experienced the same dream as a thought a vision. She complained of a constant headache and a thumping in her mind. It stopped, the day she died."
"How she died was as though she envisioned?"
"Yes, down to the room, to the people. I had hoped we broke the vision; she was not so lucky."
"What you did was brave," McGonagall comments. "Very brave."
A curious look from Luna, she may have neglected to mention exactly how Susan died. She had only told Luna that she won in a duel and that Susan had died as a result. Because that was the truth, Susan had died because of Hermione. There was little else to say.
"Not many disobey an order directly from the Dark Lord and survive."
"It made little difference," Hermione answers turning back to her drink.
"It made a big difference," McGonagall replies. "You tried to save another, knowingly placing yourself in harm's way. It would have been easier to comply, but you chose not to."
"She still died," Hermione states coldly.
"She did, but not by your hand."
"I couldn't, it wasn't my place. To kill another is…"
"The worse human act possible." McGonagall's voice is firm not accepting any arguments. "To kill another, well it damages the soul. You may see your actions as weak; I can tell you, your actions are far from it. We cannot save everyone, but one little act can have big consequences."
"Like those being sent to the mines." Hermione questions. "They would have preferred death."
"The choice was there though, was it not? Anyone of them could have refused."
"What good would it have done?" Hermione asks.
"It stopped, did it not? The duelling, the fighting, it stopped the moment, you refused to kill. It stopped anyone else being chosen."
"Because he got what he wanted. Because, of what happened between Dolohov and Susan, a reminder to us all."
"You truly think, the Dark Lord cares what his most loyal do with their servants?" McGonagall questions with a smile. "Things are much more complicated than that."
"Then what was the point?"
"That we will never know, but actions between servant and master have happened for many years. It is neither new nor uncommon. The reason for such a quick Assembly was for several things. Political some, one of the reasons I can assure you, it has everything to do with the recent statements in the paper."
Swallowing, Luna and Hermione shift, both shooting a glance at one another as McGonagall takes a sip of her drink. Selecting another biscuit, lost in thought.
"Something so small?" Luna says casually, playing with the foam of her drink. "You think something so small would upset the Dark Lord?"
"A servant's thoughts in the paper. Such personal thoughts, well it would most certainly cause a stir. If I had to guess, he called the assembly to check the loyalty of the servants. If I were to guess, I'd say the moment the second poem made it to papers when all the Elite and their most prominent servants were present. It would have most likely disrupted his plans. This is me hypothesizing, you understand?"
Not sure how to reply, Hermione, turns to her drink, taking a large sip. Remembers the exact moment the paper arrives; the castle had shaken. They had all run to their respective masters only to discover Snape with a paper. Her poem was printed, had her poem changed how the event would have gone. Does that mean Luna and Hermione's actions may have caused the deaths or does it mean it saved all of them from something far worse?
She remembers dressing her lady for battle, as though her mistress had known something. Had predicted something. There had not been a mention of a hunt before their arrival, usually, they are made aware. Were we the ones meant to be hunted? The thought sends a shiver through her, had the Dark Lord intended to make the masters hunt their servants?
"Have you never noticed Miss Granger?" McGonagall continues unaware of her internal conflict. "How Lady Lestrange reframes from killing?"
"I… well…" She trails off, racking her brains.
She can recall every moment her mistress has lost her temper. Knows, that no one has beaten her mistress in a duel. Her reputation exceeds, her violence. Her temper, her mistress, quick as a viper. Killed though? No, she cannot recall a moment her mistress has killed.
"No? Nothing? All the years you have served your mistress. Has she ever used her wand to kill?"
"No."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Because she enjoys the torment, the torture. She's told me herself; death is too final."
"Yes, I suppose it is, Bellatrix does enjoy playing with her food," McGonagall comments off-hand. "Deep down, however, Bellatrix knows exactly what happens to someone's soul if they kill, especially with their wand. I would not be surprised; she was after all the smartest witch of her age. She's a ferocious reader, a brilliant student, if she is like the witch I once taught, I'd say Bellatrix does not kill. For two reasons, she does enjoy the hunt, but most importantly, her soul is important to her."
The words spark a hope, someone unknown hope inside Hermione. She's not sure why the thought gives her hope. But it does.
"Anyway, I digress, regarding the Red Kites. A theory developed between me and Albus."
Hermione looks at Luna, who is Albus? She has never heard of the wizard. She stores the question away for a later date. Was he the previous Headmaster at Hogwarts, she cannot recall seeing his name in the line of Headmasters though? She will research this another time.
"This is a theory, without evidence, which would be impossible to get. I cannot guarantee it, nevertheless, the theory is such. The Red Kites were created by the Dark Lord, a servant who held higher regard above others and allowed more liberties. Now not everyone would be allowed a Red Kite, only a few have a Red Kite. A special license needs to be purchased, a vigorous procedure follows, and the decision is made by the Dark Lord and the Dark Lord alone. Your mistress was a different case, she was gifted a Red Kite."
A sigh lost in thought, McGonagall taps her nail against the wooden table, reliving a memory.
"A Red Kite is to act almost as an extra limb to their masters. For this reason, I do not know why the role was created, however. For a servant to spend so much time in their masters' footsteps, to be in the same rooms with them. That knowledge is dangerous, in the wrong hands. Your knowledge alone, what you have witnessed with your mistress, to you would seem trivial. To another, it could be a gold mine. It is why the Red Kites rarely stray far from their masters. As such, Red Kites become reliable, and knowledge is dangerous. A curse was placed upon the role of Red Kite. One to ensure, when a Red Kite has reached either eight years or their knowledge has grown too great. Death will befall them. After all, the dead cannot speak."
"Lily, she served a lot longer than I," Hermione protests aware she made sound childish, but it doesn't seem fair.
"She did, ask yourself why."
"I don't know, she was brilliant." Does that mean, Hermione has failed as a Red Kite? Is that why her time has come to an end.
A cold washes over her, is this why her mistress left Hermione with a long leash? Because she was a burden because she failed to serve to the standard. The urge to cry is almost overwhelming but she pushes it down.
"No," Luna whispers, taking Hermione's hand. "That's not what Minerva means."
"Did I fail?" Hermione murmurs, turning to the witch. "Am I not good enough to serve my Mistress?"
"If I may," McGonagall interrupts before Luna can reply. "You misunderstood me. The reason, your servitude is coming to an end Hermione is because you are too good. Your knowledge has outgrown your position."
"But Lily…"
"Was a lovely witch, but she and Bellatrix did not sync. They did not see eye to eye. The brain is a funny thing. It makes us remember things differently, the loss of losing Lily would have been difficult for you. As such, your brain has placed Lily upon a pedestal, she would tell you, is not the truth. Your memories have altered so you remember her as this brilliant witch. Which she was, but she by no means was a great Red Kite."
"That's not true," Hermione scoffs. "I won't listen to this.
"Did you know she received lashings in the street?" McGonagall asks kindly. "For disobedience?"
"She wouldn't have," Hermione argues, shaking her head, she needs to leave.
"She was caught with a pureblood, at a party. In a compromising situation. Your mistress delivered the punishment. The discord between a master and a Red Kite is very hard to miss. Especially in social situations. The reason, Lily stayed at the Lestrange manor was down to the Dark Lord and him alone."
"No, I was there, they got on well. My Lady and Lily they…"
"What was your first position at Lestrange manor?"
"Cook," Hermione answers she remembers it well. "Wasn't for very long, I'm awful at cooking."
She smiles at the memory; she had been helping in the kitchens for a while. They had left her in charge of cooking for her mistress breakfast. It ended disastrously. The kitchen had caught fire, bacon was stuck to the ceiling, and her mistress had come searching for her food in the end. Can still remember her mistress staring at the destruction in awe.
"I thought I was bad," Bellatrix commented staring at the chaos.
Brushing down her apron, Hermione had turned to her mistress, tears streaking her face. Holding out a plate, a hand-made pan au chocolate. Dark eyes studied the plate, the deflated pastry, the chocolate oozed as though the pastry has been sick. A laugh, warm, a hand resting on Hermione's shoulder.
"It would appear cooking is not your strength, what is?" Bellatrix asked, a hand removing the tears from her cheeks.
"Runes, charms. Anything that doesn't require… food."
"Hmm, I think I have something in mind for you."
"What changed?" McGonagall asks.
"I had been instructed to make Lady Lestrange breakfast, it was my first time alone. It didn't go well."
"Why were you left in charge of cooking if it wasn't your strongest area?"
"I, I can't remember,"
She frowns, she can barely remember, she can just remember her mistress moving her out of the kitchens. Putting her in charge of runes, if she remembers correctly, helping her mistress with her workload.
"I always wondered why Bellatrix chose you at the institute," McGonagall replies.
"She didn't," Hermione answers. "Lily did."
"Lily?"
"Yes, she overruled my mistress, Lady Lestrange was considering Susan, Lily chose me."
"That couldn't have been the case," McGonagall answers. "Lily never went with Lestrange to the Institute."
"No, I remember."
"Hermione, I can guarantee you, Lestrange never took Lily anywhere in the early days. Too unruly."
She remembers though, remembers Lily at the institute, that's what Lily had told her. It was all a blur, but Lily later told her she had chosen Hermione. That was the reason she and Susan had a feud all this time.
"Lily had reserved a servant, but Lestrange returned with another."
"How do you know this?"
"I was there," McGonagall answers. "I was searching for a Red Kite for Hogwarts, Lestrange had the first choice. It was only you and Lestrange that left, Lily wasn't there."
Why would Lily lie? It doesn't make sense, why would Lily lie to her. Had she mistakenly forgotten she had reserved another not Hermione?
"How do we break the curse," Luna asks changing the conversation and squeezing Hermione's hand. Aware the witch needs a minute to collect her thoughts.
"Ah," McGonagall replies. "That is the question. If the theory is correct, the only way to remove such a curse is by the one who places it in the first place."
"The Dark Lord?" Luna mutters.
"He would need to remove the curse. A blessing if you will."
So, she's doomed then. Hermione realises, there is no way the Dark Lord would give his blessings to Hermione. If the theory is correct, Hermione is hurtling towards her death like so many before her. The only one who can save her is the Dark Lord.