Dying is a Delicate Moment
A fanfic by Agara
"Kill me. Kill me if you ever loved me."
And he kills her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN : JE TE LAISSERAI DES MOTS
Song : Je te laisserai des mots by Patrick Watson
01.07.1942 :
Hermione was sat cross-legged on top of her bed at the Leaky Cauldron.
If anyone were to enter her room at this moment, they would have seen the mountains of papers covering the floor, pictures of Grace, her parents, every person she knew, the articles about Grindelwald, Beauxbatons, the attack. They would have stepped on pictures of future deaths eater and their family trees, all interlaced. Finally, they would have found paperwork concerning one and only one child. The son of Tom Riddle Senior and Merope Gaunt.
However, what they would not be able to find in this organised mess was a picture of the said boy.
She put both of her elbows on her knees and rested her head in her hands. Her gaze was focused on the blackboard at the back of her room. This blackboard was now covered in only seven cards
Two weeks prior, it was covered in hundreds of cards. Each card represented a possibility, a possible step in The Plan.
The first draft of the plan was in 37 steps and ended with Tom Riddle being killed. This draft had quickly been covered by sticky notes, each one representing a complication.
Hermione had created a good dozen of plans before realising what was wrong with the drafts. She couldn't change the future, she couldn't kill anyone, she couldn't be known for something infamous. She was to stay as discreet as possible.
So, on the first of July 1942, Hermione Granger had finally created her plan. It had 7 seven steps and only a few complications. This plan was entirely built around one element : the painting.
She needed to find it.
06.07.1943 :
Tom was sat underneath a tree by the football pitch in his grey uniform. He had a book in his lap, one he had just started reading again, only for his pleasure.
Mrs. Cole approached the boy and let two envelopes fall on his copy of The Prince. Without saying another word, she turned around and left. Tom took the letters and inspected the senders.
"Riddle,
I am a man of my word.
Here are your dues.
Newly appointed Headboy Woodcroft
PS : They are expensive. Use them wisely."
Tom snorted at the signature and took out of the envelope two tickets for the Quidditch Final.
As he took the second letter, a small smirk appeared on his face. He cracked open the seal and as he was about to take out the letter from the envelope, he heard some boys of the orphanage calling his name.
"Oy Riddle !" A large one called.
Tom only turned his head and saw two boys, approximately his age, coming his way. He didn't bother standing up.
"Are those letters Riddle ?" The large boy asked in a mocking tone.
"For lack of intelligence, you sure compensate with an acute sense of perspicacity." Tom flatly answered.
A little silence of a couple of seconds settled. Tom looked at the boy in the eye, waiting for him to understand the insult. Tom finally stood up, his patience wearing thin. "I do not have time for this." He took his book, put both of the envelopes in the middle and closed it. He took a few steps forward to leave but the same boy grabbed the book.
Tom had no patience left in his body. He inhaled. "Give it back to me Clark."
Clark snorted. "Come on Tommy-boy. Do you think you're scary now ? Now that you have a big scar." He laughed in his Scottish accent.
Come on Clark. Just give me a valid reason to hurt you.
Everything about this boy irritated Tom, from the way he stood to his accent.
"Nasty scar you've got there. Not so pretty anymore." The scot kept going while opening the book and looking through the envelopes. He took the one, not from Cole. "Girl handwriting." He stated and looked at the other side of the letter. "France ? You're not going to need this with a face as messed up as yours." He tore it in two.
Tom saw red. He leaped forward and his fist collided with the fat boy nose and a cry of pain escaped the latter's lips.
"You fucker !" Clark almost yelled, his right hand dropping the book and envelope to put it on his broken nose.
Tom crouched down to pick up his belongings when he felt Clark's foot hitting his jaw. Tom stumbled back, his book in hand and approached the boy once again to keep fighting.
"Boys !" Mrs. Cole shouted behind. She approached and stood in the middle of them. "What is going on over here ?"
"He fucking broke my nose that's what's going on there !" Clark accused.
Mrs. Cole looked at Tom and his split lip. She gave him a questioning look, silently asking who had begun.
"He punched me first for no reason !" Clark spat. "He's just a freak. Everyone knows that. Right Grant ?"
Tom looked at the other boy, the one that did not open his mouth since the beginning of the altercation. Grant looked back, at least for a moment, before dropping his gaze toward the grass.
"I-I.." Grant stuttered.
"Right Grant ?" Clark repeated.
"I didn't see anything." He finally lied.
Mrs. Cole exhaled exasperated and ordered Tom to go back to his room. She got closer to Clark and inspected his nose while Tom walked past them.
Just as the summer before when Tom shoved Grant in an empty room, he moved forward the scared boy, an evil grin plastered on his angelic face and patted Grant's right cheek.
The other boy tensed underneath the touch. "Good boy." Tom whispered.
OoOoOo
10.07.1943 :
It was raining torrent in London that day. Tom was sitting on the windowsill, a stolen cigarette between his lips. It was late afternoon and his small room was only illuminated by the constant flashes of lighting coming from the dark sky. He took a long drag and let the smoke come out of his mouth without exhaling it.
He took her letter, the one that Clark had torn in two. On one of the two pieces, at the bottom of it, in her perfect cursive handwriting, was simply written : leap of faith.
OoOoOo
13.06.1943 :
"Isn't it obvious Tom ? I want to join you." She replied.
Tom remembered everything she had just said and realised that it all made sense. She had played him. And she had played him well. Tom was not easily impressed, but tonight, at this moment, standing in front of this girl, he was.
"Isn't it obvious Tom ? I want to join you."
There was a moment of hesitation from Tom. He wondered if she was to be taken seriously, or if she was to be laughed at. Tom burst out laughing. Grace stayed stoic.
She had her clothes and hair disheveled. The light escaping from the skylight illuminated her cheekbones and made her seem more fierce than ever. She was holding her wand in her right hand, but Tom knew she had no intention of using it against him.
"I want in." She said after a minute of silence.
"You do not even know what you want in."
"But I know what you want."
"Of course you know Grace. It is simple. I want a name. I want recognition. I want to influence the behaviour of others or the course of events. I want the ability to choose whether to act or not act. I want the ability to cause or prevent an action. I want to make things happen."
"Say it Tom."
"Say what ?"
"You want power. And there is no shame in wanting it."
Tom simply smirked. "If you know that I want power, you must also know that I will not share it."
"Who said anything about sharing ?"
Grace bore a mischievous grin.
"I believe this is the moment where I should blindly trust you, because you said the right words. Isn't it right Grace ?" Tom took a step forward.
"It's a leap of faith." As she said the words, she handed him his wand back. "I don't think you have thought through it all."
Tom took his wand back. They stared at each other. He finally nodded. At the same time, they sat on the floor.
"Let's talk then."
18.07.1943 :
Hermione was sat in a large armchair near a bay window. The sun was illuminating the room and the letter she was currently re-reading. She had received it a couple of days priors and the thin paper had become wrinkled by how many times she had read it.
Hermione began unconsciously scratching her left forearm. One or two minutes later she hissed from the pain and saw blood on her fingers. The Madblood was barely visible underneath the scratches.
OoOoOo
14.06.1943 :
They had come back to the common room soon after midnight, she had directly flew to her dorm and locked herself in the bathroom. Hermione only had the time to get close to the toilets that she threw up. While still being bent above toilet bowl, she cast a wordless silencing charm doubled with a locking charm.
Hermione approached the sink and splashed cold water on her face.
"You're never going to come back." She whispered to her reflection in the mirror. "You're stuck." Hermione lightly punched the sink with her right hand. "You're completely alone." She punched it harder this time. "You've got no one." She punched it with all her forces. "You've got no plan." She hit it again. "You've got no way to come back." Again. Again. Again.
Her right hand was entirely covered in her blood. She saw the signet ring and took it out of her broken finger. She violently threw it on the ground. She felt her throat closing up, she took a hold of her tie. Green. She ripped it off her neck and sent it across the room.
She couldn't breathe, she felt like choking so she went to open the first buttons of her shirt, her fingers trembling as she tried. She let out a frustrated scream and tear her shirt open, the latter falling on the ground. She attempted at breathing but no air would get in her lungs. Hermione paced the room, sat for just a second on the toilet but quickly got up and paced again. Her ragged breath, her silent tears.
She stopped abruptly. "Dumbledore."
She rose her head. "You have to see Dumbledore. You have to tell him. Everything. If you tell him everything, maybe he could help you." Hermione put her head in her hands and tried to think. "He might know how to get you back. Yes. Yes ! You explain everything. The war, the painting."
Hermione closed her mouth and fixed the ground for several minutes. "No. You can't go see him. There was no painting."
Her entire plan revolved around one thing. The painting. She had spent months talking to each painting in this castle to find information about it. About where it could be. It was nowhere the other paintings knew about. But she remembered it. It was a Slytherin on it. So it meant only one thing : it should be in Slughorn's private apartments. That is why she did everything she could to get in the Slug Club, to get in his private apartments. However, she had only been invited to his Christmas Dinner, never to his actual "Slug Club Meetings".
On the ninth of January, luck finally was on her side. An attack, one she had forgotten about, lead her to Slughorn private's apartments. She had looked around and she had found nothing. The painting was not there.
Only one possibility remained.
It was supposed to be easy. She knew that on this day, on the 13th of June 1943, Tom Marvolo Riddle would open for the first time the Chamber of Secret, release the Basilisk, kill Myrtle Warren and create a Horcrux out of this murder.
She just had to take the Felix Felicis just before getting inside, after retrieving Harry's glasses from Dippet's office. This liquid luck would have guided her towards the paintings without getting trouble from Tom or the Basilisk.
But none of that happened.
"You can't talk to Dumbledore. You can't go talk to anyone. You've got no one. You're all alone."
She felt light-headed, she stumbled toward the sink and gripped it tightly. Her head was bent above the bowl, her mouth agape and her eyes closed. She heard the pearls of sweat gently falling on the porcelain below. She slowly opened her eyes and fixed the white sink, then her gaze moved towards her left hand, then ascended to her left forearm. Madblood.
She lost it.
She screamed. She pressed the palm of her hand on it and tried to erase it. Her skin became red from the pressure she put on it. Finally, she dug her fingernails in the scar. She pulled, trying to get it off her skin, trying to get finally get rid of it. She didn't care about the blood or the pain, she needed it gone. She kept going at it. Her throat became hoarse from her cries of pain.
Seeing this scar just reminded her that she had done it for nothing. She was stuck.
She rose her head and as she saw her reflection in the mirror she stopped. Her arms fell by her side, the blood pooled by her feet. Her gaze fell down and she slightly moved her feet, feeling the liquid underneath them. She then saw the scar on her calf, the pink scar tissue. Her gaze then went up to her thighs covered in bruises. Then her stomach and the end of another scar. She followed it with her eyes, curving under her breast and ascending toward her collarbone.
Hermione didn't stop on her choker one, already used to seeing it every day. She finally looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her entire face was red, from the blood she has smeared on it. Her eyes were red, puffy and wet. Her lips were chapped and split from biting on it. Her cheek still had the scar Tom had given her earlier tonight.
She sobbed.
"I am going to die here."
OoOoOo
18.07.1943 :
Next to her, she heard someone stirring in their sleep. She put the letter inside a book and approached the bed.
"Bien dormi ? " Hermione smiled at Grace's grandmother. (Trad : Have you slept well ?)
They had the same conversation every time Dahlia woke up. The old lady asked her what she was doing here, how long she had been asleep, why Hermione had not gone out and enjoy the summer weather. Hermione just smiled.
"Arrête de passer toutes tes journées à côté d'une vieille femme. Tu devrais profiter de tes journées, de tes vacances ma petite fleur." Dahlia gently told her. (Trad : Stop spending your time with an old lady like myself. You should enjoy your days, your holidays my little flower.)
"Je te l'ai déjà dis grand-mère. Je pars au Danemark début août. Je vais voir la finale de Quidditch." (Trad : I have already told you, grandma. I'm going to Denmark at the beginning of August. I'm going to see the final of the Quidditch World Cup.)
Grace's grandmother smiled, like every time Hermione said this sentence. Someone gently knocked on the door and entered the white room. A nurse approached the two women and silently asked for permission to administer Dahlia's daily care. Hermione smiled and nodded before lounging back into the comfortable armchair. She watched for a couple of seconds the nurse asking Dahlia questions about how she was feeling before grabbing back the book and reading the letter once again.
25.07.1943 :
With his coat above his head to shelter himself from the rain, Tom walked quickly through Knockturn Alley. As he saw the shop's sign from afar, he picked up the pace. He pushed the door open and entered the dark store. A thin man was standing behind the counter, weighing him up.
"I imagined you younger." The man said in an awful cockney accent. He had one of his front teeth chipped. Tom took a few steps and put an envelope on the counter causing a muffled sound.
"Where do I have to sign ?" The man asked. Tom took out a parchment out of his coat and slid the paper to him.
"Just there." Tom pointed at the end of the paper with a pen. The shop owner took the pen and was ready to sign before he stopped.
"Let me check them first. I'll be right back."
"No." Tom spat. "If you want to check them, you do it in front of me."
At that, Barjow smirked. "Smart boy." He opened the envelope and took out the two tickets. He put them under a light and examined them. He nodded.
"I have told you they were real." Tom flatly said.
"Excuse me for doubting their authenticity when a boy gives Quidditch final tickets to me in exchange for a simple signature."
Barjow put the tickets in a cupboard and proceeded in analysing the paper he was supposed to sign.
"Wales ?" The man mocked.
"Am I asking for your opinion ?" Tom rhetorically asked. "Sign the bloody paper and I will be on my way."
The owner took the pen between his dirty fingers and signed. Tom took back the paper along the pen and secured them in his coat's inside pocket. He turned around and approached the door. Next to it, laid on an old chair, a newspaper, Tom grabbed it to shield himself from the pouring rain outside. He put his hand on the doorknob and pulled. He rose his head and looked at the tiny doorbell that just rang.
"Boy !" Barjow called behind him. "If you ever need a job, we're looking."
Tom turned his head and snorted. Without responding, he stepped outside and took a quick look at the newspaper. He opened it to put it above his head when he stopped and really looked at the article in front of his eyes : Rubeus Hagrid, 13 years old, released from Azkaban.
OoOoOo
13.06.1943 :
"Let's talk then."
"You have one urgent problem Tom. Above us, there is the body of a fourteen-year-old girl." Grace stated.
"We are both aware of that. What is the problem ?"
She will not tell anyone. So what is the problem ?
"The problem is that everyone will be looking for the murderer. Because Tom, you didn't even think about playing her death as an accident. You didn't think at all."
Tom didn't answer. He realised that he was too focused on the Horcrux to think about things like that.
"Let's make it appear like an accident then." He simply suggested.
Grace chuckled. "We can't do that Tom. Who accidentally dies like that ?" They looked at each other in silence for a couple of seconds.
"There was a murder. They will be looking for the murdered." Grace stopped like she was thinking about what she was going to say. "If they don't find one, they're going to close Hogwarts."
"It is impossible. They did not close it when Grindelwald attacked the school. Do you really think they are going to close it for that ?"
"You really haven't thought about that at all." She realised. "Once again Tom, you need help. And once again, I can provide."
Tom intensely looked at her, trying to figure out what the solution was.
"You need a culprit Tom." Grace smirked. "I have one ready for you."
Tom was taken aback. The girl sitting in front of him, the one who seemed so fragile at the beginning of the year and weak in the eyes of everyone, was probably one of the most cunning people he had ever met.
"Once they will find the body, they will start investigating and asking questions to everyone susceptible to having information. You, Tom, as one of the six prefects on round tonight, you will be asked first. Of course, you won't give any information at first because, like a normal person, you will be shocked to hear about the murder of the girl. But as the days go by, we will all hear talks about closing the school. And that is where you enter Tom. You will inform Dippet of the presence of a dangerous beast living in the Gryffindor 3rd-year boys dorm room..."
Tom knew what she was talking about. He had had a conversation with the boy who the dangerous beasts belonged to.
"... I believe you are acquainted with Rubeus Hagrid." Grace finished. "So you will accuse him. Dippet, as usual, will believe everything you say. Of course, they will find the beast and Hagrid will be sent to Azkaban. But don't feel guilty Tom, he won't stay there. A thirteen-years-old boy in a prison and one who is close to Dumbledore ? He will be released during the summer." Grace began laughing a little. "And I'm sure they're will reward you for some shite like service given to the school."
Tom looked at her, simply stared, impressed by her mind.
Maybe you are right Grace. I need you in.
But you will need to give me more.
OoOoOo
25.07.1943 :
On one hand, Tom was relieved because no one reassessed his accusations. On the other hand, Tom was mad because, once again, she had been right.
04.08.1943 :
Hermine smiled at the sun high above in the blue sky. It was hot outside and even though Hermione only wore light clothes, she still felt hot. She entered the clinic Pitié-Salpêtrière and felt the cooling charm dry the little pearls of sweat on her forehead. She approached the front desk and greeted the medi-witch behind it.
Hermione directly took the stairs and went up two floors. She gently knocked on the door and pushed it open, a smile already drawn on her pink lips.
"Bonjour grand-mère !" Hermione approached the old lady who had sat on the bed a book in hand. Dahlia Hortense rose her head and stared at the young witch. She didn't talk for a few seconds.
"Je suis désolée pour le retard ! J'ai commencé à faire mes valises pour le Danemark et j'avais oublié que j'avais autant d'affaires." Hermione laughed. (Trad : I am sorry I am late ! I started packing for Denmark and hadn't realised that I had that much stuff.)
The grandmother still hadn't said a word so Hermione kept going. "As-tu déjà mangé ?" (Trad : Have you eaten yet ?)
"Qui êtes-vous ?" Dahlia finally uttered. (Trad : Who are you ?)
"C'est moi, ta petite fille." (Trad : It' me, your granddaughter.)
This type of conversation happened quite often. Hermione knew how to deal with it. She simply had to remind her that she had a granddaughter and that she was named Grace.
"Vous n'êtes pas ma petite fille. Je connais ma petite fille. Vous n'êtes pas Grace." (Trad : You are not my granddaughter. I know my granddaughter. You are not Grace.)
Hermione froze, her heart stopped. She calmed herself and simply tried again. She explained that she was her granddaughter and that Dahlia had dementia. However, the french woman didn't believe her. Hermione could see the panic in her eyes, she could hear her calling for her real granddaughter.
Hermione knew at this moment that Dahlia Hortense was completely lucid. The old French woman looked with horror at Hermione, realising that the witch standing in front of her had done something horrible to her granddaughter. Hermione could help but feel disgusted by herself, for what she had done, for what she was currently doing and for what she was about to do.
You can't do that Hermione. You're not ready.
Even if Dahlia Hortense was not Hermione's real grandmother, a real relationship had been established between the two women. Hermione felt her heart clench in her chest. She slowly took out her wand and hid it behind her back.
She knew the spell. She knew the wand movement. In a flick of a wand, Hermione saw Dahlia's eyes lose all remembrance.
Hermione sat down on the same large armchair she had sat in for the last couple of weeks. She looked as Dahlia stopped talking. She looked as Dahlia laid down her head on the pillow, her eyes unfocused. She looked as the woman she called grandma for a year started softly singing to herself.
Sorry.
Without giving her another look, Hermione flew out from the room too focused on not crying.
04.08.1943 :
The wagon was empty. Tom had put his luggage on the compartment above his place and had sat down on the velvet bench. He felt the train slowing down and he looked outside the window. The usual grey sky of England enveloped the countryside. He dropped his gaze once again on Edmund's letter.
" Tom,
I just arrived in Denmark. I know the game does not start until the 6th but the birds are pretty over there. Too bad you are not here.
Edgard had already tried to bed one. Try is the keyword here.
Everyone is betting on how many days this final game will last for. I bet on a month. Hopefully, I am right and I will not be able to attend old Maybeth's wedding.
By the way, I have news. The car boot sale had already started. Clever to do it during the Quidditch World Cup. No one will talk about it. Antonin is already here. Alone, however. I do not think his father will come.
I will bring you something from the game.
Edmund.
PS : Still cheering for France right ? "
Tom was not surprised. He would have done the same if he were in Tuft's shoes. The Quidditch World Cup was the perfect decoy.
He heard the controller blow his whistle. "Next stop : Little Hangleton."
05.08.1942 :
A small window on the first floor of the brick house was the only source of light visible. The rain was pouring around her, drenching her clothes. She had decided to come here in the spur of the moment but as she knocked on the door she regretted it.
What are you doing ?
She heard the loud voice mumbling something inaudible but she knew it was because it was late. It was a little before 4AM. He descended the wooden stairs and got closer to the door. In a loud crack, the latter opened. Hermione rose her head and saw the imposing backlit figure of Abelforth.
"Grace ?" He said surprised but happy to see her. "You're drenched ! You must be freezing. Come insi…"
"I can't do this anymore." She cut him.
She looked like a scared child with her big eyes filled with tears, her clothes sticking to her body from the rain and her voice breaking as she talked.
She was staring at him as if she had just realised who was standing in front of her.
"Grace, come inside. I'll put the kettle on the fire. We can talk over a cup of tea…"
"I can't do this anymore."
"Come on Grace, come inside, we'll talk about it."
Abelforth turned slightly his body to the right side as a sign for Hermione to enter his home. The light coming from the chimney finally enlightened her entire face. She was looking frightened, exhausted and completely lost.
"Grace ?" His voice turned worried.
"I'm not Grace." She muttered. She could taste the salt of her tears on her lips.
"What ? Come inside, it's late Grace."
"I'm not." She let out a humourless laugh.
She must have looked crazy in Abe's eyes. A sixteen-years-old girl, on his doorstep at 4AM during summer holidays when she was supposed to be in France and saying nonsense.
"I'm not Grace." She repeated. She put both of her hands in her long wet hair and smiled. "I finally said it. I'm not Grace. I'm not Grace !"
Abelforth had never seen her ramble that way, not caring about the words coming out of her mouth. She was not analysing her sentences like she used to do. He had never seen her this carefree.
"But you are Grace." He insisted, getting confused.
"I'm not Grace. Never been her and never will be. Never been born in France. Never studied at BeauxBatons. Never been the only survivor. Never had parents named Theodorus and Beatrice. Never been an half-blood. Never grew up in a wizarding family. Never been part of this war. I'm not even from this time, this era." Hermione rushed.
She took the breath she was holding for the past couple of seconds.
"I was born in 1979 in London. I studied at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I've never heard of magic until I was eleven. I am the daughter of two dentists named Charles and Jean. I am muggle born. I have my own war ! I have my own people waiting for me back home ! And I hope I'm not the only survivor."
Hermione chuckled through the tears. Her chest felt light. As she took a ragged breath she felt like she could finally properly breathe.
"I'm not Grace." She repeated one last time.
Silence settled. Hermione realised what she had just said. She rose her head expecting to see Abe's face filled with horror but she only found acceptance.
She was still the same girl he had met months prior, the one who impressed him, who made him laugh, who found the way to his heart through the layers of grief. She could have been anyone and he wouldn't have cared. And at this moment, he didn't.
"What should I call you then ?" He simply asked her.
06.08.1942 :
Tom never had the intention to go to Wales. He just needed a signed authorization to leave the orphanage for a few days.
Tom had just closed the door behind him that he was fixing the wrinkles on his grey trousers. The conversation had been short but more than interesting.
Tom had done three things in his uncle's shack near Little Hangleton. First he learned the truth. Second, he stole his wand. And third, he made him forget he was ever here.
08.08.1942 :
"Pollux, I really need to go." Hermione rushed.
"But Grace, they haven't caught the snitch yet." Pollux retorted without tearing his gaze away from the Quidditch field.
"It's been two days now ! And I don't need your authorisation to go to the loo." She laughed.
They were sitting in the presidential box, a good bottle of champagne and canapés between them. Pollux was in the middle of Hermione and Cole, clearly enjoying the final between France and Bresil.
They were the only three underaged wizard in this box. The French and Brazilian prime ministers were at the front, surrounded by some close members of their cabinets. Warwick Woodcroft, Cole's father, as Head of Department of Magical Games and Sports for England, was chatting over a glass of champagne with other government members.
Cole turned his head and looked right at her. "Do you know where it is ? Or do you need me to show you ?"
"I won't deter you from watching the game." Hermione softly smiled. Cole smiled back then focused once again on the Quidditch.
Hermione stood and left the box. She looked around her for any information regarding the location of the toilets. Without any sign in sight, she decided on going left. Three floors below she stopped as she saw a small corridor. She followed it and walked a couple of meters before she heard what seemed like a very interesting conversation.
"Not here." Someone roughly hushed.
Hermione did the only thing she could do at this moment, she followed them after casting a Notice-Me-Not on herself. The two men turned right into an alcove and checked their surroundings before continuing their conversation.
"You can't do that now." The smaller one whispered vehemently. "I am on the verge of taking his place."
"You're not even sure Avery's going be benched." The tall one pointed out.
"After Dolohov ? Do you really think she's going to keep him ? Do you really think that he's going to approve of the new department of Transitional…"
"Shut it. Are you mad ?" He hastily responded. "No one knows about that yet. The black dog hasn't given his full approval."
"Yet."
A loud noise startled them. They both turned around and Hermione caught a glimpse of their faces before rushing out of the corridor.
What the fuck ?
On her way, she violently bumped into someone. She rapidly undid the charm on herself and faced the person she had just crashed into.
"Grace !" The boy said surprised.
"Silas !" She responded with the same tone.
The Ravenclaw seemed uneasy and kept looking around them. Hermione followed his gaze and she realised they were standing in front of the men's toilets.
"How are you ? I haven't seen you since… Myrtle's wake." Hermione told him with a twinge of guilt.
"Fine. I am just waiting for… for my cousin." He obviously lied.
Hermione had always liked Silas Burnstein. They shared a few classes and had worked together in the past. He was nice, funny and genuinely kind.
"I need to take a leak." He blurted out before rushing into the bathroom behind them.
Weird.
Hermione went up again to the presidential box, lost in her thoughts. She hadn't heard the cheers around her nor had she seen the blue, white and red fireworks high in the sky.
"You won !" Pollux rushed into her.
The latter took her by the waist and lifted her from the ground. Due to the amount of alcohol in his system for the past couple of days, he lost his balance and Hermione felt like falling backward. Cole caught her before she could hit the ground and helped her stand up.
"Pollux mate, careful. And stop drinking." Woodcroft lightly bantered.
"But we won !"
"You're wearing the Brazilian kit Pollux." Hermione laughed.
"You're just jealous because I look good in those colours." Pollux teased.
Cole and Hermione shared a glance and rolled their eyes.
"Well France won, let's celebrate !" Hermione smiled at them.
French people were loudly singing their national anthem. The field was crowded with drunk and laughing people, all wearing blue, white and red. So was she. Hermione looked at her right and saw Pollux, proudly wearing the losing team colours : green and yellow. Pollux wasn't a fan of the Bresil Quidditch Team, he just dressed up that way to annoy her.
"You're sticking out like a sore thumb." Hermione laughed at him.
"At least people are noticing me." Parkinson grinned.
Hermione rolled her eyes but still had a smile on her lips. "You look like a twat Pollux."
Pollux, who was taking a sip of his beer, spilled the all thing at Cole's face, standing in front of him. Cole was about to insult Pollux when someone put his arm around his neck and yelled at this face. "We won !"
"You're not french Isodor." Hermione laughed, slightly scratching her left forearm.
"Once I've married you I will be." Avery smirked, obviously drunk. Cole shoved him.
Isodor Avery was known for being a flirty drunk on top of being an over-enthusiastic child.
"So where are we getting even drunker now ?" Cole asked.
"Doesn't your father has some VIP shite or something ?" Pollux chuckled.
Cole shoved it in the ribs. "Shove it wanker."
She was looking at the boys surrounding her. One was missing.
"Where's Thorus ?" She asked.
"He saw a friend of his and left." Milton shrugged.
"Maybe he is scoring with a girl." Abraxas snickered. "You wouldn't know what it's like, right Lestrange ?"
Edgard flipped him off. Pollux put his arm around Hermione's shoulder and spoke up. "Don't worry Lestrange, I can give you some pointers. " Pollux turned his head towards Hermione who was drinking her beer and laughed. "Come on then kiddo, let's get fucking wasted. Tonight we're celebrating France, and I really feel like frenching."
Hermione laughed, a buzzing sound ringing in her ears.
08.08.1942 :
Tom was lying on the floor. His dark hair, normally impeccable, was disheveled and was hiding a part of his face. His skin was even paler than usual. His grey suit was dusty and wrinkled. He had been laying down there for a couple of hours now.
The fire in the chimney formed shadows on his face, and they looked like they were dancing on his cheekbones. A funeral dance.
His son was looking down at him while playing with his new ring, only hearing a buzzing sound. The son bearing the same name. The son who was the spitting image of him in his early years. The son who had just committed patricide. The son who had just lost a piece of his soul. Again.
25.08.1942 :
The funeral went well, the few people who came had already left. Hermione was staring at the grave, Abelforth on her left and the three Slytherins, Pollux, Cole and Isodor, a few meters behind. They stood like that for a few more minutes.
Pollux approached the two of them and leaned to whisper to Abe. "Maybe we should leave her alone for a bit."
The bartender looked at her and saw the panic in her eyes. "I don't think we should. Let's just head back to her house."
Hermione saw, from the corner of her eyes, Pollux nodding and starting walking slowly out of the cemetery along with the other boys. She was now alone with Abe. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
She rose her head and met his gaze.
"Ready to leave Hermione ?" Abe whispered.
They both turned around and headed toward where the others were waiting for them, leaving the floral grave behind.
OoOoOo
Hermione had just seen Pollux take the floo in her living room. Isodor and Cole had already left two hours before.
She joined Abe on the porch behind the house. He was sat on a garden couch.
"Do you want something else to drink ?" She asked him. She chuckled at her own question.
"Weird when it's the other way around, right ?" He chuckled with her. "I'm good."
She sat in front of him, crossed-legged on the other couch. "Come on. Ask away."
"We don't need to do that today."
"My grandmother was called Elisabeth. Not Dahlia, Abe. I'm sad. But I'm okay."
"Alright. Well, the last time we talked, you told me your real name then fell asleep on my couch and ran away the next morning. I've got millions of questions."
"You know I won't be able to tell you everything."
"I will take what you give. Nothing else."
"Well, you know my name. My parent's names. My birthday. That I'm a muggle-born."
"Why are you here ?" He asked her.
Hermione shrugged.
"You can't tell me ?" Abe supposed.
"No. That's not it. I just don't know myself." Hermione took a deep breath. "I come from a time where there is a war. Worst than everything you could imagine. And my best friend is the only one who can stop the war."
Hermione began telling Abelforth her role during all these years, from their first year at Hogwarts to their year on the run, never mentioning any names.
"... it was the last battle. It was supposed to be the end of it. I got separated from him. I was blocked by ruins and I heard something. I saw a painting, it opened, I hopped in, I ran for what seemed like minutes, and when I reached the end of it, I was here. In 1942. I don't know what happened. I tried to find it ! I had a plan Abe, an entire plan prepared to find it and go home."
"A plan ?" He simply asked.
"When I first arrived in 1942, I began thinking about how I could go back. I had a room at the Leaky Cauldron, I barely got out for the first two months. I had gathered every piece of information I might need. By July 1942, I had a plan ready. It had six steps."
Hermione had deliberately taken out one step of the plan. She couldn't tell him that she had stolen the Felix Felicis and put the blame on Pax Zabini.
She looked at him and made a quick pause. She was about to tell him everything she had been working on for the past year, something she had never imagined telling anyone. Abe gently smiled at her, encouraging her to continue.
"I first had to get into Hogwarts and start a correspondence with Professor Slughorn. I would need him later.
I then got close to the lads. I knew they were in the good graces of Professor Slughorn.
I needed to impress professor Slughorn during my potions classes and my private one too. I needed him to find me worthy of his Slug Club. I needed to get invited. I thought the painting to be in his private apartments."
Hermione stopped. She couldn't tell him anything else. She couldn't tell him that because the painting was not in his private apartments she knew it could be in the Chamber of Secrets. She couldn't tell him, that on the 13th of June she wandered in the castle at night, that she found Tom, that she saw Myrtle's body. She couldn't tell him anything, because if she did, Abe would know she was an accomplice.
"Well, I didn't find the painting." She cut short.
Abe was looking at her. He put both of his elbows on his thighs and he was closely listening to everything she had to say.
"What about Grace ?" He asked.
A loud silence settled. Her eyes became wet and she lowered her gaze towards the grass.
"You don't have to." He assured her. Abe opened his mouth to ask another question when she cut him.
"I burned her body." She barely whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. "God, I burned her body." Hermione sobbed. "I stole everything from her ! Her identity, her past and her future. I live in her house, I can't sleep in her bed, I sleep on the couch. I buried her parents and I just buried her grandmother."
Without saying a word, Abe stood up and sat next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders and Hermione fell into the embrace. Her face in his chest, clutching at him.
"It's going to be okay." He whispered before pressing a kiss to her forehead.
27.08.1943 :
All the lads and Tom were sat at the terrace of Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor. They had just finished shopping for their sixth-year classes and felt like having a drink before heading back to their own ways.
"... and Pollux was so drunk.." Edgard was telling Tom an anecdote about the party after the Quidditch final. "well, we were all really drunk but he started frenching a woman who turned out to be the wife of the fuckin Romanian president !"
They all laughed.
"And then Grace suggested him to work in international relations." Abraxas finished the story with a small chuckle.
Thorus turned in his seat to face Isodor, who was the only one eating a large ice cream.
"By the way mate, how is she ? You went, right ?" Nott asked genuinely concerned.
What are they talking about ?
"I think she was touched that we were there. And don't worry she totally understands that you and Milton couldn't make it." Avery answered.
"What are you on about ?" Tom chipped in.
"Haven't you heard ? Her grandmother died." Dolohov answered without caring.
"And you went ?" Tom asked Isodor.
"Yes. Milton and Thorus couldn't come so we were just the three of us, Pollux, Cole and I."
Tom simply nodded while taking a sip of his butterbeer.
"By the way, are we still on for the second Thursday of September ?" Edmund changed the subject.
"Yes." Tom said. "Fifth floor."
OoOoOo
01.09.1943 :
"Dear Tom,
I hope my letter finds you well.
I have tried to find the answer to your last letter. However, no one knows yet who will be the appointed defense against the dark arts teacher.
Regarding Dolohov, I already told you that he still hasn't understood yet. His father is already out, it is just not official. But I believe you already knew that.
I figured you got many intel during your shopping with the lads. One of them being my grandmother's death. By the way, thank you for sending your condolences.
I think I need to return them. I was sorry to hear about your loss and your father's death. "Men sooner forget the death of their father than the loss of their patrimony".
Yours sincerely,
Grace"
Tom had received this letter the day before, and as he read it again he was still wondering how she knew so much.
He was alone in the wagon compartment. He folded the letter and put it in his bag. The door opened and he rose her head to face her.
"Hi Tom." She simply said.
"Hello Grace."
Author's notes :
Hi guys,
Here's the new chapter, so it's kinda like a transitional chapter between 5th year and 6th year. We know you are waiting for some Tom and Hermione/Grace interactions and we promise you're gonna get some in the next chapter ahah.
We also wanted to point out that Abe is the anagram of Bae and it seems logic because we love him so much.
Thank you for all of your reviews, you can't imagine how much we love to read them (we actually call each other everytime we have one).
Let's get this 6th year started.
Lots of love,
-DDM's Managers