Chapter 28: Grimmauld Place
A/N: A big thank you to my readers for being patient with me during these last few months. Thank you so much for your patience and for the feedback I received on the last chapter. I can't apologize enough for the delay, but I had to take care of my physical and emotional health. Getting older is no fun.
If you haven't already and you're interested, I've been slowly sorting together my Killgranger (Hermione Granger/Erik Killmonger) series. There are four parts now and more will come. You can go to my stories through my profile and find them there.
R&R! Tell me your thoughts on this chapter! I always love hearing feedback and even constructive criticism.
"Well, Potter. What do you know? You've managed to impress me."
The corner of Harry's mouth twitches, and she appraises him. What does this one have up his sleeve? He's not all that he appears, and Soo-jin certainly isn't either. Her eyes narrow because she's still a cat falling from a tall building. She must improvise if she wants to land on her feet. Both Harry and Soo-jin are up to something, and Hermione would be an idiot if she swung her favor in the latter's direction.
"You haven't seen anything yet," he remarks.
Hermione's smirk widens into a coy smile. "Promise?"
It may still serve her well to entertain the notion of seducing Nott. Potter's alluding to an alliance holds promise but may prove unnecessary. He has power and trust over these people here. She witnessed it at Diagon Alley. Her expression falters, though, because it's not the people she's concerned about. That quaint, cobbled stretch of cuckoo, Halloween shops could be blown to hell for all she cares. Escaping Soo-jin is her main priority. Potter may be partially on her side. If she can wrangle in Nott…
Potter throws her an eye-roll. He's not falling for her charms.
"Why won't you let me go?" she asks. "I mean, really? Aside from the obvious."
"Because I'm certain Soo-jin didn't go to all this trouble so she could save you." He looks down, and his voice goes quiet. "We can't talk here. It's not private." He grabs her by the elbows and tries to move her, looking perplexed that he can't even make her budge. "Come on now. The sooner we meet your teachers, the more informed you'll be."
Her eyes slit. "Tell me—"
"Think of where we are," he hisses. "And Lilo is not the only house-elf on the property. They're inclined to eavesdrop and report to their masters and mistresses. Soo-jin and Theo may not be a thing anymore, but she still holds their loyalty. Think…think of where you came from, and I'm not pretending I know shit about it, but I've watched enough spy films to understand you don't just talk anywhere. You wouldn't discuss the Russian president's assassination on his welcome mat, would you? Jesus."
Well. He's…not wrong, Hermione guesses. She frowns at her nails. Her eyes flicker at him mischievously. "Say assassination again, Potter. It does all sorts of things to me."
He throws her a revolted look. "I'm not above wrapping you up in a straitjacket and locking you in a room with a therapist."
"Unnecessary."
Hermione jerks her head to the side and sees a tall, lanky man dressed in a black sort of suit and a black cloak. Streaks of gray stripe his thin, shoulder-length black hair. The way it curtains his sallow face forces his hooked nose to appear more pronounced. This man narrows his gaze on her, taking her in from foot to the top of her head, lips wrinkled. Aside from that, his eyes unreadable. No indication of what he thinks of her.
One of the "teachers", she surmises.
And that's as far as she concedes before the man raises his wand in her direction and calmly utters, "Legilimens."
The wind is knocked out of her, and she falls to the floor, her limbs jerking. It's like a white-hot beam slices articulately through her skull, delving deep into her mind. Through the agony, she's somewhat aware he's doing this to her, but not only that. He's searching her memories. He doesn't lazily flip through the pages consisting of her time in S.H.I.E.L.D., the Middle East, the Red Room, or the Sokovian facility. He bypasses them, paying them no mind.
Words like 'stop' and 'don't' might be coming out of her mouth, but it's hard to say. This man is performing perfect brain surgery on her with no anesthetic. Everything hurts and nothing's working. There's a chance she may wet herself in front of him, and Potter, and the elves who may or may not be eavesdropping.
The man slows when she was seven years old and still with her parents in Surrey, where she had her first incident. A metaphorical string hooks around that memory and tugs, gathering it and all the ones following. Her parents admitting her to the institute, Dr Lawrence's treatment and ultimate kidnapping of her. He sees her being shipped to Eastern Europe and the traumas she witnessed onboard and what she faced in Sokovia and then in the Red Room. He gathers everything following, as if making a detailed copy for himself. When he's finished, that metaphorical string loosens, and she's left twitching and breathing heavily on the floor.
Her eyes are closed, and she senses Potter kneeling down beside her, running the backs of his fingers over her drenched forehead and cheek. "Christ, Severus."
"Agreed," says another voice. Not Soo-jin's but another man's voice. "That is no way to introduce yourself."
"I had to be sure what exactly we're dealing with," the man named Severus says, his tone grave. "Potter, a word."
Where Potter and the man called Severus go, Hermione's not sure. All she knows is that the former is gone, and the other man is approaching her. Her eyes manage to peel open and see a tired, sickly man already sporting a patchy, five o'clock shadow in the early afternoon. Despite looking like he could use a twelve-hour nap, his eyes are cautious yet kind. She catches his hand nervously twitch before taking her own and encouraging her to stand.
"There's a piping hot cup of tea and warm, buttered scones in the other room. I daresay, you could use both."
Hermione almost blurted out a, "What the hell did he do to me?" yet she knows exactly what he did. She's done it countless times before. If she were a more conscience-heavy woman, she'd mutter to herself something like, "That's what that feels like. All right."
The gravity of her situation increases. It's not that she's just trapped in this fairytale land of witches and cauldrons. These people are like her but better. They can curse and they can perform at top-notch. Their world may be silly, but the people are far from it. There's nothing silly about Soo-jin, Potter, and especially that Severus man. She can't help but remain silent as the exhausted man helps her to her feet. Her legs are jelly, and the man holds her by the waist, guiding her to the other room where he sits her down in a chair. Her gaze slides from the steaming cup of tea and golden-brown scones to a resting place on the floor. In her seat, she starts to gently rock.
Everything's fresh and new. Her parents' faces. Each sin committed by her hands and tongue. Each kill. Each shed of blood.
And she's unable to make amends. She's trapped by these learned and trained people with their agendas. How can she escape them?
Play along.
Potter had said that. Earlier, hadn't Nat's voice reminded she had time?
Hermione adjusts her eyes on the knife against her plate. A plain butter knife. Fuck being patient. Fuck HYDRA. She could drive it into her own jugular. Bleed out for penance and freedom.
Madam B reminds her again how weak she's acting. How pathetic. So an ugly man came along and jostled her memories and brought her transgressions into high-definition. Big deal. Hazy or clear, remorseful or ambivalent, the sins were always there.
The man sits down across from her and removes a flask from his pocket, untwisting the cap and dumping something into her teacup. "I think you need this more than I."
"I can't get drunk," she says.
His sigh is mournful, and expression perplexed. "That is unfortunate." He switches the teacups and takes a sip before setting it back down. "My name is Remus Lupin. You may call me Remus. I understand you prefer to be called 17."
Her head throbs and the smell of the tea and scones make her stomach churn. She wants to lay down, close her eyes, and never open them again.
"Well, 17. I don't think we'll get far this afternoon given Severus's unorthodox way of getting to know you, but he was never one to make friends with students. He tends to go for the hard-lesson approach. I suppose in time, he'll want to teach you how to block unwelcome invasions."
"He can do that?"
His chin dips in consideration. "As long as you learn and not simply try."
"And…what can you teach me?"
He smiles warmly at her, "I understand you already have a familiar"
He calls for Lilo who appears promptly and asks him to fetch her cat from Soo-jin. The elf returns with the cage and gives it to Remus and not Hermione. He opens the tiny door and takes out the fat, orange ball of fur, stroking the animal gently and evoking a rattled purr from the creature.
"Ah," he says at the thing. His forehead wrinkles and stands, offering her the cat. "This looks like someone I used to know."
Hermione doesn't take the cat right away but lets a beat pass before hesitantly standing and taking the cat from him. The fur, which appears dry and frayed, is surprisingly soft. The warm, little body nestles close to her bosom, pressing its flat face into her chest bone while its tail sticks up and tickles her sternum.
"Do you have a name for her?"
Hermione shakes her head, awkwardly scratching behind the ears of the kitten. Her purring amplifies.
"Well, I'm sure you'll think of one in due time. Until then, she'll be your companion. A dear, dear friend in this very strange world you happened upon. You'll confide in her during your most difficult times. I understand you are already so powerful. That can be a good thing and a bad thing. When you are asked to float a feather, I need not it dart around the room, bothering the portraits. As for Mr. Snape, he'll undoubtedly want to get you started on potions. There will be no wand-waving, or in your case, hand-waving but patience and following instructions exactly."
Potions. Hermione thinks of the cauldron bought in Diagon Alley and imagines herself hunched over it, foam and smoke brimming over the top of it as she cackles wickedly in her mothy, black garb and pointed hat, striped stockings on her feet and legs. Also, she's in a heavily frosted gingerbread house and evilly wishing well-fed children begat by bad parents may happen upon on her candied doorstep.
Her nausea subsides, and the tea and scones don't seem like a bad idea. The tea soothes her stomach further, and her shoulders relax a little. The scone gives her an energy-boost. She feels a sudden urge to run. Not run away—well, yes—but to strap on a pair of Nikes and hit the pavement. She yearns to run with Steve Rogers again, not at a purposeful half-speed but to be by his side as they sprint around D.C. at full throttle, no words between them. As if by pure, concentrated determination, they could both flee fast from their problems. Their ghosts.
She misses him, and she misses Nat. God, does she ever and hopes they'll make use of the betrayal she suffered them and turn to each other for comfort, but that's naïve. Unrealistic. This will harden Natalia further and cause her to be more distrustful. Hermione's former lover will see Rogers as another potential blow and force herself to see him nothing more than a colleague. As for Rogers, his attraction will dampen towards Nat by being acutely reminded of where she came from and what she is and used to be.
Maybe after a while, they'll learn again to trust each other.
Remus appears to sense her restlessness and asks if she'd like to join him for a walk outside.
"I hear there's a maze."
When they arrive at the courtyard, in the distance, Hermione sees Soo-jin and Nott on horses full-gallop around the perimeter. The clouds above them break apart and cluster. The humidity is thick. Hermione puts down the cat and enters the maze with Remus.
"Are you a teacher at that…Hogwarts school?" she asks.
He looked at her, surprised. "Harry told you about the school already."
"I found out about it while in Diagon Alley. I was supposed to go there."
His smile is grim. "I imagine you would've done very well there, 17, but I'm comfortable enough in saying you would've faced hardships."
"Worse than what I experienced?"
His pace slows, and he looks at her carefully. "I'm not going to pretend I know anything passed the surface material he provided. What I do know is that you were cheated an education and life—the childhood—you deserved. You may have been cheated in other ways if you had got to come and be a part of this world, too. You'll learn about the history of this place and understand in time."
Hermione remembers the sneering portrait from that morning and what Madam Malkin told her about Harry Potter. A handful of matching puzzle pieces in a grand, complex puzzle. She doesn't understand everything, but she understands enough for the time being. The kitten rubs against her ankle, purring, and she looks down at it. So different and not particularly pretty but cute enough all the same like any small, relatively helpless creature much like she'd been at seven years old.
"Is it because I'm a Mudblood."
Remus pull out a handkerchief from his pocket, his eyes narrowed and troubled. It's then Hermione sees the wedding band on his ring finger. "Where did you hear that word?" He dabs his forehead. "From Mr. Nott, I presume."
She shakes her head. "My parents did not have powers, and I do. That's what it means."
He lowers his head, looking like he failed her somehow. "You haven't been here even a week and already you've experienced and learned prejudice."
She lets out a dry chuckle. "Prejudice isn't unique to just here, and I've been called many colorful things in my life. Names can hurt some, but not me."
"Is that why you've chosen to number yourself?"
She doesn't answer. Her kitten's ready for more attention, so she stoops down to pick her up. Once Remus realizes she's not going to reply, he moves on with a soft sigh. "I reckon you're ready for schooling early as tomorrow. I'll arrange with Mr. Snape that I be your morning teacher."
"Why did he invade my mind like that?"
"Mr. Snape has let it be known to Harry what a potential problem you could turn out to be. Out of curiosity's sake, I ask, not what he saw particularly, but if he's right concerning what he did? How difficult will you be, 17? Because it'd be rather naïve of me to think you're anything but a tampered firecracker."
"But you never answered my question?" She gives him a smirk. "Are you a teacher at the school? Is that what makes you qualified for this assignment?"
He laughs, though there's a painful squint to his eyes. "I did teach at the school for a year when Harry was just a boy and then did so again later in a more…domestic setting. I'm in no way adequate in all subjects, thus Mr. Snape, but I'd like to think I can educate you properly given you do your part and read. Study. Listen. This world is your home as much as it is mine, and you very much need and deserve to learn all that you can about it if you desire to have a future here outside of prison."
"Acclimate," she says quietly, dipping her chin like she understands. Like she agrees. Like she'll be alive in ten years, existing here in this world and blending in like any of the other witches she saw at Diagon Alley. Like her near-future isn't bones, dry and forgotten and rightfully so.
As they navigate through the maze and back to the house, Remus gives her a gentle lecture of the segregation between magical and non-magical folk during the England's history. Hermione listens, keeping her questions to herself. When they return to the house, Lilo greets them and invites Remus on behalf of Nott and Soo-jin to stay for dinner. He decline's politely and goes to the patio fireplace, disappearing into a bloom of green flames.
Hermione is decidedly left alone with only the elf. She looks at him and then over her shoulder and wonders how far she could get if she ran and how many times she'd have to run away before these people got fed up because how long can she play along? It's been proven for a hell of along time, but how exhausting and inconvenient spying and undercover work can be. Probably even more so since she doesn't have any conviction to carry.
She wants to leave. She wants to die, too. She also wants to know what Potter is hiding when it comes to Soo-jin and her agenda, and most of all, for HYDRA to implode. So many desires and none of them complement each other, let alone correlate.
Nott and Soo-jin allow her to take dinner in her room. Soo-jin joins her for dessert, and Hermione spends the half-hour analyzing everything she can about her. The way she speaks. Her Norwegian lilt. The way she holds her spoon and how she's slow to devour her ice cream, savoring each spoonful. There are red calluses on her hands but are far from rough.
Soo-jin talks a lot and very animatedly about nothing that matters. She goes from one subject to the next, bringing up Potter's talk about Monty Python and the Holy Grail and how they should watch it together. She talks about the weather in Norway and how pretty it is in the summer. She talks about her horse and how much she loves riding.
"You'll like it, too. We'll go this weekend. It'll be a nice change from the amount of academia shoved your way."
Soo-jin talks to Hermione like cursing her, forcing her to obey, was a perfectly sound decision. She talks like they're well on their way to becoming good friends. But Hermione sees the tension in Soo-jin's shoulders. Her wand is right next to her sundae. Lilo watches and waits from beside the open door. The woman is ready for an attack in case Hermione's able to resist the curse, and Hermione wonders if it's possible since she's so cautious. Her grip tightens on her spoon, and she imagines lunging forward and planting it deep in one of her eyes. The spoon drops from her fingers, her entire arm igniting in uncomfortable pain. Like her limb fell asleep, and not only do her nerves hurt, her muscles and fingers won't cooperate. The sigils reappear on her forearm, and Soo-jin must notice them because she stops speaking about how gross and bloated she gets on her period. Her brows raise, and she sets down her spoon.
"Are you not thinking good thoughts, 17?"
"Always," she replies, strained. She rests her arm on the table and picks up her spoon with her other hand.
The sigils are slow to fade this time. They disappear long after Soo-jin leaves and Hermione's in bed flipping through the pages of her "transfiguration" book from Diagon Alley. Her cat is curled up beside her folded legs, licking its paws. Hermione pauses in her reading and considers her bedside table. It's made of mahogany. Could she turn it into cedar? As a child, she could turn pencils into pens but never quite vise versa.
There's a spell for that. So simple, she's almost embarrassed. She unpackages the quill Potter purchased for her, making a face at the archaic pointlessness of it.
"Stilus," she says to the quill, waving her right set of fingers just as her beginner's charms book instructed. Swish and flick.
Nothing happens.
She presses her lips together and rereads the paragraph before trying again. This time she imagines in detail what kind of pen she'd like the quill to transform into.
"Stilus," she repeats.
In her left hand, the quill shortens, and the feathers disappear. The shaft thickens and hardens into a plastic capsule of a plain black hue, and the sharp, pointed tip molds into a ball-point. Chuckling at her success, she studies the pens and even untwists the barrel. Inside, an anorexic feather slides out instead of a spring and an ink chamber.
Well, this is stupid. Hermione decides she doesn't care for transfiguration. In a last, half-hearted attempt, she attempts to make her mahogany nightstand cedar. Her hand flourishes aggressively, and she imagines her mother's dresser from years before. The dark, polished amber pales into a very faded, white- lavender hue, and the scent of a woodsy crisp, wintry forest hits her nose. The knobs on the dresser have also changed from polished gold to tarnished brass. Getting up from the mattress, she runs her hands over the new structure. The style is even different. Exactly like her mum's.
On top of the dresser is a crystal canister filled with decorative and senseless clear marble-like pieces. Hermione remembers her mother had a music box on top of her own. Hermione closes her eyes, pictures the instrument, and then waves her hand over the canister. She opens her eyes and...it's not perfect, but it's enough that she's proud of herself. Instead of a polished-oak box with a crucifix engraved on it, a crystal replica is there. Hermione can see the mechanics, the cogs and wheels. Carefully twisting the key, the top slowly springs open and Zorba the Greek fills the room.
Hermione falls into a fitful sleep, open books surrounding her, and jerks awake at her cat's sharp hiss and feral meow. In the dark, she makes out the cat on the bay window, pawing at the curtains. Beneath the drawn drapes, she sees movement and hears a knock on the window.
A knock?
Getting out of bed, she pads to the window and pulls back the drapes to find Potter hovering outside the window on a fucking broom. She flips the latch and opens the window. "What are you doing?"
"Hop on."
"Hell no."
He jerks his head over his shoulder, indicating he wants her to get behind him on the broom. "I'm going to tell you all I know, but we can't do it here, and we have to be fast. House-elves generally sleep only four hours a night, typically on a set schedule. I've got to get you back here before any of them wake up and realize you're gone."
"If they're asleep, then I don't see a reason why I have to get on that thing."
"Because this isn't just us. We're expected in London in a half-hour. We need to be quick."
Her breath hitches, and she nearly jumps onto the broom and ignoring the insinuation that someone's expecting to see her, too. "You're taking me to London? Real London?"
He makes a face. "Don't get too excited. We'll only be in it for a few seconds. Don't try and run. You won't get far, and Snape will kill you. I'm not joking, and he will succeed."
"Promise?"
Potter gives her a sad look. "Please just get on and don't be difficult. Do you want to know what's going on or not? Do you want to remain cursed and bound to her? Or do you want revenge?"
Eyeing the very impractical method of travel, she climbs onto the cushion and then balances on the sill. She grabs a hold of Potter's shoulders and swings her legs over the shaft of the broom. He waves his wand at the windows, closing them. The cat presses her flat face against the glass longingly.
The broom jerks into full, break neck speed towards the clouds. Hermione wraps her arms around Potter's waist and buries her face into the back of his shirt. Her stomach leaps towards her throat, and she clenches her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut.
Heights don't bother her. She's jumped out of planes. Typically, there's a trusty parachute attached to her person, and she's in tactical gear. Not on a goddamned broom, barefooted, embracing a man for dear life, and wearing a light blue, cotton two-piece. The higher in elevation they climb, the colder she becomes.
"Open your eyes, Hermione."
"Fuck you."
He laughs. "I didn't peg you for being afraid of heights."
"I'm not."
"Then look."
She forces her eyelids to open, and she stares ahead over Potter's shoulder. They're below the clouds just barely, but far below them is Wiltshire. So that's where she is. The stony, picturesque town of Cotswolds greets her vision. They fly over it fast. They must be going close to eighty or ninety miles an hour.
"How fast are you allowed to go before the UIAR or whatever pulls you over?"
"The broom's got a strong Disillusionment Charm engraved in the shaft. No one can see us, hear us, or track us when we're on it."
"Stealth tech," she murmurs, more to herself.
London approaches fast. Hermione breathes in the scenery of lights and cars and buildings like oxygen. She stares hungrily down at it. She thinks of the location of MI-6 headquarters and how fast she can run once touching down to the ground. But Potter begins his descent too far from where she'd hoped, hanging low over a neighborhood of flats on a street called Grimmauld Place. Both she and Potter climb off the broom, and he's got his arm around her wrist and his wand trained at her chin the moment her feet touch the concrete of the sidewalk.
"Stay. Look carefully between 11 and 13."
Hermione follows his line of sight and stares between door 11 and door 13. He starts towards it, wand still digging into her chin. It's easy to ignore, especially when a door appears and discolored walls and windows. As if they'd been filthy for a long time and had been washed as clean as could be years later. Above the door, 12 appears.
Potter opens the door and walks right inside and closes the door behind them, taking his wand from her chin and waving at the door, muttering nonsensical words underneath his breath.
The entryway's completely dark. Her vision adjusts and she sees a curtain off to her side. Like it's hiding something. Potter points at it and then puts a finger to his mouth, shaking his head. Down the hallway, she sees a dim source of light coming from behind a closed door. He goes down the hallway toward it, and she follow behind. The sharp pleasant smell of coffee and tea assault her nose. Inside the room are people at a rectangular dining table nursing mugs and cups of tea. She recognizes Remus and Snape and absolutely no one else. They all stand at the arrival of Potter and her. She suspects they stand for him, yet their eyes are on her.
"And who is this?" one asks. A tall dark-skinned middle-aged man in traditional African garb.
"Do proceed in starting the meeting, Potter," says Snape.
"Some of us would like to get a wink of sleep," says an Irishman.
"Second that," says a tall, somewhat handsome redhead man. A similar looking man with one ear nods his head in agreement.
"Never mind who she is. I got word from New Orleans. Three members of the Benoit family died several days ago from a rare case of Vermilion Pox. In Buenos Aires, the Rossis were half-wiped at a family dinner from cursed wine glasses and cutlery. Don't even get me started on Russia and Africa."
"Everyone in the world knows the Romanos have it out for the Rossis since Spain colonized the bloody joint. Sounds like a family feud to me"
"They're all Pureblood families, Seamus," says a pregnant woman several years older than Hermione. She's got a heart-shaped face and blonde beach-waves with hot-pink highlights. "And they're not just dying one at a time."
"Sounds like they're getting there's, is all," mutters a young man in his late twenties, early thirties. An officiated note-taker it from the looks of it given his Apple Notebook. Hermione stares at the device, curious and hungry. It's the first electronic device she's seen since being abducted. Her fingers itch to snatch it from him. The damage she could do to HYDRA with just that.
"That's very dangerous thinking, Dennis," remarks the dark-skinned man, his mouth set in a worried line.
"Some of these families," starts another dark-skinned man, sitting tellingly close to the one called Seamus. "They were Riddle's sympathizers. They helped fund both the First and Second War while at the same time, pushing Muggle-Borns out of their own community by any means necessary."
Potter massages his cheeks like a frustrated child, breathing deeply out his nose. "I don't need a tally of their fucking sins, Dean. Yeah, loads of these families are no good, but there's an epidemic happening. It's not just old, prejudice farts getting just desserts. Their entire line and influence are being wiped out. Kids. Non-political relatives are disappearing. Governments and economies are collapsing. The magical world is having a mass-take over, and both influential and non-influential Purebloods are the target."
"Harry might be onto something," offers Remus.
"Might be," stresses the redhead next to the one-eared one. He shoots Potter an apologetic look. "Sorry, mate. It's not much to go on. Bill thinks if there is something, it's a job for the Unspeakables, not the Order. We understand your concern and that you might think you see a pattern," starts an elderly woman. "But what you are actually witnessing is family-feuds gone awry and corrupt governments imploding."
Potter swivels his gaze to Remus and Snape. "Soo-jin is a part of it. I know it."
Snape's features remain unchanged while Remus throws the younger man a tired look.
"She cursed Hermione." He gestures to her, saying the claim like he's grasping at straws. "An Obedience Curse. Didn't she, Hermione?"
All eyes are on her again, and she doesn't have to read their minds to know that regardless of what she says, it won't matter. She's a barefoot stranger in blue pajamas to them. There's not even a wand visible on her person.
"Yes," she says, careful, but not to any of them people, just to Potter. She's looking at him and only him. "If she is like you claim, Potter, what would be her motive?" Hermione knows. She can count the number of days she's been in this world and not use all her fingers, and still she knows what Soo-jin is trying to accomplish and why. What Hermione's roll in it, remains to be seen, but she can fathom a guess.
Potter is quiet for a moment and then reveals, "She and others want to rid the world of blood prejudice." He sighs. "By slowly and carefully committing mass genocide."
Others. Hermione pictures Soo-jin-like lunatics dotting the earth.
"Well," pipes Seaums, "good theory. Coming, Dean?"
Dean throws Potter an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Harry."
A series of 'Sorry, Harry' gets thrown at Potter. The two who bother remaining in the room are Remus and Snape.
"Is it true Soo-jin cursed you?" asks Remus.
Sure. Soo-jin could very well be responsible for hundreds if not thousands of deaths, but apparently that's small potatoes in comparison to the bothersome, sometimes visible tattoo Soo-jin branded her with.
Hermione nods and then tenses when Snape waves his wand at her person. The sensation he hit her with before doesn't happen, but he does ask to see her arm.
She doesn't comply.
"If you'd like me to break the curse, I need to see your arm," he says patronizingly. Like she's a child.
The want for the curse to be gone outweighs her reluctance. She shows him her arm, his wand hovering over her apple scar. The sigils appear, angry and burned, and he lets out a short, upset exhale.
"I'll need time and may have to refer to a Curse-Breaker. This is dark magic, indeed." He spares Potter a glance as if to say there might be substance behind his claims. "And illegal. Similar to a Binding Curse old Eastern European families placed on their indentured servants a few centuries ago."
Snape lets go of her, staring at Potter in consideration. "You are not without your reasons in believing something amiss about Soo-jin, but if you intend to call another assembly of the Order and have all the members show, you will need more proof and more persuasion. Old, bigoted families dying off will not gain sympathy from the majority, if any, at the table."
"We will see you in the morning," says Remus, tipping his head at Hermione. Both he and Snape leave she and Potter alone.
Potter stares irritably at the dining table, massaging his chin. "There's a worldwide takeover going on, and I know Soo-jin's a part of it. I need your help with this. Your in close quarters with her, and she dragged you into this world for one reason and one reason only. She's grooming you. I think I've only seen a fraction of what you're really capable of. Training you up in the guise of private lessons, you'll be an unstoppable weapon for her and her cause."
Unstoppable. She's heard that term before, directed and promised at her. She rubs her forearm and thinks of how Snape invaded her mind and brought forth the worst she's ever done to the forefront of her memories. All those crimes she committed on behalf of HYDRA. They groomed her. Trained her. She got lessons and enhancements to be their perfect weapon of choice. Only to be too afraid to let her and her self-awareness out of the box, and currently, she's never been more grateful.
Unlike HYDRA, Soo-jin won't be afraid let her out of the box to play. She's gone through this much trouble to, not only get Hermione, but prepare for her, as well. Hermione can't access her mind and no matter Snape's abilities, she doubts he could even crack her wall.
Her eyes lower, and she lets out a quiet, long drawn breath. Nat's voice whispers to her. Telling her she's needed here. Her skills, and everything she's been trained for has to be put to use for these people. Potter's not as influential as she originally thought. He'll need help. He may even need her help more than she needs his.
To be Continued...
