Chapter 29: Play the Game

Potter returns her to the estate, and she falls into a fitful sleep where she dreams of Natalia. They're in the Red Room, facing each other and sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor. Light pours through the glass window and around them, their peers from long ago dance in pink tights and black leotards. Hermione tears her gaze from Nat and watches them. Most of them are dead now. She hasn't seen their bodies, but HYDRA tested her loyalty those years ago by asking for names. She knew what they'd do with those names, and a part of her died pointing the gun at them, so her true master could pull the trigger.

"You never gave up Mother," says Natalia.

"She was never Mother," she replies.

The scene shifts. No more movement in Hermione's peripheral. Her peers lay on the floor, side-by-side, straight and lifeless. Their skin grayish-blue, eyes wide open and white lips parted. The girls sink into the floor and reemerge as a handful of bodies, people who are a little more than strangers. The first one to stand out to her are the small ones. The two kids from Diagon Alley, Isabella and Scorpius, catch her attention first. Like her girls, they are dead. Beside Scorpius and is his father. The one Soo-jin couldn't bear to face at the shop.

Potter and Snape are among the dead, but she doesn't pay them any mind but does give Nott a second glance and Remus a third.

A hand grasps her shoulder, and she looks up from her sitting position at Soo-jin who's smiling at her. "You've done well," she says.

Behind Soo-jin is a army of figures, faces masked and bodies obscured in burgundy robes.

Jerking awake, Hermione sucks in a breath and cups her dewy forehead, inhaling and exhaling. Her cat jumps onto the bed, nudging its head against her elbow. She ignores her for the moment, whispering, "Jesus Christ."

The mark on her forearms burns and probably has for a while. Hermione gets the gist. Soo-jin wants her to wake the hell up. There are no clocks in the room, but the sun's bleeding through the thick drapes. Given when she got back and the sleep she managed, she's guessing it's approaching nine in the morning.

Taking a quick shower, she returns to her room and puts on a pair of gray trousers and a white blouse. Sitting at the vanity while manipulating her hair into a braid, she sees a platter of steaming beans and toast, eggs, and fruit appear at her private table in the reflection. A glass of orange, speckled liquid beside the plate. Finishing her hair and putting on a pair of black loafers, she sits down and sniffs the glass, coughing at the pungent pumpkin scent.

"No thanks," she mutters and goes for the tea. She'd prefer coffee but whatever. It'll do.

Twenty-years ago, she would've murdered for a plate of these scrappings, but her taste buds have changed. Coffee and a greasy breakfast sandwich from Dunkin Donuts with Rogers after a run through D.C. would've been preferable. He'd be sweaty and charming at their designated booth, complimenting her speed and technique while dipping his ballcap low over his face, trying not to catch anyone's attention.

She stares at the empty seat across from her, and it's fine. She doesn't want any company this world has to offer and hopes that won't change. She hopes everything and everyone will be annoying forever. She doesn't want to get lonely in this place. She doesn't want to make friends. There's an inclination she feels towards Remus, but she can keep those emotions at bay. He's a mellow, comforting man, but for the foreseeable future, absolutely useless to her and Potter when it comes to exploiting Soo-jin.

Brushing her teeth and gathering her splayed books from the bed, she creeps out of the room and makes her way to the library where she sees Remus flipping through a book and Soo-jin pacing.

"There you are," says Soo-jin, noticing Hermione when she comes down the stairs. "How nice of you to finally grace Mr. Lupin with your presence. He's only been here for, I don't know, an hour waiting for you. Perhaps I should mention we will be conducting your tutoring as standard school hours. Be here at nine sharp, lunch at noon, and you'll retire at the three."

"My room doesn't have a clock."

Soo-jin rolls her eyes. "I very much doubt you need one, but for the sake of redundancy and accuracy, I'll arrange one. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to work. Behave for Mr. Lupin, would you?"

When she was out of earshot, Remus begins with an apology. "I'm sorry for Harry dragging you…well," he looks around nervously. "You know."

Hermione raises a hand. "Please. I'd rather not get into that this morning." If he's not going to aid Potter, then she doesn't want to hear any form of a sorry. On behalf of himself or Potter. Yet, she won't fault him for not getting involved on a slim case that sounds like a madman's conspiracy theory. He's a stressed, unhealthy man. It probably was a great struggle for him to get out of bed this morning, so he could come here and spend his morning teaching her.

"Still," says Remus. He takes one of her books she stacked on the table. "Have you taken a look at your reading, 17?"

She nods.

"Have you tried any of the spells?"

She nods again. "Would you like me to show you—?"

He shakes his head and pushes a notebook her way. "Later."

She opens the notebook which is filled with unlined, pale beige paper. Like old scroll paper and even though she got a quill set in her room which she didn't bother bringing because she didn't think she'd be doing any writing this morning, Remus slides a rectangular box her way and an ink well. She sighs and gives him a wince.

"Pens are more practical."

"Ah, yes. That clever Muggle invention barely making headway here." Remus waves his wand over the set, and the well disappears. He clicks open the box and gestures her to take the quill. "It should last you as long as one of those pens."

She takes it, eyeing it distrustfully. It doesn't set right in her hand like a pen.

"How's your Latin, 17?"

Her brow shoots up, not hiding her smirk. She leans back in the chair, quipping, "Probabiliter magis quam tibi."

He chuckles and gives her a sheet of rough, beige paper listing a set of English words. "Excellent. Conjugate them if you would."

Her shoulders sag, and she rolls her head. "Seriously? I speak twenty-eight languages, Remus."

"Humor me. I want to see how advanced you really are."

For God's sake, she's thirty years old. The entire exercise is beneath her. A waste of time. She glares at the paper he gave her. Elementary. She could have the list done in three minutes, but if he wants to see advanced, she'll show him.

She'll even show herself.

Concentrating on the words, memorizing and reciting the Latin terms in her head, she touches her own sheet of blank paper. Her eyes close and imagines the words written in her own writing style.

"Ostendem," she whispers, her other hand forming a gentle swish and flick.

Her eyes open, and she smiles triumphantly at her success. In ink, cursive and everything, are ten conjugated terms.

"Oh." Remus dabs his forehead with his handkerchief, smiling weakly. "Well, then." He waves his wand at the stack of books he brought. All but two fly into his trunk. "Those will be of little use to you. Let's get started on history, shall we? Have you read the introduction and chapter one yet of your text book?"

"I've read up to chapter twelve."

He coughs into his handkerchief. "Pop quiz it is, then. I expect essay answers. Each answer should be no less than seven sentences. Please write your answers for the first three at least. I want to see your penmanship."

She gestures at her work. "This is it."

"I'd like to see if for myself," he replies crisply. "You may be a grown woman, but you are student all the same, and I expect you to show your work. And to forewarn you, Mr. Snape will not be so tickled to see that trick. He may even conjure a blackboard and have you write lines for your cheek."

"Will he spank me with a ruler, too?"

Remus pointedly ignores her. "Who invented self-stirring cauldrons and what year?"

Hermione scoffs, muttering under her breath, "I can't believe such bland bullshit made into a history book."

"And how it impacted the first Goblin Rebellion?"

Hermione raises her hand, more out of instinct than respect of the student-teacher relationship Remus was trying and failing to promote. "So…goblins. They're real. The book didn't have pictures, and the author didn't really describe them, so…"

"Quite."

"Mmm." She purses her lips, tip of her quill tapping against the paper.

"Perhaps I should add that you have eight minutes to answer each question."

How sweet of him. Reports are her life. Being in the world of espionage and military intelligence taught her to write fast and in-depth in a short amount of time. Got in late after a job. Too fucking bad. Ten-page report due at eight sharp the next morning or within a few hours. And don't be making up shit for fillers. What happened has got to match whatever everyone else on the team experienced.

Remus spends the rest of the morning trying to find her limits, not so much as to find flaws but to discard what's unnecessary. He's a tired, middle-aged man with a baby on the way, and he's got a fatherly vibe to him. He's probably got more kids. He likely doesn't want to waste his mornings.

At noon, while Remus puts away his books, he praises her. "Your ability to retain information and mimic it perfectly is astounding, 17. I think we'll dabble more into Transfiguration and Charms tomorrow. You're more than ready. You've done well today." Flourishing his wand, his material flies into his truck. "Continue your reading. You may get another quiz tomorrow."

Hermione watches him leave and then hurries to follow after him, not yet ready to say goodbye to him without at least bringing up what happened during the night. "Remus," she calls after him. "Let me walk you to the…fireplace. That's where you're going, right?"

He nods, and her arms fold. "Do you believe Potter at all?" she asks. "He thinks a lot of you. Your opinion matters to him."

Hermione's only guessing. It's not like Potter sat her down at performed a ballad about those he considers friends. He doesn't have to. The more she hangs around him, the less reason she needs to poke at his mind. At the meeting last night, more could've come from the sounds of it. Those that actually showed must be special to him, and he to them.

Remus sighs, grabbing her hand and patting her forearm knowingly. "Be cautious, 17, and be aware that no one here has your best interest at heart. I, in turn, think the world of Harry. That's why I'm here. It's why I agreed to help you, but I can't say for certain if this is all a good idea."

At lunch, Hermione takes the meal in her room and then goes through her new things bought from Diagon Alley, finding a simple pair of black leggings and black, generic shoes similar to tennis shoes. She tears the sleeves off the shirt she wore when she got transported here and then sets it by the leggings she draped on the bed minutes before.

Fuck it all, she'll run this afternoon, so help her God. She'll run in the maze, lose herself until sunset, and then rest. Lay on her back, curling her fingers around the blades of grass and yanking them out. Watching the clouds move, wishing she was dead while at the same time wishing to see Nat one last time.

A minute or two before one, she returns to the library, and Snape is already there. When she looks down at him from the railing, she darts back into her room to grab her cauldron and lugs it down the stairs. The wooden table is no longer polished mahogany, but a slab of granite. She sets her cauldron by the newly placed igniter.

Snape has paid her no mind. His cauldron above low heat, stirring itself. Hermione sniffs and stifles a cough and a gag. The room is beginning to smell like a sulfuric swamp.

Not looking up from his book, Snape says, "See that wicker box. Open it and dice up all the contents on that cutting board."

Hermione spots the wicker box, opens it. Her eyes bug out of her head, and her lips curl into a grimace. A dozen or so worms thick and long as penises greet her. Hermione hesitantly picks up one up, hoping they're freshly dead or something.

They're not.

The worm contracts and attempts to wrap around her fingers. She makes an undignified noise, slams the worm onto the board and swiftly hacks it in half with Snape's nearby pairing knife. The two halves lay still for a moment, only to start contracting and inching towards each other as if to undo her damage.

"Dice," repeats Snape, in his low, nasally voice. He's still not looking at her but does lick a finger and turn the page of his book.

Letting out a breath, she grabs one of the moving worms and slices into it sideways. Purplish-black goo spill from its insides and gets on her hands. She contains her shudder, reminding herself she's been elbow deep in corpses. This is nothing.

The smell of acrid, charred, moldy earth hits her nostrils, and her stomach churns. Once she finishes with the two halves of the worm, she grabs the remaining eleven and works fast. She's a peach with an unpretentious knife, she reminds herself.

Her speed and skill grabs Snape's attention. He's no longer reading his book but studying her hands and her skillful work on the worms. He doesn't comment, only sniffing and instructing her to scrape the chopping board's contents into the cauldron. She does so, and then he tells her to take the self-stirring stick and stir clockwise twelve times, stir counterclockwise eight times, and then stir in a figure-eight fashion twenty-two times. On her third figure-eight, Snape squeezes drops of red from a little clear vial which turns the contents of the cauldron a rich, mauve hue.

Once she stops stirring, Snape removes a wooden goblet and a ladle from an open leather bag and pours a bit into the goblet.

"Drink," he instructs, grave.

"Sure." She picks up the goblet, blows on it and then knocks it back. Her gag reflexes and stomach shudder. Her eyes water, and she slams down the goblet, stifling a belch.

"I'd be foolish and call you the fool in being so trusting. For all you know, that's poison. But you're not currently in the mentality for self-preservation, are you?" He gestures at her. "Your arm, Miss Granger."

She pulls up the sleeve of her blouse. "It's 17."

He hovers his wand over her forearm. Soo-jin's markings erupt, and Snape's lips curl in disappointment. He lets go of her arm and paces, stroking his chin while muttering under his breath before saying, "We'll try again tomorrow."

Her brow wrinkles. They're done already? "Before you go—"

"I said we'll try again tomorrow. I didn't say we were done for the day." He waves his hand dismissively at her before carefully putting much of the equipment away into his bag. All by hand and carefully so, unlike Remus.

"Yesterday, you got into my head. Is there a way I could block you?"

At this Snape pauses, so he can pin her with an unreadable expression.

"I've been able to read people's minds for along time," she starts, vague. "I've never really had anyone do it to me. I don't want it happening again. The shield you've got is impenetrable. How'd you get it that way?"

Snape ignores her question, levitating a book with his wand from a shelf of the library. More like a dusty tome, it slams down with a hard thud on the table. Hermione barely gets a chance to read the title—Baltic Runes, before it whips open to chapter one. As she skims over old-school Bulgarian words, in her peripheral, she sees Snape cast a spell from his wand. A hazy film encapsulates them entirely in a bubble which then fades to nothing.

"We are free to speak for the next while before the estate's wards disintegrate it." He points to the book. "This book is filled to the brim of the darkest binding magic known in Europe. It's an ancient. Likely worth more than your life. It does not belong to the Nott Estate but was stolen from Bulgaria's Ministry of Magic a few years ago. Before you came down, I cast a De-Cloaking spell on the books. Soo-jin, though she was never one of my students, spent a year at Hogwarts. She was brilliant and well-read and fairly loathed amongst her Durmstrang peers because of her Muggle-Born status. That didn't change when she was at Hogwarts. In her own way, she tried to find a connection with Ravenclaw but failed, so she spent her evenings and weekends in the library. I only recall this since she was a genius. If she'd been average or an absolute fool, then I would've paid no mind. Her work was always exemplary—"

Hermione cuts him off with a sigh. "She's not a Muggle-Born."

Snape squints his eyes at her. "She told you this."

Hermione shakes her head. "Her mother was a mistress of a…wizard in France."

"Her mother was a Muggle then?"

Hermione shrugs. "I don't know. Look, I wouldn't think this really matters, and I don't know how much you saw when you were in my head, but I'm certain Soo-jin's father killed her mother when she was, like, three. I saw it in her head when we were kids."

"Give me the memory," he says quickly.

"Uh…"

He gestures for her to come close. The tip of his wand hovers over her temple, and he says, "I'm going to extract the memory from you. Recall it in great detail. It won't be a perfect memory, stemming from a child's mind and then mingling in your near-broken one all these years."

Hermione let's the insult slide and does as he instructs. The wand's tip touches her skin, and she feels a peculiar tug. She closes her eyes and thinks back to eleven-years-old and Soo-jin breaking into her room at the facility. Not too quickly, she skims over their tussle, to the point where she had to defend herself the best way she knew at the time.

After a few moments, the tip of Snape's wand leaves her skin, and she opens her eyes. A strand of wispy, translucent white-gray is sticking to the tip. Snape summons a vial wandlessly and traps what seems to be her memory within the tiny bit of glass. He corks and pockets it.

"It may be prudent," he starts, "to get you started on memory-retrieval. Your memories of Soo-jin may be vital for what is to come."

Her heart constricts. "So you believe Potter for sure?"

He lets out a sharp exhale. "I had hoped at least more than half of a generation would pass before another war happened. I hoped even more to be dead when it did. What a time to be alive for the first Wizarding World War."

Hermione isn't sure how to respond to this and doesn't have to. She sees whatever spell Snape cast to keep their conversation private start to shimmer and then dissolve.

"Read this in your spare time while Soo-jin's away. Study the runes from and compare them to the ones on your arm. I'll spell the book, so when you return it to the shelf, it's cloaked again."

"The Bulgarian is old-school—"

Snape throws her a hard look. "Now where were we? Ah, yes." Out of his bag, he pulls out two textbooks: The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts, 104th Edition and Defense Magical Theory, 87th Edition.

"Disregard your beginner's book Potter got you. You're a grown woman, not a child. You house more education, power, determination than an eleven-year-old. You will read the sections of each book tonight. Tomorrow, come prepared to teach me what you've learned. If you do well, we may start dueling lessons."

Hermione stops herself from telling him she can fight just fine, but already, she's starting to become familiar with his character. He's not talking about hand-to-hand combat. He's talking about magic against magic.

Their time together is short in comparison to her time with Remus, but Snape left her with much more homework. Still, she's not ready to settle in for the afternoon. She goes to her room and dresses for a run, going out into the courtyard and staring down the maze challengingly before taking off in a sprint. The abrupt dead-ends keep her on her toes. Pushups, burpees, and jumping jacks in this and that cove. She pushes herself to the limit even more by containing what little energy she's got left and expressing it through tai-chi and yoga. Through the slow, soft movements, she practices her Latin and tries not to dwell on Snape's mentioning of a first wizarding world war. Apparently, these people have never had a world war before, and how lucky is Hermione she might get to be a part of one?

From her downward-dog-position, she falls to her knees with a strangled breath. She wishes she had the nerve to kill Soo-jin all those years ago. This place might still have the problems it does, but at least Hermione wouldn't be a part of it. As hidden and safe from HYDRA that she is right now, she'd rather be out in the real world, exposed and at risk of annihilation than here leashed like a beast to another goddamned master with another fucking crazy agenda.

Hands flat on the stone and grass, she lowers her head down and contemplates bashing in her head, but Lilo the elf appears next to her. She barely flinches at the interruption.

"Lilo has been asked to tell Miss 17 dinner is in an hour, and she's welcome to join Master Nott and his guests."

She straightens with a sigh. "Is your mistress not joining us?"

He shakes his head, miserable. "Mistress Soo-jin will be away for a few days because of unexpected happenings at work."

"Mm." Whether Soo-jin is really working or murdering doesn't matter to Hermione right now. She's getting an opportunity to hang around Nott without Soo-jin, and that's something. She can see how stupid he really is when it comes to his ex-fiancée.

Hermione's still up in the air whether or not it's worth seducing Nott. It might just add a complication to the mix because Hermione's certain if Soo-jin finds out she's warming up to Nott, she'll kill him.

Hermione's also certain Soo-jin plans to kill Nott anyway. His days are numbered, it's almost too obvious. He's got money and means and has a government-type job, according to Potter. Once he's no longer useful or is more trouble than he's worth, Soo-jin will get rid of him. Hermione isn't sure she's in the mood to speed things along, but she'll keep her options open.

She's not going to join him and his guest for dinner, but she'll spruce up in case she sees him later tonight. There's old makeup in the drawers of her vanity. Not a lot, but enough to lengthen her lashes and gloss her lips. In the cupboard of the bathroom, there are "hair potions" and creams, one specifically for unruly hair. Per instructions, she mixes a cream and potion together in her hands and runs it through her hair. The outcome…well, let's just say, Hermione would've killed for this shit back in her Red Room days as she struggled slick her hair back into a perfect ballerina bun.

If a stray curl found its way out of her bun or braid, Madam B would rap her stick against the back of Hermione's thighs and or backside and stop everyone's warm up until the stubborn lock of hair could be resituated.

Awkward and hesitant, she calls out inquiringly for Lilo to the empty space of her room. He appears immediately, and she congratulates herself for not flinching.

He bows deep. "What can Lilo help Miss 17 with tonight?"

"I won't be joining your master and his guests tonight. I'll take my dinner up here, thank you. I've got…homework." She looks over her shoulder at the mess of parchment on her table. "You don't need to tell him that or anything. I'm sure he'll figure it out that I'm not coming."

Lilo does a poor job at hiding how rude he thinks she's being, but he bows again anyway and says he'll arrange a tray for her. Which one does two hours later and clumsily so, nearly spilling water and wine and soup all over her assignments.

And there's no dessert.

Hermione straightens out her dishes and thinks that maybe it might do her good to watch her words with Lilo. Like Potter said, Lilo belongs to Nott but favors Soo-jin, so she might as well be his mistress. He'd likely do anything for her and from what she can see and has read, elves are powerful and clever. By magical bonds, they are forced to serve their masters and, in some cases, punish themselves if they've misbehaved or failed a task. Soo-jin is not his bonded mistress. He does what he does for her because he's loyal to her due to respect. And that makes him a better asset to Soo-jin, therefore, making him more dangerous to Hermione.

How much does he know about Soo-jin?

Hermione's going to assume he knows everything if not almost everything.

Following her meal and finishing up her assignments and reading, she practices several transfiguration spells and even a few "Charm" spells. She makes her quill float and write for her. She even spells her antique coatrack into fluidity and use its knobby ends to rub her back.

It didn't feel as good as she hoped. Her mind wanders to other spells capable of satisfying other needs.

More out of curiosity than having the carnal urge to learn an enchanted, yet lackadaisical approach to masturbation, she goes to the library and searches for books on sex magic.

Unsurprising, she doesn't find anything. The closest thing she finds is a book packed with articles and mini-memoirs warning against love spells and love potions, even to the extent of conceiving offspring while under the influence.

Hermione returns the book and aimlessly wanders the halls, in hopes Nott's guests are gone, and she can happen across him. She ignores the disgusted sneers from the portraits, but her thoughts turn low and dark the longer she walks. The walls with their angry paintings close in on her, and she feels so trapped, bound to this place. Not the house but this strange world and their strange people and strange problems. She wants to be free of it all. She doesn't want to help Potter even though he needs it, and she doesn't want to risk becoming a controlled and content beast on Soo-jin's leash.

Rounding a corner, Hermione catches the strong scent of salted water and sees a reflection of moving ripples on the far wall. There's a set of stone steps and archway up a head on the left which leads to an impressively large, indoor swimming pool. The area is dark, save the sunset and the bright crescent moon shining against the gigantic, stained-glass windows descending from the arch, gothic-styled ceiling. The figures and creatures in the glass are unknown to Hermione. She can't identify them, but they move silently. Almost somberly wading through the blue glass.

Approaching the pool, she crouches down and dips her fingers int the water. It's a cool temperature for such a warm, humid area. Peeling off her clothes and leaving her sports bra and panties on, she dives into the water. Stroke after stroke, she stays in the water well into the night. No one bothers her. The elf doesn't come looking for her and neither does Nott. For someone half as eager to find her as Soo-jin had been, he isn't at all in a hurry to socialize with her. She's not sure if it's because she hurt him when they first met or because of something else.

This is home. He's letting her "reside" her at the request of Soo-jin. Hermione needs to get a good read on him. What's his angle?

Climbing out of the pool, she stretches her arms high above her head and then slowly bends down, hands flat to stone floor. Water drips off her, making the stone wet, and with a content sigh she straightens and then rests her gaze on the archway where she came through. It's not Nott, goddamn it. That would make too much sense. No, standing there is Potter, hair mussed and pale. Behind his glasses, his green eyes are vacant and glassy.

She acknowledges him, dipping her chin. "You all right?"

He stumbles towards her. His feet drag. She thinks he'll walk right into her but ends up stopping beside her, staring down at the water.

"She's dead, Hermione," he whispers. Like she knows who he's talking about and he says her name like he's known her all his life, and they're friends.

"Soo-jin is dead?" She can't be that goddamned lucky and looks at her forearm.

A shudder ripples through the man. One of his eyes twitch, then he blinks. A single, thin tear falls down his cheek. "No," he chokes out and then stares as if realizing, they aren't on the same wavelength. She could read his mind, but she's hoping he'll cut the dramatics and get to the point.

"Then who?"

In the distance, passed the archway and down the hallway, somewhere a kid is crying hysterically.

"Ginny," Potter says and slams into the water, and she frowns at his sinking figure. Honestly, it takes her thirty or more seconds to realize he's trying to drown himself.

To be Continued...


A/N: Be gentle, my readers. Be gentle. Be kind. I love you all and do apologize for the slowness of the updates.

*Sigh*

I watched Avengers: Endgame. It was phenomenal, though, there will be no "real" spoilers in my story from it or Infinity Wars. I might allude to them a scene here and a scene there, but if you haven't seen the film yet, you won't catch it. I promise. :)

Apologies for the errors. I can't seem to get my mind into proper editing mode, but I'll continue to do clean-sweeps.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. More good things and adventures to come. I promise.