Another short story, this time with an attempt at a different sort of take on the classic time travel story. I'm not sure about how successful I've been, given I tend to write darker plots, but I hope it makes for an enjoyable read regardless.

I'd like to thank you for reading this story, particularly given how long it has given since I last wrote properly. I have taken some liberties assuming the ages of the three Death Eaters that act as protagonists in this, placing them within the same year at Hogwarts (beneath Rodolphus and Bellatrix, and above the Maraunders).

This story was written for Entwinedlove in The Fairest of the Rare's Love Fest 2020 (#LF2020). The prompt was, 'Hermione/Rabastan Lestrange'.

The Granger girl was beautiful, not that Rabastan's friends would have agreed.

The strange witch had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of their fifth year and had remained well into his sixth year despite being noticeably unhappy about her predicament. Exactly where she had come from or how she had come to be accepted as a transfer student—whatever that meant—had never been explained, with Albus Dumbledore only introducing her as a student whose family life had recently seen a tragic end.

It was undeniable that she was brilliant, though; a fact which her weekly grades had proven quickly enough. It was a known fact that she had fought tooth and nail to be able to undertake ten separate O.W.L.s in the same year she had abruptly transferred in, going so far so as to willingly undertake extra assessments in order to prove herself to their teachers. The result? Ten O.W.L.s, a noteworthy accomplishment which not many students were able boast about, and which had additionally translated to her choosing seven separate classes for her N.E.W.T.s.

Beyond that nothing was really known about her, not even her blood status. She had neither opened herself up nor joined the different cliques of Gryffindor students. Instead, the slip of a girl had maintained an odd, solitary existence that saw her frequenting either the library or her classes, sharing only in conversation in classes only. She was alone during her brief breaks, choosing to either stroll across the castle grounds alone or retreat to the library. During mealtimes she barely made eye contact with her own housemates, instead seeming content to eat as alone and as early as possible. A fact which not even the most notoriously charismatic Gryffindors had managed to break.

It was there where she was right now, barely past five in the afternoon. Rabastan found himself gazing at her as he entered the great hall after his friend. She was still in uniform, and, judging by the presence of her schoolbag at her side, must have gone directly to have dinner at the final end of her classes. Though she was clearly eating, her attention was focused instead on the thick library book opened besides her. Her hair, still the same bushy brown he had gotten used to seeing in his classes, frizzing up around her even as she leaned towards the worn book besides her.

"She's always alone," Rabastan said quietly as he followed Corban Yaxley and Antonin Dolohov to the long, Slytherin table. "Does she even talk to anyone?"

At his side, Yaxley shook his head. "You're obsessed, Rabastan. Who cares about the Gryffindor girl?"

"It's odd though, don't you think?" Rabastan pressed. Turning, he looked into the hard, blunt features of his blond friend. At their side, Antonin "How she transferred last year was the strangest thing I can remember happening."

Yaxley raised his eyebrows. "So?" he asked, high lilt in his voice. "Perhaps she enjoys the silence, perhaps she doesn't. It is of no matter to us."

"Of course it is, Corban," replied Rabastan. "She got ten O.W.L.s—ten!"

"She's a mudblood, Rab. Leave her be. No matter how intelligent she may consider herself to be, she has nothing to do with us."

It was Dolohov that spoke next as they took a seat at the upper end of the table. "Her academic results point to some schooling before her transfer," his dark-haired friend said, voice low and flat. A few strands of hair fell over his eyes. "She can't be a mudblood."

Yaxley scoffed. "As if it makes any difference," he said, smiling unpleasantly. "Even the self-righteous members of her house made sure to show the transfer her place. Mudblood or no she is completely irrelevant. Particularly now." Yaxley's smile fell. "Why are you so interested in her, Rabastan?" he asked, a note of exasperation evident in his voice. "You've been this way since she first arrived. Why does it matter?"

"I'm not sure, just…" Rabastan started, having to pause to think.

"You know as well as I do that there is no time to waste time on things like these."

"I don't have to be reminded of that," he said tensely, feeling himself deflate. "I'm loyal the the cause of our families. What is going on in our world is a disgrace and it needs to be stopped."

Yaxley leant forwards and steepled his hands. "Then why bother thinking about her at all?"

"Because—. Corban—." Rabastan clenched his fists. "You as well as I do that there's something strange about this!"

"There hasn't been a transfer student to Hogwarts since the beginning of the century," Antonin interrupted, eastern european accent curling over his words, "nor is there an established procedure to accept any."

Yaxley sighed. "My question still remains. How does any of this matter?"

"If you go by average, she was the top scorer in our year." Dolohov's eyes brightened slightly, and Rabastan found himself remembering how his friend had almost seen his position as top charms student threatened. "That alone is enough to earn notice."

"Do you really mean that, Antonin?" Yaxley asked haughtily. "Half-blood or mudblood, she—."

"Antonin's right," Rabastan said, eyes widening. "She's a Gryffindor, and you know what our parents—." He stopped abruptly and gestured with his hands before glancing surreptitiously at the teacher's table up front. "Dumbledore will be interested," he said quietly. "He will."

Yaxley flattened his lips and leant back on his bench. An odd, closed expression appeared on his face and his eyes darted to the empty seat the headmaster usually occupied. "That may be so," he said. "Though I do not think it has any bearing on us."

"It could," Rabastan insisted. "Perhaps we should be weary. A strange transfer like this would have raised all kinds of alarms in the middle of Grindelwald's war. Why not now?"

"That may be so, but it clearly isn't the reason why you've been so interested in her." The Slytherin fixed an exasperated look on him and ran a hand through his hair. "You can't deny that."

Rabastan looked away from his friend. "I'm not the only one, the Gryffindors she has to live with clearly have done so too," he said slowly. Turning towards Dolohov, he gestured at his friend. "Antonin's the only person to have partnered with her in an assignment. I'm just keeping an eye on competition."

"Antonin here is an exception," Yaxley said bluntly. "You're attracted to her."

"That's not true."

His friend shook his head and lifted a hand, pre-emptively cutting what remained of Rabastan's response. "You are. Impressive or not, how you look at her has nothing to do with any of that." Pausing for a second, he turned around and looked at the witch oddly, pulling a face. "Whether she is a mudblood or a half-blood hardly matters. After your brother's marriage this summer you know fully well what's in store for you."

Rabastan grimaced before he could stop himself from doing so. Leaning forwards, he covered his face with a hand at the thought of the woman whom his father had had Rodolphus marry. The marriage was a disgrace, and neither his father nor brother seemed to care about the damage it would no doubt do to his family's reputation if the rumours concerning her devotion to the man his father followed were to be believed.

Breathing in deeply, Rabastan relaxed his shoulders. "She's just so different from the other girls in our year," he finally said, remembering the silent and attentive demeanour she kept throughout all their classes. "You just haven't paid enough attention to her, Corban. I don't think I have seen anyone as attentive in arithmancy or ancient runes."

"I'm not trying to be cruel, Rabastan, but you know how things are." Yaxley sighed again, incensed. "You know fully well that we agree completely on this. I won't stand in your way if you choose to approach her, but you know how you tend to be."

The corners of Rabastan's lips quirked up. "I know what I'm doing. I'm just interested in her, nothing more." He glanced at Dolohov. "You don't have anything to add to that, right, Antonin?"

Yaxley looked at him dubiously, but otherwise remained silent. Besides him, Dolohov stared at him gravely, not saying a word. Rabastan, feeling confident, regained a semblance of calm and served some food onto his plate. He was interested in the Granger girl, yes, but he hardly was as entranced as Yaxley seemed to be. Whatever it was that had caught his interest exactly would fade as soon as he got closer to her, just like it always did—odd circumstances notwithstanding.

o - o - o

Granger's face fell as their arithmancy teacher announced the pairs she had selected to undertake the project half of their grade would be based on. Maintaining his impassive demeanour, Rabastan felt a sense of accomplishment make its way through him as Granger looked at him disbelievingly from across the classroom. It wasn't perfect, but the project would provide a perfect excuse to get close to her in a way in which he otherwise would not be able to.

He approached her only once the class had ended, walking towards her as the rest of the sixth-year students packed their things and made to leave. Granger glared and turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. Rabastan found himself momentarily struck. He had known her eyes were brown before, but the bright shade they displayed was something he had never come to notice before.

The corners of his lips quirked up. "Granger. It seems we will be partners for the foreseeable weeks."

The Gryffindor began to put her books into her bag. "Yes," she bit.

"You should be glad," he said. "With the two of us working together we should have this done in no time."

Granger scowled. "What do you want, Lestrange?" she asked irately. "I have no idea how the professor decided to partner us together, but I don't have any intentions to work with you if I can so much as avoid it."

Rabastan stepped forwards and leant on the desk. "We should organize and work together in this if we can," he said, smiling beguilingly. "All the better grades-wise for us."

The girl huffed and shook her head. "We have never talked before, Lestrange—and I intend to keep things exactly like that," she said in a slightly shrill tone.

"Come on, Granger, don't be like that. We should work on this together," Rabastan said, raising his eyebrows. When he saw her jaw clench painfully, he decided to continue. "We can hardly run the calculations of the numbers we've been given separately and expect the results to come out correct."

"Yes, we can. I hardly need the help of a person like you." Granger said with a hiss. Rabastan flinched, and only observed as she shook her head forcibly and slunk the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "I will run half of the calculations by myself—or all of them, if you're not able to do so yourself. Any discussion we do on this project can be done immediately before and after this class."

Rabastan's eyes widened as the Gryffindor girl glared at him and turned to leave, not bothering to say another word. What have I even done to her? he wondered.

Granger had nearly left the class by the time Rabastan recovered enough presence of mind to pack his things as quickly as possible. Packing his copy of New Theory of Numerology and the parchments he had used to take notes in the class, he walked briskly out of the classroom, attempting to chase down the Gryffindor girl. Spotting her immediately at the end of the hallway, he grabbed at the strap of his bag and ran after her.

"Granger," he called, "wait a second!"

The girl in question turned to face him with a deep scowl, clearly unhappy. Rabastan's eyes widened at the action, not having quite expected such animosity in someone he hadn't talked to before. She had been right in pointing it out, but wasn't it exactly the point?

She didn't say a word as he finally reached her. "Granger," he said, huffing slightly. "We can't just do the project separately."

Granger turned her nose up at him. "Why not?" she asked harshly. "I hardly want to be stuck with you for a partner for the next couple of months."

Rabastan blinked and looked at her, finding himself oddly entranced by the way her cheeks flushed, and her hair started to frizz up in her anger. Perhaps, he thought, a serious response will do it.

Gathering his composure, he straightened his back and smiled. "You're right in thinking that a single person could run through the numbers and data required of us," he said in a matter-of-factly tone. "But doing that would take too long and risk too many mistakes. The project is intended to be done by two people."

Her lips curled up in distaste. "Maybe, but that won't stop me from managing to get an outstanding for the both of us."

"I'm one of the top students in the class. I scored an Outstanding in my arithmancy O.W.L.," Rabastan said, frowning. "You've been in Hogwarts long enough to know that I wouldn't drag you down."

Granger balled her fists. "That doesn't change a thing. I refuse to spend a single moment with a person like you—if you can even be called that."

Rabastan stepped backwards, the easy smile vanishing from his lips. "What have I even done to you?" he asked perplexedly. "I haven't so much as directed a single word to you since you transferred over."

A flash of fury crossed his classmate's face. "Don't think I don't know who your friends are," she said angrily. "I know exactly what type of person you are, Rabastan Lestrange. A monster."

Rabastan balled his fists. "What have we even done to you?" he spat, stepping forwards. "Yaxley may be one thing, but I know for a fact he hasn't approached you at all since you transferred—unlike those Gryffindor housemates of yours. Dolohov, for that matter, hardly cares for you outside of your charms work together. So, I repeat my question—what have we done to you personally that has you that angry with my friends and I?"

Granger's expression fell. Stepping backwards, she bit her lip and looked downwards, as if in thought. A few seconds went by before she sighed deeply and looked back at him, seeming to have come to a decision. "I'm sorry," she said tentatively, her tone of voice low. She paused. "It's just that there are rumours about you, and I…"

"That hardly justifies a thing," Rabastan said bluntly. "Tell me a single thing I've done to corroborate those rumours."

Granger breathed in deeply and crossed her arms at her chest. "Fine," she finally said, with an air of resignation. "You're right—you haven't so much as talked to me before and I hardly know you."

The corners of his lips quirked up again. "Exactly. I have no idea what you have heard about me exactly, but I have never done anything yet," he said. Looking at her eyes again, he tilted his head. "Look, Granger; want it or not we have been made partners for this project. So how about we work together?"

The brown-haired girl sighed and unfolded her arms. "Fine," she said, sounding resigned. "But call me Hermione."