Present Day
She lay in the bottom of the Transfigured rowboat, letting the sea toss her about, staring up at bleached clouds. She knew she didn't have time to grieve, but she wasn't ready to face reality yet. For a brief time she allowed herself to close her eyes and dream of simpler times, of times that might have been, though she could not wholly immerse herself in these illusions. She had never been given to daydreaming or wishing.
The sky grew darker and Hermione at long last sat up slowly, feeling the boat churn with the tide. Selwyn Hall's shores were not so far; she cast a spell with great effort, and the boat began to move against the tide, began to move north.
And he still stood on the cliff face, his cloak flapping; she could see his elegant hands moving in the air as he attempted to locate her magically. But her wards were too strong, even with her newfound weakness—he'd taught her too well—and she was too far from him now. Empty within, she let the rowboat carry her further north, and watched as he disappeared from view—he was Apparating somewhere, though where, she could not say. Perhaps he imagined she would go to Hogwarts, though there was no reason for her to go there now. There was no one left alive there who could or would help her.
It was aching hours of agony within her spirit, and well past nightfall, nearing dawn, before she reached a safe shoreline. Black rocks jutted up out of the spray, leading to a sharp drop. Above it the grass mingled with snow. The blue fire she'd conjured did her little help and her teeth chattered but she hardly could notice. In desperation, she jetted the boat towards the shoreline and stumbled out of it, falling onto the rocks.
Shaking and frozen to her bones, and leaden with sorrow, she raised her head, searching deep within herself for the strength to go on. Above her stood a tall but hunched figure, his black robes thrown this way and that by the high November winds, his black hair nearly obscuring his face.
It was Severus Snape.
They gazed at each other, neither moving, before Hermione grit her teeth and pushed herself onward, climbing up the rocks. She heard a crash behind her—a wave hit her boat and demolished it, flinging pieces of Transfigured wood and scattering them among the rocks. She could have easily rebuilt the boat but it seemed symbolic...
...There was no turning back now.
When she looked back, she saw Snape's pale hand outstretched before her, silently offering her aid. She hesitated, then at last took it, her hands slippery from the saltwater. With surprising strength, he hauled her onto the grass, and she fell to her knees, shocked by how weak the journey had made her. Hermione rose to her feet on shaking legs and turned to face Severus, soaking wet, her hair in her face, and her eyes rimmed red with sadness. She couldn't stop shaking, and the world began to spin.
"I must..." she began, but then everything faded to black.
Two Years Ago
Hermione struggled to fall back to sleep. When she awoke, it was to incessant scratching at her window. It was just after dawn—she had only slept a few hours. The excitement of the day had worn off, leaving her body pulsing and aching all over from being thrown about the carriage. With a soft gasp of pain she sat up, to find a tawny owl pecking at her window, a response tied to its talons.
Remus.
Delightedly, Hermione forgot her pain and stumbled out of bed to let in the owl.
Dear Miss Granger,
That is very strange indeed. Are you certain you were not mistaken? After all, you had been traveling for most of the day…
Hermione scowled as her delight abruptly receded. Surely Remus did not think her a blithering fool?
She knew what she had seen.
However, I would not put it past Riddle to house other practitioners of the Dark Arts in Selwyn Hall. He is adept at connecting with others of his type and already possesses many connections. It is possible that you merely encountered a more wild consort of his…
Please be careful at Selwyn, though I am certain you will be too occupied to be bothered with caution. I think of you constantly. The castle feels empty without your brilliance to light it up. I am a very lonely teacher now, I must admit.
Love,
Remus
She sank to the floor, her hands trembling at the familiarity of his signature. She pressed the letter to her breast, thinking of his brown eyes, which only held warmth and love for her, and felt her eyes burn.
He'd written love. He had signed it only his first name. What had she done, in turning away from what might have been?
All the same, she had made her decision. And she was no fool—she knew this letter could not be kept. It contained a serious accusation. She grappled for her wand and set the parchment alight, glumly watching it burn to nothing.
And yet—just before the flames closed around 'Love, Remus' she put out the fire and hid the ashen remains of the parchment bearing his love in a book. Her secret, she thought, closing the heavy tome with tender hands and wet eyes.
"UP!"
Hermione gasped as her heart startled at the hammering on the door. "Lord Voldemort demands your presence," came Lady Lestrange's voice through the door. "Dress yourself and come to the front hall promptly."
Lord Voldemort?
There was something about that name that sickened her.
Hermione dressed in one of her plain dresses and smoothed her hair. She did not bother with kohl or rouge or perfume like other ladies, not merely out of pragmatism but also out of a care for what Professor McGonagall had implied, and so, once dressed, she left her room, fisting her hands to hide their shaking, and wandered through Selwyn Hall on the search for the front hall, bearing a candle to guide her way. Though it was day, no daylight shone through the heavy emerald velvet drapes. It might as well have been the middle of the night.
The darkened halls were lined with ancient, peeling, cracked portraits, and as her candlelight cast them each in points of gold as she passed, she thought of the eerie face she'd spotted in the window last night.
Who lives there?
But she had little time to ponder the subject, because she could hear loud voices now, and realized she was close to the front hall.
The front hall, which faced south, was no brighter than the corridors. It had massive pointed-arch windows that were blocked with heavy velvet drapes, the lighting so dim it was impossible to determine their color, though she would have bet her wand that they were emerald, too. The ceiling was high enough that she had to crane her neck to look, and the walls were lined with shelves and shelves of titleless leather-bound books and sheathed scrolls.
Near the hidden windows sat a large piano, dwarfed by an elaborate candelabra; and a very tall object hidden by long black velvet drapes, though a golden clawed foot was visible where the drapes did not quite reach. It must be some sort of mirror, she deduced, studying the clawed foot. In another corner was an expansive desk, which she assumed was where Riddle—or, rather, Lord Voldemort—conducted his business.
But he was nowhere to be found. Instead, Lady Lestrange was arguing with a short, plump woman who reminded Hermione of a bullfrog both in stature and temperament.
"There it is," said Lady Lestrange in distaste. The way the other woman looked at her, it seemed this was perhaps the one place where she and Lady Lestrange might be coerced to agree. Not one to be cowed by such circumstances, Hermione straightened her back and smiled at the two women.
"Lord Voldemort will receive you shortly. Touch nothing," said Lady Lestrange silkily, before the two women exited.
Hermione stood in the center of the enormous room. She had come from the staircase above, and had been so intent on being timely that she hadn't noticed the shelves lining the second story of this room as well.
It had been decorated quite recently, compared to the rest of the manor. Given some sunlight and dusting, it would be quite a fashionable and attractive room. Hermione was just pondering the urge to sweep open the drapes when boots clicked along the flagstone.
It was Riddle, clad in elegant navy robes. He irritably flicked his wand, and the candelabra was set alight as he bypassed her and took a seat at his desk.
"So you can stop carriages from rolling off a cliff but you can't light a few candles? I suppose Hogwarts' focus has indeed changed," he observed, not looking at her as he swiftly opened a scroll lined with numbers. Hermione went to stand before his desk.
"Lady Lestrange said I should touch nothing," said Hermione now. Riddle glanced up at her, his dark brows quirked in amusement.
"I believe it is not necessarily your style to follow orders, if what I've heard is correct."
"Your information may be faulty. You didn't know I was a girl," she pointed out, then, in a moment of clenching horror, wondered if she ought to regret her tongue.
But Riddle snorted.
"Knowledge is power. I had an inkling you were not the strapping young Pureblood lad that Dumbledore implied you to be long before your carriage even left Hogwarts."
"You seemed rather surprised to me."
"I expected a pureblood, at the very least," he shot back as he signed the parchment then set it aside. He settled back in his chair and regarded her with some interest. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead and her fingers itched with the absurd urge to brush it aside.
He was young. Barely thirty, or at least, he looked it. He was studying her and she felt his gaze as prying and as invasive as if he were trailing his fingertips over her. She was not sure if she liked it or not. "You're very clearly not of Wizarding lineage; I can tell simply by looking at you. Your clothes are quite plain and poorly-made. You haven't got the Malfoy blond hair, or the Black freckles or mouth, or the Greengrass face...I could go on but I presume you see my point." He sighed. "It is one thing to be deceived about your sex. That alone would be an offense but, indeed, a surmountable one. Your blood status…" he trailed off, gazing at her, "...is another matter entirely."
It took a moment to imagine a response to that. He was so animated; there was cleverness in the lilt of his voice, in the arch of his brows, in the lines of his jaw. She could not take her eyes off of him. She had never seen a man quite so lovely. His beauty was enough to make a less logical woman believe in a divine creator.
There was a sly knowingness in his eyes then. He knew she was admiring his beauty, had anticipated it, more likely. By the cut of his coat and the wave in his impossibly dark hair she knew he employed his handsomeness to its full advantage.
A surprising spike of dislike burst her admiration—she despised vanity and would not respect it.
"Is it so unforgivable?" she asked after a moment, hating how high and shrill her voice became. Horror was coursing through her. Without this, she had nothing...nothing but Remus, and though her heart ached for him, her heart ached for herself, too; her heart ached for the independence, the agency, she was on the precipice of losing. "Am I to be your apprentice or not?"
"So demanding, for someone so lowly," Riddle observed softly, his eyes roving over her. "You amuse me. You will stay."
She could think of nothing to say. She stared at him in shock and relief, waiting, but he simply stared back at her, his gaze piercing her. She had the horrible sensation that he had seen her innermost self, but she told herself it was entirely nonsense—unless there was a spell to read minds... "Interesting," he said after a moment. He resumed examining the scrolls. "I have business to attend to in London today; you will begin your training tomorrow. You are dismissed."
Hermione uncomfortably turned to go. As she neared the arch, Riddle's voice floated after her. "Oh, and next time, use a different owl. The tawny one is mine."
Present Day
Hermione woke to some potion being brought to her lips; she was under heavy blankets and the air was thick with the scent of rare herbs.
"Drink." Through bleary eyes, Hermione saw Severus, more haunted and gaunt than she had ever seen him. She did as told, recognizing the scent of the smoking potion to be the Pepper Up Potion, and at once felt more alive. When she sat up, she saw she was still wearing her dress and stockings, though her shoes had been removed.
"How long have I been out?"
Severus turned away and went to the cauldron at the center of the room.
"Perhaps an hour. Not very long. Your body is weak and possibly ill. There seems to have been an enchantment on the bounds of Selwyn Hall, preventing you from leaving. Bursting through it nearly killed you." Severus remained turned away from her as he spoke.
She had known—from the strange force she had felt for the past two years each time she came near the borders of the estate, to the weakness that had nearly overpowered her as she sat in the rowboat... Of course, he would have thought ahead, would have planned... He had never learned to trust, had he?
"Has he come looking for me?"
"No, but it's only a matter of time," said Severus as he began pacing. "I've heavily warded this home but it will not hold for very long against him."
Hermione waited for him to order her to leave. It would be the wisest action on his part, if he had any sense of self-preservation at all. "We will need to develop a plan of action quite quickly," he continued, almost more to himself than to her. "Hogwarts Castle is not safe. He will look for you there. My home not safe—he does not know that I reside at this address but it will not take him long to learn, given how extensive his network of informants has grown."
Wrecked upon the rocks, soaking and near-death, she had not had chance to ponder the serendipity of coming upon Severus, but now it struck her.
"You magically lured me here," she breathed. "You must have your own network of informants at Selwyn," she concluded, attempting to stand. "Who? Who would take such a risk? All of the mail is intercepted-"
"Miss Granger, we run short of time," interrupted Severus. "We must act now. Gather your things. We will retreat to another hiding place. I cannot tell you here."
Two Years Ago
The pale face she had seen last night must have been Riddle's—she could not quite bring herself to call him Voldemort—then, for he had clearly been watching her, had clearly watched her steal his owl. Hermione hastened away from the front hall, her face flushed with embarrassment.
She found herself in a back corridor of the house. The narrow windows faced the inner garden, which held a frozen fountain and tangled remains of a garden within it. She could have sworn this hall was colder than the outdoors, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she walked along the windows, gazing at the courtyard outside.
This meant she had a whole day to become acclimated with her new home, to explore. But how much of Selwyn Hall was off limits to her? She recalled Remus' words, that the manor must hold so much history, so many secrets, and she was eager to dive in, but it seemed there must be eyes everywhere, watching her every move...
And why had Riddle chosen to take her on as an apprentice? What had made him do so, in spite of his quibbles of her blood status?
And why am I not more upset by his words?
She set her jaw.
I knew what my independence was worth; I knew I would be willing to pay any price for it. If this is the price, then so be it.
Hermione went to her rooms and fetched some parchment and a quill, as well as a shawl, and then hastened to the stables where the owls were kept, keeping Riddle's request in mind, as she debated on what to write Remus.
She stood in the stables. There were a number of owls, and the tawny one was missing. Hermione frowned and knelt against the wall, watching the horses fidget and listening to them whicker.
Dear Remus,
She blushed at her informality—but had he not signed the letter that way?
What was she doing, if not continuing a false promise? Nothing could come of such familiarity or tenderness, for she had chosen this path… But if she did one day meet him again… She closed her eyes, thinking once more of how his head had bent towards hers just the prior dawn, how close he had been, how his lips had almost claimed hers… Her heart was burning inside of her; why could she not have that kiss and have her freedom, her magic?
Why must she choose, when no man had ever had to make such a choice?
Riddle seems to have accepted me as his apprentice. I begin my work tomorrow. I'm ever so nervous. I do not know what has made him choose to accept me. I suppose Dumbledore was right about him after all.
A moment's hesitation, and then...
I miss the castle very much already.
Love,
Hermione
Before she lost her nerve, Hermione tied the parchment to a plain-looking barn owl's talon and watched it swoop off towards Hogwarts. She let out a sigh.
What, exactly, was she doing?
Choosing to not think of it—really, there were hardly consequences for calling an old friend by his first name, particularly when she had no idea of when she might see him again—she returned to the Hall's main building. She was quite hungry, and uncertain of the expectations surrounding mealtimes here.
As she walked back towards the manor, she looked up at the window she had seen the face in just hours before. It was dark now, with no signs of life. It must be Riddle's room, there was no better explanation, and yet it left her feeling nettled all the same.
The kitchen was packed with House Elves when Hermione entered, and she was promptly shooed away by them, with the explanation that breakfast would be served at nine o'clock in the nearest dining room.
Hermione wandered the corridors, hoping to grow acquainted with the manor's floorplan. It was an enormous, sprawling place—already large, it had been magically expanded in a number of places. The very air tingled with powerful magic that she supposed must be Riddle's, and the sense of it invaded her like prying fingers tugging at her dress, pulling at her hair.
Along the corridors, doors were not only shut, but locked too. Hermione resisted the urge to try different doors, and returned to her room, intent on reviewing her notes from her various courses to prepare for tomorrow. She knew nothing of apprenticeship and had no one knowledgeable to ask on such a subject.
Her room faced the front of the manor, which faced south, and her desk was placed under the large windows. She sat at her desk and was about to read when noise caught her attention. She stood up and watched from the window as Riddle, on his magnificent black horse, garbed in a finely-made black traveling cloak, galloped toward the roads.
As he crested the hill, his horse reared, and he was momentarily silhouetted against the grey sky. Then he disappeared into fog, and she rested her chin in hand, thoughts of Remus once more banished as she pondered Riddle.
There was a knock at her door, disturbing her revision of her studies.
"Y-yes?" Hermione slid away from her desk and the door opened, revealing the toad-faced woman from before. She took up the entire breadth of the doorway, though she was barely taller than she was wide.
"My name is Lady Umbridge; you must be Lord Voldemort's new apprentice," she greeted, her voice unexpectedly girlish and sweet. She proffered a dainty curtsy, and Hermione balked before getting from her chair and returning the unexpected gesture. This woman had been rude to her before, and she found it unlikely that she had merely misread this woman—she would have to remember not to trust her.
"My name is Hermione Granger, ma'am," she said now, straightening. "I'm glad you've come by; I was wondering about the-"
"—I am here to instill within you the rules of Selwyn Hall," interrupted Lady Umbridge as she retrieved a long scroll from her apron pocket and flung it open. She made a little noise, as though clearing her throat, though it sounded quite false. Hermione pressed her lips together to stop herself from talking over Umbridge. "Rule number one: the apprentice shall not use any resources of his lordship, including but not limited to: fowl for letters, horses for riding, House Elves for personal errands and tasks, and books, parchment, and quills."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue but was silenced by Umbridge's strange little cough. "Rule number two: the apprentice is to make himself available for lessons and work between dawn and midnight." She glanced at Hermione as though she expected complaint, but this was one rule that would not trouble Hermione. She gave Umbridge a saccharine smile. "Rule number three," began Umbridge crisply, "the apprentice shall not, under any circumstances, exchange communication with anyone not currently residing at Selwyn Hall."
She could only consider this a gross overreaction to her letter to Remus. Hermione wondered if it had been intercepted. She thought of the scrap remaining from Remus' last letter, which contained his love. It was shut in the book on the desk behind her, and Hermione keenly felt its contraband presence as though it were flames teasing her back.
"Any other rules?" she asked now. Umbridge gave a silvery little laugh.
"Rule number four: the apprentice shall not take leave of Selwyn Hall for the duration of the apprenticeship under any circumstance, save for personal errands set by his lordship."
She would effectively be cut off from the world for years.
Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, but she did not speak, for what could she possibly say to such a rule? "Rule number five: the apprentice shall consent to all tasks set by his lordship, without argument or contradiction."
Set by any other person this would likely be a reasonable rule, but Hermione could not forget what Remus had said about Riddle's history with the Dark Arts. She swallowed a lump in her throat.
If she chose to walk from this—an option that she suspected was not actually viable at this point—then she had nothing else. She would not be allowed to stay at Hogwarts. She would either have to find non-magic work in London, or find someone to marry her. She thought yet again of the clandestine scrap of parchment hidden in her book.
She could be Remus' wife, if that scrap of parchment contained his true heart. She'd live with him at Hogwarts, but would not possess the certification to actively practice magic. She would bear his children and raise them.
Her very blood turned to ice at the thought.
No magic, no control, just children and housework. No time for books, for learning, no say over funds or budget. And this was assuming Remus would even have her as a wife, which was certainly not a given.
And she could not—would not—give up magic.
It was this or nothing.
...Perhaps she could negotiate more favorable terms once she proved herself to Riddle.
"Are there any other rules?" Hermione asked now. Umbridge let out another cough and retriever a second scroll of parchment.
"I will let you read through these yourself," she said sweetly, as the scroll unfurled...and unfurled...and unfurled...along the floor. Hermione bit her lip to hide her surprise, and returned Umbridge's sweet smile.
"Thank you, that looks manageable," she said just as sweetly, reaching for the scroll. "When is breakfast?"
Umbridge feigned a look of surprise.
"Well, it's whenever you like, of course. Though I must point out that, as per the rules, you may not make use of our food stock or House Elves." At that she turned and left a shocked Hermione before a chance of retaliation.
The scroll of rules seemed endless. She would not interact with anyone. She would not leave the manor. She would have to somehow come up with her own food, books, supplies, and anything else she should want or need. She would not disagree with Riddle, or turn down any request. She would receive approximately five hours of sleep per night; the rest of her time would be entirely devoted to learning.
You must respect yourself, no matter the cost.
When McGonagall had said that, perhaps she had not considered a situation such as this.
All day long, Hermione studied the scrolls with rules. There had to be a loophole, and once she found it, she would be able to renegotiate new rules. Though her stomach gnawed with hunger, she would not be put off from her task. The shadows grew long and then, as the sun disappeared behind the tangled woods to the west, her room became too dark for her to read.
And that was when she realized the loophole—it was so simple, yet so obvious. Hermione could only assume that her hunger had led to her missing something like this. But the loophole lay in the very first sentence, poised atop the long list of rules:
Below list the rules by which Lord Voldemort's apprentice must abide. The apprentice will read the rules in full and he shall inscribe his signature in a magically binding contract at the line below.
She lit a candle and set to work rewriting the rules on her own parchment.
After dusk she heard a commotion outside and watched as Riddle's magnificent black horse came to a slow trot as it reached the park of Selwyn Hall. Lady Umbridge and the man with the silvery hand rushed out to greet him as though he'd been gone for years.
Steeling her will, Hermione cast a drying spell on the ink of the scroll, rolled it up along with the old version, and began practicing what she might say to Riddle.
But he did not send for her, and, hours later when she was sure he must be settled in, she went to look for him, but there were no signs of life in the manor.
The halls were so dark. No candles were lit. Hermione walked with her wandtip lit, looking for signs of anyone, her belly tight with desperate hunger. It seemed that, at this late hour, everyone had retreated to their rooms. Intrigued by the opportunity that this afforded, she went to the front hall, where those endless shelves of books were. This way, she would have privacy to browse through them at her leisure, without fear of Lady Lestrange or Umbridge interrupting her and scolding her...
But it seemed that, like Hogwarts, Selwyn was a place of magic and surprises, because the hall that led to the front hall appeared to simply be missing. Hermione stood in the general area, feeling the wall, and though the pure mechanics of the magic fascinated her, her ears began to ring, her palms growing clammy and her heart pounding like a drum, as she realized the implications of this magic.
No one could leave.
This incredible, fantastic, horrific magic meant that the main entrance was blocked off.
She stepped back and felt her lungs constrict, but before she could begin to genuinely panic, she heard distant footsteps. Instinctively she put out her wand light and ducked behind a tapestry.
Along slats of moonlight a figure was sliding in and out of view. The alabaster skin seemed to glow in each slat of light, like that of a ghost. The specter paused, its dark head beginning to tilt in her direction…
Hermione held her breath.
A pale, elegant hand reached toward her.
The floor creaked—was it her or that figure? Her hands were shaking so terribly that she knew she had given herself away by the parchment rustling in her fists as they trembled.
Moonlight flashed for an instant upon the face—and then-
Everything went dark as though the moon had been put out.
"Miss Granger—your lesson begins in quite a few hours from now; you needn't wait here now," Riddle's clear voice rang out, startling her enough that she nearly dropped her wand. The thick darkness was broken as Riddle appeared with his wand tip lit, wearing a simple but finely-made coat, his hair slightly mussed. He gave a short swipe of his wand and the tapestry blew aside, revealing her to him.
For a moment she could not speak; Riddle stood precisely where that horrible specter had, his elegant hand raised and holding his wand.
Was he the specter?
"I was simply-"
"—Looking for me?" He came upon her and slashed his wand once more; the scrolls flew from her hands. "Ah, Umbridge gave you the rules, and you decided to argue." He turned away from her as he examined the scrolls in a bored fashion. "Ah, very good, you found the loophole. You are correct—as you are not a he, this contract is not binding for you."
He tossed the scrolls aside and turned back to her again, but her relief was eclipsed by her terror and confusion, and a lurching sense of wrongnessthat could not be put right.
"There should be a hallway here," she insisted, too prickly to linger on the fact that the parchment of rules had apparently been a test he had put to her—and an idiotic one, at that. Riddle quirked a clever brow.
"To the books, yes," he said, his voice tinged with amusement, as he saw through her immediately. "I like my things where they are so I have arranged this manor to keep them where they are. You will have all the time in the world to look at them—in fact, you may find it too much time."
"But what about the rules? And what about my stipend?" Hermione pressed, as she stepped away from the tapestry, emboldened by the blood returning to her limbs. Riddle began walking back towards her rooms, and she followed him.
"We will discuss that tomorrow."
They stood before her carved door now, and he stepped just a hair too close for comfort. "Best not to linger in Selwyn's halls at night, Miss Granger," he murmured now. "Even I do not propose to know of all its secrets—or its inhabitants."
He raised his hand once more, free of the wand, and she heard that ringing again as her eyes fell upon the lovely lines of his hand.
In a curious move that, were his eyes not so dark and strange like the sea, could have been mistaken for affection, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, which had escaped from its confines. "Good night, Miss Granger."