A/N: I honestly have no idea what the real first name of Lestrange is, but as you know, I needed a name. So here we go.
Hermione stood nervously in front of her wardrobe. She hadn't talked to Harry about that date. She knew how furious he would be as soon as he found out that Lestrange was the guy who would go for a walk with her. She remembered the 1st of September, directly before school started, when she bought the school uniform.
Hermione had also bought a white blouse with short set-in sleeves and a long skirt. With the blazer, it reminded her of a picture of her own grandmother in her youth years.
Hermione sighed, frustrated, and wished that she hadn't said yes to the date.
The more she thought about it, the more she felt nervous.
The main question was why. Why did Lestrange want to ask her out?
She wasn't as beautiful as the other women in this century.
She didn't act like one of them either. She didn't giggle when the boys played Quidditch. Hermione was totally different than the witches in the 1940s.
Seymour sighed again.
"Oh don't worry, honey," Her roommate entered and saw Seymour like the picture of misery. "I'll make your hair if you want," and Hermione sat onto the chair and sighed once more. "He'll be fascinated as soon as he sees you, promise!" Rahel didn't stop talking and grabbed the brush. Oh if she knew… Hermione didn't want him to be fascinated by her. It was a nightmare, a horrible nightmare!
And she needed to wake up…
Hermione buried her face in her hands and mumbled a silent thank you. Rahel giggled and said: "Not for that!" Then she started talking about the handsome Lestrange and how wealthy his family was. That he loved sports and that he played Quidditch for three years, but finally gave it up, because of the final exams and that stuff He still played chess though. "You could be happy. He hardly asks a girl out." Hermione raised her head.
"Why?" But Rahel shrugged and kept talking.
"Well, Clayford Lestrange is a mysterious man. Ready!" Rahel giggled again and Hermione brandished her wand to get a mirror and looked wide-eyed at her reflection. Her curly hair was braided accurately and the witch embraced Rahel thankfully. "Enjoy it!" Rahel wished her goodbye as Hermione had changed the clothes. They had discussed if Hermione should wear some makeup, but Seymour insisted on being natural.
Lestrange waited in front of the great hall this morning and was a little bit nervous. He had talked to her yesterday. He wanted to have the breakfast at Hogsmeade, but he couldn't decide exactly, though he definitely wouldn't go to Hogs Head Inn with her. "Good morning," he heard Seymour's friendly voice and turned with a smile on his lips.
"You look amazing, Seymour," he greeted her and offered his arm. A real gentleman was the first thing Hermione thought and couldn't imagine that such a man would be capable of such cruelty.
They walked side by side and talked about potions and ingredients, and then they climbed into the carriage. "The Thestrals are frightening creatures…" Hermione mumbled absently in a moment and watched the landscapes.
"The — the what?" Lestrange narrowed his eyes.
"Thestrals" Hermione repeated patiently and informed. "The skeletal horses that pull the carriage."
He looked at her a few more seconds and Hermione looked back, she didn't know what was wrong.
"I do not want to be impolite, but, there are no horses," he said slowly.
"Then you never saw someone dying…"
"No."
"Here we have your answer."
"You're creepy." Hermione tensed immediately. "But in a lovable way," he added and smiled. "No further questions?" He shook his head. "I'm not nosy, tell me what you want to tell and I listen. Anyway the whole school knows about you and the Grindelwald story… A secret that everyone knows, but there's hardly a person who talk about it. The only exception is Ms Merrythought, she could hardly keep a secret." His smile rose and then he took her hand gently and squeezed it a little. Hermione blushed and was somehow thankful that he was such a kind and mature man, so untypical for a Slytherin.
"So, Seymour, where do you want to have breakfast, the Three Broomsticks or Madam Puddifoot's?" he wanted to know and still hold her hand.
"Madam Puddifoot's?" Hermione echoed, she never thought that he would go there with her.
"Fine." She heard his warm, soft voice and he kissed her hand again — the way he did when he had asked her out. Wait, she didn't — oh holy shit, she did… she realized that for him this was the answer and not the question, but she didn't have the guts to tell him that this was a complete misunderstanding.
As they entered, he wanted to help her out of her blazer, but Hermione preferred to wear it. He smiled warmly at her, although Hermione could read in his eyes that he didn't understand. She couldn't do else than smile gently at him, though he didn't know. He didn't know her. And he did his best to be a good company.
"Is it a ghoulish question, if I ask you why you don't want to lay it off?" Seymour's look got as serious as his. "I mean, there won't be an ugly scar or something I would see, ain't I right?"
"Bingo!" she mumbled and couldn't help then holding her forearm where the word pure-blood was written.
"Sorry?" Hermione saw how his lips formed the word, but there was just silence. Clayford seemed affected.
"There is." The witch couldn't stop herself from telling it and looked onto the floor.
Wordlessly he offered her the chair opposite him. He didn't know what to say, because sorry wouldn't be enough. Hermione squeezed his hand as he did earlier and mumbled: "It's ok, there is nothing wrong about that, it's like it is."
"You're a strong and brave woman. Impressive," Lestrange mumbled and didn't know if he said it to her or if it was just a thought, but as Hermione's cheeks turn slightly red, he knew it. It was also the moment she freed his hand.
As Madam Puddifoot came to them, he ordered his favourite black tea and looked back at Hermione with a smile. It was this moment when Hermione recognized that his eyes were a mixture of light grey and green.
"Do you have peppermint tea?" Hermione asked politely and the woman giggled and agreed. "Of course, Darling!" Then the woman rushed away.
"But…" Hermione wanted to add what she wanted for breakfast. "I didn't want to be rude," Lestrange began and she looked at him. "But I thought you would like the so-called whatever-you-spelled-for-breakfast. You get dishes, you close your eyes and as soon as you open them again, you get what you want; Pumpkin pie, scrambled eggs, black pudding, toast – well, I could tell you everything." He smiled as he realized how excited she was.
Then out of a sudden, Hermione said: "I got the scar as Grindelwald's followers wanted to know where Harry is. And it doesn't matter what they have done to me. Not in an entire lifetime, I would be able to betray one of my friends. And I do not care about blood-status." Lestrange's smile faded slowly.
"Clay — well Clayford, but for you just Clay. My father didn't name me after him, as a present to his grand cousin Corvus." This was one of the most important things — and secrets — he could tell about him and his family, as he knew, he hardly talked about this topic. Not because he was ashamed, but he and his family were usually very well known. And the reason why his name wasn't Radolphus too, was his best-kept secret.