December 1939
"I'll be off then. See you next week, Winny!" Hermione called over her shoulder while rushing towards the fireplace, her small travel bag idly floating behind her. Today she would finally meet Minerva's family.
"Missy must bid her farewell to the Master first," Winny called. "Miss Hermione, please wait up."
"Tell father I'll write. I'm already late. Bye, Winny."
The elf watched Hermione vanish in the flickering fire with an exasperated sigh. Her Mistress indeed took after her father regarding her fickle temper…
When Hermione opened her eyes again, she found herself in a small living room. The mismatched walls were covered in countless photos and portraits, some waving cheerfully at her from their withered frames.
"Hermione, you're here!" Minerva appeared at the entrance to the room, promptly pulling her friend into a warm hug.
Hermione returned the gesture, feeling just as excited as her housemate.
"And you must be the Lestrange girl that lives up the hill", A tall woman with the same copper locks as Minny entered the already crowded living space. "Minerva told us so much about you."
Her countless lessons with the Lestrange brothers were deeply ingrained in her head, and Hermione found herself curtsying in return. "Pleasure to meet you, Madame McGonagall. Thanks for hosting me."
Regarding Hermione with a warm smile, she dismissively waved her hand. "A friend of my daughter is always welcome in this house," she spoke. "Minny, why don't you show her your room while I prepare some snacks."
Before Hermione could protest, her friend had already grabbed her hand, and they made their way up the narrow stairs outside the living room. Hermione's eyes wandered over the countless trinkets sprawled around the house. It was clear that the house belonged to a happy family. She even spotted some wooden letter blocks and a colouring book on their way. Worn with use.
"I'm sorry for the mess. Robby likes to leave his toys everywhere." Minerva apologised.
"I don't mind. Your house is beautiful." Hermione wasn't kidding; it was the opposite of her own. It wasn't messy, but it felt lived in like a real home.
Hermione told herself she didn't care for the photographs filled with cheerful smiles and adoring looks on every wall they passed. The green-eyed fiend inside her chest stiffened up. Betraying her reflections. There were no such things at Lestrange manor. Only the glowering portraits of her ancestors, malice woven into their very essence with every paint stroke.
"Let's see if you still think so when you see the bathroom."
Inside her head, Hermione pushed and shoved until her mind was free from her churning discontent. Minvera didn't deserve those sentiments. She'd welcomed her into her home, and Hermione would be damned if she let her inner spiteful child ruin her time here.
"We only have running water down in the kitchen."
Both girls giggled at Minerva's comment, but truth be told, Hermione couldn't care less about the plumbing.
Minerva showed her the room the girls would be sharing, and Hermione had to physically restrain herself from snooping around her old teacher's childhood bedroom. It was not particularly large, and the furniture looked a little worn, but the sight filled her chest with warmth nonetheless.
"Oh-look at all those books!" Hermione exclaimed. "Is that the first edition of Gamp's Theorem?"
She traced the backs of the various tomes curiously.
Minerva hummed, her eyes trailing over the tall shelf. "My father is a pastor, so we can afford my expensive hobby of getting the shop's most obscure books of the month."
"And your father is truly okay with you being a"- Hermione leaned forward. "-a witch?"
Minerva pursed her lips. "God loves all his children equally."
"So, you're still Christian?" Hermione asked.
"Of course." Minerva chuckled. "Just as you grew up believing in the old gods, I was raised to believe in mine."
The two girls continued chatting until it was time for dinner…
"When I first introduced my husband to my family, father had a small heart attack." Mrs McGonagall's eyes twinkled at the memory.
Hermione listened in amazement as Minnie's mother recounted her first meeting with Robert McGonagall. It was clear as day that the two loved each other dearly and that her friend's father cherished his children, magical or not.
"Didn't he chase you out with my mother's broom when you asked him for my hand?" The older woman mused. "You two looked hilarious running around the garden, yelling profanities at each other."
The whole table erupted into laughter at Mrs McGonagall's words.
Hermione was enjoying herself immensely. For the first time in months, her mind felt clear. She didn't know if it was her first time staying with another family or something else, but her previous longings to get closer to the Lestranges had all but disappeared after several days of staying with the McGonagalls.
"Hermione, you're awfully quiet tonight, is something bothering you?" Mrs McGonagall's inquisitive eyes found Hermione's own.
"I'm sorry, it's nothing," she muttered. "I was just thinking about all the assignments we have to finish before school starts again," she replied, hoping that her excuse was convincing enough.
"And here I thought my daughter was alone in her quest to become a walking encyclopaedia." Minerva's father chimed in, his warm eyes sparkling with amusement at his daughter's scathing glare.
"Dad! There is nothing wrong with enjoying your studies." Minerva said with her arms firmly crossed over her chest, but her father chuckled louder.
"Of course, love, you know how proud we are of you," he said. "I pray every night that your brothers will follow your example."
At his words, Minnie's youngest brother, Robert, decided that he had stayed quiet for long enough and began shoving his plate dangerously close to the edge of the table. His mother caught the toddler's arm just in time and swiftly picked the moody boy up.
"I think that ship has sailed, my dear. They have their uncle's temper already." Mrs McGonagall regarded her son with an adoring smile.
Hermione felt her heart grow heavy at seeing the untainted love between the mother and child. It was times like these Hermione missed her parents the most. Much to her horror, she had begun to forget the finer details of how her parents looked over the past few years, but moments like these brought back memories she'd long forgotten. And she was grateful, regardless of how much sorrow they brought with them.
After everyone had finished their meals, Hermione and Minerva went outside to enjoy the fresh snow for a while before turning in for the night…
The week went by in the blink of an eye, and before she knew it, Hermione was already packing her small travel bag again. Minerva was helping her sort through the new dresses that Mrs McGonagall had sewn her for Christmas, resulting in a sobbing Hermione sitting under the sparkling tree and a very distressed mother hugging the child.
"I still can't get over the fact that you cried over these." She held up a simple maroon dress before neatly folding it and putting it on top of the other clothes.
"I was just really surprised," Hermione argued. "We don't celebrate Christmas back home." It's not like I want the Lestranges to get me presents anyway.
"I'm fortunate to be able to experience the best of both worlds," Minerva explained wistfully. "I'm just glad Hogwarts is generous enough to let muggleborns have their holidays."
To her great shame, Hermione had never even considered that magical families might not celebrate religious holidays before her return to the past. She hadn't even entertained the idea that they had only a few days off during the spring so muggleborns could go home for Easter.
"I heard that it was Dumbledore who convinced the board. It was quite the scandal a few years ago."
A few years? It surprised Hermione that those seemingly harmless holidays were introduced so late to the Hogwarts curriculum. We've been taking a lot for granted in the future. Prejudices against muggleborns and even half-bloods were much more prevalent in this era. However, Hermione still underestimated the blatant hatred and disregard for non-purebloods until she heard some teachers openly discriminate against muggleborns in front of the entire class. No one had questioned them about their appalling behaviour- herself included.
The first time Hermione had witnessed Minny being ignored by their Herbology Professor just because he "didn't like her kind", as he so kindly put it, Hermione had nearly hexed the man. Sometimes she caught herself dwelling in her pureblood bubble, not questioning why the professors were nicer to her or why the daily prophet never spoke ill of the scion of an old house, no matter what atrocities they might've committed.
It was dangerously easy to get used to the special treatment once you stopped noticing it right away.
"All done"! Minny exclaimed. "You need to bring a bigger bag next time. Mum will probably never let you leave this house with at least one knitted cardigan or skirt again."
Hermione failed miserably at schooling her features at the thought of having to leave her friend again. Back at home, all that was waiting for her were Riddle and the long, empty corridors of Lestrange manor.
"Don't be sad. We'll see each other again in just a few weeks." Minerva said, picking up on her friend's sombre mood.
Hermione got up from her comfortable position on the carpet, her bag in one hand, her thick coat and scarf in the other. "I know, Minny. Let me have my moment, all right? I'm a very sensitive person."
"Sensitive, my a",-
"Minerva McGonagall, what is this foul language I hear from your pretty mouth?"
Both girls gasped at the stern voice of Mrs McGonagall, who was leaning against the doorframe of her daughter's room with her hand firmly planted on her hip.
"I didn't even say anything bad," Minerva mumbled under her breath, but that didn't stop her mother from tutting.
"No excuses, dish-duty 'till the end of the week."
Hermione watched her friend open her mouth to argue back, but one raised brow on her mother's face made the girl reconsider her following action.
"All right, all right. Can I bring Hermione to the fireplace now?" she whined with a strained voice.
Her mother nodded, all her previous anger forgotten. So this is how a parent-child argument should go. Hermione thought grimly, remembering her squabbles with Rodolphus. Why are most of the sacred twenty-eight families so messed up? Most of her other friends, except for maybe Charlus, would've faced much harsher punishments than this if they had crossed their parents.
"Hermione dear, it was nice to have you, do come back soon." Minerva's mother spoke when they stopped in front of their simple fireplace before giving Hermione a tight hug.
The young girl inhaled the scent of clean laundry and roses that she had come to associate with the warm-hearted woman over the past week deeply. Merlin, I don't want to leave. When she felt tears forming behind her closed eyes, she hastily let go of her, not wanting Mrs McGonagall to see her cry again.
"Thanks for having me." Hermione quickly embraced Minerva as well before grabbing some floo powder from the box her mother was offering.
"Lestrange Manor," she spoke with a clear voice before vanishing...
"Tom!" Before the surprised boy could stop her, Hermione launched herself behind her classmate, pulling him in front of her.
"Have you lost your mind, Lestrange?" he hissed while unsuccessfully trying to peel the panting girl off his arm.
"Hush, play along for me, will you? Father is cross with me," she whispered into his ear, making the boy visibly shudder at their proximity.
"I don't see how this has anything to do with me, so get your hands off me immediately." He tried to shove Hermione away from him, but she clung to his back like her life depended on it.
"Hermione Lestrange, come here, now!"
The girl stiffened at the heated voice of the older Lestrange, and Riddle watched silently as he made his way towards the two, his eyes blazing and his wand tightly gripped in his left hand.
"I'll get you all the books you want for the rest of your life if you get me out of this. Father adores you." she pleaded.
Feeling Riddle take a deep breath, she leaned a little closer, finding strange comfort in holding onto his pristine robes.
"What makes you think I can just tell a grown man what to do?" He turned his head slightly, not letting her father out of his sight.
Her nails dug painfully into his back at his question. "Just"- she licked her lips. "Trust me."
"There you are."
Her eyes widened as her father abruptly stopped in front of them. His face was twisted in rage at her audacity to hide behind his oh-so-precious lord.
"All the books in the world, Riddle, please," she begged, fully aware that if the boy didn't open his pretty mouth soon, Rodolphus would hex her right in front of him, judging from the maniacal gleam in his eyes.
Without Rabastan in the house, Hermione didn't dare to defy him anymore, still scarred from their previous fights and the memory of Winny's bloody form on the floor.
"Mister Lestrange, if I might have a minute?" Tom finally spoke up. "The house-elves told me I might find you here."
The older Lestrange's eyes turned away from the girl and down to her current human shield.
Hermione watched in amazement as the madness faded from his gaze, instantly replaced by something akin to excitement. God, this man is batshit crazy.
"Riddle, my boy, always a pleasure to see you. I didn't know you and my daughter were so close." he drawled, his eyes scanning over their entangled forms before stopping at the sight of Hermione grabbing the boy's arms, the white of her knuckles clearly shining through her trembling hands.
Biting the insides of her cheeks, she tried to keep her calm.
"Whatever she has done, I'm sure she is feeling very guilty about it," Tom said. "I'd appreciate it if you forgave her this one time."
Hermione could practically see Rodolphus' resolve crumble, once again completely taken aback by the man's ill-placed loyalties to his future lord. I can't believe he's listening to a pompous twelve-year-old brat.
"Of course, my boy, off you two go!" he finally said, putting his wand back into the hidden pocket in his sleeve.
Hermione's mouth fell open at his sudden behaviour change, speechless that her plan had worked so well. She carefully watched Rodolphus nod to himself once before turning on his heels.
"I'll see you two at dinner then. Behave yourself, girl," he spoke over his shoulder before leaving the two children to themselves in the candlelit corridor.
"Merlin, I can't believe that worked. You're a lifesaver." She finally let the boy shove her off, still euphoric that she could use him as some homicidal-maniac repellent in the future.
"What's wrong with your family, Lestrange?" Looking at her like she was the sole reason for all his problems, Riddle narrowed his grey eyes at her.
Sheepishly rubbing her neck, Hermione chuckled nervously. "The usual pureblood controversy, you know, muggleborn rights and the general Slytherin-Gryffindor debate. Nothing really. He likes to get upset with me."
Tom sceptically raised his brows at her dismissive answer but didn't probe further…
Rodolphus Lestrange was livid. Two weeks without drinking the potion, and the brat was already back to her usual defiant, self-righteous self. It was infuriating.
"Winny!" he called into the darkness of his study, downing the burning liquid in his glass in one go. "I told you to make sure she drinks her medicine on her little trip! Because of your mistake, your Mistress is becoming very unwell again."
He watched the elf's ears flatten at his angry voice, clearly upset that it may have harmed the girl. The only sound in the room was the crackling fire in the background, the flickering light of the blazing flames casting long shadows over their figures.
"Winny is sorry. The older Miss was very observant. Winny couldn't find the right time to put the medicine in Missy's drinks."
Rodolphus sneered at the pathetic creature before him, contemplating if torturing the thing was worth the trouble his beloved daughter would cause if she found out later.
He needed her to be compliant for his plans. Unfortunately, breaking her spirit wasn't as easy as he had imagined. He had spent a lot of time and money on finding the perfect Potion Master for his unusual request, and now one slip-up had set him back weeks.
"Useless little creature. Make sure to up her dose." he sneered, aware that if the thing ever found out what the potion did, it would run straight to its Mistress no matter what his orders were. Unfortunately, that elf was too attached to Hermione. For now, though, it served its purpose, giving him a golden opportunity to spy on the brat.
"Winny will do her best. Master mustn't worry!" The elf exclaimed, determined to make up for its mistake. When the thing had finally apparated away again, Rodolphus leaned back in his chair, a tired sigh escaping his lips.
Why couldn't things work out for once? Fate had given him a chance to help his lord succeed in returning their world to its former glory, but his only way to currently do so was by recruiting Potter's smartest mudblood. The irony of the whole situation didn't escape him. Of course, he could've killed her again and found another brat to do her job. It would have been much easier than getting a Gryffindor and warrior of the Order to work for their side. But something in the back of his mind had stopped him from getting rid of the girl again. It felt as if fate was telling him to wait to take the more challenging route, making the victory at the end of it oh so much sweeter.
"She's also a Lestrange now, would be a waste to kill my only heir after risking my own life during that ritual," he murmured, refilling his glass again. "Ungrateful little girl, here I am, offering her a life of privilege, and she throws it away for her pitiful ideals." Rodolphus grimaced. "Disgusting."
The mere thought of the cheeky brat made his blood boil. He bitterly sipped his drink, wondering if she was truly worth the trouble. He prayed that his future nephews and nieces would be proper little purebloods. Deep down, he was jealous of Rabastan and how he was building himself another life in this era, but then he thought of his brother's dim-witted fiancé, suddenly very glad that his wife was already six feet under.
"Ah, brother! I see you're enjoying yourself tremendously again?"
Rodolphus looked up from his drink. His brother pushed the doors to his study open instead of knocking like any civilised being, proceeding to sit in front of the older sibling.
"You're back earlier than expected. How come?" he asked, irritated by his younger brother's cheerful face. He'd always been the odd one in the family. Too- happy. As vicious as any other Lestrange, of course, but still. Rodolphus watched his brother whirling his wand once to light up the dark room.
"Merlin, this place is just as gloomy as it was when father was still alive. Sometimes I think you're him when I see you sitting here alone in the dark, cursing every poor soul unfortunate enough to cross your path."
The older Lestrange rolled his eyes at his brothers' teasing. "I'll take this as a compliment. Now back to my original question, why are you here?"
His brother grimaced. "Loreen's grandmother came over unexpectedly. I can't stand that old bat."
Rodolphus regarded his brother with a flat look. He was scheming to take over the wizarding world while his brother was frolicking around with their future in-laws. It was time that his younger brother came back to his Lestrange roots.
He conjured another glass and filled it up before handing it to Rabastan.
"I still don't understand how you can drink this stuff; it tastes vile." He complained but took the offered drink nonetheless. "Well, now that I'm back, why don't you tell me how my beloved niece is doing, still not obeying your every word?"
Scowling at his brother's words, the older Lestrange took another large sip from his glass before folding his legs and leaning back again. "The potion I ordered is working well, we had a minor setback, but this issue should be resolved soon. Then I can finally focus on more important things." The two men looked at each for a few seconds.
"Good, good. What about our lord? Is Hermione getting closer to him?"
Rodolphus nodded. "She used him to avoid punishment today. One could only imagine what she offered him in return for his help." he chuckled darkly, hoping that little stunt today would come back to bite her in the arse one day. He knew his lord did not grant favours freely.
"Clever. The boy is turning thirteen already this year, right? My, how time flies." Rabastan mused, his young face showing no trace of the battle-hardened wizard he had been in his previous life. Rodolphus knew that his brother had recovered from his stay in Azkaban much better than he had. It showed. The fact that he had found a witch he wanted to settle down with had startled Rodolphus at first but then, who was he to judge?
He had made a mudblood their only other living relative, well, except for those awful pricks back on the continent, and now spent most of his days managing the estate and doing business with the Ministry. It was the opposite of his previous life, but that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying it. On the contrary, when he wasn't fighting with the brat, he was genuinely pleased with things. Here he didn't have to hide from Aurors or Dementors. He didn't have to endure the constant screeching of his awful wife and her relatives. No, here at the dawn of the 1930s, an era he didn't belong, he felt, for lack of a better word, unburdened.
"Are you even listening to what I've been telling you, brother?" Rabastan's bemused voice interrupted the older Lestrange's thoughts.
"Sorry, I tuned out the moment you mentioned wedding gowns. Do I look like a blushing bridesmaid to you, brother?" he asked, but Rabastan just threw his head back, laughing at the thought of his sibling in a dress robe.
The two continued their conversation until it was time to join the two children for dinner. For the first time in years, Rodolphus felt like his life was finally taking the right turn...
"Thanks again for not minding me staying at Minnie's last week," Hermione spoke over the rim of the book she was currently reading. Riddle hadn't technically allowed her anything, but she felt it would please him to make it seem like he was the one granting her a favour.
"Any time away from that dreadful orphanage is a blessing; without you here, it was quiet, at least."
She noticed that he didn't thank her for the invitation but decided it wasn't worth the argument that would inevitably follow if she criticised his manners.
For the past few days, they had spent most of their time quietly reading books from the extensive library of the manor, enjoying the silence, and occasionally discussing magical theories.
"Lestrange, do you have any other books on the Slytherin bloodline?" Riddle asked.
Letting her head fall back to look at the high ceiling, Hermione mentally went through all the books she had read during her stay in this era.
"Have you read Blishwick's works already?" she asked, and Riddle nodded.
"Well, then, no, we don't. That book you're currently reading is the last one I can think of. But, it would be best if you asked my father. He can get you more books on that topic for sure."
"If I recall correctly, it was you that promised me not too many nights ago to be my personal book supplier for the rest of your life, so why don't you hurry up and ask your father yourself," he replied haughtily.
Hermione had to suppress the urge to throw her book at the insufferable boy. She knew she'd regret asking him for his help. Stupid git. Do I look like an elf?
Over the past days, she'd felt this indescribable longing to please that awful man again, and she wondered if something in her head had finally snapped. Or maybe my stupid hormones are starting to mess things up in there. Puberty was a wonderful time, a time Hermione could live happily without.
"Chop, chop Lestrange. Those books don't buy themselves." Riddle taunted from his seat and huffing, Hermione got up to search for her father…
February 1940
Hermione had first spotted the silver residue at the bottom of her drinks a week ago. She had been happily sipping on her pumpkin juice when something decidedly not orange swirled around her goblet, making the girl nearly drop it. Spiking a former "fugitive's" drink obviously wasn't the best idea for a prank, as Hermione had previously suspected.
But then her drinks continued to contain the strange substance, and Hermione grew wary of the potion's effects on her. She tried to think of anything that had changed in the recent past but came up empty-handed. She felt fine, and it didn't seem like the potion was doing any harm, but still. The idea of someone spiking her drinks naturally didn't sit well with the girl.
"Silver colour but no taste and no apparent effect? I'm sorry, Miss Lestrange, but I've never heard of such a potion." Professor Slughorn confessed.
Hermione had to suppress the urge to groan in frustration. She had searched through every book and every potion recipe but had yet to find anything. Whatever the house-elves put in her drinks, it wasn't a peer-approved potion. And that was terrifying.
"How unfortunate, still. Thanks for your time, Professor. I appreciate it." Hermione answered, receiving a jovial smile in return.
"Everything for one of my brightest students. Please tell me when you find the potion you're looking for."
She nodded before returning to her dorm, frustrated with the dead ends she was facing. He was my last option.
Hermione had exhausted all her resources. She had asked the nurse, her classmates, hell – even Riddle, but to no avail. Minny had gone as far as questioning Hermione's story, seeing that only she had ever seen the silver liquid. Not once had her friend seen any residue at the bottom of Hermione's drinks, and she began to think that maybe she was going insane. Perhaps I should write to father…he could probably find someone who knows what this silver liquid might be...
"Hermione, my dear, how are you faring today?" Evan Rosier spoke up behind her, "still looking for that mysterious potion only you can see?" He playfully ruffled through the irritated girl's hair.
"Bugger off. Can't you see I'm busy?" She ducked away from him and impatiently swatted away his prying hands when they creeped near her now-ruined braid again.
"Busy with doing what, quietly mumbling to yourself in a deserted corridor? Not the most charming quality a lady could have, but beggars can't be choosers, now, can they?"
She rolled her eyes at the boy's constant teasing, fully aware that his romantic feelings for her could fit in an infinitesimal thimble. "I'm not mad, and I'll prove it."
He casually stepped beside her, and together they made their way up the moving staircases towards the study hall. Besides the library, it probably was Hermione's favourite place in the castle.
Once they had passed a chattering group of fourth years, Evan spoke up again. "Whatever you say"-, a pause. "Darling."
Hermione hit him with her book.
"Evan! Stop it. You know I hate it when you call me that."
After the winter holidays, the aggravating Slytherin had started using silly endearments with her in public. Much to her mortification. Instead of stopping the boy, her friends encouraged it.
"Are you telling me that you don't fancy that dashing boy?" When they were getting ready for bed, Minny had asked her once, and Hermione had nearly choked on her toothpaste.
"Ew no, what the Hell, Minny, that's just gross." Hermione had immediately answered, the thought of her and the Rosier heir being involved making her shudder.
"Really, Mione? He's filthy rich, good looking and a pureblood. What more could you want from a wizard?"
Taken aback by Minerva's statement, Hermione knocked her head on the faucet while washing her face.
"What does having magical parents have to do with anything? You're not even a pureblood yourself, Minny."
"Yeah, but you are, so you should not degrade yourself like my mother did when she married someone with lesser pedigree."
Hermione had been horrified at her friend's explanation. "That's just plain wrong. Your mother married for love. What more could you want in life?"
"Come on, Hermione, I know you're a free-spirited girl, but I'm old enough to know that your people tend to keep to themselves." Minerva had whispered, not looking Hermione in the eyes.
"How can you say that, Minny? You know I don't care about someone's blood." Her housemate's comment had hurt Hermione. Unsure where all this was suddenly coming from.
"You wouldn't understand, Mione. You don't know what it feels like to be worth less just because your parents aren't magical."
"I- you don't"- Hermione had trouble finding the right words in response to that statement. Before she could've said anything else, Minerva had already finished up and left the bathroom, leaving a stunned Hermione to herself.
Only a few weeks later would Minerva tell her about that sweet pureblood boy from a year above that had rejected her confession once he had heard that her father was a muggle…
"Anyways, have fun with your homework, Hermione. I definitely won't, so why don't you do mine as well, hm?" Evan asked, effectively tearing her away from her thoughts.
Hermione scowled at the boy's cheek, not in the mood to continue their banter. "In your dreams, now go away so I can finally get some work done."
Before she could stop the boy, he leaned down, giving her a small peck on the cheek. "See you later, sweetheart, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Oh, and you should fix your hair. It looks ghastly."
Fuming, Hermione self-consciously ran her fingers through her tangled locks before catching herself again. Thankfully, no one seemed to have seen Evan's inappropriate behaviour. She couldn't believe that boy. He was worse than Fred and Gorge combined. Those two had just been two wickedly charming pranksters. Rosier was becoming a shameless flirt who knew he was too pretty for his own good.
The nerve of that git. He had gone from being borderline cruel to Hermione in her first year to overly touchy in her second. It was irritating. She didn't have time for that boy's antics. Trying to stay in Riddle's good graces and not fall for that boy's charming words was hard enough already.
"There you are. Did Slughorn know anything about that potion you're looking for?" Charlus whispered when she sat down next to him, but she silently shook her head. So, writing Rodolphus, it is then…
April 1940
Hermione stood outside the castle gates, waiting for her friends to arrive. How did they bother her to attend the next Quidditch match and then end up being late for the said game themselves?
"Sorry to keep you waiting! I had to pick up Dorea on my way." Minerva called from up the stairs, the girl in question following her quietly. "Charlus would throw a fit if his lucky charm wasn't cheering for him." Her friend continued while Hermione just scoffed at the youngster's cheesy antics.
Have I been this bad with Victor back then as well? Merlin, forgive me if I was. When they arrived at the field, she observed Charlus's nervous ramblings, amazed that the young Black could even keep up with his stuttering. It was somewhat endearing, she supposed, but then, it also was embarrassing to watch…
"The winner is Hufflepuff with a total of fifty points!" A collective groan went through the Gryffindor side of the stands, and Hermione watched, amused, as her friend tossed his gloves towards the ground, frustration written all over his tanned face. Boys. Hermione thought, glad that she could finally return to her homework.
"I'm returning to the common room. Tell Charlus I'm sorry they lost," Hermione yelled over the loud cheering for the other team to Minerva.
Her friend only made a face at Hermione for leaving so soon. Quidditch fans…
June 1940
The Summer holidays were finally here, and Hermione was excited to see Winny again. She'd searched extensively for clues about the silver substance in her drinks, but even Rodolphus hadn't found anything. It was getting more than a little frustrating.
She had even thought about asking Dumbledore, but Rodolphus argued that it probably wasn't the best idea to gain the attention of the famous wizard.
The younger witch had hesitantly agreed, trusting the older Lestrange and his promise to look for the potion himself. However, Hermione imagined he didn't appreciate his pawn being fed some strange brew, either.
"Ready for the holidays, Hermione? My parents' offer to visit still stands. We'll probably see each other at your uncle's wedding, though."
Hermione turned around to see Abraxas standing next to her, waiting for an empty carriage to pull up.
She nodded, still not used to the thought of Rabastan sealing the deal. It felt like the three of them had just arrived in this era a few weeks ago. Hearing about the younger Lestrange's upcoming wedding was surreal.
"I am confident we will. I'll ask my father about visiting you." Hermione chewed on her lips. "Riddle is staying over for most of the holidays, so I'm sure I wouldn't be missed much." she quipped, half-serious.
"I still don't understand what's so special about Tom." Abraxas huffed. "Yes, he can speak to snakes but still. It sounds like your father has taken a liking to him." Finally, an empty carriage came to a halt next to them, and Abraxas absentmindedly helped her get on before joining her himself.
Two younger students sat down across from them, amicably chatting with each other, leaving the other two occupants to their conversation.
"Don't ask me, Abraxas. I'm just the middle-man," she said, eager to drop that particular topic.
"Let's stop talking about Riddle and get to the interesting stuff," Abraxas smirked at Hermione's questioning gaze, ready to tease the girl a little. "So, I heard from Evan that you two kissed?" He watched gleefully as Hermione's polite façade slipped.
"That narcissistic little twat said what?"
