October 1942
Hermione was on her way to Hogsmeade when her housemate and his pretty girlfriend caught up with her. She'd been planning her trip for a while now, eager to get some alone time. Away from Riddle and his cronies for a few hours. But alas, it was not meant to be, judging from the eager faces of the two people strolling alongside her.
"Sorry for interrupting your alone time",- Charlus began.
Hermione suppressed a small pout at how well the boy could read her.
"-But we need to talk. Dorea practically coerced me into following you after spotting you from the tower."
Blushing at his playful accusation, said girl softly slapped his arm before turning her gaze towards Hermione, her warm eyes mustering the other girl for a moment. "Hermione – good to see you. What my dear boyfriend actually meant to say was that he feels terrible about how he's been treating you and wants to apologise."
Hermione's eyes flickered back to her housemate, who gave her an apologetic smile in return.
"I'd have preferred to tell her that after we sat down at the three broomsticks, but I guess we could also do this out here - in the cold," he mumbled, promptly earning himself another smack from the Slytherin next to him, much to Hermione's amusement.
It was apparent to everyone how besotted the Potter heir was with the young Black. Hermione cleared her throat and the two immediately put a more appropriate distance between them.
"Right, sorry, Mione. Would you mind accompanying us to the pub for a nice butterbeer – My treat?"
Hermione looked at Charlus for a long moment, weighing his words. Finally, she agreed, and together, they made their way towards Madame Rosmerta's pub...
"First, I know I screwed up and I hurt you, and I'm so sorry for that. I never meant to hurt you, and I've been kicking myself for it ever since." Charlus explained while dipping some freshly baked bread into his hot soup.
Hermione sat silently across her two companions, listening to the boy's rambling, her eyes cold and uninviting."You really hurt me," she said quietly. "And I don't know if I can ever trust you again. You've been treating me like air for weeks now."
"I understand that," Charlus said. "And I don't expect you to forgive me right away. But please, give me a chance to prove to you that I'm sorry and that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it up to you."
She looked at him for a long moment, weighing his words. Finally, she spoke. "Okay," she said. "I'll try. But it's going to take some time, and I need to see that you're really serious about making things right."
Dorea, who had so far remained silent, inclined her head. "Prewett is a prick. I made sure Charlus understood this."
After all this time, it felt incredibly gratifying to hear these words. Charlus had sided with Minerva for the better part of their fallout which had hurt Hermione more than she'd care to admit to herself.
She really didn't have many friends in this time. The fact that most of them tended to have some awfully questionable worldviews certainly not making things any easier. Therefore, Charlus apologising to her in person meant a lot to the young witch.
She turned towards the other Gryffindor. "I'd say I told you so, but I think you've suffered enough as it is."
Charlus nodded eagerly. He instinctively reached for his girlfriend's hand, relief written all over his face.
Dorea gave him an encouraging pat on the back of his hand. "It really is a shame that you had such a big fight over that pathetic excuse for a boy, but I'm sure McGonagall will get over her misguided anger sooner or later. She's a Gryffindor, after all."
Her subtle jab towards her house did not escape Hermione, but she knew that Dorea meant no harm. "I hope you're right. What she did wasn't right, but she's still my friend." At least she hoped so.
Dorea jokingly rolled her eyes at Hermione. "Gryffindors and their ridiculous loyalty."
Hermione pondered over their conversation. Her relief was overshadowed by a lingering sense of irritation she just couldn't dispel. She had never been a distrustful person per se, but her fight with Minny had laid bare, what her friend had kept to herself for Merlin knows how many years. Her resentment for how she lived. Her jealousy. They were still young and it was only natural to feel this way sometimes, but the viciousness of her words had still left her reeling. Would Charlus turn on her again, if the situation arose? She longed for connection and trust, but Hermione couldn't seem to let go of her anxiety. Her simmering anger over their treatment of her just yet. As the three made their way back towards the castle, Hermione's mind raced with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Should she try to overcome her doubts and reach out to Minny? Or was it better to stay and give it some more time? She didn't know...
Hermione found herself browsing through the library on the first day of November. She had decided that she couldn't continue to pretend to be oblivious about the circumstances of Myrtle Warrens's death any longer.
After a few particularly restless nights she couldn't shake off the feeling of dread that hung over her like a dark cloud. Every time she closed her eyes, she was transported to another nightmare world where she relived the memory of discovering Myrtle's pale body.
She knew potions and the occasional midnight stroll were not a healthy way of dealing with this, but since she couldn't just sit down with someone and talk about it, Hermione decided that she could at least make sure the Basilisk wouldn't return fifty years later and try to eat her best friend.
Hermione's fingers wandered over the spines of the books she was currently browsing through, searching for the title that had been referenced in one of her previous research projects. "Mystical bindings, mystical brews – finally, Mystical creatures' volume one." Hermione crouched down and carefully pulled the heavy leatherback from the shelf. It was nearly as high as her torso, its stained pages crumbling at the edges as she unceremoniously lowered herself to the floor and opened the ancient tome.
This obviously hasn't been read in a very long time. Delicately turning another page of the old book, Hermione let her gaze wander over the hand-painted drawings of the lesser-known magical creatures on the British Isles.
She had been looking for some time for helpful information about the giant serpent residing underneath the castle's dungeons, but due to a ban on breeding them in the Middle Ages, it was hard to find reliable sources concerning the scaled creatures. After crossing her last option from her long list of potential leads, she had been ready to give up when she suddenly remembered reading about the book she was currently browsing through during her research into Hippogriffs.
After inquiring about the text at the front desk, the librarian had looked up the encyclopaedia from the early sixteenth century and had given Hermione the shelf number with a stern warning to be careful with the ancient book, even though it had been enchanted to withstand the perils of time.
Focussing her attention back on the text before her, Hermione took out her notebook. "Basilisks don't stop growing until their death. Well, this explains its ridiculous size, then." Chewing on her bottom lip, she took a few notes on the serpent's physical features before continuing to search for what she was really looking for. How do you kill this thing without kicking the bucket yourself? Given that she was neither an accomplished swordswoman nor fate's favourite as Harry had been, she doubted that she could waltz into the chamber with a sword and sheer dumb luck and live to tell the tale.
"It's a general misconception that a Basilisk is a mindless predator. On the contrary, they're quite docile when given the right incentive." A voice spoke right next to her.
Startled, Hermione scrambled away from the boy behind her, nearly ripping one of the precious pages from the tome.
"A little warning next time, Riddle?" she hissed, quickly pushing herself up from the ground.
Glaring incredulously at the older Slytherin, who was now looking through her notes, Hermione walked towards him. "Who told you it was okay to read someone else's notes?"
She began, but Tom interrupted her. "Any particular reason you're researching this creature, Hermione?"
His voice sounded deceptively calm, but Hermione knew better than to trust his outer façade. Scrambling for a believable excuse, she opened her mouth before quickly closing it again at his hard stare.
"It's for a project I'm working on for extra cred"-
"No, try again," he spoke coldly, his grey eyes still scanning the small notebook in his hands instead of watching her.
Irritated at his dismissive tone, Hermione bristled. "Would you at least let me finish my sentence before judging me?"
He finally looked up from her notes, focusing on Hermione. "I'm not particularly happy with how this conversation is going, Hermione, so be a dear and tell me why you're really here."
Flinching at his void expression, Hermione rubbed her arms to calm her racing heart. For just a second, his silvery voice seemed to envelop her mind in a hazy fog before she registered the meaning behind the string of words that sprang from his unfairly smooth lips.
Since her birthday, something had changed between them, but she couldn't put a finger on exactly what that was. Tom seemed less...volatile around her.
But this could also be because she hadn't given him a real reason to blow up in her face again. Maybe he's getting a handle on his psychotic urges. Wouldn't that be great? If he wanted to become the Minister of Magic, he could hardly go around cursing people left and right if they didn't agree with his every word. At least not in the beginning. A shudder ran down her back.
"Well, I'm sorry if you're not happy with the truth, but what do you want me to do about it?" She eventually answered, watching his carefully collected expression falter for a second.
"If you don't want to explain yourself, I guess I have to do it for you." Leaning against one of the shelves, he folded his arms. "You're clever, so you didn't believe for a second that Half-giant's pet spider killed Myrtle Warren," he drawled. "Wracking your pretty little head for an explanation, you stumbled across the Basilisk. After reading that only a parselmouth can control the creature, you immediately connected the dots, and that's why you're so hesitant to answer me right now." His gleaming eyes found hers.
Hermione felt her heart constrict at the emptiness she found behind them.
"You're afraid of what I'd do to you if I found out you knew, but you're also a Gryffindor, so you ignored that very healthy instinct and continued with your research."
Hermione gulped as he finished, taken aback by how fast he'd figured her out. Or at least the general idea. She didn't think he'd actually believe she'd try to slay a Basilisk. She was brave, not suicidal.
"You killed an innocent girl, Tom. Of course, I'm wary of you," she argued, feeling that this was indeed a valid excuse for her reaction.
He seemed to think for a moment before closing his eyes, pinching the crease between his eyebrows. He looked genuinely exhausted. She wondered where all this was suddenly coming from.
"What to do with you, my dear?"
Hermione pressed her lips together at his endearment.
"Warren was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I never intended for her to die," Tom spoke calmly, causing Hermione, in turn, to furrow her brows.
Is he really trying to defend himself right now?
"The poor girl still lost her life, accident or not. The Basilisk is dangerous. If another accident like this happens, the school will be closed down for good." She knew she had him at the mention of losing his home of choice. Not even the power over an ancient, giant serpent was reason enough to risk his stay at Hogwarts.
Regarding her with an unreadable expression, Hermione waited for the Slytherin to formulate an answer to her warning. "You're overstepping your boundaries. I have it under control."
"Do you?" she snapped. "I'm not asking you to get rid of it, but what guarantee do you have that this won't happen again? Heir of Slytherin or not, accidents will always happen."
His lips were pressed into a thin line, and she knew she had to tread carefully.
"Think about it, if Hogwarts closes its doors, you'll have to attend a new school. Probably Durmstrang or Beauxbatons, and all your work here will have been for nothing." Her voice had taken on a pleading edge, but she didn't care. This was her first real opportunity to make a difference.
"There is a spell",- he began.
Is he really contemplating this? Until now, everything bad had still happened regardless of her efforts, but this was new—a change in the story. If Riddle got rid of the Basilisk, Ginny would be safe in the future.
"The Basilisk would go into a state of hibernation. It cannot be woken for another hundred years after the spell takes effect."
Overwhelmed that he'd really confide in her, listen to her - Hermione just nodded hastily, showing that she was still paying attention.
"If I do this, you'll swear on your life to never tell a soul about any of this."
It was by far the best deal she'd get out of this situation. The Basilisk would be gone for a long time, she could continue her research, and Riddle wouldn't be able to call on it for another century.
It was perfect. Hermione took his outstretched hand, feeling the magic of their promise sinking into her magical core. It wasn't as strong as an unbreakable vow, but a magical promise still was a painful ordeal if broken.
"Good, I'll see to it tonight. Put that book away before someone else questions your literary choices." Without missing a beat, he turned around, his robes billowing behind his long legs as he left her gaping after him in the narrow corridor.
She'd done it. Their plan, five years in the making, was finally coming to fruition. She was painfully aware of the fact that she only played a minor role in his decision to put the Basilisk to sleep. But it was still her argument that had led him to go through with the plan.
On his own, he might've been doubtful but nonetheless ensnared by the intoxicating lure of power that came with controlling such a creature, but with her beside him, there would always be another voice of reason. Someone that he knew he could trust, someone he didn't have to pretend with.
And then, Hermione Granger finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel. She'd doubted that the Lestranges' plan would work, but this? This was proof that it did, and it gave Hermione the necessary boost of motivation to continue her efforts to change the path Tom Riddle was walking on. She didn't expect miracles, and she didn't assume she could sway him to give up on his ambitions, but she could steer some of his most radical ideas in a more agreeable direction. Compromise as she'd done just now with the Basilisk...
December 1942
"You're a traitor Hermione Granger!" She and Ron were standing in a dark room. Hermione covered her ears, but his anger came crashing down on her shivering form like a freezing wave.
"Collaborator! Imposter! Liar, filthy mudblood liar!"
Hermione curled into herself, desperately trying to escape this horrible nightmare.
She felt her heart clench at the sight of her once boyfriend's mangled form, the blood on his torso standing in stark contrast to his pale skin. "Please make it stop, please."
She couldn't move her lips; her body was frozen in place while her mind was yelling at her to run away from the blurred spectre that seemed to stand a little closer every time she blinked. When it reached her, cold, terrifying dread crawled under her skin towards her heart. She pulled away from Ron, and suddenly the world around her crumbled like burnt logs in a fire.
"I'm sorry!" Hermione shot up from her bed, desperately clawing at her covers, the burning feeling of her boyfriend's hands on her arms still present.
When she finally managed to detangle herself from the heavy fabric, she pushed herself up and stumbled towards the shared girl's bathroom. Ron's bloodied face was still fresh in her mind. The girl began scrubbing her hands with the heavily scented soap of one of her roommates standing next to the sink. The sickly-sweet vanilla smell nauseated her, but she kept rinsing her hands until the skin turned bright red. Fuck! Her heart hammered against her chest as she tried to calm her erratic breathing, telling herself repeatedly that it was just a dream.
Ron is dead. They're all dead. It was just a nightmare. Deciding that going back to bed was the last thing she wanted to do, Hermione tiptoed back into her dorm room and sat down at her desk, once again grateful for the muffling charms she had put up around her bed. After lighting the enchanted candle next to her, she opened one of her Herbology books and began rereading their current project until she felt her eyelids growing heavy.
Shooting a glance towards the window, she watched the first rays of sunshine colour the sky crimson—no use going back to sleep now. Just after finishing that thought, she heard one of her dorm mates stir from her slumber. Closing her book, she got up and began packing her bag for the day.
"Spent the night studying again?"
She nodded at Rosa Brown's tired inquiry before stepping back into the bathroom to get changed.
"I swear one day you'll regret skipping your precious beauty sleep, Lestrange."
Chuckling, the other girls started to get up as well, their idle morning chatter echoing faintly through the large bathroom door where Hermione stood crouched over the sink. I need help...
The ride home went by fast. Hermione found herself sharing a compartment with Charlus and Dorea, the three of them chatting about school and their holiday plans. Later, Dolohov once again joined them, fed up with his own housemates.
Hermione gladly made room on her side for the broody Ravenclaw. At nearly sixteen, he looked less like a boy and more like his future death eater self. She sometimes caught herself staring, searching for hints of his former self. A slip in his behaviour, the hateful sneer every time he had looked at Potter's Mudblood during their encounters in the future. But she'd yet to find anything. She'd never even heard him use any hateful slurs towards muggle-borns, nor had he ever been less than civil towards her. He'd been one of the only boys on her birthday who opposed going down to the village, contrary to everything Hermione had come to expect from a future follower of Voldemort.
Once again, she wondered how this studious boy would one day throw his morals out of the window to pledge his loyalty to a bigoted madman. It just didn't make any sense to her.
"So, does your family have any exciting Yule traditions? I heard they moved here from Russia?" Dorea Black asked from her seat next to her boyfriend.
Incredulously, Hermione watched the older boy beside her struggling to form a proper answer to Dorea's question. What in Merlin's name-
"We- usually, we visit our relatives and celebrate with the entire community." He may have looked composed to the other two people in the compartment, but Hermione nearly did a double-take at the faint blush across his cheeks and ears. If Evan and Abraxas saw him in that moment, they'd never let him live this down.
"Oh? It's the opposite here. People tend to stay with their families." Dorea explained, oblivious to Antonin's flustered antics.
Hermione nearly lost it when she saw him take a deep breath at Dorea's thoughtful expression. Watching the girl twirl her dark locks, she could see why Antonin struggled. Hermione had never met a Black that wasn't somewhat pleasant to look at, and Dorea was no exception to that observation. Even though the girl couldn't hold a candle to her older cousins, Walburga and Lucretia, she was still comely.
At the thought of the older Black heiresses, Hermione mused if the price for their fairness was their severe lack of character. She had only met the two seventh years once while spending time with Cygnus and the other boys, their noses seemingly so high up in the air that they couldn't see the ground they were walking on anymore.
"We should be arriving soon. Could you hand me the bag above your head, Dolohov?"
Craning his neck, the Ravenclaw searched for Dorea's bag before silently waving the wand he had seemingly pulled out of nowhere, levitating the small suitcase onto Dorea's lap.
Admiring his silent spellwork, Dorea rewarded the boy with a warm smile, causing Antonin, in turn, to blush even harder, much to Hermione's amusement.
"It seems, Charlus didn't exaggerate when he told me that everyone in your little group is very talented with their wands."
Snickering discreetly behind her sleeve at the girl's unintended innuendo, Hermione knew that Antonin had also caught on when he shot her a baleful glare.
Unaware of their friends' silent exchange, Charlus and Dorea stood up from their seats as the train began to slow down and made their way towards the narrow sliding doors of their compartment.
"We'll head out first. I want to say goodbye to my roommates before we arrive," Charlus told them before proceeding to levitate their bags out of the compartment.
"Catch you later, Hermione, don't forget my present. Have a nice Yule fest, Dolohov." Giving the two a final wave, he and his girlfriend slid the door open and left, searching for Charlus' housemates.
Hermione turned back to Antonin.
"Not a word," he hissed at her knowing smirk.
"You fancy her, don't you."
Spluttering, the other boy crossed his arms.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. I could practically see the stars in your eyes."
Covering his mouth with his hand, he regarded her with a dark look. "I'll hex you if you ever tell Abraxas or Evan about this."
"I'd never betray your trust. I'm not a Slytherin," she teased, enjoying the sour look on the other boy's face tremendously.
"Hilarious, Lestrange. We should get ready as well. The train is already pulling into Kings Cross."
Turning her head, she watched the passing lights in the tunnel as they came to a halt.
"All jokes aside, Dorea and Charlus are very happy together, and it should stay that way."
She liked Dolohov- well, wasn't that a revelation in itself, but those two were the future parents of Harry's father, and she would be damned if anyone came between the two lovebirds.
"He's a blood traitor, and she's a Black. Her parents will not consider happiness in her marriage agreement." He took her coat from one of the hangers and held it out for her to put on.
"He's still a Potter. And if this isn't enough for them, it's their loss." She was treading on thin ice, and they both knew it. If she hadn't known that Dorea would, in fact, marry Harry's grandfather in the future, she wouldn't have spoken so openly about a Black turning her back on her family.
These were different times. A witch could lose everything instantly if her family cast her out, but in Dorea's case, Hermione knew that Charlus would take care of her better than anyone else in this world.
"You should watch your words with other people about this." His mouth set in a grim line; Dolohov waved his wand again to levitate their luggage towards the exit.
Hermione mulled over his words for a few seconds. He seemed to understand her contemplative look and let out a heavy sigh. "You're my friend Hermione, Black might be pretty, but she's not the only witch in Britain. I'll get over it."
"That's it? Feelings usually don't work this way, Antonin. You can't just stop liking someone."
Grabbing her shoulders and lightly steering the incredulous girl out of the compartment, Dolohov leaned forward. "Let's forget this train ride happened and concentrate on our assignments. I don't want to talk about it ever again."
"What the – come on, you can't be serious."
Grinning at her, the Ravenclaw shrugged before taking her hand and helping her off the steep stairs of the train.
Hermione looked up at the young man, scowling when she saw nothing but the polite mask he donned most of the time. "I"-
"Hermione." he interrupted her.
"Antonin." she snapped back.
"Have a nice holiday. I'll send you my draft for Slughorn's assignment later this week."
Scrunching her nose at his infuriating behaviour, Hermione snatched her bags from the air and turned on her heels.
"Boys," she grumbled, not sparing Dolohov another glance before making her way towards the exit where Loreen and Rabastan were already waiting for her. Useless buffoons, the lot of them...
Dropping two more spoons of sugar into her tea, Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. She inhaled the rich scent of strawberries and chamomile. Loreen always liked to serve toothachingly sweet blends in the afternoon, and she took a twisted kind of joy from being able to ruin her teeth as much as she wanted this time around.
Rodolphus and Rabastan were away for some business until the day after tomorrow, and Hermione found herself missing the two men. Spending the weekend with Loreen and Edwin played a big part in that sentiment.
"Don't forget the Blacks will come for dinner tomorrow. Why don't you get yourself something nice to wear for the occasion?"
One didn't have to be a genius to pick up on the judgemental undertone Loreen liked to use whenever Hermione sported one of her daring pantsuits.
The woman's apparent dislike of her progressive fashion choices made Hermione that much happier whenever she ordered a new set from her favourite French boutique.
"I just got a new tea gown last month. Isn't that enough?" Filling her small plate with some more biscuits, Hermione watched the woman frown at her question. She's probably trying to remember which one I'm talking about.
"Is it the one with the embroidered hem, the blue one?" Scrunching her delicate nose, Loreen watched her niece's overfilled plate.
"Yes. No pants, so no worries that I might offend our esteemed guests' sensible tastes," Hermione replied, feeling like she'd been more than generous with this dress choice. While the British wizarding population seemed to be hell-bent on being stuck in the past with not only fashion, most countries on the continent had caught up to the current muggle mode, and it wasn't uncommon to see German or French witches sporting much more daring outfits than their British counterparts.
"I know your family is used to how things were back in France. But would it really be so hard for you to wear a proper dress for once?" Loreen sounded quite desperate.
Hermione wondered how exhausting her life had to be - always trying to impress, to be perfect. If it weren't for the grand families like the Blacks and Malfoys, all of this would've been a thing of the past.
"These are the forties, Aunt Loreen. Don't you think we should have the right to be more than pretty faces by now?"
As expected, Hermione watched Loreen's eyes glaze over.
"Your dress should suffice. Be a dear and look after Edwin for a second while I freshen up."
Suppressing an annoyed sigh, Hermione stood up and went to her baby cousin's nursery, praying that he was still asleep.
Throughout the past week, she had once again realised that she just really wasn't good with kids. Edwin was precious, no doubt, but always having to be available when he called, answering each of his silly questions and reading mind-numbingly simple stories while she could have worked on her essays was grating on her nerves.
Silently opening the door, Hermione pattered towards his crib. The boy was still fast asleep. Relieved, she hurriedly left the room, careful not to make a sound as she closed the door again.
The voices of at least two men that were definitely not her uncle and father, coming from the entrance hall, made her stop dead in her tracks. Instantly wary, she pulled out her wand. Rodolphus wasn't home, so she thankfully didn't have to hand it over to Winny.
"Mr Ross, it's such a pleasure. I hope Eleonora is in good health. It's been such a long time."
Ross?
"My wife is well, Mrs Lestrange. I will pass along your regards." The man's deep voice echoed through the corridor.
Hermione watched the three enter the sitting room. Loreen seems to know them. Still suspicious of their unexpected visitors, Hermione tiptoed towards the sitting room and continued to eavesdrop.
"Tea, Mr Bagshot? We weren't expecting company, but the house elves can surely prepare a little something to go with it." Hermione feigned a gag at Loreen's sweet voice and leaned back against the wall next to the door.
So, Ross and Bagshot. What could they possibly want? Hermione had to suppress a shudder at the memory of the only other Bagshot she'd met in her life.
"Thank you, Mrs Lestrange. When can we expect your husband's return?"
Hermione listed to the distinctive clatter of teacups being moved around, contemplating if she should make her presence known.
"They will be home by Sunday. If you don't mind me asking, Mr Ross, what business might you have with my husband?"
"We have a business proposition for the Lestrange family. It could be very lucrative for both parties if we came to an agreement."
Hermione did not like the man's tone at all, and before they could persuade her aunt to sign something sketchy, she decided to step in.
Confidently raising her chin, she put on her best Narcissa impression and sauntered into the room, preening under Loreen's surprised gaze. It was the first time she'd been exposed to Hermione's full-blown pureblood princess performance.
"Ah, you must be the first daughter of the house. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lestrange."
Both men stood as it was custom, and Hermione expectantly held out her hand. Regarding the men with a haughty sneer, they quickly guided her pale knuckles to their lips.
"-Pleasure." Channelling every ounce of privilege into her voice, she gracefully made her way towards her former seat, aware of the men's eyes examining her loosely-fit trousers. This is better than punching Malfoy in the face.
After a moment of tense silence, the taller of the two men cleared his throat. "The name's Bagshot. I hope you adjusted well after your move from the continent."
She mustered Mr Bagshot for a second, trying to find any resemblance to his namesake in the future. He had round cheeks and an impressive moustache that hid most of his upper lip, making him look older than he probably was.
His partner had deep-set eyes and hollow cheeks. Some women might have described his face as handsome, but to Hermione, he just looked like some poor imitation of a nineteen-fifties Dracula.
"I'm enjoying my school days very much. The weather is ghastly, but this was to be expected." Delicately crossing her ankles, she saw Loreen nearly drop her teaspoon from the corner of her eyes and had to suppress a snicker. The poor woman probably wondered where she'd learned to be such a refined witch when all she ever saw of her were her dishevelled form after pulling another all-nighter in the library.
Leaning forward, she regarded their two visitors with a curious gaze. "So, what do you do, Mr Ross, Mr Bagshot? Do you work for the Ministry?"
"You can say that, Miss Lestrange. We specialise in foreign affairs." Bagshot answered, his moustache moving in a way that became increasingly irritating to Hermione.
Just as she was about to answer, she caught a glimpse of some sort of pendant around Mr Ross' neck. It didn't even take a second for her to recognise the familiar triangle. Uh-oh.
Shooting up from her seat, the men also stumbled to stand, their questioning looks causing Hermione to draw her wand nearly. "If you'd excuse me, gentlemen, I forgot I had an appointment at the hairdresser today."
Mr Ross narrowed his eyes at her sudden change in behaviour, but Loreen just tutted at Hermione's flimsy excuse. "Hermione, don't be rude and sit down. I must apologise for my niece's behaviour, gentlemen."
Struggling to keep her calm, Hermione bit her lips. "Then I shall return shortly after freshening up a little." Seemingly accepting her offer, Loreen gave her a curt nod.
Hermione tried to channel her inner Pureblood again before gracefully stepping out of the room. The moment she was out of sight, she donned her haughty façade and sprinted towards to kitchen.
"Winny! Winny! Where are my father and uncle at the moment?" Coming to an abrupt halt in front of her befuddled house-elf Hermione attempted to catch her breath, her fingers feeling stiff from how tight she was clutching her wand.
"Winny does not know Miss Hermione. The Masters did not want to be disturbed."
Letting out an exasperated huff, Hermione grabbed her hair. "This is serious, Winny. You need to tell me the truth!"
"Winny does not know. Winny is so sorry; Winny has disappointed her Miss!"
Before the elf could fall into another of her self-loathing tirades, Hermione grabbed her by the shoulders and knelt down.
"Listen to me. You and the other elves need to get Edwin and Loreen out of here. Grindelwald's men are here, and the two can't defend themselves." Her house-elf's eyes grew wider with every word she spoke, but Hermione didn't have time to explain further.
Every second she spent away from them allowed their visitors to attack.
"Winny, I'll leave Edwin to you. I'll get Loreen. Then the other elves can get her out of here, understood?" Trying to devise a plan on how to deal with their visitors, she began pacing from one end of the narrow kitchen to the other.
"Right. No time to waste, Expecto Patronum!" The silvery form of her otter danced around her shoulders before coming to a halt in front of her face.
"Grindelwald's men are here. Come home now." Closing her eyes, she envisioned Rodolphus' face until she felt her Patronus fading, knowing it was on its way to the older wizard. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to get her crackling curls under control while making her way back to the sitting room. Determined to get the men away from Loreen, she formulated a plan...
"So, tell me about your life before your family moved here, Miss Lestrange. What did your father do?" Gripping her cup in still her trembling hands, Hermione pursed her lips as if trying very hard to remember her younger childhood years.
"I was only ten when we moved. I cannot recall much," she began, watching the other two elves of the household stand ready by the door behind the men.
"People were afraid. Entire families left overnight"- she paused. "One day, father decided we should return to Scotland." She stayed purposely vague in her story, playing the too-young-to-remember card whenever she could. Glancing towards the large clock above the fireplace, Hermione pressed her lips together. What's taking them so long?
"Afraid, you say. Do you know why the people fled?" Mr Bagshot asked, his beady eyes following every little movement she made.
"Grindelwald is controlling most of France by now. It wasn't safe there anymore." Narrowing her eyes, she gave the two men an icy glare.
"Is that so? And why wouldn't it be safe for a reputable pureblood family anymore?" Now it was Ross' turn to interrogate Hermione, and they all knew it would only take one slip up on her part for them to draw their wands.
The only one still oblivious to what was happening was Loreen, who looked more interested in hearing about her elusive husband's past than paying attention to the dangerous atmosphere around her.
"I don't know what you're insinuating, Mr Ross, but I'd tread carefully if I were you. My father is a powerful man." The temperature in the room seemed to drop at Hermione's words.
Mr Bagshot's eyes darted towards Loreen, who finally seemed to have realised that something was amiss. Hermione took the opportunity to attack.
"Expelliarmus!" she yelled just as the bearded man aimed his wand at her aunt. Despite being the brightest witch of her age, Hermione knew that she probably wouldn't last long against two of Grindelwald's lieutenants while also protecting Loreen. The moment her spell collided with a powerful shield Ross had conjured just in time to defend his partner, Hermione silently swung her wand and Loreen was flung across the room towards their waiting house-elves, who vanished as soon as she was within their reach.
"Wicked girl. Should've kept quiet. Get her Bagshot."
Hermione ducked away from the red streaks of light coming her way, hastily conjuring her shield before going into the offence. With Loreen and Edwin out of the house, she didn't have to worry about damage control.
"Expulso!"
The fireplace beside Bagshot exploded with a deafening bang, hauling the older man off his feet. Before he had a chance to recover, Hermione sent another curse in his direction, watching satisfied as the man went down.
"Reducto."
The spell crashed into Hermione's shield with such force that she nearly lost her footing. Ross fired two more spells in her direction, each sending crackling ripples through her wavering shield. This man is way stronger than Bagshot.
Feeling her chest constrict at the sudden realisation that she was not powerful enough to fend the man off for much longer, she wracked her brain for a way to get out of this fight fast.
"Protego Maxima, Protego Horribilis." Putting all her focus into conjuring a barrier that would hold against the man's spells, Hermione felt her heartbeat quicken every time something impacted with her shield. Then, turning on her heels, she skittered across the floor before ducking behind one of the sofas.
"Give up, girl, you're in way over your head."
Peering over the edge of the burnt seat, she watched the man lean over his unconscious partner. Hurling another spell at Ross, she watched him deflect the curse easily before waking up his partner with a simple Rennervate. Come on!
"Seriously?" she hissed as she watched the two men walking towards her. Pressing her eyes together for a split second, she pulled herself up and ran towards the back of the room, throwing every spell she could think of at the two men.
"Not so fast, Miss Lestrange."
The doors in front of her closed with a resolute bang, forcing her to come to a sudden halt. Trying to catch her breath, Hermione whirled around and glared at the two men.
"Why are you here? What do you want from us?"
Instead of answering her, Ross whirled another curse at her already unstable shield, and she watched in horror as the protective blue sheen dissolved with a final hiss under Ross's spell.
Before she could react, Bagshot waved his wand, and all air suddenly escaped her body. Hermione scratched her throat desperately, crumbling to the ground, attempting to fill her burning lungs with air.
"That's enough, Bagshot. She's still valuable." Feeling the oppressing weight lift from her body, she took a few greedy breaths.
"Hands off my daughter, you bastards!"
Hearing the familiar voice of her father, Hermione let out a relieved sob, lifting her head just in time to see Rabastan hurling a myriad of hexes towards her two attackers.
"Hermione, are you all right?" Rodolphus was suddenly by her side, cradling the trembling girl in his arms. He was clad in his old death eater robes, the expensive leather glowing with protective runes.
Hermione tried to gather her thoughts, but she felt so tired. Why is it so cold in here?
"Damn it, what's wrong, love. Talk to me."
The world tilted. Rodolphus' voice sounded as if they were underwater. Hermione tried to swallow the burning liquid rising in her throat, but crimson stained her father's warm hands when she opened her mouth. Cursing, Rodolphus instantly pulled Hermione closer, the familiar smell of the burning Hogwarts grounds engulfing her mind as she slipped into unconsciousness...
"So, I did hit her. I was wondering. My aim is never off." The voice of the man called Ross ripped Rodolphus from his whirling thoughts, his eyes instantly focusing back on the unnaturally white face of the still girl in his arms.
He felt his reason slipping with every breath he took. It must have been apparent on his face because the intruder suddenly raised his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender. "Calm down, Lestrange. She brought this on herself. What kind of well-behaved witch attacks two grown wizards."
Rodolphus hadn't felt such burning rage in decades. All he wanted to do was rip the two men in front of him apart, but he had to take care of Hermione. He had to get her away from this.
"How dare you attack the heir of house Lestrange?" Rabastan growled from his position right behind his brother's crouching form.
"Grindelwald's orders are clear. You either follow or die. There is no place for blood traitors in this world." Bagshot spat, his eyes never leaving Rabastan's.
"What a waste of precious blood. We'll give you one last chance to come to your senses and pledge your alliances to the cause." Ross drawled, casting a meaningful glance at Hermione.
Clenching his teeth, Rodolphus stood, carefully pulling Hermione up with him. Standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother, he sneered at the two men who dared to step foot into his house. "What makes you think you're in a position to demand anything from us?" he drawled, his clear mind hanging by a threat at this point. He had trouble focusing on anything else than the lifeless form in his arms.
Was she breathing?
"The curse your precious child is currently afflicted with is one of my creations. She'll die before the healers find out what's wrong with her."
His insides twisted at the other man's words.
"She has minutes at this point. You can try torturing me, but I can assure you I can handle a few Crucios."
Rabastan let out a frustrated cry, and a tell-tale green light shot from his wand towards the other wizard.
"No!" Rodolphus roared, but before the curse could hit its target, Bagshot was suddenly pulled in front of Ross, his face forever frozen in terror as the spell engulfed his form.
"Nice try, now you killed my partner. I should just let your daughter choke on her own blood in return, don't you think?"
Pushing Hermione into his brother's tense arms, Rodolphus stepped towards the other man, the burnt floor splintering under his leather boots. "Speak. What do you want."
Ross' eyes turned dark as he, too, made his way towards the centre of the room. "We need spies on the isles. Your family is perfectly suited. You have political power, and your child will be able to identify potential recruits at school."
Coming to a halt, Rodolphus glared at Ross, feeling like liquid fire was coursing through his veins. He wanted to gauge his eyes out. Cut that cursed tongue out of his mouth and feed it to the pixies.
Was she still breathing?
"I want to speak to Grindelwald personally. I'll not take orders from some half-blood henchman who thinks he can threaten the ancient house of Lestrange and live to tell the tale."
Ross' face twisted into an ugly grimace. Rodolphus watched, satisfied, as the man struggled to regain his composure. His blood status seemed to be a sensitive issue, and he was more than happy to exploit the man's glaringly apparent insecurities.
"I'll relay your demands after my return. Now, do we have a deal, Mr Lestrange? Your family's safety in return for your cooperation?"
Rodolphus turned his head back towards his brother. He slowly shook his head in return, but as his eyes drifted down to the unconscious girl in his arms, Rodolphus didn't think twice when he grabbed Ross' hand in a bruising grip. Their wrists glow in the aftermath of sealing a magically binding agreement.
"You have yourself a deal. Now, heal her." Rabastan walked towards them at his words, careful not to move his niece too much. His sleeves were stained with the blood seeping through her ruined clothes, and Rodolphus had to physically restrain himself from ripping Hermione out of his arms.
"Hurry up if you want to live." he spat, unable to conceal the burning rage slowly eating away his conscience.
He wanted to hold Hermione in his arms. Take his daughter far away from their unwelcome guest.
Was she breathing?
He'd first kill Ross and every one of his kin before coming back and ensuring that every Lestrange followed his child to the grave. They were in this together or not at all. Rabastan would understand.
"Put her down on the sofa. I need to see the wound." Following his order, Rabastan carefully sat Hermione down before hastily making room for Ross.
The other man ripped her robes open without a second thought, and Rodolphus nearly lost it when the man ran his fingers over her flat abdomen. "Fifteen, right? It truly would've been a waste." He lifted Hermione's arm to get a better view of her bloodied side.
"If I see your hand wander away from her wound again, I'll cut it off."
Rabastan pulled his seething brother away from Ross, sensing that Rodolphus was dangerously close to losing it.
Silence fell over the room, and the two brothers watched their visitor hovering his wand over a palm-sized gash on Hermione's waist for a few minutes. After what felt like an eternity, it finally closed with a sizzling sound, leaving only a faint scar in its wake.
Immediately ripping the man away from his daughter, Rodolphus gathered the still girl into his arms, checking her pulse for a sign of life in the process.
She's still breathing.
Relief flooded through him after feeling her warm body pressing up against his chest, and the world around him suddenly became focused again.
His eyes wandered over the ruined furniture and the remainders of what was once a fireplace. Lowering his forehead onto Hermione's own, he inhaled the sweet scent of the perfume he'd gifted her for Christmas. It was buried under the sharp smell of blood and remnants of dark magic.
"You'll hear from me."
Rodolphus watched their visitor trying to apparate, but he hadn't moved to his old family home for nothing. The wards protecting the manor dated back to Merlin's times. They wouldn't let anyone leave, Rodolphus didn't want to leave.
Sensing that something was off, Ross caught a glimpse of Rodolphus' manic grin before the blood-boiling curse hit the man. The Lestrange Patriarch watched, satisfied, as the other man realised what was happening to him.
"You broke our deal." Ross wailed as his organs were boiled alive, only earning himself an unhinged chuckle from Rodolphus.
"Next time, you shouldn't make deals with a dead man walking." Rodolphus held up his hands and watched the sparking magic of their deal evaporate.
"Impossible."
He should've been writhing in pain at this point, but it seemed like he'd been right. Breaking a magical vow couldn't kill someone who had already died once before.
Rabastan laughed loudly behind them, "Brother, you're absolutely mad. Brilliant but mad."
The two brothers watched the other man succumb to the pain after a few more minutes of absolute agony, their grim faces standing in stark contrast to Ross's contorted visage.
They continued to stand silently for a while longer, taking in what had just happened and, in Rodolphus' case coming off the adrenaline-induced high he had often succumbed to during his death eater days. The girl in his arms was the only thing stopping him from going on a murder spree down the next village, and when he finally managed to compose himself sufficiently, he cleared his throat.
Shifting his hold on his daughter, he walked towards her bedroom.
"Merlin, what happened here." Loreen's shrill cries echoed through the halls of the manor, her uncontrolled sobs after spotting the bodies of their two visitors in the sitting room giving the man a headache.
Lowering his unconscious child onto the bed, he sat down next to her and cleaned the blood from her face and body with a quick wave of his wand. Conjuring a nightgown, he vanished her ruined robes. When he spotted her new scar, he felt the familiar anger rising in his chest.
At the memory of that filthy half-blood's hands on her body, he had to close his eyes to compose himself. After revelling in the memory of Ross's lifeless body hitting the floor, he felt calmer and spelt the nightgown onto Hermione's body.
Satisfied, he pulled the covers over her small form and pulled her desk chair towards her side of the bed. Making himself as comfortable as possible in a wooden chair, he took one of her hands in his and leaned back. Not ready to leave her alone again after what had happened. "Merlin, this girl will be the death of me."
