June 1943
It was their last weekend before the summer break and Hermione was itching to get a breather from Tom's group of hormone-driven pureblood goons. She knew that boys around that age were never of much use but give an emotionally compromised young man a wand, and suddenly things managed to get worse.
Stifling a yawn, she put on her airy summer robes, ready to get this day over with. She'd promised Evan to accompany him to Hogsmeade, but had she known that it would end with him lurking in front of her common room every day before the weekend, she'd just called the whole thing off.
"That boy sure is a menace. He's waiting for you again." Marigold Brown stuck her head into the dorm room, her eyes instantly finding Hermione's.
"Sorry, I'll tell him again to wait somewhere else." Hastily packing her small handbag, she made her way past the older girl.
"See that you do – otherwise, we might just as well invite him inside."
Despite Slytherins not nearly having as bad of a reputation as they did in her time, house rivalries were still very much a thing. The captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team had made that quite clear during one of his incoherent lectures about letting a snake into the lion's den.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting. Ready to leave?"
At her question, Evan turned around, flashing her a warm smile before taking her hand and looping her arm around his own. He wore a simple white dress shirt and dark slacks, not straying far from their uniform, but still managing to exude an effortless sense of style. His broad shoulders were on perfect display, suddenly making him look much more mature.
"Hermione Lestrange, is that rouge I'm spotting on your cheeks?"
Huffing, she unconsciously let her fingers wander over her face. "It was Minnie's idea. Does it look bad?"
Frowning, her friend shook his head. "You look beautiful, love."
Hermione felt the butterflies in her stomach return in full force. That boy just looked so damn sincere.
The war had taken so much from her that, at times, she hadn't even recognised the pale girl staring back at her from the tarnished mirror in some rundown bathroom at Grimmauld Place. Regardless of how much she'd lost when she woke up in this time – Here she wasn't Hermione of the golden Trio or Hermione, the war hero. Here she was just another Hogwarts student, enjoying the best years of her life again.
"How about we get some sweets from Honeydukes and sit down by the lake?" Evan suggested.
"Sure, I just need to get something for my aunt on the way. It's her birthday in a few days." Even though Loreen currently didn't live with them, Hermione still didn't want to come across as rude.
"Of course. Got anything special in mind?"...
The heat was like a physical weight, pressing down on Hermione and making her dress cling to her skin. She fanned herself with her hand, trying to create some semblance of a breeze, but the air was still and oppressive. After finishing their errands, the two made their way back towards the lake. The burning afternoon sun had really put a damper on Hermione's enthusiasm.
"Wait here for just a second, will you?" Evan suddenly said, clearly taking notice of her poor mood.
"Wait, where are you going?" she called after him but didn't receive an answer. Grumbling, she sat down on one of the benches nearby, the trees offering little protection from the heat.
Hermione's throat was dry, and she longed for a glass of ice-cold water. She could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead and trickling down her back. Finally, after a few minutes, Evan appeared back in her peripheral. He moved with a confident grace, his blonde hair falling in loose waves around his face, and his bright green eyes sparkling with his by-now-familiar charm.
"What was that all about?" Her gaze fell on the thing in his hands. Oh, no.
She'd seen Loreen and other witches carry similar items, always making her feel like she was trapped in some period drama.
"So that you won't have to worry about getting a tan," Evan exclaimed excitedly, clearly not interpreting Hermione's incredulous stare right.
"You got me a parasol?" Eying the frilly white object, Hermione reluctantly took it from his outstretched hand.
"I noticed the sun was bothering you, so I thought maybe you forgot your own today."
Grimacing, she slowly opened the thing, relieved to see that only minimal lacing was done on the trim. "Evan, have you ever seen me walking around with one of these things?"
"Well, no, but it's not like you go outside that much anyways. You spend most of the weekends holed up in the library with Riddle." At his accusing tone, Hermione looked up.
"It's called studying. You should try it sometime." Before the boy could come up with a reply, she continued. "I feel silly walking around with something like that. Let's return it."
"You don't like it?" At his severe expression, Hermione did a double take.
"What? No, I just – I'm just not a fan of parasols." Smooth. Very smooth, Hermione.
"Oh, I see." He looked like a kicked puppy.
"I apologise. Ignore what I just said. I'll keep it." Hermione nimbly opened the damn thing, noticing how well it went with her robes. If she didn't know any better, it seemed like Evan had put much thought into selecting one that'd suit her. She felt awful.
"Are you sure? We can return it if you don't want it."
Vehemently shaking her head, Hermione hooked her free hand under his arm once again, pulling her sulking friend towards their destination.
She had to grudgingly admit that the shade the parasol provided felt heavenly. She was certain it had been enhanced with magic, the handle staying cold no matter how long she held on to it. Once they finally arrived, Hermione immediately transfigured her fresh handkerchief into a small blanket they could sit on. The lake provided some much-needed fresh air, the water cooling the surrounding area significantly.
"Chocolate?" Evan held out the small bag of candy they'd gotten.
"Thanks." Popping one of the pralines into her mouth, Hermione leaned back with a satisfied sigh as the decadent chocolate melted on her tongue.
"This is much better. Should've just spent the day here."
Laughing, Evan joined her, and together they turned to watch the clouds for a few minutes silently.
After a while, Hermione's eyes involuntarily wandered towards Evan. Was this young man really the same sneering boy she'd met during her first year?
"Thanks for spending the day with me, Mione," he spoke up, his eyes not leaving the blue sky above them.
Hermione admired his golden locks, a slight sting of jealousy overcoming her. Our children would have the most ridiculous hair. Choking on her sudden train of thoughts, Hermione felt her heart constrict at the vision of a smiling Evan waving at her from the porch of their outlandish manor with a curly-haired child in his arms. Where did this come from? Hermione scoffed. I don't even like children.
"No, thank you. I had a great time," she eventually answered, properly weirded out by her fantasies.
"So, any chance we could do this again next semester?" he asked cheekily, his smile warm and inviting.
Merlin, help me. Why did he have to be so attractive? She couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be with him for real - to feel his strong arms around her, to let him woo her in all the ways he'd promised her for the past years. Evan was a nuisance. Sure, but every time he roped her into another ludicrous conversation, the rational voice in her mind went quiet. When his eyes crinkled after telling another terrible joke, it suddenly didn't matter anymore, that this man would one day slaughter innocent witches and wizards. And that realisation had hit her like a ton of bricks. She couldn't fall for Evan. It would be a betrayal to everyone she'd fought with before.
"Let's see about that. You know I'm not interested in any courtships at the moment."
Evan sighed. "Will you ever tell me?"
She looked at him questioningly. "Tell you what?"
"What it is that you want?"
Furrowing her brows, Hermione sat up again, "What are you talking about?"
Leaning on his hand, the other boy regarded her with an unreadable expression. "You know that I like you. You've known for a long time. You also know that no matter how much you hate it, respectable witches get married," his lips flattened into a thin line. "So why. Why are you rejecting me?"
He might as well have slapped her. Recoiling from the boy, Hermione bit her lips. "So, I'm only a respectable witch in your eyes if I marry you?" She hated herself for tearing up.
"I respect you no matter what you do, but I care enough about you to be worried about what others might think!" he argued, causing Hermione to blindly grab the first thing she got a hold of and fling it at the boy in a very Lestrange-esque fashion.
"What do I care, what other people think of me?"
"Continuing the family line is not a trivial thing, Hermione." Evan hissed, brushing the leftover candy from his trouser that Hermione had so gracefully thrown at him. "A child born out of wedlock can mean the end of entire houses."
Rolling her eyes at his exaggeration, Hermione stood up. "Quit being so dramatic. We're not in the Middle Ages anymore."
"No, but our laws are!"
Hermione stopped in her tracks. "Even if we don't like it, the Ministry is still ruled by people well into their hundreds. Our minister is One-hundred-and-nine years old; do you really expect these people to share your modern values?"
Hermione was at a loss for words and rose at once, the pristine blanket crinkling under her feet.
"Believe me, if I could, I'd change the laws in a heartbeat. You'd make a better Wizengamot member than any of us, but this can only happen if we play by the rules until we take over."
Pulling himself up, Evan followed after her.
"Why"-
Before she could finish her sentence, he interrupted her. "If you marry me, I'd have two seats, Mione. Imagine the possibilities."
"You would have two seats?" She felt numb inside.
"No, I mean us. We'd have two seats, love. The Ministry will not have a witch sitting in the Gamot, but I could speak for you."
Feeling utterly disgusted by his words, Hermione admitted that he probably had her best interest in mind, but that wasn't an excuse for how he was treating her.
"I'm not some bargaining chip to be used by whoever wins my precious heart. I have as much right to sit on these chairs as you or Abraxas." She narrowed her eyes at Evan. "And I will get my seat no matter the cost. Petty Politics will not stop me."…
Flinching at her cold voice, Evan caught another glimpse of what was lurking behind Hermione's amber eyes. He'd seen her perfectly crafted shell crack once before when he had found her completely still, sitting next to Myrtle Warren's cold body. It had been a jarring sight. She hadn't even cried until he'd pulled her away. He knew Hermione was not as all right as she always pretended to be.
He'd heard his father talk about how most of the Lestranges were loyal Grindelwald supporters. Evan wasn't blind. He knew her father and uncle were probably much worse than his father could ever be. No average person would wear heavily warded leather robes in their own home.
"I shall take my leave then."
He felt something break inside of him as he watched the girl he loved with all of his heart walk away from him. It had taken Evan a few years to realise that his constant teasing and flirting had gone from harmless banter to first infuriation and, after his fourth year, genuine affection for the curious Lestrange girl from the continent.
"I'm such an idiot." Massaging his forehead to soothe the throbbing ache worsening by the second, he also made his way back towards his common room, contemplating how to calm Hermione's ire...
"Slimy gits! All of them." Hauling another spell at the innocent wall in front of her, Hermione continued to curse every wizard she could think of. "Chauvinistic, condescending pricks!" The smirking image of Avery beating her in their first duel sent her into another fit.
"Is this a bad time?"
Whirling around, Hermione spotted Riddle calmly watching her from the door. His face devoid of any emotion.
"Usually, the use of sarcasm is accompanied by an unbearably irritating expression on one's face."
He didn't even try to reciprocate her smirk.
Great. "Everything all right, Tom?" She really didn't have enough patience left to deal with him right now.
"Not particularly. Rosier seemed quite distraught, and judging by the state of this room, I figure this has something to do with you?" He still hadn't even blinked.
"It's nothing. Sometimes people fight. It happens." She didn't even believe her words.
"Is that so?" His empty eyes were starting to weird her out.
"Seriously, is something wrong? Did I do something?"
Pursuing his lips, Tom looked at her for a few seconds before his face seemed to morph into a completely different person, his charming smile firmly back in place. It was jarring.
"Do you know how many muscles it takes to form a simple smile? It gets exhausting."
Hermione took a step back. "How did you even find me?" She asked, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer.
"Tracking spell."
Spluttering, she immediately drew her wand. "What the hell, Tom? How, when?"
The boy didn't even try to explain himself. "Don't feel too special; all of my knights have one on them. I'm working on a more permanent solution. Maybe a tattoo of some sort."
Flabbergasted, she continued to gape at him, torn between throwing every hex she knew at the boy and running diagnostic spells over her body to search for more hidden surprises.
"And you couldn't have told me this small detail sooner?"
He just raised an eyebrow at her outburst.
"Fine. Fine. I don't care. This day is already bad enough. What can I do for you?"
He wouldn't have come all the way from the dungeons if he didn't want something from her.
Nodding his head once, he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "You will help me with something important."
Internally scowling at his demanding tone, she sat down across from Tom. "What is it?"
He leaned forward, his cold hand encasing her own. "Right" waiting for a few seconds, she wondered what he would do next.
He shifted in his seat, his eyes never leaving her own. Against her better judgement, his sudden proximity caused her breath to quicken. "Tom?" Her question seemed to pull him from whatever was holding him back, and suddenly, his face was right in front of hers. His other free hand grabbed the back of her neck, and he pulled her towards him so quickly she didn't even register his lips on her own at first.
With her eyes wide open, she struggled to free herself from his bruising grip, his mouth seemingly leaving a blazing trail on her chapped lips. Feeling like she was running out of breath, she doubled her efforts, aimlessly reaching for her wand. Realising that he wouldn't let her go that easily, Hermione resorted to a good old muggle tactic and bit down hard. Hissing, the older boy finally pulled away, a few drops of crimson staining his swollen lips.
"Are you crazy?" Putting as much distance between herself and the panting Slytherin, she continued to fumble for her wand. "What in Merlin's name is wrong with you, Riddle?" Wiping her lips, she waited for him to answer her.
"I must say, I cannot understand what the others find so appealing about this whole ordeal." Seemingly not bothered by the blood pooling around the corners of his mouth Tom regarded her thoughtfully.
"Excuse me?" Her mind was on fire, and she didn't know how much longer she could contain the burning fury bubbling up her chest. He kissed me. Tom Riddle kissed me. Feeling like she might get sick or worse, interested in more, Hermione pressed her tingling lips into a thin line.
"Walburga Black fancies me."
Completely thrown out of the loop, Hermione said the first thing that came to her mind. "Most witches at Hogwarts fancy you."
He looked up at her, his grey eyes analysing every move she made. "But you don't?"
This entire situation made her feel like there were thousands upon thousands of spiders crawling beneath her skin. "No. Merlin, I don't." Whom was she trying to convince here?
He inclined his head. "Why?"
Why?
Massaging her temples to uncover the purpose of their conversation, Hermione sighed. "Tom. What is the meaning of all this? You cannot just walk in here and do- do what you just did."
The boy inclined his head. "As I said, you'll help me."
"Help you with what?" she asked, exasperated.
"A witch from a good family would help me secure my position in your circles."
Hermione was one-hundred-and-ten per cent sure that Tom Riddle never had a wife or even a girlfriend in his entire life.
"I'm sorry. Am I getting this right? You want to...get married?" It felt ridiculous to even think about Voldemort as a married man.
"You'd have been an excellent choice if not for your potential. You'd be wasted as a trophy wife."
Are we really having this conversation right now? Did I somehow slip on the stairs and die? "Then why did you just kiss me now?"
"To see what all the fuss was about. I clearly cannot woo a witch without having any experience regarding that matter."
Merlin, I, Hermione Granger, was Voldemort's first kiss. Hermione felt an uncomfortable weight settling in her stomach.
"It's fitting that you'll always be my first, Lestrange. The first witch I met, the first to teach me about this world."
Ferociously shaking her head, Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Telling you about the sacred twenty-eight and snogging in an abandoned classroom are two completely different things, Tom."
Deciding that any appeals to his morals would only be met with confusion at best and anger at worst, she took a different approach.
"I- I'm flattered that you'd choose me for this important task, but I cannot risk my reputation as an honourable witch so easily." Hermione could barely contain the disdain in her voice.
Tom seemed to consider her words, his jaw moving slowly while thinking. It was genuinely unfair how attractive he was. "Since when does Hermione Lestrange care for such trivial things as her hypocritical virtue?"
She knew he wouldn't buy her explanation that easily. "Regardless of my opinion on this backwards custom, I still think affection should only be shared between two people who cherish each other."
Tom pursed his lips. "I see."
Do you, though?
"So, does that mean you don't"- a pause. "Cherish me?" His calculating eyes turned to liquid silver as he watched her through his dark lashes. "Tell me, would you say the same if it was Rosier sitting here instead of me?"
"I don't see how Evan has anything to do with this," she spoke carefully.
"He's crucial to my cause. As long as you're standing behind me, he'll do the same."
"What are you trying to say?"
"It would do you good to marry him."
Hearing Tom state the same thing as Evan had just a few hours beforehand made her previously forgotten anger at the boy return in full force.
"So first you kiss me, and when I don't cooperate, you tell me to marry one of your future henchmen?"
Why was everyone telling her how to live her life today?
"Screw you, Riddle."
"Language. It would benefit you greatly to do so, and you know that."
Closing her eyes, she shook her head. "If you are so keen on marrying me off, who did you set your eyes on then?"
"Walburga Black. Do keep up."
Morgana, help us all.
"She's currently betrothed to her cousin, but once I reclaim my rightful title as the heir of Slytherin and the last scion of the house Gaunt, her parents will surely be open for discussion." So, he found out about his pureblood relatives without her help. Figures.
Hermione wasn't even sure what to feel at this point. That woman was Sirius' mother. The thought of Tom Riddle becoming his - dad in some warped version of their new future made her sick to her stomach.
"I've found my real father. He's wealthy enough to be of use to me. After the summer, I'll return as Tom Gaunt."
Every possible alarm bell in her body went off. Hermione knew what he was planning to do, and he knew that she knew. She could see it in the way he was looking at her.
"Are you sure this is the best way to deal with this?"
He shrugged.
"If someone finds out, even all your money and titles won't help you." She knew she was fighting a lost battle.
"My disgraceful uncle will be held responsible for it. I'm telling you in case something goes wrong." Putting his chin in his folded hands, he watched her reaction. "My plan is perfect, but people aren't, so as my failsafe, you'll see that everyone thinks I was with your family this summer."
The guilt she felt at that moment lay heavily on her shoulders. He was making her an accessory in the murder of an innocent family. Carefully locking the part of her kicking and screaming at the notion of helping Tom back into the bottomless pits of her mind, she nodded.
"Good girl."
His voice sent shivers down her spine. Hermione couldn't wrap her head around the enigma that was Tom Riddle. As a boy, he had seemed so much more approachable but was that only because of his innocent face? His ability to mirror the people around him, always telling them what they wanted to hear, showing them what they wanted to see?
"Just tell me one thing, Tom."
He indulged her.
"What do you want?" The echoes of her previous conversation with Evan ghosted through her mind as she looked him dead in the eyes.
Silence followed for a few minutes, but Hermione didn't back down. She needed to know exactly to whom she was pledging her loyalty - her last remaining innocence to. Voldemort had been a madman, his soul damaged beyond repair. But this wasn't Voldemort sitting across from her. This was a young, rational man who'd murder his last remaining family and let the rest rot in Azkaban, only to get up the next day as if nothing was wrong.
"What I deserve." His answer pulled her from her spiralling thoughts.
"What you deserve?" she exhaled sharply.
"My answer is already more than what you deserve, Lestrange, so let's leave it at that."
His dismissive tone should have made her livid, but all Hermione could focus on was how his tongue moved past his lips to pick up the last crimson reminders of their kiss. Noticing her blatant stare, his mouth curled into a predatory smile.
"Want a taste?" His thumb moved to the corners of his mouth before finding her lips, painting them red with the blood she'd drawn.
Sucking in a breath, Hermione attempted to regain control of her raging emotions, most of which she'd rather not explore any further.
The purpose of the gesture became glaringly apparent to her the second Tom fixated his gaze on his bloody handy work. I'm so screwed.
"In the end, we both know who you truly belong to."
Baulking at the coppery taste on her lips, she pulled away from the older Slytherin. Hastily grabbing her stuff, she fled from the room before things could escalate any further.
"Don't forget to tell everyone I'm staying with you over the holidays," Tom called after her, his smug voice echoing through her mind even after she had thrown herself under the heavy covers of her four-poster bed...
June 1943
Lestrange manor was unnervingly quiet upon her return. It was the first time, Rabastan hadn't come to pick her up, instead sending a house-elf to collect his niece. It was the first of many signs that something was very wrong with the younger Lestrange brother.
"More wine, you incompetent creature."
Watching her uncle kick one of their elves under the table, Hermione felt her appetite fade at the sight of the quivering creature.
"Rabastan!"
The upset man whirled around. "Don't you fucking dare to question me in my own house, girl."
Hermione scowled at his rude words, dropping her cutlery carelessly onto her empty plate. "It's not the elves' fault that Loreen still hasn't returned."
"She shouldn't have left in the first place!"
Mentally rolling her eyes, she contemplated how much further she could take it before he completely snapped. Deciding that she'd rather not deal with more drama for the rest of the holidays, she gave in.
"I'm sorry, Rabastan, the last months must've been hard for you."
She caught the approving nod of her father just as her uncle spoke up again.
"She had no right to take my children from me."
Children?
"Rabastan, is Loreen pregnant again?" She'd just gotten used to the thought of having one cousin. She didn't know if she was able to handle a second child at the manor.
Taking a big sip from his wine, her uncle nodded solemnly. "We wanted to tell you this week. She's around five months along now."
Rodolphus suddenly looked just as furious as his brother, much to Hermione's confusion.
"She is with child again?" he asked incredulously.
"I'm sorry, Rod, I'm a disgrace to this family."
What the hell is he talking about? Her confusion must've been apparent because her father sighed deeply.
"Corvus oculum corvi non eruit."
She'd endured enough lessons on the history of the house Lestrange to recognise their family's motto.
"A crow will not pull out the eye of another crow," she repeated, unsure of what he was insinuating.
"A Lestrange will always put another Lestrange first. Loreen betrayed that very notion, and Rabastan let her. You cannot even begin to imagine how insulting and dishonourable her actions were."
She thought it was a little dramatic to call her temporary escape from her murderous husband dishonourable beyond comprehension. Still, she knew better than to outright question the two brothers.
"Edwin is a Lestrange. He and every other of my brother's children should be with us, not the Mulcibers. It's a grave insult."
Grimacing at his harsh words, Hermione tried to come up with an appropriate response. "I think we should give her some time to come to terms with all of this. It's the least you could do after that whole Grindelwald fiasco."
"She shouldn't have run back to her parents," Rabastan argued.
"I'm not an expert, but exposing a young pregnant woman to carnage and death and then telling her to suck it up is probably not the smartest move."
Her uncle's baleful glare was enough to tell her she'd overstepped her boundaries. "Instead of trying to defend my wife, why don't you focus on your own role? Heiress Lestrange, you don't deserve my son's title."
Now it was Rodolphus' turn to scowl at his brother. "Rab, we've talked about this." Rodolphus began, "If we speak blood rights, Hermione is more Lestrange than any of your children will ever be."
The thought of Rodolphus' blood flowing through her veins was still a sensitive topic to Hermione.
"And isn't it just great that my niece is also technically my sister, dear brother?"
"It's most certainly not the first time this has been done. Our great-grandfather was a mudblood as well." Rodolphus dropped the bombshell information as if he was talking about the weather. "He took his wife's blood when they couldn't find a suitable match for her."
Hermione choked on her drink. Curling her lips, she finally understood why there were close to no squibs in the long history of her new family.
Unlike the other old houses that had intermarried for generations, resulting in less and less diversity in the gene pool, the Lestranges had simply transferred their ancient magic to non-purebloods, making them pure in their eyes. Hermione didn't know how exactly magic was tied to her genes, but she was damn sure that no blood ritual could completely replace someone's genetic makeup. Not that these people were aware of any of that. Even in her time, she hadn't met a wizard with a fundamental understanding of human biology.
"Don't worry, uncle. I'll do my utmost best to bring honour to this house," she drawled once she had recovered from her coughing fit.
"It's ironic, really. All I see when I look at you is my sister-in-law."
His offhand comment made Hermione see red.
"Don't you dare compare me to that bitch. I am nothing like her."
This seemed to have been the wrong thing to say because Rodolphus' face turned sour.
"And who is it that you are, my dear daughter?"
"I"- The answer to his question should've been simple, but something made her hesitate. Do I still have the right to call myself Hermione Granger?
Hermione, the muggle-born, would never have joined a group of bigoted blood supremacists, even if her life depended on it.
"Regardless of what your magic did to me, I still had parents who loved me dearly." Hermione began. "I saw first-hand what you people do to the ones you consider lesser."
Her uncle and father regarded her with equally displeased expressions.
"Hermione Lestrange is the product of blood magic and lies. She will never be real."
"Over five years have passed, and you still cling to your worthless old existence. Despicable." Rabastan sneered.
"I had to leave everything behind. At least you still have each other," she argued bitterly.
"I'm your father. My brother and I have given you everything," Rodolphus gestured around the grand dining room. "A name, titles – Merlin, the entire house once I'm stepping down."
He clearly didn't think her previous life was worth living at all.
Pushing her plate away, she folded her hands and furrowed her brows. "I've never asked for any of that. Is it so hard to believe I was happy before all this?"
"Here, you have the chance to make a difference. You should thank me for not killing you."
At that, she couldn't help but bark out a sharp laugh. "Oh, but you did. Remember? We're only here because you murdered a schoolgirl."
"Enough." Banging his flat palm against the table, her father abruptly stood. "I'll not be disrespected like that under my own roof. You'll stay in your rooms until you learn to be grateful."
"No! I'm nearly sixteen. You cannot treat me like a child anymore."
"Hermione. Out."
Drawing in a sharp breath, she shook her head. "Why? I haven't done anything wrong!"
"Winny!"
Heading her master's call, the small elf appeared next to her.
"Escort my dear daughter to her rooms. Do not let her out until I tell you so."
Flinching away from the elf's bony hands, Hermione defiantly put her hands on her hips. "You know what. I hope Loreen never returns to this cursed house. I'm glad that she managed to get away from you people!"
"Ungrateful child." Rabastan sneered just before Winny managed to get a hold of her...
August 1943
Two weeks had passed since her involuntary confinement. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, and the air was thick with the musty smell of old books and spilt ink.
She had exhausted all of her usual distractions - reading books, finishing her schoolwork and solving the daily puzzles in the prophet. She had re-organised her shelves countless times before even this had turned into a chore.
Hermione's mind was foggy. She longed for a breath of fresh air and to hear the sounds of the outside world. She had never realized how much she took those simple things for granted until now.
She had tried calling out for Winny, but the elf hadn't answered. No one had. Regardless of her pleas for forgiveness. At one point, she had even attempted to break the windows, but the enchantments on them had held strong.
Unable to stand the isolation a moment longer, Hermione formulated an escape plan.
"Please, please deliver this letter to Loreen." For three days, she had pleaded with the elf until she finally got a reply. All Winny had to do, was to tell Loreen to re-open the floo-line to her Kent estate so that she could escape through her fireplace.
The woman still had access to Lestrange manor, so all it took was the removal of the protection runes on her side.
"Master will be furious with Missy. Winny cannot allow that."
Hermione closed her eyes to keep herself from snapping at her worried friend.
"I'm losing my mind in here. They had no right to lock me up in the first place."
Winny watched her distressed Mistress. It was clear as day that Hermione had reached her limit. The young witch's skin was ashen, with dark circles under her eyes and unkempt hair.
The two brothers were out on business for the remainder of the day, so this was probably her last chance to slip away unnoticed.
"Missy has to promise Winny that she'll bring Mistress Loreen back."
Hermione felt awful, lying to her elf, but this was her only shot. Winny wouldn't help if she'd told her she didn't intend to return at all. Better to let her believe she was trying to help her uncle.
"I promise. I'll be gone for a few hours tops."
Finally, the elf seemed convinced, and she watched Winny disappear with a soft plop.
I have to hurry.
Pulling out her pre-packed suitcase from under her bed, Hermione cast a simple shrinking charm on her luggage, slipping it into her robe's pocket.
Next, she tore out a paper from her notebook and scribbled down a short message to Rodolphus, telling him that she'd stay with Loreen for a while. She didn't want him to think Winny had anything to do with her disappearance, so she made up a story about how Loreen had contacted her first when she was still at Hogwarts.
Just as she put her feather down, the fireplace roared to life, the green flames tinting the room in an unnatural emerald hue, similar to what she imagined the Slytherin dungeons looked like.
"Winny has delivered the letter. Mistress Loreen urges Missy to hurry."
Excited, she rushed towards the fireplace, regarding her loyal elf with a final nod.
"See you later, Winny!"
The fire engulfed her body the second she stepped into the crackling flames. In a heartbeat, her room was gone.
When she opened her eyes again, she stumbled into another dimly lit room.
Hermione carefully took another step forward, cold dread settling in her stomach when she realised where she'd been dropped off.
No, no, no. The familiar coat of arms above the fireplace seemed to mock her. The raven's beady eyes situated atop the golden letters of her family name, followed her every move.
"How?" Rushing towards the doors, she pulled with all her might, but the heavy wood didn't budge. "Alohomora." Her spell pearled off the lock like water on oil.
Hermione's heart thundered against her heaving chest as she realised how screwed she was. He knew. Rodolphus had put the entire manor on lockdown, probably expecting her to try to make a run for it.
Taking in the familiar surroundings, she slowly sunk towards the carpeted floor. She was stuck in Rodolphus' study. There was no floo-powder she could use to return to her rooms, and by now, he had probably felt the wards activating to keep her from leaving. Sneaky bastard. Anger mixed with her growing fear, causing her cheeks to grow hot.
Deciding that she didn't want him to find her in such a dishevelled state, she pulled herself up and made her way towards the chair in front of his desk. Taking her shrunken suitcase from her pocket, she returned it to its original size and set it down next to her. No use in pretending. He'd never believe me anyway...
"And therefore, I'll return when you promise me to see us as equals..." His deep voice cut through the room's silence like a knife, causing her to flinch violently despite her efforts to keep her calm. She hadn't even heard him arrive.
"Truly a moving letter, Hermione. I'm a changed man."
Scowling, she waited for her father to sit down across from her. Not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her distressed expression.
"But I must thank you for getting Loreen to re-open the line. Rabastan is with her at this very moment." He looked at her, his handsome features twisted into sinister glee.
Her breath hitched, aware that she'd doomed her young aunt. Rabastan wouldn't leave without her. What have I done?
"Now, what do you have to say in your defence?"
"I haven't seen the sun in two weeks. You didn't even allow me to owl my friends. You have no right to treat me like that."
The warm candlelight in the dimly lit room did nothing to soften her father's harsh features. "So, you're already spoiled rotten enough to have forgotten what a true punishment feels like?"
Biting the inner corners of her cheeks, she averted her eyes.
"A couple of weeks in your very accommodating rooms, and you're ready to run away?" Pouring himself a generous glass of fire whiskey, Rodolphus continued. "Very mature of you indeed."
Sinking further back into her chair, Hermione failed miserably at holding back her angry tears. "You're making it sound like I'm the one in the wrong."
"Aren't you?" Cocking his head, he watched her like a hawk.
"No! I did nothing to deserve this kind of treatment."
"It's not your place to question me."
Throwing herself back into her chair, Hermione sighed loudly. "Why do you insist on treating me like a five-year-old?"
"Sarcasm is unbecoming for a witch."
Hermione ground her teeth at his condescending remark. "I don't give a flying f"-
"Hermione!" Her father interrupted her before she could finish her crude remark.
"What?"
They glared at each other for a few seconds.
"No matter how much you wish to be a grown-up, your actions are still that of a reckless child, so, for now, I'll treat you like one," he spoke sternly with a resigned expression that made her feel even more patronised.
Was this truly how he saw her? A petulant child? It made her furious. "I hate you, Rodolphus. I hate how you treat me and expect me to take this all in a stride and be okay with some random death eaters playing house."
His glass whizzed past her, shattering upon hitting the wall behind her. He really seemed to have a problem with throwing things at her.
"When will it get in your thick head that Hermione Granger is no more? She was purged from your filthy blood the night I made you a Lestrange."
"Merlin, why do you have to be such a bastard?" she yelled back, not caring for the consequences of her words. She was annoyed. It felt as if everyone but herself was allowed to make decisions about her life. Was it that childish of her to want to be treated like her own person?
When was the last time she was truly free? How long had it been since she could simply leave the house and have fun with her friends without an ulterior motive? "I want you to acknowledge that I'm my own person. Everyone I ever cared for is not here anymore." Swallowing back bitter tears, she tried to push away the memory of her parent's empty eyes after erasing herself from their minds.
"It doesn't matter what you want, Hermione. You have a duty to this house." Rodolphus drawled, unaffected by her distress.
Her silent tears turned into full-blown sobs.
She hid her face in her hands. "I just want my mum!"
Strong arms pulled her into a comforting embrace. She grabbed the stiff fabric of Rodolphus' robes and threw herself into his broad chest.
"Hermione, look at me."
The sniffling girl shook her head. She wasn't ready to acknowledge whom she was seeking comfort from just yet. Two weeks of total isolation had taken a toll on her. She hated being alone. The memories of all the horrible things that had happened to her over the years took over every waking moment of silence.
"What you did today was very irresponsible," Rodolphus spoke calmly, seemingly not bothered by the emotional girl clinging to his person.
"Winny." With her cheek firmly pressed to his chest, his deep voice rang comfortingly through her body. It was genuinely unnerving how much the familiar scent of his cologne and that unique note that also permeated the entire manor calmed her nerves.
"Master has called for- Missy Hermione!" Upon seeing her distraught Mistress, the little elf took a few tentative steps towards the pair.
"You've disappointed me, Winny. Now, look at what you did."
Hermione stifled another sob, turning her head towards her house elf.
"Winny is so sorry to cause Missy such distress. Winny only wanted to help," the elf whimpered.
Pressing his daughter firmly to his chest, Rodolphus leaned his chin on her head while drawing his wand, "Observe Hermione. This is entirely your fault."
Realising what he was about to do, Hermione could only watch in frozen horror as a familiar green light shot from his wand.
"Avada Kedavra."
The curse hit Winny square in the chest. Her elf's eyes turned glassy, and before Hermione could register what had just happened, her loyal elf's body hit the ground.
"No!" Wrestling herself out of Rodolphus' arms, she fell to her knees next to the small body on the floor. "Winny? No, please, not again." The tearful gaze of another beloved elf ghosted through her mind.
Her chest burned, the familiar feeling of a lifeless body in her arms nearly overtaking her mind.
Barely able to form a sentence, her eyes found her father's own. "How could you?"
He regarded her with a sombre expression. "Let this be a lesson."
Still shell-shocked, she unconsciously cradled the cold body of her beloved elf closer to her, unwilling to accept what had just happened.
"You- You killed her." The cruelty of his actions took her breath away. It was unfathomable to her how someone could do something so horrible without batting an eyelash.
"It's just an elf. I warned you about what would happen if you continued to insult me."
He was so calm. He had just killed a living being, yet he stood in front of her as if nothing was wrong. Black spots danced across her vision. It felt as if her surroundings were closing in on her.
"I"- she couldn't breathe.
"Until you leave for Hogwarts, you're forbidden from leaving your rooms."
Keeping her eyes shut until her muscles cramped, Hermione refused to let go of her elf. Finally, she heard Rodolphus sigh and felt herself being pulled up.
Uncaringly tearing the tiny body from her stiff arms, he tossed the limp corpse back to the floor, the sound of flesh hitting the solid ground nearly making her throw up on the spot.
"This could all have been avoided if you had behaved yourself." He steered her towards the door, where he pushed her not too gently into the dark corridor.
"We'll continue this discussion in a few days when you've calmed down." With that, he closed his doors, expecting the distressed young witch to return to her room alone.
Staring blankly at the heavy doors until she couldn't feel her feet anymore, Hermione turned on her heels and dragged herself back to her chambers.
She thought she might've heard Loreen angrily cursing Rabastan, but all she could think of was Winny's still form back in Rodolphus' study. Throwing herself face down onto her bed, she grabbed the nearest pillow and continued to mourn yet another friend she couldn't save.
The massive doors closed with a resolute bang behind her, the magical locks slowly clicking into place...
How many of you guessed what would happen to Winny when you first started reading this?br /
xoxo
