September 1944
"Ready?"
Rodolphus watched as his daughter twirled in front of the full-length mirror, the flowing robes he had ordered from Paris swishing around her ankles. They were modelled after his own, as it was done in their circles.
"Look at you," he said, a note of pride in his voice. "You look beautiful."
Their robes were made from a soft, midnight-black fabric that seemed to move lightly from an everpresent, invisible breeze. Intricate silver embroidery traced the edges of the wide sleeves and hemline, adding a regal touch to the otherwise simple garment. A matching belt cinched her robe at the waist and held up her trousers, defining his daughter's slender figure.
She smiled at her reflection, the corners of her lips turning up in delight. "Loreen will have a heart attack when she sees this," she said, turning to face her father. "Thank you."
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "Anything for my most precious child," he said, planting a kiss on the top of her head.
"I'm your only child," Hermione snorted.
Together, they stood in front of the looking glass, admiring the sight before them. Rodolphus couldn't help but think how much his menace of a daughter had grown, how much she resembled Bella at that moment.
As they mingled there, bathed in the warm glow of the rising sun, Rodolphus knew that this moment would be etched in his memory forever. The sight of his daughter, all grown up and radiantly beautiful, would always remind him that all the hardships they'd endured in the past years had been worth it. Everything was falling into place, and soon their lord would become the grand leader of their people as he was destined to be from the very start...
Her father's deep eyes roamed over her figure, his admiration clear for everyone to see. Hermione took a deep breath and eased herself from his hold. Her heart was in a constant tug-war between her admiration and deep-seated hatred for the older Lestrange. During her training to take over the daily business this summer, the two of them had spent so much time together that she'd gradually become accustomed to his fickle nature again. She'd spent most of her evenings curled up under her sheets in a constant spiral of self-loathing.
At seventeen, she could finally get involved in official matters, and Rodolphus had kept his promise to hand over some of his responsibilities as she entered her final year at Hogwarts. Today she'd be formally introduced as the next Head of House Lestrange at the ministry, much to Rabastan's disdain. He seemed to have forgiven his wife for taking Edwin and now made a conscious effort to be at least a passable father, rather unsuccessfully in her opinion. At least he didn't use his hands or wand for punishment. She didn't know if she could've sat still and watch that man follow in his older brother's footsteps.
"That might be so, but it doesn't take away the sincerity of my statement."
Her father's nimble fingers ran through her curls.
They had grown to a ridiculous length without any charms and potions to hold them up. Even Loreen had suggested that it may be time for a trim, and she belonged to the same circle of people who thought that a proper witch should have enough hair to make even Rapunzel look plain.
"You have Bella's hair." It was barely a whisper, but it made her blood freeze nonetheless.
"Don't." Hermione stumbled away from the older man, who looked at her like she'd struck him. "Don't compare me to that vile woman. She was not my mother." The last part came out as a hiss, the disgust at that thought clinging to her ribs.
"I didn't mean to. I"-
"No. Don't say her name. Stop comparing me to her. It makes me sick."
He'd been doing it more often in recent years. Off-hand comments about their physical similarities, but it never truly struck her as much as it did now.
She was a child back then. She'd thought that once she grew up, her body would change, and she would look like herself again. She caught another glance of her raven locks in her reflection. They are supposed to be brown. Only she didn't look like she used to.
"Forgive me." Rodolphus placed his hands on her arms.
She subconsciously flinched away from the gesture.
"Promise me."
"Promise you what?"
"That you'll stop. No more comparing me to your dead wife. The madwoman that tortured me until I thought I'd die." Her stomach still fell at the mere mention of what had happened to her so many years ago. The wounds from that day might've healed, but the cruel act had forever scarred her heart.
"Compose yourself. You'll be the face of this house soon."
It was apparent how, over the years, her father had created a glorified memory of his deceased spouse in his head—losing himself to the delusion that she was theirs. He'd always yearned for it, and she could empathise with his desire for a picture-perfect family. But she wouldn't allow him to replace her amazing mother with that monster. Ever.
"I'm as calm as a centaur father. I just ask you to stop bringing up that woman when you look at me." Her voice cracked. This was supposed to be her big day. Why were they arguing again?
"Bellatrix was mad. But once upon a time, I married her because she was a brilliant, strong-headed witch who also happened to be a Black. When I look at you now, I see that same ambition, that raw magical talent." He gently cupped her face in his calloused hands, causing her to freeze at the foreign gesture. "You're not her, though. I'll keep my thoughts to myself from now on."
Hermione wanted to believe him, but she also knew the man that was Rodolphus Lestrange. Good intentions alone weren't enough with him. His moods were as erratic as that of a pixie, and even if he meant every word he said, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't change his mind someday. For now, she'd take what she could get.
"Thank you. Now can we please leave?" She was desperate to change the topic.
Rodolphus chuckled at her pleading, and together they made their way downstairs. Much to Hermione's relief Loreen and her children were nowhere to be seen, so without further ado, they travelled to the Ministry of Magic…
"Hermione Lestrange, born to Rodolphus Lestrange and"- The ministry official looked up from his scroll.
"Her mother wishes to remain anonymous."
Hermione rolled her eyes. Apparently, it was usual for an unmarried witch to renounce her relationship with her child to stay a desirable match.
"Ah, yes. Naturally. Well, then."
The man in front of them looked ancient. Hermione could barely make out a face under his bushy white eyebrows and wild beard.
"Hermione Lestrange, born to Rodolphus Lestrange, shall henceforth, in consideration of article 315b, third paragraph, revision in progress, be named heiress to the house Lestrange for there were no other direct male descendants at the time of the first announcement on the 19th of September 1941." The ministry official continued to read the declaration with a monotonous voice that rivalled that of her history professor.
"Miss Lestrange will inherit two gamot seats upon the abdication of the current head of house Lestrange. It has been brought to the ministry's attention that the father of Edwin Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, wishes to challenge the claim of Miss Lestrange once his brother resigns from his duties."
"What?" Rodolphus spat, clearly taken aback by the man's last words.
Hermione couldn't say she was surprised. Rabastan had not liked the idea of her being his head of house one day at all.
The older man sighed. "It has been brought to the ministry's attention that the fa"-
"I heard you the first time, old man. Are you saying that my brother is contesting my daughter's claim?"
The ministry official pushed up his glasses. "Well, yes, it appears so. Yes, indeed."
Hermione could practically see Rodolphus' composure flying out the window. "Excuse me, sir, what exactly does that mean for me?" she interrupted before her father had a chance to speak.
"He or his son may challenge you to a formal duel for the title the day your father abdicates. Both duellists must be of age. Otherwise, there are no limitations. There have been cases in the past where two family branches have fought to the death."
Well, doesn't that sound great?
"We'll deal with this back home. Is that all? Or do we have to sit through another of your thrilling readings?" Rodolphus asked curtly, his cheeks stained red from his rising anger.
"I only need your signature and that of the next head of house right here." A hovering quill and parchment appeared in front of them. "Here, and one drop of blood for this form." Then, without warning, something pricked Hermione's thumb.
"Ouch!"
"Thank you very much, Miss Lestrange, very much appreciated. This should be all. Please refer to the department of government affairs for adding Miss Lestrange to the list of gamot successors."
Before they could answer, the door behind them opened again, a clear sign of dismissal. Huffing, her father put her hand in the crook of his arm, forcefully dragging the startled girl out with him.
"This is why I never come here. Bureaucratic pricks, the lot of them," he grumbled.
Unsure what to say, Hermione allowed him to escort her through the winding corridors of the underground building until they finally reached the intended office.
"Mr Lestrange, how good to see you. It has been quite a while, hasn't it?"
Hermione didn't recognise the man at the front desk, but she knew Rodolphus' aversion to official gamot hearings. Stating that they were a waste of breath most of the time.
"I don't see how this is any of your business, Sir"-
"Edgecomb, Carson Edgecomb," The other man interrupted.
"Ah, it talks how quaint. Seeing as you're sitting here at your fancy little assistants' desk and not inside that prestigious chamber as I do, I advise you, kind sir, to never interrupt me again." At Rodolphus' withering glare, the man suddenly went very still.
"Of course, Lord Lestrange. What may I do for you today, Milord?"
Hiding a snicker behind her long sleeves, Hermione peeked at her father. It was surprisingly amusing to watch him go after people that weren't her.
"This is my daughter. Hermione Lestrange. Add her to your precious book of succession, would you?" He did look rather striking in his billowing robes, and she suddenly appreciated that they were matching.
"Ah, daughters are usually not allowed to"-
Her father's hands came crashing down on that poor man's desk. "H-e-r-m-i-o-n-e Lestrange."
The flustered ministry worker rushed towards the back of his office. He drew his wand and unlocked an intricately carved chest in the far corner of the room. With a nervous glance back at the pair, he pulled out a worn leather back before returning to his desk, where the older Lestrange was still glowering at him.
"All right, Miss"- He nearly choked on her name.
"Miss Lestrange, would you so kindly put your wand right here and confirm your identity?" He pointed at her newly added name in the book.
The entire page was filled with the names of the previous heads of her house. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and for the first time, Hermione realised how much history her new name truly had- the importance it carried. These few families decided the entire fate of wizarding Britain. She'd never grasped how undemocratic this government, at its core, really was. Of course, in the future, there were a few honorary gamot members from the broader public, mostly muggleborns, since they had no other way to claim government seats, but still. It was appalling.
"There you go." Focussing her mind on the task at hand, she watched her name light up for a second, apparently confirming her nomination.
The assistant managed not to look too appalled by the fact that a witch had been approved but was still met with the full force of Rodolphus' disdain, who'd clearly seen the other man's frown.
"Congratulations, Miss Lestrange. I hope we shall meet on many more occasions."
"Not if I can't help it," Rodolphus murmured before pulling Hermione back to the floo transport again.
"Well, that was exciting," she stated drily once they arrived and joined the shortest queue.
Rodolphus huffed, "Curse Merlin that I cannot give you all my ministry business to take care of. Once our Lord is in power, you'll see to that."
"What? Equal rights for wizards and witches?" she questioned. "Never thought you'd be a fan of that. How will you control my life if I have the law on my side?" she teased, not expecting him to answer her.
"If that means I don't have to set foot in this dreadful place ever again, then so be it," he spoke gravely, causing Hermione to laugh.
A few years ago, she wouldn't have dreamed of speaking so casually with the former death eater, but the way he was looking at her now with that proud smile on his face usually reserved for when he showed her off to the other patriarchs of the twenty-eight sacred houses- it felt right.
He had his flaws. To put it lightly. Nonetheless, she appreciated him trying, at least. In his own twisted ways.
To him, they were family. And maybe, somewhere deep inside her heart, she thought the same. Over the years, the Lestranges had, against all odds, grown on her. Like a fungus. She smiled to herself.
Hermione would never forgive them for what they'd put her through, but she was willing to work with them. If this was the only way for her to make the future a better place, she'd continue her role as the perfect pureblood daughter, at least to the outside.
Soon, she'd be able to live on her own terms. Graduation was only a year away, after all. No placement at the ministry meant she could get her own place and a job until Tom took over. She'd no doubt he'd want all his allies close to him. If that meant revoking a law banning witches from government positions, then so be it.
"After you."
Her father's hand on her back pulled her from her musings as he pushed her into the green flames.
"A little warning would be nice next time!" she managed to say before Hermione was whisked away…
December 1944
Hogwarts without Evan felt strange. She'd never realised how much time they spent together until after he'd graduated. He must've given Abraxas clear instructions on what he was supposed to do in his place for the few months he wasn't around.
Like clockwork, the Malfoy heir showed up by her common room every morning to escort her to class and carry her books. It would've been endearing if he hadn't used this time to complain about his efforts in great detail.
"I have to get up twenty minutes early 'cause you bloody Gryffindors decided to dwell in the most northern tower of this cursed castle." Abraxas turned towards her, his silken hair nearly escaping from his velvet bow. "How do you have twice as many books as I, even though we're in all of the same classes?" he continued his rant, readjusting the stack in his arms.
"If it bothers you so much, stop doing it. I don't care. I can carry my books just fine." It was far too early to get annoyed, Hermione thought to herself.
"And get another howler from a raving Rosier at four in the morning?" Abraxas asked. "No, thank you."
Scoffing at her classmate, Hermione tried to tune out the rest of his whining until they finally reached the glasshouse for their Herbology class.
"Miss Lestrange, Mr Malfoy, you two are early. How lovely." Their professor gestured for them to follow her to the back. "Join us. Tom and I are preparing everybody's coursework for this semester."
She spotted Riddle already potting some nasty-looking plants.
"Leave your books at the front, don't forget to grab some gloves and aprons."
Abraxas shot her a baleful glare. "Now I even have to participate in this plebian work."
Hermione pointedly ignored him. "Morning' Tom. How can we help?" Pulling the apron over her head, she joined the newly appointed head boy at the table.
Finishing his work, he turned around, "Malfoy, I see you're still playing errand boy for Rosier?" Tom whipped his dirty gloves on his already stained apron. "There is no other reason for you to be actually on time."
Riddle disapproved greatly of any of his associates having a less-than-stellar school record or behaving like a general human being with flaws, for that matter. Since last year he had decided that he couldn't afford to slip up on his path to greatness, even with the people he surrounded himself with. Much to the displeasure of most of his Knights. They had started calling their group the Knights of Walpurgis right after the last Christmas break. Hermione thought it was the most elitist thing she'd ever participated in.
"I wouldn't want to jeopardise my position at the top of our classes. If that means getting up a little early, I'd be happy to do so." Abraxas muttered, the apparent lack of coffee in his system making him sound even less sincere.
"As you should," Riddle replied, turning his attention back to Hermione, who'd just watched her friend getting chewed out by their leader up until now. "Lestrange, grab yourself a few pots and stop dawdling around."
Rolling her eyes at his pushy attitude, she helped herself to some of the brightly coloured plants waiting to be potted and set to work…
"Do you want to spend the holidays with us, Tom?" Hermione asked the other boy as they made their way towards the library.
Much to her chagrin, Riddle continued to amaze Hermione with his seemingly bottomless knowledge of magical theory and made it their tradition to spend their Sunday evenings at the library.
"No, I'd rather spend Yule in a bunker with the rest of muggle London," he drawled, earning himself an exasperated sigh from the witch at his side.
" A simple yes would've been enough."
"Oh, but where would be the fun in that?" he smirked at the flustered girl.
"Pardon me, my Lord. I shall forever be grateful for your witty commentary." The words had left her mouth before her brain could catch up.
Alarmed by the sudden stillness of her companion, she stopped in her tracks. "I'm sorry. I wasn't"-
"Say it again." His voice swept over her rushing thoughts like an icy wave.
"What?" Hermione squeaked.
"What did you just call me?"
A smirk, a proper smirk, stretched over the Slytherin's face, giving him a boyish appearance that threw Hermione entirely off the rails.
"M-My Lord?"
Hermione was horrified by her body's traitorous reaction to addressing Riddle as such.
"Yes, my dear?"
Her heart skipped a beat. The endearment pearled off his lips like honey. Her rational mind was quickly vanishing in the face of Tom Riddle's handsome smile.
Mortification followed the realisation that she had called Voldemort her Lord and didn't hate it. Merlin, get a grip.
It wasn't even a mere title anymore. Since his birthday, he officially was Lord Slytherin. The press had gone nuts over the news, and Walburga Black had somehow managed to look even further down her nose at the prospect of becoming the next Lady Slytherin.
"Don't call me that. Your girlfriend can take care of those weird power fantasies of yours."
It was during times like these that she noticed how much more time she spent in the company of wizards. A proper witch would have never uttered the words that had left her mouth just now.
"I'm scandalised, Miss Lestrange, and don't know what you're insinuating." Riddle's eyes practically sparkled with mischief.
It was apparently the third emotion he'd developed after rage and sarcasm. Technically only one of these was an actual emotion, but at this point, Hermione would take anything over cold apathy. If he derived enjoyment from tormenting people, she'd rather have him tease them than curse them.
"You know, why don't you stay with the Blacks this year? I'm sure they will be thrilled to have you." She was eager to get this conversation over with.
Riddle wrinkled his nose, "I'd rather gauge my own eyes out than spend even more time looking at the ghastly upholstery at Grimmauld Place."
Snickering, Hermione pushed the doors to the library open. "Are you sure you want to continue courting Walburga?"
"She's useful to my cause, and since my only bearable option has decided she'd rather burn the supremacy of wizards to the ground, I'll have to stick with Miss Black."
Hermione stumbled at his words. Tom Riddle finds me bearable. She went from expendable to bearable. And it had only taken her seven years of faking, pretending, and lying to everyone around her and herself to get there.
Her heart sank. Bearable. They were supposed to be close by now. She didn't think Tom saw her, or anyone for that matter, as a friend. She was a far cry from him seeing her as his equal.
Hermione figured she was more of a well-liked underling at that point, ranking only marginally higher than Malfoy, and he was basically Riddle's right-hand man in the future.
"So, this is what it takes to silence the great Hermione Lestrange. I'll remember it." His lips dripping with sarcasm, the head boy pulled her from her silent internal crisis.
Hermione hastily followed him to their table and pulled out her homework.
"If I didn't require an heir, I'd have waited for you, Hermione. But alas, I don't think I can persuade you to give up your titles and carry on the line of Slytherin." He sounded as if he was talking about the weather, not her carrying his child in the foreseeable future.
A wave of dizziness overcame Hermione. It was near impossible to differentiate between Riddle's moods. Was he serious? She knew he favoured intelligence, so of course, if she'd accepted his offer, he'd take her over Walburga any day. But then, maybe he was toying with her to get a reaction he hadn't seen before. He liked to do that. It was the same when he kissed her a few months ago. He enjoyed riling people up, especially her.
"Please be serious about this, Tom. Marriage is not something to be taken lightly."
He shrugged, "all of these pureblood traditions of yours. The fidelity, the unbreakable vows. Of course, one would feel pressured," he paused. "In the Muggle world, until death do us part is figurative."
How they had gone from, where do you spend your holidays, to Riddle explaining to her how muggle marriages worked, she didn't know. She couldn't tell him she knew, so she settled for a questioning look. "How curious."
"My lovely wife will have a good life until I am no longer in need of her assets."
Figures. Of course, he didn't want to be a sane person. Sweet Merlin.
"You're being cruel."
Tom looked up from his potions essay, "no, I'm being pragmatic. I might not be able to do much harm to her, but that doesn't stop my knights from stepping up to the task."
Hermione tried to recover from the whiplash this conversation was giving her. Their previous banter already long forgotten.
"Pray tell how you'll go about this. Wait until she's birthed your spawn and then conveniently lose her in childbed?" she asked, disgusted at the mere thought of it.
Tom seemed to seriously consider her words. "Not a bad idea. It'd be a most merciful death."
"It'd be a vile, terrible crime." Hermione spat. "I'll not support you in this. You're going too far."
Tom's face shuttered close. With a deep sigh, he leaned back in his chair, his strong arms elegantly folded over his chest. "Walburga and I are to be married by the end of next year." He began. "After that, it'll take what? Two to three years until I have my heir and a wife, I do not need anymore."
Hermione didn't understand why he was telling her all this.
Tom continued. "By then, I will have enough support to change some things, such as giving you witches more autonomy over your lives." Another pause. "That is if I can trust you to stand behind"- his calculating gaze found hers. "All of my decisions."
Hermione felt sick to her stomach. So that was the price she had to pay. What she had to do to get into the ministry. Could she sink so low? To harm a mother? Even if it was insufferable Walburga Black?
"I think it's only fair that you do. After all, while my other knights are already starting to establish our network, you'll initially be quite useless to our cause."
The silence following his patronising words was deafening. Hermione had half a mind to get up and leave at that point. "How dare you?" she seethed.
"Be reasonable, Hermione. Why are you getting all bothered over something so far in the future?" Tom asked. "Instead of worrying your pretty little head over what might happen to a witch you don't even like, you should think about how to serve our cause now."
Hermione struggled to form an answer. "I'm the heiress to one of Britain's noblest families. I am not useless." Her eyes prickled. "My entire house has supported you from the very start, yet you still have the nerve to call me useless?"
Her chair fell backwards as she suddenly stood. Tom pursed his lips, not bothering to follow suit as a gentleman would.
"When you're done throwing a tantrum, you might think of ways to convince me otherwise," he said. "I'm always open to your input, after all. Why else would I even confide in you about these matters?"
Was this some twisted test? If so, Hermione was stumped for the correct answer.
"Now, let's end it here for now. I can see that you are upset." He finally finished his monologue.
And wasn't that the understatement of the century? Sometimes, Hermione couldn't fathom the pits of the human mind. She'd seen what he was capable of. He had made her his alibi for the murder of his last remaining family. Still, she could not connect these horrible acts to the person she was sharing her dinner with, her classmate with whom she discussed her passions until the moon hung high in the sky. She'd never seen Tom Riddle kill a person. At some point, he and Voldemort had become two completely different entities in her head. Tom Riddle was just as brilliant as he was ambitious, but he was not some snake-faced Villain.
She didn't want to judge people for their sins. Hermione believed everyone deserved a second chance if they were willing to change. How many second chances had she given Riddle or the Lestranges by now? The young witch suddenly felt tremendously lost. This was supposed to be her best year yet. She was finally seventeen and ready to take the reins back of her life.
Now, as she sat in front of her own dark Lord in the making, she wondered if she'd been wrong about her role in this world. Maybe she'd put herself on a pedestal, embracing the delusion that a single little girl could change the fate of the wizarding world. But what was she doing here if her purpose wasn't to save everyone?
"Hermione, you haven't written a single line since we arrived." Silver eyes found her own.
Something in her snapped, "I don't want to do this anymore." She dug her nails into her palms.
Taking notice of her pale knuckles, Tom finally stood as well, gently taking her trembling hands in his soft ones. "It's all right, Hermione. Come here."
She clung to the taller boy, her chest buried in the robes she'd gotten him for his birthday. She wanted to yell at him. To curse him until he… until he what? Hermione didn't know anymore. Helping Tom Riddle was her only purpose in this world. Who was she without Tom? Just another witch.
Hermione Granger despised mediocracy. The young man she was clinging to like he was her saving grace, was her key to becoming someone.
He'd change the wizarding world with or without her, but if she didn't have Tom, she'd be just another nobody in his grand scheme. So, she let herself fall. For his charming smile, his grand promises and, above everything else, Hermione fell for his trap…
