February 1946
Hermione trudged through the empty streets of magical London, the biting wind cutting through her coat and causing her to sniffle miserably. She glanced down at her watch, realising she was running late yet again. "Curses," she muttered under her breath, picking up her pace.
It was their second gathering since they'd finished school, and Tom had wasted no time conveying his ambitions to his- she hesitated, friends? Hermione wasn't sure what to call their group.
"You're late!" drawled the young man loitering in front of the door of an unassuming building as she finally reached her destination.
It was Avery. She bit back a retort and followed him inside, the warmth of the luxurious space immediately enveloping her. "We're still waiting for Riddle, so you're lucky."
Evan was already seated on their designated sofa, a delicate pastry box in his hands. "There she is! Come, come. I brought your favourite!" he exclaimed, holding up the carton for her to see.
Hermione couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness, despite the stress of her day. "You must stop sending your elves back to Italy just for some sweets," she scolded him playfully, taking the box from his hands.
"Eh, everything to see you smile, my dear," Evan replied, winking at her.
Avery snorted in disgust, muttering under his breath. But Hermione ignored him, content to enjoy her treat. After all, everyone in the group knew by now that they had an unconventional relationship. And she was perfectly happy with that.
The anticipation in the room was palpable as they waited for Riddle to arrive, and when he finally sauntered in, all eyes turned to him. He was as handsome as ever, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made Hermione's heart race.
"Gentlemen," he spoke before Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. "And lady," he added as he sat down, swinging one leg over the other. "I secured another vote on the muggleborn relations bill."
The room erupted in cheers and Hermione forced herself to join in. Her heart pounded as she thought about the proposal that had haunted her for weeks. She had fought tooth and nail to steer these people away from their most vile proposals, but the result still left a sour aftertaste in her mouth. The bill aimed to overhaul the current system for integrating muggleborn children into society. It'd introduce mandatory classes on magical culture and customs, a noble effort she could certainly stand behind. However, the clause that barred students from entry to Hogwarts, if they failed to attend or pass said classes, sent her blood boiling. It was a blatant attack on equal education, but she knew she had to pick her battles carefully.
There would surely be more dangerous bills to come from this group of men.
As the conversation turned to their next steps, Tom gave them their orders, unashamedly taking advantage of the nepotism-infested system they operated in. "Make sure to sway your fathers and grandfathers to support our work," he ordered, his eyes glinting with ambition.
Orion Black leaned in and asked, "Anything we should watch out for?"
"Rumour has it that the Potters are in cahoots with Dumbledore for the upcoming international elections of the next supreme Mugwump," Tom's eyes flickered with a dangerous glint as he replied. "We can't let that happen. Make them regret their decision."
Hermione felt a cold pit form in her stomach at Tom's words. She knew she had to act fast. "Let me handle the Potters. I've been friends with their heir for years." She pleaded, not wanting to see Charlus' family being targeted.
Tom gave her a week, "Change their minds, or face the consequences."
"I won't let you down."
Tom nodded, "We've got a lot ahead of us, but I trust every one of you to aid our cause with utmost conviction."
And with that, the group dispersed, each one left to contemplate the magnitude of the task ahead.
Abraxas conjured up glasses and the men quickly descended into their usual fire whiskey-induced rowdiness. As Orion Black crossed the line one too many times, Hermione took it as her cue to leave. Not even Evan stopped her as he joined in the crude jokes Avery was throwing around. "Wizards," Hermione muttered to herself as she went outside, only to stumble upon a very intimate encounter between Tom and his betrothed.
Completely unaware of their audience, the couple leaned heavily against the front door. This place had dozens of rooms, so why did it have to be on her way out? Walburga let out a moan as Tom pulled her even closer, making Hermione's chest constrict at the sight.
"It's rude to stare, Lestrange," Tom suddenly spoke up, apparently not as distracted by the flushed witch in his arms as she'd thought. He turned around, looking carefree. "Was there something else you needed?"
Hermione spluttered, pointing at the pair. "You two... Wasn't there enough time to find a room?" Her cheeks felt hot.
Tom weaved his fingers through his dark locks. "Clearly not."
Hermione's mortification was replaced by ire as Walburga spoke up before she could reply. "Tom," she simpered, "let's return to Grimmauld Place. My parents are waiting."
Oh, now they suddenly had places to be. Hermione pursed her lips. Why was she even bothered? If he wanted to tie himself to Walburga for her wealth and influence, who was she to stop him? Was it the fact that he was toying with the witch that made her stomach churn? That he planned his future without her in the picture as soon as she bore him an heir?
"Of course, my dear." The young Dark Lord cupped Walburga's cheek. "We'll be on our way then. Expect my owl soon. We have something to discuss." Tom inclined his head in Hermione's direction before the pair made their way outside the anti-apparition wards.
Shaking her head, Hermione tried to calm her racing heart. She wondered what he wanted now. Her purpose was to support Tom, nothing more. His love life was none of her concern. And yet, the picture of the kissing pair seemed to have burned itself into her mind. It was not her concern at all…
April 1946
Laughter filled the halls of the manor as Hermione watched her cousins scamper about with their bustling house elves trailing behind. It was hard to believe that Alivia had already turned two and her brother was fast approaching five. She couldn't help but marvel at how quickly they grew, particularly Edwin, who seemed to shoot up like a weed. It made her wonder if her own parents had felt the same way whenever she returned home from Hogwarts a bit taller.
"Mione! You're back!" Edwin cried out excitedly as he caught sight of her in the foyer.
She had just returned from running another errand for Rodolphus, signing business proposals, and visiting their various country estates. The girl was exhausted and couldn't wait to take a hot bath and have some time to herself. But first, she knelt down to embrace her young cousin.
"Hey there, little man. Have you been good to your sister?" she asked, hugging him tightly.
"I have! I even held her hand when we went outside!" Edwin beamed.
Hermione smiled warmly at the little boy. "That's wonderful. We don't want her to fall now, do we?"
"No!" Edwin held onto her tightly as she stood up.
As they made their way to her father's study, Alivia toddled her way over to them, eager to be lifted as well. Hermione shifted her hold on the children, preparing to carry them up the two flights of stairs.
"Winny!" she called out to her elf before catching herself. She still forgot sometimes.
"Did mistress call?" a new elf appeared, ears perked up and eager to please.
"Yes," Hermione hesitated. "Please prepare some tea in my room and run me a bath. I'll be back shortly."
"You okay, Mimi?" Alivia asked, her big blue eyes wide with concern.
Hermione pinched her face. Truth be told, she didn't know.
Shaking her head, she pushed aside her melancholy thoughts and smiled at her niece. "I'm fine, love. Where's your mother, by the way?"
"Mama and Papa went out. Uncle Roddy's supposed to watch us," Edwin explained.
"Don't let Uncle Roddy hear you calling him that," she teased, wondering where Edwin had even picked up the title. It was probably Rabastan's doing, trying to mess with his brother.
"Will do!" Edwin grinned, happy to play along.
As they approached her father's study, the doors swung open with a soft click, revealing a worn-out wizard buried under a pile of papers.
He glanced up at their entrance. "Back already?" he mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes.
Hermione shot a pointed look at the grandfather clock. "Do you have any idea how late it is?" she retorted.
"Merlin, time flies, doesn't it?" he replied, looking rather put out.
She sighed, adjusting the weight of the children in her arms. "These two should be in bed by now."
Rodolphus rolled his eyes. "How am I supposed to know that?" he quipped. "Thankfully, we skipped your terrible twos."
Hermione narrowed her eyes, too exhausted to engage in his banter and called for another house-elf. "Make sure they're in bed in ten," she ordered before the two were whisked away, leaving her alone with her father.
He looked at her expectantly. "How's our future Minister of Magic doing?"
"At this point, Walburga Black would be a better candidate to answer that question," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Rodolphus raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Someone's touchy today."
Hermione scowled. "Leave it alone, Father dearest."
He chuckled. "Peace, daughter dearest, it's too late for another fight, and my correspondences won't answer themselves."
She nodded curtly and turned to leave.
"Hermione?"
Her father's voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to face him. "What?"
"Don't do anything rash," he warned, his tone serious.
For a moment, Hermione was taken aback by the intensity of his words. "Of course not," she muttered, feeling a wave of emotions wash over her.
No further words were spoken.
As she finally sank into her long-awaited bath, the calming aroma of lavender filled her senses. As she soaked in the warm water, she couldn't help but think about the one wizard she couldn't have...
The warm spring breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers as Hermione sat at Fortescue's in Diagon Alley, waiting for Charlus. She was eager to catch up with her friend over their first ice cream of the year. As she sipped her tea, she spotted Charlus making his way towards her, a grin on his face.
"Looking well, Miss Lestrange!" he teased, sliding into the seat across from her.
Hermione laughed, "You too. How's Dorea?"
"She's doing well. We're both excited for her graduation. Expect our wedding invitations soon," Charlus beamed.
Hermione couldn't believe how quickly time had flown by since their Hogwarts days. It felt strange that her peers were getting married and settling down already, something she'd never seen in her upper-middle-class muggle upbringing. She congratulated Charlus nonetheless and they continued to catch up on each other's lives.
But Hermione knew she couldn't avoid the real reason she had asked to meet for much longer. She nervously chewed her lips before finally speaking up.
"You're probably wondering why I asked you to meet so suddenly," she said, getting straight to the point.
Charlus leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "Kinda. Would've been too good to be true if you just wanted to touch base," he teased.
Hermione felt a pang of guilt for neglecting their friendship up until that point, beyond the occasional letter.
"It's about your family actually," she began. "Well, or to be more precise, their recent support of Dumbledore's nomination for Supreme Mugwump."
Her friend looked up from the menu he had been perusing. "How do you even know about this?" he asked, surprise evident in his voice.
Hermione pursed her lips, "Well, what do you think?"
"Did Riddle and his cohort put you up to this?" his tone was hinting at a mix of amusement and frustration.
Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as she sat across from him, the weight of her request heavy on her mind. It was no secret that most of the old wizarding families involved their heirs in politics right after school, but Charlus was one of the few who had been spared this fate by his father. She had never met the older Potter, but her Slytherin friends had spoken of him as a strait-laced wizard with a no-nonsense attitude, and a vocal advocate for more liberal policies. If she weren't in her current predicament, Hermione would have been proud to stand behind him.
She leaned forward in her seat, her eyes locked onto Charlus'. She couldn't help but feel nervous as she spoke, "I know it's a big ask, but you have to convince your father to change his candidate. Or at least abstain from this vote."
Charlus leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, and his expression contemplative. He scanned her face, searching for any hint of what could be driving her urgency. "That's a tall order."
He was right. Convincing an established politician like his father to change his views on such a public and important matter was no easy feat. But she also knew that the stakes were high, and the consequences of inaction could be dire.
She couldn't back down now.
"Is there a reason? You can't just expect me to walk up to my old man and ask him to change his stance out of nowhere," he pressed.
Their discussion was interrupted by a waitress who stopped at their table to take their order. They decided quickly, Hermione opting for a big scoop of chocolate flavour while Charlus chose lemon.
"The old guard already has a majority, why do you need the Potters' support?" Charlus continued. He was referring to the group of powerful pure-blood families, including her own, that made up over half of their current government.
"Dumbledore wants change. Every vote against him, legitimizes the old families' position," Hermione said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. "But I'm not just talking about politics. This concerns your family's safety. With the conservatives gaining more power, it could become dangerous if you continue to align yourselves with Dumbledore."
Charlus' eyes narrowed, and Hermione could tell he was taking her words seriously. "I understand where you're coming from," he said slowly. "But my father has his own political agenda. I can't just ask him to change that."
She knew that supporting the old guard was probably the last thing the Potters wanted, but the increasing polarization of the population following Grindelwald's ascension and general uncertainty about the Muggles' capabilities after World War II, caused tensions to rise between the factions.
Charlus was silent for a moment. "Alright, say if I do ask Father. What do you think would happen?"
Hermione bit her lower lip, knowing full well the consequences if Charlus' father took this as a challenge and voted for Dumbledore just to spite the opposition. Tom's followers would find a way to ruin the Potters in the long run, and she couldn't let that happen to her friend.
Her eyes darted around the crowded ice cream parlour, her voice hushed and urgent. "Please. These people are dangerous. We're not just dealing with our old schoolmates here, but their parents and grandparents as well."
Charlus raised an eyebrow, his spoon paused mid-air. "And?" he asked, clearly unimpressed. "My father went to Hogwarts with these people, he knows what they're capable of."
Hermione shook her head, frustration building inside her. Her friend had no idea how dire the situation was getting; how ruthless their opponents were becoming. Times were changing, and many of their peers, like Charlus, had been sheltered from the devastating events that had plagued their world in the past decade. They had no idea what they were up against.
"People will get hurt if we're not careful," she said, her eyes searching his for any sign of understanding. "I just want you to be safe."
Her friend sighed and put down his spoon, seemingly recognizing the gravity of the situation. "All right, I'll try," he muttered reluctantly. "But don't expect much."
Hermione wasn't satisfied with the outcome of their discussion, but she knew she couldn't expect more from Charlus. If worst came to worst, she'd have to take matters into her own hands and try to convince Riddle not to go after the Potters. It was a dangerous game, but she had enough favours owed to her that she might be able to pull it off.
"Thanks," her tone was grateful but sombre. "I'm just trying to look out for you."
"I know," Charlus' eyes softened. "But don't forget to watch out for yourself. I worry about you."
Her heart swelled at his confession, and she promised herself to meet her friend more often in the future. He and Minny were proof that not everyone from their generation was a depraved, power-hungry sycophant.
They finished their ice cream in silence, lost in their own thoughts, before parting ways shortly after. Hermione walked out into the cool evening air, feeling anxious. There was so much to do, so much at stake, but she couldn't do it alone. She needed people like Charlus by her side if they were going to make a difference…
May 1946
It had been a few weeks since Hermione's meeting with Charlus, but the aftermath was still being felt. To her surprise, his father had abstained from his vote, causing a ripple effect among his faction. The Greengrass family followed suit, while the Longbottoms publicly denounced the two families' decision. As a result, Dumbledore was not named the new Supreme Mugwump, a major derision from their original timeline.
Hermione didn't quite know how to feel about the situation, but she was glad that her friend's father had seen reason. Their group was ecstatic about the results, especially since the alternative candidate from Scotland was a staunch supporter of the conservative factions of most countries.
Just as she had settled in for the evening, a familiar owl tapped on her window. Hermione took the small letter from its beak and offered it a treat before opening it. Tom's immaculate handwriting greeted her, asking her to meet him at his manor later that night, without specifying the reason. Hermione couldn't resist her curiosity, quickly changing into a more appropriate set of robes and freshening up.
The house was empty, with only Hermione there. Rodolphus was away on a trip to their associates in Ireland, and Rabastan and his family were staying with Loreen's mother in Kent. The old woman had demanded to see her grandchildren for weeks, and Rabastan had finally relented.
With no one to say goodbye to, Hermione gathered her belongings and apparated to Tom's home, wondering what he wanted to discuss...
She was greeted by a magnificent sight. The sprawling estate stood proudly amidst plenty of greenery; its ancient grandeur evident in every detail. The soft cream-coloured facade was adorned with intricate carvings and delicate filigree, and nearly covered entirely by ivy and wisteria. The expansive gardens surrounding the manor house were a sight to behold, with neatly trimmed hedges, vibrant flower beds, and Hermione even spotted a serene pond in the distance. Strolling along the gravel pathways towards the grand entrance, she enjoyed the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze.
As Hermione approached the front door, she couldn't help but be struck by the lavishness of Tom's home. She was greeted by a small elf who eagerly ushered her inside, "Miss Lestrange be kindly following Mimsy. The Master is waiting for her in the library."
"Thank you," she said, as the elf led her past tastefully decorated rooms with ornate chandeliers and sumptuous velvet curtains.
When they finally arrived, Hermione felt as if she had been transported to a long-bygone era. This hadn't been the home of a wizard for long as it became apparent through the old-fashioned gas lamps and unmoving oil paintings. She couldn't help but wonder just how wealthy the Riddles had been.
"Miss Hermione Lestrange." The elf announced with a squeaky voice and Hermione spotted Tom lounging on a studded leather sofa at the back of the library.
And what a library it was. The room was grand, with towering bookcases stretching up to the ceiling and a dark marble fireplace at one end. The flickering lights created an eerie glow, casting shadows on the walls that seemed to dance in the corners.
Without even looking up, Tom instructed the elf to leave them, and Hermione approached him hesitantly.
"You're earlier than I expected."
As she came to a halt before him, she wondered if she should sit down, but before she could decide, Tom had already stood and gestured for her to follow him.
It was silent, save for the sound of their footsteps. "I won't keep you for long," Tom said as they passed another shelf. "I need you to store something of mine."
Hermione's eyes darted around the room nervously, searching for any sign of what Tom was referring to. "What is it?"
They stopped before a cupboard, which Tom swiftly unlocked with a wave of his hand. The casual display of wandless magic was humbling. He pulled out a familiar leather-bound journal. "This," he stated simply.
Hermione recognized it immediately, and her breath caught in her throat. The thought of keeping this cursed thing safe made her sick, but she tried to keep her composure as Tom held it out towards her.
The young witch forced her hands to move and took the diary, her fingers tingling uncomfortably as they touched the leather case. She couldn't shake off the feeling that this was a trap, that Tom was somehow testing her loyalty.
"I need this stored away safely. Somewhere people wouldn't think to look if it ever came to it." Tom explained.
"Why is it so important?"
"It contains something very dear to me," he elaborated, his eyes fixed on hers. "I trust you as my oldest friend to keep it safe."
Hermione's chest tightened as Tom's words sank in, and a knot of unease twisted in her gut. He was manipulating her. But the look he gave her, with that subtle, appreciative grin on his lips, made it impossible for her to refuse him. "Of course, I will."
As she put the diary into her satchel, she felt it pulse on her hip, as if it was alive.
"Don't disappoint me, dear," his tone was at odds with the warning in his words.
Hermione was acutely aware of the way he watched her as he guided her back towards the hall. "Now that this is done, would you care to join me for a drink?" he asked.
Hermione had already eaten, but she couldn't pass up an opportunity to get closer to Tom. Nodding through her nausea, she let him lead her to the sitting room where they talked for another hour.
As they conversed, Hermione found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything other than her precious cargo. Eventually, she couldn't take it any longer.
"You seem distracted," Tom observed, a glass of Firewhisky in his hand.
Hermione sniffled, "I'm sorry, it's been a long day. Would you mind terribly if we cut this evening short?"
Tom agreed and escorted her towards the grand fireplace in the entrance hall.
"Tell no one of this evening," he warned. "If I ever find out, you showed anyone else this journal, I'll be most"- he paused, "displeased."
Hermione managed to nod, before vanishing in the green flames.
As soon as she was back, the young woman went straight to her bedroom and sat down on the bed, staring at the leather-bound journal that now rested on her lap. The diary seemed to be pulsing and she could feel the dark magic emanating from its pages. As she opened it, the leather binding creaked ominously, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She couldn't believe she was in possession of Tom Riddle's first and presumably one of only two Horcruxes…
June 1946
The minute Rodolphus entered the study, Hermione knew something was up. He had a look on his face that she had never seen before, a strange mix of determination and apprehension. And then, he said the words that made her nearly drop her quill. „I think it is time we reconnect with our extended family."
"What?" she sputtered, completely caught off guard.
Rodolphus took a seat behind his desk and folded his hands, his expression sombre. "It's been nearly a decade since our arrival."
"And?" Hermione asked, aghast.
"There are only a few of us left after the main branch's collapse following Leta's death," he explained. "We need to strengthen our ties with our remaining kin."
Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Rodolphus had always been so dismissive of his relatives, and she had been under the impression that he wanted nothing to do with them after altering their memories years ago.
"I don't understand," she said, confusion etched on her face.
"I received a letter last week from my...well, I suppose you could call her my aunt," Rodolphus sighed heavily. "Her name is Nazéa Lestrange, and she's taken in the last remaining descendant from the third branch in 1926."
Hermione's mind raced as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. "So, what does she want?"
"She wants us to meet him," Rodolphus furrowed his brows. "Since he'll be the head of the French side of our house, and you two are quite close in age."
Hermione was still struggling to process this sudden change of heart. "But you've always been so adamant about wanting nothing to do with your family."
Rodolphus let out a long breath. "I had more important matters to tend to back then," he admitted. "But things have changed. Our Lord is advancing in the Ministry, and with my brother having his own children, protecting and empowering this family is my highest priority now."
Hermione couldn't help but scoff. "It will be years before Tom has the Ministry under his thumb," she said. "And don't you think we're already quite comfortable? What else is there to achieve?"
"There's always more to achieve, Hermione. And our family's legacy is worth fighting for." Rodolphus looked at her steadily. "In the future, there were only two members of my house left. I'll not allow this to happen again," he declared, his voice filled with determination.
Hermione watched him warily. She knew him well enough to recognize that look. He was about to make a move, and it probably wasn't going to end well for her.
"Rabastan is taking care of that quite splendidly, don't you think?" She asked, hoping to steer him away from whatever ludicrous scheme he had in mind.
Rodolphus rolled his eyes dismissively. "Yes, yes, but it's high time that we rekindle our relations."
Hermione's heart sank. "So, you want to invite them over or what?"
He shook his head. "No, I want us to stay with them for a while."
He wanted to go to France together? The very thought made her ill with worry.
"I'll have to take care of some business here first but will join you as soon as I can," Rodolphus added.
Her anxiety only grew. "What about the others?"
"Alivia and Edwin are too young, and Loreen has no business with these people. She should stay and take care of the children," her father reasoned.
Hermione felt a creeping sense of dread. This was all starting to sound like a terrible idea. "And Rabastan? Will he be joining us?"
Rodolphus hesitated. "My brother will probably not want to join us," he admitted.
"Why not?"
"His memories of our father are best left in the past, well, or future."
Her disbelief turned to incredulity, her voice sputtering out in protest. "No. Absolutely not."
Rodolphus rambled on regardless. "Even though he's a mere teenager, facing that man will be a challenge."
Hermione's mind was racing. The idea of meeting their cursed father sent shivers down her spine. Gamp's law of infinite realities be damned, they didn't have to actively provoke fate.
Rodolphus' voice was quiet and steady as he spoke again. "I can hear your brain working from here, daughter. It's going to be fine. I've met Nazéa before, back when we first arrived here. Nothing happened."
Hermione's frustration and fear boiled over, she wanted to pull her hair out at Rodolphus' recklessness. But arguing with him would be pointless. He was determined to go through with this, no matter the cost. The thought of what they might face was enough to make Hermione's stomach churn.
She raised her hand, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. "Let me get this straight," she began, counting on her fingers. "You want me to meet your father, who is my age."
Rodolphus nodded, his expression grave.
"And you want me and your father to be... what? Friends?" Hermione continued, her irritation mounting.
He grimaced. "Anything more than that, and I might have to Avada myself."
Hermione couldn't suppress a shudder of revulsion. "Gross! He's my grandad, for Merlin's sake."
The pair shared a moment of mutual horror before Rodolphus cleared his throat. "It is highly likely that Nazéa wants to set the two of you up," Rodolphus explained. "But you have my word that I'll not let this happen."
Hermione felt a mixture of relief and frustration. "Great, thank you so much, father," she exclaimed. "For not marrying me off to my sodding grandad."
The conversation was getting more and more bizarre by the minute, and Hermione just wanted it to be over.
"I know this is an unusual situation, but we will benefit greatly from their support in the future," Rodolphus continued.
Hermione thought back to Tom's orders to sway the most influential French families to their cause. As much as she hated the idea of meeting the man who would sire two of the most notorious Death Eaters in history, she'd benefit from getting a foothold in the country through these people.
"Alright, I'll visit them," she conceded. "When do you want me to leave?"
"Probably next week. I'll contact them post-haste," Rodolphus replied.
The two of them lingered awkwardly for a moment longer before parting ways. Hermione couldn't even fathom the mental distress that the Lestrange brothers must be feeling about meeting their father again…
Less than a week had passed when Hermione found herself standing in Rodolphus' study, fully packed and ready to go. As she waited, she felt the familiar weight of Tom's Horcrux burning a hole in her bag. She couldn't explain why, but against her better judgement, Hermione couldn't bring herself to leave it behind.
Perhaps her months of hunting for Horcruxes in her past life had conditioned her to be so obsessed with finding and keeping them. Or maybe, there was a dark, buried part of her that didn't want to let go of the diary. She had kept it close to her ever since returning from Riddle Manor, hidden away in her bedside table. Though she would never admit it to anyone, she felt it was right.
"I'll see you in two weeks," Rodolphus interrupted her thoughts.
She nodded, anticipation building in her chest as she prepared herself to meet her other family members.
"Don't forget to wear your pendant. Those French people refuse to speak English," he reminded her, eyeing the small pearl-shaped translation charm he'd ordered for an absurd amount of Galleons, resting against her collarbone.
"I've got it. Stop fussing," she batted away his hands and straightened her robes.
"Your great-aunt is a very old-fashioned Mademoiselle. I expect you to be on your best behaviour," Rodolphus warned her sternly.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione pulled out her portkey. "She can't be worse than you and your brother."
As she activated the device, Hermione vanished in a swirl of colours. When she landed back on solid ground, the first thing she saw was a familiar set of dark eyes.
"Welcome to Château de Lestrange, cousin," said the man in front of her, a perfect blend of the Lestrange brothers' features. He had a youthful smile, which contrasted starkly with the permanent scowl of his oldest son, and even the way he moved towards her was reminiscent of her father. Hermione shouldn't have been surprised, but she was still speechless as he lifted her hand to his lips in greeting. Suddenly, she felt violently ill and ripped her hand from his, taking a step back.
"I apologize if I offended you," he said, looking slightly taken aback. "As you've probably already guessed, I'm Radolphus Lestrange."
Hermione scoffed. Of course, the Lestrange family had a long history of naming their sons after each other, just like many pureblood families did. It was a reminder that wizards weren't so different from muggles regarding some traditions and customs.
Trying to shake off her unease, Hermione forced a smile and replied, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Radolphus. I'm sorry, you just looked so much like my father that I was momentarily taken aback."
Radolphus nodded in understanding, and Hermione hoped he had picked up on her subtle hint that she wasn't interested in any kind of connection beyond their shared bloodline.
"Allow me to escort you to your chambers before we meet Aunt Nazéa," he offered, eyeing her robes. "She would probably appreciate it if you changed."
Hermione felt a twinge of offence at his suggestion. Who did he think he was, judging her attire within minutes of meeting her? She had carefully chosen her robes for this occasion.
She took a step back and looked him straight in the eye, her voice laced with indignation. "I assure you, my robes are perfectly suitable."
Radolphus raised an eyebrow. "Of course, if you insist on presenting yourself in such a manner to our aunt, who am I to stop you?" he drawled with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Hermione could feel her anger rising. She had no intention of being talked down to by this stranger. "I appreciate your concern, but I am fine as is." Her voice was laced with a sharpness that she couldn't quite hide.
Radolphus shrugged indifferently. "As you wish, cousin," he said, before gesturing for Hermione to follow him.
She took a deep breath. If this was how Radolphus treated family members, she couldn't even begin to imagine how he treated outsiders. Despite her discomfort, Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the opulence of her surroundings. She had never been one for material possessions, but she couldn't deny the beauty of the chateau.
Finally, they reached a set of ornate double doors. Her cousin pushed them open, revealing a spacious room with painted ceilings and tall windows that overlooked a lush garden.
Seated on an ornate récamière in the centre of the room was an imposing figure, a woman with striking silver hair and piercing blue eyes. As they entered, her sharp gaze fixed on Hermione, and for a moment, the young witch felt as if she was being weighed and measured.
"Ahh, my dear niece," she drawled, her French accent thick even filtered through her translation charm and dripping condescension. "You are finally here. Do sit down so we can get to know each other," she gestured to an armchair beside her, the corners of her lips twisting into a mockery smile.
Hermione couldn't help but wonder if this was a taste of what was to come during her stay…
This chapter has tripled in length. Therefore, I think this warrants the new chapter notification :)
