1951

Weeks pass. She hides behind a tapestry, catches Marius Black walking to Transfiguration and oblivates him neatly. He now knew absolutely nothing of Tom Riddle's plans, or his dastardly Uncle's hobbies.

This does nothing to abate the graffiti that keeps cropping up. Snakes and skulls etched onto desks with quills, doodled onto textbooks and essays. Someone smears it in mud on the courtyard wall. It's all exceptionally clever, no magical signature involved - Professor Dumbledore could easily reverse the magic to find the caster responsible. Done the Muggle way, it's virtually untraceable.

She informs Tom of every one. She can't lie to him but she minimises the truth. He laps up reports of Dumbledore's fury greedily. She hasn't seen him in nearly a month. She aches for him, and yet she does not dare sleep. The memory of what she had dreamt on her first night kept her awake. Had he done it just to taunt her? To remind her who she belonged to? She chugs phials of Dreamless Sleep Potion, the mother-of-pearl bottles pile up in her bathroom. Most days pass in a self-medicated blur. there's still no coffee for her to sober up and she refuses to summon a house elf. She blames him for this and sinks further into her depression.

She sets an alarming amount of detentions in her first month. It appears that a Hufflepuff fifth-year saw Rossi leaving her quarters the night she gave Marius his detention, and rumours about the pair of them storm the castle. The girls all like the new, young, rakish wizard who had joined the staff and so she dodges unwarranted grooming advice like the plague. She sees him passing the corridor once but he only winked at her. After this the rumours reached fever pitch and Hermione gave a record sixteen Gryffindors detention simultaneously. She dreads the thought that this might get back to Tom, anxiety continues to build in her chest as the weeks pass.

Hermione becomes even less sociable. She's avoiding Rossi, she knows, but she also lingered for another reason. It took her a few days to spot the shock of orange hair in the crowds of students, but the day she did she felt a familiar jolt of fear in her chest. Mariella Weasley was a chatty, gregarious twelve year old. She was also Oliver Weasley's cousin. Guilt bloomed in her chest. She had murdered this sweet girl's cousin in cold blood.

She does all she can to find out about Mariella's family. She learns that she is the oldest in a brood of four children. Her mother, Verity Macmillan, married Henry Weasley fifteen years ago at the age of seventeen. A bonafide love story. Henry is Oliver's uncle, his brother, fifteen years his senior, Oliver's father. The facts of her family tree taunt her.

She sets the book alight, unable to look at any longer.

As September draws to a close she receives a note from Professor Dumbledore.

Professor Granger,

I hope you are keeping well. As a reminder of our customs, your presence is required every day at meals in the Great Hall in order to maintain order.

As Head of Slytherin, please keep a particular eye on the students in your house.

Regards,

Albus

The message is clear. Turn up today and get your students in line. Or else. She drags her feet to the Great Hall for breakfast. She knows she looks like shit. The dark circles under her eyes are omnipresent now, her hair in a frizzy braid that she hasn't undone in three days. What did she say at her interview? She bemoaned Oscar for not looking smart. A month in, she can't bring herself to care. Hypocrite.

The hall is only mostly full. The students look as tired as she does. She takes a seat at the teachers table next to May Twycross, who is resplendent in pristine white robes. It contrasts deeply with her short twenties-style bob. "Good morning." She mutters, pulling a bowl of porridge to her. May passes her the marmalade. The bitter orange scent fills her nose and she spoons a little into her porridge.

"You look god-awful." May's Edinburgh brogue twists on her tongue, but it's not said maliciously.

"I think I'm coming down with something." Hermione rubs her forehead wearily. She can feel herself sobering up a little and it feels like hell. "I'll be fine by first period."

May pours her a goblet of grapefruit juice, her ruby bracelets tinkle a little against the glass. "I should hope so, given that it's Saturday." An elegant hand pushes the goblet towards her. "Are you alright, Granger?"

Her head raises from where it rested in her hands and she spots two Slytherin boys charming fruit to whiz across the room and hit the Gryffindors in the back of the head. She rises to her feet and pulls out her wand as quick as a flash. The raspberries change direction and zoom up the boys' noses.

"Oi, Jenkins, Travers. Pack it in, won't you?" She booms.

The boys resume their breakfast, sheepish.

Hermione returns to her seat, feeling reinvigorated. May clearly notices, because she pushes her plate of sausages away from her and stands up. "Come on, breakfast's nearly over anyways, lets go take a walk in the greenhouses."

They stride in between the gap of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. Hermione keeps an eye on her table, May on hers. May is the Head of Ravenclaw despite Ramesh and her brother Jasper, who are also Ravenclaws.

They walk in silence to the greenhouses. Hermione casts a warming charm - she neglected to bring a cloak, but May simply pulls an oversized forest-green coat over her robes.

May stops at Greenhouse 6 and holds open the door for her. Her freckled face is calm, assessing. "In you get." She says shortly. The rain plink-plonks against panes of planed glass.

She had never been in this greenhouse before. She scans it. It's rich with life, fragrant with flowers and the scent of green tomatoes. They walk down the aisles and Hermione stops to brush her hands over the soil of the beds. It is lush, rich. She is amazed.

"That would be the dragon dung." May says dryly. She drops the soil sheepishly, turning back to face May.

"Sorry."

"It's nothing." May says delicately. "There's some herbs, well, I thought perhaps they might help." She fingers a broad leaf. "I'm no Potioneer, but-" She plucks several leaves viciously. "-they might help."

"Thanks." Hermione says gratefully, honestly. May conjures a small basket and begins to fill it with trimmings. There was a small sprig from a Pepper-Up Plant, broad flat leaves of the Alihotsy sapling, even some Muggle herbs of chamomile and nettle.

"This is my personal greenhouse." May talks while she fills the basket. "You'll notice that there are some Muggle plants here too. I like to catalogue them, include them in my work. I'm sure as a Potionsmaster you can appreciate the versatility of ingredients like these."

Hermione felt a kinship tie herself to May. She too had done this in Nos. More than ever she missed her little sheepskin notebook of herbs and fungi.

"It's better than, well." May continued talking, not noticing Hermione's reminiscence, "What you've been using."

"What?" Hermione felt the familiar call of anxiety mixed with a little shock.

"Can I offer you some advice?" May said bluntly, shears still in her hand. "Lay off the potions. Brush your hair every once in a while. Eat the food that Oscar sends to your room."

"I don't understand-" Hermione stumbled at being confronted so directly. So it was Oscar who had been sending parcels to her room. She thought it might've been.

May shrugged and sucked her teeth. "I'm just saying. I haven't seen you in weeks, the symptoms are all there. I can give you some herbs for the withdrawal if you like."

"What gives you the right?" Hermione's voice trembled.

"I'm your friend." She said simply. Hermione was quite floored. She had never had a friend before. "Now are you going to let me help you?"

Hermione nodded once, barely believing what she was hearing. May spoke with such directness, her elegant voice didn't once stutter.

"Good." She put down the shears and the basket and they hung there in mid-air. "Spin." Hermione turned her back to her and May began the mammoth task of untangling her hair.

"I don't know what you're going through - you don't have to tell me." She interrupted herself before Hermione could. "Whatever it is, teaching is a hard job, being away from your family." Hermione thought of Tom with a hard flinch. "You need a support system. Jasper's pretty grumpy most of the time, and Oscar spends most of his time holed up in the Hospital Wing, but Ramesh is alright, he's teaching me some new linguistic rune structures." Her voice softened. "I didn't want to do this in front of any of the students but... You don't have to do this alone, Hermione."

Hermione pulled her hair, now silky down her back, out of May's grip. "Thanks. I'm fine though, really. I'm just tired, and like I said, think I'm coming down with something." She turned back around and gave May a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes.

She only looked at her sadly. "Okay, well, if you need anything, let me know."

"Thanks." Hermione said again through her teeth. "Now, if you don't mind, it's actually my weekend off. I have an appointment to meet some friends in London in an hour." She had the wherewithal to realise that her tone was actually quite rude, May bristled a little and Hermione actually watched her expression harden slightly. She had drawn the line in the sand.

"Okay, well. Chew a couple of those Pepper-Up leaves every morning when you wake up, drink the chamomile at night." Her brows softened. "It should help the withdrawal."

"Yeah." Hermione took the basket. "Bye."

She scarpered out of Greenhouse 6 as fast as her legs would carry her, guilt brimming in her stomach. She walked all the way to the nearest fireplace, ignoring the several 'oh hello Professor Granger!'s on the way back to the castle. She had gotten it pre-approved yesterday morning. She barely knew what she was doing, operating on feeling only.

"Diagon Alley!" She cried, a flash of emerald in the flames. Soon, she was whizzing up the chimney and into the Three Broomsticks. It was unchanged and busy for a Saturday afternoon. She dodged the throngs of hat-and-scarf-clad well wishers and walked all the way to Knockturn Alley.

She knocked on the door of Borgin and Burke's. It was exactly like they had planned it. Borgin opened the door with a greasy smile. "Good morning Miss Granger, anything I can do for you before you go?"

"Yes, yes." She said impatiently, striding straight past him. She threw another handful of sparkling powder into the flames. "Malfoy Manor!" and then she was gone.

Abraxas was eating breakfast in the morning room.

"Well well, isn't this a surprise. I wasn't expecting you for another hour." He spread eggs en cocotte onto a slice of toast.

Hermione drew her wand. "Where is he?"

Malfoy continued to eat his breakfast, unbothered. "Busy."

"Where is he!" She shrieked, purple sparks flashing from her wand.

He lowered his toast, looking annoyed. "I told you, we weren't expecting you for another hour." He said calmly. "He's in a meeting."

"It's 8am in the bloody morning Abraxas!" She cried angrily.

"It's a very important meeting." He said drolly, sipping his tea. Hermione let out a scream of frustration, blasting away his eggshell blue tea cup with a single curse. Malfoy groaned in annoyance, slamming his hands on the table and rising to his feet.

"Right, you're really asking for it now Granger."

And so it began. They duelled back and forth, sending showers of purple and orange sparks at each other. She dodged each one, not bothering with a shield charm. She felt recklessly alive, like she was finally letting out all of her anxiety and anger from the past month. A stray curse of Abraxas' hit the chandelier and for a moment they both paused, holding their breath. It only tinkled threateningly and did not come down. They continued.

Finally, Hermione landed a Cutting Jinx. It slashed Abraxas lightly on the face and he gave a rough bark of laughter. "Oh, you like that one, don't you Granger?" He lunged forward, shooting a jettison of blue light at her. "Don't think I haven't forgotten."

"Avery cursed me!" She shrieked, dodging the blow narrowly, returning the favour in kind. His pained roar confirmed what she had suspected, she was twice the witch he was. She cackled maniacally.

They were suddenly blasted apart, a wall of golden light separating them in one movement. By the second, they were both hit with Full-Body binds, their arms snapping to their sides and flopping to the floor like fish.

Aw, fuck, thought Hermione.

He was a terrible spectre, his voice a low, snake-like hiss. "What is this?"

They had devastated the morning room, the gold brocaded wallpaper torn open, soft cushions leaking feathers into the air. Hermione could just about see him from the corner of her eye from where she lay on the floor. He released Abraxas first, he dropped to a low bow. Motherfucker. She thought, and then flinched internally. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with sixteen-year-olds.

"I will ask again." Tom's voice was barely a whisper before it grew to a furious shout. "What happened?"

"I was having breakfast, my Lord, and then Granger came in. She was shouting, asking for you. I told her you were very busy. She exploded my cup of tea, My Lord, and attacked me." Malfoy couldn't resist a smug smile towards her. If she could've moved she would've howled in frustration and then castrated him.

"I see." Tom said quietly. "Leave us."

Hermione heard footsteps retreat the room. The door clicked behind him and was locked. She felt a body squat over her and closed her eyes, preparing to accept her punishment.

"Open your eyes you stupid girl." She felt the curse release. She sat up, massaging her sore muscles. He kneeled on the floor next to her and she kept her gaze firmly on his knees. Lovely fabric, probably wool, she thought.

"Now look at me." His voice was exceptionally calm, the rich timbre making her shiver.

She scrunched up her face. "Well-"

"Look at me." He repeated, power resonating through every syllable.

Almost involuntarily her eyes raised to his face. She had forgotten the truth of him, in her rage. His pale skin, soft dark hair falling across his forehead, two terrible luminous green eyes set deep into his skull. He was beautiful, she knew that, but he took her breath away. He was wearing her favourite cream-coloured oxford, the smooth fabric straining against his chest.

"Now tell me what's wrong."

"How do you know something's wrong?" She started sheepishly before he silenced her with a single knowing look. "Right."

She thought carefully, weighing her options in her mind, and then dived head-first into chaos.

"I hate it!" She exclaimed. "I hate it! I want to come home."

Thoughtful eyes frowned. "Why?"

"Why? Why?! It's awful! I'm watched constantly, I'm sure Dumbledore knows. Most of the students seem to know. They don't respect me, they don't respect my authority. They're awful, disrespectful little creatures. There's a constant threat of being discovered! I can't relax, I can't let my guard down once. Do you know how exhausting it is to have to occlude for twenty-four hours, even in your sleep?" She rounded on him, pointing her finger, building up steam in her tirade.

"And speaking of sleep! I would like one night, just one night, where I could get some peace! Without having bloody sex dreams!" He smirked like a self-satisfied cat. "No, it's not funny, it's torture! There's not even any bloody coffee for Merlin's sake! So not only am I extremely sleep-deprived and sexually frustrated, I can't even drink caffeine to fix it." She cried. "Honestly, what are you playing at? It's like you don't even care about me at all!"

The smirk vanished from his face. She knew instantly that she had gone too far.

"No, I only meant-" She mumbled as Tom rose up on his knees and grew closer. His face was unreadable, a mask of deadly calm.

"I think I understood what you meant quite clearly Hermione." He enveloped her, filling her senses with him. Hands brushed down her arms to encircle her wrists. She felt panic, that old friend, rising in her throat. He grew closer and closer until her back was against the floor, arms pinned above her head. His face was barely a centimetre from hers.

"Darling Hermione doesn't feel appreciated enough." He murmured, a dangerous mix of sweet and lethal. "Darling Hermione misses her creature comforts. Her coffee, her library. She's tired." He kissed the edge of her jaw softly and she felt her eyes roll back into her head.

"That isn't-" She said, her voice strangled. She wants to discuss this properly, discuss strategy, have him reassure her that he wasn't using her students for his own gain. She wants him to be good.

"No," He hummed, nose tracing along the line of her jaw. "No, I quite think that it is."

She groaned involuntarily, feeling his body weight lower and press into hers. He was heavy but the pressure felt good.

"Maybe I should appreciate you on this very floor." He murmured, teeth delving into her robes. He bit her clavicle roughly and she gasped.

"Would darling Hermione like to be shown how much she is appreciated?" He whispers, barely a breath against her neck.

"Tom." She groaned. "No." He licked a hot stripe up her neck. "No."

"No?" He hums and then cups her sex, somehow his hand had found its way up her robes, one hand shifting to grip both of her wrists at once. "No? This doesn't feel like a no."

She whimpers, her head falling back to expose the soft flesh of her neck.

"Please." She cries. "Please stop." She realises that she doesn't want it. Realises that even though it is blissful to be back in his arms that she loathes him. The past few weeks have taken their toll, the distance dulling his suffocating magnetism. He leaves her at once, the pressure releasing, the air turning empty and cold. She tries to open her mouth, to explain, but the words just won't come.

His voice is hard and formal. "Fine. Stay here for as long as like. Bibby will escort you out according to the prediscussed procedure when you are ready." She hears his footsteps pad away and then pause. She waits for him to stay, to say something to fill the silence, but it never comes. The footsteps resume until she hears the door click and lock.

She turns onto her side, curls into the foetal position, and sobs until the tears won't come anymore.