Harry paced between the wall and the back of the couch, a small space, but he had nowhere else to move. Currently, his living room was full to bursting. All the Weasleys except Percy were in attendance (he was working, and Harry had no clue what his thoughts on this mess were), as were all the Potters (granted, that was himself, Violet, and his parents, and they all lived there), Neville and his grandmother, Nymphadora Tonks and her parents, the other Marauders (Padfoot, Moony, and Wormtail), and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall.

In short, they were trying to gather anyone who might be against what Lucius Malfoy had in store for Hermione.

He was more anxious than he'd been in years— maybe ever. Not even when he'd wanted to throw up before his first Quidditch match had he been this twisted up inside. Not when Violet was born, either.

"Tearing out your hair won't help, love," his mother admonished him gently.

He tugged his hands from where they'd fisted his dark hair and started wringing them instead. "I just don't know what else to do. Narcissa Malfoy and Draco are shut up in there, too. I can't even Floo call. No owl responses, nothing. There must be something else, someone else we can contact to help."

Lily pulled her son into her arms to comfort him. The redhead was mostly exempt from the new laws, being married to a Pureblood and her son already given half-blood status in the world. But he could see how heavily they weighed on his mother. Even if she was unscathed for now, she wouldn't stand for this new era.

"Wh-what about Professor Riddle?" It was Ginny who said it, her voice wavering as she glanced at her brother and then back to Harry. "He cares about her, right? She's his favorite student. Why isn't he here?" It was the first she'd said in a while, and it heartened Harry to know she was concerned, regardless of what had transpired between them.

The young man glanced around and recounted the people surrounding. "I- I don't know. I didn't think— did you contact him, Ron?"

His other best friend shook his head.

Harry glanced back at his mom, worry carved in sharp lines on his face. She sighed and looked at Dumbledore.

"I'm not sure we can rely on Professor Riddle, Harry." The old man had always been kind to Harry, despite never teaching him. He had a fondness for the Potters and Gryffindors as a whole, and despite Harry's occasional mischief, he clearly liked him. Then again, the mischief might have been part of the appeal.

Harry frowned. "But Professor Riddle adores Hermione, and she's his assistant and—"

"I know, but," the man began, then sighed and stroked his beard. "There is a lot about Tom that many don't know. Perhaps the least of which is that he was my student from 1938 to 1945."

The younger folks in the room took in the new information. "That would make him, like, seventy!" The teen's green eyes widened in shock, but many of the adults around him just nodded. "He-he doesn't look that old."

"While wizards often age a bit slower than muggles, Tom's natural progression seems unusually sluggish," McGonagall admitted. "We aren't sure exactly how, but Horace is convinced there is no dark magic at play."

The younger generation all seemed floored, and he could see flashes of incredulity and introspection. "Okay, so, Professor Riddle is barely aging. What else?"

Sirius had a silent exchange with his father. "There's suspicion he's a Pureblood supremacist," he said at last.

Ron let out a choked laugh. "But Hermione, she's muggleborn. She's, well, she'd follow him anywhere, and I reckon he'd let her."

"Yes. It's admittedly odd. However, he treated me well enough when I was a student. It doesn't change what he might be doing behind closed doors," said Lily.

This was starting to give Harry a headache. "What the bloody Hell is going on?"

"Harry James Potter," both Molly Weasley and Lily Potter decried at once, but neither could continue when they saw the way the boy was staring at his own hands in frustration. Here he was, helpless and useless while one of his best friends was going through worse than he could imagine.

"This is quite a long story," Dumbledore said after a long silence. "And I must insist on a vow of secrecy. Not the Unbreakable Vow, but a vow all the same. If everyone would swear on their magic to keep this information held to our allies, I will tell you."

One by one, the inhabitants of the Potter living room raised their wands and swore. Pressure surrounded each in a bubble that released after a bare second, homage to the oath they'd taken.

Dumbledore leaned back in his Summoned seat and contemplated how best to start.

"I first met Tom in the summer of 1938. He was living in a muggle orphanage and did not know anything about magic." Harry settled down on the couch as he realized the old man was at the start of a very long story.

"Very good, Hermione. Now, you may sit."

Lucius had instilled in her the need to rise whenever "her betters" entered the room, giving a semblance of a curtsy to indicate deference, and awaiting orders. She thought it was one of the least degrading behaviors he could insist upon, so did not fight him on the order.

When she lowered herself into her chair, he smirked.

"I still expect proper responses unless I previously ordered silence," he reminded her.

Hermione grit her teeth. "Please pardon me, Master Lucius."

"Much better." The man sat opposite her again, their now familiar seats across the tiny table. She felt as though she were playing chess, but a variation with strange rules and an alien opponent. It had never been her strong suit. She wasn't Ron, who was able to navigate the board, nor Harry with his ability to see how best to reach others.

She certainly didn't have Draco's finesse at dealing with Pureblood politics, either.

Against Lucius, she was very nearly powerless.

"Bellatrix is still insisting on meeting with you," he said after a moment. "I cannot, for the life of me, understand why. Do you have a guess?"

She frowned and shook her head. At the lift of one of his dark brows, Hermione sighed. "I do not. I was under the impression she hated me and would prefer that I am kept isolated from wizarding society."

"Oh, she does," he agreed quite readily. "She detests you. If you— not just other mudbloods, but you in particular— could be locked away, or made to disappear entirely, I think it would suit her well. Why, Hermione, does she hate you so much more than others of your kind?"

She hated how he said her name, which was happening with greater frequency. "You would know better than I, I would think."

His silver eyes narrowed. "There's nothing you can think of?"

"I exist; therefore, she abhors me."

"Why does she want to speak with you?" he urged, his voice dropping to a low hiss.

"I already told you; I don't know." She was starting to get angry again. Her robes felt too hot, despite the prickling coolness of the air. Her cheeks burned scarlet, and her jaw ached from clenching it so often. "Perhaps we should ask her?"

He hummed, and his forefinger stroked thoughtfully over the silver serpent atop his cane. "That is not such a terrible idea. Tippy." The elf popped into being, the first other she'd seen since Lucius Malfoy locked her up and bowed low. "Is my sister-in-law still present?"

The elf tugged one ear as she rose. "Yes, Master. She is poking around the manor, looking for Mistress and the young Master."

"Bring her here." The elf bowed again and disappeared with a resounding pop! that hurt Hermione's sensitive ears. The elf came with the woman in tow not a minute later, appearing in front of the hearth.

For the first time since she'd met the horrid woman, Bellatrix looked wretched. Her black curls were in disarray, and there was something stiff and rusty on some of the delicate layers of her gown. Her skin was sallow, her lips dry and pale, her ink drop eyes stared out from bruised sockets, and marks littered her flesh in lurid reds and purples and greens.

Her crazed gaze darted around the room before settling on Hermione, and then she practically leapt to stand in front of the girl. "You!" Her wand was extended straight at Hermione, who had hers raised the moment the other witch had entered. "You need to come with me."

"Why?"

Bellatrix giggled wildly. "Because he wants to see you, of course."

Lucius rose, though his in-law paid him no mind. "Who wants to see her?"

"Come, now, mudblood. Don't you want to see him, too?" she teased, her smile flashing teeth and pale gums alike. "Come on. We need—" She strode to the door, but the handle refused to turn for her, so her face fell into a frown. "We must leave this room. Is it one of the other doors, then?"

"Bellatrix," Lucius intoned sharply, and then his sister-in-law seemed to notice him.

"Oh, Lucius, this is where you've been keeping her? You naughty boy. What is this, a secret love nest ? I knew you found the girl attractive, Luci, but this—" and the words tittered into giggles again. "He's going to be angry if you've touched her. I hope you have. Perhaps he'll see she's dirty then. Just a dirty, filthy mudblood girl."

Hermione rubbed her temple with her nondominant hand, trying to keep up with the woman's inane ramblings.

"I think she's lost the plot," she murmured to Lucius, who was comfortingly poised in the face of the manic Bellatrix.

He tipped his head as he inspected the guest. "What did he do to you, Bellatrix?"

One small hand waved shakily at the question. "Oh, you know him. He loves his curses, Tommy does. It's nothing. It's nothing , Lucius. He'll do worse if I don't bring her."

Tommy. "Professor Riddle?" Hermione hazarded, her gaze flicking between the two adults.

"Oh, yes. He's a force when he's upset. So beautiful. Like a storm." Her eyes turned wistful as she spoke, and then Bellatrix laughed again. "But I really don't want him to kill me, so we'd best be going. Lucius, darling, how do we leave the manor from here?"

Lucius strode to her and wrapped a large hand around her slender wrist and directed her wand to face a wall rather than out into the room. "Hermione won't be leaving with you, Bellatrix."

"But—" Bellatrix turned toward Hermione, then back to her brother-in-law. "But she must. Tom told me I had to bring her to him."

"She belongs to me," Lucius reminded her gently. "You helped make that happen, remember?"

The witch pouted. Her eyes became glossy, and her lower lip trembled. "Yes, and it made him so mad. That's why I need to— need to fix this. I need to show him."

Hermione ignored Lucius' possessive words and instead asked, "Show him what?"

"That I can serve him. I am worthy. I am." Desperation was thick in the crazed woman's voice as she clung to her host in vain. Her empty hand clutched at the front of his robes to draw him over her tear-streak cheeks. "I thought— I thought it was best. I thought the mudblood was distracting him. But, Lucius, oh— she makes him terrifying. He will kill us all if you don't give her to him. He's even more beautiful and..."

"One upstart halfblood is no threat to me," he replied scathingly. He scoffed, plucked her wand from her fingers, and shoved her away. "You're pathetic. Is this what the House of Black has been reduced to? I can only hope I bred out such fault in Draco."

From her place on the floor, Bellatrix just laughed. "You don't understand. You've never understood." She smothered her fit of giggles. "But then, you don't know, do you? Oh, you don't! Of course, you don't know. He's been so clever, so selective. And I only found out by accident."

"What?" Malfoy grit out. When she just continued muttering to herself, Lucius tugged her hair and demanded, "What is it that I don't know?"

She smacked her lips and leaned up toward him, and Hermione crept closer to hear. "He's the Heir of Slytherin."

Both witches watched as Lucius absorbed this knowledge. He huffed and shook his head. "No. I don't believe you."

"He is," Bellatrix sang. "Oh, he is. He is, he is. He's descended from the House of Gaunt. His silly squib mummy chased after a dirty muggle, and that's how Tommy was born. But she was a Gaunt, and one of the last of the line of Salazar Slytherin himself. He inherited all of daddy's beauty, and all of his forebearer's power."

"So, I suppose he opened the Chamber in the 40s?" the man replied dismissively, but Bellatrix eagerly nodded her answer. He didn't seem to buy the answer.

"What chamber?" Hermione asked.

Bellatrix crawled closer to her, seemingly unaware or uncaring that she was on the ground and the other stood, an odd reversal of positions. "The Chamber of Secrets. It's a place Slytherin built after the fracture of the Founders, and it houses a monster that hunts mudbloods. Just. Like. You."

Lucius tapped his wand against his thigh. "Then why hasn't he loosened it again?"

"Because he's building his army, of course," the woman declared. "Dumbledore almost got him last time, so he's playing the long game. And he thinks she can help." Her gaze turned speculative, and she turned to Lucius. "Don't you want to help him, Lucius? He has a plan to put this world to rights."

"Yet he needs a mudblood to do it?" Lucius sneered.

"She's exceptional . You said so, too," Bellatrix spat. "That's why you were going to breed her yourself."

Hermione's stomach twisted and dropped like she'd just hopped aboard a broom. She looked at the tall man, her eyes wide and mouth wanting to form the question, but unable. Instead, she just waited for him to refute it.

"She is exceptional," Lucius agreed. "For a mudblood. A man like him, the Heir himself, should not need a mudblood to gain power. So, either you lie— unknowingly or not— or he's too weak to live up to his lineage."

"He's not weak!" Bellatrix growled and nearly threw herself at the man, her shoulders hunched as she stood nearly in arms' reach. "He is the most powerful wizard I have ever known. Go to him, and you'll see."

"You want me to go to him?"

She nodded and gathered herself up. "Yes, go and test him yourself. I guarantee you will find him a stronger opponent than you can handle."

"That's quite enough from you." He grabbed the back of her gown like scruffing a kitten, then threw a glare toward Hermione. "Sit and wait. I'll be back momentarily." The knob turned with ease for the lord of the manor, he slammed it behind himself to drag his mad sister-in-law away.