Song Suggestion: Jome- "Cinnamon"

A/N: I threw in a Prince of Egypt Easter Egg. Tell me if you find it.

Thank you to MyPrivateInsanity for taking my trash first draft and turning it into a treasure!

A Proper Stance

Early in March, a ferocious Eurasian eagle owl delivered a giant scroll. It harassed the elves until Tabitha gave it two raw chicken legs before flying away. Titus intercepted the scroll, and after a few days, he handed it over with a grimace, as if the very act cut something inside him. Hermione attempted to control her excitement, but as she got close to her room, she broke into a run, catapulted onto her bed, and then unrolled the scroll from Draco.

I have a list of questions for you to answer. Beside them, I've listed my preferences. I think this is the best way to get to know one another.

1.How do you prefer your tea? I only like hot cocoa. I drink it every night, even in the summer.

2.Favourite colour? Regrettably, mine is red. I know— it's embarrassing. I refuse to wear it in case someone mistakes me for one of those moronic imbeciles that wear the colour proudly (Potter). Your brother needs to reevaluate his friendships.

3.Do you have any pets? We have a whole stable of horses. My favourite is a black stallion named Anubis. In France, my father has a Pegasus—though he hasn't let me ride it yet. We also have peacocks, but I hate the little shites. Especially Alfred. I'd recommend not trying to pet him, because he has a taste for blood. After trying to maul me, I promised to cook him into a stew, but father forbade me from murdering the bird. I'm not sure why. He doesn't contribute anything to the manor.

4…

The letter went on for thirty-six inches of questions. When Titus asked what she thought of the letter, she shrugged, attempting to prove she didn't care about it, but she kept it hidden under her pillow. At night, she'd pull it out to run her fingers along the ink. Titus said he'd let her respond after a few months. As he put it, "We'll keep him in suspense."


Close to summer, Hemione was sitting by the pond with Katie and Julie after their lessons, when she noticed Dean and Finch had been missing for an hour.

"Do you think they went inside for a snack?" Despite constantly eating, Finch remained skeletal.

"I don't know." Katie leaned back on a blanket they brought outside, closing her eyes in the sunshine. "I'm staying here though. I've missed the sun."

"Me too," Julie said.

Hermione got up without them. She searched the grounds and the manor without luck. The treehouse was the last place she looked. When she went up the bucket rope, peeking over the edge, she almost let out a gasp.

Dean pressed tight against Finch on the couch, mouth attached in a deep kiss. Both of them had removed their shirts, and Dean had a hand down the front of Finch's trousers.

Finch moaned, and Hermione gave a squeak of surprise. At the noise, the two boys scrambled apart, wide-eyed, while Finch adjusted his trousers. Before he tugged on his shirt, she saw twisting scars down Finch's back— tangles of mutilated skin. Some of them looked like burn marks.

"Oh Merlin!" Hermione wished to melt into the ground. "I— I'm sorry. I'll just—"

She made to leave, cheeks red and hot with embarrassment, but Dean stopped her.

"Wait, Hermione," he said. "Let me explain."

"It's okay."

"No, please, come in and sit down."

Hermione climbed inside and awkwardly made her way to the far side of the treehouse, sitting in one of the smaller chairs. All three of them looked like they might die from the tension. Finally, Hermione decided to speak.

"So… how long have you two—" she motioned to them.

Dean grabbed the end of the couch in a tight hold as he answered.

"Just for a few months."

"I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about," Hermione said. "I promise— well, unless you want me to."

Finch sighed with relief.

"We plan on telling Katie and Julie one day, but this is new."

"I didn't know two boys could… kiss." They'd been doing much more than that, but she wanted to minimise the embarrassment. "It's not something we planned. It just happened," Finch said. "Two girls can be together as well. At least, I assume they can."

The three of them blushed at the same time.

"Titus knows," Dean said.

Hermione's eyes widened. If Titus discovered she'd kissed Draco, "angry" would be a tame word to describe his reaction.

"Is he okay with it?"

"I guess so," Dean said. "Titus told us we'd have to stop coming to the lessons. He said we were getting old enough that we might have… urges. So I just blurted out on accident that I only liked Finch. He made us take Veritaserum to make sure we weren't lying about our feelings for each other. I thought we'd get in trouble, but he just said we could come back the next day."

As he spoke, Hermione realised something.

"But what about when you have to be with Pansy and Daphne?"

The Greengrass and Parkinson families already gave their masters a down payment, Finch for Daphne and Dean for Pansy. Women didn't have to participate in the Trials like the men. It was treated as a transaction, bought and sold, used as a last resort for families with no male heirs.

It felt wrong—even more wrong than the Trials—but she couldn't verbalise why. It just rested heavily inside her stomach, a new weight she didn't know how to dislodge.

Harry's parents had been married before the Trials began. She'd always assumed his mum, even as a muggleborn, had somehow been given to Mr. Potter in an arranged marriage according to Pureblood tradition, but after discussing it with Theo, she learned that Lily had chosen Mr. Potter.

She chose him.

The very idea rocked something in Hermione's head. A choice. The thought bothered her so much that one day she braved asking Titus why she couldn't just choose her wizard - why bother going through the Trials? He'd said it was the law, and just the way things were, though he seemed uncomfortable with the topic.

A part of her agreed with him: she generally liked to follow rules. But the other part, the secret part inside her, stewed in bitterness. She felt like something had been stolen out from under her nose without her knowing, and she'd just now noticed the loss. But Hermione didn't quite know what had been stolen in the first place.

Dean grimaced at her question.

"We'll have to do our duty somehow, but I'm not looking forward to it."

Hermione nodded, but her heart filled with worry for her friends.

"I guess it won't matter if you two are together now since there's no worry of babies."

Again, she blushed at the thought, wishing she'd just kept her mouth shut.

"Yeah," they both answered.

Earlier in the year, Katie had told her the true process of sex. A man put his penis inside a woman and moved until something came out. From that, a baby was made. It made sense, but she still wished to have a book to study the process more.

If the boys couldn't manage to give the purebloods an heir, especially a male heir, they'd probably be sent to the muggleborn camps outside Knockturn Alley, and then they'd only be able to get menial jobs.

"I'm glad you found each other before—" Hermione didn't want to finish. Both the boys stared at the ground. "Anyway, if you want time together in the future, just give me a wink, and I'll cover for you."

Dean beamed. He looked incredibly relieved.

"Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione grit her teeth, gearing up for the last question, not sure if she wanted the answer.

"Finch?"

"Yeah?"

"What caused those scars on your back?"

Dean and Finch glanced at each other. Obviously, they'd already discussed it.

"Vincent doesn't like me much," Finch said carefully.

Her heart stopped in her chest.

"Vincent did that to you?" Her shock turned to anger. "Have you told anyone? I could get Titus to–"

"No, Hermione, stop," Dean said. "They won't do anything."

"What do you mean they won't do anything? He's being hurt and—"

"I'm saying there's no legal way to help him. Titus couldn't do anything, even if you begged him, and it might make it worse. As long as—" Dean sucked in a breath. "As long as his ability to produce children isn't harmed, or he isn't injured seriously, they can hurt him as much as they want to."

Hermione's stomach clenched. She reached out blindly, grasping at the small table beside her for stability. Her anger coursed through her. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She knew how Titus treated her was unusual among the purebloods, but she always thought physical abuse was off-limits. Katie had a decent relationship with her masters — at least, they never hit her. Dean's master allowed him some liberties, like flying and attending the school. And Bellatrix would fillet someone and eat them for dinner if they ever hurt Julie.

All this time, Finch had never told her of his pain. He'd made references about Vincent being cruel, but he'd gloss over it.

"I'm sorry," Hermione managed to say. The words felt stale in her mouth, but she didn't know what else to do.

They spent the rest of the time that day in mutual silence, thinking of the inevitable future.


Theo had almost failed Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, so Hermione spent most of the summer sitting over a simmering cauldron with him as he bemoaned his punishment of continued summer lessons.

"You're slicing it in thirds, when it's supposed to be in fourths," Hermione reminded.

Theo ignored her.

"Well, don't get mad at me when you turn purple after testing it," Hermione said. "Titus will just make you do it again."

Theo pointed his knife at her, sweat beading on his forehead.

"You don't have to be here, you know. Go bother Bitty or something."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"But it's fun bothering you." She hopped up on the table next to him, swinging her legs. She picked up the potions book and read through a few pages. The tutors assigned to their muggleborn school didn't teach advanced spells or transfiguration, but they did teach basic charms and potions, along with ancient runes, care of magical creatures, and arithmancy. The tutors gave them a ministry-approved generic wand after Christmas break, and Hermione had to pretend to struggle along with the others. In private, she practised the more advanced curriculum Titus gave her. It frustrated her, because ever since he'd gotten her a wand, he restricted her access to some of the library books with information on dark spells, advanced theories, and wandless magic. When she reached for those books, her hand went straight through, leaving her with limited options for education.

Her wandless magic stagnated, much like Lucius predicted, though she didn't understand why. She could still perform the spells on her curriculum without a wand, but they weren't as powerful. A magical theory could probably explain it, but she now had no way to solve the mystery. She needed more than what she was allowed. The thirst slicked down her throat into her belly, turning into a ravenous hunger.

Hermione stared at Theo as he began slicing the newt tail in fourths, and an idea came to her. Titus would get angry if he found out, but she needed a training partner for duelling, and she trusted no one else to keep the secret. Theo could also benefit from the practice. They could help each other.

"Theo, when you finish, let's do something different." She grinned at him. "Though you have to promise not to tell anyone, especially Titus."

Theo looked up and pointed the knife in her direction again.

"That's what you always say right before we get into massive trouble."

"Do you want to know my plan or not?"

He gave a deep sigh.

"Fine." He pushed up his glasses. "Just give me a minute before I do the thing you want me to do that I know I'll regret."

"Perfect." She jumped off the table. "Meet me in the duelling room."

"Duelling room!" Theo yelled out, but she was already walking out. "Wait, come back Hermione. What are we doing in the duelling room?"


Theo stood across from her with a scowl on his face. She held her wand—her real wand—out for him to see.

"I can't believe you never told me."

For once, Hermione felt ashamed. She'd hated keeping it a secret.

"I was sworn to secrecy," Hermione said.

"As if that has ever stopped you before."

"I was going to tell you eventually, but I didn't want to write about it in a letter, and the only time I saw you in person was the Yule Ball, Christmas, and Easter. There was too much going on."

Theo's hazel eyes narrowed on her in thought.

"Show me."

She did a simple lumos just to prove she could. And then she did more complicated spells, the last transfiguring a stick into a wooden snake that slithered along the floor—something she'd learned from a few pages of old class notes she'd stolen from Theo.

"Well, now you're just showing off."

They grinned at each other, and then he frowned.

"The official story with the kidnapping isn't true, is it?"

"I used my magic," she admitted. "I didn't win, though. He would have killed me if it wasn't for Lucius."

Theo seemed to be thinking.

"I guess that explains why Titus accepted Draco's token. That always confused me. I figured Lucius had something over him. Only a Malfoy would dare to blackmail Titus that way."

"It worked."

"For now," Theo warned. "Titus doesn't want Draco to win you, even if you like him. So I wouldn't get intimate with the idea of Draco as your wizard. Titus will find a way for him to lose." Theo levelled her with a look that looked both worried and accusing.

"You want me with Viktor anyway."

"True." He grinned. "Though I don't want you to move to Bulgaria. Maybe we can convince their government to allow a special portkey for us."

The thought of the future brought about a sharp discomfort. It always seemed so far away, but she turned sixteen in September. In two years, Titus could decide to start the Selection. Her nightmares became a different sort of panic: four walls closing in, squeezing tighter and tighter until nothing remained of her soul.

Hermione outstretched her wand toward Theo.

"Do you want to practise duelling or not? Based on your marks, you need a lot of help."

"You're rather cheeky for a beginner."

"We'll see." She smiled and flung her first curse, and Theo blocked it.

Later, her chest felt both tight and lighter, as if she'd had a good workout, muscles sore. Her magic flexed inside her, grateful to finally be challenged.


Malfoy,

1.I prefer pumpkin juice to tea. Sometimes I like coffee, but only without sugar or milk. According to Theo, that makes me a psychopath, though that's up for interpretation. Drinking hot cocoa during the summer might qualify you as a psychopath as well. It's something to think about.

2.My favourite colour is black. It has a bad reputation for no reason, always associated with death, but it's the colour of outer space and onyx and ink—some of my favourite things. Also, red is a great colour. You shouldn't be ashamed of it. But I may be biased because I'm one hundred percent a Gryffindor.

3.I don't have any pets. Titus doesn't want another living thing to worry about. I've attempted to catch a gnome to stay in my treehouse, but they're quick when they want to be. I also have a collection of bugs from my friend Finch, but I've never liked them like he does. Maybe one day I can convince Titus to get me a cat.

4…

She wrote thirty-two inches on the scroll before sending it to Titus to approve. She hoped Malfoy briefly choked on his hot cocoa when he discovered she was a Gryffindor.


Hermione spent the rest of the summer practising with Theo. She never went without her wand in the duelling room, but at night, she practised without it, moving objects with intention, attempting to strengthen her wandless magic. She'd end in a sweaty mess from the simplest task. After several months of obsessive practice, she managed to do most of the spells on the curriculum without her wand, but she still wasn't at the level she wanted to be.

When Theo left back to Hogwarts for his fifth year, Hermione almost lived in the duelling room after school. A dummy that absorbed spells was her opponent. She'd take her position, bow low, and then go through her litany of spells until she tired.

One day— after sending a strong Incarcerous—Hermione heard clapping. She looked up to find Titus resting against the doorway to the room with a sly smile.

"I see you finally told Theo." He walked forward, and Hermione lowered her wand. "It took much longer than I thought it would."

"How did you find out?"

"Those spells are not on the approved curriculum."

She tensed, unsure if she'd get in trouble or not.

"How long have you known?"

"Most of the summer," he admitted. "If I was opposed to it, the duelling sessions would have stopped in June." He reached in his pocket and took out his own wand. It had a slight curve to the side and a gnarled center. Titus was ambidextrous with his spell casting, able to fling curses in unexpected ways, and his reflexes remained unmatched among his peers. "Theo doesn't know any spells I'd disapprove of you learning." He stood next to her. "But your stance needs work."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised. He usually avoided any conversation pertaining to spells, magic, or duelling. Out of sight, out of mind. He always stared at her wand with a pensive expression, as if it might turn into an animal and bite him.

"Flex your knees, like this." He bent his knees, and she attempted to copy him. "Looser, not so tight. Shift your weight as you cast. Try not to always step forward on the same side you cast. It makes you predictable."

She tried until she got the bend in her knees correct and the shift and slight twist of the pelvis to make the aim truer when flinging a curse. He then attempted to show her how to curve the trajectory of a spell. That took more work, but after an hour she managed to do it once, though her aim left much to be desired.

Completely exhausted, she wiped the sweat off her brow with the edge of her sleeve. Even though Titus cast just as much as she did, he didn't even look winded. He rarely missed—a perfect shot each time. She could see how he'd be a formidable opponent.

"Thanks for helping me," she said.

"I couldn't have you copying Theo's terrible stance. We have the Nott image to uphold." He stopped, suddenly serious. "Tell me the truth, and I won't stop the duelling practice— what's your motivation?"

Hermione tried to formulate her thoughts, unsure herself. She didn't know where the obsessive desire for knowledge and magic stemmed from.

"I don't want to be caught off guard again," she said. "If the Order—or anyone else—tries to take me, I'd like to kill them myself."

Titus still wore a serious frown, but he sighed, as if giving up.

"I'll give you a more advanced curriculum soon. I can tell you're bored with the previous one. To be honest, you probably already knew it all before I gave you the list. By this point, you could probably do most of those beginner spells wandless."

"Almost all," she admitted.

He shook his head in amusement, but she caught a moment of hesitancy. Hermione wondered what he was worried about. She'd never use the spells against him. Why keep her magic subdued?

A question had been gnawing at her for months. She'd at first tried to dismiss it, but it tumbled out of her.

"If I asked you a question, would you tell me the truth?"

"If I'm able to. What's bothering you?"

"When I was in Knockturn Alley, I saw… I saw the older muggleborns. Why do they live like that—dirty and without food?"

He searched her expression, as if digging for clues.

"They refuse to work, Sprite," he said carefully. "We've offered them jobs, but they will not take them. They prefer to live that way." His hand clenched. "Everyone must contribute in some way to society if they can. Don't you agree?"

Hermione hesitated.

"Yes, but—"

"I can't change their circumstance. This world is full of problems, and I can't solve them all." He stepped closer to her. "There are plenty of muggleborns who are happy, working at various businesses or pureblood estates. The group you encountered has eschewed help from authorities. I won't allow you to end up like that, if that's what you're concerned about. If the man that wins you in the Trials doesn't treat you in the way that you deserve, I will march into his home and steal you back. Do you understand? You don't need to worry."

Something unravelled in her, as if he'd pulled a string she didn't realise she carried coiled in her heart. She allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Can I ask you another question?"

"Only one more," he teased.

"When Viktor danced with me, he said—well, he called you the Butcher of Manchester."

Titus' shoulders stiffened.

"Did he now?"

Hermione refused to fidget under his hard stare like she wished. Instead, she straightened.

"Why would he call you that?"

Titus didn't answer right away. His jaw clenched, and he glanced out the window.

"It's what the muggles call me," he confessed in a quiet voice. "Several foreign countries use the title as well, including the Americans."

Hermione's stomach dropped. Her mouth went dry.

The Butcher.

"But you—"

"It's not an exaggeration."

Hermione paused, not expecting that. She blinked a few times in dismay.

"What do you mean?" Her voice sounded small in her throat.

"Don't act surprised I've killed people, Sprite. You've always known my work requires me to arrest Order members. It's dangerous work, and sometimes it requires me to take a life."

She did know that, but she always thought it resembled justice. The name "Butcher" suggested cruelty, something she found hard to see in him.

He sighed heavily, noticing her troubled expression.

"Two months after the Order attempted to kidnap you, I managed to find their base in Manchester." His eyes became unfocused, as if reliving the memory. "I caught fifty-two rebels—the largest amount found in years."

Hermione kept her whole body still as Titus paused, not wanting him to stop. He didn't always answer her questions like this.

"What happened?"

"In previous years, I might have executed the leaders and sent the rest to labour camps, but they needed to be taught a lesson." He pocketed his gnarled, curved wand. "I executed them publicly, and then butchered them into pieces, hanging their remains along the main streets of the city. As a warning to the Order, I let the corpses rot for days, and if anyone was caught gathering the pieces, they were punished." He walked forward and grabbed her stiff shoulders, knowing this unsettled her. He leaned down so they were on the same level. "They now know the consequences for trying to take you from me. If they do it again, I'll butcher a hundred, and I refuse to feel sorry for that."

She didn't know if that comforted or disturbed her. Were the Order members criminals, deserving of their fate? Or were they victims? The questions swirled in her mind without answers. He gave one more squeeze to her shoulders and then let her go, walking toward the door. A teasing grin tilted the edge of his lips up.

"Keep working on your duelling stance, Sprite. It's only slightly better than Theo's."