12 GRIMMAULD PLACE, LONDON, ENGLAND; 5TH AUGUST 1977
Hermione was standing between her parents, her hair done in a beautiful updo tucked at the base of her neck while a few extra strands framed her face. The dress her mother had pulled out had a high waist and a modest neckline, making her look plain and uninteresting. However, she'd thought she looked reasonably pretty.
Helen had profusely apologized but explained that the archaic nature of their society called for such dress, and Hermione nodded in understanding. Not that she did understand, because she felt like she was out of time looking at herself with a dusting of makeup that just accentuated her cheeks.
"Interesting place for the Black family to live," her father observed as they stood on the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place. "For the amount of hate they have towards muggles and muggleborns, you'd think they'd want to live in the country."
Hermione was hardly listening to her parents because as she looked up at the door before her, she could feel a strange sense of being drawing her in here. It was just as it had been when she'd gone to Diagon Alley as if she knew this place, and her magic reaffirmed the idea as it reacted happily to the familiarity.
Why would this be the reaction caused by the ancestral home of the Black family? She'd felt nothing like this when she first came to the Greengrass Estate, which was now technically her family home since she'd been adopted. It was only now that her magic was beginning to relax in the estate in East Sussex, allowing her to find comfort in the warmth of the magical home. It wasn't something that came overnight, but here it felt like this was somewhere that she'd spent much time and was safe for her. It was very curious.
However, her mind wasn't allowed to wander far because the door was swung open all too soon to reveal the most haunted-looking house elf she'd ever seen. His long, crooked nose and scowling face were nothing like the Greengrass elves, who seemed more than happy to love and care for anyone they were directed towards.
Instead, Hermione wondered if this particular elf might not be inclined to be a bit more deranged and dangerous. Or as dangerous as a house elf could be to a witch or wizard.
"My Mistress has been expecting you, filthy blood traitors," the elf scowled and sneered, causing Hermione's brows to shoot into her hairline. "Late after the honor of being invited into the home of the ancient and noble house of Black, disgrace."
None of the guests said a word and only followed the incredibly rude elf into the home. From Helen's description of Mrs. Black, Hermione got the feeling that the elf wouldn't be punished for his actions but possibly praised. And now they were being forced to sit and dine with that very woman, all because Hermione hadn't thought there would be rules for accepting gifts from a rude boy. She only accepted gifts because she was trying to deter him by showing incredible rudeness herself by demanding much more than was appropriate to ask for.
"I present the Greengrass family," the elf croaked, bowing deeply in the drawing room doorway he'd brought them to. Again, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't living in the 70s but the Victorian Era because this was too much.
"Helen, wonderful to see you," Hermione heard a woman say, but her voice sounded much more scorn than pleased at the idea of having Helen Greengrass in her home. It took another moment before Hermione looked at the woman who'd spoken, when she did, she was shocked by what she found.
Her curiosity got the best of her, and Hermione looked around her parents – who'd placed themselves protectively in front of her – and nearly pulled back at the sight of the woman.
Unlike her son, this woman had nothing but contempt and an air of arrogance about her. Her nose was perfectly straight and came to a point. Her grey eyes were cold, and Hermione felt a shiver just looking at them, even though they weren't turned on her. Her eyes, while the same color as her son's, didn't hold any of the same humane look and instead were beady and nearly like ice. She was unusually tall for a woman, but Hermione could tell she was very slender despite the dress she wore hiding her figure.
Her cheekbones stuck out, and the scowl on her face and the deep frown lines told Hermione that this woman had most likely not found any joy or humor in her entire life. She quite resembled what Hermione would picture a crow to look like if it were to transform into a woman and then find itself stuck just before the transfiguration process was completed.
"I daresay, Walburga, I wish I could share the sentiment." Hermione slapped her hand to her mouth to muffle the snort of laughter. She hadn't expected Helen to be overtly warm and gracious, but to be downright hostile, Hermione struggled to contain herself.
"I suppose it's no wonder your daughter prances around like a strumpet instead of being appropriately chaperoned," the other woman snipped. "You haven't changed in the slightest since our school days. What Regulus finds intriguing about your daughter, I can only imagine it has more to do with temptation than anything else."
Hermione could feel the blood draining from her face in embarrassment, but it was quickly apparent that the adults wouldn't just call the entire evening off despite it being clear that none wanted to be there.
"Hermione, love," Hector said, drawing her attention to his uncharacteristically stern face. His usually playful whiskey-colored eyes were hard, and his stare was directed toward Mr. Black. However, the head of the Black family seemed utterly unphased or intimidated by Hector. "If you wouldn't mind seeing yourself to the library for entertainment. You may call for Tilly to act as the chaperone until dinner has begun."
Giving a brief curtsy to each of the adults in the room, Hermione wasted no time arguing the point of staying. She had no desire to stick around and listen to the row that was certain to be coming. Walburga Black seemed like a cow, and Helen Greengrass was ready to take her to pasture.
She was safely in the hall before Hermione turned and watched the door close as the voices in the other room began to rise. It seemed Helen had more grievances with Mrs. Black than just how Regulus treated Hermione. However, as Hermione thought back to their interaction, he couldn't think of anything he'd done that was anything like how his parents were acting. He had been intrusive and arrogant, yes. He'd also tricked her into accepting his offer of courtship without her knowing what he was doing, which was rotten.
But he'd never thrown horrible slang in her direction as his mother had just done.
Simply put, Hermione didn't mind that she wasn't the sole topic of conversation being hashed out. Nor that she had been dismissed and would not be forced to witness it.
Opening her mouth, Hermione was ready to do as was asked of her and request for Tilly to join her, but Hermione decided against it quickly enough. She wasn't particularly inclined to have someone watching over her shoulder right then, not after the insult Walburga had thrown at her cut so deeply.
In her heart, Hermione could feel that this wasn't the first time that someone had made such offensive suggestions about her character and her morals. It wasn't that she particularly cared what Mrs. Black thought of her, but the last time this happened, the matriarch who had said such horrible things was someone Hermione had once admired.
Though her head ached as it tried to bring that memory to the forefront of her mind, it just wasn't there for her to grasp onto. It alluded to her, just as everything else about her life did.
Cursing herself for feeling the heartache over an event that shouldn't have mattered, Hermione stormed up the narrow stairwell hidden behind a nook where a grandfather clock was sitting. Against everything that should be logical, Hermione had just known that passage was there.
Again, her feet seemed to know exactly where to take her in this strange house. The adults would be in blows soon, and as Hermione crept up the back stairwell, she knew she was venturing into a strictly off-limits area.
She'd come to the third level of the home, and somehow, again, she just knew that the secret entrance into the library was just beyond the portrait hanging in front of her. Hermione reached out, her hand effortlessly passing through the backside of the painting, but stopped, turning around, sensing as if she weren't alone any longer.
However, she couldn't see anyone when she looked in the darkness. Truthfully, it was so dark and dimly lit that even if someone else had been walking through the passage, they wouldn't have been able to see her unless they were pressed against her.
Shaking her head, realizing how utterly ridiculous she was, Hermione turned her attention back to her destination and pushed through the carefully crafted illusion. Her body passed through without any resistance, and in seconds, Hermione dropped into the deepest parts of the Black Library.
It was magnificent. The shelves disappeared into the ceiling, a ladder resting against the heavy oak, the only thing allowing someone to search the hidden gems on the highest shelves. She hummed in satisfaction, though utterly confused about how she'd found her way here without any guide.
Pushing that thought aside, Hermione made her way into the stacks, searching for something to read while she waited for whatever disaster this evening was sure to be. That was if the event would proceed as planned since wands would undoubtedly be drawn at some point from what she'd heard as she'd left.
Finding a handful of books to flip through, Hermione opened the first one and began to flip the pages reading in the personal journal of Newt Scamander. How the Black family had gotten their hands on such a treasure was beyond her, but Hermione couldn't turn down so much knowledge being dropped in her lap.
Not paying attention to where she was going, her body knowing the way, Hermione let out a scream when she slammed into a rigid body. Her cry was muffled quickly by a giant hand clamping over her mouth as another arm wrapped around her waist and dragged her out of the central aisle and into a deserted row.
Squirming against her captor, Hermione's body froze when she heard the low rumble of Regulus' voice and realized who she was intimately pressed against. However, it wasn't his nearness that had caused her blood to turn cold, but the words he whispered into the shell of her ear.
"I dare say, Ms. Greengrass. It seems we have matters to discuss." Hermione's eyes widened, looking up into the grey storm above her. "Such as how do you know the secrets of my ancestral home so well."