XI. Forewarning
Ginny was already awake when the shrill sound of her alarm pierced the quiet morning, mimicking the screech of a cave troll. A quirky gift from Luna Lovegood, her former dormitory mate, during their school years at Nereid. Ginny was habitually a heavy sleeper, often impervious to the noise of her alarms. The troll's jarring shriek forced a reluctant Ginny to leave the comfort of her bed to silence the racket.
Sleep had eluded her for most of the night, a common occurrence when a visit to the Ministry of Magic loomed the next day. Ruth, her colleague at Burke's Bountiful Brews, had returned to the shop, having fully recovered from a nasty bout of spattergroit. As a result, Ginny resumed her part-time duties at the apothecary, working there for the first three days of the week. The remainder of her week was dedicated to assisting Cressida Warrington with her decree project.
Ginny's four-week tenure there had so far proven a grueling and unremitting ordeal. She had harbored a naive hope that things would improve with time, but this hope had swiftly evaporated. Instead, waves of nausea and anxiety overwhelmed her, growing ever more intense. On the eve of her Ministry visits, Ginny's evenings were plagued by a suffocating dread of what lay ahead. Finding sleep on those nights had proven difficult. Despite the Ministry's pay being double that of the apothecary, it did little to alleviate her burgeoning apprehension.
An hour later, Ginny stood before the Governor's office door, her every move scrutinized by the watchful eyes of the guards. At least they no longer harassed her upon entry. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage, before stepping into the room. Inside, she found Cormac McLaggen was deeply engaged in conversation with Mandy Brocklehurst. As usual, Mandy greeted her with an expression of utter contempt. Ginny ignored her, proceeding to the small desk allocated to her.
"Ahem," she suddenly heard a few seconds later, as she was setting up her things.
She briefly met Cormac's gaze as she glanced up.
"Governor Warrington requests your presence; she is waiting in her office," he conveyed with his characteristic pomposity then silently retreated to his own seat, without another word.
Nervous, Ginny rose and made her way down the corridor to Mrs. Warrington's office. She gave a quick knock and turned the handle upon hearing the invitation to enter. This was the first time she had ever been in Cressida Warrington's office. The room, lavishly furnished and cloaked in oppressive pastels, exuded a stifling air. The walls, adorned with an array of photos and diverse accolades, spoke volumes of the office's occupant.
A grand portrait dominated the space behind the imposing wooden desk. It depicted Cressida and her husband Casparus, alongside two young adults unfamiliar to Ginny. They bore a striking resemblance to each other, likely twins. The meticulously engraved Warrington family motto at the portrait's base drew her gaze.
- Where Wisdom Reigns, Power Prevails -
"Cassius and Cassandra, my dear children," Cressida announced with evident pride, her eyes tracing Ginny's prolonged gaze on the painting. "The new generation of Warringtons. I pity those who will find themselves in their path. They are very much their mother's children."
Ginny managed a hesitant smile, uncertain how to respond to the remark.
"Do take a seat, Miss Weasley; don't be shy," Cressida invited, gesturing casually towards the chair opposite her desk.
With a wave of her wand, she levitated a tea tray onto the table. Ginny settled into her chair, eyeing the steaming cup before her apprehensively. She felt a knot of nervousness about this summons. Opportunities to speak privately with the Governor had been scarce since joining her team. Cressida Warrington had an imposing presence that inspired awe and trepidation.
"A month has passed since you joined us, hasn't it? How do you find the experience so far?" inquired Cressida, her magical eye intently fixed on Ginny.
The young woman hesitated before answering.
"It has been going quite well," she responded after a pause.
What else could she possibly say? She could hardly confess her true feelings or mention the cold sweats that beset her during each visit. For her, the stakes were immense. As Malfoy had pointed out to her during their last meeting—she had to play her part and do what was asked of her. Ginny forced a smile, wanting to appear convincing. She was unsettled by how effortlessly the lies rolled off her tongue. She was usually an open book with her emotions. Bill's words had been true. Her association with these individuals was taking its toll on her.
"I'm pleased to hear that," declared Cressida, lowering her head as she added cream to her cup of tea.
However, her magical eye continued to fixate on Ginny.
"You know, Miss Weasley… What we're accomplishing is revolutionary," announced Cressida theatrically. "This may profoundly change the course for future generations in our country. Knowing that you've been a part of this change is one of the greatest gifts you'll receive in your lifetime."
"I have no doubt, Madam Governor," Ginny affirmed, her tone somewhat mechanical.
"Allow me to express my pleasure with your contribution thus far," Cressida continued, "although I've always been confident in your capabilities."
Immediately, a wave of relief swept over Ginny. The preceding weeks had been mentally exhausting. She had maintained her silence amidst Mandy's criticisms and snide remarks, fearing to stir trouble and jeopardising her deal with Malfoy. Cressida's vote of confidence filled her with profound relief.
"I'd like to entrust you with more responsibilities," indicated Cressida.
She indulged in a prolonged sip of tea before resuming:
"Every year, I host a charity event, the Hellebore Ball, for my foundation, Cressida's Children," the witch explained. "Katrina oversees its organisation, and I'd like you to assist her this year."
Ginny's eyes widened in surprise at the request.
"I... Of course," she stammered, momentarily caught off-guard.
"Excellent. You may resume your duties. I appreciate your time," Cressida stated, her focus returning to the Daily Prophet.
Ginny offered a quick word of thanks before making her exit, her emotions oscillating between bewilderment and contentment. Passing Mandy, she presented a smile laden with scorn. Mandy's deepening scowl betrayed her displeasure at this development.
Ginny's morning took an unexpected turn after the meeting. Her chat with the Governor elevated her spirits tremendously, dissipating her anxiety. Come lunchtime, buoyed by the meeting, Ginny made her way to the Ministry canteen with a spring in her step. She headed to her usual secluded spot at the back, less likely to draw attention. Walking the Ministry halls, she usually felt a knot in her stomach, conscious of scornful eyes tracking her movements. Her Blood traitor status was common knowledge.
But today, heartened by Cressida's praise, she made her way with renewed conviction. She took out her lunch from her bag—sandwiches hastily prepared that morning. The exorbitant prices at the Ministry's canteen stretched beyond her budget.
Shortly thereafter, as she eagerly bit into her cheese sandwich, Ginny noticed a tray being set down on her table. Surprised, she looked up to find a blonde woman, clad in an elegant, fitted pale blue dress, taking the seat opposite her.
Ginny recognised Katrina Street-Porter, the press secretary to Governor Warrington. She had barely spoken to Ginny since her arrival at the office.
"So, we'll be working together on the Governor's charity ball," Katrina began, her voice teeming with enthusiasm, as she energetically delved into her salad.
Ginny nodded, unsure how to interact with this woman with whom she'd had little exchange. Out of caution, she opted to maintain her guard around all members of Cressida's cabinet.
"I needed assistance, so I suggested your name and she agreed—which is a good sign for you. This ball is her baby—she uses it to impress the upper echelons every year. It means she trusts you," Katrina said, smirking.
"Good to know," Ginny replied hesitantly.
Katrina's cordiality took her by surprise, given her prior aloofness over the past weeks. Ginny overheard Mandy's raised voice as she appeared to be angrily berating a canteen worker for reasons unknown.
"That woman is perpetually cross; it seems almost chronic with her," remarked Katrina, rolling her eyes.
Her gaze had followed Ginny's. Ginny redirected her attention to Katrina, puzzled by her sharp critique of their colleague. This day was certainly full of revelations.
"She backed off quickly when she realised her tactics wouldn't work with me," Katrina leaned towards Ginny, explaining as though confiding a secret. "Don't worry about her. She's all bark and no bite. She can only intimidate you if you allow it."
"Good to know, thank you," Ginny responded, her face darkening as she shot a quick glance at Mandy.
"You're welcome. We Blood Traitors need to stick together," Katrina whispered, after taking a bite of her food.
Ginny's eyes widened, certain she had misheard.
"You're also a..." Ginny began, her voice trailing off.
"I once was," Katrina corrected solemnly. "But it's not widely known, and I'd rather keep it that way. I trust in your discretion regarding this matter."
Ginny nodded swiftly, a mix of relief and shock washing over her at Katrina's revelation. Katrina seemed the epitome of privilege - it was hard to picture her facing stigma for her bloodline.
"I've been watching you for a while," Katrina admitted, peering at Ginny through her dragon-hide glasses. "I wanted to be certain before approaching you."
"Certain of what, exactly?" Ginny asked curiously.
"Certain that you truly have the guts to last in this viper's nest. Frankly, I doubted you'd be back after day one. It seems I underestimated you," Katrina continued, candidly. "But I see you've got a strong constitution. That will serve you well here."
She took a sip of pumpkin juice.
"And quite frankly, I wouldn't mind an ally in the cabinet," Katrina added.
At last, Katrina's motives became clear. Ginny had wondered about this abrupt attitude shift after Katrina's long indifference. She understood nothing came free in the Ministry; everyone had an agenda. It seemed Katrina had previously been the cabinet punching bag before Ginny's arrival, now spotting a chance for an ally. Far from offended, Ginny felt relieved. Having a friendly ear could help withstand the office hostility. A question popped into her mind, and she looked at Katrina with confusion.
"If you too were once considered a blood trait... someone like me," Ginny resumed, noticing Katrina's grimace. "Why then was I selected for this project? After all, you know what life is like for people like us."
Katrina shook her head.
"The reason is, I only held that status for a year. I was born a Pureblood. I became entangled in some messy stuff because of my ex-partner," she remarked, her face contorting as if reliving unpleasant memories. "But that chapter is closed now, and by Voldemort's grace, I've moved past it. That was the worst year of my life. It made me appreciate the privilege of being well-born."
"How did you manage to get rid of your old status?" Ginny inquired, stunned.
"Let's just say I charmed the right individual. He had the right contacts and helped me prove my non-complicity in the charges," Katrina replied, smirking and flaunting her ring. "And since my case wasn't as severe as most, I received a Ministry Clemency."
Ginny felt all her hopes vanish at Katrina's reply; her situation was vastly different from the Weasleys'. Katrina was well-born and had become a Blood Traitor due to a past relationship. The Weasleys, on the other hand, had a long history of rebellion against the regime. Ginny's spirits fell. Katrina's account reinforced the notion of her limited options. She was resigned to rely on Malfoy, her brother's fate compelling her path.
"Between us, getting this position was a stroke of luck for me. Others, even those of lesser importance than the Governor, would never have permitted my employment in such a role due to my history. Even after I was cleared," Katrina explained seriously.
"Does she enjoy employing individuals with dubious pasts?" Ginny asked, her voice tinged with sarcasm.
Her question drew a cynical smile on Katrina's made-up lips.
"Believe me, we're as rare as a four-leaf clover. Governor Warrington fancies herself a visionary. She's inclined towards all this talk of diversity and inclusion. Who knows, maybe it helps her sleep better at night," Katrina guessed, shrugging as she energetically chewed on a piece of bread.
Ginny sometimes wondered what Purebloods thought about the Unbloodeds' appalling mistreatment. Most probably didn't care. However, she knew some didn't share these supremacist ideas. Such was the case with the Diggory family, the Weasleys' neighbours, who had taken in Bill and Ginny after the Burrow burnt down. Did Cressida Warrington, for all her regime privileges, share such sympathies?
"She's like those old ladies who adore rescuing stray cats—it's her guilty pleasure. You'll soon realize she has a penchant for going against the grain. When all say 'yes', she'll say 'no' just to ruffle feathers," Katrina observed, chuckling. "It's quite an uncommon trait."
Ginny wondered - could that explain Malfoy's fixation on Warrington? He had been rather vague about his motivations towards the Governor.
"Unlike many, Mrs Warrington comes from an esteemed background. And most importantly, she married well. Now, she's virtually untouchable. So naturally, she doesn't care about public opinion or criticisms. She loves shocking the upper crust. That's precisely why I chose to work for her. I genuinely admire her," Katrina excitedly continued. "She admires underdogs and outliers - to her it shows pluck and ambition."
She gave a wry smile.
"The downside is she's also attracted to sharks like our dear Mandy. People ambitious enough to go to any lengths for success," Katrina confided.
Ginny cast a brief glance at the table where Mandy Brocklehurst sat with Cormac McLaggen.
"Mandy is a second-rank Pureblood. You'd think she was one of the Sacred Thirteen with that attitude," Katrina added sarcastically. "It's not surprising, really. The second-rank Purebloods can be the worst snobs - many have a permanent chip on their shoulder. They've succeeded in purifying their lineage and go to even greater lengths than first-rank Purebloods to gain approval. As if they have something to prove."
She finished her meal.
"I'm not entirely sure why I'm sharing all this," Katrina conceded, laughing cynically. "Perhaps it's refreshing to converse with someone who understands."
Ginny smiled, feeling her own barriers dissolving. This candid conversation had been good for her. As they headed back to the office, Katrina pulled Ginny aside, grabbing her arm. After a furtive glance to ensure no one was listening in, she whispered:
"I have a couple of pointers for surviving in this snake pit,"
Ginny listened intently.
"First, understand the unwritten codes if you want to survive this nest of vipers unscathed," Katrina insisted.
She turned the handle.
"Secondly, put your interests first," she advised. "And trust no one."
"Does that include you as well?" inquired Ginny, raising a questioning eyebrow.
Katrina looked taken aback before her mouth curved into an approving grin.
"That's good, you're a quick learner. It will serve you well," she assured, as they entered the office, Ginny trailing behind her.
A few hours later, as she entered her flat, Ginny felt an unaccustomed lightness. The day had been full of surprises. The thought of going back to the Ministry seemed less daunting than usual. After a lengthy, hot shower during which she pondered Katrina's advice, she entered her bedroom, her thoughts elsewhere. She jumped upon noticing the black cat once more perched on the roof window ledge. It sat peering in, tail flicking lazily.
"At this rate, I may end up adopting you," Ginny mused, approaching the animal.
Time and again, she had tried to feed it, but the cat always dismissed her offerings with disdain before turning away.
"Though I'm not sure Crookshanks would welcome you. He's Hermione's cat – and quite the monster, really," she said, reaching out to the cat.
The animal allowed her touch, purring faintly. She noticed its neck bore no collar, just a long, pale line resembling a scar along its back. It was likely a stray. Bill had always forbidden the keeping of any pets.
"At the very least, you deserve a name," Ginny thought aloud.
She sat on the bed, watching the cat on the ledge.
"I've got the perfect name!" she exclaimed excitedly. "How about Nero?"
As expected, the cat showed neither enthusiasm nor objection, simply stretching out long and leisurely. The name Nero felt perfectly apt, she thought, satisfied with her choice. It had been Mrs. Moretti, their neighbour, who had introduced her to the word. It meant 'black' in Italian.
Ginny ran her fingers through her damp hair and loosened the towel around her chest, preparing to dress. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny watched as Nero left the ledge, vanishing into the dark night.
All in all, the day had turned out better than expected, Ginny thought, quite pleased with herself.
/
"Hermione?"
Hermione looked up, snapping out of her reverie, and met Ginny's concerned hazelnut eyes.
"Are you alright? I've called your name three times now and you haven't reacted," Ginny noted, arms crossed and brows furrowed.
"Why wouldn't everything be fine?" Hermione asked, startled.
"Probably because you've been sporting that look quite a bit lately. Something is clearly bothering you, but you won't talk about it," Ginny insisted.
Hermione felt her cheeks warm up but she quickly shook her head.
"I'm just distracted," she said, shrugging. "Everything's perfectly fine."
"If you say so," Ginny replied, clearly unconvinced by her answer.
She casually picked up her jacket, draping it over her shoulders while whistling absentmindedly. Hermione gave her a puzzled look. For some unknown reason, Ginny appeared to be in a much better mood.
"How are things at the Ministry?" Hermione inquired curiously.
"Actually, not bad at all," Ginny replied nonchalantly. "It's turned out better than I anticipated."
"Is that troublesome colleague still giving you a hard time?" Hermione asked.
She was familiar with Ginny's complaints about her 'unbearable, prejudiced colleagues.'
"She's trying, but I've learned not to let her negativity affect me," Ginny said cheerfully.
Hermione widened her eyes in surprise, taken aback by her friend's sudden positivity.
"I'm off for a night out with Neville and Luna," Ginny declared eagerly. "Rock'N'Troll is performing at the Leaky Cauldron. Fancy coming?"
"You're this dressed up just for an evening with Neville and Luna?" Hermione observed, taking in Ginny's attire.
She was dressed in a notably short black skirt, paired with opaque tights and knee-high boots. She donned her favourite leather jacket, and her long red hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. She looked even prettier than usual.
"All's fair in love and war," Ginny said mischievously.
"Just make sure you don't end up back with Oliver Wood," Hermione cautioned.
"No way. I'm done with him for good," Ginny asserted, placing a hand on her chest as if insulted. "I just want to show him what he's lost out on. It's about personal pride."
Picking up her handbag, she casually slung it over her shoulder.
"Are you certain you don't want to come along? We'll arrive just in time for happy hour. Half-price drinks," Ginny said excitedly.
Hermione shook her head. She was much more a homebody, favouring quiet evenings with a book over drowning her sorrows in alcohol.
"Honestly, Hermione," Ginny persisted, "I'm concerned about you. You've barely been out lately, apart from work. It's clear something's bothering you."
"What makes you say that?" Hermione queried, skillfully dodging the question.
"Probably because you're dodging my questions with your own. You're normally the one with all the answers," Ginny observed. "It's about that bloke, right?"
"Which bloke?"
"This Thomas fellow."
"Theodore," Hermione corrected, rolling her eyes. "No, honestly I haven't seen him in weeks."
"I'd be annoyed as well if you'd stood me up. You skipped his rehearsal," Ginny remarked, her arms crossed in feigned disapproval.
Hermione didn't respond. After the menacing letter she had received, she'd decided not to attend Theodore's invitation. Setting foot in such a place was a very bad idea. The prospect that someone might potentially know about her secret was frightening. Even though the letter was cryptic and the sender didn't spell out the secret in question, she couldn't take any risks.
"You're lost in thought again, I'll let you be," Ginny remarked, heading towards the door. "I'll raise a glass to you, promise."
Before exiting, she blew Hermione an air kiss.
"See you later."
"Have fun," Hermione called out as her friend left.
Hermione moved towards the shelf adjacent to the sealed fireplace. Amidst two large tomes, she retrieved a newspaper and returned to the sofa. Crookshanks, her mottled cat, leaped onto her lap and settled in comfortably. Distractedly petting Crookshanks, she opened the Daily Prophet.
It was an outdated edition—published several weeks prior. On the front page, a young man gracefully leaned towards a crowd that was applauding vehemently. Hermione felt a slight twinge in her chest seeing Theodore's face. The newspaper featured a double-page spread on his concert, with several pictures. Hermione's focus invariably was drawn to one of them—a snapshot of Theodore, seated at his piano. He played passionately, evidently absorbed in his own world, as if he weren't surrounded by a sea of people. In their encounters at Macmillan's Great Librarium, Theodore had consistently appeared reserved and modest. However, within these animated yet silent images, she could sense the depth of passion and confidence he held for his art.
Hermione had received the newspaper from Aelius Macmillan—the Monday after Theodore's official concert at Damasus the Decadent's Theatre. Aelius had been present at the opening concert, which subsequently made the headlines. This performance marked the beginning of a series of sold-out concerts.
Each time she reflected on it, Hermione couldn't dispel the overwhelming guilt she felt. She had neglected the invitation without informing him. Theodore had not revisited the Librarium since then. He likely had better things to do, she thought. And he was likely feeling hurt. She closed the paper and shook her head, trying to push away her guilt. She had no other choice. She couldn't risk her secret being discovered.
The following Monday, when Hermione visited the Archives, Aelius Macmillan called her to his office. She apprehensively knocked on the door, pondering the reason behind this summons. A nervous knot formed in her stomach. Ever since she received that mysterious letter, she had been in a continual state of anxiety. She inhaled deeply, as though gathering courage. You can't continue like this, Hermione, she mused inwardly. It had been more than four weeks since she had last received any news. She couldn't keep living in fear.
"Did you wish to see me, Mr. Macmillan?" she asked politely as she entered the room.
Aelius gestured for her to take a seat opposite him, and Hermione obliged.
"Gislena Nott possesses a vast collection of grimoires that have been stored in Damasus the Decadent's Theatre for many years. "For reasons beyond my understanding, she wishes to donate them," he said, shaking his head as if baffled by the idea.
Gislena Nott, thought Hermione. She was likely the wife of Governor Theodius Nott— and incidentally, Theodore's mother.
"Ah, I understand," Hermione responded, uncertain of Aelius's intentions.
"The request is to have the collection transferred here. It's quite extensive—nearly two thousand titles," he mused. "Many of these books likely do not belong in our archives and would be more suitable for a public library."
He said this with evident disdain.
"Instead, I've proposed to go there and scout the collection first. That way, I'll only recover books that are of interest to us," he continued. "I'd like you to take on this assignment."
"Me?" Hermione repeated, astonished. "But what about Penelope Clearwater?"
After all, Penelope Clearwater had seniority over Hermione at the Archives. She should have been the first choice for an assignment like this.
"I need Miss Clearwater here. And as I remember, you are already familiar with working alongside Mr. Nott," he added, implying more.
Hermione felt her cheeks redden at his words. His tone unsettled her. It was almost as if Aelius wanted her to go. What was he playing at? She sometimes struggled to grasp this man.
"Understood," she finally said, without further protest.
She was bound to encounter Theodore. Perhaps it would provide an opportunity for her to apologize for having snubbed him.
"Excellent. In that case, I'll get in touch with the Notts," Aelius said before turning his attention back to his parchment. "Thank you, Miss Granger."
Two weeks later, Hermione was called to Damasus the Decadent's Theatre to undertake her assignment. On seeing the grand golden gates, she was awestruck by the historic structure's magnificence. She had only ever seen the Theatre through books or newspaper clippings, and she was taken aback by the beauty of its façade.
Hermione's anxiety intensified as she neared the guard booth by the gates. For someone of her status, gaining access to such a prestigious establishment presented a considerable challenge. Nevertheless, when she gave her name to the man at the security post and he checked her wand, he raised no fuss.
"Wait here; someone will be with you shortly," he said, then turned his attention back to his Daily Prophet copy.
He seemed annoyed to have been interrupted. Shortly afterward, Hermione watched a woman in her forties quickly descend the staircase and approach her.
"You're Mr. Macmillan's employee, I presume?" she asked, her tone tinged with impatience.
Hermione nodded.
"Come along. I'll lead the way," the woman stated briskly.
Upon entering the Entrance Hall, Hermione was struck by its opulent, decadent beauty. She didn't have the luxury of looking around, as the woman was already pulling her towards a door. They crossed a long, narrow hallway likely reserved for the Theatre's staff.
"If you need anything, head to the reception. They should be able to assist you," she advised Hermione.
Eventually, they halted in front of large double doors that the woman slid open, revealing a vast room with towering shelves.
"I'll leave you to your work; I doubt you'll need anything else from me," the employee said before exiting, leaving Hermione feeling slightly disoriented.
She looked around the room curiously, then took her belongings out of her bag and placed them on the desk under a large, commanding window. Through the glass, she could see a beautiful garden. She diverted her eyes and moved towards the shelves to begin her work.
A few hours later, after hurriedly eating her sandwich, she was overcome by a pressing urge. She hesitated to leave the room. The woman had neglected to provide even the most fundamental guidance about the premises, and she was afraid of wandering around unauthorised. However, the necessity was too pressing, prompting her to leave in search of the lavatories.
Each door in the hallway led to storerooms filled with instruments, maintenance equipment, costumes, and various accessories. She retraced her steps and went back to the main hall to ask at the reception. The receptionist directed her towards the lavatories, and Hermione proceeded there, feeling relieved.
Upon exiting, she paused at the sight of two individuals on the grand staircase at the hall's centre. She instantly recognised Theodore. He was deeply immersed in a conversation with the woman who had earlier greeted Hermione. His brows were furrowed, indicating deep concentration. In these moments, he seemed distant and occasionally lost the thread of the conversation. Hermione was always hesitant to signal him when this happened. She was surprised at herself for noticing such a detail about him.
For a brief moment, she wavered between returning to the library and approaching him. In the end, the decision was made for her as Theodore's gaze found hers. She was too far away to read the expression in his eyes. Shortly after, he turned his focus back to the woman and continued their conversation.
Compelled by a sudden pang in her chest, Hermione quickly made her way back to the library, feeling increasingly uneasy. What had she been expecting? That Theodore would welcome her with open arms?
In the hours that followed, Hermione struggled to keep her focus. She made several errors in her referencing. So engrossed in her thoughts, she didn't notice the door opening.
"You're quite late, Miss Granger... The rehearsal ended over a month ago," a voice observed from behind her.
Startled, Hermione swiftly turned toward the door. Theodore stood in the doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of a black velvet frock coat, making him look especially elegant. Hermione noticed that his hair was now shorter, giving him a more mature look. His eyes observed her neutrally.
"I must have mixed up the dates," Hermione responded, feigning confusion.
Her response elicited an amused smile from Theodore, warming Hermione's heart.
"I'm truly sorry. I intended to come, but unexpected personal matters came up," she added, a bit awkwardly.
He shrugged, cutting off her explanation. "I understand," he said.
A wave of relief washed over Hermione.
"I've heard it was a fantastic success. I really wanted to congratulate you, but you've not been back to the Librarium since," Hermione commented. "I would have loved to have been there to see it."
Her words were sincere, and Theodore seemed to feel it as he nodded approvingly. He took a sweeping glance at the room.
"Making progress?" he asked, thoughtfully.
Hermione fought back a grimace. She hadn't been particularly productive that afternoon.
"There are more references here than I expected. This is going to take longer than I initially thought," she admitted. "Maybe another two weeks."
He nodded. "Take your time," he advised. "After all, you want to make sure it's done right. Even if that means an extra week. Or two."
He added the last part with a conspiratorial smile, and Hermione felt herself blushing again. Why was she experiencing this unusual warmth in the pit of her stomach? She had never imagined she'd enjoy talking to him so much.
"I must admit, I've missed our chats," Theodore confessed, moving further into the room and away from the doorway.
She was surprised by his candid admission.
"I've missed them as well," she responded.
Their eyes locked for an extended moment, both adorned with sheepish smiles.
"Maybe you could take a short break," he suggested. "Only if you're comfortable with it, of course."
"Mr. Macmillan mentioned that your family would be my temporary employer during my time here. So, if you don't mind, neither do I," Hermione ventured.
"Excellent. Might you like a tour of the theatre?" he suggested with eagerness.
"I'd love that," Hermione replied, matching his enthusiasm.
Over the next hour, Theodore showed her every corner of the theatre. It was even more magnificent than she had envisioned. The building, an architectural marvel and a national monument, boasted an interior just as impressive as its facade. Hermione found herself awestruck by the magnificent ceilings, the grand staircase, and the expansive main theatre hall, with a capacity to hold up to 1,500 people in its seven tiers of seating.
Theodore appeared quite at ease as he described the venue, deeply influenced by his family's lineage of celebrated artists. The theatre was originally established by a distinguished member of their family, the esteemed patron Methodius Otto Nott.
Upon their return to the main hall after the garden tour, Hermione was surprised to find about a dozen people on stage and seated in the front rows. She tensed immediately, and Theodore noticed her reaction.
"It's just an audition," he said reassuringly. "Come."
He led her to a row of seats, away from the stage's hustle and bustle. They sat down in the middle, and Hermione was surprised by how comfortable the chair was.
"We're scouting artists for the upcoming performance. I wrote this opera three years ago, and it enjoyed a six-month run in the States," Theodore whispered to Hermione, leaning in closer.
A shiver ran down her spine, heightened by being so near him; his cologne's woody, pleasant scent was unmistakable.
"We've already cast the lead role. The baritone," he continued, pointing at a man standing on the stage discussing something with a woman. "Today, we're auditioning for the role of Alyssa, the soprano."
Various women took their turns on stage, performing alongside the man who was cast in the lead role. Hermione was amazed by their voices—powerful, light, and dramatic. Several times, she even got goosebumps. She wasn't sure if her goosebumps were induced by the emotive voices or Theodore's proximity. Being so close to him had a strange effect on her.
Hermione glanced briefly in his direction and saw that he had closed his eyes and was holding a peculiar instrument in his hand. It resembled a copper lighter, albeit with a slightly curved end. She saw him press the button several times before releasing it. Taking advantage of a lull between auditions, she queried:
"What's that?" she asked, intrigued.
Theodore opened his eyes, seemingly coming out of a deep thought. Hermione gestured towards the object.
"A Sonuminator—it captures and replicates voices," he explained. "An invention of one of my ancestors."
He pressed the button.
"How does it work?" Hermione asked with keen interest.
"When activated while someone is speaking or singing, the voice is stored within and can be replicated," he elaborated.
He released the button, leaving Hermione looking puzzled, not grasping the mechanics.
"Impressive, isn't it?" he said.
Hermione's eyes widened in astonishment. Theodore had spoken those words in her voice. It wasn't an imitation—it was her exact voice.
His amusement at her reaction was evident.
"Does that mean you can mimic anyone's voice?" she asked, astounded.
"Yes, but only if they've been captured by the Sonuminator. All I need to do is think of the person and speak while pressing the button," he clarified.
"That's quite impressive, indeed," she whispered.
The intricate magical mechanics behind such an invention left Hermione utterly amazed.
"I mainly use it to keep track of artists' voices. It allows me to try out various voices and tones when I write," Theodore revealed.
"So, theoretically, you wouldn't need the actual singers anymore, right? Once their voices are captured, could you use this device to replicate their singing yourself?" Hermione speculated.
"Not quite, it consumes a significant amount of magical energy and only works for a brief period, he explained. "And between you and me, using it in such a way wouldn't be quite ethical."
As he spoke with a smile, Hermione's heart fluttered. She averted her gaze, refocusing on the stage where a new performer had taken her place.
No further words were exchanged until the auditions concluded. Hermione found it hard to concentrate on what she was hearing, distracted by Theodore sitting next to her. She had never experienced such feelings in the presence of another man.
Although Hermione was knowledgeable in many areas, she had limited understanding of romantic relationships. Her experience was confined to a few brief flings in her teens. Then, Voldemort's regime took over her region, upending her life entirely. She had struggled to adapt to this new environment and its rules. Her past life remained a distant memory, rarely mentioned for fear of repercussions.
"That's it, then," Theodore suddenly announced, pulling her out of her thoughts.
Hermione noticed that the stage was now empty. They were now the only ones in the room.
"You probably expected to be done much earlier," Theodore commented, appearing a bit embarrassed.
"Don't worry about it. I've enjoyed a truly pleasant time," she confessed with sincerity. "Honestly, I didn't even realize how quickly time had passed."
Hermione glanced at her old watch, which she had to shake every now and then to make sure it was still working.
"But starting tomorrow, I'll make sure to make progress on the books, Mr. Nott," she said, standing up and adopting a more formal tone.
"Can I ask you a favour?" Theodore asked, also standing, his nervousness evident.
Hermione turned to face him, curious.
"Could we perhaps address each other on a first-name basis? These 'Miss' and 'Mister' seem rather formal, wouldn't you agree?"
Hermione nodded.
"Very well... Theodore," she said.
A joyful glint sparkled in his eyes, and Hermione again found herself admiring their unique hue—a perfect blend of blue and green. Theodore accompanied her to the library, where she gathered her belongings and carefully packed them into her bag.
"It's quite an impressive collection. Why the decision to donate it?" she inquired.
"Honestly, it's my mother's request. Most of them are hers, and she thinks they'd be more useful elsewhere," Theodore explained.
"She doesn't need them anymore?" Hermione queried.
A burdened look appeared in Theodore's eyes, and Hermione wondered if she had said something inappropriate.
"My mother is seriously ill and only has a few months left with us, " he shared softly.
Hermione froze, horrified by Theodore's words. On his face, she could detect profound sadness.
"Oh, Theodore... I... I am deeply sorry," she faltered.
Theodore managed a forced smile. Yet his face betrayed evident sorrow. Hermione felt her heart tighten at his expression.
"Thank you. It is... challenging," he eventually stated, his voice muted.
Almost instinctively, Hermione placed her hand on his. Theodore appeared momentarily surprised by her impromptu gesture. She herself was shocked by her own boldness. Yet, after a few seconds, Theodore squeezed her hand in return. She maintained her silence, aiming to express her support through this modest touch.
At their first meeting, she had asked him why he had returned to the UK. Even then, she had noticed he didn't seem content with his life under the regime. His face had shown a sad expression, even if he hadn't given the reason. Everything now made sense.
"May I also ask you a favour?" Hermione broke the silence that had settled between them.
Theodore raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. He nodded.
"Tomorrow, will you play something for me?" she asked hopefully. "I missed the chance to see you perform. I'd like to make up for it."
A smile lit up Theodore's face.
"Absolutely, I'd be glad to," he assured her. "Come on, I'll walk you out. It's getting quite late."
Only upon leaving the theatre did Hermione realize she still held Theodore's hand. She awkwardly let go of it, not wishing to draw attention. As they descended the steps, Theodore insisted on arranging a carriage for her journey home. After briefly protesting, she eventually agreed.
"See you tomorrow," she called out as the carriage door started to close.
"See you tomorrow, Hermione," said Theodore, watching the carriage move away with his eyes.
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