When morning dawned on the new year, Hermione woke up in a bed that she knew would never be truly hers. The room still carried traces of the woman who lived there before her: the woman that every inhabitant of the Tonks residence missed sorely, the woman that had brought all of them together. She had been living with Andromeda for nearly a month, but the manor did not feel like home. She felt as though she was trying to live Nymphadora's life, and that thought was beginning to eat her alive.
She loved being there with Teddy and Andromeda, but something was missing. She knew that she would never go back to the wizarding world if she continued to cling to Andromeda at every opportunity. Minerva's offer to work at Hogwarts was the potential answer. She knew that, but she hated that idea of leaving the book shop. Barold needed her.
A tiny voice in the back of her head reminded her that Barold ran the book store without problem before she came along. He was doing her a favor by allowing her to work there. Perhaps it was best if she wrote to him and told him of her job offer. They could discuss their options. Hermione stood and approached the small desk in the corner of the room. She retrieved a quill and parchment before trying to decide what to write.
Barold,
I have been approached by the Headmistress at Hogwarts. She would like to offer me a job as the librarian at the school. I am considering taking the offer, but I do not want to leave you short-handed. What can I do to make this transition easiest for your shop? Do you need me to still work part-time? Please be honest with me. I will not take the position if the shop will hurt without me.
Lillian
Hermione sent the letter off with the large grey owl, whose name she had learned was Hermes. When that task was accomplished, she joined Andromeda in the kitchen. The older woman sat in front of a plate with eggs and toast. She was engrossed in an article in the Daily Prophet and wore a pair of silver spectacles on the bridge of her nose. Hermione had never seen the witch wear glasses and was momentarily surprised.
She supposed there were still things she didn't know about the older woman. Hermione sat beside Andy and chuckled when an identical plate appeared in front of her with a glass of pumpkin juice. "Good morning, Andy. What are you reading?"
Andromeda set the paper to the side and smiled at Hermione. "I'm reading about the charitable donations my younger sister has made to St. Mungo's. It appears that she has been trying to spend what money she has left in a manner that helps the wizarding world."
Hermione was skeptical but did not want to squash Andromeda's optimism.
Andromeda pointed to a section of the text. "It says here that she tried to donate the money anonymously, but someone recognized the Malfoy owl. Here, there's a picture of the dedication and her anonymous signature." Andromeda brought the paper closer to the brunette witch so she could read the note.
Hermione scanned through the article before her eyes found the picture Andromeda was referencing. Hermione gulped as she felt herself begin to perspire. The dedication was signed 'Anonymous' in a curly font that Hermione would recognize anywhere at that point. Her heart began to thump painfully in her chest. What did that mean? If Narcissa sent the powder, could she tell her what it was about? Why did she send it? What were her intentions? Was her charity a ruse to hide more malicious actions?
"Hermione? Hermione, are you even listening to a word I'm saying?"
Hermione's eyes shot up to meet the older woman's stare. "I'm sorry. I missed part of what you said."
Andromeda sighed and placed the paper on the opposite side of the bar. "I know that. I think you should see about getting some help, Hermione."
Hermione's expression faltered. "What do you mean? I just got distracted. I'm tired. It's allowed to happen."
Andromeda frowned at the brunette's defensive reaction. "I know that the magical community does not put much faith in psychology and its uses, but I think we both know that it can be beneficial. Ted introduced me to a wonderful psychologist who specializes in Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when we were young. He helped me quite a bit. I can give you his information if you would like."
Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? Andromeda, the entirety of the wizarding community likely has PTSD, and all of them are fine."
"Not all of them were tortured at the hands of my sister." Andy offered Hermione a sympathetic smile. "She has tortured people to insanity before. It is not a sign of weakness that you need help. It is strength that even allowed you to escape her with your mind intact."
Hermione stood up from the table, shaking her head firmly. "Andy, I don't think you know what you're talking about. I don't need help. I am tired. Don't patronize me." With that, the brunette left the room. She could not believe Andromeda. How could she suggest such a thing? A muggle psychologist was not going to be able to treat her. She couldn't reveal magic to them. How was she supposed to talk to them about what happened?
Back in Nymphadora's room, she kicked her rucksack across the room. She felt the magic crackle in the room. She was on the verge of performing accidental magic if she did not get a handle on her emotions. She sat down, scowling at the ceiling.
She knew that there was some logic to Andromeda's suggestion. It would likely be beneficial to talk to someone about everything that happened, but she barely understood what was going on inside of her own head. How could she talk to someone else about it?
Bellatrix's diary sat unopened on her bedside table. She had brought it up to her room, but she had refused to open it since that first day. Her curiosity was too strong to leave the book downstairs, but she was scared of what she might find if she opened its covers another time.
She wondered if Bellatrix began writing a diary because she felt like she had no one she could talk to. It seemed as if the witch carried a significant weight on her young shoulders.
Hermione reached out to grasp the diary. It was heavy in her hands, and Hermione questioned her own intentions. She needed to understand what drove Bellatrix to Tom Riddle's side. The girl who wrote the diary appeared to hold only mild prejudice rather than burning hatred. What could have changed her so drastically?
She cracked open the book.
8 February 1967
Today was my career counselling session with Professor Slughorn. I walked into his office with no idea what to do. After all, my future would be greatly dictated by whomever was to be my betrothed. I tried to weasel my way out of the conversation, but Professor Slughorn had no interest in listening to my mumblings about betrothals or a woman's place in pureblood society.
He really told me that I was the best potions student in the school at this moment. Not the best in my class. Best in the school, better than any of his NEWTs students. He told me that I needed to pursue a career that would be worthy of my intellect. He actually suggested that I look into pursuing a career in magical law enforcement. He told me I should be an auror.
I maintained a calm composure in his office, but I would be lying if I said that I was not actually scared out of my wits. If Father ever found out that I was considering a career as an auror, he would pull me out of Hogwarts and forbid me from pursuing any form of education.
I honestly do not know what to do. Professor Slughorn thinks that I would make a formidable auror. My marks are all exceptional at this point. The only class that I typically receive an E grade, as opposed to an O, is Herbology. I honestly think that is less about my performance and more about my name. It is no secret that Pomona Sprout is fraternizing with a muggle. The blood traitor thinks she can receive some sort of vindication by giving me less than perfect marks.
Regardless, I have the marks to take any NEWTs courses that I want. I only have to achieve NEWTs in five classes to apply to be an auror, but that brings up another problem. The auror department is one of those that is heavily influenced by the whims of mudbloods and blood traitors. They actually despise most pureblood ways. The likelihood of them accepting my application is close to none.
If it were to get out that I not only applied but was rejected by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Father might actually have me executed. It would be the ultimate disgrace, aside from becoming a blood traitor. I cannot imagine his reaction if I were to actually adopt blood traitor ideals.
That reminds me. I spoke with Andy a few weeks ago. I told her that I thought she was becoming a blood traitor, but she had the audacity to call me a dark witch! I do not understand what has gotten into her. She is almost never in the Slytherin common room. To my knowledge, she has not been associating with Gryffindors, but I know she has been seen numerous times inside of the Ravenclaw common room.
She is walking a very dangerous path. It will not be long before word begins to reach Mother and Father that their middle daughter is not discriminating between mudbloods and purebloods. I do not want to be there when they confront her, but I do not know that I can ignore it either. She is still my little sister. I will do what I can to protect her while I try to convince her that she is not doing the right thing. She has to see the light. I will make it my life's duty if I must.
16 June 1967
It is done. I have finished all of my OWLs. In two weeks time, I will be back at Black manor, and I am sorrowful to say that I dread it. I know that if Lestrange brings home even two grades that are Acceptable or better, I will be betrothed to that bumbling baboon. I cannot bear the thought.
The past few weeks, he has been everywhere. He even managed to get an invitation to the Slug Club by claiming that he was my best friend. I cannot stand being near him and his lewd comments. I swear that he will not lay a hand on me until and unless we are at some point married. At that point, I will perform my duties to him, but I have no interest in performing those duties more than absolutely necessary for a pureblood woman. I will bear the Lestrange children if necessary, but I do dread it.
My only hope is that he brings home more Dreadfuls and Trolls than Acceptable. That, and I need to have a talk with Mother once I am back at the manor. I kept my nose clean this year. I may just be able to talk some sense into her. Maybe she'll reach out. My OWLs will help my case when trying to make a deal with one of them, too.
I just might be able to squeeze my way out of this betrothal yet.
11 July 1967
My OWLs came in the mail this morning. I managed to receive Outstandings in every single class, except Herbology. Father actually looked proud. Mother gave me a smile, but something told me that she was keeping something from me. She almost looked scared, and I am not sure how to take that.
This afternoon, we received the letter that we requested from the Lestranges. It turns out that Lestrange received all Poors and one Acceptable. Father's scowl was as deep as I have ever seen it. They have decided to postpone announcing the betrothal, but Father spoke as if he was still considering the arranged marriage.
I know that he is no longer answering to himself, however. He speaks of a man who calls himself the Dark Lord, champion for purebloods. He runs every decision by him. I know that he copied my OWL letter and sent it to him. I cannot understand why this man would be interested in my grades unless he has a son that he would like to pair with me.
The mere thought of being betrothed to that man's spawn is enough to send shivers down my spine. I have only caught a glimpse of him a couple times, but there is just something about him that concerns me. He speaks softly when he is here. The meetings take place in the library now, but he always stops to see Mother before he leaves. He kisses her hand and looks at her with eyes that are full of charm. I don't know if he had her fooled, but not me. I see what he's doing to my parents. He controls the Black fortune just by speaking to Father.
29 July 1967
Mother completely disregarded my request to reach out to our contacts in Bulgaria. She said that it is time to focus on the English wizarding population. I know she was thinking about this Dark Lord with whom she and Father are infatuated.
I cannot wait for September to arrive so I can leave this place.
Hermione placed the book to the side, silently mourning for the girl who would quickly lose her own sanity. She did not support Tom Riddle when she first met him. She knew that something was wrong with him. What might have changed her? Hermione dreaded to read that section of the diary. It must have been something terrible. Hermione shuddered at the thought.
She laid back down on the bed with one arm draped over her eyes. She was not sure how long she had been lying there when she heard a persistent tapping on the window.
Outside was Hermes, holding a letter that was clearly meant for her.
She opened the window and gently pet the owl's feathers before retrieving the letter.
Lillian,
Take the job. I accept your resignation. Now, go live your life. Find what you are looking for. I will have your final check deposited into your vaults.
Take care of yourself.
Barold